Lights up.
A room full of people: all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages. Most are dressed up in cocktail attire; some are dressed in black tie. They laugh, they smile, they hug, they chat; they are united by an unseen thread. Some quietly pass down the table of hors d’oeuvres and fill their plates, only to recede into a corner to eat without being bothered. Some watch others. Some are watched, and they know it.
Once everyone has had a chance to obtain a glass of bubbly – prosecco, not champagne – a woman in a green formal jumpsuit climbs on top of a table. Everyone stops the conversation. In perfect choreography, they turn to face this woman in green. She speaks, spewing gratitude and telling stories of trials and tribulations. People listen and nod, as they feel connected to parts of the story. She raises her glass, says some words, a few people laugh, and everyone toasts together. The cake is cut and conversations continue, everyone celebrating the success of opening night of Top Girls.
This was unique for me, since my experience in the Live Arts space has been as a performer. At curtain call, I bowed and smiled for the applauding audience; then as I wiped away the aqua eye shadow, I became an audience member myself. It was also a new experience, as I am a new member of the Live Arts community. Sometimes being new can be intimidating, but since I knew I was not the only newbie from the cast I decided to stick around for the event anyways. I was quickly aware of being in unfamiliar territory: I only knew a couple people so I favored standing quietly by the bar, versus in the center of the crowd where I usually reside. I then witnessed a tradition that has most likely been born and shaped over many seasons, years, and people. Is there always bubbly? Does the artistic director always stand on a table? Does someone always wear a jumpsuit?
There is always cake. I made fast friends with a kind insider at the event, and she told me that there is always cake. “Albemarle Baking Co. princess cake is a Charlottesville staple. You don’t really live in Charlottesville ‘til you’ve tried princess cake,” she said. Another patron standing near commented, “You don’t really live in Charlottesville ‘til you hate princess cake.” So not only did I witness an event occupied by regulars and insiders of Live Arts, it was something bigger. I was a spectator to rituals that transcend into the psyche of all members of the Charlottesville community.
I bore witness to expectations and norms, costume and ritual, and collective consciousness of a rehearsed ensemble. If someone had told me that I was entering an interactive scripted performance, I would have believed it without a single note. But I would have treated the evening differently; the physicalization of keen listening must’ve been blocked and the costumes carefully chosen to work together. If you told me now that it was a performance, I would only wonder why I didn’t get a program.
shot on 35mm by Jess Littman