Art Show (Finale)

content warning/trigger warning: discussions of mental health, excessive usage of the words "crazy" and "insane"

Darkness.

Soft lights fade up on stage. Bright spotlight turns on suddenly, center of the circular stage. Into the spotlight steps a masked woman, facing the audience. From a spot on the ground in front of her a small hole opens up and a microphone rises, slowly then more quickly, until it is just a few centimeters directly in front of her mouth. She speaks.

“One.”

Then:

“Crazy. Crazy. Crazy. Crazy insane. Insane. Insane. Insane. Crazy insane.”

She pauses, then says:

“Two.”

Then:

“Crazy. Crazy? Insane. Crazy. Crazy insane. Crazy insane. Crazy insane? Crazy crazy. Crazy crazy crazy. Insane. Insane.”

Quietly, she says:

“Crazy.”

Then at a louder volume:

“Crazy insane. Insane, crazy. Insane. Crazy insane crazy insane crazy insane.”

A beat, then:

“Crazy.”

Another pause, then she says:

“Three.”

Then:

“Insane. Unsane. Insane. Unsane. Crazy? Insane. Unsane. Crazy unsane. Crazy insane? Crazy insane.”

More quietly, almost a whisper:

“Insane. Crazy.”

Then, louder again:

“Crazy insane, crazy unsane, uncrazy and sane. Crazy. Insane. Unsane.”

Another pause, then:

“Four.”

And:

“Crazy insane.”

Quietly:

“Crazy insane?”

Loudly:

“Crazy insane. Crazy insane. Crazy insane.”

Beat, then:

“Five.”

And:

“Insane: crazy. Crazy? Insane. Insane. Insane! Crazy, crazy insane, crazy crazy insane. Crazy crazy crazy. In crazy? Insane crazy. In crazy insane. In crazy sane. In crazy sane. I’m crazy sane.

Crazy.”

Then:

“Six.”

Then:

“Crazy crazy craze. Insane craze. Crazy insane craze. Crazy insane crave. Craving crazy craze. Grazing crazy craze. Insane. Insane, crazy, crave. Craving craze. Crazy craving craze crazing crazies. Insane. Crazy. Crazy to crave. Crazy to graze. Crazy to grave. Grazing to craze. Creasing to craze. Insane. Crazy. Crazier craze to crave crazing when crazier crazes have grazed our graves far more crazily. Insane. Insane crazy. In some crazy. Insane; crazy.”

And:

“Seven.”

And:

“Crazy graze. Crazy grave. Grazy grays. Crazy crave. Crazy insane. Crazy insane. Crazy in grave. Crazy engraved. Crazy in graves, crazy in grays, crazy in gays. Crazy in gaze. Crazy I gave. Crazy I slayed. Crazy I spate. Crazy I saved. Crazy I say. Crazy I stay. Crazy insane. Crazy engrayed. Crazy engayed. Crazy and saved. Crazy in grains. Crazy in gray. Crazy in gay. Crazy in gape. Crazy in gains. Crazy insane. Crazy insane. Crazy instay.”

No beat, right to:

“Eight.”

And:

“Crazy insane is crazy to say. Crazy insane is crazy to say. Crazy to stay. Crazy too staid. Crazy too stained. Crazy too, say? Crazy crazy: crazy two,” then quietly: “Stay.” Then, “Crazy insane. Crazy insane. Crazy in spades. Crazy and spayed. Crazy in spates. Crazy in paints. Crazy in pain. Crazy in pain. Crazy in pain, crazy is pain, crazy insane. Crazy insane! Crazy insane. Crazy is safe. Crazy is saved. Crazy and straight. Crazy and gay. Crazy and slain. Crazy is pain. Crazy is pay. Crazy enpained. Crazy insane.”

Quicker:

“Nine.”

Quicker:

“Crazy enslained, crazy explained, crazy insane, crazy explained, crazy crazy crazy insane, crazy, explain, crazy, inplain, crazy is plain,” quieter but with no pause, “Crazy is plain,” then loud again, louder than even before, “Crazy is pain?! But crazy explains, and crazy ends pain, but crazy is pay, and payzy is crane, so crany is zane, crazy in zane, crazy is zane, cazey is rain, razey is crane, crazy insane, crazy in rain—kay, see? Insane. Creasy insane, greasy insane, grainy in grain, razor engrained, really quite crazy insane,” now she’s practically shouting, “Ten, crazy: explain! Crazy is sane, crazy in sane is crazy insane, crazy in crazy insane is in crazy sane crazy craze, crazy in crazy sane insane is in insane crazy sane craze! Sine?! Cosine! Crazy and signed! Crazy cosigned! Crazy cocaine, crazy insane, crazy go sane, crazy gets cane, crazy to crave insane crazy craze! Crazy crazy crazy insane!!!” almost screamed, and then a long inhale, and then, in a quiet whisper:

“Crazy explained.”

And:

“Crazy end pain.”

And she’s done.

Lights dim, rousing applause from the audience, and when the lights come up again the mic has disappeared back into the stage and the masked woman is modestly bowing.

