Blog
Actress
In 2004, after a performance of Ambrosia (see my book Clairvoyance for the text and Canadian venue), a compliment from an audience member struck me so profoundly that it initiated an expanded self-terminology. I’ve called myself a performance artist for many years, and because of her comment, I’ve added actress, knowing that actor is the currently preferred term by and for women who act. (Although the November issue of American Vogue calls several prominent women who act actresses.)
The audience member said, “You’re different–talking with you–than you are onstage.” I laughed and agreed, and asked her to articulate the difference. “Onstage you’re so seductive and ethereal.” I surprised myself by responding, “If I were that way all the time, nobody would talk to me! As it is, almost no one talks to me after a performance!” Then she said, “It’s the actress.”
We posited that the seductive and ethereal qualities might be heightened states of me in everyday life, and I recognized, in her comments and through our conversation, not only the radiant allure of being seductive and ethereal, but also that they are characteristics of the actress.
If I am perceived as being seductive and ethereal onstage, those qualities serve as ways to embrace the audience. Feminine wiles are beside the point, because as an actress I am interested in the erotic relation between me and the audience. I define eros as connection, in the richest, most joyous, and embracing way. Erotic connection happens beyond the strictures of gendered language and of gender itself.
The actress, while very present, is also inaccessible — behind that invisible wall that happens in the theatre. There is a vast history of attempts to break down this wall, but the truth is that no matter what you do it’s a one-sided conversation . . . the actress speaks and we, the audience listen. It is therefore completely overwhelming, when after a performance, we come into contact with the actress — how do you return the other side of the conversation that has been presented with such passion? What do you say to someone who has just affected your being in a profound way?
Sometimes speechlessness has its own presence.
Thank you, Jill, for the truth of your experience. I do agree with what you say about speechlessness–perhaps we might also call that silence, at least in certain circumstances. Of course, silence can proceed from reticence or fear, but the kind of speechlessness and silence that you and I are holding in common or in a process of defining, is fearless and activating. An inspired silence.
Also, I hear you about the inaccessibility of the actress! No matter what. I do my best to converse post performance, though I do like time for myself before any socializing. You help clarify for me that the conversation I want to promote–that I imagine promoting–may actually be happening in an inspired silence, between an audience member and the performer while performing or with the performance itself. If that conversation continues into any future, I am thankful.