Enchantment with a Twist

Basil Twist-- Arias with a Twist

Basil Twist-- Arias with a Twist

Peter and Wendy is the the first play I ever saw. I was around 11 years old, and from that moment my path in life became very clear. I was especially inspired by Karen Kandel, an African-American performer who played the role of the narrator in puppeteer Basil Twist’s adaptation of J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.

Since first being exposed to Basil Twist’s work, he has become someone whose art I follow. A few summers ago I made it back to San Diego just in time to see his production Dogugaeshi. To brief you, dogugaeshi is a technique of sliding paper screens that create an unfolding of images. The technique a was developed in traditional Awaji Japanese puppet theatre. Although hardly practiced now, Basil Twist recreates this technique and reimagines parts of the art that history doesn’t account for.

The dramaturgy embedded in Basil work is unreal. As an artist he is constantly pulling from images of the past, and creating new art around his findings. He is constantly pressing boundaries in the world of puppetree.

Here is a recent interview describing the nature of his work Enchantment- Basil Twist

“I Like This Darkness”

As I was doing research on adaptations of the greeks, I found a very interesting production which mounted Ted Hughes' adaptation of  Seneca's version of Sophocles' Oedipus Rex (yikes).  The production was done in 2005 in New York at the Mint Theatre. What grabbed my immediate attention and praise was that the show was done by Theatre by the Blind, a company which was founded in 1979. The production included blind, impaired vision, and sighted actors but our title character says that he was "the most blind" out of all. The decision to mount this show with Theatre by the Blind first scared the artistic director who didn't approve that Oedipus' blinding was a punishment. After a while, he realized that the play was less about the self punishing blindness but about accepting one's fate. I think this is yet another inspiring story of the power of the arts. How incrediably interesting to watch a blind man play a blind man at the end of Oedipus stating "I like this darkness." Their typical show was usually a satire of sorts, so this tragedy was a larger undertaking. I think its extremely brave for a group of visibly impaired actors to work with seeing actors on such a heavy piece of text. This article talks about how sighted actor, Nicholas Viselli, didn't feel much different working with the blind actors. "If anything", he said, "blind actors tend to learn the script and absorb direction faster. When you are deprived of one sense, your other senses take things in."

I love this. I love to hear about how someone who you may view as being impaired could actually have a large advantage in other areas of learning. It really forces you to reconsider you notions of impaired humans. They have a completely different set of circumstances to bring to the table which allows for a different process in their mind. It must be fascinating to watch them work through everything. I took Sign Language I last semester and I loved it. We talked about the culture surrounding the Deaf Community and the common misconceptions and altered ways of living. Their speech has different connotations and meanings and implications. I am thrilled to read and hear about the intergration of the deaf community in theatre. I was very happy to read that Lady Hamlet was the first black box show at CFA to include an ASL interpreted performance. I think its a great direction for the theatre to head. The same goes for this ambitious project in 2005 with the Theatre by the Blind.

Wildly Different Beasts

site_28_rand_1942437828_shakespeare_in_love_maxed_627I came across an article in the Arts Beat Blog for the New York Times explaining how the 1998 film Shakespeare in Love is in the early stages of being adapted for the stage. Now, I take great issue with this. Film and theatre are my two great loves (Robert Redford is the third, but that's besides the point) and one would think that this news would excite me to no end. However, what I know to be true is that the art of film and the art of theatre are two wildly different beasts.

I have seen some faithful adaptations of play to film (Doubt, Driving Miss Daisy, Chicago), and some successful adaptations of film to play (The Producers, Grey Gardens, Hairspray) but all in all, the transition is usually a flop. Take Catch Me if You Can which after a one year run, closed on Broadway September 4th. Or It's a Wonderful Life, considered one of the greatest classic films of all time, adapted to a stage play has gradually become reduced to elementary school fodder. The reason is this: writing for film and writing for theatre are incredibly different mediums.

Last year I was fortunate enough to take a class called Role of the Playwright with Jon Lipsky, and currently, I'm enrolled in a screenwriting class. My first revelation occurred when I passed in my first screenplay of the semester, and my professor began to tell me that I was being "too detailed", "too descriptive" and "too decisive". I was not supposed to know the world of my play intimately, I was just supposed to provide the action and the dialogue. The director will choose what to do with my script, and then make any final changes once it's been sold. The creative process is certainly...different when it comes to screenwriting. This does not mean I value it any less, or find film to be any less important, it just highlighted something I already knew to be true: film and theatre are hugely artistic mediums.

