Theatre is the father of all arts. This
is a truth none can contend, and for this reason it is my one and only
passion.
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I have always believed that playwrights distinguish
themselves by their noble human feelings. Their message can thus
help people to rise above themselves, to free themselves from their frustrations,
from exploitation, and thus be able to gain a sense of dignity. For
playwrights to succeed in accomplishing their mission and in influencing
people, they should master their profession thoroughly, and have full control
over the style of artistic expression. Otherwise their message will
be blown away by whiffs of wind and leave no trace behind, thus missing
the required aim. For in every work of art, the message of the artist
has always been geared towards human justice, maturity of expression, and
authenticity. It would therefore be wrong to think that one of these
factors can hold sway over any of the others.
They say that theatre is an art based on solid structures
devoid of all superfluous trimmings, and that its dialogues should be firm,
concise and far from any babbling. They also say that for this reason
it is incompatible with the nature of woman, who is unable to dissociate
herself from her ego, and consequently cannot express herself with objectivity.
They say! To this I reply: woman who can carry in her womb a new
life during nine months is just as capable of creating a play that is solid
and coherent. On one condition: that she be a real playwright.
Fortunately, modern theatre has liberated itself from
traditional forms as a result of several waves of renewal which began
with Pirandello, Bernard Shaw, Brecht and many others, with the theatre
of the absurd, of refusal and of experimental avant-gardism. Today
it is very rare for an author to write in a traditional style.
In my first play (“Women without Masks”) I chose
“theatre within the theatre”, a formula which has become familiar
in modern plays. “Woment without Masks” began with a cry and a question,
for I felt myself pregnant with words dating back tens, maybe even hundreds
of years.
Could it be that the time had come for the pains of
labour strangling my innermost self to be releasing and projecting
my word towards existence ? My word ! ….. my passion ….. my
childhood ….. my child ! I listen to its voice so remote
from complaints, from sighs. A voice that was crushed and humiliated.
A voice whose echos reverberated generation after generation. Conscience,
in human history, bears the heavy weight of persecution and bondage.
I have refused to set down on paper a single phrase
that did not emerge from my deepest soul. Not one line that did not
express the truth about woman, and about her power of giving. This
is why I have asked my pen to take the oath of refusing to write a single
line if it were to express weakness or frustration, as well as to refuse
to obey me if it felt me cowardly before truth. I then asked it to
help me bring to the fore the greatest number of women whose lives I share,
by drawing nearer to them and becoming their mouthpiece.
We would thus bare ourselves completely before each
other, by ridding ourselves of the rust accumulated with the passage of
time. We would cry out against all the circumstances and events that have
deprived us of the bursting forth of our human powers.
Lastly, I believe that theatre is the light that illuminates
the path of mankind. A light that ensures an organic link with the
spectator by creating warmth between us -- be that communication
through the written text or through the performance on stage.