12. tomorrow belongs to me - reprise

 

Hi everyone,

I took an impulsive trip to London over the easter weekend, to see some friends, family and get inspired by some art! 

Here is a little writing from some of the performances and exhibitions I visited:

Thin Air

are we making art for instagram?

maybe we should be doing.

probably we already are.

are we reflected in art or seen in our vanities.

are we building the most expansive and well-detailed archives through our capturing of absolutely everything.

maybe we’re not really capturing anything.

just smiling in front of things.

dancing yoga on memorials.

eating food that’s cold because we took so long filming it.

maybe we’re living.

maybe we only want to show what is pretty.

maybe we dance in the flashing lights because we have become the protagonist.

maybe this is the beauty of privilege in societies that become better at facilitating individualistic expression.

i can’t decide if i’m distracted or fascinated by people.

their boredom, their narcissism equally stimulates my experiences.

so when i’m standing in this huge room with lights flashing around me i get glimpses.

glimpses of couples on their first dates.

well behaved children.

badly behaved children.

free-spirited students tripping on life.

the lights catch them and it seems to mean something.

they are swept away into the darkness and i don’t know if i will ever see them again.

it feels like the worlds calmest horror movie.

i’m not scared.

just occupied by the ghosts of living people.

Cabaret

I am sitting next to someone who has seen this show many times. They say it is the best show in London - something I have already been told by many other people. I cannot imagine what the best show in London looks like. Whatever I thought that might be, it was not this. Somehow I don’t trust reviews that are too good. I expect to be pleased rather than challenged. Or that if something is too good maybe it will fail to take risks. This is almost exactly and nothing like what happens. The performance is slick and effortless. It runs without disruption or clunkiness but it does not feel overly polished - the mechanics are so expertly mastered that they disappear into the thing itself. The space is perfect. It does not require explanation. But it also does not feel overtly explained. Somehow it is like I am dragged through water and I am passing by these bubbles of life. As a I drift by I go between being seen by the world and floating anonymously. I feel welcome. I am reminded that queerness and community are so entangled. To be different together. The theatre’s transformation is simple and effective. It does not throw me into the unknown but it gets me truly excited. It is a good reminder that immersive does not necessarily mean complex - and that one can be immersed and not over stimulated. I have a moment with one performer who I have smiled at regularly. We play a quick game of rock, paper, scissors. It’s the highlight of my night. Is that crazy? It’s not just because I’m craving connection or I want to feel special. It’s the performativity of care, the genuine playfulness of just being in space together, within this huge (and very expensive) endeavour, it is a reminder of how much this is all just humans trying to show something about how they see the world. And I think that is a care that translates into the scripted and musical work, I can feel a care for the characters, and a truthful happiness to be there. It just feels like good craftsmanship. 

Extinction Beckons

i’ve been thinking a lot about the autobiographical. it’s something i’m scared of. to seem conceited. 

i think i forget that it draws light on what we know best.

it also allows pockets of reality in the abstract and absurd.that the artist actively documents the process within the product.it becomes colossal. i’m often feeling the intimacy of meeting people through their work. but rarely invited into the epic possibilities of spanning their life in the moment.

i love the thought of showing our works in storage.how would you label them? all at once? in codes? by hand? with watermarked papers taped neatly on? does everything get stored? is storing it enough to recreate it? could nothing be stored and the essence discovered again?

if the artist does not write about the work themselves, why do we let someone else interpret it? they condense it through their limits of their imagination. even the impartial comments can plant seeds which distract, misdirect and solidify. but then again, why do i keep returning to little pieces of paper that i know will do this. i care about the process, the history, the bigger contexts - but i wish i could be with things in ignorant bliss for a while, and return later for formed ideas.

i want to play charity shop games. 

1. go into a charity shop

2. find the two most interesting things

3. buy them

4. fantasise their meetings

5. what space do they belong in?

6. who owns them?

7. embellish, lie and produce something magical.

Guys & Dolls

i am sitting on a platform as it rises from the floor of the stage.

i am lifted into the action. 

i am raised above people that I used to be equal to.

i feel special.

i feel watched.

it is so fucking exciting.

i have the weight of having brought a friend to the theatre.

i hope she is happy.

i hope she doesn’t want to leave.

but then this motorised platform rises with us on it.

it rises into the action.

we idealise the performers.

for some reason.

because we want to know that we matter to these two hours and forty minutes.

earlier, we watched a performer navigate a sexy dance for a child.

(a choreographed part of the show)

(but potentially a very unfortunate placing of this particular performer)

(and that particular child)

and it was amazing

we felt for both of them

it didn’t get weird

but it became charged

that became the scene today

a performer desperately trying to look everywhere but into this child’s eyes

and us all knowing and being a part of this moment

this strange duet

then at the end we were maybe a forearms distance from the two leading characters

and as someone who has been sitting in the cheap sits for far too long it was beautiful

to see sweat dripping

to see thoughts racing across the face

to be in the same spotlight

to see everyone’s delight to be let into this

The Village

I've read and fantasised about Fiona Templeton's You: The City (1988) many times. I feel like I finally got to experience it through this totally different show. The complete cliché feeling of being inside the film - yet the experience was simply and exactly this. Larger than life characters that are just... lifelike (amidst the craziness of Soho in the evening on Easter Sunday). Getting to be alone with one of the characters in the show who brings me into a bakery, seeing this character against the grumpy bakery staff- spending £2 on a bun, not being sure what is real, being whisked away. Crowding into the staff room of a bookshop, feeling like you shouldn't be somewhere, but also knowing that you stepped through a portal into something that isn't staffroombookshop at all. 

Thin Air (2023), The Beams

3.24 by 404.ZERO

Cabaret at The Kit Kat Club (2021),  The Playhouse Theatre

Extinction Beckons (2023), Hayward Gallery

I, IMPOSTOR (2011) by Mike Nelson

Guys & Dolls (2023), Bridge Thetare

The Village (2023), Soho

Wheel of Fortune (2023) by Persona Collective 

-

'tomorrow belongs to me - reprise' - 2021 london cast of cabaret, cabaret (london 2021 cast recording), track 12