Report from Week Five of Performance for One

One more week done, this time at Chashama’s 37th Street location, a small gallery with a glass window and a mirror that gave the audience member peripheral vision of themselves as they sat. The gallery is on a busy street, but not always full of people open to the performance. The first day was full, though many of the attendees had reservations. On the second and third days, we had to shorten our time there because one of our performers had become sick with pneumonia. And on the final day…we couldn’t entice anyone passing by at all to stop in. We had some reservations (though many no shows). But otherwise, nothing. It was not to be.

On the other days, most of the people who dropped in were men, for some reason. That’s unusual—at previous venues it seemed like there was no gender-related self selection. We did have two women, but mostly men. Two of those men were particularly rewarding, as I always enjoy giving the performance to people who tell me they don’t go to theater. There was an older immigrant with a thick Eastern European accent who was really taken by the idea of memory defining our lives. There was an African-American man, tall and built like an athlete, covered with tattoos, who viewed the performance as more of a poem than a play (an opinion shared by a woman who attended on Sunday). He promised to tell all his friends and urge them to come.

There were also a couple of audience members who realized they had seen previous shows of ours, which was a pleasant surprise.

Friends also came, sometimes by intent, sometimes finding us by accident. All were a pleasure to have drop by. And the award for most engaged (and engaging) audience member may go to my friend Jessica, who particularly connected with the emotional aspects of the work.

But I wonder what happened that last Sunday. It definitely was a harder neighborhood than most of our previous venues. There were plenty of people, but in a midtown mindset, rushing from one place to another. Many were suspicious of our endeavor—one woman, when I invited her in, exclaimed “Just who do you think I am?” Sunday was a little colder, and a little less friendly feeling for some reason. Yvonne Roen and I closed up shop a half hour early.

Next week, we will be part of Art in Odd Places and perform on the street, at 14th Street under the High Line to be exact. Thursday and Saturday is Andrea Gallo, Friday and Sunday is Jan Leslie Harding, Yvonne will also stop in at the end of the day Sunday. Hope you can drop by.