I do have faith, however. Tom Stoppard wrote the screenplay for Shakespeare in Love and he is at the helm of scripting its stage play adaptation. He is no stranger to the theatre as he's won critical acclaim and countless awards for his plays like Arcadia, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, and The Coast of Utopia. If anyone can make this transition I believe it's him. So for now, I'll sit in wild anticipation of this production and hope that Stoppard and the team behind Shakespeare in Love can prove me wrong. But they better give Ben Affleck a call now if they want him to make another cameo.

The Greater World

I've been thinking a lot about what theatre means in my life, and how the other things I love fit in too...It's a difficult balance to find, where the theatre ends and the life begins and if that separation is logical/feasible/possible/helpful. A while back in class, when we were first discussing our productions of our Antigone adaptations, I talked about how I'd want the citizens of the town I was performing in to be the performers. Ilana suggested that I look at the Cornerstone Theater Company in Los Angeles. The company started as a traveling troupe that occupied different areas of the country for a bit of time, talked to its inhabitants about the local social/political issues, and decided upon a production to put up in order to truly speak to them about their lives and their issues. I ended up using the company for my project on "The Burial at Thebes," and I can't stop thinking about the work they do. Currently, they are focusing on the issue of hunger in Los Angeles (where they are now permanently based) by holding two weeks' worth of events including panels with local farmers, food critics, chefs, and "food activists," as well as performances by both established and brand-new artists. I think the most exciting thing about this to me is that it feels like "real-world" theater... theater that is pertinent, important, topical, social, political, and active without being preachy. And it just might be that when I hear the term "socially active theater" I put on the preachy label, but I think places like Cornerstone are helping me peel it off. I just read the list of events for the "Creative Seeds Exploration of Hunger" and I want to fly out to be a part of it and see it. It gives me hope that the passions I have in life can meet the work I do in the theatre on my terms.

Heidi Latsky’s “Gimp”

In relationship to our conversation about Charles Mee and his "Notes on Casting," I was reminded of Dancer/Choreographer Heidi Latsky and a piece she is touring with titled "Gimp."  The piece mixes fully able-bodied dancers with "disabled" dancers to challenge our perception that "disabled" people lack ability, especially in relationship to movement and performance.  With an extremely physical score, each and every performer is forced to push there abilities past 110%.  In their own words:

GIMP examines the uncompromising ways we are often identified or defined by our physicality; an elegant landscape of portraits, illuminating limbs to accentuate uncommon beauty, mystery and grace; the ways in which our bodies support and rebel.

GIMP confronts the audience with their preconceptions, challenging us to re-think accepted notions about dance, performance and body image. An exploration, that dives into the heart of difference, voyeurism and the unexpected.

The Organizational Mission is to:

envision a society where:

  • all bodies are recognized as viable, fascinating and expressive instruments;
  • difference is upheld, not feared;
  • increased understanding and communication take the place of isolation, alienation and lack of contact;
  • people learn to "live in" their own skin and do not detach from their bodies because of external and internally assimilated judgments and conventional standards;
  • one is encouraged to "own" one's body, value it and use it to be expressive and truthful in ways that are empowering, enriching and unique;
  • a strong work ethic is valued and implemented;
  • and a high standard of excellence is not only desired but is achieved through sustained work and focus.

Something that intrigues me about the process is that Heidi Latsky, a former Bill T. Jones dancer, is able-bodied.  How does this inform the work?  In general, this seems like a wonderful piece of performance that has produced community dialogue through positive outreach programming.

Here is a video of excerpts from the piece:

Gimp Excerpt

If this work interests you, there are a lot of youtube clips available for viewing, along with lots of information on her website, Heidi Latsky Dance.

Nuns Burning Themselves for Freedom in Tibet

As we wrap up our Antigone projects, I thought it was poignant, yet disturbing that I came upon this article in The Independent. The title is "Nun burns herself to death in new phase of struggle for Tibet" and the article discusses recent turmoil experienced by Tibetan monks and nuns, whose practice of Buddhism has become nearly impossible due to political unrest.  Horrifically, this act of self-immolation is only one of nine to have occurred this year.

With many monks being forced back to their home-villages for "patriotic re-education," there is a feeling of awful helplessness.  The article states, "In this area there is a very bad situation. This is the only way they feel they can send a message."  The article also offers these words:

"Those monks are not doing anything against Buddhism by self-immolation. In Buddhism, one person cannot give up for their own reasons, but it is a good thing if a person gives up his or her life for many lives. Their actions look like suicide, but they died for many other people’s lives and freedoms, because they are not allowed to attack and kill anyone else."

This, I feel, is a current unfolding of Antigone.  In these circumstance, it seems as though self-imposed death is the only way to make change.  Those who have died have realized that their deaths will lead to the freedom of the living.  They also pose the question "is it worth living with such little freedom?  If I will not make a change, who will?"

