The making of..."Tester"

I’ve never been good with change. I like things to stay.

On Tester’s opening night, I remember sitting up in the furthest corner of the house I could possibly sit, thinking to myself that I wasn’t sure whether I wanted the performance to already be over, or if I didn’t want it to ever begin. Wondering if the beginning of something always somehow signifies an eventual end. Because we had worked so hard.

Everyone involved in this production worked so hard. Going straight from working all day long to working all night long. Learning how to seize. How to punch. How to straight-razor shave. How to stand so long and so tall and so beautifully on the tip of your toes. How to keep a dark world lit in silhouette. How to precisely record the sound of heartbreak. How to build the pieces of a house that would never truly become a home. How to explain to people that, here – in this dim, broken place – violence shows itself as love.

Because we had worked so hard. And whether I liked it or not, the chairs filled themselves with people, the lights went out, and I watched and listened as they seized and punched and shaved and danced on their fucking toes right along with us.

So, here I am.  On the eve of Tester’s closing weekend, sitting in a corner of my own house, not wanting it to end. Because this is something that I’ll never forget. This is something that will stay. And I think this is something that’s changed me.

Join us this weekend.

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