The beautiful Mia Paschal is a marvel in her new piece, which begins with a scream. Soul-baring, confrontational, sharply constructed, and thoroughly compelling. Go see it!

I feel at a loss to do her fantastic performance justice in a review, so I offer just these words: intense, deliberate, dreamy, poetic, rhythmic, entrancing, human in every sense imaginable, profound, and tornado (this last word her own, but a perfect descriptor).

Check out this phenomenal this one-woman show, but get there early – there were few (if any?) spare seats at her Saturday evening performance (the debut of the show).

To read the full review (and other reviews!), visit http://www.fresnoundercurrent.net/rogue_reviews

This performance will remain with me. My favorite of those I’ve seen.

I fell madly in love with Mia Paschal (in a strictly platonic, admiring sort of way) when she performed at last year’s Rogue Festival, and there was no way I was going to miss her new show this year.

I’m even more in love with her now.

This year is a journey through love and life with her, bobbing and weaving through uncertainty, abandon, heartache and heart’s home. As I watched I felt she had dived into my heart and soul, plucking out all those private triumphs and tribulations. But really she’s just acting out the truth of our collective, yet unique, experiences of romance, lust, comfort, belonging, and longing for connection.

Her voice was her own, and yet it could easily have been mine, or that of the person sitting at either side of me.

One comment I heard afterward was about how dense her material is. Don’t let that be daunting. There is a lot packed into one hour, but it isn’t hard to understand. She says as much in manner and intent as she does in spoken word. You don’t just know what she means. You feel what she means, sometimes moreso when she does NOT say it, in those spaces between the lines.

So, yes, her material is dense, but it’s because she isn’t telling the tale. She IS the tale, and you are the tale. She’s not telling it, she’s living it, and you’re living it with her.

She is sublime.

A powerhouse of a writer, a powerhouse of a performer. This is a show that should be at the top of everyone’s list to see before it goes away.

The fluidity of full to bursting language portrayed in spoken words and powerful movement in the weakest and strongest sense, bring to life the darkest, most vulgar yet hungering spaces of humanness struggling to cope, much less understand and abide with grace juxtaposed with the brilliant mind and the radiance of love found and ultimately joyously celebrated. This is the type of performance one might be fortunate enough to catch just one and then remain long thankful.

There are three things I remember clearly about Rogue.

-2007:
Liesl Garner flooring a house with poetry, getting a standing O, and walking around for the rest of the night floating a foot off the ground. (She’s a tall woman who has the most lovely crescent eyes when she smiles, -that night she floated and was impossible to miss.)

-2008:
AirplaneJayne (Jayne Day) on her second night performing, packs a house, and holds the entire audience in the palm of her hand, and does not let go, -ever,
until the end.
You laugh, you cry, you cringe, you go to the store. (okay, well, not right there, but, well… nevermind.)

2007:(again)
and the only Rogue show I actually pay to go see, (and the only show I’m actually able to see because I’m all over the place as a floating volunteer) (I was box office for Liesl’s show,)

Mia Paschal, ‘and the lily was: Fontana’

A petite unbelievablly elegant woman, who’s performance space I had the privilidge of setting up, introduces herself,
and I find out that her show was about being ‘a cutter.’
(In human services trade this means someone with self-inflictive injury history.)

I don’t know what to say at first, but am instantly charmed.
She’s quite friendly, but all business, and we don’t have much time.
-I finally, later on in the second week, sit with some friends, and on a Saturday Morning, we get a chance to see the show.
Electrifying, devestating,
she’s everywhere at once,
she portrays all aspects of her illness, her suiters, her abusers, her family, her destroyers and (finally,)
who she is today: this magnificent woman who commands attention with her smile, who,
despite wearing 4 inch heels, maybe is a little over five ft. tall, and definitely a force to be reckonned with.

Her show covered a subject so vital and so prevalent to the area, that I personally called several members of local mental health organizations, as well as the local school system, (several times.)
(I have no idea if they ever showed.)

