rewarding revelations
My knees wobble and tremble as I wait in the wings for that one word. I rush out, my face changing, my persona is formed.
I adjust, as I speak, to the lights beating down on my seven layer disguise: petticoat, slip, skirt, coat, and shawl. I am transported into a world in which I am the driving force; I am the final deciding factor. I hold responsibility for the fate of the audience, the words tumbling out of my mouth, dripping down shirtfronts in the very first row. I shake my fist, shake out my hair, turn my cold stare in just the right direction for the desired effect.
However, some days I struggle to leave this world of make-believe. I continually act as if I am on a stage. It is quite the conundrum. How, I ask myself, can I unleash my passion, while retaining myself in the process? How do I free myself from the binding ties of the character I played that month?
When I was playing the mother hen, I pecked and picked apart my very best acquaintances. I became the pseudo mother bear to my clan of male hooligans. But each character possesses a flaw, something to point out the disarray that is humanity. As the mother I was stubborn and harsh and protective. When I was playing a scared teenage girl, I didn't have to fight very hard to change my perspective. I had more frailties than I knew what to do with.
I became introverted, finding it close to impossible to grow a spine of strength. Instead, I walked around with a skeletal system created in a Jell-O mold. I was swayed by the slightest breeze, or breath, or puff of smoke. Now I am stuck in transition, my spine solidifying, mother instincts dwindling; still confused, but more in tune with myself.
I aspire to reach new revelations every day. I don't always have to be a character. If I am having an off day, my hair and makeup doesn't look quite right, I embrace it. I am not always under the blazing heat of a stage light. I am not always performing for an audience. I am not perfect. My mold is slightly misshapen. I am unique, and I think highly of my imperfections.
LEAH
MERRILL
'09
"I am unique, and I think highly of my imperfections."
Artwork by:
JARED WHITING (2000)
American Vision Award, Painting
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