In your benevolence, hear the Artist's plea for a dream come true.
Starring David Holt as Michel Kildress, the Artist (they/them)
With additional voices from the season 1 cast
A dream come true
I Need A Miracle, season 1, episode 1 of 12
Written and created by Matt Boothman
Directed by Robert Valentine
Music by Katharine Seaton
Sound design by Sarah Buchynski
Casting by Fiona Thraille
Recorded at Jukebox Studios
Broadcast assistance from Teresa Milewski
Cover art by Dionysis Livanis
Produced by Sarah Golding of Wireless Theatre for Foggy Outline
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Transcript
Delicate synth and violin music plays; mysterious, calm but slightly haunting.
ANNOUNCER 1:
Foggy Outline presents: I Need A Miracle. Produced by Wireless Theatre.
A dream come true. Written by Matt Boothman, and performed by David Holt.
The music ends.
A murmur of many pleading voices, overlapping indistinguishably.
Out of the murmur, a single voice breaks through.
THE ARTIST:
...hear my words, see my vision. Please hear me. In your benevolence, I implore you. I need a miracle. I beseech you, hear my plea and intervene.
The murmurs die away.
THE ARTIST is on a windy clifftop by the sea.
THE ARTIST:
I can see it here now. Just as clearly as when I’m dreaming. It always feels more real when I stand here, where it’s supposed to be. The dreamlike tower. The ascent through the mist. The winding path to communion. My Votive Apex. I can so nearly see the curve of it flying out from the cliff-face like a sail catching the wind. And the spire soaring up from where I’m standing, twirling up and through the cloud ceiling. The vanes glittering in the sunshine and the sea spray. The crystal core so pure it’s almost invisible. Even when it’s really standing here, it’ll be like something you’re only imagining. There’ll be moments where the core catches the light in the corner of your eye and you can’t move or think for the awe of it. Then it winks out of sight again, like ice underwater or something massive shifting in the dark.
Sometimes I nearly fool myself that we’ve built it already, and we got that half-real quality so perfectly right … (chuckles) and I feel like I could step out right now onto the stairs and start to climb.
But then, I remember. After everything, I might never get to take that step. Maybe no one ever will.
Can you grieve for something that hasn’t had a chance to really exist yet? Maybe you can. Who knows what time and existence are to you. Maybe to you the Votive Apex has already risen and fallen. To us down here … it’s like what I feel is only half-real. Like everything else about my life’s work. So – please. I know you don’t want me to suffer. Me or any of the others who’ve put their hearts and minds into this.
Thunder.
THE ARTIST:
Some artists’ work is inscrutable. People can spend forever debating what they meant by it. (chuckles) Not yours. Your intention sings out clear from every miracle you work. You want us all to live happy, live long, live free, live to create, free to decide what our lives are about and follow that path to the end. And you sent me a vision, in my dreams, of this structure that was also a challenge. A challenge that could also be an act of worship. You showed me beauty I could never have imagined and I decided I’d make it real, to thank you. No part of that sounds like a cruelty. It sounds like a commission! An artistic collaboration, an architectural communion.
The first time I told another artist about the dream – about the dream you sent me and my dream of making it real – they gave me such a sad, kind look. Like they could see I was determined to start down this path, and it was a path they’d walked down before, and all they’d found at the end was heartbreak. But they could tell there was no point trying to tell me that. They could tell I’d walk the path anyway, all the way to the end. And of course – it must have sounded impossible. Just some mirage I could chase forever and ever and never touch. Because … back then? It was impossible. In so, so, so many ways. But I’d already made up my mind. And I’ve spent my life since then chiselling away at it, at the impossibility of the dream. Of really building it. Of making it real.
THE ARTIST sighs.
THE ARTIST:
When I found this place, that’s when I really knew. That’s when I knew it was really you sending the dreams, and that’s when I knew you wanted me to take your vision and build it here. Because this is it! The cliff from the dream! The same in every single way. The way the headland sweeps up from the shore, the way the cliff drops straight down into the sea – and when I got over the shock, and the joy, and actually started surveying the site, I could see the spots where the spars were going to go, to steady the structure against the cliff-face, like this was the base of a model kit just waiting to be assembled.
