I spent the last two days in a workshop for the play Virginia Wolf with my collaborator Cole Lewis and our dramaturge Jessica Carmichael. Cole and I are combining our writing and visual talents in our adaptation of Kyo Maclear's beautiful children's book. Today, actors Sochi Fried and Mina James joined us in our exploration of the script.
The workshop was immensely helpful, and by 10:30am, I was teary, by 6pm emotionally shredded, but in a good way, and in a way that will inform my drawings. The book and play are about days that you and/or people you love feel wolfish. How far do you go with them? How much can one's wolfishness take over?
It depresses me (intended) that mental health is one of the subjects that's still somewhat taboo. It's not socially acceptable to speak freely about our own dark days, the days when the wolf gets the best of us. Sometimes I think (to make a broad generalization) that we are too quick to deny our complexities, which is understandable. Our motivations and desires and sadnesses can be strange and frightening beasts.
Currently reading: The Invention of Angela Carter: A Biography by Edmund Gordon.