designed and sewn

ArtsJournal’s video of the day today is “Soundsuits” by Nick Cave.  He makes wearable sculptures, and is what I would call an extreme costumer!  I am excited that an exhibition of his work, along with collaborative dance performances by choreographer Ronald K. Brown, is coming to San Francisco this spring.

Some of these sculptural costumes remind me of a very vivid dream that I had a few years ago.  After watching the Isaac Mizrahi documentary Unzipped, that night I dreamt that Mizrahi and my father collaborated on a theatrical production of a fairy tale.  It was magical – the stage was filled with multiple levels and textures, ethereal lights and music, and an elaborately, elegantly costumed cast.  The costumes were all white and glittering silver, with elaborate headpieces and flowing, floral gowns (it sounds like it could come off looking like Christmas in Vegas, but it was tasteful, really).

In the dream, I was completely humbled by the talent of these two men, and felt envious of their ability to design and create something so beautiful.  It took a few days of mulling over the dream and its residual feelings of inadequacy before I realized that the design was all mine! 

Dreams are great.  (I was working with my father at the Youngstown Playhouse as his costumer at that time; not too difficult to analyze this one!)

 

mr. cellophane

Just a little story to share, while I work on a post describing my recent first visit to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.

My friend R. was telling me that she thought I’d really like the movie The Dewey Cox Story with John C. Reilly. Only she couldn’t remember the name of the movie or Reilly’s name. She just kept saying that he’d been in Boogie Nights – I kept guessing actors.

I couldn’t remember Reilly’s name at the moment, either, but realized which actor and movie she was talking about and said “Oh, he was in Chicago, too.” And the discussion progressed as follows:

R.: “No, he wasn’t.”
Me: “Yes, he was.”
R.: “No, I don’t think he was.”
Me: “Yes, he played the husband.”
R.: “I don’t remember her having a husband.”
Me: (starting to laugh) “Yes, she has a husband who is in the beginning, then he has that song…”
R.: (shaking her head) “ummmm.”
Me: “Yes, the song about no one knowing that he’s there.” (I sing a few phrases) “Mr. Cellophane, I’m Mr. Cellophane, look right through me, no one even knows I’m there.”
R.: (starting to laugh) “Oh, I think I may…no, I still…”
Me: (starting to laugh so hard that I’m beginning to cry) “You can’t remember him – that’s the POINT!”

What a great actor, that his role extended so believably beyond the screen. (I only partially joke here – I loved the number, and remembered it as a highlight of the film!)

 

site-specific performing

It seems that a lot of people are now aware of the group Improv Everywhere; a few days ago, I watched a clip from a network morning show profiling IE’s most recent “scene” wherein they filled a NYC subway car with identical twins to create a mirror effect. The reaction of the reporters was interesting: fairly giddy, and some were slightly baffled. I personally think it would be wonderful to find oneself at a Home Depot and realize that most of the other shoppers there are moving in slow motion (one of IE’s claims to fame).

Here are some of my recent gleanings of take-art-out-of-the-box-and-insert-into-daily-living stories.

In Los Angeles, choreographers are embracing alternative spaces, many of them outdoors, from public fountains to abandoned sites.

Mark Ravenhill, a British playwright, wrote about his experiences as a participant in a 10-day forum of young international playwrights and directors who wrote and produced short plays during the forum, and then performed them in the streets, parks and buildings of Wiesbaden, Germany.

A recent blog entry by Wendy Rosenfeld titled Take It Outside, explores the emerging trend to expand the definition of performance space, and lists some recent site-specific works in Philadelphia. And I heartily agree with her comment that “In situ works create such a feeling of excitement about theater’s connection to our lives, and reinforce its standing as an art form.”

I am drawn to these kinds of events because art is inserted into everyday life: the “people” do not have to buy a ticket, or be educated in “high arts” to participate or attend. It illustrates that art and wonder are around us every day. When I’ve found myself in the center of such pieces, I find it magical. To be walking down the street, thinking about what to cook for dinner, perhaps mulling on the many tasks and errands we seem to need to keep “busy,” and stumble into a performance………it is a signal to stop, look, and see the possibility and mystery that we often forget to embrace in our digitized, frenetic lives.

