I’m just getting some time to reflect at the end of an extraordinary ten days of re-rehearsal of The End of Things. Having put the piece together last summer, we’ve now dug even deeper into the show, and the End of Things is born anew. I feel now as Frankenstein must have felt when his golem rose from the slab and walked. Triumph, awe, and terror at what we’ve made.
I’m struck by the thought that, in the end, a performance work is – like a person of flesh and blood – unknowable. Yes, I can tell you the performance is about endings, about the stories we tell ourselves and how these stories die, about our resistance to change, about letting go. But the dark heart that beats within this beast? That you must see for yourselves.