Last week, I went to see Penelope at the Signature Theatre in Shirlington. The show is an imagining of Penelope, Odysseus's wife, as she waits for her husband's return after 20 years at war. It was largely a one-woman show and a small band in a theatre with less than 100 seats. I loved every minute, and I haven't stopped thinking about it since.
Penelope tells of her husband's long absence, and the suitors in her home who ask her to leave Odysseus behind. She agrees to move on, but not until she finishes her weaving, and so she weaves all day and unravels her progress every night. The possibility of something new, something else and yet not quite able to or wanting to reach for it.
"I can weave whatever I want. Go wherever I want, as long as I never finish. As long as I always come back."
The show perfectly articulated the hope and hopelessness of waiting. The optimisim and the frustration and the opportunity and the dignity and the isolation. Waiting because you have no choice. Waiting because you want to wait. Waiting with no end in sight.
"I could wait forever if I knew what forever was for."
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