In response to Hannah Kramer’s Writ Large – by Lizbeth Wawrzonek

there are 4 women, navigating space and pushing space around to find room

around each other

like they are variant extensions of each other

and making space for themselves

or for the other versions of their self

and its all in a piecemeal creation of poetry

it’s a process about (not) making a product

it’s a project about process

it’s the process of poetry:

you see a poem in the making, the words moving into places and moving around each other, moving through to try out a space and then try another and another

but maybe the words are the movement or maybe the moves are the words

or maybe its all the same

so then i’m thinking, if self-expression is a poem, and you put a shirt on only over one arm and pull it crosswise to cover a third of the torso, diagonally, is that the equivalent of placing a sentence fragment on a page or deliberately omitting punctuation?

this above combines thoughts from immediately after viewing as well as looking back in the rearview a week after the performance

here’s an attempt at capturing what i was seeing and experiencing in the moment:

it’s so raw

the bark is stripped, showing the soft wood inside

i’m wanting a cadence, am relieved when it gets rhythmic

there are no barriers

i listen harder to the sounds of the’ space. the sounds of the feet. the sounds of the air conditioner. the sounds of air.

it leaves me longing for an overt intention

i’m a little uncomfortable with the sounds and rough edges of the process

i feel self-conscious about my need for more polish

i want the artists’ point of view to be more clearly articulated

i want them to frame it up for me

facing those wants sit 4 extensions of a self, of a person

i’m seeing these 4 beings as a portrayal of self, over time

a self ok with a darkness

a self ok with a sadness

a self in process

a self living and creating in process

the project is process, the process is a product

invite people in to see a project

let the shaping of it be the shape

it’s never final

the thing is the pieces, the seeing of it come together

it’s raw

it’s unpolished

it’s all ok, even the sharp corners that turn abruptly and lack a smooth cadence

a self living and creating in process


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