Here Rests the Muse, There Rises the Muse

“The formation of a diaspora could be articulated as the quintessential journey into becoming; a process marked by incessant regoupings, recreations, and reiteration.”

--Okwui Enwezor

It's been nearly seven years since I left the Coastal Empire, but certain events call for dusting off old habits.  And if something warrants a commentary from an erstwhile Savannah dramaturg (but still your Friendly Neighborhood Dramaturg), it is the closure of the venue at 703D Louisville Rd. (recently Muse Arts, but also Indigo, Little Theatre of Savannah, Cardinal Rep, and the Savannah Actor's Theatre).  It was quite the run.

Why do I bother to comment, given that my life has long ago moved on and I've not set foot there in so many years?  Allow me to draw an analogy with the death of a beloved celebrity.  Though they are not a part of one's everyday existence, and you often go long periods without really thinking about them, there is a certain amount of solace in the fact that you know they are out there, somewhere, doing their thing.  And so, I find myself facing the closure of the Muse with a feeling similar to that I had at the deaths of David Bowie and Prince.  Something good has shuffled off this mortal coil, and the world is a bit poorer for it.

However, I take solace in the children of the Muse, what I have long called the Savannah diaspora.  In Los Angeles and New York, Cleveland, San Francisco, Washington DC, and Atlanta, artists who honed their skills on the floor of the Freight Station are now creating great work.  They are teaching the next generation of artists, producing thought-provoking work, and stimulating audiences in a variety of media.  This is exciting, and it is laudable.  The memory of what was lives within us, and this is a loss which we rightfully mourn.  But rejoice, for this is not the end, and the spirit of Muse can be found from coast to coast.

At the heart of things, either waiting in the wings, treading the boards, or perched in the box office, was the lady of the Muse, JinHi.  Buckets of ink could be spilled in her praises, and rightfully so.  There is little of substance my poor words can add to highlight this fierce, beautiful, loving soul.  I can only offer a somewhat pathetic anecdote.

Roughly a week ago, I was changing the photo of my niece and nephews that hangs in my office at Kent State University.  As I did so, I looked around at the show posters, photos of productions, etc.  I realized that I did not have a photo of JinHi, and I felt the poorer for it.  Make of that what you will.