Allegory of the Ghost Light

M. Romas

Intermission lingers, the standing, some aimless chatter —

they start to take their seats; lights dim.

They hush, they know their lines

as well as any actor, when to sit and stand, to clap or laugh or cry.

At curtain rise the spotlight finds the principle, catches her in the crosslight,

steals the shadow from her face. Beginning quietly, she finds her voice,

pantomimes the life laid out by playwright hands, the careful choreography,

the props preset and thoughtful, clear design.

The audience, rapt, they watch attentive and see themselves upon the stage,

as she moves through her scenes. Each stagehand hits their mark, the spiketape

scuffed from overwear, no cue is missed, no line forgotten.

The final monologue, for a moment she pauses, prepares for her soliloquy,

her eyes go to the audience, looking plainly on each face.

On stage she takes her place, paces

edge to edge against the darkness of the room,

alone in her illumination.

The finishing, and from the wings the company together, joining hands

to take their bow. The audience alights, on their feet and cheering,

the eager giving of their admiration.

And finally the curtain falls — the velvet red, gold edgings

grace the stage. The house lights come up —

the audience can see themselves again, they begin to return to themselves. The company also,

the actors linger in the greenroom, chatting, laughing, setting wigs

and hanging costumes in their places.

Technicians sweep the stage, return props to their tables, begin to lock the doors.

They all leave slowly, sometimes pairs or one by one.

The final checking of the post-show tasks, the stage manager sends the next day’s call,

waves the director home, assures they’ll soon be on their way.

They lock each door, ensure no one remains behind.

The final task, they pause only a moment, look out into the dark of the empty seats,

think of the next night’s work. They take their bag upon their shoulder,

drag the ghostlight from its place against the wall —

a single bulb, wire-caged and standing proud — flick it on

and finally, at the panel on the wall by the fly-rail,

turn every other light out.

There in the empty darkness of the theatre is the one light, alone

in the silence of it all, in the stillness of the building, full so shortly before

with the bustle and mumble of the crowds, the company.

One cannot help but look for the allegory in the glow of the glass bulb —

some commentary on the girlhood of the actress, a light on in an empty house,

her relationship with her mother somehow.

Some remark on the nature of the arts, humanity’s purpose

in the dark of the world, the light that casts the shadows in Plato’s cave.

Perhaps one sees the first fire, one spark in the clay of the world, smuggled to the hands

of humanity in the fennel stalk, every ember in the hearthfire

that tides till morning light. Or rather the raised flame

of Lady Liberty, a guiding light that beckons,

the warning of the lighthouse that cautions dangerous coastlines.

Instead, the caging of the mild light, its aloneness in the bigness of the auditorium

and its insignificance, maybe its oversignificance. Childlike, youthful in its newness

and smallness in the world.

Perhaps the white knight, designated to the midnight watch, lingering

late around the campfire, so if it should be the case that anybody

found themself within the theatre after closing

they’d have some beacon, some semblance of safety so as not to stumble,

so as not to make more ghosts by some mistake.

One thinks of Odysseus within the cave of the cyclops, dark sweet wine offered in the cup,

the glowing ember at the spear-tip finds the eye. The illumination

of the grand reveal, the answering of the final question.

Most conceivably to beckon

and placate the ghosts —

apt to making trouble

if their poltergeist hearts

are not allowed to make merry,

to play their roles as the living do.

Matthew O’Connor

Biography: Matthew (Matt) O’Connor (he/him) is an artist and student majoring in Public Health and International Studies with a minor in Studio Art. Born and raised in New York, he now lives in Corvallis, where he owns and operates a small art business, Temperance Collective, and attends OSU and LBCC as a dual partnership student. Matt grew up drawing and painting, with a sibling and father who share his passion for art. He expanded into photography when he got his first camera as a teen. Matt specializes in portraits, and is inspired by all the things we cannot say with words—but that we can see, and feel.

Artist Statement: A friend of mine called me late at night to come over, and bring my camera! To my surprise, when I walked in, she had fractal images projected in the dark room, and incense burning in front of the projections. She grabbed this beautiful crystal ball, and had me take some incredible photos! To me, this embodies the mystical, spiritual “vision”.

M. Romas

Biography: Myrtle Romas is a second year Environmental Sciences student and poet who has lived in the Pacific Northwest their whole life. They love the outdoors, finding cool rocks, and a good cup of tea.

Artist Statement: The theatre is a place of visions—illusion and performance make it what it is. This piece touches on the human instinct to create allegory and search for metaphor and meaning, all of these visions of what the ghost light could stand in for. Light means a thousand things to us, and all of them are true.