There's a quiet that falls when the Elgar piece is over, when the actors have exited and the stage lights have faded. It's a quiet that waits in the wings, only taking its cue as the props ladies have finished resetting for the night and the staging crew have swept and tidied away. It waits for the last laugh from the dressing room, the calls of goodnight in the dark, the final click of a heel on the cold concrete steps, and then it fills every breath of space in the studio theatre. It claims the stage as its own and if you're still and silent it'll let you in and fill you with peace and anticipation.
Tomorrow night the space will ring with the chaos and crowds of opening night. There'll be frantic pacing, nervous breaths, whispered wishes shared between grasping, squeezing hands and the press of foreheads. Tomorrow there'll be an audience sweeping in, bringing the cold air from outside and filling the studio that has been just ours for so long. There'll be coffee in the foyer, coats in the cloakroom, applause in the blackout.
But, for now, there's darkness and peace. The lights are off, the actors have left, my theatre is empty and silent and I can stand in the middle of it all and breathe a sigh of every performance that came before ours and every one yet to come.
This is my home - and my privilege.
.xx.
Tags: ramblings - theatre
Current Location: Beacon Hills
Current Mood:
calm