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The following is a performance text which will evolve before your eyes monthly or even weekly. If you have any suggestions or just plain comments, e-mail me at homeworks_theater@yahoo.com
The Year 2084 * I'm planning
to do this performance in four different spaces. All four performances will
be different from each other but they will follow a continuous route. First
will be performed at a subway station, second in the basement of a building
on the 129th street, third will be performed at a church performance space.
Each performance will be videotaped and the video will be used in the preceding
performance. The last video which will involve the sum of all videos will
be installed in an abandoned house in Manhattan. (The last performance might
also take place on the Internet.)
Video from the shoulder shot from different angles (in reference to the
people who touch the actor and say excuse me.) Walking
in the subway. No sound. Woman with a large hat sitting next to the screen.
The Woman Who Wishes to be Somewhere Else: It was a beautiful day,
sunny and shiny and a little windy. I was waiting for a lover in Central Park,
sitting at a bench with another lady who had this enormously large hat on
her. If she had not removed her hat I would never have seen her face and how
aged she was with almost no hair left on her head. As I remember I was picking
up numbers which I reckon I took for flowers. The lady with the large hat
seemed a little off in this scene. I remember it was a beautiful day and the
weather was so nice. Though I couldn't really pin down why there was no one
else in the park other than me and the woman with the large hat. Then all
of a sudden I sense this hand on my back. I move away with a quick "excuse
me." But then I sense another hand and another "excuse me" on my back. Well
I move to the other direction with my own little "excuse me." But then again
another hand and yet another "excuse me" while in return I head in the other
direction with my own "excuse me." And this goes on for say one or two minutes
more, with lots of "excuse me"s and "sorry"s and with that safe and genetically
known distance from others like me, people I mean, other people. And at last
I turn and face these "excuse me"s and ask what the hell do they want from
me. (In the video the woman turns directly towards the camera and talks, no
sound) "Excuse me Ms but you dropped this. I didn't mean to bother you but
you were so busy picking up the garbage." Well I definitely am not picking
up garbage I was picking up the numbers which I took for flowers in Central
Park. "Well all right. Whatever you say Ms. Here is your hat."
Takes off the hat. Flowers inside the hat get scattered on the floor and
on her head. Looks at the hat, puts it on the screen. Starts counting as she's
removing the leaves and flowers from her head and from the floor. Sexy, various
sounds, as if enjoying the numbers, eating or loving them. Stops around 60s
and says " Don't worry I am not going to go on until 100. Although 100 is
such an attractive number. Video of falling grass and flowers during the monologue
below.
Old Lady with no Hair: It was an awful day. I was sitting at a bench
in Central Park, waiting for some ridiculous thing to happen. In life. Such
ridiculous things happen and that's how you are amused mostly. Other times
it's just boring, straight forward boring, unless you're the Buddha himself
believing in living and actually accomplishing to live the moment. Anyway
I was managing not to live through my moment as I have always done all through
my life. My life. I was waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting for some
future ridiculous thing to happen. (silence, waits) As I said I was waiting.
(silence, waits) Then all of a sudden some woman started picking up the grass
in the park. (silence) A strange woman I must say, with no hat on her head
in such a sunny and rainy day as this. It was interesting. Yes, yes, yes it
was interesting and ridiculous and not boring and very amusing because (silence)
Because the woman was picking up the grass in Central Park. This Park that
we need so much in this wrecked city, this city. And there she was picking
up the garbage, I'm sorry, the grass in Central Park. When she looked at me
I thought she was crying, when she smiled at me I knew that she was crying.
I felt this unstoppable urge in my stomach to stop her and ask what in earth
she was doing. But as you realize I'm a bit old and it took me a while to
catch up with her and finally I reached and touched her shoulder to give her
back a piece of the grass she left on the floor, I'm sorry, the pavement.
She smiled back and said: Do you see the numbers? And to my surprise I replied:
Yes I do. And she said: I'm picking up the flowers you see I left my hat somewhere
around here I seem to lose track of it. I thought maybe… Have you seen my
hat? And I replied: Yes yes indeed I have. She replied: Good. Because you
see last night you were here again and you were wearing my hat and I thought
that you must be the lady with no hair. Are you? And surprisingly I replied
again: Yes yes that's true I have no hair. And she said: It must be awful…
Getting old I mean. And I replied: Yes it's very bad. And she said: Well I
must move on to catch the A train. It's just about to leave. I must be rushing
now with all the crowd to that train. With the people and the babies and the
men and the women and all those things that move towards the trains in subways.