“Wow, just… wow,” says the host who is walking onstage towards her now. “Let’s give it up for Erica Rivera, ladies and gentlemen!” And the crowd continues to go wild until almost all at once their applause disappears. “Breathtaking,” the host says, “takes my breath away every. Time.” And the masked woman, who is not allowed to talk anymore, nods quickly to indicate her emphatic approval.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give it up one more time for last season’s winner, your next great American artist, Erica Rivera!” And the applause comes in and goes out once again, more quickly this time. “Now for those at home who missed last season,” boos from the crowd, “ah, yes, I know, I know, back when we were on streaming-service-that-shall-not-be-named,” laughter from the crowd, “and we didn’t have as big of an audience, many of you may not have had the privilege of seeing Erica’s incredible performance of ‘Crazy/Insane’—is it crazy slash insane or crazy comma insane, love?” and the masked woman holds up her right hand with one finger up to indicate the first. “Ah, yes, crazy slash insane, one of the most memorable moments of last season’s quarterfinals, when you crawled your way back from Exile Island with that heartrending performance… that you composed with only thirty fleeting minutes in your Artist’s Hourglass! Incredible. Absolutely incredible. Took me right back to filming that episode, truly one of the highlights of my job.” The masked woman nods so emphatically it looks like her mask might fall off. “Now, let’s hear from our judges… although I have a feeling I know what they might say…” and the host, a very tall blonde white woman, giggles a little, mischievously.

“Well, yes, you took the words right out my mouth,” says the first judge, almost annoyed, “and Erica, you took the words out of mine as well. I remember seeing you on Exile Island furiously scribbling down words on paper instead of, as your competitors did, choosing a genre more… adequate for the time limit, like dance or sculpture, and I thought, this girl’s writing her ticket home. And then you stood in front of us and bared your soul, and, my love, tonight you have done it again, proved to everyone here and everyone watching that you are the next great American artist. Bravo. Brava. Bravissimo,” and he makes a chef’s kiss gesture with his hand and puckered lips. Applause, applause, applause.

“And Marie?” asks the host coyly. “Did Erica do it for you tonight again?”

And the second judge nearly screams, “She!!! Sure!!! Damn!!! Did!!!” and, exaggeratedly, she stands up and gives the masked woman another, short round of applause, accompanied by a little celebratory jig. Sitting down, and more quietly, she continues: “She surely damn-diddle-dee did. I mean, wow. Erica. I remember that night like it was yesterday and, you know, I hate to agree with Jésus here,” light, brief ribbing between judge number one and judge number two, “but, yes, that night, I was sure you were going home, I mean, we could see what you and Dawn and Blu were doing and Blu, I mean, Blu is an incredible sculptor, and Dawn an incredible dancer, and we could see a little of what you were doing and I thought, ‘What is this girl thinking?!’ but then you came out and absolutely. Destroyed. That. Stage. With. Your. Words. I could not believe it. That—and those of you who want to compete next season, pay damn close attention—that, that! Is how you get off Exile Island. Soul-baring. Truly soul-baring. I love you, girl,” and another little bit of exaggerated applause from her.

“Thank you, Marie, we all love it when an artist does it for you,” and Marie, whose mic has been turned off, can nevertheless be heard screaming, “Do it for me, baby!!!” and the host laughs and the masked woman laughs (ostensibly, all we can see is her body shaking as though in laughter) and the judges laugh and then things get serious because the host says, “Now Yousef.”

“Yes,” the third judge says.

“Yousef, are you going to be nice tonight?” the host asks with a mock frown.

“Not. A. Chance,” and the audience boos, loudly. “Oh, yeah, boo me, boooooo me all you want, you’ll never be able to boo me harder than you booed me that night when I voted for Blu, who, by the way, just last month received a MacArthur ‘genius’ grant,” applause and whooping from the audience, “so I’d like to think my judgment isn’t too far off,” laughter from all involved, “but we’re here to talk about Erica, who, as you all know, I did vote for in the final vote during the finale, unlike, ahem, some people,” and Marie, again off-mic but still audible, screams, “Well, you wouldn’t have been able to vote for her in the finale if we hadn’t gotten her off of Exile Island!!!” and judges one and two share a laugh that the camera cuts to just for a moment, “but, well, I have to tell you, Erica, now that you are here again,” and he says this with complete sincerity: “Mea culpa. Mea culpa, my friend. You proved tonight, just as you did last season, why you are worthy of the title of the next great American artist and I couldn’t be more impressed,” and the camera cuts back to the masked woman and the host so the host can lead the masked woman off-stage and bring this season's remaining contestants up for the final group challenge, but judge number three wants to add something else so the camera cuts back to him so he can say:

“I just have to say something about that performance, because I didn’t get to say it last season, because I wouldn’t have known to say it last season. Erica, you and I have spoken several times since last season’s finale and you talked to me about the piece, and about the criticism I gave you the night of the quarterfinals, and I have to say this or I wouldn’t feel right… Erica, you were right. Can I talk a little about what you said to me,” and the masked woman, after the shortest beat, nods emphatically. “Now, you told me that the poem was inspired by an encounter you had, long before you even auditioned for the show, with, if I remember correctly, a sensitivity reader?” The masked woman nods again emphatically. “Well. Ladies and gentlemen, according to Erica, the sensitivity reader had told her, after reading the manuscript of her first novel, not to use the words ‘crazy’ or ‘insane’ because they were quote-unquote stigmatizing,” boos from the crowd, louder than any of the boos so far, “and you, Erica, as someone who struggles with her mental health, were inspired, in that moment, at the end of your rope with only thirty minutes in your Hourglass, to meet the theme of the quarterfinals, ‘Taboo,’ with a very personal, very intimate, very abstract exploration of what it means to struggle with mental health, and Erica, sweetheart, I need to say this: Congratulations, truly congratulations,” aww’s and applause from the crowd as judge number three begins to tear up, “I truly misunderstood you last season and I am so grateful and humbled to be in front of you again—for me to be in front of you—and get to tell you that you really are, to me, the next great American artist. You nailed it, you nailed me, you nailed that work to the wall with no apologies and that makes me want to be a better artist,” and, “Isn’t that what this show is all about, ladies and gentlemen?!” and big, long whoops—loud whooping cheers, and adoring screams, and loving shouts—and one more long round of applause from the crowd, from the host, from Jésus, Marie, and Yousef, applause, applause, applause—applause that feels, to the woman in the mask, like it will never fucking stop.