I know that I had promised to post some information on Jay Scheib, who directed the American premiere of Women Dreamt Horses, so here it is!:

“Jay Schieb is an American stage director noted for his contemporary productions of both classical and new plays and operas. Scheib is Associate Professor of Theater Arts at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology where he teaches performance media, motion theater, media and methods, and introduction to acting. He is also a regular guest professor at the Mozarteum Institute für Regie und Schauspiel in Salzburg, Austria, where he conducts an annual “viewpoints and composition” studio.”

In my eyes, Jay’s work is notable for its experimentation with film and projections, which explodes the onstage action, his collaborative processes and his actors’ commitment to fully physical actions.  He creates worlds that interrogate and distort what we take for granted and devises relationships that are ridiculous, yet too human.  Here are some links for further exploration!

Jay Schieb’s Website

Jay Scheib’s Vimeo Account

“La Petite Mort (a French reference to the tense throes of orgasm) is a befitting name for a gallery with an appetite for the ecstatic. Definitely sexy and committed to indulgence, La Petite Mort is an eclectic ode to diversity.”

After reading this, I checked out a majority of the artists included in the gallery and interacted with their work.  Most of the artists had work which I could understand as something other than simply pornography.  For example, I am enamored by the work of Zachari Logan, especially pictures like this:

The way the artist describes his inspiring work:

“My body is a catalyst for my fascination with stereotypic masculine portrayals.The act of weightlifting, attaining a well-sculpted body is envisioned stereotypically as a visual mark of masculine enterprise, an act I partake in on a daily basis. Without needing to see me engaged in the act itself, my drawn body infers a performative athleticism. This athleticism coupled with the theatricality of a doppelganger or triplet existing on the same stage is designed to subtly evoke feelings of competition, fear and omnipotence- all in relation to performance anxiety. Although in most of these drawings I depict my body in a life-sized scale, the pictorial space in these drawings is quite shallow, with enough room for the figures to exist and interact. This lack of spatial depth is referential to Neo-Classical space, in which Spartan bodies were used to visually epitomize the strength of empire. The containment of space in these drawings is structured to illustrate a sense of claustrophobia and is directly referential to the viewer’s own body. This is a space that is in-between or marginal, a visual realm that is too small to exist within comfortably — but is considerable enough to contemplate being in.”

I’m totally on board with this artist, and I’m especially fond of his relationship to Peter Berlin and the multiplying of self as a technique.

What I’m not fond of is the work of Scot Sothern.  In my eyes, the work of this artist feels exploitative.  A man is photographing nude prostitutes and that makes me uncomfortable.  Is it because the artist is a man?  Would I feel any different if the artist was a woman?  What about the women themselves?  I assume they’ve consented to having their portraits photographed.  So why should I take issue with the work?  These are all questions that come to mind when I interact with my uncomfortableness to this work.

Lastly, among the Emerging Artists who are represented by this gallery, I’m challenged by the work of Drasko Bogdanovic.  His photographs edge a little too closely to pornography for my artistic taste.  One could argue that there is a lot going on in these photographs, and that there are formal experimentations being employed, but what’s the difference between this and a Pornographic magazine?  But does it matter?

I’m grateful that a gallery such as LPM exists.  It challenges my values and makes me question my views on sexually charged art.

“Bruce LaBruce is a Toronto based filmmaker, writer, director, photographer, and artist. He began his career in the mid eighties making a series of short experimental super 8 films and co-editing a punk fanzine called J.D.s, which begat the queercore movement. He has directed and starred in three feature length movies, “No Skin Off My Ass” (1991), “Super 8 1/2″ (1994), and “Hustler White” (1996). More recently he has directed two art/porn features, “Skin Flick” (2000)(hardcore version: “Skin Gang”) and “The Raspberry Reich” (2004)(hardcore version: “The Revolution Is My Boyfriend”).”

I had no doubt that what I was about to watch would be art, but what was its relationship to porn?   I quickly saw the connection.

Super 8 1/2 is a “look at a triple-X star-director caught in the downward spiral of his career.”  My favorite quote from the film, “He was actually attempting to break down the whole subject-camera relationship… It was as if he was an existentialist trapped in a porno star’s body.”

This film, I can easily say, is a work of art.  The cinematography, screen play, acting and mise-en-scene all communicate a story that investigates the artist’s relationship to himself and pornography.  Although genitalia are revealed, all the sex scenes in the film at least appear to be simulated.

But wait…it’s still porn…right?  By general standards, I think yes, it is pornography, but what makes this piece art and not exploitation?

