The Audience Effect

Your mother and I recently attended a performance of John Logan's RED, playing at the theatre that I am privileged to work at. Her first reaction after the lights dimmed for the last time was that it was the best thing she had ever seen at the Segal. Although my mind was telling me the same thing, my heart angrily pulled me in a different direction. Because of the tug-of-war between an overfilled December schedule and a strong desire to see the show, we ended up seeing the Sunday matinee. Needless to say, the crowd was not one of our peers, which unfortunately had a lasting effect on my appreciation. Between the incessant coughing, untimely laughter and talkback - a woman next to me even felt compelled to answer the actors' questions out loud! - I had a difficult time immersing myself in the art, both visual and spoken, that was on stage. But if there's one thing that RED does, it certainly gets you thinking.


Notwithstanding my own frustration, I was left compelled by the parallels between my experience and one of the central messages in the play; what is the role of the audience, of the user, of the consumer of art. In theatre, it should come as no surprise that an audience can make or break a performance. However Rothko too believed that his works, his colours were in constant metamorphosis in the eyes of the beholder. He maintained that context matters and that light changes things but more importantly, that he who stands before these great works has the power to change a static object. Whereas many would consider Rothko a magician (and apparently he would consider himself a demigod), in many ways Rothko believed that the viewers of his works were the ones with magic powers, used either for good or for evil. This belief in the harmful nature of the audience is precisely what led Rothko to be so apprehensive about taking his paintings, his children as he referred to them, out of his studio.

So it got me thinking about the other things that though seemingly evergreen, can be changed by the beholder. Like Rothko's fear of the black taking over the red, it also got me thinking about the fear that every artist feels, or at least that I feel, before exposing his or her works to the masses. Every public exhibit of a very private work is like a parent reliving his or her child's first day of kindergarten or camp. Terrifying. Which makes me think of when I'll have to go through that with you. Or more importantly, when your mother will.