After the Storm
Lights flashing blue and purple.
Cracks over the Grand Canal.
Looking up as nature makes its own fireworks display.
People begin to scurry through the well watered streets,
And when the window is closed,
You can still hear the rumbling from outside.
The sky turns lavender,
Just for a second.
I can't hear the pitter patter on the roof
And in the morning you never would have known,
That Noah had his ark tied to a post on the Grand Canal.
The sky is empty
And boats sail gently past.
The sun hits hundred year old buildings
And the water turns a clear blue-green.
If I took a picture,
It would only tell you half the words.
At the 55th Biennale Arte
At the 55th International Biennale Arte, 2013, 5 Romanian performers, re-enacted exhibitions from previous Venice biennales.
Elsewhere in the Giordani pavilions, gold coins fell from the sky, indoor forests were walked, cups of tea were served, performers moved to improvised music and silk blew in the breeze.
On the canal outside the pavilions of the 55th International Biennale Arte pavilions of the Giordani, vaporettos sailed past on the waters of the 500 AD old city and pigeons flew dangerously close over the heads of tourists in Saint Marks Square.
The bells chimed and the lion kept watch over Lady Venezia.
Colour me Montreal
I am terrified. Terrified that there isn't enough time. I knew that this part would feel short, that it would go by so quickly. I had thought that what would come next would seem like forever. But now there aren't enough days in a week and I want to be everywhere all at once. But I will come back to you. At the end of August, in a year, in five years, until I die but I will return to you.
If only you weren't so far away. If only I could dig a hole through the centre of the earth just to be closer to you. But I would wear the skin off my hands and then I wouldn't be able to hold yours. And if I had wings they would only get in the way of our pretty hand holding as you guide me through the streets and get me lost.
So I'll wait, biding my time until I next see you and maybe then you will still always feel special and you will always feel new.
My hat will get wet in the rain but when the sun comes out it will dry. In the winter I'll wear big woollen socks and tie my scarf around my neck like a python.
Maybe it will snow and I'll watch Love Actually for the 300th time.
There is too much to see for such a short amount of time and I could return forever and never have seen enough. And where is the time just to sit? To sit and watch you, moving and changing with the light. As the lights go down you look so pretty dressed as a Christmas tree.
I have not been with you to sit by the water and I haven't been with you to take a bubble into the sky, but we have sat on rooftops and sipped cocktails while everything drums on below.
You beat the drum and I follow. Down alleyways and past old bluestone. My feet trip over cobbles as my face stares up and all around. One drop, two drops it, it starts to rain. My hat is wet again but it's ok because I love you.
Notes From Far Away
One holiday. Two artists. Three theatre festivals. Eight cities. Provocations. Reflections. Journeys. Art.