I am in the middle of a devising process for my culminating project as a MA candidate. The theme of the performance piece is a personal exploration of what death means to us as individuals and as communal creatures. As part of the process, I have been asking my actors to bring in personal monologues in response to a variety of prompts. This is my own response to the prompt, "What is death?"
When I’m hungry, I eat. When I’m thirsty, I drink. When I’m tired, I sleep. But there are desires I can’t fulfill with anything around me, and sometimes I feel like I’m pressing myself into a mold that is constantly shifting its shape, confounding me without satisfying me. Death is, most definitely, separation. The hardest thing about losing someone is that in a few weeks, or months, or a year, you’ll find yourself with something to tell them, and no way to say it. That absence is unnatural. Death is the one thing that unites us all, and yet we all know in our bones that death isn’t right. But I think that death is also connection. Those unsatisfied desires that I feel in my spirit lead me to the presence of God, and when I die—when those around me die—I think the veil of this world is either removed, and we come face to face with him, or we choose not to be with him, and that’s that. Pretty simple. Death is strange. It presses all around us, and we want to ignore it. And it isn’t just people—it’s everything. It’s change, and it’s place. There’s something kind of holy about place, don’t you think? The way a place holds an experience, and gently preserves it. The loss you feel when a place is gone. The way you can touch and breathe and hold a place, and bear it in your heart, long after you can’t go there anymore. Death is loss, and the inability to do anything about it. Death is being patient, and waiting to see more than just a pinpoint of reality. ~Ruthie
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Nicholas Nixon began taking photos of his wife and her three sisters in 1975, and has taken a photo every year since. The result is incredible.
"Throughout this series, we watch these women age, undergoing life’s most humbling experience. While many of us can, when pressed, name things we are grateful to Time for bestowing upon us, the lines bracketing our mouths and the loosening of our skin are not among them. So while a part of the spirit sinks at the slow appearance of these women’s jowls, another part is lifted: They are not undone by it." -Susan Minot, writing for the New York Times This photography project is one of the simplest and most beautiful I have seen in a long time. As we click through these photos, we see, gently and gradually, what it means to be a woman, a sister, a human. As the lines on these women's faces slowly deepen, it's tempting to read into them--to wonder what experiences have shaped them, how each sister differs from the others, and the story of each photograph. But while the four women have allowed us a glimpse of their faces each year, that is all they have allowed us. Their openness--close bed-fellows with their privacy--makes this project remarkable, poignant, and beautiful. Check out the photos and New York Times article here. ~Ruthie Today I was asked, “What do you hoard?” My first thought was, “Well, nothing.” I don’t think of myself as a hoarder, especially since I live in NYC where no one has spare closets for luxuries such as hoarding.
I started to think about the items I have—I own quite a few books, and dresses, and a sizable collection of DVDs. But none of them could be classified as hoard-sized, and besides, isn’t hoarding more about the attitude attached to the items? Isn’t it more about the fact that a hoarder cherishes those things and returns time and time again to them to remind themselves simply that they’re there? As I pondered this, I suddenly realized that of course I’m a hoarder, just not in the way I typically think of hoarding. I don’t hoard material things, but I tend to gather up the way people talk about me—good or bad—and store it in my soul where I can go back and consider it. I grow hungry for a compliment or a word of affirmation, and I feel the need to compel someone to flatter me, just so I can add it to the treasure trove of compliments in my heart. Or, on days when I’m sad, I stack up embarrassing things I’ve done or said around me like a fort and sit in the middle, berating myself for being an idiot. There’s nothing wrong with reflecting on the words of myself or others, and it’s a good thing to be aware of how we are affected and affect others. But like someone who hoards material possessions, the problem lies in my attitude—the fact that I gather these things to me for the purpose of dwelling on them and viewing myself through the lens of their presence. If I am truly building my joy and contentment on what people have said about me or to me, I am going to be sorely disappointed. It’s easy to remember that last sentence in moments of clarity, and much less easy to remember it when I’m on the high of a compliment or the low of a negative word. But this past weekend I went to a NEEDTOBREATHE concert, and as they played one of their most famous songs, I was reminded of the simple truth in their lyrics: Even when the rain falls Even when the flood starts rising Even when the storm comes I am washed by the water If I’m going to hoard anything, it’s going to be words of life like these. ~Ruthie Hannah and I have decided to introduce a new format to our blog: one post, every day, for 365 days.
Some of the posts will be in response to prompts, some of our own initiative, but we want to start posting consistently, and we hope that this new format will be as exciting to you as it is to us. Look for the first post tomorrow! |
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