I Do Not Read in Public

A Reading in a Gallery

It was the first and only time I read my pieces in public. Lucky for me the attendance was sparse.

What the small number of people meant was that I tortured fewer people than I might have. The venue was adjacent to an art gallery, a small hall. There were chairs and a lectern and a microphone. So, the trappings looked serious.

The idea was, simply put, listening to what I had written would open doors for those who looked at my visual work. The short pieces, poems, and dream recordings stood on their own, not illustrations for visual art. Nor was the artwork an illustration of the writing. Each piece was short, but many short pieces added up. Still the reading might help understand my work, which has often been described as visually poetic.

So, I recited one little piece, and like eating potato chips or peanuts, read another. I asked how long we had the room. The room was mine as long as I wanted. After a few pieces I asked if I should continue. There were no hecklers. I continued to read. I did not know better. Should I read another? Or should I stop before my reading became a freight train filled with coal and boxcars carrying new cars, watermelons, bricks, a circus, tables and chairs on fire, pickles in giant glass jars by the millions; and you, the audience sit at the crossing guard red light flashing while I read on and on, flatbed car after flatbed car piled high with lumber. The train keeps rolling past and the caboose is nowhere in sight.

I made the mistake of not waiting for the jumping up and shouting ENCORE, ENCORE. I just kept reading thinking that sooner or later I would run out of pages or someone in the audience would topple to the floor, snoring. My audience was too polite and expected me to know when to stop. They persevered and I trudged on, never coming to a blank page. My reading continued until one and then another stood making the universal sign of wanting a bathroom break. It is called the potty dance. Those folks never did return.

I filibustered on for three more days until the room was empty.

Or perhaps it was 45 minutes, and no one went on a potty break.


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