I’m forever seeking the scene behind the scene.
The background noise.
I suppose it’s in part for my love of little tidings of life.
Obscure beginnings for settings of stories
to be told.
Quite understandably that’s where my fascination for
theatrical stages began.
The framework for flamboyant happenings.
All the possibilities of layering life without the downstage pomp.
Settings with tidy fragments of coulisse and painted theatre props
in an organized manor with perfectly placed rows of trees to create depth.
All framed in glorious, velvetty, garish glitz.
Or as equally appealing are the organic spectacles.
Catawampus displays of decadent objects d’art and ambient fodder,
strewn to and fro as not be too predictable.
Yardage and swaths of drippy, drapery curtains
yielding Parnassian prose in swooping form.
All so artfully pulled back to draw your gaze in to reveal a bit of intrigue.
Luminous chandeliers mirroring the surroundings
to ever enhance the dreamscape.
Trees…oak, leafy and grand.
Forsanetti clouds, billowy, plump and tumultuous.
Cultivated pathways overgrown with woodbane
creating an alchemy of nature and magic.
So much natural life contained in a structured space.
I don’t factor in the players, the thespians,
just the view.
For me it’s all about mise en scene…
The back story, the flip side … what happens behind all the smoke and mirrors.
Manna for the creative soul.
Oh, and the backdrops.
Textured, layered and soulful.
I imagine the fortune of discovering an old painted stage scene,
tucked away to be discovered in an attic or forgotten room…
crackled, worn, ancient with beautiful fade.
Once ostentatious, now fabled with patina.
For someone who’s never been to European
I seem to have nuances of that culture always buzzing in my head.
Visions of flourishing Romanian rosemaling.
Once vibrant Gypsy hues now faded to tarnished perfection.
Gilded opulence, a bit broken yet still boujee.
I must at least be part faux Francophile with all those ancestral whisperings in my ear.
I have a profound appreciation for what goes on in the latent milieu.
What it truly takes to create something beautiful and meaningful.
The hours of painting, suspending, the lugging, the physical and the creative process
The planning the scheming and the follow through.
All the details behind the main attraction.
I have profound respect for those who forge the unsung content.
All the hours working out the issues and dreadful kinks.
All the trial and error to get a thing just so.
The laboring hands that fashion the infrastructure.
Their efforts will never go unnoticed with me.
Creating life as big as a dream,
or a dream as big as life.
There is gold in the silence,
But for me it’s truly the need
for the dulcet, yet raucous tones.
The background noises beckon.
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