By Chanel Sheridan
In the corner of my room sits an empty scrapbook, its blank pages invisibly packed with my plans for it. On top of it rests a pile of show tickets, programs, and stolen posters. My summer project: a timeline of shows I have seen or been a part of, cataloging my experiences to be looked back on fondly in my future. Hopefully one day I will have many scrap books bursting with these experiences through which I can flip and return to a place in which I was stunned, surprised, excited, or even disappointed. Yet, I must also admit, there may be a time where my scrapbooks, so lovingly created, are seen as trash, useless. So why do I feel such a strong desire to document my shows in the first place?
Perhaps it is to say, “I was moved in this way, because of this.”
Perhaps it is to say, “I was here, and I felt something.”
Whatever the reason, as that is another blog post in itself, I explore how these documents fit into the world of archiving for how can something that contains so much love and care, ultimately be seen as useless?
According to Salazar, the “main difference between the memories of Performance Arts and those of everyday life rests in the intentional, artistic, and fictional dimension of performance and in the need to preserve a work of art that disappears as soon as the performance ends” (Salazar 21). In that essence then, the documentation of a production is intertwined with memory itself, which does not make it untrue since memories are in fact some kind of truth. They are a perception of a moment which was true and thus are true for the individual.
But what of the ways in which we portray our truths and experiences? According to Deker et al, these documents in connection with the production itself are what they call “inter-documents”, constructing an environment instead of a persona thus moving “beyond mere representations of a former activity to become part of it” (Dekker et al 62). Therefore, these archives created by the audience do not attempt to document the performance itself but are part of the environment, showcasing how the performance was received. I think of my scrapbook plans – to capture elements of the show I enjoyed, not the entire show. Through my scrapbook I create something which exists in both the past and present, and, as Dekker et al describe, the “potential future performance” since part of its job is to tell the story of the past years from now (Dekker et al 66).
The objects or documents created in an audience archive are more than just reflections of a past event, worthy of their own attention and space in which to tell their own story. Dekker et al describe Briet’s theory of how “documents are contextual, and rather than delivering remains of an isolated event, they are reflective of the networks in which that object appears” (Dekker et al 74). My scrapbook will tell more than one story while contributing to another entirely different one: the story of my artistic career, my engagement with the theatre community, my love of theatre.
So, if my scrapbook is not junk, then what is it? Dekker et all believe they can be “extensions of the original artwork, the performance” (Dekker et al 76). My scrapbook will not be a collection of junk, but an artwork, an epilogue of the performance showcasing my experience. Audience archives are collections of care, of love, even if the collector themselves does not know why they are holding on to a faded program with the back cover missing and the pages falling out. These new pieces of artwork deserve a place within the world because they are not junk but documents of experience, as any other piece of artwork is. They want the viewer to experience something, even if that experience is as simple as:
“I was here, and I felt something”
Works Cited
Dekker, Annet, et al. “Expanding Documentation and Making the Most of the 'Cracks in the Wall'.” Documenting Performance, edited by Toni Sant, Bloomsbury Methuen Drama, 2017, pp. 61–78.
Sant, Toni. “Documenting Performance: An Introduction.” Documenting Performance, edited by Toni Sant, Bloomsbury Methuen Drama, 2017, pp. 1-14.