Artistic Statement
As a former STEM kid, I’ve always been somewhat of a mad scientist. I feed my urge for experimentation now by breaking traditional story structure, using personified metaphors to provoke introspection, and threading my love for science and technology throughout my plays. As a current black, queer fem, I feed my urge to be represented by creating characters reflecting the uncertainties of a gray-haired girl with an omnipresent identity in an oversaturated world.
My plays feel like a walking dream or a living nightmare, depending on the perspective. This subconscious experience is laced with remnants from my suburban childhood, lingering adolescence, and half-baked adulthood. Living in the city as a recovering insomniac and budding agoraphobic has provided a wide array of images begging to be unleashed. With the night luminescence as a landscape and my eyelids as the canvas, I paint portraits of an exhausting sleep. They call me a Chicagoan Sleepwalker.
The pace of my work reflects the generation that gave birth to my chronic online habits, examining antiquated human emotions with the pressures of modern technology. Scenes move quickly. The legitimacy of the world that my characters inhabit is swiftly overridden by the delusions they're experiencing within their psyches. My characters speak to people that aren’t real, objects that aren’t there, and places that are pockets in space. The audience has the job of deciphering what on stage is a real experience and what is a physical manifestation from a character's mind. My plays shift through constant states of change, evolving into new creatures by curtain crawl.
My latest play, May 32nd, is an exploration of how humans experience time, the emotions that haunt us, and the realities that live deep within our eyes at night. Ricky Evanson is a kindergartener experiencing the worst day of his life for the first time. Jay Evanson is his insomniac father, who’s always present physically but emotionally vacant. Jay is also the CEO of Dustbowl Incorporated, the largest sand supplier in Illinois. When Jay’s rogue career day presentation goes array, Ricky finds himself embarrassed in front of his entire class on the absolute last day of kindergarten. Worsening the matter, there’s a recording of this being used as promotional material all over the internet. He wants a do-over. Nell, the preschool teacher, informs him that time moves only forward. As the Son of the Sandman, Ricky thinks otherwise. Ricky rewinds the day through the perspective of each adult in his life in an attempt to stop this atrocity from happening. However, doing this causes the fragile psyche of adults to break open, exposing the flimsy, child-like coping mechanisms surrounding the permanence of time. Plus, at the end of the day, he’s only getting older. No, literally. His body ages rapidly every time he rewinds as a side effect. Freaky!
My writing takes lineage with Jeremy O’Harris, Haruna Lee, Rajiv Joseph, Aleesha Harris, and James Ijames. I write for those who can hear but can’t comprehend, those who can see but not interpret, and those who can feel but cannot touch. In the aftermath of these pages, you can find me scattered, Resting in Pieces. Quite the souvenir! And there’s some horror elements. Ominous portrayals of the adorable or the occasional drastic tone shift here to bring out the underbelly beneath the fantastical, comedic satire. But I’m not scared. I’m wide awake. Are you?
My plays feel like a walking dream or a living nightmare, depending on the perspective. This subconscious experience is laced with remnants from my suburban childhood, lingering adolescence, and half-baked adulthood. Living in the city as a recovering insomniac and budding agoraphobic has provided a wide array of images begging to be unleashed. With the night luminescence as a landscape and my eyelids as the canvas, I paint portraits of an exhausting sleep. They call me a Chicagoan Sleepwalker.
The pace of my work reflects the generation that gave birth to my chronic online habits, examining antiquated human emotions with the pressures of modern technology. Scenes move quickly. The legitimacy of the world that my characters inhabit is swiftly overridden by the delusions they're experiencing within their psyches. My characters speak to people that aren’t real, objects that aren’t there, and places that are pockets in space. The audience has the job of deciphering what on stage is a real experience and what is a physical manifestation from a character's mind. My plays shift through constant states of change, evolving into new creatures by curtain crawl.
My latest play, May 32nd, is an exploration of how humans experience time, the emotions that haunt us, and the realities that live deep within our eyes at night. Ricky Evanson is a kindergartener experiencing the worst day of his life for the first time. Jay Evanson is his insomniac father, who’s always present physically but emotionally vacant. Jay is also the CEO of Dustbowl Incorporated, the largest sand supplier in Illinois. When Jay’s rogue career day presentation goes array, Ricky finds himself embarrassed in front of his entire class on the absolute last day of kindergarten. Worsening the matter, there’s a recording of this being used as promotional material all over the internet. He wants a do-over. Nell, the preschool teacher, informs him that time moves only forward. As the Son of the Sandman, Ricky thinks otherwise. Ricky rewinds the day through the perspective of each adult in his life in an attempt to stop this atrocity from happening. However, doing this causes the fragile psyche of adults to break open, exposing the flimsy, child-like coping mechanisms surrounding the permanence of time. Plus, at the end of the day, he’s only getting older. No, literally. His body ages rapidly every time he rewinds as a side effect. Freaky!
My writing takes lineage with Jeremy O’Harris, Haruna Lee, Rajiv Joseph, Aleesha Harris, and James Ijames. I write for those who can hear but can’t comprehend, those who can see but not interpret, and those who can feel but cannot touch. In the aftermath of these pages, you can find me scattered, Resting in Pieces. Quite the souvenir! And there’s some horror elements. Ominous portrayals of the adorable or the occasional drastic tone shift here to bring out the underbelly beneath the fantastical, comedic satire. But I’m not scared. I’m wide awake. Are you?