 

jeune lune

A revered Tony-award-winning regional theater company is closing shop. The Theater de la Jeune Lune in Minneapolis has been grappling with major debt in the past few years, and the founders recently posted a letter on their website to announce the closing of the theater. The arts administrator in me–and in all my colleagues–watches and reads about these high-profile demises (such as the death of San Jose Symphony in 2002) with both fear and fascination: What would I do in those circumstances? What could have been done differently? What does the future hold for my own organizations and interests?

As a co-founder of a small theater company, I am inspired by the closing paragraph of the letter from the Jeune Lune co-founder, Dominique Serrand, linked below. Organizations and companies come and go, but the artistic vision survives and will take on new forms.

“Starting today, we begin imagining a new way of working. What should a theatre-generating organization of the 21st Century look like? How can artists create truly groundbreaking art in a fast changing world? Times have changed and so have we. Building upon our artistic legacy, and facing a different future, we are exploring ways to reinvent an agile, nomadic, entrepreneurial theatre with a new name. One that can embrace the concentric circles of artists we have worked with over the years. Together we will create essential and innovative theatre for today’s changing audience. It’s an exciting new journey and we hope you’ll join us with your support, with your presence, with your belief. Fear not: the art is alive and coming soon to a theatre near you.”

 

keeping heart

On this Father’s Day, I am remembering my father who passed away two years ago. He was my best friend, but most of all, he was known by so many for his kindness and inclusion. He made his career in theater, and his greatest joy was to see someone emerge and blossom, both in talent and confidence: he saw the best in people who didn’t realize they had a “best” to see, and saw beauty where others rarely took time to notice. That is the greatest gift he gave to my family, and to those who worked with him.

The article that I’m including here was written by an entertainment writer who devoted an installment of his weekly column to my dad just after he passed away – it seems a fitting tribute here. Here’s to you, dad, and to embracing the ability to see beauty everywhere in everything, and to seeing the potential in everyone.

“Valley has lost a true talent with Kimpel’s death,” by Andy Gray

Thursday, June 1, 2006, The Tribune Chronicle (Warren, OH)

A good first experience can be the difference between something becoming a life-long passion and something that never is attempted again.

Maybe one of the reasons the Mahoning Valley has such a rich pool of talent for its community and college theater productions is because many of those performers were shepherded through their first experience by Paul Kimpel.

Kimpel, who died Friday at age 77, spent the last 20 years writing and directing children’s theater productions for Kent State University Trumbull Campus Summer Stock. He was scheduled to direct this year’s children’s production, “Beebe Boy and Sam,” a play inspired by his daughter, Samantha, and the imaginary friend she created after her younger sister was born.

One quality that distinguished Kimpel’s plays is that he didn’t talk down to children. The philosophy behind too much children’s theater is that if it’s loud enough, bright enough and busy enough, the little ones will be amused (or at the very least their restlessness will be drowned out by the commotion on stage).

Kimpel wasn’t afraid to challenge his young actors on stage and challenge the even younger ones who often made up the audience. “Masks,” a Kimpel play that KSU Trumbull Summer Stock has staged on more than one occasion, had an experimental structure and feel to it. It proved that children’s entertainment didn’t have to numbingly literal. Even his more traditional plays, whether they were inspired by fables or Native American legends, respected the audience’s ability—regardless of age—to react to a well-told story.

Kimpel didn’t only work with children. He was a founding member of the Trumbull Art Guild, and he and his wife, Kadey, were active with other arts organizations. He was a lifetime member of Trumbull New Theatre and helped build its Niles theater. Just this year, he did an excellent job staging “The Curious Savage” as part of TNT’s 2005-06 season.

