Hi Everyone!
During my final semester at Brooklyn College, my 20th Century Theatre professor, Steve, introduced me to works by Allen Kaprow and Tadeusz Kantor. Thank God. I would have been really embarrassed if I had a BFA in Theatre and didn't know who these people were. It's bad enough I still have no idea what every theatre theorist who has ever written anything, means when he or she uses the adjective "plastic."
Anyway, I was pretty enamored by the ideas of these two theorists. Steve agreed to let me stage my own Kaprow-Kantor inspired Happening as a final project. The vague plan was to advertise a meeting on Brooklyn College's quad, and trace each other with Sidewalk Chalk.
This is the mission statement.
Here are the photographs.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Holistic Theatre
Holism – noun Philosophy – The theory that whole entities, as fundamental components of reality, have an existence other than as the mere sum of their parts. (Random House Dictionary, 2009)
The spirit of theatre, I believe, comes in the hope of uniting audience and production. A hope that spectators will be more than spectators, that actors will do more than entertain, that all in the room on a particular evening will connect through higher themes and emotions – that people will be, for lack of a better term, moved.
A few months ago I sat in on a Butoh workshop. Feeling rather unwell that day, I (sadly) opted only to watch rather than participate. Though downtrodden, being witness proved to bear its own gifts beyond the scholastic and analytic. For here I am, months past and still stirring with thoughts and feelings from the encounter. As a workshop, it was (smartly) not geared toward the idea of the “performative” – for an “audience” – but nor was it for personal, private, (selfish?), learning. Those participating were guided to express, for whoever was willing to holistically listen, the seemingly inexpressible essences of whom they uniquely are.
What a joy! Here was all the humanity of each individual participating in all its frighteningly unsanitary glory. No jars or tubes, no gloves or goggles, no disinfectants or antibacterial wipes. No fourth walls or contrivance of a character. Meat on my plate, straight from the hide. Raw, bleeding.
Take a breath, hold it, and dance your final dance of life until you can dance no more. Walk the timeline of your life, from birth to death, not failing to take time and cherish the moments in between. They all will come, but they all will pass. And death will come, and you will pass.
This was as great a theatre as any I could hope to see upon a stage. Perhaps as Romantic in theory as could exist, too. It was grotesque, but that it was made it beautiful. I saw the rich life of those I knew, and recognized the fruitfulness of those I didn’t. I thought of my life, my connections, what my dance of life would be. I was filled with love and hope, and wanted to do better in the world, make stronger, more loving connections while I was able. I was in awe of the spirit of (wo)man.
This is what theatre should be.
I have spent this summer working on Joan of Arc at Fort Tryon Park with Gorilla Rep, an environmental and ensemble based group that takes great pride in directly connecting with the audience to make them truly a part of the show.* During one performance, in the latter part of the play as it moved near the large archway at the base of the Pine Grove area, a dark, clearly solid object came plummeting out of the sky and nailed a teenage audience member square on the head. The show was stopped as the girl was tended to, our young war veteran director chased off the culprits, and cast joined audience beyond the (500 watt) lights. Suddenly, I was back in the classroom, experiencing Butoh. Breath held, our spirits danced in fear, hoping the girl to be uninjured. It was roughly ten minutes that cast and audience shared as family, strengthening our devotion to being better people over this unnecessarily violent act. Fortunately, we shortly discovered the object was only a half-filled beer can. Our combat medic cleared the beer-soaked teen of any severe injury (aside from the slight to her dignity) and when asked, she insisted on seeing the rest of the show (it was her second time). And almost all of the some-odd hundred audience members stayed as well. Not because the show was that fantastic (though we’d like to believe it was), but because of a deep emotional connection to community. We all stuck together. That’s what Joan of Arc is all about.
There was something very special about the end of that performance. The strange, artificial (and somehow inevitable) wall between performance and audience was permanently stripped from the evening. I felt an incredible, overwhelming need to tell the rest of this story to the absolute best of my ability (Joan of Arc is, after all, about love and greed, right and wrong, and the very gray line between them). Which was tough. I was playing a vindictive character attempting to rape Joan, ultimately gaining pleasure from her burning. It was, however, so important for this audience that I play my role truthfully that I – and the whole rest of the cast – prevailed with incredible fervor. That last thirty minutes were one of the greatest gifts as an actor I feel I’ve both ever given and received.
