Ever since I was young, when I’ve felt overwhelmed by the perils of day-to-day life, I’ve imagined myself as a spaceman in my own ship. I drift through the cosmos and land on a bioluminescent planet whose only source of light comes from the natural vegetation. There I sit and look up at the stars.
The live performance of Quiver seems a distant memory, a relic of the less suffocating weeks of COVID-19 restrictions. Almost like a miracle, Quiver was performed in the brief moment of time when it was possible.
In 1987 I was hired by the Rolling Thunder Theatre Company for a ten-week contract. Brainstorm with the cast, write and direct a new play, then wave bon voyage as the Thunder van ambled off for ten months of touring.
While you don’t have to look far in the business world to find someone offering a course on “how to find your purpose,” I have noticed that purpose is rarely discussed in the arts world. It’s almost like it’s expected and assumed that everyone knows why they’re an artist.
In this time, the world is healing because of distance. To protect each other, we stay away. I realize now that the distance is beautiful, because we get to share it, and share across it. It is the essence of what brings us together, and it begins in the cocoon of our individual mindsets.