Even longer than his tenure with Summer Stock was his 40 years working as a set and costume designer for Youngstown Playhouse. While Kimpel may have encouraged many young actors, he also set a high bar for all production designers in area theater to try to match.

My perspective on Kimpel’s work has changed in recent years, as I went from an entertainment writer who talked to him occasionally to get a couple quotes for a preview story, to one of the parents who sits in the back of the theater waiting for rehearsals to end.

He could be stern when he had to be, but mainly he set high expectations and provided the knowledge and confidence for his young actors to meet those goals.

My daughter, Anna, appeared in a couple productions Kimpel directed at Summer Stock. When I told her this week about his death, she said, “He believed I could do it, even when I wasn’t sure I could.”

She was talking about appearing in “Simple Simon,” and having to turn frightening in a dream sequence. Kimpel gave her a card after the show opened that he always knew she could do it, and I know those words of encouragement meant a lot.

I’m sure there are many other children who have cards with Kimpel’s advice and encouragement tucked away somewhere as they’ve continued to pursue their passion, either professionally or for pleasure.

 

mini adventures, solo

I love the reactions I get when I tell certain friends and family that I go some places on my own. The last three times I’ve attended live theater, I went on my own. The reactions range from pity (“It makes me feel sad that you have to go alone.”), to remorse (“You couldn’t find anyone to go with you?”), to fear (“Is it safe to go to the city alone?”).

I have only recently learned the joy of going solo to events. There are some circumstances that have influenced this evolution: my former spouse and great friend M. doesn’t share my interest in theater (at least not to the extent that I do), my friends and family are all busy people, and many of my friends are in theater (so are often either performing or are in rehearsal). Rather than be sad about not having a larger network of folks to go do stuff with, I have decided just to go!

I have learned that one of two things can happen when going alone to theater. The first is that, if I go in my own community, I will see people I know and will enjoy the experience (as was the case when I went to see “Guantanamo,” produced by the interesting Narrow Way Stage Company in Santa Rosa). The other is that no one notices people attending things on their own, as was the case when I went to see “Midsummer Night’s Dream” in SF two weeks ago (see prior blog post).

I found myself thinking about the “Dream” experience yesterday when I went to see “The Wizard of Oz” at the Mountain Play in Mill Valley. My friend D. was playing the Tin Man, and I really wanted to see his performance, but I didn’t know anyone who was either interested in seeing a musical or who was willing to give up the major part of a Sunday to see the show. (For those of you not familiar, it is a spectacular 4000-seat amphitheater high up Mt. Tamalpais – views of San Francisco and the entire bay is the backdrop to the theater – definitely worth the trek.)

Attending Mountain Play is really about packing a picnic and hanging out with friends and/or family. When D. told me his parents were attending and that I could sit with them, I decided to go for it. But upon wandering around the park, I quickly discovered–akin to my experience in SF–that people don’t really notice people alone, and that I would have been quite content to trek to the Mountain Play totally solo. And the people who do notice folks on their own are usually inclusive, as they are the ones actively noticing or observing their world…but they, however, are a rare breed. More often, as us observer types can attest, people are so caught up in their own experiences and friends that they don’t notice the lone sheep who has strayed from the herd or is lurking on the fringes……and who is taking notes to write about them.

An interesting book is “Party of One: The Loner’s Manifesto” by Anneli Rufus, which addresses American perceptions of loners, outsiders, and eccentrics. She makes a great case for Americans’ distrust, pity, and even fear of loners and non-joiners (i.e., the book has an entire chapter on the fact that the first thing a neighbor will most often say when their neighbor commits a horrible crime is “he kept to himself,” or “she was a loner,” etc., which creates a link of “aloneness” to criminal behavior; now that I’m aware of it, I see it constantly in the news). That fear is, in essence, what is communicated to me by family and friends when I go places on my own, both out of concern for my own safety, as well as the underlying fear that there is something somewhat “off” about members of our society who choose to do things not as group activities.