This is why it is critical that the story of Antigone be told, whatever form it may take.  We must remind ourselves and others that the tragedies and conflicts that the Greeks dealt with are still with us today.  We must not forget where we came and where we have the potential of peacefully going.

Lions and Tigers and Bears, oh my! What an intriguing story they make!

I always browse yahoo news when checking my e-mail, especially if something catches my eye. It's not the best source of news, I know, but if there's a huge earthquake or tornado somewhere I usually know about it. Sometimes I'm disgusted by what I see (reporting on fashion trends over revolutions for example), sometimes terrified (earthquakes, suicide bombings, etc.), but rarely am I inspired. A few days ago however, I was first intrigued, then shocked, then incredibly moved by an article that I read. In Zanesville, Ohio, Terry Thompson killed himself after setting all of his many exotic animals free. Some speculated that it was "an f-you to his neighbors" who had never much liked him and often complained about his menagerie of a backyard. Others were unsure of his motives, no one seemed to know him too well. Police made the decision to shoot the freed animals on site to protect the terrified community. They were afraid that if they simply used tranquilizers the animals would run off before they took effect and wake up in an unknown location. Several bears, lions, and tigers were shot, including many Bengal tigers, an endangered species. Some citizens were relieved to hear of the deaths, others saddened. "At a nearby Moose Lodge, Bill Weiser said: "It's breaking my heart, them shooting those animals.""
I found this article fascinating. Usually news of suicide makes me sad, but this one made me creatively inspired. What an interesting and bizarre story! What a great play this would make! Who was Terry Thompson? Mean and grumpy or misunderstood? Why did he feel the need to keep exotic creatures in his backyard? Terry had previously been charged with animal abuse. But his final gesture was to set them free! Was it really to scorn his neighbors, or was it a metaphorical liberation, which he followed by freeing himself from this world? It is tragic that the animals gained their freedom only to be shot dead. Also, there is still one monkey unaccounted for. Where has it escaped to? My attraction to this story got me thinking about what makes an exciting play, what are interesting elements of storytelling. This is a very strange story that happens in a very 'normal' place. granted I've never been to Zanesville, but it is a small Ohio town, not somewhere I'd expect exotic beasts to be kept. In my improv class we were talking about how people find things funny when there is a normal person in a strange location, or a strange person in a normal location. In my Anthropology class Sophomore year, we discussed how we think things are gross when they are out of place, especially when the private happens in the public sphere, or vis a versa. Could it be that we also find this incongruency funny? Captivating? Terry's story has the magnitude of a greek tragedy or a durang comedy depending on how you look at it. Either way, it is an extreme story in which an outrageous event occurs with plenty of room to project our own images/feeling/beliefs onto. The more specific the event, the better canvas it is for the actors and audience to paint on. This story, though strange, is incredibly daring and specific. Now all I need to do is write the play!

It’s About Time!

Since I was little, I feel like I have been waiting for the moment in the universe when the stars would align and Broadway would produce the Disney Classic Newsies. As I was reading through Arts Beat this week, a small article in the corner caught my eye. After numerous wonderful reviews, The new play has generated a substantial amount of broadway buzz. It was produced, for the first time, at the Paper Mill Playhouse in New Jersey recently...

"Executives from the Nederlander Organization and Jujamcyn Theaters, two of Broadway’s major chains, have reached out to Disney to talk about opening “Newsies” in one of their houses, according to the people familiar with the talks, who spoke on condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to divulge private business discussions."

Along with Peter and the Starcatcher, This production would mark the second Disney production with Broadway on the Horizon. However, the two of these productions are not just about the campy music and glitzy costumes. Each of these plays have a great deal of heart and a lot to say. They also seem particularly relevant at this moment in time. With Occupy Wall Street on everybody's mind, it only seems fitting that the Newsies would finally get its big break. Perhaps the world wasn't ready for it before....but now, I have a feeling it will come in with guns ablazin'...

Keeping an Ear to the pavement.

One of my greatest loves is Hip-hop. I remember hearing my cousins playing it while growing up, but back then I didn't understand it. Truthfully, I thought it was ghetto. I rejected it. It wasn't until I was older that I began really listening to what was being said over these booming beats, only then did I realize that Hip-hop wasn't just a genre of music, but a way of life. Now the words of De La Soul, Q-tip, Strange Fruit Project, J. Cole, and most recently female MC Nitty Scott breed new thoughts in my brain as their music flows through my veins.

