You find yourself in front of a nun’s convent, and when the doors open, a child appears, and with an air of wisdom that only children can have when they stand in their power and carry their own agency, takes your hand to guide you in. It is an unusual situation, to surrender to a silent young stranger this way. You feel the power shifting.
When you leave you leave the windows open and the doors and because the house sits by the sea by first light a film of sand gilds the floorboards and the kitchen chairs
The curtain opens on the cold, wintry Atlantic Ocean.
Can you see it? A huge expanse of water, crystal clear, a cliché. Dotted with little floating heads.
I would like the house to be un-crumbled, to undo the damage done by an earthquake, time, distance and neglect, and to place the performance and the audience in that house.