But I,
someone who intimately knows a myriad of self abusive folks (artists, fellow students, family, patients, you name it,) am deeply moved by the honesty, the rage, the beauty, the truth that this ’show,’ is.
A line from it remains forever in my memory,
as she describes her time in a psychiatric hospital, where the whole group in the unit is sitting there talking about their ‘problem,’
(which they do,)
talking about their ambition and outcome
(which they do,)
and assuming their roles
(which they will)
-and Mia comes clean:
-’…I mean, we’re all sitting there, and it dawns on me, what happens if I’m not the cool wise african american who knows it all, like in the movies, what if I’m nobody’s sage?,
what if I’m simply f**kd up???’

-She’s wise, alright, don’t let that fool you,
-but she’s wise in that she knows her shortcomings, and knows her limits.
If a journey begins with the first step, this life-journey went from a premature end, into making real ground, when that admission finally took place.
That statement, as well as others instantly won my respect.

And, true to form, this performance, which completely shook the building to the ground, completely wrung out the audience, and left us all stunned, was put on, time and time again, by a person who is actually quite quiet, infinitely elegant, and one of the most gracious beings you will ever find.

Mia is the royalty who is happy to just sit and talk with you.

That was last year.
(Folks are still reeling.)

Fastforward to this evening.
Mia has been back for performances last week, she’s here this week.

I’m going to make three performances for the rogue,
and have done precious little in the festival, (wheras last year, I practically lived at the thing for two weeks.)
But, despite an unreal schedule, and a very different life,
I’m able to catch just one show of Mia’s.

I’ve read the reviews, I’ve talked to friends,
I’ve not let any of that have much effect.

The theme is, (among other things,)
Love.

Do any of you know how difficult it is for a person who has undergone such trauma as Mia has, to experience love?
(Do you?)

She nails it.

She betrays all of us who have ever been so hopelessly, achingly, unashamedly nakedly wrapped up in the mere notice of another human being.
She tells on us all,
we sabotage, we crave, we hate, we walk around a myriad of different emotions.
We stand there, transfixed by one soul who we know, we can destroy, who simply loves us for who we are, -and we spastically, methodically, in staccato, chew through our own tendons and desires,
-rather than trust.

I say ‘we,’ because Mia is one of us.
She’s the beautiful damaged
-who know how to rise from the ashes of our own ruin, (whether we caused it or it was visited upon us by others,) -who cares?
And this is how you fall in love with Mia.
This is why.
There is not a single blessed shallow thing about this woman.
There is not one spot of insincerity in anything, ANYTHING she does.
(…and yet, she never once goes into cliche’, ‘drama,’ any of the carnival acts that people pass off as ‘acting,’ these days.
She’s subtle, she’s an opiate,
And she’s always telling you the truth.
She is not just one who you watch and simply cannot look away from, (no, that would be too easy and too contrived, -besides anything that cold and methodical… I mean, she’s THAT good, —but that isn’t it.)
There is no antidote for Mia Paschal, and you will never want one, (just be glad that she’s benevolent.)

Every girl you’ve ever loved who somebody has injured before you, who shrinks away.
Every time you’ve been touched, and just couldn’t open up and rise to the warmth, only to look back and watch someone walk, and be to dry to call out.
Every memory,
Every revelation,
Every time you’ve ridden on a train, looked out the window, and saw something happen to someone else,
—and there was nothing, nothing,
not a goddammed thing you could do,
but hope and pray that the one accosted somehow got away, and healed…
It’s the one closest to you, who you know their secrets and their fears, and you don’t dare bring it up, ever, unless they do.
That’s Mia.
That’s us.

She starts the performance, literally in one of the most surreal, comic, and startling moves I’ve ever seen…
This is performance art at it’s finest.
-And she does that a LOT this year.

This woman, who will literally crawl around inside of you and jangle and soothe, burn, and kiss the deepest parts of you?,
NOW is fearlessly approaching and running through the audience.
I wasn’t ready for that.
I mean, at one point, she’s squeezed in between me and this other guy,
calling out the story, unabated….
Her voice resonated through her sides and thighs, which, in turn rang through my shoulders, and I could at once feel her body heat as well as the taught muscles beneath her clothes.
What do you do with that?
(and this from a guy who thinks nothing of being crammed into the 2 train, unable to even shift my feet, in a NY subway, headed to work.)

Mia does that.
She’s closed, guarded, open, in you, then literally pressed right up on you… there is no escape.
There never will be.
And you never want there to be.
If Mia were a guy?
She’d be locked up.
But she’s not, she’s a woman and an infinitely effective woman, at that.

