I grew a love for punk and alternative music and around this time I also began to love acting and performing…I don’t really know which came first but I do know that both have shaped me into the person that I am today.”
I recently had the pleasure of snapping and chatting with pocket rocket Nikki Brumen about her creative process, gender imbalance and her career as a multi-skilled performer.
Wait, be quiet, still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.
– Franz Kafka
With eyes shut, still I know he is there when he is. Vibrations shutter beneath my bones. We are all wading through the thick and heavy heave, but he is nimble quick and curiously expected; like a sparrow who appears just before tea plates are cleared.
The inevitable outpour is overflowing and I cannot control my breath. My cup is an endless ocean and I am struggling to catch any air as the swell continues to spill. He is so close. My eyes remain shut.
‘Is this okay?’
Perhaps he didn’t say anything at all, but I find myself nodding, desperately yielding, because more than okay his touch is what I need to breathe. I have come here and willingly unstitched my skin, my vessel torn open. I have completely come undone.
What am I to do with all this?
Still I spill. With gentle ease, his hand now planted delicately on my heaving chest, he fills me back up.
The weighted invisible cloak is slowly lifted from my aching, tiny frame. Cool oxygen fills my lungs. My dampened face rises toward the ceiling, guided by hands that can’t be seen. Lighter, I exhale. Relief and deep gratitude swirls and circulates deep within my core. I feel the warm light from his touch sink deeply through my bones and then flood inside my chest like rapid velocious lava. It is euphoric. His tender softness is one unfathomable. A transfusion of light.
A grin is growing; it’s force is so strong I couldn’t conceal it even if I wanted. When it is grown in full it remains, sharp and crescent, toothy and wide. I open my eyes to search for his own. I meet them immediately; a soft and patient stare meets my gaze through the flickered dark.
His voice is clear but I didn’t catch his mouth in motion. His shape isn’t wholly tangible in the light, but the force of his being overwhelming. Faintly I can make out the shape of his imperfect face. I nod, my smile wider still.
He playfully messes my hair like a father would a small child and then he is gone. Swallowed by the darkness. I imagine him scampering away, hyperbolic and almost comical. Or did I see that through the haze?
I continue to drift upward. Overwhelming elation. Almost like a second birth, untainted, I am imperfect fragility, pure. Reborn. I think of what I have in this moment, simplistic and strong. Temporarily filled but knowing completely.