Red!

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“Red” is a Tony Award winning play written by John Logan the screenwriter for “Hugo” and “Sweeney Todd.” It is supposed to be “an electrifying drama that spans the spectrum of human emotion, centering around the life of abstract expressionist Mark Rothko.” Rothko was a Russian-American painter. He is classified as an abstract expressionist, although he himself rejected this label, and even resisted classification as an “abstract painter”. Jeff Ferree told me about the production and he let me know which day that the completed set would be getting a spattering of paint. Set designer is Bob Phillips was there dressed in an old Hawaiian shirt. He supervised as Robbin Watts, the head scenic arts and scenic apprentice is Ashley Gilbert flung paint all over the walls and stage. Everyone padded around the stage in their socks. He couldn’t resist flinging paint himself. “It’s cathartic.” he said.

The first three rows in the theater were covered with drop cloths and I sat in an aisle seat just behind the “spatter zone.” I started the sketch by catching Ashley as she spattered the walls from high up on the ladder. This seems to be a recurring theme for me, sketching creative women on ladders. Everyone’s shoes were gathered up and placed at the back stage door. All three artists started spattering the floor, trying to avoid painting themselves into a corner. Spattering is a fast paced dance with wide sweeping strokes of the arms and constant pivoting. This was a delicate dance that was well worth the price of admission.

Red is running now through April 22 at the Orlando Shakespeare Theater. Get your tickets now!

Justice 4 Trayvon

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An estimated 8,000 people gathered in Sanford’s Fort Mellon park to rally for justice in the Trayvon Martin shooting. Reverand Al Sharpton had flown to Sanford to support the cause. Originally the rally was going to be held at the First Iconium Baptist church, but organizers realized that the church couldn’t support the expected crowds. With such a huge crowd, I realized I couldn’t get close to the stage. Instead as community leaders spoke, I wandered inside the crowd that filled the stadium sized field of grass. I didn’t look towards the stage, instead I looked back at the crowd of people behind me.

I decided to sit down and sketch these three teens holding signs for Trayvon. The Hollister T-shirt was similar to the one worn by Trayvon in the photo seen everywhere. They were about his age and probably went to the same school. Grief counselors have yet to advise students on how to handle the events surrounding the shooting and death of their classmate. A teacher calling roll, called out Trayvon’s name having forgot he wouldn’t be coming back. She broke down and cried. George Zimmerman, a neighborhood watch captain followed and shot the unarmed teen when he was walking home from a convenience store carrying iced tea and skittles. A witness heard Treyvon crying for help just before he was shot.

On March 23rd thousands of students from roughly 50 schools in Florida staged walkouts to protest the killing. Meanwhile, the Change.org petition demanding the arrest of George Zimmerman, Martin’s shooter, surpassed 1.5 million signatures, making it all time fastest-growing petition in Change.org’s history, according to the group. Supporters of Martin’s family organized a “Million Hoodie March” last Wednesday in New York City. Hundreds of participants wore hoodies to the march which sought to protest both the police handling of the shooting and racial profiling in general.

Sybrina Fulton, Martin’s mother, stood on stage with Al Sharpton and tearfully said, “I stand before you today not knowing how I’m walking right now, because my heart hurts for my son. Trayvon is my son. Trayvon is your son. Thanks so much for your support.” “This is not about black and white. This is about right and wrong.”

Treyvon Martin Justice Rally

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27 days ago George Zimmerman, a neighborhood watch captain, shot and killed, the unarmed, 17 year old Trayvon Martin. Trayvon was returning to a gated Sanford community in the city after buying candy at a convenience store. He was unarmed and was wearing a hoodie. Zimmerman called 911 and was told by the dispatcher that he shouldn’t follow the youth. He followed anyway and shot Trayvon in the chest, killing him with his 9mm pistol. Zimmerman has said the teen attacked him and he shot him in self-defense. Trayvon was unarmed, only carrying Skittles and iced tea. A witness heard someone yelling for help. A shot followed and the yelling stopped. Trayvon was on the phone with a girl from Miami as he was being followed, the girl stated Martin said, “I think this dude is following me,” and then ran to get away from him. She said she heard Martin ask Zimmerman why he was being followed, and shortly afterwards the called ended. When she tried to call him back, there was no answer. Zimmerman has not been charged with any crime.

