OR HOW I CAME ACROSS THE MOTTO FOR MY PLAY (one of potential others)
AND WHAT HAPPENS AFTER THE PLAY WAS WRITTEN AND THE DIE WAS CAST
In December last year, not so long ago, I finished writing Born a Foreigner, a play currently submitted to the Talking About Borders international drama competition. The term in the title has an interesting history. The complexity of its meaning goes far beyond the five acts of the play I wrote, which is why I hope to dedicate it a few other posts here at a later time.
Ever since I finished writing this play – or, rather, ever since I initially thought I had finally wrapped it up – I have been haunted by its immaterial yet-not-so-ghostly corpora and had to revisit it on more than a few occasions.
In the world of metaphors that life often swerves me into I picked up – or thought I did – character lines or responses, and continued to make associations that led me to the next set of inevitable post scriptum revelations; in short, as the tormented author (and now emerging dramatist) that I prove to be, I continued to keep the flame burning, which continued to sparkle more ideas about the treatment of the subject, brought forth a dedication, plus the thought of extended notations and directions for the opening of the majority of acts. Last night I found the motto (the first of possibly more) for Born a Foreigner, which I’d like to share with you here. It comes from Constantin Brancusi (1876 – 1957), one of my favourite artists of all time. Here it goes:
There are no foreigners in art.
I may not have come across this quote scribbled down a while ago if I hadn’t written a post on Florentijn Bruning’s Mona Lisas on my poetry blog yesterday, which starts with another quote from Brancusi, his definition of art. Click here to read it.
The acclaimed music producer Ashish Mahchanda, founder of the Flying Carpet Production company in Mumbai, whom I met in my trip to India in 2010 and with whom I share the day of birth and a timeless sense of friendship, believes that even after a song seems finished, one should always take about two weeks’ time to revisit it for potential changes and overall improvements. In the case of Born A Foreigner, which is entering its first post scriptum month, there are still improvements to be made, from its layout to the note additions before some acts, or to the plethora of questions, and who knows, maybe even more mottoes to be uncovered.
As for the parallels, here is a recent one I drew between the scene discussing the dead zone in The Good Wife (created by Michelle King and Robert King, episode 2, series 3, 2012):
The Good Wife: ‘Mr Branch, what is the death zone? ‘
Mr Branch: ‘The death zone? In mountaineering parlance it’s the altitude above 26,000 feet where oxygen is insufficient to sustain life.
The Good Wife: ‘It’s also a place where perceptions were not to be fully trusted?’
Mr Branch: ‘Sometimes.’
The Good Wife: […] And an absence of oxygen would increase the likelihood of untrustworthy perceptions?
Mr Branch: ‘Yes.’
The Good Wife: ‘So, when you say that you … we have to take your word for it, and yet your words could be coloured by your oxygen-deprived perception.’
Mr Branch: ‘I believe… that follows.’
The Good Wife: Your Honour, I would like to make a motion at this time to dismiss this law suit. […] There is too much inherent uncertainty here. This is a case built on perception, and the death zone makes those perceptions essentially suspect.
and the scene discussing the death zones in Born A Foreigner:
NOMURA: “[…] sometimes the strong cannot withstand the weak. […] Massive fishing, pollution and an increase in water temperature have led to lower oxygen levels, creating what scientists call a dead zone. As you can very well imagine, very few species can survive in these toxic zones where the sewage and run off can only provide nutrients for the zooplankton…
ALTA and WIDO, in unison: “The giant jellyfish!”
NOMURA: “Indeed! The jellyfish can thrive in the dead zones, feeding on zooplankton, which is their favourite food.” She takes a sip from her tea and places the cup on the table.
WIDO: “Are there many such dead zones on Earth?”
ALTA: “My question, precisely.”
NOMURA: “There are currently hundreds of dead zones in the world’s oceans. None of them were spared. My father also tried to find a possible solution. He studied the reproduction process and the various stages in the development of jellyfish. He noticed that any increase in light and temperature increased their breeding rate. Unfortunately, he died before he could complete his research.
She stares out somewhere in the distance for a while and then goes on.
Other scientists have tried to reduce the number of jellyfish by means of force. They sent out large ships to spot them, equipped with huge nets with metal cables that were meant to shred entire groups of giant jellyfish.
Alta stifles a sigh.
WIDO: “And, did it work?” […]
To be continued…
January 22, 2012 | Categories: Imago Mundi, New Authors, New Writing, Reverence, The Irreverence of Playwriting | Tags: Alina Alens, Asish Manchanda, Atma Anur, Born A Foreigner, Brancusi, Florentijn Bruning, Flying Carpet Productions | 1 Comment