After watching this film, I think about other works of art that have been put into question.  I’m thinking of Andy Warhol, with his films Blow Job and Flesh (A poster of Andy in Bruce’s bedroom in Super 8 1/2 tells all) Robert Mapplethorpe, who had NEA funding revoked for his provocative, homoerotic photography, Peter Berlin, who defined a gay identity in 1970′s San Fransisco, and Tom of Finland.

I think exploitation and misogyny are what make pornography abominable, but what happens when the artists agree to exploration and misogyny?  Although Super 8 1/2 isn’t misogynistic, exploitation is one of the biggest themes discussed in Super 8 1/2. Bruce, who is the protagonist, constantly comments that he’s being exploited (although he’s technically the director of this semi-autobiopic).   Googie, the antagonist, just says, “Well someone has to be exploited, and it might as well be you.”  By recognizing the exploitative nature of pornography, I think that the work can step away from being accused as exploitative.  What makes this work distinct is that it takes on an “in your face” approach, assuming the viewer’s gaze and asking for it loudly and clearly.

Therefore, if we all agree that this is a work of art, can it also coexist as pornography?  I think this is a much larger debate, but it reminds me of the conversation we had about Pretty, Pretty.  Pornographic images can put the form itself into question, but where do we draw the line?  Or do we?

This semester, I am enrolled in Lydia’s Adaptation course and am in the process of writing my own play.  I, like Lauren Yee, am a young theatre artist creating work in a culture obsessed with Facebook.  With that said, what struck me most about Hookman was the use of language.  Watching the piece and listening to the short-hand dialogue, I saw and heard representations of myself and my friends.

While writing my own play, I have noticed I pressure myself to use heightened language.  In my daily life, I never use heightened language, even though I consider myself a fairly articulate individual.  Why then must the characters in my play live up to such high expectations?  Why can’t I allow them to try speaking in the style I use in my daily life?

Watching Hookman, I was inspired to use the voice I know best in my writing.  Although I don’t know the rest of Yee’s work, I would like to recognize the dialogue in Hookman as authentic.  It’s what I hear in the world around me and I loved that about the piece.  And although the vocabulary is limited to quick responses and “abbrev.’s,” the language still has the potential to poetically flow  and serve a punch to audiences’ guts.  I was moved by this piece of theatre and inspired to be true to my voice.

Since then, I have finally started trusting my voice in my writing.  Although it may seem obvious to others, I’ve realized that my first play, and my first draft for that matter, does not have to be perfect (and it won’t be).  Plays in development are a gift because we can interact with them.  We can ask questions, change scenes, clarify words, etc.  And this is the positive perspective that surrounded Company One’s production of Hookman that I hope to experience with my own writing some day soon.

“Sometimes outraged readers, disagreeing with a review I’ve written, will send me e-mails that begin with a rhetorical question: ‘Did we see the same production?’ My answer is always, ‘No, we didn’t.’”

In the article, Brantley describes revisiting several large-scale productions on Broadway this season, and being pleasantly surprised by his second experience with each show.  He specifically mentions seeing Once, Follies, Other Desert Cities and End of The Rainbow twice, enjoying the many changes made when these productions moved from Regional theaters to the Big White Way.

“Since I have written about all these shows in these pages before, you might think that I am feeling jaded or weary or at least worried that I might not be able to come up with something new to say. Fragments of all those feelings (especially the part about not repeating myself) glimmer in my mind. But mostly, I’m grateful for the chance to become reacquainted with these shows – to see how they’ve changed or I’ve changed, and to assess how a familiar entity responds to a new environment.”

His interactions with these shows is inspiring.  He addresses several elements (actors, script changes, theatre space, costuming) in reviewing these pieces again as objectively as a subjective person can be.

What I find most thrilling about this article is how Brantley examines the reality of what it means to review a show.  Inevitably, we enter the theatre with a backstory and a point of view.  There are millions of factors that affect our viewing of a show.  As Brantley puts it:

“We probably attended different performances and sat in different seats and brought entirely different personal histories to bear on what unfolded before us.”

The more we acknowledge this truth as fact, we can separate the critic’s voice and aesthetic from the work itself.  The end of this article is the best part:

“That’s why no one should read any kind of criticism – and especially theater criticism – as gospel. It’s not the last word. It’s the beginning of a conversation. Seeing shows more than once allows me the critic to continue my part in that conversation, if only in my own head.”

And the conversation is what the theatre is all about.  I’m glad we’re in agreement, Mr. Brantley.