I must be very quick. You know why? And I asked: Why? She said: That's the
last train to go to the year 1984 where my lover lives captured in a novel
written and signed by some jerk who tought he was clever enough to know the
future, I mean my future, can you imagine? I didn't reply at this point. Bye
now… she said. And try not combing your hair too much. It might help. OK?
OK.
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Atlantic Avenue Subway's tunnel view. Black and White
photography by Bob Diamond. |
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Wig Play: The woman
who's actually been wearing a wig, starts cutting "her hair". In the background
on the video we see numbers falling down. When she's finished she starts a
clown act. She takes her wig off, gesturing and playing as if it hurts.
Transformation into Business Woman: She goes back to normal behavior, no clowning.
Takes off her watch, tapes it on the television, takes off her make up, her
shoes, etc… getting ready to run, puts on her walk-man. As she's getting prepared
she talks. The video is showing her jogging through Central Park.
Jogging Business Woman: There was no doubt that she had a problem of
some sort. She just could not get used to anything. We might say that adapting
to her environment was not one of her strongest traits. Ahmm, how can I put
this? Ihmm. I guess, I thought that she was a little bit (tries to gesture
"crazy", in the screen a woman's head and then her voice is heard: crazy)
That's right. That's the word I'm looking for. She thought that she lived
in some other world, in some other year and at some other place that was filthy
and ugly and she was trying to make it beautiful, but she couldn't because,
whatever… She had a way of putting things into words. I mean it was a tough
life for her I reckon, not being clever and all… Before coming here, I mean
to this city, she was most probably living in a quite primitive, third world
kind of a country, in a village of some sort. With all those people who immigrate
here she left her home and came here. I don't know why the heck they come
here anyway if they become so unhappy and so. I mean nobody is forcing them
to. I guess they hope to find better things here. They hope. Hope is the word
I'm looking for. They hope to progress, they hope to live better, they hope
to be free, they hope to enjoy life, and they hope all those things they see
in the movies. They hope to eat hamburgers, they hope to drink coffee from
an "I love NY" paper cup, they hope to have sex freely, they hope to live
their own lives without someone knocking on their door to take them to prison
or something, they hope to live healthily, they hope to speak better English,
they hope to watch the newly released movies, they hope to get away from oppression
and depression and restrictions and the green trees and poor people of their
poor lives in their villages or cities. They hope to do better. As for her
she hopes all these things too of course. But the funny thing is she hopes
to find them by living in some sort of a denial of all the beauty and the
delicacy of this city. I can't really put it into words but I'm pretty sure
she needs some sort of help. I actually advised one of my psychiatrist friends
to help but I guess nothing came out of her. Naturally.
Video of a business woman with high heels and a suit, walking along the
shore of the ocean. Sound of waves is heard.
The Woman Who Was Talked about who works in the MTA: I was very sorry
for her, knowing that she felt the same thing for me. She had accomplished
almost everything in her life. She had a beautiful house, a great job, a wonderful
husband, an extensive sports club she could go to in her spare time, a nice
dog, a big pool, beautiful clothes, beautiful children, a high power computer
designed just for her, a large car, a big living room, happy and healthy parents,
nice towels in her bathroom, good hotels to go to in the weekends, exciting
holidays to take during vacations, a dishwasher of the latest model, many
shoes, many many shoes, friendly neighbours, a nice girlfriend, and of course
good looks. I always wished she came up to me and asked for help but she never
did. Instead she came and asked help for a friend of hers who she said was
having this problem of not living her own life.
Video of Sinan Can looking at the camera, just the face.
The Woman With a Son- With balloons. With balloons in my hand I walked
across the street. I walked with a dozen balloons for your eyes. Until I held
your hand, until I picked these balloons from a balloon shop on the corner
of 38 and 3rd where the guy sold only balloons and nothing else, I never realized
the importance of the round figure in our lives. Round breasts, round faces,
a round belly, and now balloons for celebrating your heart beat. Hearts are
never round though. They seem to have an imperfect shape. On the other hand
I never even once believed that my belly was perfect, that my breasts were
perfect, that my face was perfect; perfectly round I mean. Except maybe his
eyes. His eyes can be considered perfect.
Little Girl - At our family gatherings I like to sit with men. I like
to talk with men. They look so serious and they talk about different things.
