Pamela Booker

Excerpt from “Dust”

SCENE 2 -- I SAW A PHOTOGRAPH

VISUAL PROJECTION: I SAW A PHOTOGRAPH

VISUAL PROJECTION: A SERIES OF IMAGES ARE PROJECTED ON TO A SCRIM AS A CHORUS OF VOICES ARE SIMULTANEOUSLY HEARD. THE VISUALS SHOULD IN SOME FASHION COMPLEMENT THE TEXT EITHER LITERALLY OR IMPRESSIONISTICALLY, INCLUDING WORDS DIRECTLY FROM THE TEXT OR IMAGES FROM OTHER SOURCES.

AT DIRECTED INTERVALS, THE ACTOR PERFORMING "DUST LADY" WILL BE FRAMED AS A MIRRORED FIGURE OF THE ORIGINAL PHOTOGRAPH. THE CAST IS USED AT THE DIRECTOR'S DISCRETION TO CREATE A ROUND OF VOICES.

LIGHTS UP, FRAMING DUST LADY AS VOICES BEGIN.

I saw a photograph.

A BLINDING LIGHT FLASHES AND THE SOUND OF SEVERAL CAMERAS CLICKING ECHOES.

Through my lens she was a grotesquely formed beauty. While others covered their eyes, I could not shift my gaze. Who was she? Who was this woman dressed in her business-suit finery, purchased at Century 21 the week before, now running?

Now running to save herself.

I saw a photograph.

It granted vision.

It granted invisibility.

"A photograph is always invisible-"
*It is not it that we see."

It intrigued.

It terrified.

Me.

A terrifying history was inscribed on her body.

It haunted.
Me.

A black/female/body inscribed --
a terrifying history and --
a terrifying history
a terrifying history
and—

Streaming through the air—

A danseuse,
Hideous and grotesque.
A spirit, in the way that we speak of our dead.
Breathtaking and beautiful -
[LIGHTS UP, FRAME DUST LADY AS VOICES CONTINUE.]

I saw a photograph.

While others covered their eyes, I could not shift my gaze.

A BLINDING LIGHT FLASHES AND THE SOUND OF SEVERAL CAMERAS CLICKING ECHOES.

Was, she?
Dead?
No, afraid.

Terrified?

Yes.

A danseuse. A spirit, streaming. A black/female/body inscribed by a dusty white
soot and fallen debris and a terrifying history.

“Bakulu, " covered in white. A spirit who runs with the living.

A danseuse. Hideous and grotesque.
A spirit, streaming. A black/female/body
inscribed.

Breathtaking and beautiful.

While others covered their eyes, I could not shift my gaze.

She was dusted.

White.

But was she, dead?

No. Afraid and terrified.

You?

Her?

Yes.

[LIGHTS UP, FRAMING DUST LADY. A BLINDING LIGHT FLASHES AND THE SOUND OF SEVERAL CAMERAS CLICKING ECHOES.]
Lights to black.

1. Roland Barthes. Camera Lucida.
2. ibid.