One of my fellow painters catching rainbows
Dear blog,
We found a solution to our goat's naughtiness, for now. We tied up the billy. And two other goats that seem to lead everyone over fences, and into trouble. And it seems there is a nice, beautiful calm.
I have been wanting to write about my sister's play. And as it finally cool today, I'm upstairs, and happy to have this wet windy cool blowing in my room. Though I do wonder if it's going to be too soggy to sleep outside. I guess we'll see.
This year for the play, my sister did a lot extra stuff. She designed an airplane prop for the director. We had an old trash-can lid that we thought would make some good art. She used the garbage can lid, then used some old wood and carved out a propeller and made it so it could spin. Then she made airplane wings out of some old styrofoam, and painted them. It was so genius, I sometimes feel a little imitated by my sister's abilities. She also a built a mirror stand for one of the actors to interact with, in addition to being in the play, and really supporting it in so many ways. It seemed like she was an assistant director.
This year, for the play.
I was watcher.
And support crew when ears were needed, and sandwiches needed to be made, and things like that.
It actually seemed pretty dynamic. And as it happened, I was there for some of the most memorable bits, without the extra work of singing and dancing.
I wasn't on the cast list.
I wasn't on stage for the last bow.
No.
Part of me was, at least.
The background.
This year the play was, "The Drowsy Chaperone."
The director asked a guy who usually paints their sets to paint this really long big 40ft wall.
The week of the 24th of July, I went with my sister to one of her play practices, and thought maybe I could take some pictures, because I'm usually the only one taking pictures. So they needed someone to do that. And perhaps, help paint, a bit.
I got there, and was very glad to see all my play family.
They greeted me so warmly, it felt good.
When they started their practice, I got my camera out and started watching. It felt so good, just watching. I felt like we were both giving a gift.
One of
seeing, one of being seen.
The director usually sits in front, but he chose to be in the play this year, in addition to directing it.
So I sat where he usually sits, and watched. It felt oddly nice. I liked this place, instead of on the stage. It was weird, watching, and being watched at the same time, from this vantage point.
It made me
wonder if the reason why we put on plays in the first place is that the watched, and
the watcher are looking for some part of themselves.
The watcher, mostly smiling, and clapping, and seeing things that might go better, but mostly appreciating that someone's putting a show on for him to see.
I took some pictures, and enjoyed all the effort, and music, and song and dance they were doing. Then my sister came down and watched with me when she wasn't in a scene, and so did the director.
Then in the middle of the performance, Scott, the one painting sets, arrived, and beckoned me to him. So I went and talked with him a bit, and he asked me to mix some old paint to see if it was any good.
I was not particularly thrilled. I've realized long ago that painting sets narrows my focus, and is actually a pretty solitary job. The year I helped run wires for the sound and lights, I had a lot more fun.
I felt torn because I just wanted to go back and just watch. He had forgotten to get paint can openers, so I ran to my truck and looked for something to open the paint cans.
In my hurry to find something to open the cans I found a screwdriver, but dropped my car keys, and could not find them.
It was not a good feeling.
I had just come to see the play, and now, I had lost the keys, looking for paint can openers.
I searched everywhere.
I couldn't believe how stressed I felt over that.
I asked God for assistance, and found them, finally.
Thankfully.
I came back and opened the paints, all the while feeling a little sad to be missing my spot taking pictures, and watching.
Scott asked me if I was coming back to paint sets, and I told him I didn't think so unless it as a Saturday when they put up all the wires, and things, and it's a day when both me and my sister could come.
He asked me If I could use a measuring tape to draw a straight line, and divide it, and put some tape paint tape down.
I wasn't thrilled about this either.
Either way, I had to wait until the play practice was done to do that.
So I went back to watching.
Truth was, when he asked me to help, I sensed he wasn't feeling well, and some part of me knew that I was going to be painting this wall, even though I said I had not planned on helping much.
Saturday the 29th rolled around.
I had three choices.
My sister's father in law passed away.
And I could go to the funeral.
Or I could stay home.
Or I could go help paint sets.
I wasn't sure I wanted to go to either place, I didn't want to go the funeral. I don't like funerals.
And painting sets on blistering hot, cement, had already been burned into my memory from previous years.
