Performance
These photos and texts are from performance works I created and performed from 1997 - 2010.
After Hours (Sheila's Song)
photos by Bob Raymond
Can I be, I want to be the rhino in your life.
Thickened skin and forceful horn, I'll show you how to sharpen the knife.
Can I be, I want to be the lines upon your face.
A map of all you've said and done, I'll lead you to a heavenly place.
I want so much. I am so little. I am invisible to you.
I want so much. I am so nothing. I've lost my stuffing
And now I'm only skin.
Can I be, I want to be the mailbox in your hall.
Open me, I'll give you news, and if it's bad together we'll fall.
Can I be, I want to be the dog hair on your floor.
A memory of love and warmth that was once and now is no more.
I want so much. I am so little. I am invisible to you.
I want so much. I am so nothing. I've lost my stuffing
And now I'm only skin.
Skin. Skin. Skin so thin, so thin. I'm just a whim.
Can I be, I want to be the flower in your field.
All alone, yet part of you. In front of you I'll drop my shield.
Can I be, I want to be your final, living breath.
Curled up inside of you, together we will face our death.
I want so much. I am so little. I am invisible to you.
I want so much. I am so nothing. I've lost my stuffing
And now I'm only skin.
Thickened skin and forceful horn, I'll show you how to sharpen the knife.
Can I be, I want to be the lines upon your face.
A map of all you've said and done, I'll lead you to a heavenly place.
I want so much. I am so little. I am invisible to you.
I want so much. I am so nothing. I've lost my stuffing
And now I'm only skin.
Can I be, I want to be the mailbox in your hall.
Open me, I'll give you news, and if it's bad together we'll fall.
Can I be, I want to be the dog hair on your floor.
A memory of love and warmth that was once and now is no more.
I want so much. I am so little. I am invisible to you.
I want so much. I am so nothing. I've lost my stuffing
And now I'm only skin.
Skin. Skin. Skin so thin, so thin. I'm just a whim.
Can I be, I want to be the flower in your field.
All alone, yet part of you. In front of you I'll drop my shield.
Can I be, I want to be your final, living breath.
Curled up inside of you, together we will face our death.
I want so much. I am so little. I am invisible to you.
I want so much. I am so nothing. I've lost my stuffing
And now I'm only skin.
Hocket (a series of performance collaborations with Jed Speare)
photos by Bob Raymond and Charles Daniels
Performance Solos at The Boston Conservatory
photos by Bob Raymond
My Spammy Heart
- Commercial for Spam, Take 1!
Chemically altered, packaged real neat,
Easy to slice, disturbing to eat,
Pungent aroma, comes in a tin,
You'll be needing something sharp
With which to get in...
Cut!
Commercial for Spam, Take 2!
Chemically altered, packaged real neat,
Easy to slice, disturbing to eat,
Pungent aroma, comes in a tin,
You'll be needing something sharp
With which to get in...
I wear this hole upon my dress
To show you all just what a mess
I am. Oh, I am
A girl with quite a story
Of aliens, doctors, chemo (gory)
And Spam. Oh, my Spam.
The Alien is cancer.
It lives in me.
My treatment: radiation, chemotherapy.
Oh, my heart.
Please don't hurt my heart.
Cut!
Commercial for Spam, Take 3!
My doctor's a killer.
She hates those "C" cells.
And when aggravated, commences to yell,
"Rip it out! Chop off parts! And kill all the rest!"
Through all this torture,
My alien sings its song:
"Why can't we all just get along?"
Oh, my heart.
Please don't hurt my heart.
It is barbaric
But I'm alive.
Bum bum ba bum ba bum ba bum bum
Bum bum ba bum ba bum ba bum bum
Oh, My Spammy Heart!
Bum bum ba bum ba bum ba bum bum
Bum bum ba bum ba bum ba bum bum
Oh, My Spammy...
Cut!
Commercial for Spam, Take 4!
My skin feels plastic, my tongue is acidy,
My mood's elastic from this great remedy.
