5 minutes blog post…GO.
So she said, asking no one in particular, ‘how come we don’t have any black critics’.
No one rushed to answer. We didn’t know each other very well so we avoided eye contact.
‘….it's hard enough already to write….’
“…what if it’s not very good..?’
Firm words grounded us, non committal to the end. 'But who would have the guts to say so? Who would want to?'
'Well, look, in the theatre, we expect to be critiqued.'
We all gazed at her, she grew in stature, her shoulders seemed a little wider, her gaze a little bolder.
At about that time, our small group grew by plus one. She said she was sorry to but in as she set us off on another tangent, talking about her new project. She stood up, sat down. Stood up, tightened her belt. Sat down again. But I think I understood what she was talking about, as her eyes kept scanning the room. Then the small part of her that was with us, stood up for the last time and wandered off.
We looked at each other.
Some one motioned a hand holding an imaginary bottle to their lips.
We smiled in gentle solidarity.