Trajal Harrell is an American choreographer who graduated from Yale and has been working globally ever since.  What fascinates me most about this artist is the piece he is currently touring with, entitled “Twenty Looks or Paris is Burning at The Judson Church (M) also known as (M)imosa” (Here is a video excerpt of the piece).

This video mesmerized me.  The piece looks unbelievably provocative and challenging.  What a concept!

As we all recall from Modern Drama, The Judson Memorial Church became home to the Post-Modern experimental movement in the 1950′s.  Artists like Yvonne Rainer, Rob Rauschenberg, Trisha Brown, Steve Paxton and many others set their first works in the sacred Judson Dance Theatre, where anything could happen.

Paris is Burning is a documentary film about the Harlem Ball Scene in the late 80′s.  This is where voguing, the aggressive, effeminate dance form, was born.  Jennie Livingston, the director of this amazing documentary who I had the wonderful opportunity to study with at Connecticut College, is famous for bringing the ball kids and their stories to the forefront of America Cinema.

So what happens when Vogueing and The Post-Modern Dances of the Judson Dance Theatre have a conversation?  Trajal Harrell describes his current investigations:

“By bringing together aesthetic theories from the Judson legacy with the Voguing dance tradition (an underground African-American and custom of social performance and fashion show appropriation begun in Harlem during the same time as Judson Dance Theater), Harrell complexifies the historical narrative of the Judson period and its subsequent influence on American and European contemporary dance. Beginning in 2001, the choreographer used these two contrasting aesthetics and their parallel histories to stimulate a dialogue about the American as well as international youth culture obsession with “Cool,” investigating the evolution of “Cool” and the interchange between “Cool” as a social motivation and “Cool” as an aesthetic. The choreographer has gone on to explore the boundaries between community and audience, sincerity on the contemporary stage, and the relationship between voguing’s “realness” and early postmodernism’s “authenticity.”

Thus, the piece speaks for itself in dissecting a conversation between the two movements.

Something I highly admire about this work is that it comes in multiple sizes.  Depending on the programming, the piece can be performed as a solo or a quartet in a small, medium, large or extra large size (extra large meaning an epic full-length presentation).  I think this is an intelligent way of creating one’s work for performance.  This means that the piece can be performed in several different venues and circumstances so that more audiences can experience the work.  I imagine that it is critical for dramaturgical methodologies to be employed in order for the work to resonate in such contrasting time lengths.  This is a choreographer that is diversifying American audiences are experiencing and I’m glad that I have discovered his work to share it.

“The recent season has prompted me to propose that Taylor stands at the center of the American modern-dance tradition.”

For reference, Paul Taylor (b. 1930) is an American modern choreographer who has been creating work since the 50′s.  Recently, Taylor’s company had a three week engagement at Lincoln Center (home to the American Ballet Theatre), which, in a way, is a feat for the modern dance world at large.   This article, written by Mr. Macaulay, is a review of that event.

I felt a bit uneasy when I read Mr. Macaulay’s statement.  Personally, I am not a huge fan of Taylor’s work, but regardless of my opinions on his choreography, how can any one person be at the center point of modern dance?

I feel passionately that Taylor and his works cannot exist as the center point because there is no center.  Dance is an art form!  It’s always shifting and changing and responding to the moment.  Some choreography is stuck in the past and Taylor’s work, I might argue, has qualities that lend itself to being “dated.”  How then , in that case, can something of the past be at the center point of the present?  I wonder if it is the popularity and longevity of his work that makes it seem as though it could hold such authority.  The Taylor aesthetic is distinct, and although there are many companies who imitate his style, it is certainly not the only one out there.  Trisha Brown, who is also a highly reputable modern choreographer, has a style that is nothing like Taylor’s.  I just don’t understand how one can measure dance in such a way.

Many of the critics in this article had similar opinions.  Claudia La Rocco wrote, “I wouldn’t say there is a single tradition in modern dance, or a single center — and this, I think, is a great strength of contemporary dance today, that there is no one ruling orthodoxy,” and I whole-heartedly agree.

What is most rewarding about this article, however, is the list of this year’s choreographers mentioned who are keeping Modern unorthodox.  Many of the names I had never encountered before seeing this article.  Keely Garfield, for example, is making such exciting work that really blurs the line between dance and theatre.