After reading that book, I know that I am not a true loner – I desire connection. But when my choices are to not do something because either my friends or family are not interested in it or I cannot find someone to go with, I choose to just go! I will encourage the less adventurous people in my life to be brave and do the same. The alternative – staying home or staying in a safe routine – is actually the lonelier and more disconnected option.

PS. As a result of my mini-adventures, M. has a new respect for my determination to explore the world and my interests. He is inspired to do the same, and has even become more interested in my explorations. Hey, it’s win-win.

 

dream and ritual

Cruising through the calendar of events in the SF bay area last week, I stumbled across ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ at the Curran Theater, directed by Tim Stupple and commissioned by the British Council in India. This production was created through a collaboration of Indian designers, performers, and musicians, and is performed in seven languages (English and six Indian languages). I rarely-to-never attend Broadway traveling shows or big-budget productions or concerts, but the nature of the show was intriguing. I bought a ticket for the following evening, a Tuesday night…

A friend and I were laughing recently about the many ways that Shakespeare is abused, tarted up, and re-interpreted. Sometimes it is done well, and is creative and fun, but more often I find myself wishing that the show could just be stripped down to its words and story. But…the nature of ‘Dream’ is especially suited to altered settings–the fairy land is already a magical shift from the reality of the beginning of the show—so to insert mythology, ritual, music, and color of other cultures seems like a natural marriage.

Plus, I have been fascinated for a number of years by the cable TV show “Namaste America,” which is kind of an Indian version of “Entertainment Tonight.” So to see the Indian treatment of ‘Dream’ was not to be missed.

I have always been fascinated by how American pop culture is adopted and re-interpreted throughout the world. But for some reason, I’ve been especially fascinated by Bollywood, and by movies like ‘Bride and Prejudice,’ the Gurinder Chadha version of Jane Austen’s ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ and by Indian music videos and musical numbers from movies. I think it is because they are undeniably Indian, but often with an obvious overlay and embracing of American hip hop. I find the effect jarring, but a in a joyous way. To see one hundred men and women wearing matching gold-adorned costumes and doing intricate dance moves in unison, usually on the roof of a building or in some public plaza, is just plain…joyous.

I think I am envious of any colorful, flamboyant ritual that is culture-based. As a white woman with family history reaching back to New Amsterdam, all former rituals and folklore that may have been part of my cultural history have long since faded. I have similar feelings of envy for the Mexican Day of the Dead celebration. Even the mournful aspect of the holiday is proclaimed with dancing and mounds of marigolds (also a prevalent flower in Indian ritual); the pungent odor of those flowers alone is rich and celebratory. Here in the states, I have envied Gay Pride celebrations. When I lived in Minneapolis, I lived across from Loring Park where Pride Weekend was celebrated. The colors and sounds were so joyous that I longed for inclusion in a community that could embrace flying colorful flags and beating drums and singing, just to celebrate a state of being.

Which brings me back to Stupple’s ‘Dream.’ It was transporting. Just to leave work, drive into SF, and to go see theater is transporting enough. But to step into the world of this ‘Dream’ was to travel to somewhere else, briefly. To take a story that I know so well and add performing, martial arts, acrobatic, and musical traditions of India combined to create a magical theatrical experience.

The design was simple, but sensual: it consisted of a dirt floor, an immense paper-covered grid that fairies burst through and actors climbed on, and three musicians set in low pits around the edges of the performance area. I’ve seen other non-English Shakespearean productions, so I was prepared to accept the mix of languages. I found that this, interestingly, was the sole weakness of the production: the truly accomplished actors were able to communicate the story of ‘Dream’ even if they were speaking those famous words in Sanskrit or Bengali, and those who were less able storytellers stood out.

And yes, the show ended with a joyous song and dance, in a swirl of colorful costume, which I expected. But it was not the Indian ‘treatment’ of an English play that I expected, akin to the veneer of Amercan culture that has colored pop culture around the world. This marriage of Indian culture with the story of ‘Dream’ was a seamless one that only seemed appropriately Shakespearian.