I can’t believe it’s been a week since my last post, but what a week it’s been! The photo tells it all, I think. This week saw the opening of CurvingRoad’s world premiere production of SH*T-M*X at London’s Trafalgar Studio. What a difference this “launch” night was from Tangled Root’s launch night. The novel’s launch was exciting and important but in a rather mature, reasonable way. The opening night of SH*T-M*X was all sequins, applause, cheers, laughter, goblets of champagne. I’m still totally exhausted by the emotion of it all. But it’s not over yet. The play is written, and it’s warm, funny, true and uplifting. The production is done, and it’s visually stunning, gritty, realistic, full of song and dance. There’s fireworks, quick changes, fantasy scenes, intense realism. It is all created. But now, for the worry — will the reviews be good (so far, yes!)? Will tickets sell (it’s still just opened so it’s slow)? Will we make any money at all or even break even? Who knows? And all of this makes me think about what crazy lives we “artists” live.
I grew up surrounded by businessmen and lawyers — all people who base their lives on understanding the reality of the world around them and acting sanely and reasonably. But for we in the arts, it’s completely different. We insist on spending our time and money and heart on efforts which are most likely quixotic and often ridiculously unrealistic. Look at what we do. We write novels even though we know they most likely will never get published, and if they do get published, will probably barely sell. We write plays that might never get produced, and if they do get produced, are almost certain to lose money for the people who agree to fund them. We perfect the creation of art forms that most people don’t even know exist, and if they did, probably wouldn’t ever care to experience. It’s as if we all take a collective deep breath, close our eyes and give two fingers up to the rest of the world. It seems irresponsible and insane.
And yet….I can’t help but believe that we who act so irresponsibly are the ones who foster hope in this world. We pursue our dreams despite it all. We pick up our hearts which have been ripped out of our chests time and time again, and just dust them off, put them back inside and continue on. Yes, I know this sounds like so much romantic adolescent crap. And maybe I have been living too much lately in SH*T-M*X’s volatile world of crushed dreams and renewed hopes. But isn’t it this hope, this belief that there is the possibility of a better future that keeps all of us going? Isn’t it true that although all our insane ventures might be quixotic they are also, in fact, crucial?
Here’s a poem I wrote a few months ago. It feels appropriate right now:
Despite
Trauma, he said.
Transplanting does it.
Uprooted, replanted – the shock can be too much.
Through the glass of my window, clean and clear,
out one hundred yards to the middle of the lawn
I watch this young tree stand in its grief.
How beautiful to have a tree in that space, we had thought.
Not pine like the others, but beech.
Not green, but copper, leaves urging towards the sky.
A tree to grow tall like our own transplanted children,
real as dreams of grandchildren in the fantasy of our future.
I walk out across the lawn.
Standing upon the mound of dirt just above the roots
I look up, squinting in the sun.
Amazingly enough, I see leaves,
lilliputian and soft
not crackling with death.
Instead, moist with life.
Tightly they cling to
struggling limbs,
stubbornly sprouting
with hope.
Beautiful poem, Sue.
I’m not sure how much choice we have either … being creative. I think, of course, we can choose to work solely for money, but I think that’s incredibly damaging mentally. Still money is necessary too…
beautiful poem Sue – I’ve recently p,anted four silver birch trees in my Irish garden, and watching them fight to put down roots and live is like watching children – one tree is having a hard time and I try to nurture it and hope the example of the other three will be encouraging! Like children , one must nuture young trees, and, like children, they grow to where they don’t need you any more – they are ready to live their own tree life. Now, you see all the dead-deep ‘thinking’ you started with your wonderful poem! Lovely photograph too.
This is such an insightful and incredibly honest post, Sue, well done for writing it just like it is.
Beautiful poem.
Ah Sue…such a beautiful poem…wishing you thousands of favourable reviews for your play!
Great poetry. You’re right about the quixotic causes we strive for…wouldn’t be fun if it was sensible!
I love the poem Sue….absolutely stunning!!
I have to say that I agree with JJ – when your creative you have no choice but to create…it’s part of who we are!!
I read Tangled Roots over our holiday and absolutely loved it!! (I will be giving it a plug on my blog once I get rid of my jet lag induced fuzzy brain). Chris and I had our honeymoon in Venice and your description made me cry…you are a very very talented lady and I for one am very glad that you didn’t give up on your creativity 🙂
C x