They never serve food or anything. They always eat and drink, eat and drink,
eat and drink. Mothers do too. But not always. Mothers are usually in the
kitchen. They cook and clean, cook and clean, cook and clean. Men, they never
get to cook or clean. That's why I like to sit with them. They always have
serious things to do. They think and talk. Sometimes mothers get to think
and talk about the important things in life like politics and business. Not
always though. But my mother is different. My mother is a man. Sometimes that
is. Not always. And my father, he also becomes a woman sometimes. And that's
why I like to sit with men. And you know what; I have a secret. When I grow
up I'm going to be a man.
From this point onwards the performer changes gender.
The Man Who Wishes to Be Somewhere Else: I was supposed to meet her
here. Right here in this forest. That's where we always met as we escaped
the city, the cage, the Big B. In the book I walk through these trees with
her. We walk together. As if man and woman can walk together. Maybe I was
a little left behind. I was trying hard to remember a rhyme that I ran away
from. Oranges and lemons, say the bells of Saint Clement's, You owe me three
farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's, When will you pay me? say the bells
of Old Bailey. The rest of the rhyme is hidden in another man's mind. Still
I sing the rhyme again and again as if the words will retrieve other words
and at the end of this road through this forest I will know the last words.
Finish the rhyme and go home Winston. Have you ever finished anything in your
life Winston? Sitting in your apartment in that familiar and old chair of
yours you realize your only conquer in this world. A black box with words
and images that talk back to you. You forgot to call it something. Yet again
try and call it something. A box, a black box, a tune, an old tune, a face,
a new face. Your only friend in your apartment was this box and you don't
even know what to call it.
The performer puts on big shoes.
A Man with Large Shoes and a Trembling Hand Who's about to go to the Subway
Series: Well you call it a screen you damn moron. Keeping these people
with your stupid talk full of garbage and no one to clean it. What is it with
you guys anyway. Babbling away like a sissy as if you have something to say.
Me? Let me tell you this: I have a lot to say but it wouldn't be fit to tell
here. The women I kissed, the men I battled and the drinks I've had will surpass
your stupidity by far. And if I tell you the scenes I've had in my life you'll
piss in your own pants. These hands. Do you see these hands? I've killed men
with these hands. Strangled one, stabbed the other, shot another son of a
bitch in the stomach. You're sure to go if you're hit in the stomach. But
you don't know that because you don't even have the stomach to listen to these
am I right? I said am I right? What's the matter you damn moron you're deaf
or something? Don't you hear the war going on? The war is still going on.
And it'll be on for eternity. I'll be gone. You'll be gone. One day I'll be
gone just like you, bone heads. But the wars will still be going on. And you
know why? It's because of shit heads like you who sit around and do nothing.
One day you'll remember this while you're watching a war in your screen or
just before you're hit in the head by a bomb that was formulated by some gibberish
speaking guy in a fucking 4th world country, the name of which you can't even
pronounce properly. And you know what? At that last moment of your life you're
going to think for a second. You're going to think for a second or two before
your heart stops pounding. You'll only be able to say: I remember a guy who
told me about this. Shit, I should have killed that guy with my hands, I should
have ripped that guy's head like the way he wanted. I should have cursed and
shouted at him, tell him that there was no war. No war. No war between us.
I should have told him about his lies. I should have told him that he's a
stupid braggart and that he deserves to die alone hands trembling as if they're
still alive, feet stretched out like the miles he's gone through, his whole
life slipping under his feet, eyes closed after all that he's lived through
eyes still closed, hands trembling and feet so big and swollen that he looks
like a clown. That's right he looks like, he looks like a clown . He looks
like a militant clown. Just remember that.
Clown - shoe play: The man has a hard time getting up. When he gets up
he tries to march back and forth. Has a hard time again. Falls down, gets
up again. Falls and gets up a couple of more times. At the end he strengthens
himself, takes his shoes off and starts jogging.
Business Man Who has a story to tell: Before they arrested him he was
mumbling a rhyme. They got him just as he was escaping the city, walking through
the woods he thought that he could remember if he walked enough. He worked
in our building. He was a weirdo. I would see him talk to himself or look
at people suspiciously as if there's something suspicious or mysterious about
them. There was no such thing. I guess he did that to overcome the monotony
in his everyday life. He had no life other than work.
The Man Who works at the MTA: 50,000 MTA workers underground.
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