Bacchanalia 2006

This weekend was a study in wildness.

Friday night was “The Bacchae” at CalArts. Alanna was in it, which is how I found out about it.

The play was written by Euripides in ancient Greece, and the story goes a little something like this: Dionysus, the god of wine, was not being acknowledged as a legitimate god by a certain ruler (and his subjects), and he and a group of his female worshippers (the Bacchae) convince said ruler to begin worshipping him by appealing to his more animalistic nature. Tragedy ensues. In a bout of madness the ruler’s own mother, one of the Bacchae, rips him to shreds, thinking it’s a lion she’s killing. The ruler’s family and kingdom crumble and Dionysus is avenged for his divinity being doubted.

I was completely mesmerized. The actors were absolutely phenomenal. They infused the ancient lines with modern humor, vocal intonations and facial expressions. You felt every emotion they possessed, and they were sharp, tight as a highwire. The costumes and staging were basic and brilliant, too. Dionysus and the Bacchae had wide red stripes painted from their bottom lips down to their chests, suggestive of wine (or blood) spilling down. Dionysus had a shaved head and was wearing only a long white skirt-like garment, reminiscent of an Egyptian priest. The women had wild hair and wore black shifts. The mother who killed her son wore only some blood, deer antlers, and a long red skirt that billowed out behind her for yards and yards. The stage had an upper level and a lower level, connected by a slanting section of the floor, suggesting a hill, something I’d never seen before.

I was re-acquainted with the Bacchae in all of us.

The next night, I went to Lucent Delirium, a hybrid of club, fashion show, circus, cabaret, and art gallery. I went by myself, just to experience it. Techno music boomed out to greet you as you walked in. People began to arrive, in all kinds of costume, and a few people had begun to dance. I bought a beer for myself. I saw art upstairs in the loft area, so I went up to see it. I adored the art—a mix of paintings and collage, of present day and the past, with circus performers and Renaissance ladies and old-fashioned fonts...Then I noticed that on the stage behind the DJ, there was a painter painting a huge canvas, in huge broad strokes using his whole arm. I watched the painter, the dancers...the dancers, the painter. I had brought my sketchbook, and I took it out, but I forgot to bring a pencil or a pen...so I pulled out my eye shadow and brush and drew with it. It had an interesting effect, and I was pleased. I loved seeing how everyone was dressed--the feathers, the leather, the satin, the makeup. I loved watching the people dance. I’ve always loved watching people dance, especially men, because it’s easy for women to let themselves be uninhibited enough to dance; not all males are comfortable enough to do it. Those who aren't feel like they don’t know how, or that everyone’s watching and therefore judging them. These men danced, and it was magnificent.

I went downstairs and waited in a line five deep to get another beer. Then I hovered at the edge of the dance floor—the performance group Lucent Dossier was about to perform “The Forbidden Om”. How do I describe it? Dance, acting, acrobatics, everyone having a different identity, a different bliss to express, a different talent. Regret, sadness, loss, finding oneself, self-actualization...joy. Couldn’t take my eyes off it. Then the dancing began in earnest. The performers stayed on the stage and danced, pulling people from the audience up onstage to dance, too. And it started to happen. I was still holding my beer, and I still had on my jacket and my backpack purse, but I moved. And so did everyone else. Men and women, dancing alone, dancing together. Bodies moving so freely, however they wanted to. People got hot and began taking off shirts, dancing half-naked. I took off jacket and backpack, ditched the beer bottle. I danced my ass off. The techno music was one continuous thing, changing tempo, but one single beat that went on and on. We were all one single beat, we were all experiencing the same high, communing together, not saying a single word. Everyone was fully being his and her own true self and everyone was fucking beautiful! It was one of the most amazing moments I’ve known. And I was completely sober.

When I began to notice my dehydration and my feet hurting because of my 2-inch heels, I got a bottled water and sat down. It was after 3AM. I couldn’t believe I’d been dancing straight for two hours without stopping. The crowd was starting to thin out a bit. I thought I was probably about done. I went upstairs one last time to look around. A guy asked me if I had an aspirin and another one asked if I knew if there was another DJ upstairs. Another guy came up to me and introduced himself. We got to talking and he asked if I wanted to go to breakfast at a Denny's or IHOP. He was very warm and friendly, so I said, sure, I can either drive or we can meet there. I wasn't about to get in a car with someone I just met. I felt I had at least a modicum of control if I was behind the wheel. He got directions from his friend to an IHOP, and I drove, but the directions weren’t good—we never found the place. So I dropped him off at his car and said goodnight. SARK says you should invite someone dangerous to tea, but I figure attempting to go to breakfast with a stranger works just as well.

These two events made me remember to grab the red thread of life before it gets pulled through my fingers and I have nothing. The beauty of the human body and letting it give in to its wants sometimes, in the right circumstances...the discovery of this...is a precious, precious thing.