Pretty much the whole point of a play is that it goes away; stabbing with an icicle – the implement goes away (no prosecution), the wound is the whole story. The person of the actor steps aside for the character, text yields to production, production falls to social understanding – is missed, misunderstood, appropriated as equipment for living out something more real. It’s not this neat – the process trails shadows of ownership. But I think the point is giving way. Our personal shape is ultimately a negative space – the manner in which we absent ourselves.


We’re nearing the year-clock on Soulographie – the La MaMa events are November 2012. I welcome a beginning of the feast of disappearance here on these pages; am looking to our newly framed dramaturgical committee to fill up these posts. As a Soul community, let’s look to put the heat on under the kettle of our conversation, discovering ways through this site and by live means of advancing collective meditation on art’s wound – how to make it fecund.

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