A lot of ground is covered.
And I’ll be honest, because of the backstory that few know, the performance was especially devestating.

As she will go from point to point to point, extremely potent and truthful events were told about not just her life, but events of this past year, her person, her gender, her race, and how, when all of that mixes in?, we still have quite a ways to go.
To anyone in attendance, this is at once simultaniously a universal and extremely intimate performance for every soul in a seat.

I’ll be further honest.
I cried.
And when I got into the car, I cried harder.

I guess it’s okay to tell you,
There is a magnificent ending, it is not destructive, and quite unabashedly, if this story is holding true?
Mia is in love, and someone loves her back.
(And it’s magnificent…
the thought of it, to hear this woman,
who knows so much,
who is not simply ‘f**ked up,’ -but who has managed to not just endure, but make sense and victoriously come to peace,
—and then be able to tell us all of it, in truth.
She’s in love, (which is at once terrifying, and hopeful and magnificent.)

In my past life, when I was an East Coaster in my natural element,
I was in the business of caring for others.
It’s a vocation.

I had one person who I was given, who it was my sole responsibility to keep her from ending her life.
She was this beautifuly skinny kid, a young woman who could suddenly cave in, succumb to whatever triggered her,
and then it would be a sudden all out battle, keep her safe, hold her, reach her, calm her down, keep her safe, be bitten by her, hold her, reach her, be bitten more, keep her safe, keep her safe.
She had come within inches of going under traffic several times.
She went from having a room full of the usual girl things, which included glow in the dark plastic stars on the ceiling,
—to having simply bare walls and a sheet and blanket on a bare bed on a bare floor in what was left of a room that had been greatly splintered by a severely violent and destructive (previous) resident.
There were no more glowing plastic stars, as she had taken to swallowing them, hoping that the edges would cause internal injury.

I still review the memories of starting out with her in tow, the two of us doing everything from puzzles to laundry, to picking wildflowers.
The last night I worked at the facility,
she was there, in her pajamas, with another one-on-one (this time female, they thought the gender difference may have been part of her condition worsening, -it wasn’t.)
And, after three separate attempts at saying good bye, through the day, but being too bashful,
she finally held me,
said ‘thank-you,’
and told me she’d try, no promises.
I’ve had that kid nearly tear me in half, and have had to put more moves on her than an olympic wrestling octopus,
—all the while sustaining injury myself, -and keeping her safe.

I will never ever forget that hug.
I never knew what happened to her after that, (a fellow staff member called a year later, said she was ‘okay.’)

Sometimes the most beautiful, creative, and intelligent people,
can be so self-destructive, and so tortured.
You never know how long you’re going to have them,
-they never know how long they will either.
You just have to hope, respect their choices, and let them reach you and you them, -as they will.

Mia’s returned to us, and she’s in love.
She’s doing good.
She’s doing great.
I can feel it.
And, for one who understands, all to clearly that the most spectacular little maelstroms in life,
can be altogether beautiful, balanced and ‘doing okay,’ (none of us really sure how long ‘okay,’ will last.)

I for one
am very, very pleased.
And it is because of that happiness for her,
having been dragged all around the court, in this most recent performance,
pressed,
held,
bitten,
and thanked, (just for being there,)
That I cried.

Mia, thank you for all of this.

Thank you for coming back to here.

It is my prayer that you always wake up next to your beautiful blonde French boxer, laughing.

-Eric

-The rest of you have two more chances to see this show:
Mia Paschal: ‘Along the Path of Larks and Swallows.’
Saturday the 8th,
2:30 and 8:30,
Diana’s North Studio:
7 bucks

(Get there early, she sells out.)

Steph
-you’re exactly right, we are lucky that she came back, and I’ll leave it at that.

I have no idea how many words she used. I don’t count such things, actually.

It is what it is.

Try as I did this just didn’t hold my interest! This was the complete antithesis of Noel Williams, “Party of One”. Mia Paschal’s work just struck me as pretentious, self-absorbed and simply boring. What may have struck others as intoxicatingly cosmic with it’s emotional profoundness only left me pondering my grocery list and household chores. Yawn!