I went into this solo with a few pieces in place. I knew that I would be working with Michael's colors, turquoise and magenta, creating a sort of messy puzzle arrangement that I could configure and reconfigure. I
knew that the pockets of my brown trenchcoat-like thing would be crammed with miscellaneous useful and useless items, I knew that I would be walking in circles in different ways, a habitual movement of his that resonated deeply with me and felt useful for depicting multiple states of being. I knew I would be trying to
channel a slightly worn out man, something that Michael's magnet is pulled towards. I knew the alley where it would go down, I knew that I wanted to levitate ( as Michael sometimes does in his dreams when faced with adversity).
Upon arrival, I decided I wanted a cup of coffee to use as a prop, which somehow fit my character. I headed into the alley, set up Michael's chair and my milkcrate, stuffed my pockets with clutter, and sat to wait,
drawing in the energy of the alley and getting excited about how much energy the place was sending my way. Michael showed up and the solo began, a true solo to start, as it was just him and me in the alley for the first few minutes.
Start with quote form Alain de Botton, author in subsubgenre Michael deeply appreciates. "I imagined the wound he must have felt at seeing how stories so central to who he was should have required and act of charity...to be heard. He had no biographer to pick up his words, to chart his movements, to arrange his memories, he was leaking his biography into a host of different vessels who would listen for a moment, then pat him on the shoulder and move back to their own lives."
In such a light, I circled the milkcrate, circled through male characters, ripped and assembled scraps of paper, walked the slim line between sanities, and generally charted interior landscapes I felt might resonate with Michael. The first more vigorousmovement I remember coming up was a sort of frantic pivoting dance as the wire grate next to Michael attempted to suck up my foot. Sometimes I hobbled in a circle, sometimes I paced, sometimes I moved quite serene. Slowly more of the door wall behind me filled with bits of paper. Next, reaching up high I got fascinated by my outstretched arm and did a bit of a hand solo, ending up atop a dumpster. Seeing two workers dumping trash in another dumpster I drew a harmonica from my bulging pockets and played a little song. Then I stretched a line of tape across the space and began affixing bits and scraps to it, including my coffee cup when I finished drinking and sloshing the brown liquid. I finished by reading my journal, putting my hand across mouth and nose as Michael is wont to do, putting him to sleep. I rose atop the milkcrate, busted through the tape and ran down the alleyway, scampering up along piping to hang, journal in hand, high above the concrete below. Half levitating, half being hung, I ended the double edged solo,journal in hand, both joyous and depressed, playful and serious. The solo felt both new and familiar, I hope that Michael was able to make some personal meaning from amidst the tangles of chaos.
Aaron
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From Michael Upchurch:
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When I turned the corner into the alley by the Neptune, I saw a man in a dark, rumpled trenchcoat sitting on some sort of crate and wasn't even sure it was Aaron. Then I saw a folding chair opposite him--and figured this must be our "theater."
We greeted each other, and then with little fuss he went into character. I was expecting something unusual, but I wasn't expecting to be drawn so completely into such a fully imagined and volatile world. Aaron's circling of his crate gradually intensified. I had asked for something "small," "fast" and "introverted," and I got it. I soon had the sense of a character troubled by considerable inward chaos trying to get a handle on himself by creating patterns any way he could. I had no idea how much of this was choreographed and how much of it was improvised--if it's as improvised as Aaron seems to suggest (above), it's a pity no one videotaped it! But maybe he can remember it all.
Strange, but Aaron's following of my suggestions on color schemes and my habit of putting my hand over my mouth while reading didn't even occur to me while I watched him. What I liked was that Aaron wasn't merely creating patterns out of his movements but constructing a whole structure with his actions: a structure formed from a length of scotch tape he strung between two dumpsters and adorned with paper he had shredded. What I liked even more was the way he burst out of this confining structure once he'd finished building it. He got up on top of one of the dumpsters, balanced there precariously, then played harmonica--dipping into a tune that seemed to be going on inside his head the whole time, but was only audible to outsiders when he happened to turn his attention to it. He seemed to be tapping into something deep about the way we build and then imperil or sabotage our lives.
I also loved the different forms his circling of tight space took. Most of the circles were clockwise, so it came as a kind of shock for a different, more limping/lurching walk to be done counterclockwise--as if a whole lot of progress and purpose were being undone.
His final burst out of the performance space and sprint down the alley, where he climbed the side of a building and hung from an extruding pipe, was thrilling...simultaneously soaring and explosive in effect.
When it was all over, he commented, "I've only done two [one-on-one solos] so far, but I'm really drawn to this--drawn to the marginalized personas."
I think in exploring marginalized existences he's stumbled onto the something pretty central.
One last comment: The "soundtrack" (passing traffic, occasional sirens, overhead airliners) worked really well with what Aaron was doing. Thank you, Aaron, for an experience that encompassed chance, chaos and control--a powerful combo.
Michael