My brain was crowded with imagination and swelled with what-ifs surrounding my supreme power or dreamt-up authority. That audience members looking up to where I sat would wonder what my prestigious occupation was. That there had been an armed guard just outside of my box there to protect me, that passersby would imagine to which royal family I belonged. I wore adidas sneakers and a green velvet dress of my own and as I sat perched in the box seat all alone, I imagined I belonged to a higher class in society. I almost wore heels that night (I’m glad I didn’t because of that aforementioned walk), but I’d just done so the day before for an office holiday party and the pads of my feet were still aching. Beautiful hues of red, silks, Christmas plaids, gold and green velvets, their heads held high with distinction, as was mine. Most people with brown skin were dressed to the nines or to a great or elaborate extent. What a gift it was for each of us to still be breathing and reaping the benefit of a higher, cultured society. There were, of course, people seated all around the theater all from different backgrounds and wide-ranging identities, but I zeroed in on the Black people and thought of what might have brought them to this point of culture, this point of appreciation for this season…this point in life. While listening to the orchestra my mind wandered as it often does. I could relate to leaving space for something Holy or something dedicated or consecrated to God or a religious purpose…something sacred. said to the audience at the nearly filled 2,443-seat symphony hall that he liked to leave room for something Holy in his life. Though the question was about who didn’t celebrate, it identified the remaining silent-and-still portion of the audience as being those who did celebrate Christmas, maybe also believers in Christ? If I had to eyeball it, I’d say just about 15% of the audience clapped or waved a hand in the air to answer the singer’s question affirmatively. ask us audience members which ones of us didn’t celebrate Christmas. I snuggled into my upgraded seat just in time to hear Odom Jr. ![]() I could see the details in the shoes conductor Rush wore, I could hear the resin falling off the strings of the instruments hitting the stage - and that made this splurge all the more worth it. I paid a small fifteen-dollar upcharge and returned to a much more comfortable cushioned red velvet chair cascading just over the stage. So as the Tony Award-winning songster belted out his second of many Christmas tunes backed by conductor Jonathan Rush and the BSO, I sped to the box office to ask for a closer seat. When I looked at the seating chart from my mobile device at home when I was scoping out tickets, I bought myself a seat in Row R (not the box) but pretty close and off to the left of the rounded stage.īut, after Leslie took the stage, his long red coat like the ones you’d traditionally see performers wear in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, Row R wasn’t close enough for my liking. Note to self: I should walk more in 2022. It was dark and my imagination was welcoming thoughts about safety, and I even stretched before I started walking as if I would have to face some sort of two-hand combat on my way - thoughts most women think when walking alone, thoughts most Black women think when breathing.īefore I knew it, I was at the theater and - Thank God - I was unscathed, just a little out of breath. ![]() It was only about a mile away from the symphony so I decided I would just walk. Vernon for at least 20 minutes before remembering that I paid for a parking space over at a church nearby on the Maryland Institute College of Art campus in relation to my role as assistant director of community arts. I struggled to find parking for a little while and spun around Mt. Last week I treated myself to a box orchestra seat to see Leslie Odom Jr. What is life without whimsy and imagination? No oppressed people should live without imagination, or the thought of what life could be like if it was not what it currently is, Columnist Alanah Davis writes.
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