The day before the Rally, City commissioners voted “No Confidence” in police chief Bill Lee who did not arrest Zimmerman. The police chief said that he is temporarily leaving his job to let passions cool.
Reverand Al Sharpton came to Fort Mellon Park in Sanford to address the crowd. His mother had died that morning. He said, “My mother raised me to stand up and fight. She would have been ashamed of me if I wasn’t here tonight. This mother has to bury her son. Mothers are not supposed to bury their sons. We love our children. We may not have as much as others, but we have each other!” The estimated crowd of 8,000 people cheered.

He continued, “Some people said to me in the media — ‘Let me get this straight,’ they said. ‘Reverend, it seems like there’s a lot of people who are angry — are you afraid of violence?’” Sharpton preached to the Central Floridian crowd. “I said, ‘No. I’m afraid of the violence you already had.’”

“Violence is killing Tray Martin,” Sharpton continued. “Don’t act like we are the ones [who are] violent. We didn’t shoot nobody.” Al began a loud chant that swept through the crowd, yelling “No Justice!” The crowd responded “No Peace!” The chant continued, growing louder as more people joined in. “Enough is enough!” he shouted. Zimmerman should have been arrested that night!”

Young at Heart Chorale

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Directed by Jodi Tassos, the Young at Heart Chorale is a dynamic group of seniors ages 55 and over who love to sing. Their repertoire covers many styles and genres but specializes in favorite standards and show tunes. This group presents programs for a variety of community organizations throughout Central Florida.

Young at Heart rehearses at the First Congregational Church of Winter Park (225 S. Interlachen Avenue) in the Fellowship Hall, an easily accessible room on the first floor. I wasn’t sure where Fellowship hall was, so I wandered into the church office and a secretary guided me down the hall to the singing rehearsal. I could hear the harmonious voices echo down the hall. Rehearsals are on Tuesday afternoons from 2:00 p.m. to 3:30 p.m. Tuition is $50.00 per semester and best of all, there’s no audition necessary! The Young at Heart Chorale maintains a busy performance schedule throughout the year, as well as a busy social calendar.

On the day I went by to sketch, George Sumrall was playing piano. He was filling in for Gail Fote who usually played, but she was on vacation. Chere Force had given me the tip about this singing group and when I entered the hall, I saw her and waved. She came over before I started to sketch and welcomed me. Jodi noticed me and asked, “Do you intend to sing.” Flustered, I said, “No, I don’t want to throw anyone off, I’m here to sketch.” Jodi was delighted. She shouted out, “Remember everyone, smile and look like your having fun, because you’re being sketched!”

The group began by singing “Alexander’s Rag Time Band.” When they started singing “Putting on the Ritz”, I couldn’t help myself and I sang along. I figured, singing off key with “putting on the Ritz” was kind of expected. My monstrous singing put the Young Frankenstein to shame. Other show tunes included, “I dream of Genie” and “Beautiful Dreamer.” The singer seated directly in front of me was very serious and he often offered advice when he felt a harmony was off pitch. Jodi would run the group through that section again till it felt right. What she stressed more than anything, was, “Have fun!”

Beyond Fear and Desire

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The Deland Sculpture Walk is a really nice partnership between Stetson University, the Museum of Florida Art and the City of DeLand. Linda Brant responded to the call for artists and was selected with her bronze and steel piece called “Beyond Fear and Desire.” Her sculpture, created in 2011, was installed last October in Pioneer Park on the corner of North Woodland Boulevard and East Rich Avenue and was supposed to be there two years. Rich and Lilis George sponsored the sculpture. An inverted rusty automotive leaf spring sat at the top of a thick steel base support, looking a bit like an oxes yoke. Above that a circular disk with a large central hole and many smaller holes framed the bronze which looked a bit like a female crucifix with two snakes.

Last week, the bronze centerpiece of her sculpture was stolen. Officer Wise of the Deland police was notified and a report was filed. He was supplied with close up pictures of what the centerpiece looked like. Ray Johnson of the Museum of Florida Art said that the museum carries insurance for such instances. The beautiful bronze centerpiece was obviously not “beyond desire.” I went to the location the day I heard about the theft. It looked to me like the 1/4 inch thick rod that held the bronze had been cut with a hack saw. Linda thinks they might have used a torch to cut the metal, either way this was a brazen theft done right in a public park.

