Blank Stage

There's something ridiculously calming about a blank stage before the preset. I think there's something really premitively beautiful in a space without all the glitz and glamour and furniture. One of my favorite things, though I don't do it often, is sitting in a theatre before the show and taking in the stillness.
I enjoy this because I know what will take place here in just a few hours. The dancers will twirl out in their gorgeous dresses and take over the stage. The lead actress will command the attention of every patron and her antagonist will be a fierce presence on the stage. The furniture will engage in a game of tetris behind all the curtains, unbeknownst to the audience, who are enraptured by the latest song, the last monologue. So I sit sometimes, and enjoy the silence.
Then the sounds of the theatre begin. The spot ops arrive, loud and boisterous-just back from dinner and packed full of caffeine and energy. The sound guy arrives and mic packs are clicking and batteries are being tossed and replaced. The bustle begins, and I wish that I could sit here longer and just listen. I hear the other asm grab a broom and start sweeping. The costume racks roll in as the dressers begin their presets. I hear the clicking of the moving lights as the lighting designer begins his channel check. He's laying on the prop bed or rolling around the stage on a scooter, but he's good at what he does, so I give him that much.
Pretty soon the theatre is no longer that silent sanctuary and the stage is no longer blank. The actors start to warm up and the bustle only heightens. The show begins and that' s that. The stage is filled with glamorous lights and costumes and singing and the magic of theatre takes over. It's beautiful and thrilling and exhilarating.
But the blank stage is beautiful in it's own right, too.