Yes, a select few were very angry the show was not stopped and the cops were not called. Yes, some participants did not give over to the experience in the Butoh workshop. But they are important, too. They are humanity that must be recognized, and the earth shared with them as well. Theatre should remind us of our community we must love while we share our brief moments on earth. And great theatre will not just “show” us, but truly share with us the same thick air in a small room gathered under the stars willing to look merely to one another.
* - I do not mean, though I admit it certainly sounds like it, to say that Gorilla Rep is what theatre should be.
The spirit of theatre, I believe, comes in the hope of uniting audience and production. A hope that spectators will be more than spectators, that actors will do more than entertain, that all in the room on a particular evening will connect through higher themes and emotions – that people will be, for lack of a better term, moved.
A few months ago I sat in on a Butoh workshop. Feeling rather unwell that day, I (sadly) opted only to watch rather than participate. Though downtrodden, being witness proved to bear its own gifts beyond the scholastic and analytic. For here I am, months past and still stirring with thoughts and feelings from the encounter. As a workshop, it was (smartly) not geared toward the idea of the “performative” – for an “audience” – but nor was it for personal, private, (selfish?), learning. Those participating were guided to express, for whoever was willing to holistically listen, the seemingly inexpressible essences of whom they uniquely are.
What a joy! Here was all the humanity of each individual participating in all its frighteningly unsanitary glory. No jars or tubes, no gloves or goggles, no disinfectants or antibacterial wipes. No fourth walls or contrivance of a character. Meat on my plate, straight from the hide. Raw, bleeding.
Take a breath, hold it, and dance your final dance of life until you can dance no more. Walk the timeline of your life, from birth to death, not failing to take time and cherish the moments in between. They all will come, but they all will pass. And death will come, and you will pass.
This was as great a theatre as any I could hope to see upon a stage. Perhaps as Romantic in theory as could exist, too. It was grotesque, but that it was made it beautiful. I saw the rich life of those I knew, and recognized the fruitfulness of those I didn’t. I thought of my life, my connections, what my dance of life would be. I was filled with love and hope, and wanted to do better in the world, make stronger, more loving connections while I was able. I was in awe of the spirit of (wo)man.
This is what theatre should be.
I have spent this summer working on Joan of Arc at Fort Tryon Park with Gorilla Rep, an environmental and ensemble based group that takes great pride in directly connecting with the audience to make them truly a part of the show.* During one performance, in the latter part of the play as it moved near the large archway at the base of the Pine Grove area, a dark, clearly solid object came plummeting out of the sky and nailed a teenage audience member square on the head. The show was stopped as the girl was tended to, our young war veteran director chased off the culprits, and cast joined audience beyond the (500 watt) lights. Suddenly, I was back in the classroom, experiencing Butoh. Breath held, our spirits danced in fear, hoping the girl to be uninjured. It was roughly ten minutes that cast and audience shared as family, strengthening our devotion to being better people over this unnecessarily violent act. Fortunately, we shortly discovered the object was only a half-filled beer can. Our combat medic cleared the beer-soaked teen of any severe injury (aside from the slight to her dignity) and when asked, she insisted on seeing the rest of the show (it was her second time). And almost all of the some-odd hundred audience members stayed as well. Not because the show was that fantastic (though we’d like to believe it was), but because of a deep emotional connection to community. We all stuck together. That’s what Joan of Arc is all about.
There was something very special about the end of that performance. The strange, artificial (and somehow inevitable) wall between performance and audience was permanently stripped from the evening. I felt an incredible, overwhelming need to tell the rest of this story to the absolute best of my ability (Joan of Arc is, after all, about love and greed, right and wrong, and the very gray line between them). Which was tough. I was playing a vindictive character attempting to rape Joan, ultimately gaining pleasure from her burning. It was, however, so important for this audience that I play my role truthfully that I – and the whole rest of the cast – prevailed with incredible fervor. That last thirty minutes were one of the greatest gifts as an actor I feel I’ve both ever given and received.
