Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Artistic Dung

My wacky office colleague and favourite fag hag Simone likes saying that when you do dung, you dung your life. Saint Julia says that creative growth is spasmodic in nature and you cannot guarantee you will do greatly everytime. 'Sometimes you will draw badly, dance badly, write badly, perform badly, and you need that to get to the Otherside', she wrote.

I'm currently trying to shove that into my stubborn, peacock-vain mind after performing so badly last night, in the second meeting of the storytellers' intermediate workshop. The assignment was to tell a story in three minutes. Because I had no time to prepare a short story over the weekend, I decided I'd pare down the rich details of the Irish traditional tale 'the Black Horse', a story I told very well last month (check the photos in my album) and squeeze the basic structure in a three-minute narrative. I ended up sounding anxious, insecure and too worried, and the story lost much of its brilliance because the riddles and the repetitions, so important to the rythmn, were left out.

I cannot have it all absolutely fantastic every time. Expecting that is just unfair with me. I deserve support from myself, and now I need to hang on, trusting the importance of my work.

Also, I need to cherish the fact that the Dung Beetles, the usual arseholes who just cum everytime you fail to meet useless 'standards', are back in Rio, far from me.

Image: Chris Ofili's 'Black Madonna'