Linda said, “I’m not sure what I plan to do about the damage – replace or rework it somehow, I guess. It was a one of a kind bronze, so no mold to fall back on!” This isn’t the first time I’ve heard of art being vandalized and stolen in Central Florida. This sort of stuff seems to happen all too often in the Sunshine State. I wonder why so many artists are leaving to go to larger cities?

Lindy Exchange

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The Orlando Lindy Exchange is a yearly Swing Dancer’s dream marathon. For close to a week, swing dancers from all over the country converge on Orlando to shake their hips and kick up their feet. Damon Natch Burke is my tech guru and he helps organize the event. I found out there would be a free dance in the Lake Eola band shell and I had to go down to sketch. Walking around the lake, I could hear the energetic retro beat and soon I saw flashes of color as people twisted and turned on stage. There were up to 50 dancers on stage and boy did they know how to dance! When the song changed, people would switch partners to add some variety to their steps.

It had been boiling hot all week, but on the day of the dance, the temperature dropped drastically. An ice cream vendor stood at the foot of the stage offering his ice cold treats. I had a sweatshirt on and when I slipped into the shade, I started to shiver. Still, when couples strolled past me away from the stage, they were glowing with sweat. It was getting towards sunset, yet when Damon walked by with his dance partner, he said they had forgotten to eat since the night before. They were heading out to find some breakfast. A couple saw that I was sketching, and they stood directly in front of me and “vogued“. He said, “Check out this move!” and he leaned his dance partner back, arching her back over his arm. I laughed, and said, “That’s great, now hold that for about 15 minuted!”

A young woman liked the sketch. She asked if I was cold and I shivered dramatically. She said, “If you want to warm up, then come on up on the stage and dance! You’ll warm up fast.” I was still messing with washes on my sketch, besides I don’t know any swing moves. Chances are, I would get up there and trip up the whole swinging crowd. Fred Astaire, I am not. But, with a few lessons, I might be able to keep up with these hip swinging kids. I’ll put it on my bucket list.

The Bigger the Better

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Nude Nite had so many sketching opportunities, that it was hard to focus my attention. A model lay prone as a female body painter scrolled intricate red patterns on her body. A tower of wire armature nudes spiraled upward with the artist continuing to add figures. Nude winged angels soared overhead. An aerialist spun herself on satin streamers from the rafters. I finally couldn’t resist sketching as Stephen Palladino worked on an urban mural of a very big and busty woman. The wall was inside the abandoned warehouse dividing the two huge halves of the Nude Nite exhibit. A forklift was needed to raise him up as he added a tattoo of legs spinning around a heart on the busty mural’s shoulder.

Since there was art on all the walls, I had to sit in the middle of the room, much like the guy seated on the red bucket. This meant plenty of people became curious, looking over my shoulder. I had to snap out of my “zone” fairly often to say “thank you” or to crack a joke so I could get back to work. To the left of the mural, behind that green partition was a large wooden table decorated with intricate metal work and divided into sections. A bottle was hard mounted to the table with an iron cage. The whole contraption had the looks of a Medieval torture device. The bottle was spun and a woman)s muscular boyfriend grabbed her by the hips, trying to position her as the bottle came to a stop. She laughed and leaned against him. They kissed passionately when the bottle stopped. I walked up to the table to see what the fuss was about. Written in the partitions, were instructions like “Nibble my ear”, “Talk dirty to me”, some I can’t repeat since there might be children reading, and of course the classic, “Kiss me.” I kept moving to make sure the bottle didn’t land on me. I didn’t see who had spun it after all.

I had a long drive back to Orlando from Tampa, and I decided three sketches were enough for one night, so I hit the road. The line to get in to Nude Nite was incredibly long. The evening was just getting started for many couples.

Body Painting

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At the Nude Nite warehouse in Tampa, I looked at some figurative art and then stopped when I saw body painter Cat Camp hard at work. She was working on a male and female model, alternating between them so they could each take brakes. Both models already had white bones painted in place. The male model had the number 6365 written on the center of his back with navy anchors jutting out from behind the shield. I asked him about the number when he was on a break. He works for the coast guard and last week a Coast Guard helicopter went down on a mission. He wanted this body painting to honor his fallen guardsmen.Cat outlined the rib bones and then his pelvis.

