Puppetry: Beyond the Alive/Alone Binary
In the words of Tammy Faye Bakker and RuPaul Charles, “Everybody loves puppets!”.
But especially me. Why? It comes down to a certain feeling I get, one that’s kind of hard to explain. But I’ll do my best. I believe there’s a special switch in every person’s brain - the “on” switch position translates to *best Dr. Frankenstein voice* “It’s ALIIIIIVE!” and the “off” position is along the lines of *cue 80s synthpop beat* “I think we’re alone now”.
We humans can’t help but to constantly be appraising what, and who, is in front of us. And depending on what we see, that internal switch flips from “it’s alive” to “I’m alone” and back as the situation warrants. Cat jumps into your lap? It’s alive. A sock falls to the floor from atop an unstable mountain of dirty laundry? I’m alone. Barista asks for your coffee order? It’s (er, they’re…) alive. An annoying video ad auto-plays when you’re trying to read a recipe online? I’m alone (and HANGRY). Like a motion-activated light, the flips of the switch are involuntary and nearly instantaneous.
Through millions of years of evolution, we’re pretty well-oiled creature-identifying machines. Historically, it makes perfect sense why we’d be experts at this - identifying other people (are they friend or foe?) and animals (are they friend, foe, or food?) would have been SUPER important for… y’know, not DYING.
Once that Alive/Alone switch flips, it triggers a whole cascade of internal changes that can have external repercussions. If the switch flips to “I’m alone”, well, not a whole lot changes. You can go about your day, unseen. You can commence belting off-key. You can slouch and scratch your butt and pick your nose (all hypotheticals - not drawing from personal experience here.) But when the switch flips to “it’s alive”, suddenly there are a million micro follow-ups to ask and answer.
Do I know this person or creature? Do we share a past and a personal connection that will cue how to behave? Are they a stranger? Do they notice me? Do they seem well-meaning or might they wish me harm? What can I tell about the story of their life from observing them? What do they think of me? What do I want them to think of me? Do I want to interact or stay away? Do they think I’m cute? What’s their facial expression saying? What if they say something to me? As you attempt to resolve these what-ifs, your heart rate might go up, your cheeks might get flushed, you might feel a jolt of adrenaline or find yourself smiling (authentically or not) involuntarily. You might fidget, or relax, or shrink your body, or straighten up, or furrow your brow, or roll your eyes. This is what it means to be human interacting in a world filled with other living, thinking creatures - they change you and you change them. I guess what I’m trying to say is: being a being is one thing, but being a being seeing a being being and being seen being a being by another being is a way of being on a whole nother level. Make sense? Life acknowledging life reifies existence. An unobserved living thing exists outside of you, but when you observe that same living thing, it now lives inside your mind as well. A big part of BEING alive is being PERCEIVED as alive.
But then - THEN! there are those exquisite liminal spaces that I’m obsessed with. The world that exists between the simple binary of Alive and Alone. Those unnerving, uncanny times when the switch flips to “it’s alive!” but then suddenly lurches halfway back - wait, IS it? It’s can’t be. This doesn’t make sense. My eyes are playing tricks. I think I’m alone now. But… am I? The switch temporarily short circuits, requiring you to disengage out of autopilot and laser focus your attention to the situation at hand.
Various instances of pareidolia [the tendency to perceive a specific, often meaningful image in a random or ambiguous visual pattern] that I’ve collected
The internal ask-and-answer dialogue becomes something like “I know that’s a scarf being manipulated in the wind. But why does it make me sad?” and “Um… why does that door buzzer have a face? And why is he judging me??” and “Okay, so logically I know that’s a carefully constructed collection of fabric and synthetic materials over a piece of expertly-carved foam, but also her name is Miss Piggy and she’s an international icon and star of the silver screen and she’s married to a frog”.
Why am I angry at this person?
All of these are unsteady, riveting experiences I’ve had, and it’s a sensation I relish. Puppetry exploits our predilection for identifying and sizing up the people and creatures around us. It leverages human beings’ overgenerous tendency to perceive intelligent life forms in order to enable us to explore those ancillary questions, further bending reality. What does this folded piece of paper think of me? Is this assemblage of wood and foam and string lonely? What does this tight wad of fabric and sticks want out of life, and how can I help him achieve that? Making that leap to imbuing inanimate objects with life in your mind invokes those same somatic responses - flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, increase heart rate, a surprised laugh, an awestruck gasp. By inviting us to stand at the threshold between not alive and alive, between what is that and who is that, puppetry compels the viewer to take a closer look at the normally overlooked, encourages radical empathy, and breaks through the boundaries we build to divide the world around us.
