(Full disclosure: this is a written explanation that virtually no one asked for about why I’ve promised $41 to a Kickstarter campaign for a play that my girlfriend is involved in. That’s beside the point, though. Trust me.)
I was really close to spending $41 on a collection of 38 Man-Thing comic books, just now. I changed my mind, and spent the money on something totally bizarre and mostly unknown to me.
I’ve come to realize that I know so little about so, so much. The world wide web does its duty, exposing me to topics, trends and people that I didn’t know exist. I glance at new information, say “oh, neat”, then discard it for something more recent. All damn day, glancing and discarding, glancing and discarding. It’s a lot like reading the largest quotes on the cover of a book, then – “oh, neat” – another book with large quotes printed on the cover. That’s learning for jerks.
Physical theatre and performing arts are a book that I’ve never even bothered to glance. I think performance art is strange. I don’t see much of it, and frankly, I don’t understand it nearly as well as I’d like to. I don’t understand it nearly as well as I’m capable of. I’m mostly not comfortable with it, and I’ve ignored or avoided it to the extent of developing a cynical relationship against it. Because it’s strange.
I’ve decided: if an artist must create, and I believe an artist must, she does so regardless of who looks or listens. If I live, and I believe I must, I do so with eagerness to live gratuitously. To see more, hear more, learn more, do more, and be more. As far as I’m concerned, it is my job to look and to listen, to learn and to do. No one else is responsible for those things. That’s why I’m backing this play.
Motivated by what they must do, a small group of artists is very close to making something new – for themselves, for each other, and for me. You can help them get closer to making what they must make for a myriad of reasons: they’re local artists, they’re sharp and insightful and thoughtful and funny, they’re probably going to become super rich and famous, soon. Seriously.
The amount of money I was ready to pay for old funny books that I probably already own buys a group of hard-working, talented artists the means to show me something that I’ve never seen before. That money bought me a key to a door I’ve never opened.
I’m sorry, Man-Thing, but I’ve had you. Therefore, I proclaim:
$41 to new art.
THE WEST begins with an auction. Two men stand in front of a crowd of people, auctioning off two items– One is The Gun That Killed Billy The Kid. One is a gun that is 100% identical to the first (made in the same factory, in the same year, in the same pressing) with one exception. It is Not the Gun That Killed Billy The Kid.
As the play continues, we follow the two men, and the two guns through an epic journey of Truth and Fiction.