Sunday began, as all Sundays do, with a community dog walk. But, as has been my custom of late, I turned back after a half-hour of walking … and I got lost.
I didn’t panic; I just kept going, knowing that one trail or another would lead to a road or a trail map. It was anxious, of course, when I first realized I had no idea how to get to the car. Eventually I came upon something I recognized and could orient myself.
The rest of the day was spent finishing Pettigrew, collecting Jay from the ferry and taking him home … and baking. The sun shone all day. It was a beauty of a day.
Today began, again, with a dog walk (along a trail I know well). It’s another decent day. This afternoon, Sue and Fran are dropping by; they’re coming to the island to visit Patsy. I’ll be tidying, cleaning and working on my armature throughout the rest of the day.
I value “colour blind casting” (a term referring to opening all roles to people of diverse ethnicity). I also accept that it can sometimes add meaning to a play that does not come from the playwright. But whereas we encourage the casting of people of colour in roles traditionally, even scripturally, Caucasian, the inverse seems unacceptable: The writing community (and the public) object to writers appropriating the voice of persons of colour.
We tolerate writers appropriating the voice of the other gender, but we don’t allow appropriation of race. It’s an odd inconsistency that defies humans the right to imagine.
You’ll understand my interest, therefore, with this article: Who Gave You the right to Tell That Story? It’s on the Vulture website. Here’s a link.
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