Sure, there've still been those moments when I'm aggravated and wishing for change, but then again that's just growing. A tree bends and shapes itself towards the sun, and that's what I'm trying to do.
And art - that is my sun; my source of life, that which allows me to photosynthesize and recreate myself into the person I want to become.
And this has been a successful week.
For one, I've started writing a play that I actually really love. I've been working on it before and after work, which actually has given a sense of accomplishment to my day. I'm often too exhausted to do anything at all after my nine hour shifts....but knowing that I've worked on creating a world...it's much more satisfying than then watching something on Netflix until I fall asleep.
Speaking of writing, this week I also read aloud some of my poetry. It was on a stage and everything, and I don't even want to acknowledge how long isn't been since I've stood on one. It was very assuring. My friend invited me to a Galentine's Day event, with face-painting, arts and crafts, friendship bracelets, snacks and art; a.k.a. it was dream.
There was a lot of stand up, one incredible conceptual art piece presentation revolving around Tinder and musical performance, and me. The day of I still didn't know what to read. I realized I'd forgotten a notebook with most of my writing at a friend's place. I considered reading something from this blog, but most of my posts are a tactful organization of my stream of consciousness; my poetry is different. More vulnerable.
And then I remembered something I started back in October: I have a daily planner but instead of deadlines and appointments, my agenda is a poem.
Back in high school, an incredible teacher taught us to see art through the scope of "Creator vs. Interpreter": to put it simply, to do a play I made is creator. To do Chekhov, a friend's work, or something made by literally anyone else, is interpreter.
And the goal of my planner was to hold myself accountable for doing both each day.
It's like an artist's version inhaling and exhaling.
Thus I sifted through some of my exhalations from the last four and a half months, and chose four poems which I read in three chunks and called it Love in Three Parts. Don't worry, they're at the bottom of this post.
And loves, it was incredible. I was in a room full of strangers with the exception of the one friend who invited me. And I get insecure in big groups. I know those of you who know me don't believe this, but I do; especially when they all know one another. It's not noticeable to them, but part of me retreats. So to go from that, to someone speaking my truths, I felt the room change. The way they saw me, the way they saw themselves; like the heat coming on after the streak of a cold breeze.
It was a moment I don't think I will forget.
And to seal off the powerful week, last night I saw my friend's production. He directed an original play called Subverted, which was so powerful and appropriate that it was haunting. It's the type of show I want high-schoolers dragged to, not realizing how much this will shape the person they decide to become. I heard the audience struggle to suppress their "mmm"s of empathy as we collectively fought tears. It was exemplary of what theatre is meant to be, and the power that art has to change the world for the better.
I am inspired. I am motivated for the first time in awhile, feeling finally that art isn't taking a backseat to survival (and seeing as I make art to survive, it's been a vicious cycle when it's not at my forefront). It's reviving to know that my day has consequences, that I'm not just repeating the same things over and over for paycheck...that I'm part of helping the world grow. It means there is light again. The sun was obstructed and I was withering.
Now I must regain my strength, and blossom.
Part I
Part II
Part III
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