I WOULD NOT BE HERE
WITHOUT YOU BY MEI
ANN TEO
You, high school drama teacher, who shared with this 17-year-old about how you and your wife have a pact. Sure, you’ve been together for 25 years with two kids—but at any point in time, for whatever reason, either person is allowed to say, “I’m done. Thank you.” And leave with grace and no explanation. That is still my definition of love and liberation. Thank you, John Lofthouse. I would not be here without you. You, college choir conductor, who showed me how to score breath in order to shape a phrase, so that music can float meaning. You were my first directing teacher. Thank you, Genevieve Kibble. I would not be here without you. You, college film professor, who screened Atom Egoyan’s The Sweet Hereafter, the first work of art in which I could see the multiple layers of meaning, dancing in their complexity, creating the giant art hole in my soul. You were the first to call me “director,” to call me into being before I knew what that actually meant. Thank you, Victoria Mukerji. I would not be here without you. You, theatre dad, who taught me that if there are 16 people in the room, it is on us to learn 16 different languages. You also taught me how, when going through a breakup, to look at it with levity, right in the eye, and say, “NEXT.” Thank you, Tony Taccone. I would not be here without you. You, theatre mama, way before you taught me in grad school, gave this ingredient in Composition class in SITI training in Saratoga: a moment we knew we had made it. That was the first of many questions/prompts/catalysts you offer that swiftly shift consciousness and help me define my very purpose for breathing.
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SDC JOURNAL | SPRING/SUMMER 2021
Thank you, Anne Bogart. I would not be here without you.
must she be going through?” I still hear you as the voice of compassion.
You, founder of the DAH Teatar, who through the history of your city of Belgrade taught me the layers upon layers of seeing and that our greatest strength is also our greatest weakness. You taught me the power of the theatre in times of crisis. Standing with you and the Women in Black while neoNazis yelled at us, I practiced resistance against fascism in action. And then we laid a thousand roses down, and the poetic act still resonates through my whole body.
Thank you, Monica Santana. I would not be here without you.
Thank you, Dijana Milosevic. I would not be here without you.
You, goddess of shining black light, when you were a guest artist at Hampshire College and everything you did was to lift everyone else up. And then everywhere else, you show up to shine brightly upon others. You model where there is no fear, only immense love.
You, Italian auteur at La MaMa Umbria, for teaching me about the power of sound and the eye of god, by inviting us to offer our nakedness to a wall and a horse in a field under the moon. I understood, finally, the primal choke of original sin. Though also, when I asked you if you had experienced it too, if you had offered your nakedness to the horse, you shook your head like—why would I? Thank you, Romeo Castellucci. I would not be here without you. You, kind teacher, taught me to change the frame—to multiply the dimensions of the paradigms that we in our pithy conceptions have set up. Oh yes, and that moment at the end of Dog Days, when, because there is no more water left, she wipes her mother’s dead body with her own urine as a last sacrament. You taught me to relentlessly pursue revelation and to love to the ends of the world. Thank you, Robert Woodruff. I would not be here without you. You, assistant director, when the stage manager walked out 15 minutes before our final dress rehearsal and all I could think about was MY SHOW—THIS IS FUCKING UP MY SHOW, and you whispered in my ear, “This is what she wants to do with her life— being a stage manager is who she is. What
You, student in my first class as a professor at Hampshire College, who, when I expressed the worry that I hadn’t shared my work in the class, said with such alacrity, “But Mei Ann. Your LIFE is a work of art.” That is what I strive to live up to. Thank you, Snem DeSellier. I would not be here without you.
Thank you, Daniel Alexander Jones. I would not be here without you. You, former monk and beyond saint, who led the Hemera Contemplative Fellowships Retreat and asked us to tell our life story to each other—all 17, thus curing me of any attachment to the story I tell myself of who I am. And then asking us to move a rock wall over six feet and back—and though for a while I did curse you in my mind, at some point I was present with each stone…the weight and coolness and color…and then one became their gravestone….the one I hadn’t known how to mourn…until you gave us that space and I could find a stable nook for that grief. Thank you, Ernesto Pujol. I would not be here without you. You, Singaporean older sister, for always making time to remind me to never give up on being an artist—’cause why else did we immigrants leave our country? And that wildfire may tear through forests, but blue fire cuts through steel. And to not direct being in love—to let go and find wonder. And I know I should quote your much bitchier and more hilarious sayings, but to be honest, your Oprah is where you get me most.
