I am fascinated by the creative process, where it starts, how materials are employed to manifest ideas, concepts and visions, and how their materiality affect the realisation of the vision. This proposal is about the line and its position as the foundation and heart of the creative process, how all creativity begins with a mark which is a line of sorts. I want to explore the line and the possibilities it has given creatives over the centuries in the form of a serialised, never ending play, with infinite acts and scenes, that explores the lineage of the line, its metaphorical and literal artistic beginnings (cave paintings, the line on the horizon for early man), through to its continuous unceasing progress into the future, beyond my lifetime. This play will be witnessed, not just by this layer of readers, but by another in-play audience, made up of some of the most well-known, eminent critics and historians from recent times: the initial scene of the play is witnessed by Waldemar Januszczak, Griselda Pollock and Robert Hughes. They may stay, but they may also leave, whilst others may come and go with their opinions and their energy. I haven’t determined that yet. This is a stream of consciousness play, the acts of which arrive dependent on my mood and available time. I may write the next act tomorrow. It may be next year. I may write it into my will that my nieces and nephew have to write the acts. Who knows? But to whet the readers’ and theatre goers’ appetite for what may come, the prologue offers a quietly formed cliff-hanger that also doubles as a proposal for any inclined editors and/ or investors.
Lineage
A play in an infinite number of acts
Prologue
The scene is, well… there is no scene really. Not in the traditional theatrical sense. There is just space. White, boundary-less space. This space…it doesn’t glow with white light – it’s just there. There is no sound. There are no objects in it. But it is not empty. It has a presence, a life-force, that at once, carries both a foreboding and an excited potential. It scares and tempts at the same time. And then….a tiny mark appears, just left of centre. An almost imperceptible black scratch in the starkness of the white firmament. Our unseen audience’s eyes are instantly captured by its appearance, and they begin to wonder, their voices breaking the silence.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: [a male voice, in an excited, breathless cacophony of words] What is it? Where did it come from?
[There’s a pause. No one immediately answers]
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: Tell me!
AUDIENCE MEMBER 3: [In the mid-distance, a feminine South African voice] Shush. Let it appear in its own time.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: [Becoming just a little intellectually irate] I need to know now!
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: [A rich, commanding sonorous South Australian-transatlantic drawl] Just wait. Be patient. You won’t learn anything now, it’s too soon. Their idea doesn’t have enough impetus in their mind yet. They will be mulling on their vision, letting it gestate a little. It’s theirs, not yours. Give them time to bring you into their vision.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: [Loudly, impatiently] But I can see their concept…..
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: [Forcefully] No, you can’t! Just wait. It’ll come when they’re ready for you to see it.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: [Under their breath, like a stroppy 8-year old child] But I can. Hrrumph.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 3: SHUSH. JUST LET IT HAPPEN!
[Silence follows. There is a metaphor of a curtain, but nothing changes for our audience – that black scratch still hangs just left of centre]