Having a hard time deciding, my sister quoted me the ending lines of the play.
"A staff drops," she says, "and it makes his record skip, so he can't tell what the characters is saying."
"Live while you can?" he wonders.
"Leave while you can?" he wonders.
"You have to decide. Because you can't tell what the character in the play is actually hearing, because he's listening to a record, and that's really the punch line of the whole play. "____while you can."
The "what" is what you choose.
Okay, I shrugged, and decide to live while I can. I felt that this moment felt very crucial, I felt like I was going to battle. I knew I need to gather a lot of stuff, and material, to have on hand. The wall was big, and I had a suspicion that though I was planning on leaving early, I'd be there till dark. I knew it was going to be hot.
So hot.
I knew we needed water.
And hats.
Bess and I did our best gather all needful things that we could think of.
I even
packed in my crystal singing bowl, in case of a moment where we had an empty
space. And a moment where we might just "be" together.
I felt like it was some sort of test. I know that sounds weird. But when you're going into a place you've been before, and you know how hot, and hard it will be. You want to go prepared. And most of all, you want water.
So we went early in the morning.
While everyone was on stage, and rehearsing, I started painting. Scott hadn't really painted the wall much. But another nice girl was working on blocking the bottom of the wall with some paint.
Scot had only done a very little section of a some painted wood. The director had sprayed an odd color of tanish pink on the wall that Scot had picked out---not my first choice of color. But you have to work with what you have.
The director told me to repeat the wood pattern Scot had started. Which looked like it involved a lot of measuring lines. Oh gosh...
The wall was very big.
One section was to be painted like a man's room.
The other wall was for the fancy wedding parlor.
There were double doors, and a small door on the side.
This was a long, vast, ponderous wall.
I brought some of my paints, but there weren't many colors there, as Scot hadn't come with the paints, or brushes yet.
I wasn't relishing the idea of painting while everyone was on stage, and in the heat, and repeating the pattern Scot had set out.
Lines.
Me and lines.
Measuring.
Hot cement.
Claustrophobia.
Felt like God had set me in a fiery frying pan.
Live while ya can?
Hmmm....
As the sun rose higher, the cement heated up, and the cast was dancing in front of me, around my cans of paint.
Then in the middle of painting, the director comes from behind, and says,
Scot just called, he was in the hospital with heart and lung problems, and he wont be able to finish.
"Will you be in charge of wall?"
My heart sunk. I had planned on leaving early...
I knew this was going to happen.
All I had was mostly the paints I had brought form my supply.
My own little roller.
Scot had all the rest of the supplies, I believe.
The other girl, the Directors daughter in law, had brought some sponges, and some paint brushes.
So with my paints, and her stuff, we started, with our widow's might.
The temperature climbed to about 105 degrees.
Live while you can, kept echoing in my mind. "Yeah, if you don't fry yourself while you're living...!"
"Okay," I told the director.
So, I painted. But I felt rather delirious.
All the people's fumes really affect my antenna's. It's hard for me to zero in on such a narrow view, when you can feel the people around you.
For a while I had a very hard time delegating, because there were three other helpers, and it's hard to have a vision for a wall you hadn't had any ideas for.
Mostly, the magic thing that happened, after my mind settled down, was realizing perhaps a job of a director of anything, is to see what strengths of those willing to help, and letting them flow.
Appreciating.
Realizing how many artists there are around you.
And knowing that we are all wanting the same thing, to help. To have it look good. To enjoy each other.
To make the job easier so one person doesn't have to do it alone.
The magic of that wall was unity.
We were painting the background.
A girl named Emily, who was in the cast, offered to help. I swear she resembled Emily Dickinson. She had painted her shoes beautifully. Each shoe had a different silhouette, with a message on the back, "Stars can't shine without darkness." I took several pictures, as I wanted to remember the message written on her shoes. She reminded me of a younger version of myself. Excited, eager, fresh, willing to come, and bring her own paints, and brushes, an artist that was so ready to share.
And the other girl, Kristen.
Another artist.
Smart, and talented, fun. Someone who could actually understand me, more than most people, as sometimes I have a hard time articulating my thoughts into spoken words. She got my vibe when I talked.
That was really unusual.
At the peak of the hottest part of the day, we all adjourned, and went to the director's house.