I am. Oh, I am
Spokeswoman for Spam.
Oh, I am...
Cut!
I am...
Cut!
I am...
Cut!
Commercial for Spam, Take 5!
I am...
Cut!
Commercial for Spam, Take 6!
I am...
Cut!
I am...
Cut!
I am...
Chemically altered, packaged real neat,
Easy to slice, disturbing to eat,
Pungent aroma, comes in a tin,
You'll be needing something sharp
With which to get in.
These things all describe
Me and my Spammy Heart.
I'm not your average piece of meat.
I'm a radiated tart.
Cut.
Sound and movement explorations with Tom Plsek
most photos by Bob Raymond
Eating Alphabets
- This is a riddle:
I have eaten all the alphabets in the world.
My father's words,
I ate them.
And once I started I couldn't stop
Until I felt sick.
So I spit some out.
I left the rest inside.
For those spewed were misused.
Great floods overtook my homeland.
Birds bloated.
Now I hold too much inside.
What do I do?
I have eaten all the alphabets in the whole world.
And my father's words...
Well, I ate them too.
I have eaten all the alphabets in the whole world.
And now I am so full
I don't know what to do.
If I open my mouth all the words will come out.
And I don't think you're ready for what I might shout.
I have eaten all the alphabets in the whole world.
And my father's words...
Well, I ate them too.
I have eaten all the alphabets in the whole world.
So I'll swallow them once again,
For I cannot talk to you.
Not Frida projects
(with NF members Alison Ball, Janet Slifka and Jody Weber)
photos by Bob Raymond and Whitney Robbins
Il Lupo
- In Gubbio, era: Medieval night/day
A large, hairy beast kept the people at bay.
Il Lupo, the wolf, with a hunger unfed
Attacked the hill town until much blood was shed
And the fear of Il Lupo consumed every head.
The villagers feared that their wall could not keep
Out this cold-hearted thing who would kill them in sleep.
The marksmen flung arrows that hit only air,
The bravest of soldiers were filled with despair,
And the churches were stewing with unanswered prayer.
Now at this same time, a young visitor came
With a warm, gentle nature and oft-mentioned name
Of Saint Francis, the man who found beauty in all.
He witnessed their fear and heard their tears fall,
And he worried as anger built inside the wall.
"Can you kill it?" they begged. "Can you pray to the skies
To send down some lightening and make the beast fry?
Can your God give it pain 'til its heart beats no more?
Can he break all its bones and settle this score?
Can you save us, Saint Francis? The wolf's at our door?"
"I will pray," said Saint Francis, "but not out of hate.
I will pray for compassion to lighten your weight.
We all have a heart that is beating inside,
And we all have our fears, which can cause us to hide
In the skins of a monster. Now please, step aside."
Saint Francis walked out to the edge of the wood
And he called to the beast to come where he stood.
And slowly and animal rustled the green.
A four-legged creature with tail could be seen.
Il Lupo stepped out as if into a dream.
Saint Francis sat down and so quietly said,
"Come to me, fine creature. Please come rest your head."
Il Lupo looked 'round and then cautiously placed
One paw at a time towards the figure of grace
Until they were close. One face to one face.
"You are sad. You are hungry. I see these things well.
Now what can I do so that your kind may dwell
Among people in peace?" the saint meekly posed.
And the wolf sent a breath of relief through his nose
Before laying his muzzle on Francis' toes.
A story soon followed, ne'er spoke before,
Told to a two-legged creature from four.
A tale of great restlessness, dark scary nights,
And of nothing to eat unless killed in a fight.
"I hear you," said Francis. "Let's turn wrong to right."
And for many years after a dish was left out
For kind old Il Lupo to eat with a snout
That never need taste blood of human again.
All needs were met and the beast became friend.
And thus is the story so writ by my pen.
This tale of medieval time could teach us now
How to open our hearts when fear wrinkles our brow.
When the wolf comes to us may we kneel at its side.
May we listen when others are poor or denied.
May we try that one option we never have tried.