At it bases Hip-hop is story telling, in the same way country music is story telling. It is in it's rawness that Hip-Hop tells the story of struggle and resilience, the story of the human condition. In this way the essence of Hip-Hop is theatrical.

A few years ago I remember seeing Will Power's THE SEVEN at La Jolla Playhouse and being caught off guard by it. The work spoke to me, but I was embarrassed that it did. Somewhere along the line Hip-hop became tainted for me. I couldn't see the art in, because of all the negative projection I felt my peers had towards it. However over the past year when I came across THE HIP-HOP THEATRE FESTIVAL, the world of Hip-hop Theatre has became alive for me in an entirely new way. The festival takes place once a year in a few different cities, but namely New York. Check it out--Hip-Hop Theatre Festival

One of the projects birthed out of this festival, SEED by Radha Blank, particularly interested me. As I unpacked what about the play spoke to me, I found that it was the poetic language and spoken word which accelerated the story in a visceral way that interested me. It's like carefully placed word vomit. In a recent interview with director Radha Blank, she says that the poetry is used to slam on "the ignition of the play" and drive it forward. There is something Greek about Hip-hop theatre that intrigues me.

A little somethin I'm currently chewin on: Miss Nitty Scott's Time is Running Out

Art or Entertainment?

So I'm taking dance classes this year, for the first time since high school, 'cause:

1. I decided to stop kidding myself that I would exercise on my own time.
2. I love it, and I've missed it. A lot.
3. It's free!
4. Apparently I wanted to find out how much flexibility I've lost. DDDDD:

One of the classes I'm taking is Jazz-Funk with DeAnna Pellecchia, who is excellent, and for the last several classes we haven't moved as much as usual, because, as she puts it, "Everyone comes in looking like zombies." (It's first-round-of-midterms season out there in the rest of BU.)

Today, we watched the end of Singin' in the Rain, which we started on Tuesday (and I had never seen before), and then selections from Fosse (which I've actually seen live, but I was too young to appreciate it then). Then we were going to dance for the last half-hour, but we ended up just talking - first about Fosse and classical jazz; then about other forms, and how styles of dance, and all art, evolve over time and then are commercialized or bastardized or mixed up...and eventually rebelled against to make the next form. It was really fascinating. For all that we kid here about how pretentious/isolated/insulated/frankly strange our environment is, this place where we Make Art and Talk About Art and Cry Together and Share Our Feelings...and for all I gripe that everything we do is wicked depressing in the name of Art... I rarely appreciate us more than when I go out into my "normal" world and encounter the uninitiated. And it's not just, oh, wow, you've...never heard of Bob Fosse and kind of offensively think this is traditional Indian dance. It's - remember the Manifestival? I forget sometimes that, in more of the world around us than I'd think, people go their whole lives without asking or being asked: "What is art?"

When I say I'm in theatre, I usually get the assumption that I'm an actress. When you say you're an actor, do you get the assumption that you want to star in blockbusters? DeAnna likes to joke (but not really, because it's true) that when she says she's a dancer, she used to get asked, most often, if she worked at [strip club] or [other strip club]. Or if she was with the ballet or on Broadway. Now, most recently, she gets asked if it's "...like So You Think You Can Dance." And kids sign up for her class expecting to learn what she calls "video dance" (read: dances from music videos). And she's an artist, and that bugs her. But what's really struck me about how it bugs her is what she said this afternoon:

"There's nothing wrong with it. But it's not art. It's entertainment."

Big question. I felt like I was home with you guys all of a sudden.

Singin' in the Rain is iconic and seems like it might be DeAnna's favorite movie of all time. And there's enormous artistry to it. But it's also entertaining. Can it be both? "Savion Glover," DeAnna said, when I asked her if there could be overlap - apparently he's both art and entertainment. And us? I saw a really funny, lovely production of The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee recently. It was entertainment. Probably not art. But I had two friends in it, actors who would consider themselves artists, I'm sure. And Sayjay Mullins was in it - a 2006 graduate of this world. Where is the line? What are the rules?

How do you relate to art vs. entertainment? Do you know you prefer one over the other? To what extent do you believe something or someone can be both? I'm interested in a lot of people who seem to be artists who mostly work in entertainment. What if I never work in art or entertainment again? ...Okay, increasingly unlikely, but go with me for a sec - I don't think I'd ever stop considering myself an artist. But you might stop considering me an artist. Certainly no one would consider me an entertainer... Thoughts, anyone?

Speaker for the Dead

"The bones are hard and by themselves seem dead and stony, but by rooting into and pulling against the skeleton, the rest of the body carries out all the motions of life."

