From my performance at the Redlight Confidential last week with John Tennyson!
Cabaret Sasquatch, promotional shoot I orchestrated about a month ago!
Marlena Darli, by Skye Gellmann
Very happy with the new board. I was worried it wouldn’t work! I’ve been a little wobbly lately with other balances, and having a nervous break down lately but this is encouraging. Skye
I was taking a couple of photos of these two kissing in Hungry Jacks just then. Thinking about how I relate to that. Then I went outside and they started talking to me and wanted to make a selfie.
Made this little training space today. It’s level. Working on my balances, some of which are for my new work, Snow.
This is where the magic happens apparently. Trying not to kick a bbq. By showing you I feel like Im giving away my secrets. Commodifying them on the internet. Im interested to see if this effects my training. By giving away where I train. By showing off its un-glamourous nature maybe Im buying into myself in a way which is defeating.
Part One: Digital
The digital photographs from the shoot with Marlena Darlì last week.
Tonsillitis has rendered me strange the last few days. Still, I can tell the streets of Marrickville probably have a surreal light without my sickness; The suns a little too low, but its sunny AND it is apparently winter.
Under a fever, I sit in the job network and stair mindlessly at my phone. Outside, a woman has been crying over the sound of jackhammers for about an hour. I receive a message. I’m late a few weeks rent. What a perfect metaphor.
The long walk home feels like a space western with my rickety legs. I’ve just landed. At home I can’t look after myself. Every kitchen surface is covered with something dirty. (Am I a bastard for cleaning that up today?) So I lay in surreal wonder not thinking much, but any thoughts I do have, are hallucinogenic recollections about being a child with a fever.. All I can get close to describe is something about sucking the water out of a wet towel.. Am I just sucking on my sheets?
Later that night, in my head.. I’m turning ‘bad’ situations into a good ones. Indescribable revolutions. I lay straight, and I feel as straight as a pencil and even pointer at my toes, and I think about the pure sex, or whatever that meant. I think it was the best thing I could have. That if I got through this, one day I would fuck. I don’t know. I’m still sore, and it’s hard to work, I miss how surreal and wobbly everything has been, but I don’t miss it all the same. Chicken soup rocks.
Photos are my street photos from late.
Like my new facebook page for SNOW! https://www.facebook.com/snowbyskyegellmann
I’m sitting listening to some music which reminds me of when I started choosing what music I listened to in the 90s.
Then; I started thinking for myself, making my own opinions, finding my own voice. I’ve always struggled with it though. Not that my thoughts weren’t strong, but it took time for me to articulate my nature through talking and actions. Doing the theatre show this month has been good for practicing talking.
Now; is the aftermath. Slightly scattered. Writing feels wafer-like. Light. Buttons press uneasily. Afraid to speak. It is hard work - like anything - writing your own thoughts. My words have never sat easily in the air, so here I am.
Sometimes; the voice in my head changes. It’s not my voice, but somebody else’s. It’s the first sign of me loosing the plot. This isn’t me at the moment, I’m proper. Still, I wonder how many people I know don’t have their own voice in the their heads? And how many couples are 2 headed hydras?
Insecurity; as I write, I think about who might read this. I also think about who I’d tell about what I’ve written. The voice which tells pales in comparison to the voice which writes.
In audience relationships; the internal dialogue of an audience member can act as a layer of separation between them and the experience. Have you ever been so caught up in your own head you couldn’t experience life? Performance is where I find my moments of true connection. Sometimes when I’m writing this happens too. But mainly I’m all upstairs during the day.
So, I never strived for the transparent experience in my theatre. Perfection is a futile cause. Rather, I like drawing attention to the voices. Heightening the cognition, making space for it.. Seeing what it becomes, or if it goes away.
Tranquillising a voice; squashing it into oblivion only causes it to rise.
Dus is life X