THE ENDURANCE PERFORMANCE: DAY EIGHT
Countdown: 45 hours to show time! At 6:22 p.m. I arrive at SPACES for performance rehearsal, script in hand. The Collaborator and I have rewritten four drafts. Actually s/he writes. I critique. S/he rewrites. An adorable Welsh Corgi-Beagle-Jack Russell Terrier greets me at the door. His shiny, wet nose has sawdust stuck to it. There’s a baby in a stroller. Three studio assistants, one perched on a ladder, are painting a wall. Tangled ropes and bicycles and assistants whizzing past, oh my. I step on oozing paint tubes.
Arzu immediately introduces me to her filmmaker friend, Çigdem Slankard, who will be videotaping “Love at first site” on Friday night. Arzu has been doing student crits all day at Oberlin but is energetic and anxious to begin rehearsal. The cute dog follows us, tail wagging. His name is Alphonso. Arzu is his human.
What follows, though, I cannot tell you, except to say that Arzu danced while I read a script. She also directed. Her goal tonight was to coordinate her choreography with my words. We ran through the script ten times, trying different things. Arzu grappled with two prop malfunctions, too. One prop was easily fixed, although the other will require considerable work tomorrow. Arzu must go to Home Depot tomorrow and then work, work, work. “This is all happening so fast that I just have to make a decision and go with it,” she says, wiping her brow. “There’s no time to second-guess.” I nod my head and laugh in agreement. (There’s no time for editing, either.)
About 8:40 p.m., we take a break and hit Kan Zaman on W. 25th St. We share hummus and fries. Our conversation careens from matters of the heart to bongos. Two dudes lounging at a nearby table suck on a hookah. We hear gurgling water but don’t smell anything. Can you tell I am rushed? (Sorry, no time for pictures.)
We return to SPACES for a few more run-throughs. We decide to end for the night. Untangling ropes, Arzu exclaims, “Sometimes I don’t want to be an artist anymore!” I laugh. “Sometimes I don’t want to be a writer, either,” I tell her.
We agree tomorrow at 6 p.m. for our final rehearsal.