On the Floor
My career in theatre often comes down to the floor. As a matter of fact, it started because of a floor, one with a semi-complex tile pattern that my best friend couldn't figure out how to lay out, so she called me in desperation at 1 am and made me come to the theatre to help. Things snow balled from there, and now this is what I do for a living. I have spent the last three hours crawling accros a floor on my hands and knees painting a stone pattern, sponging paint into a template, and cursing myself for having chosen such a complex pattern, when I COULD be asleep by now.
I just walked into the house, on the way to the kitchen to get a snack so that I can continue sponging, and guess what? I hate it. The pattern doesn't read from the house, the audience will never see that I have spent a life time painting this pattern, which looks like some sort of odd herring bone from their viewpoint, rather than stone. And so... in a few minutes I will be painting over it, and going with a plain old brown floor, that hopefully will look like dirt from the house.
I hate floors.
I just walked into the house, on the way to the kitchen to get a snack so that I can continue sponging, and guess what? I hate it. The pattern doesn't read from the house, the audience will never see that I have spent a life time painting this pattern, which looks like some sort of odd herring bone from their viewpoint, rather than stone. And so... in a few minutes I will be painting over it, and going with a plain old brown floor, that hopefully will look like dirt from the house.
I hate floors.
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