In getting over sickness, I always find myself picking up childhood books. Today as I languished (being sick is one of the few times at BU that I have languished) I started to reread Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card. It's the sequel to the very popular Ender's Game. This book, which I read when I was about 13, deals with much more esoteric topics than it's predecessor. Ender's Game is the story of young boys forced to fight in an army. Speaker for the Dead is set 3,000 years later among pseudo peace. The book deals with the conflict between religions, cultures, and races. Though set in space with no contemporary religions or cultures, the ultimate message of tolerance in the book is incredibly universal.

While I was reading it, I came across the above quotation. It was used to explain how progress and radical thinking are not at odds with the church. In fact, it is only because the church is so staunch that the progress has anything to push against. I wanted to share this quote with you, because I think it applies greatly to our art. I have often found myself furious with the "classics." I can't wait for people to get over the boring ways theatre has always been created, and to really break boundaries. Of course, if there were never any Greek dramas to start us off, I would be a puddle of skin and muscle on the floor, unable to propel myself forward. To push this metaphor further, it helps to remember that traditional and radical art are all part of the same body. The immediate struggle may feel like a fight, but it is, in fact, propelling an entire body forward into new ground.

Though I have spoken about this metaphor applying to art, I start with that only because this is an artist's blog. The idea that our struggles are really a part of a greater moving whole can be applied to just about any discipline. Religion, economics, medicine. We will find greater peace as a world when we can see our one body. And perhaps it's not necessary to denote bone or muscles, but the knowledge that we are achieving something larger than the immediate struggle is a powerful and profound one.

Theo Jansen, a Kinetic Sculptor

Everyone should take a few minutes to watch this video. I found this video a few weeks ago and I haven't stopped thinking about it in the back of my head. The artist is Theo Jansen who lives in Holland. He calls himself a kinetic sculptor. Basically, he creates, out of readily available plastic tubing, life forms that are powered by wind. He essentially works everyday on beaches in Holland to construct new species which don't need to eat or drink but gather all their energy from the earth's natural wind. He hope that these new creatures will one day live by themselves on these beaches! .... I know, what!? This guy is incredible! He is blending the artist and the engineer in to something incredible. Okay, if you haven't watched the video by now, you should probably just  watch it. Man...it just continues to baffle me how amazingly innovative artists can be in the world. Tediously trying to get his own offspring (ah!) to move across the earth... the kind of patience and creativity and dedication it must have took is just so inspiring.  He knows that when these life forms become fully independent of him and he passes on that he will be able to live on the beaches through his art. Wow... If we could  all find this kind of passion in what we do - in everything we do. Slowing down. Testing silly ideas. Believing in something beyond what we see everyday.

I mean look at this other video!! Just one of the coolest things I've seen in a while.

"A part of me is an engineer who wants to map the progress of mobility. Another part is an artist who wants to sculpt the earth that surrounds us and give it shape. And always I strive to push the boundaries of what we know and what seems possible to us at this moment in time." -Theo Jansen

for more visit: http://www.strandbeest.com/

I’d write you a shorter letter if I had more time

This title is a quote my dad always used to tell me when he was editing my writing. It's been particularly relevant for me in writing program notes for my modern adaptation of Antigone, as well as in preparing to direct my ten minute play for The Director's Project. In my program notes, I'm quickly finding that it's not about the amount of information I'm able to cram into the 1000 word limit, it's the pith, the quality of the information I provide and the manner in which I provide it. It is evermore important within a smaller container to choose my words wisely. In the beginning dramaturgical work for my Director's Project piece, I'm finding that the challenges of researching a ten minute play are no less than that of a full length epic, they are just of a different nature. In my chosen one-act, Life Without Subtext by Michael Mitnick, one character speaks for almost the entirety of the piece. It does not change scenes, locations, times of day, characters, etc. However, as the director and in my dramaturgical work, I have to take into consideration that every piece of information in the text is in service of creating the particular world of this play. I must assume that this world is complete, and everything I need to understand this piece is within the text, somewhere. It's easy for me to assume that this world is my own, that my two characters are familiar to me, but the title of the play suggests that this particular moment it portrays is a moment outside of the normal social constraints of our society. I'm increasingly curious and excited to find ways keep my other character active and responsive through ten minutes of text that is not her own, as well as ways to enliven the environment, and keep the stakes high through my protagonist's never-ending monologue. In conclusion, the challenges of a short piece are no less important, nor less numerous than in a full length play. They just take a little more effort to find.

ALICIA KEYS wants YOU…

Apparently.

I wanted to embed this, but it hates me. Whyyyyy???

