Post Show, Heading South

Photos by Nikki Jauron

Sunday, August 19th was the first day in over five months that I rested from the creation of this latest performance work. Three performances had already gone by when I took my first few tentative steps back into the rest of the world.

I remember feeling as though I'd wandered into a crowded airport, clad in a drafty hospital gown. This project has consumed me like none other, and I think a new equilibrium is still some ways off.

So much has happened so quickly, and though the dust is still settling,  I'll share some of the highlights from the roller coaster of the past few weeks, and let you know what's next on the horizon for this project. 

The newest show, "1000 Cranes",  opened and ran for two weekends. We had interviews, press articles, sold out houses, standing ovations, and after each performance Tami and I held a talking circle for anyone who wanted to stay. I think Tami would agree that these talking circles felt like the true gift of the work. Strangers from all walks of life opened their hearts to one another night after night, holding profound and sacred space for speaking deep truths, taking turns both witnessing and being witnessed.

The connective effect of this work is hard to ignore, and one of my favorite moments came after closing night, when a small, exhausted group of our production team gathered in Out North's gallery space, and amid peals of unencumbered laughter, we folded cranes, ate spam musubi (thanks Flash!), and shared a champagne toast. Some smiles seem more real than others, and these were some of my favorites of the summer.  

Saturday, August 25th marked the end of the run, and in the shower Sunday morning, I had the following thought: "I think I want to turn this story into a book." An interviewer from First Alaskans Magazine (feature article coming in December) led me to a grant opportunity with the Alaska Humanities Forum, and I immediately began working on the application. Jo-Ann Mapson, prolific novelist and my fiction professor/advisor from my MFA days, has come on board as a mentor/editor for the new project. 

Today, Thursday, September 13, I am aboard a ferry bound for Juneau as part of my long journey "home" to the family farmstead in Oregon. I feel somewhat numb to the experience of leaving Alaska. 

I've re-read the words I wrote on the flight home from St. Michael when it felt as though I was "leaving my heart behind." This thought still rings true, although now I don't believe it is my heart itself that lingers, but rather an impression, a damp cast in warm soft sand, a groove where my heart has nestled and could again, should we ever come back this way. These spots, they're stored in my heart like the sense memories of really good hugs. 

Writing this I realize I've been doing this my whole life, unconsciously wielding my heart like a stamp on a busy tourist's passport. Today marks a true turning point, where I begin to retrace my steps, deepening a second journey with perspective, sweetening it with nostalgia, looking forward to once again pressing my heart into those same spots, wondering what will be unlocked.