I met this article as a dramaturg and researched all the artists I didn’t know.  I’m elated that the NYTimes is recognizing these brilliant artisans!  They all have something unique to offer to the American dance tradition and give me hope for its future.  I say that because recently, I’ve felt that the only way to do the work that I’m interested in is to go to Europe.  Although I still have a great desire to travel abroad to make art, I feel as though there is a possibility for me to make alliances with working artists in America who feel similarly about theatre and dance.

It also brings me joy to know that these artists are being recognized.  I love that although they’re on the fringe, the virtuosity of their work is finding a voice through popular arts and entertainment news.   These are the artists, I believe and I think some NYTimes believe, that are keeping the modern tradition alive and well.

What moved me most in this production was the text’s ability to relate the Trojan War to almost all other wars fought since.  The Poet spoke in plain words, using several verbal pauses for  example, to tell an ancient story still rooted in our present.  Heightened language and classical Greek were used sparingly and specifically, especially during conversations between the Poet and the music of a Cello, who the Poet refers to as his muses.

Although I was entertained by this production and enjoyed Spinella’s performance, I left the theatre unmoved.   Of course, this is only my personal response to the piece and the performance I witnessed, but I wonder what, on a technical level, was not sitting well with me.  I have a few thoughts on this matter:

1. Something about the pacing was predictable in its unpredictability.  The play began with a hard sound and a flash of light, and after that point, grew quieter.  Fifteen minutes later, another big sound and an explosion of action!  Then more quiet.  Ten minutes later, an explosion…and so on and so forth.  Something about this constant wave of explosions into quietness didn’t sit well with me because the surprise of the explosion wore off and became predictable; however, I wonder if there’s something about this pacing that relates to the pacing of war.  The Poet does discuss a lot of waiting and intimate, quiet moments of connection…

2. I had a question about the nature of the theatre space.  In short, the NYTW Theatre Space felt large.  Although the actor played to the back row and had an affinity for working with the space, I wonder how this piece would have landed on audiences were it performed in a smaller space.  Since this is a play that deals with storytelling in the modern age, I feel that it is imperative to have a real connection between the audience and poet so the story is fully heard.  Although most of the people in the audience were middle-aged and seniors, how must we construct theatrical experiences to connect with generations of Americans who are used to watching TV?  Being in the large audience seating, some of the intimacy of the storytelling was lost and words had less of an ability to travel to our hearts.  I understand that Greek Theatre was performed in Amphitheaters, but I personally wonder how we can be more in touch with the audience viewing circumstances today.

I question if this play was just not my taste and maybe it was the lack of visuals and the constancy of one actor; however, I have to ask myself if there was anything that I would do differently if I were an artist working on this piece?

Here is a NY Times review of An Illiad.

One might think that since this was a musical theatre workshop with a broadway veteran, the workshop would be glamorous, full of fluff and sequins; however, this four night workshop was a life-changing, spiritual experience.  We were asked to approach the work with an open mind and open heart in order to truly be with each other and ourselves without judgement.  We were guided through several meditations and we didn’t eve sing until the second night!

Without giving a synopsis of the workshop, I want to share some of the most valuable lessons I learned from the Betty Buckley.

1. Self pity is never a choice.

2. Always approach acting and life from the positive.

3. Listen to your inner child and speak to yourself the way you would speak to that child.

4. Everyone knows the truth.

Having learned these concepts, I feel that something has changed for me in my day-to-day experiences as an actor, artist and human being.  These are incredibly useful points of focus that I am beginning to employ in my life.  Along with a regimented meditation practice, the greatest gift the workshop gave me is an opportunity to ask myself how I can listen more carefully to my heart.  This feels especially important because as I approach the end of senior year, I have some bigger choices I need to begin to make.  Having done the Betty Buckley workshop, I feel as though I’m in a better place to focus and listen to the world around me.

This morning, I discovered Nancy Oliver was responsible for the wonderful script and I learned that along with Lars, she has written for Six Feet Under and True Blood. I also discovered that she did went to Florida State for undergrad and a wrote a whole lot of plays starting there.  I knew this was an artist who was from the theatre; however, it seems as though Ms. Oliver isn’t writing so much anymore.

When thinking about Ms. Oliver and the conversation we had Friday morning, I think about when I first got interested film production.  I remember thinking that it was a lot easier to say what I needed to say without words.  It was liberating to think imagistically and then to allow the words to permeate the composition.  Also, I found I can understand a film or TV character’s background even if their exposition is not in their text.  I don’t know if a writer for film or television is noticing this shift from stage to screen differently.

I think this trend we were discussing in class has the potential to be more than about money.  How is the craft of writing for Film and TV more liberating?