So, since I bought tickets for H2$ with D-Rad back in the spring, I've been on this mailing list for discounts on tickets and stuff in NY? And most of the time they send me a million things and I'm just like blah, blah, junk, blah, kind of cool, but, uh, I live here and like...have some things to do. But today in my inbox - STICK FLY!! [excessive excitement goes here]

Anyway. The giant poster in the email is actually several images, I realized when trying to copy it in - sneaky! (plus I can't figure out how to resize giant things?) so no picture. Alas. But here, have this happy-making, truth-telling, slightly corny image that's been making the Facebook rounds. It speaks for itself.

planets that are too small to be considered planets : poor pluto

Yesterday in Theatre  Ensemble and Directing 1 we  read through all of our ten-  minute plays for the Director’s  Project.  Now, searching for  these ten minute plays I kept  coming across ones I really  didn't like and I rarely found  any I truly enjoyed.  I began to  question why I found so many  I disagreed with and if I  thought a solid ten-minute  play existed anywhere in the  world.  Now there are  exceptions to this thought,  like Jon Lipsky's "Walking  the Volcano" and Chloe and  Natalie's Antigone project  that they are working on  which I really enjoy.  So  searching through the shit I  found a piece that I liked by  Jose Rivera called Flowers, and its not perfect but I do really like it.  I brought my piece to class, but I was more interested in what other people found because I considered myself lucky to even find one I could say I even enjoyed.  Listening to everyone else's piece, I realized that there was something very similar about all of our worlds, and I'm not sure if I can put it into words yet.  I know that each play has a different world and that I have to prepare myself to enter a different planet whenever I read a new play.  I don't think I really realized that I had to construct a new set of planets in order to fully appreciate all of the ten minutes plays.  They are ten minutes long.  They have to be compact and sometimes blunt, or corny, or psychotic, or misunderstood, or dramatic, or even stupid in order to tell their story.  I think I wanted them to be something more than what they actually were.  I wanted them to be more fluid, languid, romantic, hearty, and austere.   But they weren’t, I don’t think they could because of the time constraint to be honest.  Which is something I should have realized before and put into mind while I was searching for my own piece.

Taking Theatre For Granted: In Israel, Theatre is a Privilege Not a Right

freedom-1-articleLargeIn the United States, theatre artists spend exhaustive amounts of time pleading with our government for more federal funding, or for more public appreciation, or for prettier costumes. I believe that most of these things are valid and necessary to the livelihood of theatre in this country. But as Americans, we generally have the tendency to ask for more, more, more without ever appreciating what it is we have in the first place. We want higher budgets and bigger names; in other countries, theatre companies want to cast an actor without fear of them being murdered or detained by their own government.

The New York Times has published one of the most moving articles I've ever read about the state of a theatre company in Israel. The Freedom Theatre, an Arab-language troupe who works out of a refugee camp in the West Bank, was shocked and grieved last April when their founding member was brutally murdered outside their building. Since then, the students and teachers have found a cathartic way to deal with their mentor's death, by putting together an adaptation of Beckett's Waiting for Godot called While Waiting. Performed in Arabic, the production is breaking both Israeli-Palestinian and Samuel Beckett rules by casting Vladimir and Estragon as women.

I was shocked after I read this article by how ignorant I was of my own fortune. Literally, every actor knows every part in the Freedom Theatre's production because at any moment, one of their actors might not come back. They live in fear every day of being shut down and thwarted by their government, or worse yet, of being murdered on the front steps of their theatre. At one point, the company's production of Alice in Wonderland was shut down because of the negative Palestinian undercurrents the government believed to be in the text. I sit here getting to study theatre as a collegiate major, knowing that no one will ever stop me from pursuing my artistry as an individual, and in Israel people are dying just to be heard.

Luckily, While Waiting is getting a mini-tour on the North East, beginning with a performance tomorrow at Columbia University. Later, they will return to New York and perform again with help from the Public Theatre on October 30th. The students of the theatre are still mourning the loss of their leader, but they are attempting to heal through the power of their art. Healing through art is not something I take for granted, but I have lost sight of how lucky I am to simply to allowed to try. And thus, a mission statement: from this point forward, I will attempt to push my own boundaries and take bigger risks, because if I'm free to say what I want, why shouldn't I say everything?

The Palace Beautiful

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Have you ever read Little Women? It is my favorite book of all time. But don't worry if you started it and really didn't see the appeal - my best friend is was! one of those. On the other hand, if you've never heard of it or just said, "Is that the one with Sutton Foster?" please don't provide me with that information. =(

I read Little Women, the abridgement, for the first time when I was eight or nine. A friend of mine (the type whose family has heirloom copies of this book) had a birthday party at Orchard House, the historical home in Concord, MA, where Louisa May Alcott (the author)'s family once lived, and I think the book was a party favor. I read the full version for the first time when I was in, I think, sixth grade. I'm not going to lie to you; I "borrowed" that from a classroom and still have not returned it. It's in a box in my bedroom right now. It's one of those books I bring to school every year, though I rarely have time to read anything. It is accessible, the full text, online; but that's not the same.

