Eh, I miss one day of being online and I'm completely out of the beat. It's not like when one sneezes and the heart stops for a split second and then returns to it's regular time. But, I guess that the short hiatus was actually fruitful. First, thursday I spent the majority of my waking hours enthralled by Anne Rice's Violin, a music that almost accurately describes the pure majesty which music can possess. The imagery was exquisite, as to Anne Rice's reputation, and the book didn't drag on for hours as does some of her most recent work. And in the end, when Triana did resolve to give back what she stole, she came back and still had the talent to play violin; a new found courage to play from the heart and not what was written on paper. But, enough of that or I'll go on and spoil the plot.

Now, Friday I spent at my school helping my sis, Seri, and Leah practice their group song for the Language Fair coming up this Saturday. After everyone had to go home (and I finished my Spicy Chicken from Jack-in-the-Box) my sis and I headed to the Black Box Gallery for the mandatory gallery show we had to attend. Innitially, the competition was for all the schools in the district, and only ten others sent anything in. However, the judges weren't informed of who the artists were and from what school they belonged to, so all the pieces were from my school save one. So, it was a bit of a disappointment, and my art teacher is scared that people will be reluctant to turn anything in next year.

But the pieces were amazing.

They ranged from all media: oil, gouche, oil pastels, charcoal, graphite, collages, colored pencil. All the pieces were beautiful, yet I found only a handful to be truly profound. All the artwork was rather large; at least 2ft on either side. Yet, I was drawn to the small, miniature piece which was barely the size of my palm. There was nothing really unusual about it... except that the lighting was a sea-foam green which cast an eerie shadow on the subject. The attention to detail was amazing; the clashing tide in the far background could be seen almost to the droplets. And while all the other pieces expressed a rather annoying attitude (specifically the collage piece), this one had a quite, calm, and sophisticated sense of despair about it. I loved that piece, and it came as no shock that it won the best of show award and the artist Beckie (an acquaintance of mine) recieved a cheque for $300. The whole atmosphere of the place was daunting, and the fact that people actually showed up for the show added to it's nice atmosphere. But, the night's aesthetics hadn't ended quite yet...

After spending quite some time at the gallery, my sis and I headed for the main theater only a few feet away. We were there to watch the production of Romeo and Juliet. Sure, old hat you may think, and so did I. In fact, I questioned why a prestigious theater department would do something so cliche... but what I saw was far from the old block.

First off, the setting of the play was not in the walls of fair Verona, but that of the gigantic tent of the Verona circus. In this renderation, the dueling families were rival performing families. Romeo was a balancer of sorts, walking on a ball while Benvolio was a tangodancer-sword eater. And Mercutio, a tumbler. Paris carried a trainer's whip at his side yet never really used it, and Tibult was another tumbler who would carry his female partner and balance her literally on the balls of his toes. Juliet was a trapeez/gymnast of an unusual set of bars to swing on.

What impressed me far more than all this and the amazing acting, was the use of the fates/muses/machina. Twelve dancers and a gypsy woman who gave the monologue at the start showed how the flow of images and thoughts moved about. They would dance seductively and draw characters to them to cause certain meetings and mishaps. They beckoned and yeiled characters so that they wouldn't leave too early and ruin the story as we know of it. They reminded me of angels watching the folly of a mortal whose ultimate outcome is already known to them. And yet, they expressed their anticipation and grief without words. To accompany all this startling imagery, they used music heavily from the soundtrack of Cirque du Solei's "O" with a few songs from the "Chant" cd's.

And in the end, after the deathshroud had been laid on the two unfortunate souls after they're been placed side by side, the gypsy woman comes and levitates the two till she rips the shroud away in a puff of smoke and the inhabitants have disappeared. Instead, they are on Juliet's performing contraption, frozen in unwavering love for the other... Pure magic.

But, the art is destroyed not by the director's hand, but by the people within the audience. First, cell phones rang out occasionally which wouldn't have been too bad had they been softer. Then, during the death scene no less, people would cough incessantly, specifically those who sat behind me. And lastly, people who make comments. Sure, you're entitled to speak your mind, but do so in a whisper, not in a near yelling tone. Especially when you're second row. And the audience should not gasp words like "ouch", "oo!", "no!", and most irritating of all... "d-oh!"

And the little, uncouthed maggot who sat in front of me. The little vermin who scratched her head boisterously and let the dandruff fall like flakes of snow during those many, many scenes. Oh, how I wanted to kill her. She ruined the best moment for me.

I apologize, but when I see a performance, I always want pure art... and when people in this town who don't know of performances and only lounge acts... those who come to such formal occasions wearing jeans and a beer-stained shirt... those people annoy me. I don't mean to be an elitist of sorts, but I like my art untainted, thank you very much.

Ah... it feels so good to get that off one's chest.