It's okay to talk about it.

As I continue working on the various pieces of my latest project, I often feel like to can't talk about the more serious details with friends other than those directly involved in the project. Even after I've performed my solo several times and have shown in-progress versions of the other pieces within the project, I still feel bad for making anyone think about darkness in the form of losing a loved one.

Why? Why do I feel bad for that? Why do I apologize for bringing up something that we all have dealt with in one way or another?

I shouldn't, is the answer for now. Something I have to constantly remind myself.

After performing my solo, I have encountered those who wish to tell me their story. They want to tell me about their beloved Grandmother, or Aunt that recently passed away. Or how something they saw or heard reminded them of the eerie feelings and sensations they experienced when they were dealing with these situations. When discussing the project as a whole, I've been told stories of loss by people I barely know.

I'm not only receiving moving yet tragic stories, but support to continue where I'm going with this project.

My hope in the journey is to tell your stories and allow that to be something all of us can relate to. I feel empowered and incredibly overwhelmed by this task, hoping that I can reach out and touch those who've experienced such sadness and let them know, we're all here. We love you, we support you, and you're not alone - all while being sensitive to the real-life stories I'm exposing.

With all of this in mind, I'm embarking on yet another piece that instead of telling our stories, celebrates those who are looking down on us and still help us through each and every moment. We're beginning every improvisation with this prompt:

You keep an eye from up there, and I'll keep watch from down here. 

Working on this piece emits a sense of love and support in the room that feels safe and warm. While we're reminded that the other person is no longer right there in our reality, we're aware of what was and how that once felt. We're also consoled by the image that those lost are never truly gone.

As I continue to work through the various processes I'm using for each of these works, I'm attempting to delicately explore the ways in which I can reach out and express the sadness and uncertainty of loss. I invite your feedback whether far away through video or near enough to come see a rehearsal. 

For now, I'll leave you with the working title for the entirety of this project:

SPARCS

Using the names of those who've submitted stories or pieces that are inspired by someone, I moved the letters around to spell out a (mis-spelled) word that could express that life that was once here with us. I've heard people described as a force to be reckoned with, a spark of life, an energy that was vibrant and brilliant in it's time. With this I found this definition lurking in the 5th line of the explanation of the word, spark:

Spark (noun): a trace of life or vitality.

Until next time, my loves.