Julia splurged on a bucket-shop, round-the-world ticket, a month of travel between leaving San Francisco and landing in New York to start rehearsals. She’d be spending everything she had on the trip, with just enough left to get a cheap place to live in New York. Her older brother Robert was furious with her, first of all for leaving their own company, but also, apparently, on behalf of the honor of experimental dance-theater in general. He said, “You have some idea that doing Shaw in New York will make you a real actress. You’re a real actress here, even if it’s not all talk-talk-talk. But fine, go for a year. You’re going to hate all that artifice and clawing for position. Just let me know when you’re ready to come home.”
But her new home was out in the world, a bigger life on bigger stages. She promised herself not to call any of the family until she was settled in New York, to live in the world without having to describe it to her family or cannibalize it for theater. It was enough just to look. In Fukuoka, all the gardens had shrines: Buddhas, exact arrangements of bamboo and water. In Tokyo at night, extravagant palace rooftops reflected the neon lights of the big hotels. Bangkok’s mosaics and gold statues, like light shining off the water, said this is what matters.
Link to full story: http://scholar.valpo.edu/vfr/vol3/iss1/6