tonight I will make a short performance about what it is I do, perhaps even what I am.
Its so frustrating so much is on the tip of my tongue that I’ve been finding it hard to speak, to know where to begin, its been a while coming. In fact I’ve been a bit worried. I am still quite scared.
A beginning, a new thing, something I haven’t done before to look back like this to find something new.
Simple responses seem a good way to begin, indeed I’ve been thinking that sex stories becomes love stories, of course there would be fewer cushions to sit on, maybe they’d be bigger.
I was thinking about processes, about repeating them as best I could from the notes I made and the tasks I did which took me to each performance …. although I say each performance I really just mean the first.
It feels hard to think about repeating Underwear, in fact I’m scared of it. I’ve watched it before, as a relic I enjoy it still, to think about making it again scares the shit out of me…. perhaps because of what it means I need to face about love. blurgh “love”, love’s for girls, for the weak and needy (although I am listening to Rufus Wainwright remembering, accidently).
I wrote today, in my notebook and ideas keep floating around and I keep saying that I”ll remember them which of course doesn’t happen, the fear though, the fear of writing it down. The fear of starting, of admitting that I’ve started, I’ve begun a new process and journey.
Maybe I should make this 2 minutes about the fear of beginnings. About critics. About being unsure of being able to do it again, that’s what it feels like it is. perhaps its about being caught out – the last work was a fluke, people said it was pretty good…. perhaps best to leave it at that then. Not an option.
so begin, begin…..