Strange. Just one month after writing AWAY WITH WORDS, an essay extolling the virtues of a non-verbal theatre, I began work on CONSTANT STRANGER. This solo work exists as an extension of my other solo works, most notably of DIVINE PROMISCUE (1992). I began to choose the music while I was away painting at the Yaddo art colony--upon returning to New York City from Saratoga Springs I found that I had two weeks in which to shape the work (the concept, the story), and to flesh out the shapes (the songs I would sing, the choreography). This turned out to be yet another mad scramble--though not as scary as others. Constant Stranger was initially born and cast out into the world as a "work-in-progress", a luxury in our press dependent careers. Since, in its first manifestation the critics were not allowed to review the work, I did not have to run the risk of experiencing the disagreement, displeasure or wrath of another human. I felt free to EXPERIMENT without danger of chastisement.
Within such a fierce time constraint, I found myself scrambling for clarity, both in terms of my relationship to the impetus or inspiration behind the work, and also in terms of the translation of these ideas into a theatrical language. I decided that now was perhaps the ideal moment for me to embrace the unifying and clarifying potential of WORDS, of a text, of dialogue. Amidst my usual options I had decided to discover a way with words.
A Solo Work In Three Parts. Choreography, Text, Set Design by John Kelly; Lighting Design by Carol Mullins; Musical Arrangements by Philip Lasser; Sound Design by Tim Schellenbaum; Costume Mistress, Hebe Joy. Music by Morrissey; Joni Mitchell; Robert Schumann; George Bizet; Gustav Mahler; Ari Frankel; Camille Saint-Saens; Wal Berg and Camille Francois; The Smiths; George Enescu; Henry Purcell; Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky. Work in Progress Premiere at the Danspace Project at St. Marks Church, New York, October, 1995. Offical New York Premiere at the Joyce Theatre, New York, October 10, 1996.
CastTHE JOURNAL ENTRYThe lights come up to reveal a gobo induced reflection of light coming from an offstage interior, casting its shape onto the street. Swan Boy is now standing in this light, his back to the audience, looking up to it's source, the scene of the just past unsavory intimate encounter. He turns and begins the lonely and oh-so-familiar journey home; this occurs by way of a long diagonal dance. With tentative, staggering footsteps, he travels upstage left to downstage right, violently falling to the ground, slapping his body in a fit of self loathing, his hands joined between his legs preventing him from moving freely; he is stuck in his sadness. In this manner he slowly and painfully makes his way back to the safety of his bed.
THE DREAMSHe arrives on his bed, the sheets of which are covered with slash marks, a graphic tally of the many departed. Enveloped in this rampant legacy he relieves himself, not so much for sexual pleasure, but in an attempt to shift his present reality; he had been wishing to do this all evening, but with a comrade, not alone. This release is achieved choreographically with his legs pointed straight into the air, bending and straightening in a rhythmic metaphor of an orgasm. After a fetal afterglow, he gets under the covers. Unable to sleep, he pulls out a book and pen and begins to write , as we hear his thoughts audibly mirrored on the soundtrack:
"ON THE SUBJECT OF HEROES. I NOW HAVE A NEW KIND OF HERO. MANY ARE LIVING, AND TOO MANY ARE DEAD. THEY EMERGE DAILY IN THIS PLAGUE, THEIR RANKS SWELL, CHALLENGING PREVIOUS LIMITS OF COMPASSION, RAISING THE THRESHOLD OF PAIN, SUBMERGING ANY HOLLYWOOD OR OPERATIC VERSION OF GRIEF INTO THE MUCK. THIS NEW KIND OF GRIEF IS THE JOINED WITH AN EVER-PRESENT DESIRE FOR SEX AND LIFE. AND THESE ARE IN TURN JOINED BY RAGE, WHICH EVENS OUT THE EQUATION WITH A QUIET BUT STEADY TURNING OF THE HEAD, ONE TO THE OTHER, GRIEF AND DESIRE, DESIRE AND GRIEF. THESE HEROES REMAIN IN MY ROLODEX, IN MY EROTIC FANTASIES, IN THE MEMORIES OF THE TIMES I MAY HAVE MADE LOVE WITH THEM, IN MY DREAMS WHERE THEY CHECK IN TO SEE HOW I'M DOING, AND IN THE MOMENTS IN MY BED AT NIGHT WHEN I TELL THEM THAT I MISS THEM AND LOVE THEM."
He puts down the book and falls asleep. On the soundtrack we hear the sounds of his dreams, moving from one image to a memory to a new image to a texture to a voice calling to a familiar situation. The nocturnal journey.
He wakes abruptly, disoriented. He remembers a part of his Dreams.
He sings: I Dreamt That I Was Crying (Ich Hab Im Traum Geweinet)
Robert Schumann/English Translation by Michael FeingoldI dreamt that I was crying, for I dreamt you were buried and gone
He is kneeling on the bed-sheets...
Then I woke up, but my tear drops somehow seemed to go on and on.
I dreamt that I was crying, for I dreamt that you drove me away
He moves from bed to downstage left, to his childhood...
Then I woke up, and I did cry, most bitterly all day.
I dreamt that I was crying, for I dreamt that our love would resume;
He has slowly moved center stage...
Then I woke up, and my tears flowed, until they flooded the room.He turns left, the left spot goes out, a loss of a comfort zone... He then turns right, and the light goes out on his bed... He is left in the center of the stage, left stranded in a physical and emotional void... His world is now suddenly shattered to the crashing of a Mahler orchestral crescendo. He puts his arms over his eyes as a bright light momentarily fills both the stage and the house of the theatre, like the flash of an explosion; horns are heard in the distance. Swan Boy moves his arms down, as if slow dancing with an invisible figure, in a circle. During this choreographic action the mid-stage black traveller slowly opens to reveal a window on the back wall, which is open to the cloud filled sky. He stops his movement, faces the audience.
He looks up in acknowledgement, and says: "THE FUTURE".
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