Archives for posts with tag: essay

It was in Ireland that I first learned to walk alone at night.  I was in my first week of travelling along the West Coast,  on an Island known around the world as a tourist destination. It was surrounded by clear water, and was in most ways as unpretentious as your own back porch.  Earlier in the day, I had gone for a walk and been caught out in the rain.   Afterwards I was treated to a simple vision.  A white horse stood  beside a pale green house.  Above them a rainbow crossed the light gray sky.  The scene is etched in my mind as if I had photographed it.  I wondered then just what being in Ireland meant.

That evening, Aiofe, mini skirted proprietress of the place where I spent the few nights on the island, offered me a torch and some directions.  I had a reservation at the communal table of a North African chef who nightly conjured up a full course vegetarian meal for seven euro a person.  It is possible that he is still there.  By now he must have raised his prices.

With much less trepidation than I would have thought, I walked out into the darkness, light in hand and not much else to go on.  I arrived as I had been told, at the first landmark I was given, after several minutes walk through damp, chill air.   What I saw there warmed me inside, and set the tone for many future nights travelling alone on country roads and pathways.   On some of those walks, during more than five years that I spent living  in the West of Ireland,  I carried my own light.  On others I looked to moonlight to guide me.

Statues of the virgin mary had never meant much to me.  They were symbols of another religion, one I wasn’t born into, adult child that I am of a conscious choice to turn away from organized religion.  It is a decision I have a clear memory of making on a Sunday School morning, age 8.  At that placemarker, found on my night walking out on Inis mor, she stood in a grotto lit by a candle burning steadily inside a red glass.  I thought of the person, unknown to me who tended her light., and was glad of his or her unseen protection.  Standing in darkness, on my own in a strange place, some part of me came home.


This story is about me, though it is my intention to be somewhat anonymous in the telling of it.  I am naturally more at home behind the camera than in front of it.  I enjoy being close to the action.  Obviously that figured into my becoming involved with the theater, though the way it began felt more like fate than it did a conscious decision.  
  What is really most important about costuming for me is the love of storytelling.  Even though what happens onstage is not my particular individual story being told, I may have built the hat for one of the performers.   That hat may speak as clearly as anything she says or does while wearing it.   My hat might make such a bold statement that people talk about it after the show.  Or it may speak so softly that they absorb what it is saying without being conscious that it even exists.  That hat has a job to do.  That hat has a little bit of magic.