<3 Jan 15, 2016

by Dylan Ward

Here I gush on Jeffrey Fracé, whom I will not burden with sainthood, but whom I like the same.  The performance this evening is a collaboration between many artists; this blog entry hopes not to do them disservice but it comes from the heart to Jeffrey Fracé, from a person. 

As much as it might drive him crazy to hear it, I still want to be Jeffrey Fracé when I grow up.

Jeffrey was a professor of mine (kind of; I kind of kept sneaking into his classes) and I doggedly (maybe creepily) pursued him throughout college because I thought his work was (being recently introduced to new types of performance) the weirdest fucking shit and I just adored it. 

Honestly, I could have been a much better student in many regards, but I feel, in retrospect, that emerging from being a crusty punk ass stoner kid into a fledgling under his (maybe and rightly reluctant) leadership was probably a better story than perfect studying might yield. 

It was, not probably, it was a better story. I really took a lot from Jeffrey, especially in those moments behind clouds of weird artist angst and tangie kush, because he still spoke to me directly, honestly, and was always honest about his own desire for revolution, in some context. 

(I know for a fact he was frustrated with me in those moments but he still took the time.)

I always found it a little revolutionary that he even took the time to talk to me (I had a lower opinion of myself than might of been healthy but there you go) because I was from “somewhere else.”

Regardless of whether this is true or some victim-selfing sort of paranoia, Jeffrey’s revolution was tangible from three feet away, sometimes further.

As time went on after I graduated I saw that, indeed, all performance is pretty fucking weird, honestly, and its not just on stage but everywhere. People perform everywhere. 

Even for themselves. 

This is why I really like Jeffrey; I find in him an insane ability to perform this idea of revolution in his work, and not only his work but in his reading and his thinking, and for himself, and without delusion. 

The bliss of revolutionary dreams and their cynical state within reality’s clutch is cyclical and sometimes defeating, but Jeffrey puts both in. 

The biggest part of this evening was his monologue in which, well, we see an artist that is making a work that might be exploitive but its hopeful but also on the line of taste but it also has the potential to be great and have meaning but the entire context of a white person making meaning on a country completely not of their own (Egypt) certainly has a complication but that complication is precisely what is on stage.

Its hard to tie this up neatly; its a longer essay to write than at this hour.

I hope you understand, reader, that I’ve learned that everyone performs for themselves, and while in college I might have seen Jeffrey as a transcendent revolutionary, fighting for truly weird theater and revolutionary themes, I see him now as a man, like others, performing it for himself.

Not faking it, but actively setting values upon which to stand and fight for, as best as one can, from any position, and especially a crusty flawed one. 

Its tough to feel so goddamn normal sometimes, but so good when you meet a person that teaches you to be the best normal you can be.

I don’t know, this may be my silliest, most sentimental blog post ever, but Jeffrey told me once he hated sentiment and so then ever since I may have been trying to press the issue.