Home Theatre

It's commonly accepted that theatre originated in ancient Greece, at a time when arts and imagination where exploding beyond the camp fire tales and cave art that had, to that point, encompassed the entirety of human creativity.  It became a showcase of perfection: scripted dialogues and choreographed moves, each moment strategically designed to illicit a specific response from the targeted audience.  As a theatre major in college I know all  to well the various forms out there.  I've studied everything from Dada to Kabuki; performed everything from Shakespeare and Sophocles to Berrie and Bernstein.  But through all my exposure to the art (and I think most of us on and behind the stage realize this) it's evident that the idea of "art" to the audience varies widely from that of the artist.  You're watching a play and you feel it's the actors job to perform.  The actor sees the very word for what it is. ... "play".  It's all rooted entirely in humans ability to imagine; to create; to make believe.  What a glorious moment that is.  When you create something entirely you.  Even if it's a song scored by another or a monologue written by another: no one is ever going to say it, sing it, dance it just like you.  It's your own.  It's beautiful.  To watch my daughters "perform". ... to play. ... to make something that started as a tiny spark in their perfect imagination and grew, and grew, traveling down their nervous system until it jolted their bodies and their mouths in such a fashion that this ball of creativity manifest through their limbs and vocal chords.  It's the very same spark that ignited the Greeks to action.  It's the same spark that ignited Jackson Pollack to swing a paint brush.  That forced Beethoven to pound on his first ivory keys.  That guided Shakespeare's pen to record the beautiful words swirling in his head.  And somewhere, even if never conveyed through words, they each had a father who sat in wonder. ... just enjoying the show.