Where does your story begin?

A few weeks back, I posted an entry with sketches of a female soloist, a geodome of wire and hanging lightbulbs hovering over her, and the lines of her body visible through a skin-tight veil of costuming. It seems whenever I begin an artistically-driven project, I always start with an image. At the time of my post, I didn't have much more than those sketches to work off of--that, and the idea of having this figure awaken, with her movement and the pulsing of the lightbulbs glowing as one.

Since then, Kim and I have hurtled ourselves into an excitingly creative world of contemporary takes on Greek mythology. Between her sculptural piece stemming from Green urns, and my group piece exploring the Sirens, we began to realize that the second half of Luminarium's year will be...in a word...epic. With mythology as our guide, I began to research how my soloist would somehow fit into all of this, and was thrilled to find such a perfect match:

Andromeda by Edward Poynter

Andromeda.

She's the perfect match. A quick synopsis of the story will tell you that she was once the beautiful daughter of Cepheus and Cassiopeia, and that her mother's vanity led to her peril. Cassiopeia bragged that her daughter was more beautiful than the Nereids--angering Poseidon who began destroying the city with floods. Andromeda was chained, naked, to the coast as a sacrifice to the sea monster Cetus. Luckily the heroic Perseus, back from slaying Medusa the Gorgon, killed the monster, while asking for the girl's hand in marriage. Although already promised to Phineus, the wedding took place, during which Perseus turned Phineus to stone. The story ends with Athena placing Andromeda among the stars in the northern sky. (And, as the daughter of an astronomer, I couldn't help but be reminded of the constellation and galaxy named after her!)

All in all, not the easiest life for Andromeda.

After reading and re-reading numerous accounts of this woman's life, it seems the same key moments continue to be pronounced as "her story." But for my solo with the woman laden with lights, I'd like to pick up her story from the supposed end: From awaking among the stars.

Andromeda chained to a rock, depicted in the Uranographia of Johann Bode (1801).
http://www.ianridpath.com/startales/andromeda.htm

We know the events of Andromeda's life, but do we know her perceptions of them and the emotions that drove her? What was her take on the key life-changing moments of her life...all decided by those around her, rather than herself? It's a daunting task, but I'd like to use this solo as an opportunity for this character to evolve past the ever-popular myth, and instead, to enter a realm of personal reflection. And all the while, as the lights pulse around her, she will regain a new awareness of her body and existence as a constellation in the sky.

But the question of where to begin one's life story doesn't only pertain to this piece and this character. It pertains to each of us. I'd be a liar if I swore I'd never had thoughts (hopeful ambitions, really) of someone, someday, writing a biography about my artistic achievements...a documentary, perhaps. Will my future accomplishments merit this? Who knows! Even then, will someone take the time to write about them? Probably not! But occasionally, in my moments of frustration (or even in my moments of success and clarity), I wonder: Where would they begin my story? Is there something I will do in the next decade that will set me apart from other artists and gain me artistic respect in the community? Or have I already begun? Will "Luminarium" be a name the press will grow to recognize? And if so, will they bother researching our first concert in their articles? Or will they simply skip ahead to a milestone we have yet to reach?

The truth is, I have no idea. But I do have curiosity. And somewhere between the two is where I'll begin my work on the Andromeda solo.