Stranger 1
I left the house of stranger 1 wearing my still-wet makeshift-swimsuit (read: underwear), knowing the secret nook of the household’s spare key, as I began to process why our conversations the night before had held so much tension. Stranger 1 was my first of the project. While the callout had asked for an individual, stranger 1 was a package deal; a middle-aged couple and their eighteen-year-old son. It was a home used to hosting strangers, while I was not yet used to being a stranger. During my peak-hour commute towards this unknown interaction, I’d considered how one goes about preparing to spend the night in the home of a stranger. I’d resolved to arrive with a sense of openness (a mantra begun that night that now weaves among each stranger). Between the middle aged couple who could have easily been my parents, and the eighteen-year-old boy who showed varying levels of interest in my even being there, I realised how deeply ingrained it felt for me to be polite. As the night progressed, my interactions with each of the trio became distinct; the matriarch told me stories of household décor, the patriarch delved into philosophy and debate, while the son and I negotiated our “young adult” vernacular in front of parents. My eyes soaked in every detail; from the white house paint marking propped-up elbows, to the lounge room that smelt like my Godmother’s. The reflective surface of the bathroom mirror had started to chip away at the edges, allowing me to catch a peek at the contents of the cabinet without feeling like I was snooping. In the morning, I listened to the unfamiliar creaks and footsteps of an unfamiliar house. After an early morning beach swim, I returned the spare key begun my initial reflections.
I performed for (2/3 of) stranger 1 on the 1st of April 2017 at PACT centre for emerging artists.
