A slow Sunday after a weekend camping with great friends and our dogs. What a gift it is to spend time in nature with people and animals you love. I bought (and brought) entirely too much food, and basically everything else. At least we didn’t have to hike a mile uphill in the sun with carts or anything like that.
I spent the day listening to Sea Wall performed by Tom Sturridge in New York. There’s something so fucking great about that play. Performed by one person. No music, natural lighting, written in just three weeks. Three bloody weeks! The published playscript is slightly different to the New York one, so I transcribed it. I practiced it over and over because, well… I’m not sure, actually. I suppose I just wanted to, and that’s reason enough.
Without other responsibilities I think I’d just write things to perform and perform those things. I could do that now, of course, but it’s easier to imagine that you’d do it if only you had more time, or more energy, or more insert-excuse-here. I’m writing that down here because I want to acknowledge that it’s partly an excuse, and I want to figure out how to stop using that excuse.
What’s the shortest play I could write? What’s the smallest audience that would make me feel like I performed, and crucially (for me) with the chance that the person might not like it and might actually tell me that (i.e. they’re a critic or a stranger)? I’m sure a handful of words and a resident of the World Wide Web would do, but I’m almost certain I could do better than that.