Think Inside the Box.
I first heard of a Cornell Box via Wiliam Gibson’s cyberpunk masterpiece (in my opinion) Neuromancer. In that book, which of course you’ve read or are about to read, a rogue AI was making exquisite boxes in the grand isolation of space, free of its bounds, failing its Turing test, creating mayhem and murder and beautiful Cornell-inspired boxes.
I'm hearing about Cornell Boxes again on Twitter, of all places. Trevor Boffone has been tweeting out pics of his University of Houston theater students Cornell Box Final Projects. He says he was inspired by Irene Fornes’ use of these boxes in her theatermaking, but I can’t find much about that online. Time for a trip to the Library for the Performing Arts, with my fingers crossed I can turn up something. And yes, this is an invitation to Tell Me All About It if you know!
I find this very cool. And beyond me. I have no craft/art/hand talent outside of cooking and baking. And even so: I can bake you a fabulous cake and whip up delicious frosting but getting said frosting on the cake? Decorating? Forget it. Just close your eyes and eat, I promise it tastes better than it looks. Fiddly tasks cause me to swear in German. I don’t even speak German. The Xmas cookies that are about to be piped and flooded and dyed and dotted will be handled by The Resident Tween, thank you.
As this busy year ends I’m feeling inspired by visual art, by craftmaking, by physical work--by the stuff I’m no good at. After a year of intensive writing and workshopping of not one but FOUR different plays, my brain feels a bit flat. I’m getting signals to do stuff like re-attempt to knit (see: swearing in German). Or maybe just clean things (blech, dirt, who wants to get near it to clean?). Playwriting may be writing but theatermaking is MAKING and it’s time for me to go be a mess. Perhaps I’ll make a Farewell to 2018 box. This year I’ll let the Solstice usher in Intermission, a break. Before they start flashing the lights to get 2019 started.