My sister
had brought some apricot juice with some kefir and I swear it saved my life,
because I kept on forgetting to drink, and it was so, so very hot. And I felt so tired, and my brain and body felt cooked. I didn't realize how repeating the same pattern of wood trying to keep straight lines in this big of wall, would be so tough.
After consulting with my sister, who measures wood all the time, I decided to just measure a bit, and then just paint, and try to get the pattern as best I could. If any of us were too picky we wouldn't get the wall painted in time.
The dress rehearsal was on Monday. So today was the day.
I was so glad we stopped when we did, because it was hot, hot! And I had been kneeling on hard, cement for so long, my knees and legs were screaming at me.
After resting for a wee bit, my sister went with the director to go buy more paint for our wall, and some brushes.
The director's sons, and daughter-in-law sat in the living room, chatting, while I watched mostly, strumming on a ukalele. An interesting thing happened as we all were sitting there together.
Conversation changed to deeper subjects.
I got out
my singing bowl, and it set a very calm mood.
And when Bess came back with the director, we all started singing with the singing bowl, and the director's wife came in and sat down, and brushed her dogs. It seemed for a moment, everyone felt it, that, home feeling.
That now, everyone searches for on the stage was just here. For one moment, it felt as if we were all there, in the now, the whole show, here, in the directors living room. I felt that that one moment was worth coming for.
The director kindly made us a meal, and while he was cooking on his porch, a huge bunch of deer, with antlers shuttled through his backyard. I was able to snap a few pictures.
A mini storm rolled in, and it rained a bit, so we were all happy it had cooled down, as Kristen had gotten a bit of heat stroke.
After we ate, we went back to the outdoor theater, and started painting the wall again. My sister and director bought some green paint. And some rollers.
A roller that would have really helped me paint nice even lines when I was working on the wood bit!
Bess had an idea, and braved the wall, and rolled out the green paint, without any measuring tape, just using her intuition, and other eyes, to keep her lines straight.
As the day waned, and the clouds put on a show, and we paused and watched a rainbow.
No more was painting a set a solitary thing.
The wall was so big, and so vast, and had started out with so much intimidating emptiness, I realized that the wall just started happening, for better or worse.
We were all artists, and the respect we had for each other showed, because we really just wanted to do the best we could with what we had.
None of us had really planned on painting the wall, or finishing the design.
We used the sponges Kristen had brought to create patterns.
One would be painting, and the other would ask, how does it look?
One would go far out, into the audience, spot for us, to tell us where to place the next paint, or sponge pattern.
Move the sponge this way.
"No. Move it over to the right. Good. Perfect."
So we'd take turns directing, and painting.
The one close up to the canvas had to use the eyes of the other to know where to place the paint. If the lines were straight. If it needed to be a different color.
I don't even feel like I added that much, but mostly, as an element of just my me, my soul essence.
Ten o clock.
Eleven o clock.
Lights were turned on.
And we were painting in the dark.
Emily had an idea of outlining the sponge patterns, and we thought it was a good idea, so we started doing that.
And bit by bit.
We painted above the doors, a dark purple.
And all in all, it looked pretty good, considering. We all knew we could paint it better, if we had more time.
We all knew that the pink that Scot had chosen wasn't the greatest color.
But it was what was there.
So we worked with it.
And the magic of the wall.
We were painting the background as best we could.
Was it fabulous? Was it a Michelangelo?
No.
But for that day, it was our Sistine chapel.
A chapel of unity. Where not one person could say that they painted the wall. No.
Someone had built the wall.
This was an old wall that had been used, and reused, year after year, painted different play after play.
If it could speak it would say many things, of the plays it had seen, of the paint that had covered it, and the many different stories it had been a parted of.
The director had used a spray pump to spray on the pink.
Bess and I had divided it in two.
Scot painted a small section of wood molding.
Some cute teenagers had painted the doors, and the mounding around the doors.
And we all painted some part, and section of the wall, some alone, some together.
Emily later painted some clouds to go behind a window.
But what was special about this wall, wasn't the paint. Wasn't the color, or even the design.
It was the unity that was painted into it.
By the time we left, we were all friends. We had painted the background as best we could, with the paint, and tools we had, with the time we had, with the people that had volunteered to help.
