The pandemic has been racialised, oft-referred to as the “Wuhan virus” and the “Chinese virus”, and anyone who passes as Chinese (or, really, of East or Southeast Asian descent) in the western world has been Othered and, in some cases, physically assaulted, violently denying them of their sense of self.
After almost three weeks of “sheltering in place,” I noticed that an entire layer of language has been sliced off from my life. The texture of language consists not only of words, but of touches, gestures, bodily postures, smells, ambiance, and even the weather.
I can’t ever think of an example of theatre without an audience, though. Even if it is just me sitting here reading or thinking to myself, as you may be with this now.
It is possible to imagine this room, because you have been in it before.
THE TROUBADOUR THE VIRGIN THE STALKER THE DRUNK THE VIOLIN MAKER
The play begins / The play does not begin.
It’s an experiment in placing the private in public, says the director—a device HE will learn to use well in the many years to come.
Imagine their devotion. Imagine what they heard.
This landscape offers things up to you – and your body takes its place among them. Rest for a moment. You do not need to make anything appear; so much is already here, and you are not even close to being in control.
Welcome to my gloss.