If a tree falls in the woods…

…does it matter if it makes a sound?  Is the tree bothered if the crashing is not acknowledged?  Does the tree re-think the falling if there's no one to comment on the (alleged) noise it makes when it hits the ground?  Another ramble from us. You lucky people.

Are we still in mourning?  I think we are. Grief - a long and very individual process – is widely accepted to have five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.  Arts – the performing arts, how we perform arts died a kind of death the day lockdown became official in the UK.  Since then, the responses to what seems to be our death knell, have been various.

We can all agree that the sudden inability to communicate, to share to a large audience in person is strange.  It’s empty.  Those first few weeks, it felt like we were scrambling to stop being sucked into the big, black hole where no one can hear you scream.  And then – VIDEOS. Online presence a-go-go. Every Tom, Dick and Harry (and Sharon, Karen and Leslie) downloaded the a cappella app and blessed us with their multi-voiced, multi-instrumental versions of Cabaret and Imagine.  It was a reaction and rightly so.  If we are playing/singing our collective socks off in the woods and no one is there to listen, is it really happening?  Are we who we say we are if no one is there to give the thumbs up?

It got better, this video thing.  The slow and steady streaming of archival footage of productions from theatres and opera houses reminded us of our validity and fed the yearning in our hearts to be back on those stages.  We learned how to navigate through the varieties of tech and figured out how to play with each other and not a split second after each other.  And we reminded each other (and those audiences) that we still exist.

And then, the next blow – money.  Or lack thereof.  Theatres, venues – our homes were (are) in danger.  Shutdown means no money coming in and therefore impossible to keep these places open.  Like a house of cards falling in slow motion, theatres around the country let staff go and then had to close. Another dream shattered.  If we could just hold our collective breath long enough, we might be able to get back home.  But now, home was no more.

Now, it seems, we are entering a new stage of offering new and different ways to deliver ourselves and share our work.  Some of it involves sharing the same open space, some of it online.  Testing, testing, testing.  Will our audiences approve?  Will they come with us as we walk this new path?  Will they stay with us?

So, where are we in these Five Stages of Grief?  Denial didn’t really get a chance.  I mean, we were performing one night and then - not.  Can’t really deny reality.  Anger?  The inability to have our questions answered.  Not know what the right questions were. All answers misleading and patronizing.  I might add Shock at this stage.  the disbelief that the door had shut with little or no warning.  “Just go home.  We’ll let you know when…” .  Being left high and dry, banging on the door of the house that, unbeknownst to us, was about to fall down.  Back to Anger.

I suspect we’re at the beginning of Bargaining.  The offers of the new, the untested, the not-tried-before.  We’ll do this until the the New Normal begins.  It will keep us going until “you” (yeah, the government, I guess) makes everything okay again and we can go back to the way it was.

Except, we can’t.  Go back.  Or we shouldn’t.  This could be a real chance for change, while the playing field is level.  We’re all at the same place.  Let’s skip Depression (easier said than done) and head straight to Acceptance. Let’s also add on “Forward-Ho”.  Do you really want to go back into the burning building?

The Seven Deadly Sins During A Pandemic.  Brought to you this week on all good DevilishlyGrand social media pages.