Intermission

Jane.
An original written by Alexandra.

The Singer in Pink (1895)
Jean-Louis Forain

My head is absolutely pounding,
I am ferociously dehydrated, and
the unrelenting lights from above
have been shining directly on me
for hours. It has stricken me
senseless – everything is severely
distorted, warped, abstract,
inconceivable. I feel as though
I have been on this stage for years,
performing continuously.

The parameters and concept of
time is long gone. I do not know
when I can rest. I have become so
fatigued and now I am drunk with
confusion, bewilderment, burgled
of any sight beyond an unforgivingly
harsh yellow light which hijacks my
entire vision. Surely, I am no longer
a good performer. I am so disoriented
that nothing I am doing or saying is
impressive. Why are we all still engaging
in this?

My hearing is also completely
diminished, however, the music to
which I perform starts to be infiltrated
with a round of applause. The lights
begin to dim and suddenly it is pitch
black, like I have been outside in the
harsh sun a while and have gone back
inside. My sight adjusts to the lack
of light and I see the curtains have
been drawn, and I can hear that the
applause on the other side of it has
since erupted. The door is now shut
between the rest of the world and myself.

I look to my left and there you are in
the wing, hand on the curtain draws.
Never have I felt both so relieved and
ecstatic to see someone. It is you who
truly knows that my desire to perform
is feigned and sometimes I must be
afforded a rest.

You approach me, hold my hands,
and we sit for a moment. It is dark,
lonesome, only the muffled sound of
the audience can be heard. It does not
matter who is outside, for behind the
veils, it is just the two of us and we can
authentically and unequivocally exist.

You tuck my hair behind my ears and
trace my face. You whisper to me, “You’ve
done so well,” and I collapse into your
shoulders in tears. Again, only you know
that I work myself into a state of exhaustion,
fatigue, panic and irresolution, all for it to be
cured by a simple statement of affirmation.
This is my greatest weakness, but you so
seamlessly extend me my greatest strength.

With you, I untie all the knots, release my
hair from the tight bun it has been in for
weeks, I undress myself from my costume
to the point where I sit in a mere leotard.
There is no need to entertain, amuse or
engage in flippant productions, we can just be.

Eventually, the rupture from the audience
dies down and it is the most peaceful I can
recall it being in a long time. We converse
and laugh, and already I feel much stronger
and emboldened. You have always had this
effect on me. Just the two of us alone in a
darkened, eerily quiet, concealed space
proffers me an entire world in which I am
most content, most myself.

Regardless of how long this intermission
persists, I am so thankful it was spent
with you. I hope that, no matter what
eventuates, I will see you in the wings
from time to time. Our world behind
the veils will always patiently await us for
whenever we may desire.

Behind the Curtain (1910)
William Orpen