On my journey to see 17 Border Crossings, I had the opportunity to experience my own sort of border crossing. Unfortunately, this also meant that I was unable to make it to the theater in time to actually see the show. However, after some brief research about the show and about Thaddeus Phillips, I realized that my experience on Sunday afternoon, although less exciting, fit into a similar category as those told in the performance. Everything that was beyond control pretty much went wrong at one point of another. I was faced with the challenge of crossing the physical border from Bryn Mawr to Philadelphia on the SEPTA. This experience made me realize that sometimes things don’t work out as you intend and you have to be ready to embrace the challenges as they come and move forward. Although I was unable to attend 17 Border Crossings, my experiences this weekend were a good representation of the performance and its character. 

Dewey argues that one needs to understand something, one must understand how it relates to the world around it, how it works. I find this an interesting idea; it is, I admit, how I like to think about the world. Nonetheless, I am not sure that it is always the best approach to a topic. I did not understand all the foreign languages Thaddeus Phillips spoke, I did not understand all the international interactions that played into his show, and I have not been out of the country since I was very young, yet I understood his work and enjoyed it immensely. Someone once posed an idea: “You can take a rose, dissect it, discover how it grows, why it flowers, what makes it so red and so sweet smelling. And when you are done, surrounded by shredded petals and stems, ask yourself this: is this still a rose?” While there is a certain amount of depth and interest to be discovered in the connections behind a work, at what point is it better for a viewer to let the connections go?

In "The Live Creature," Dewey says that we cannot understand something without first understanding how it connects to and interacts with the world around it. Despite this, we are still able to enjoy it in one way or another. He uses the example of a flower--we can appreciate its beauty but we cannot understand it until we know how it interacts with the sun, water, and soil. Will understanding deep play allow us to appreciate it on a deeper level? Does knowing one is deeply playing give a more thorough sense of satisfaction or enjoyment, or does the opposite apply? I think that there is something magical in the mystery of deep play as it occurs.

 In reading 17 Border Crossings I can see all of the ways in which it is creative and playful, and very impressively entertaining, which I was not expecting considering there was only one actor and I had never seen a one man show before. I felt that the variety of the stories, and the intricate piece of lighting kept the show interesting and fast paced, enacting a great state of play. Watching the performance for me was not deep play, but I feel that for Thaddeus Phillips, certain moments certainly could be perceived as deep play. I think this could develop out of the great pride and work that has gone into this piece. The performance itself was playful, and stayed light and comedic the entire time, offering me a break from reality, without leaving any heavy emotions on my shoulder. 17 Border Crossings was certainly a playful outlet of creativity for Thaddeus, and a joy to watch for the audience.

The 17 border crossings impressed me by its light and voice. When the man ‘stand’ in the train, the light on the ground is so realistic that I even could feel the time pass and the train is running. His languages, the Spanish, French and English show the borders between people. For me, this show is more like a critical play than a deep play. The critical players want to express their ideas about the society to others. But deep play, I think is more personal. I am not the player on the stage so I am not sure if he is in the deep play feeling when he plays. Although the play seems hard for me but maybe it is not very hard for him. There is a border between us, of course, I could not feel his feeling at that moment.

I was really struck in class over the idea of one's right to another's inner thoughts. The constrast between a right to knowledge and a right to silence particularly caught me - at one point does one's privacy begin to supercede on what could be accomplished should they speak up? I almost felt myself turn to this side before the comparison to wire tapping complicated matters further. On the one hand, the practice is done with the intent of criminal investigation. On the other, it constitutes a MASSIVE invasion of privacy, bearing so much personal information that could be wholly irrelevant and yet must still be sifted through (I keep thinking of The Lives of Others, a film about an East German home bugged by the Stasi and one man's struggles with the responsibility because he grows so attached to his target). When put in a crime context, I feel as though those pertinent have a right to speak regarding any part they may have taken in this crime, but we also have safeguards in place (for example, Miranda rights) to allow these people to protect themselves, as well as to avoid further incriminating those tried for the wrong crime. Put in this context, I do feel like while there is an obligation to speak out against injustice, there is an ever present right to silence, lest we fall into a French style of guilty until proven innocent that forces one to speak. 

"Reading" 17 Border Crossings was an interesting experience that surprised me with its creativity and expressiveness. I feel that I was experiencing deep play during the performance, and the performer Thaddeus Phillips, in the other hand, was playing critically.

I felt engaged  in the play and imagined myself being as a part of it as if I was the person that was going through all those things. Thaddeus used "you" as the narrator, which seemed like an invitation to us to actually participate in the play. To me, it was "an alternate reality". I was focused and had high consciousness and realization, which was a part of my definition of "deep play."

As for the performer's part, I could imagine that he was playing critically, in the preparation of the performance and during the performance, since he was thinking about how to tell his story in a condensed version by using simple stage settings, but to also express his point behind the story.

After reading Clifford Geertz’s Deep Play: Notes on a Balinese Cockfight, I feel that Ackerman and Geertz have presented me with two separate views on what deep play is or could be. Geertz, an anthropologist, sees deep play within the people of Bali in their cockfighting culture. For a good amount of the piece, Geertz builds up just how strongly these men identify with and care for their cocks (a double entendre that, yes, does occur in both languages). After reading Ackerman’s definitions on deep play and her interpretation of deep play experiences, I was ready for Geertz’s writing to culminate with the relationship between the Balinese men and the fighting cocks as his example of deep play. However, the narrative went elsewhere, instead focusing on the betting processes for the cockfights. Geertz talks about how when the stakes on a bet are ridiculous, when any rational man would and should turn his head and save his money, Balinese men continue to bet, putting their faith, pride, and place in the social hierarchy before their logical reason. The deep play that Geertz describes happens more or less according to the rules of a system—in fact, it is the system that facilitates the deep play—whereas Ackerman’s deep play occurs outside any system. Ackerman also has intense moments when she feels deep play occurring, and seeks out those experiences, while the situation Geertz describes depicts the men as more or less oblivious to the fact that they are participating in deep play.

I'm sitting in the audience, freezing from only wearing shorts and a wind breaker. I didn't have time to change after practice and I was completely exhausted and freezing. I came into the play with minimal interest. Once, I walked in and saw just a table and a man oblivious to the crowd of people walking in front of him, I honestly questioned the quality of whatever it was that I was about to watch. 

But that man, table, and lights, as simple as they were, made me forget I was freezing to death and kept me intrigued rather than dozing off. Yes, I loved like everyone else, his impressive talented accents and the way the personal stories captured the hearts of the audience, but none of this would have been possible without that hardwood table and lights that brought to life each border. He's a brilliant man, like Barnes, he took the ordinary and made it so much more beautiful. 

After hearing Lorde's point of view on silence I completely agree with her. If we remain silent than we will never be able to connect with others and our shared experiences WE will loose the power to have an opinion and express what we think is right and what’s wrong. If we stay silent no one will ever know what we think or what’s important to us. The power of speaking is being able to pick what you say and own it. One can either limit themselves or be as open as they want. But if one doesn't speak then they loose that power to choose what’s being spoken. Instead of others criticizing their speech we’ll just criticize their silence.

“I have come to believe that is what’s more important must be spoken even at the risk that it is misunderstood or abused. Speaking profits me beyond any other effect”  – Lorde