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One tempest-gray afternoon in 2001 (and as Iwrite that I wonder where fourteen years have gone), I wandered about St. LouisCemetery Number One in New Orleans, marveling at the names on those cities of the dead crypts, and writing them down. To this day, I still find inspiration in that faded, blue-lined piece of paper.

In the center of Torrington, CT, next to the historical society, and a few steps from The Warner Theatre, sits Center Cemetery. I took a group of writers through Center to do as I did in New Orleans. Inhibitions were left at the rusted iron gate as we crossed the dirt threshold into this other city of the dead, bringing life. We moved about the cemetery not only gathering names but also devising theatre.

From our imaginations, grounded in the time that the cemetery souls lived and died, how old they were, and what family connections we could find among the stones, we used the language of that space to infuse our works. As writers we became players in this world, manipulating our bodies, starting in confined areas around the stones, and then expanding out to encompass the entire cemetery.

In the oldest section of the cemetery, some of the stones contain daguerreotypes of those laid to rest under the oaks. These brought out some of the most remarkable creations for we felt a different spirit, if you will, move through the group as we put faces to what developed in our imaginations, our bodies, and our words. Having an image brought an added tension to our movements, as if those sepia-toned, deep-set features caused more visceral passion, suspense, and tragedy. This was done with reverence for those resting in this beautiful place, and some of the most affecting works from the day were the ones conceived in the most intimate of spaces.

What began as experimentation simply for the indulgence of participation, albeit perhaps in an unusual place for such, eventually turned into the joy of sharing performance. Together we owned what we had created, feeling free to develop every idea, theatrically supporting the stories, moving and manipulating our bodies and the space, trying anything. People who might be shy in movement or song (as we writers sometimes are) expressed their rhythms, and the elements of our surrounding, in just those physical manifestation, sometimes completely intertwined with another person, sometimes floating as others watched…not bad for a bunch of dramatists.

For me, I took away something I’ve always been drawn to, something I think we’re all drawn to as theatre artists, something I experience in New Orleans: yet another way to collaborate, create, express…devise. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines “devise” as: “to invent, to give, to conceive, to imagine, to bring about, to form new combinations…” In that city of the dead, on that brilliant blue-sky autumn day, where the scent of fallen leaves strengthened as we crunched them under our dancing feet, we invented, gave to each other and the space, conceived, imagined, and brought about new combinations, embracing every aspect of Devised Theatre.

cdonaghy@dramatistsguild.com

Photo (above): Center Cemetery, Torrington, CT