Honoring Stages of the Past
Step right up. Eight little theaters, each with its own tiny vaudeville act, tucked behind the rust of this salvaged train cabinet. Two windows per row, four rows in all—a miniature variety show waiting behind glass.
The ritual is simple: drop a coin in the slot, wait for the click, and watch the lights chase across the windows in sequence. Each stage flickers to life for a moment, then passes the spotlight to the next, like a chorus line taking its bow.
It’s part homage, part oddity—halfway between a relic of the vaudeville era and a sideshow machine you might have found on a boardwalk long ago. The jokes are old, the tricks are simple, and that’s the point. It’s a reminder that even the smallest acts, given a stage and a little light, can still earn their moment of applause.
The Parable of Theatre
There was once a troupe of traveling performers who came to the towns and clearings when the frost had gone and the roads were dry enough to bear the weight of their dusty trucks. They brought with them trunks of painted scenery, costumes smelling faintly of cedar and dust, and stories stitched together from places far from the Grove’s reach.
When they arrived at the Second Light Grove, the people welcomed them with a warmth reserved for old friends. The performers were fed from the choicest baskets, given blankets by the fire, and their laughter was treated like a blessing. For three nights the stage was lit, and its curtains opened upon worlds the Grove had never known, giant heads along an ocean cliff, rech men and women dancing in a gilded ballroom, and sweethearts speaking love.
The Grove clapped until their hands ached. They said to one another, “How grand these players are! How fine it is to see such art in our humble place!”
But when the last bow was taken, and the wagons rolled away to the next town, a change crept into their voices. They said, “They are strange folk, these wanderers. They have no land, no roots in the soil, no trees to tend. What good is a life of make-believe when the frost will surely come again?” They saw every malady as misfortune from the travelers. If something was missing, the travelers must have stolen it. Month by month their ire grew, until the caravan was seen once again, and their hearts leapt again.
And so it went, year after year. They cherished the troupe when they were near, and spoke ill of them when they were gone. Yet when the players returned, the people’s faces brightened as before, for the Grove could not help but love what it misunderstood.
Vaudville Apothesis
Wood box, Photographs, Medals, Ribbons, Assorted tokens
2019