Yes, a select few were very angry the show was not stopped and the cops were not called. Yes, some participants did not give over to the experience in the Butoh workshop. But they are important, too. They are humanity that must be recognized, and the earth shared with them as well. Theatre should remind us of our community we must love while we share our brief moments on earth. And great theatre will not just “show” us, but truly share with us the same thick air in a small room gathered under the stars willing to look merely to one another.
* - I do not mean, though I admit it certainly sounds like it, to say that Gorilla Rep is what theatre should be.
Monday, August 10, 2009
The Times they are a-changin'
I live quite happily without a television, having very little time for passive entertainment and keeping up with current events through online periodicals. The news has always been difficult for me due to my feint-of-heart sensitivity to violent images and my talent for crying over just about everything (international tragedies and Pixar films alike). I'm very thankful for the easily accessible, alternate source of news that enables me to choose which articles I read instead of tolerating unannounced gruesome images and the repetitive nature most news channels thrive on.
I like the New York Times. I find the articles informative and compact and the website is easy to navigate. I start with the "front page" and move on to national headlines, then to the international section. I peruse the science and health articles, and if I have time, I read an opinion or two. I end with the arts section, working my way down the artistic alphabet (skipping over "Television") until I arrive at the theatre page. This should be my favorite section, but it's not. I usually take in the reviews with an open mind, and find the informative articles educational and enjoyable. I love the audio slideshows. However, there are two particular articles I've read lately that have left me a little embarassed for The Times:
A recent review of Gorilla Rep's "Joan of Arc" addresses some legitimate critiques of the production from a company that is famous for outdoor, wordsy theatre...except that a large part of the article was criticising it for being...outdoors and wordsy. I am not suggesting that mud and mosquitos should be an understood and accepted aspect of outdoor theatre, and therefore should be left out of a review completely. Folks who have never seen a Gorilla Rep production should be advised to bring bug spray and sneakers. The company is considerate enough to add a disclaimer about the nature of their performances on their website. I would have appreciated critisism that did not dwell on the advertised, if not renown style of their environmentally staged performances.
Secondly, there was a great informative article on the process the playwright underwent in the development of Primary Stage's "A Lifetime Burning." The article focused on the playwright's obsession for modern design and how it was translated into the play and the set design. Though there is a photograph of the set and it is mentioned several times, none of the designers are credited except for the company which provided some of the furniture. I don't expect the production team to be recognized often, but since this piece is so particular about the aesthetic inspiration of the show and the set design, I would have expected the designer to be credited. Please note that this article appears in the Theatre section of the New York Times website, but originally appeared in the Home and Garden section of the Style Page in the published periodical.
As always...what do you guys think?
I like the New York Times. I find the articles informative and compact and the website is easy to navigate. I start with the "front page" and move on to national headlines, then to the international section. I peruse the science and health articles, and if I have time, I read an opinion or two. I end with the arts section, working my way down the artistic alphabet (skipping over "Television") until I arrive at the theatre page. This should be my favorite section, but it's not. I usually take in the reviews with an open mind, and find the informative articles educational and enjoyable. I love the audio slideshows. However, there are two particular articles I've read lately that have left me a little embarassed for The Times:
A recent review of Gorilla Rep's "Joan of Arc" addresses some legitimate critiques of the production from a company that is famous for outdoor, wordsy theatre...except that a large part of the article was criticising it for being...outdoors and wordsy. I am not suggesting that mud and mosquitos should be an understood and accepted aspect of outdoor theatre, and therefore should be left out of a review completely. Folks who have never seen a Gorilla Rep production should be advised to bring bug spray and sneakers. The company is considerate enough to add a disclaimer about the nature of their performances on their website. I would have appreciated critisism that did not dwell on the advertised, if not renown style of their environmentally staged performances.
Secondly, there was a great informative article on the process the playwright underwent in the development of Primary Stage's "A Lifetime Burning." The article focused on the playwright's obsession for modern design and how it was translated into the play and the set design. Though there is a photograph of the set and it is mentioned several times, none of the designers are credited except for the company which provided some of the furniture. I don't expect the production team to be recognized often, but since this piece is so particular about the aesthetic inspiration of the show and the set design, I would have expected the designer to be credited. Please note that this article appears in the Theatre section of the New York Times website, but originally appeared in the Home and Garden section of the Style Page in the published periodical.
As always...what do you guys think?
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