Every once in a while, when happy hours, spa days, and the eternal quest to find ramen at 2am get old, Coco and I step outside of the box and try something new. This time we decided to see a play called the Obsidian show. Neither of us had ever been to the Little Red Studio before, so we really had no idea what to expect. According the website, the studio is a theater space by night and a spa by day. We were intrigued.
When we arrived, we were greeted personally by the owner (nice touch) who welcomed us to the theater and invited us to mingle for a bit before the show. The lobby was plush, complete with black leather couches and velour ottomans. The walls were lined with towering oil paintings of nudes (both male and female) painted by the owner. In one corner was a coffee cart and in the other an open seat, so we choose that spot to engage in our other favorite hobby: people watching.
Right from the start, I could tell it would be an interesting and possibly uncomfortable evening. In addition to the other theater goers, who were surprisingly well dressed for Seattle, there were several actors in costume (I hoped that they were actors). Ladies in fishnets and corsets or bustiers flirted and pranced around in spike heels, while a man in leather pants, a harness, and no shirt posted himself like a sentinel by the entryway to the theater. There was also a roving tarot card reader in a long black robe and of course, a clown. I have yet to meet anyone who actually likes clowns. I really don't know why they exist. Most people I know are either seriously afraid of them (having had traumatic childhood experiences) or are at least mildly creeped out. And yet no one has outlawed them yet. Now that is a petition I would like to sign, a movement I could be a part of. I digress.
As is the case with animals, clowns seem to sense that I don't like them, but rather than leaving me alone, they flock to me. And so it was before the show even began that I had made a sad clown cry, had my tarot card read, and been flagged as an audience member that would have to participate in the play in some to be determined way. Then about 5 minutes before curtain a woman very loudly called for her dog...who was actually the afore mentioned door sentinel. She grabbed him by a leash and took a seat on a pedestal, right next to where Coco and I were sitting and then he proceeded to lick the top of her stocking clad feet and then down the red and black stiletto heel of her shoe. Coco and I were both grossed out, we both have serious issues with the whole putting your mouth on unclean feet thing. Just the idea of all the bacteria living on the bottom of that shoe kind of makes my stomach quiver. If we hadn't spent $30, we might have left then, but Coco and I are see it through kind of girls. And surprisingly I'm glad we stayed.
The blurb on the Internet described the play as being a "visually captivating show [that] will invite you to taste the many flavors of obsessive love." And actually, it was. As promised, the characters ushered us into the theater, which contained two stages, and several different seating options for patrons including a loft and several red velvet booths. On the rear stage, two aerialists shared a swing and on the main stage there was a woman dressed as a rag doll and loosely suspended by a rope. We were invited to "play" with the doll, which Coco and I both declined. Again kind of creepy. We choose seats in the middle of the third row and craned around to watch the people swinging. I found it difficult to watch the "doll" partially because she looked so vulnerable and partially because I found the whole idea rather objectifying. I guess we all have our own ideas of what is sensual or interesting, and for me this was not. Of course there were others who were actually really geeked to play with the "doll".
Finally the lights dimmed. The play itself was just as random as the lobby had been. There was a non-linear love triangle between a ringmaster, a street sweeping stranger and the best aerialist in the circus with some interesting play on sexuality, gender roles, and eroticism. This story was interspersed with fantasy, some really poignant monologues, and a lot of audience participation. I ended up playing musical chairs (not exactly sure why)...and competitive bastard that I am...I actually got into the top 6. Then we were invited to sit in front of the audience and sand pieces of wood. There were some Pinocchio jokes and some embarrassing sexual innuendo, but I did come in second and win myself a piece of obsidian (and the clown did not steal my purse). And at one point we were handed paintbrushes and martini glasses filled with red paint. Our canvas? 4 naked people posed on the stage. Through all this boundary pushing expressionism, there were some really impressive stunts done on wooden swings and with a bolt of fabric hanging from the ceiling (which in and of itself would have made it worth the $30 for me). However what really got to me was this one monologue performed by the chef who subsequently served us a lovely chocolate tart with a pear slice. It was a poem called: The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Indian Elder. After the show Coco and I spoke to the chef and he actually gave us his copy of the poem which reads as such:
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your hearts longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals, or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true, I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours or mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you are, or how you came to be here- I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
While it was a different and sometimes uncomfortable evening, I actually really enjoyed the show. It was thought provoking and interesting and worth experiencing for yourself.
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