Tonight again I find myself walking across an empty stage and turning to look back at it, feeling the cold silence of the black box, and then feeling it recede from me as I walk away. I exit thinking about the stage's calm expectancy when we first entered it on Thursday, and now its indifferent repose.
Just an hour ago, it was all so different. Energy and excitement flooded the stage from the first step onto the stage to the last note. Damned if we didn't do our best yet this evening. It was life we breathed into the music and the spoken words, teeming with its own electricity and tenacious pulse. Then, when the last line had been said and the last note had been sung, we took our leave of the stage.
And hence I find myself once more mourning my departure from a performance space - a space of magic and undeniable allure.
And I find myself empty inside again. When will I be with my beloved stage again? Our union was, as always, brief, intense, electric, but never enough.
1 comment:
but what would the fervour of that brief, intense electricity be without the numbing hollow void to fill the spaces in between? for to feel light, one must come from the absence of light, and inevitably return to it to lie in waiting to bask in its next brief descent from brilliance.
and you're right ... 'Damned if we didn't do our best yet this evening.' couldn't have said it better myself.
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