It wasn’t so easy in practice, of course. Once I properly started work, drawing up plans, bringing in help, trying to source materials, well – most of the materials I needed just plain did not exist. But we reached into my vision and brought them here. We, my incredible crew! If I don’t deserve a miracle then they must, in your benevolence – I had your visions to drive me, but all they had was me. Was however much of it I’ve been able to put across to them. And they’ve still put their lives behind it. With their help, I’ve imported metamaterials from the future and from the realms of faith, and from pure imagination. Together, we’ve originated processes of extraction and purification and synthesis that no one else has ever attempted. That would never have occurred to anyone else, because there’s no call for them, except this. Except to build the Apex for you.
The last breakthrough we needed was the crystal core. We’ve been battering our heads against that one for a decade now. (chuckles) We cracked it this Parting’s Eve. The process is perfected, finally. The stuff comes out without a single impurity to catch the light! We can layer it ten spans thick and it’s still so clear it’s like it’s … bashful. It makes every glimpse feel like a privilege. And the raw materials, and the power – the numbers all work out. We can synthesise it in the amounts we need. It’ll be a life’s work, but we all know that’s what this is. It’s what our lives are for. This dream of ours. It was impossible in so, so, so many ways, and we took all those impossibilities and made them possible, one by one. Until … there’s just one left.
Problem is, something that’s impossible in a thousand ways, and something that’s only impossible in one way…
It’s all the same in the end.
Both…
Impossible.
There’s still only heartbreak at the end of the path.
THE ARTIST sighs.
THE ARTIST:
The problem is the weight. All the calculations, all the simulations and projections, they all agree. Even the damned augurs say the same:
It won’t stand.
We could build it, we could create all the pieces and assemble them here, the dream could come true, but only for a second. Once we take the construction supports away, it won’t stand. It’ll shatter under its own weight.
I think…
I think the plan is to do it anyway. That’s the way most of us are leaning right now. I decided I’d make this vision real and I still want to do that. Maybe it’ll be easier to grieve for something that really existed, even if just for a moment. But there will be grief. It’ll be a moment’s perfection before … a tragic collapse. The stairs will tumble down before a single foot takes a step upon them. I’ll spend whatever’s left of my life mourning for everyone who never gets to see what you’ve shown me. Is that what you wanted to give me, when you sent me this vision in my dreams every night? A life that ends in mourning after a single moment of glory?
I hope it’s not. But the only alternatives are compromise … or a miracle.
We could walk away now and never start construction. Say the metamaterials we’ve invented for the Apex are achievement enough for one lifetime. Or I know one person’s already suggested we might be able to increase the density of the crystal at the base if we introduce this or that into the process. It could support itself that way, but it wouldn’t be the structure you showed me any more. The impurities! (chuckles) I don’t think there’s space for compromise when you’re executing on a divine plan. Which leaves us at the mercy of forces we can’t control. Gravity. Mass. Shearing. I don’t see a way to extract or synthesise our way out of those. They’re not in our gift to alter. That is the realm of miracles.
Whatever happens, I’m thankful for the dreams, truly. The Votive Apex is supposed to be my thanks, but since I’m here addressing you, in your benevolence, it would be rude not to say it out loud. You shared something beautiful with me, and the years I’ve spent working to make it real … I can’t imagine being happier. Thank you.
Now, please, let me repay you for that. I don’t want to fail you now. You were the start of this act of creation and I’m imploring you to tip the scale one more time at the end. A finishing touch to take away the only reason left that it’s still impossible. Let – me – build it for you! And let it stand!
That’s my plea.
A murmur of indistinguishable voices begins to swell up over THE ARTIST’s voice.
THE ARTIST:
In your benevolence, I implore you again, having heard, to intervene. I need a miracle. Please, grant it to me.
All the voices fade away.
ANNOUNCER 2:
I Need A Miracle is a Foggy Outline podcast produced by Wireless Theatre. Directed by Robert Valentine. Produced by Sarah Golding. Casting by Fiona Thraille. Broadcast assistance by Teresa Milewski. Music by Katharine Seaton. Sound design by Sarah Buchynski. Recorded by Stephen H. at Jukebox Studios. Find more audio gold at wirelesstheatrecompany.co.uk and foggyoutline.com.
Thank you for listening.