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CJ Willette
Artistic Statement
As a former STEM kid, I’ve always been somewhat of a mad scientist. I feed my urge for experimentation now by breaking traditional story structure, using personified metaphors to provoke introspection, and threading my love for science and technology throughout my plays. As a current black, queer fem, I feed my urge to be represented by creating characters reflecting the uncertainties of a gray-haired girl with an omnipresent identity in an oversaturated world.
My plays feel like a walking dream or a living nightmare, depending on the perspective. This subconscious experience is laced with remnants from my suburban childhood, lingering adolescence, and half-baked adulthood. Living in the city as a recovering insomniac and budding agoraphobic has provided a wide array of images begging to be unleashed. With the night luminescence as a landscape and my eyelids as the canvas, I paint portraits of an exhausting sleep. They call me a Chicagoan Sleepwalker.
The pace of my work reflects the generation that gave birth to my chronic online habits, examining antiquated human emotions with the pressures of modern technology. Scenes move quickly. The legitimacy of the world that my characters inhabit is swiftly overridden by the delusions they're experiencing within their psyches. My characters speak to people that aren’t real, objects that aren’t there, and places that are pockets in space. The audience has the job of deciphering what on stage is a real experience and what is a physical manifestation from a character's mind. My plays shift through constant states of change, evolving into new creatures by curtain crawl.
My latest play, May 32nd, is an exploration of how humans experience time, the emotions that haunt us, and the realities that live deep within our eyes at night. Ricky Evanson is a kindergartener experiencing the worst day of his life for the first time. Jay Evanson is his insomniac father, who’s always present physically but emotionally vacant. Jay is also the CEO of Dustbowl Incorporated, the largest sand supplier in Illinois. When Jay’s rogue career day presentation goes array, Ricky finds himself embarrassed in front of his entire class on the absolute last day of kindergarten. Worsening the matter, there’s a recording of this being used as promotional material all over the internet. He wants a do-over. Nell, the preschool teacher, informs him that time moves only forward. As the Son of the Sandman, Ricky thinks otherwise. Ricky rewinds the day through the perspective of each adult in his life in an attempt to stop this atrocity from happening. However, doing this causes the fragile psyche of adults to break open, exposing the flimsy, child-like coping mechanisms surrounding the permanence of time. Plus, at the end of the day, he’s only getting older. No, literally. His body ages rapidly every time he rewinds as a side effect. Freaky!
My writing takes lineage with Jeremy O’Harris, Haruna Lee, Rajiv Joseph, Aleesha Harris, and James Ijames. I write for those who can hear but can’t comprehend, those who can see but not interpret, and those who can feel but cannot touch. In the aftermath of these pages, you can find me scattered, Resting in Pieces. Quite the souvenir! And there’s some horror elements. Ominous portrayals of the adorable or the occasional drastic tone shift here to bring out the underbelly beneath the fantastical, comedic satire. But I’m not scared. I’m wide awake. Are you?
My plays feel like a walking dream or a living nightmare, depending on the perspective. This subconscious experience is laced with remnants from my suburban childhood, lingering adolescence, and half-baked adulthood. Living in the city as a recovering insomniac and budding agoraphobic has provided a wide array of images begging to be unleashed. With the night luminescence as a landscape and my eyelids as the canvas, I paint portraits of an exhausting sleep. They call me a Chicagoan Sleepwalker.
The pace of my work reflects the generation that gave birth to my chronic online habits, examining antiquated human emotions with the pressures of modern technology. Scenes move quickly. The legitimacy of the world that my characters inhabit is swiftly overridden by the delusions they're experiencing within their psyches. My characters speak to people that aren’t real, objects that aren’t there, and places that are pockets in space. The audience has the job of deciphering what on stage is a real experience and what is a physical manifestation from a character's mind. My plays shift through constant states of change, evolving into new creatures by curtain crawl.
My latest play, May 32nd, is an exploration of how humans experience time, the emotions that haunt us, and the realities that live deep within our eyes at night. Ricky Evanson is a kindergartener experiencing the worst day of his life for the first time. Jay Evanson is his insomniac father, who’s always present physically but emotionally vacant. Jay is also the CEO of Dustbowl Incorporated, the largest sand supplier in Illinois. When Jay’s rogue career day presentation goes array, Ricky finds himself embarrassed in front of his entire class on the absolute last day of kindergarten. Worsening the matter, there’s a recording of this being used as promotional material all over the internet. He wants a do-over. Nell, the preschool teacher, informs him that time moves only forward. As the Son of the Sandman, Ricky thinks otherwise. Ricky rewinds the day through the perspective of each adult in his life in an attempt to stop this atrocity from happening. However, doing this causes the fragile psyche of adults to break open, exposing the flimsy, child-like coping mechanisms surrounding the permanence of time. Plus, at the end of the day, he’s only getting older. No, literally. His body ages rapidly every time he rewinds as a side effect. Freaky!
My writing takes lineage with Jeremy O’Harris, Haruna Lee, Rajiv Joseph, Aleesha Harris, and James Ijames. I write for those who can hear but can’t comprehend, those who can see but not interpret, and those who can feel but cannot touch. In the aftermath of these pages, you can find me scattered, Resting in Pieces. Quite the souvenir! And there’s some horror elements. Ominous portrayals of the adorable or the occasional drastic tone shift here to bring out the underbelly beneath the fantastical, comedic satire. But I’m not scared. I’m wide awake. Are you?