And though, not many people who looked at the wall, thought it very beautiful. Most actually were pretty cranky about the colors.
But if you had been there, in the heat, with the prospect of having to paint that vast wall, on the spot. Emprov painting. You would know love had gone into that wall. And though when I got home, I felt as if I'd burned a lot of oil, and I felt slightly delirious, and my knees felt like I might take several days to walk without pain.
When I looked at that wall during the performance, I was satisfied.
I wasn't in the play.
But something else was.
In the background.
A space a canvas for the characters.
And while the actors were dancing on stage, it accented something beautiful. That I hoped the abundance could see.
The place of coming together.
And in a way, I felt apart of the play.
Part of the background.
And I feel we are all in some way.
Painting the background.
As I watched the final performance, I realized how much the audience came, hungry, looking to be seen just as much as the actors.
Hungry souls.
And no matter which side of the curtain you fall on.
The one watching.
Or the one watched.
The director, or the directed.
We are all just looking for a mirror.
For a way to see ourselves better. To see the truth better.
To see the truth better.
Looking for signs and clues to know the truth beyond the stage, and the masks, and the costumes.
And sometimes we switch roles.
Sometimes we are the painter, sometimes we are the painted.
Sometimes we spot for the painter, to know where to best place the pattern.
But the story is still the same.
We are painting the background, or foreground, or some way, all the time.
Revealing truth as we walk the roads, and paths, trying to live while we can.
To love while we can.
To learn who we are.
Who we are not.
What actually matters.
What doesn't.
And if the record skips, and you can't tell what the last lines are that are being said.
You do the best, while you can.
That's all anyone can do.
Even if it's hot.
Even if you hadn't planned on staying this long.
Even if you know the wall painted, or not, will be painted again, and forgotten.
And hopefully as the curtain falls, or rises, we see that we can't really judge the play, or the actors, or the background, or the director, especially if we know we are painted into it every part of it, in some way, or some form.
Especially when we've been on both sides. When we know what goes on behind the scene changes. And what is visible, and beautiful up front. What goes into supporting those who are on stage.
The canvas, the painter, the costume maker, the one's playing the drums, or the piano, or the one's watching.
We are all just painting the background in some way.
I scribbled this down after last year's play...it seems appropriate to share now.
When All Work Is Done
When you’ve traveled to the end, and back.
When you’ve seen the sights.
Gathered souvenirs.
When the crowd you worked so hard to entertain.
Vanishes.
And all that you gained, slips away.
When you shed your skin.
And bones.
And flesh.
And all the strings you wound around your soul falls away.
What will be left standing?
What will you say?
What will be left?
As you look around.
At the grand stage, and the props that once made you proud.
When the audience leaves.
And the music stops.
When all the grand script is peeled away.
And we have no more words left to say.
When all we’ve gathered, is like feathered fluff.
No more acting.
No more holding on to stuff.
Will you dance, when you’re all alone?
Quiet.
At the last performance.
When we take our last bow.
Here in this last play.
I’ll say thanks to the director.
To all the bits of glitter.
The grand finally.
Fireworks in the sky.
Lightening in the distance.
Thunder rumbles. I feel the wind, and rain drift by.
For one distant second, we can feel the real. We know that the truth is that behind the scenes of this grand play.
Where we get rained out, and have to come on another day.
We know that the truth is found behind the act.
The now, is here, where the real is at.
It's not the grand bow, and the burst of applause.
But it's found in the long hot days, and the rain, and the brain fog.
The times we stood, and sang a song.
The unity we felt, as we all pushed the props on.
The knowing that if someone forgot their lines, that someone else would fill in that time.
That for better or worse, it’s all coming, going, and gone.
For one moment, no matter how nice.
We are just playing a part, and we hope it turns out nice.
We do it, and then let it go.
It’s just a performance, and a little show.
And now, here, I sit, as everyone goes home.
On the stage.
And I know the show still must go on.
Here in this space, the crickets chirrup.
Where no one else can see or hear.
This is the space that will never disappear.
And in this space, though unassuming.
Is where God is.
Where all the actors were once loud, and booming.
Here he stands, still the same, now, forever, the beautiful silence looming.
The grandest invisible actor, now on the stage.
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