My best friend is not the Little Women type. She is also not the Little House on the Prairie type, except maybe for the fact that those books are full of descriptions of food. She started trying to read Little Women for the first time when I was packing to move out of West freshman year, sitting on my bed squinting at the first pages, making snarky comments, and ultimately falling asleep. But a couple of weeks ago, she turned up being all, "I'm reading Little Women!" and I was like, "=| ...I've been burned before." But she did, in fact, finish it this time, and she very much enjoyed parts of it. It's been interesting how her experience, reading for the first time as an adult, differs from mine. (It's also interesting how my relationship with the book has changed over time. Everyone's does, who read it as a kid.) (If you've actually come this far and want to tell me about your experience, if you have one, I will almost certainly also find that interesting. Please tell meee. I love talking about this book; I really do.)

Anyway, bestie turned 23 this weekend, and she loves historical homes and junk (we're really cool), so I was all, "We could go to Orchard House now!" and she got REALLY EXCITED. So we went. It was - smaller than I remembered.

I could make a million blog posts about this. I could talk about adaptation, and how the Alcotts were not the Marches, and yet everything in Little Women really happened to someone; or how I feel about the film/s that have been made (seeing this story I love so much come to life, vs. Christian Bale, what is up with your hair? and Winona Ryder, why...just why). I could maybe try to talk about what it means to take someone else's work so far into yourself that, growing up, you quote it to yourself as you develop your own values and try to live by them.

Nah. Let's talk about wallpaper!

The thing that's really amazing about Orchard House, and all historical homes, is how they've been preserved and restored. Reconstructing a family's life - can you imagine? I hope so - you have to make it so I can imagine. Even selecting the perfect china pattern is, as bestie said, "...weirdly important." They found a photo of the wallpaper that was in May Alcott (the "real" Amy)'s room when she lived there. They sent away to France, where the original paper was made, for a replica. But why? It's not like lots of tourists are coming through going, "God, that wallpaper was historically inaccurate. Totally threw off my visit!" It's just...every little piece counts. You're creating a world. I don't know; we were talking about that, and it just seemed very EF's Visit to a Small Planet to me.

What are your favorite historical sites or carefully-researched period pieces? Did you visit/see/experience them as a kid, or more recently? Have you ever been struck by how something seemingly insignificant - a pincushion, a mug - can be what opens a world to you? What was it? Why?

Guerilla Manifestos

The Urban Speaker

The Urban Speaker

The Urban Speaker was a public art instillation in Tompkins Square Park in New York City  in October of 2010. The peice was conceived and built by Carlos J. Gomez. In installing the Urban Speaker, Gomez hoped to explore "... the possibilities of urban media spaces created by the introduction of telecommunication and interactive technologies into our built environments."

It just sort of looked like a traffic sign, but it was much more. The Urban Speaker contained inside it a smartphone which could be dialed, would answer, and then broadcast your words to Tompkins Square park via a giant loudspeaker at the top of the contraption. A sign on the Urban Speaker read: Call 979-997-3041 to speak in public.

The smart phone inside the machine would answer a caller with an outgoing message that, among other things, instructed the caller to "free your mind" and "break free from the system." The caller would then have exactly 60 seconds to leave their message, to broadcast their one important thing to the world. 60 seconds for anyone in the entire world to deliver their personal manifesto to the masses, or to no one at all. It just depended on the traffic pattern.

I found particular resonance in Gomez's exploration in regards to my recent work in Directing and Theatre Ensemble. I've been assigned to Sarah Ruhl's Dead Man's Cell Phone, and I've been thinking a lot about our attempts to grasp at intimate human connection through something as stark as technology. In his Instillation, Gomez has juxtaposed and forced the intimacy of having only 60 seconds to share what is most important to you, with the fact that the words you say will not only be transmitted through a machine, but perhaps (depending on your location) hundreds of miles away, falling on the ears of people you will never know or see. Gomez has brought a theatrical experience to the public. An actor (hopefully) ascends the stage to give deeply of themselves and make themselves vulnerable to the audience. It is likely that an actor will not know everyone they give these pieces of themselves away to, and yet they do it because they believe it to be important. I commend Gomez for enabling the public to experience the same surreal urgency, and to let go of words so freely.

