There exists no one-woman show.
A collection of women emerge from behind the curtain to arrive on our doorstep. Uninvited, they have come to share a feeling with us. Their desire to reach out to us, to have us share in their internal wince, is palpable. So naturally, we join them.
Instinctively, our bodies recoil at the sight of your show, but our eyes are fixed. This beautiful collection of women, with whom I now stand, are fixed upon your solo endeavors—that is, until we eventually laugh the cringe off and the spell is broken.
I’ve collected women all of my life. It’s with these new additions that I feel especially at home. They are strong and assertive, yet kind and compassionate. Your exit opened the seat for me at this table. I’m told I belong here, and I feel it too. We discuss a variety of topics, but one thing we all agree upon is the fact that there exists no one-woman show.
I am a collection of women: those who paved the way, those with whom I open myself, and the young who are watching your silly show.
