Simply because…

… it has to be said (after yesterday’s Facebook comments): Looking back at our time at LIPA (and I am not looking back in anger) I have to say that the most useless session we ever had was the one with the three colour “party” wash. Come on Joe: That is just rubbish! 😉

OK. I had to say it… But I am also very sure that some event in the future will punish me for writing this here. Destiny does not forget those things… ever…

Awaiting … whatever. :-)

Something that was written long ago.

I was going through some files and folders today, and found this text that I wrote in our second year in Liverpool. Seems rather fitting considering the recent posts I think. It still works. It still is valid. I still believe.

In the legendary TV show fraggle rock, someone asks the question “why do the dozers do what the dozers do?” the answer is simply “the dozers do what the dozers do because the dozers do what the dozers do” The answer is so simple because their reality is so simple, yet so beautiful. The dozers do what they do because that is the point of doing it in the first place.

But why do we do it? Why do we wake up every day, get out of bed in the early morning, eat some breakfast and go in to this place we call LIPA. Why do we work from 9 till 9 just so that performers can perform? And I am not saying this because I am bitter, because I am really not; I’m just asking the question. Why is it that we devote our lives to staying behind the stage, why do we spend our days of youth on creating stars and shows that are remembered for their performers and rarely for the technology and design?

Perhaps we are a bit like the dozers in one way, we will go through fire and hell to keep the show running, we will spend every minute of our waking day to get the job done. But then again, we are not like the dozers at all, because we could choose not to, we know something else; we don’t need to do it. But still we do.

I think I know why.

As I walked to LIPA this morning I came from the Hope street (funny name, isn’t it?) building, and as I walked by, one of the windows was open, inside; there must have been a group of singers or actors, because they were doing a vocal warm-up. For some reason I stopped and waited outside a few moments, and as I was standing there they started with Ave Maria. I stood and listened to this fantastically beautiful song as the sun was gently warming the sky above me, driving the last of the clouds out into the vast sea. Hearing. Thinking. Feeling. Seeing. I remembered. I remembered why I came here. I remembered why our hearts beat faster when we think about it; I remembered why we devote all possible time to doing dirty jobs in the darkness of the stage. I remember.

I remember that when the curtain falls and the audience explodes into applause, that is all I remember. All the long nights and dark hours are gone. I remember that when the stage is yet again empty and the audiences have long gone home, that is what I remember. The applause. The smiles. The joy. Or the sadness. The eyes of kids thinking about the magic they just witnessed. The prides of parents just having seen their kid stand on stage. The music. The sparkling lights. The applause. The feeling of having brought magic to others is what fuels our passion and makes us tick until the next time, until the next few seconds when the show is actually over.

I remember.

Because when all is dark and I go to bed at night, I remember that for two seconds, I was truly alive.

And today, when I had almost forgotten, I remembered.

Not for ourselves, but for the whole world in which we were born.

i Have not forgotten our Purpose