The sting of a river – river as a book – Nyabarongo in Rwanda, where as per a frieze the bodies were arrayed to spell out the end of history, using the motion of the river to write the end of motion; a function of drama is to re-spell (reverse freezing/friezing) and let motion/action be motion again.
Or motes – we know light by what it falls on – the obsession with sanitation can be fascist (ethnic cleansing and the language of hygiene); disturb the dust, promote a dynamic randomness to show the light?
Subject will come later; it doesn’t matter as much as what’s happening.
Readings towards: how as artists to preserve disorder without re-traumatizing?
Thinking about the trip we make each year to Africa – the last trip, the trip ahead… The landscape retreating, sunset, humidity coming back in between the hills. A classroom at the Abayudaya community in Mbale – a student taking forever with the word “lullaby” – a hard word to spell right when the whole class is watching. At the theater workshop with some of the same students a little bit later, we trade lullabies, in languages we can’t get our tongues around, but sentiments the tongues of our dreams can pronounce. Taking notes on the day by fading natural light – paper losing its resistance in the dark, a swimmer. I can see through whatever used to resist the light, I can see where you live, I can cadence and comprehend lullabies in your language, or at least the sleep in them, our different reasons for going so far. A conversation so luminous it’s funny.
Down the hill contained fire, burning farm refuse. Doused and – sleep.
I miss Africa. The team in Kampala is working very hard on Maria Kizito. I want to make it a script worthy of their daredevil flip.