Those of you who missed scenes from Trestle at Pope Lick Creek, directed by yours truly, may now weep. The production was a success, and is now gone, the light of it racing to the farthest stars at a hundred eighty-six thousand miles per hour, never to be seen in quite the same form. Performance is ephemeral, and that is its great disadvantage. But performance is also present, more present than film or sculpture, and existing only in the present, we release it like we release childhood, like beach-sand, like Ikea furniture.