Suspension of (my) Disbelief

 

Walking out the door, I stop momentarily and stare back into the dark corners of a cavernous space that, no matter how few ghost lights are on, has always felt comfortable. It’s a space where the impossible comes to life every day. Whether it is dusty swags suspended overhead or recycled scenery covered in paint and paper, this artificial reality is now a standard of my own daily life; so much so that I no longer question it. Dazzled by the magic, I have avoided looking in those dark corners for many years and, in time, have come to believe that I was the accumulation of that negative space.

 

Suspension of (my) Disbelief is a personal reflection of sorts, a momentary intermission between the second and third acts. It’s where I stand center stage with the viewer and invite them to join me in looking back with a sense of longing and belonging and in looking ahead, to stare deeply into the darkness of the auditorium in front of us and trust that it will soon be full of life.