To be believed in. That’s powerful. And yet I’m going to talk about rhubarb once again before I finish.
Earlier in the week, I went to a reading of a play the Portland Playhouse commissioned. The playhouse is in a former church in a residential neighborhood that is in the midst of a transition. The play is about a town that was rebuilt without the black families that once lived there.
I’m not a critic nor do I attend the theater grudgingly, yet I have a tendency to approach works of art with my arms crossed and a sharp word at the ready. Continue reading