The Artist

It was the last minutes backstage in a small and beautiful theatre. An artist was looking in a mirror, preparing himself for the performance. I was curious how the expression on his face might have looked. The pure observation of his subtle and direct actions made me sure that he knew exactly what he was doing. Observing the scene, I wondered what the actor was seeing in the mirror. The actor himself, the role to be played, the pure appearance of his face, nothing? And even if his preparation appeared ritualised and determined, I thought that every single performance on stage was somehow different in its own way, and you never exactly know what happens at any given moment. And suddenly, I imagined that even if the preparation was ritualised, and if the actor was confident because he had played the role more than hundred times, his eyes would probably show a faint touch of uncertainty, which unfortunately, I never saw.