You can hear some of their words memorialized (and find more information about Gomez's work) here.

I called the Urban Speaker, even though I knew that the installation had already been removed. To my surprise, however, there was an outgoing message saying that the Urban Speaker would be closed until further notice.

To my delight, the message inbox was full.

Lady Hamlet, Playwrighting, and gender roles.

Last week I saw Boston University’s production of Lady Hamlet by Sarah Schulman, directed by Ilana Brownstein. The play is a farcical examination of gender roles via the lives of two actresses who both want to play the role of Hamlet on Broadway. One Actress, Margot Stayden Burns, believes that Hamlet is a woman, merely donning man’s clothes in order to have the ability to express her-self free from female patriarchal gender norms. Her Inspiration, an older actress Helene de Montpelier finds this idea repulsive and instead believes that Hamlet is a man, which any woman should have the right to play just as young people can play old people, peaceful people can play murderers, etc. The two battle it out for the role at first with sly plots then with words, then swords. In the end it is Helene’s lover that gets the role of Hamlet, the two changed divas turn it over to her when she says that her dream Hamlet would be not a man, not a woman, but a person. Hamlet would be simply Hamlet, a human being.
I found the play both hysterically funny and incredibly interesting. The play discusses how we universalize to the white male norm. The default western person is a white man, or at least a man. Now that we have a black president has the race changed? I don’t think so, but possibly. As a female playwright, I find that I am able to write men sometimes better than women, interesting given the fact that I am a woman myself. Is this because I am used to seeing male protagonists? Being forced to empathize and personalize to men? These are some of the questions that the play provoked in me. A ‘human’ Hamlet we could surely all identify with, man and woman. Or could none of us identify with them? Could we believe and relate to a genderless character? Would we constantly be trying to label them because we weren’t given their identity? I don’t know. It is an interesting question. Could I write genderless characters? There are certainly many people that identify as gender queer, as both genders or as neither. I myself believe that gender is a societal construct that is not necessarily tied to sex. I believe that there are masculine and feminine energies, which combine and balance in different ways within each individual. So why do I feel the need to label the characters that I write one way or the other? Am I taking for granted societal norms with which I don’t necessarily agree and thereby re-enforcing them? I think I write gendered characters in part because our perceived gender makes up so much of our experience. If I were to not label a character as a gender, I would be leaving out a vast part of their back-story, of how they are viewed and brought up in the world. Or if I didn’t give them a gender it would be a huge choice that the audience would attach significance to. If they have no gender that gives them a whole different back-story of not belonging in our culture. Perhaps this only applies to realism however. Or maybe I could write a play in which none of the characters have gender, thereby setting that reality as a part of the world, the scene on which action can happen, rather than having the whole play be about gender. Do our notions of gender make us identify with one sex or the other and not with the human experience? Would there be less violence and misunderstanding between the genders if we were all forced to identify with a human norm? What would that look like? I feel that these are interesting and on-going questions.

AHhaha! Nudity!

At Boston Playwright's today we were talking about onstage nudity. Specifically in the play by Leslie Epstein (head of the creative writing department at BU), "King of the Jews" that they put on a few years ago. The play had about three seconds of nudity in it. The character was tortured offstage and the burst back in, completely naked, and yelled, "Jews! They are killing me!" and then exited. End of act 1. By the way, I'm not completely sure of the punctuation on that quote. The script also called for a woman to rip open her shirt, exposing her breasts on a line about giving milk. This did not make it into the production.

It was really interesting to hear the people (work studies, teachers, theatre managers, and one director) talk about this in the office. Opinions were all over the map. One work study didn't know that anyone ever got naked onstage and was horrified. She said she would feel personally assaulted if she went to a show and was surprised by a naked body. One of my bosses loved it, and thought that the play would have been significantly less powerful without it. My other boss thought it was unnecessary, but was unfazed by theatrical nudity in general. Everyone had a strong reaction to it regardless.

"King of the Jews" was and still is Boston Playwright's bestselling show. There are many reasons for this, but I think the nudity was one of them. I remember when Equus came to broadway that was the reason that most of my friends in high school went to see it. If used well I think nudity can be both a theatrical devise and a moneymaker. By no means am I advocating random stripping onstage, but in truly motivated situations it can arrest the audience in a way mere words cannot. Is using our society's obsession with covering and uncovering the human body as a marketing tool wise? More importantly, does it serve the art we are trying to make? If one really good nude scene in a play gives you your best profit ever, is it a worthwhile tool in a producers arsenal? I'm not sure of the answers. I just know that I would have definitely paid to see this show, and a large part of my decision would be made from my desire to gawk at another human's naked body.