The female model spoke with me while I sketched. Seated in my artist stool, I had to look up at her. Ribs were painted on her chest with a flaming heart trapped inside. As we spoke, I made sure not to analyze the maze of patterns flowing over her breasts. She posed next for Cat who outlined ribs and accentuated details. Paint had smeared on her chest and Cat groaned. “I didn’t touch the paint, I swear.” she said. I thought the same. After an hour of being painted, the model’s eyes began to tear up. She tilted her head back not wanting the tears to ruin the paint. The male model noticed and asked, “Are you crying?” She silently took a break to wipe her eyes. When she was gone, Cat said, “I’ve been painting bodies for two days straight, I’m a bit cranky. She’s a delicate spirit.” Later that night the female model was feeling lively and vivacious again as she posed for photos with guests. “I love seeing my art come alive” said Cat.

Nude Nite Tampa

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I gave myself plenty of time to drive to Tampa with I-4 traffic. As I got off the highway I realized I was several hours early. I passed endless warehouses until I came to the end of the road at a warehouse with a “Mad Max” styled vehicle. The owner of the vehicle does set construction for the DRIP Dance company. This was it. I decided to walk the neighborhood in search of a sketch. There were hundreds of garbage trucks parked in a lot, smelling pungent. Crows perched on the trucks probably looking for food as they laughed. I realized the ride in front of the Nude Nite warehouse was a far better sketch, so I hiked back.

The sun was getting low on the horizon as I worked. Performers began to arrive. A magician strolled by and a body painter stopped to see what I was sketching. Her model arrived in another car. When she turned to go inside, I read “Paws off” written across her short shorts with two paw prints on her buns. I saw Kelly Stevens, the event organizer got out of her car. I almost shouted “Hello!” but she had a thousand things on her mind. I felt more at home as performers arrived.

A photographer walked beside me as I made my way inside. It was his first time photographing Nude Nite and he was excited. Kelly greeted me inside and I slipped between the red velvet curtains and looked at the art with an unobstructed view. Nude Nite celebrates the human body in art. The event was multifaceted with sculpture, painting, performance art, body painting and characters walking the floor. It was the largest figurative show in America. I walked over and started another sketch.

Winter Park Sidewalk Art Festival

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Clyde Moore, AKA I Luv Winter Park, invited me to sketch the Winter Park Sidewalk Art Festival from the second floor French windows of, Downeast (130 North Park Avenue). The second floor of the store, owned by Don and Lettie Sexton, has been dubbed “The Attic.” The attic features art from local Orlando artists as well as a wall devoted to Winter Park themed art. The Winter Park Sidewalk Art Festival is a huge three day event that features art from talented artists from around the country.

I had never been to “Downeast” before so I watched building numbers closely. When I saw 130, I walked upstairs, but the place didn’t have a retail vibe. I felt like I was entering a home. The kitchen had dishes stacked in the drainer. I walked down a hall towards an office. It was a lawyer’s office and the elder statesman informed me that his firm was at 130 South Park Avenue. He said North Park Avenue started one block further north.

Downeast had racks of women’s clothes out on the sidewalk. I walked inside and quickly found the staircase to the attic. Clyde greeted me upstairs. He pointed out what he felt might be the best sketching angles. I chose to sit in the center French window which had an unobstructed view over the vast field of artist’s tents. It was a beautiful day. Foot traffic was light as I started, but by the time I finished the sketch, there was a steady stream of pedestrians. Some women crossed the street to flip through the racks of clothes simply because the building cast a nice pool of cool shade. A piano player was tickling the ivories the whole time I worked, adding to the festive feeling of the day.

A huge stuffed Teddy bear named Parker stood in the window next to me. Occasionally children would notice Parker and they would shout and point. A couple of people noticed me sketching and they stopped and waved. I don’t have the anonymity I once had. I could hear Clyde taking an endless series of photos as I worked. He must have enough photos to create a stop motion time lapse of this sketches creation.

I had to get to work at Full Sail as soon as my sketch was done, so I only was really tempted to linger for a moment to inspect the quirky and fun found object sculptures of John Whipple. Anna McCambridge Thomas was there and she introduced me to her mother in law who actually has one of my calendars. That made my day. The Winter Park Sidewalk Art Festival continues today Saturday, March 17th, from 9 AM to 6 PM and then on Sunday, March 18th, from 9 AM to 5 PM. Be sure to stop into Downeast and say hi to Clyde or Lettie who were so gracious to share their “Room with a View.”.