Letters to the Editor: Play searches for meaning

Please allow me to humour myself by
recalling the fact that there was no name attached to my last letter of
Thursday last week calling for more support for Track and Field. I can only
think that this was a Freudian mistake since I have often wondered why I am
referred to by this newspaper as Frank McField and not Dr. Frank McField. And
yes the title is important to me; I worked very hard to distinguish myself as
an academic and I have no other valuables besides my rational abilities which
this title denotes. Even in the ghetto I am Doc or Dr. Frank so why is it the
policy of this paper to exclude my title.

I will not publicly receive an
answer to this question but I suspect it has something to do with American
anti-intellectualism and cultural imperialism, because this would never happen
in Europe. Well, call me what you like as long as my letters are published; and
now that I have gotten that off my chest I just want to advise the general  theatre going public that ‘One White One Black’
will be showing at the Harquail Studio Theatre as part of the Cayfest events,
on April 29th, 30th and May 1st.

This play is the result of a
commission given to me by the Cayman National Cultural Foundation as far back
as 1987 or 88. Many parts of the play are from pervious writings but I
completed the bulk of the work while on vacation in Victoria, Canada in 1988.
The present production was made possible by a lot of editing done on the play
by Mr. Henry Mutto, the director of the Cayman National Cultural Foundation,
and I would like to publicly thank him or managing to bring my long windiness
into a short and intense drama.

One White One Black is not about
race nor is it about Cayman. My two characters, one white and one black are
disillusioned artists, one a writer and the other a musician, who find
themselves without any real connection to the ‘’real world”. It is because of
this extreme alienation that they look to each other for solace and a meaning
for living. Plato once wrote something to the affect that the most beautiful
time of life is the part after we have lived and are then reflecting. This
plays deals with the meaning we get from hindsight and the philosophical
revelations, which comes from an examination of our past mistakes and failures.

OBOW is a very strong play that is
fast and brutal in its examination of inner personal feelings of the two
characters. There are very few pauses and we are taken on a very fast ride not
knowing what is real or unreal. This form of writing or play I use to call
Irrealism, something I think I made up along the way when I used to think I was
a writer and had something to say. 

I wrote the play long ago and had
thought it would never be performed in Cayman and I would never have to face a
local audience looking for softer stuff to entertain themselves but I guess I
was wrong; and I began to feel I might be wrong after I heard of the success of
this play at Carifesta in Guyana and then seeing it in the Bahamas, October of
last year.

When I saw OWOB last year in the
Bahamas it was like all my life, all my energy came rushing back to me like a
giant waterfall, igniting the fire of youth and the feistiness of curiosity.
Had I been given $1 million I would not have felt so bloated with pride and
accomplishment. All those years I had wanted to feel on par with the great
philosophers and thinkers who had tried to capture and contain the core dilemma
of our human existence long enough to expose it. I knew from the beginning that
to really write was to expose oneself but before what I said was exposed it
would dry up and vanish perhaps never being felt or seen by anyone other than
me who wrote it. And I dedicate OWOB to Carol Maio Knutson who passed on in
1997and who authored the following poem:

Dream of mortality on the immortal
plane

 Sensing the lost

Never to see through your
transparent skin

Into the intellectual oasis,

Which provoked a new thought

And forced an acquiescence to your
way.

Awake. The demeaning hands like
weapons.

Demand the prize.

Those who feign concerns but never
hear the truth

Never know the meaning and its
worth.

The words are lost in dialectic
obscurity

Senseless waste

 Contrasting concepts on the pool of ideals

Reality seem less real that the
unreal.

 Not that it matters on this earth of worlds

 Where the landscape captured the images

And imprisoned it in the soul

Yes, the vision survives the death
of the dream!     

Editor’s Note: From the Caymanian Free
Press Style Book – Use Dr. in first reference as a formal title before the name
of the individual who holds a doctor of dental surgery, doctor of medicine,
doctor of osteopathy, or doctor of podiatric medicine degree. Because the
public frequently identifies Dr. with physicians, the title should be limited
to medical doctors only.

0
0

NO COMMENTS