Atlantis Lifts Off

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A woman had a blue umbrella open and people in the crowd complained. I chuckled that such a small thing could annoy people at such a historic moment. Loud speakers in Space View Park announced the countdown. I considered jumping in the water to escape the pressing crowd but I had long pants on. I stood on my rickety camping chair to see over the crowd. Space Shuttle Atlantis lifted off from launch pad 39A at 11:29am. A blazing light appeared across the river and billowing exhaust cloud crept outward. Everyone cheered and a digital salute began with everyone raising their cellphones and cameras to take a shot. When the roar of the crowd died down it was eerily quiet. Within seconds the blazing light punched through the clouds and was gone. As people turned to leave, a deafening rumble ripped across the water. It shook my chest. The noise took people by surprise. A father explained to his son that light travels faster than sound.

This launch of Atlantis marked the end of the 30 year Space Shuttle Program. This program launched great observatories, built an International Space Station and taught us how humans can live, work and continually learn in space. Terry and I lingered as the crowd cleared. We decided to let the initial rush of traffic go on without us. Terry suggested I do another sketch. I decided to draw the lemonade vendor as Terry relaxed with a magazine.

Some videographer stuck his camera in my face and started waxing poetic about how the artist was capturing the emotional context of the launch. After the initial ink work was in place, I decided I had to have a lemonade. They were out of sugar but had Sweet & Low. I hesitated but still ordered. After mixing in four packets I took a sip and cringed. Yuck! I traded Terry for a water and we were both content.

We decided to drive south on A1A once I finished the sketch to go to a Mexican restaurant someone suggested I visit. The place offered $1 Margaritas when the two minute countdown began. Driving down side streets I was almost sideswiped by a guy that ignored a stop sign. I gunned my engine and he missed me by inches. I was glad when we found a table in the restaurant and settled in for Margaritas and a delicious Mexican meal.

The TV above the bar showed mission control. A man wrapped up what he was doing at his station and he left. I felt sad knowing the shuttle program was almost over. The whole economy on the coast is about to change as all the NASA staff is laid off. We wondered if beach front property might suddenly become affordable. After dinner we took a blanket and relaxed out by the riverfront across the street. I closed my eyes and napped. I was jolted awake by a gust of wind which pelted me with sand. It began to rain and we ran back to my truck. On the drive back we listened to a book on tape called “Unbroken” by Laura Hillenbrand about World War II POW’s imprisoned by the Japanese. It was a ceaselessly brutal book but it distracted me when we hit traffic which crawled on the Beach line Expressway as we inched back to Orlando. The book is about never giving up and the power of the human spirit. We spent 14 hours or so driving to watch the 40 second launch but it was worth it.

The Final Shuttle Launch

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Terry and I were startled awake by the clock alarm at 4am. We stumbled about getting ready to go to the space coast to see the Launch of Space Shuttle Atlantis. We planned to go to Space View Park which is right across the Saint John’s river directly across from Launch Complex 39. It is as close as you can get to a launch without being in the press section. I drove east on the Beach Line Expressway while Terry snoozed. In the last few miles I asked her to help navigate me to the park. Suddenly there was traffic. Parking spaces were being sold for $20 to $30 dollars. We wandered the back streets until I found a spot on a dead end street next to a dumpster. We walked the five or so blocks to the park. The streets were crowded with families carting their picnic lunches. A homeless man snarled, “Ya’ll look like a bunch of cockroaches lookin‘ for a scrap of bread.” I didn’t see that. People were excited, anticipating a historic launch.

The entrance to Space View Park was packed with news vans. The park was full of tents from people who had camped out overnight. Terry tried to walk straight out to the pier but we reached a point where we could walk no further. We backtracked a bit and I found a cement ledge to sit on and I began my first sketch. A family lounged in their camping chairs. People kept packing in. The woman behind me had a lanyard on that said she was with a tweet-up group. I asked if the tweeters were all together. She said they were scattered throughout the park. Terry forced her way out to the edge of the park overlooking the river to the north.

When I joined Terry, I could see that the bridge over the river was packed with people. Every square inch of shoreline was also packed with people. In Space View park everyone sat facing the launch pad which was visible to the eye if you knew where to look. I sat facing the crowd and started a second sketch. There were still several hours until the launch. A young couple played cards. Others read or looked at their cell phones. Some slept. There was no Internet or texting since the cell tower couldn’t handle all the signals. People were left having to engage in conversations and other analog forms of diversion. A man right behind Terry talked endlessly in a monotone about the boring minutia of his job to his buddy. Terry had to read aloud to concentrate on her book. We had some apples to munch on and some humus. I was content, being able to sketch people up close and personal.

A father and son were casting a net, fishing in the river beside us. The water was just up to their knees. Soon other people waded out into the water. A crowd formed. Even photographers set up their tripods in the rivers muddy bottom waiting for the launch…

Master Playwright Residency

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The Atlantic Center of the Arts in New Smyrna Beach has a master artists in residency program. Residency #142 put students in touch with three talented playwrights, Annie Baker, Heather Woodbury, and Dael Orlandersmith. The Mad Cow Theater opened its doors so these women could discuss what it is like being a playwright in America today. I arrived at the Mad Cow Theater rather sweaty and worn around the edges from several other sketch assignments that day. The lobby was packed and the room hummed with conversations as people enjoyed wine and finger food. There was a table full of name tags and I didn’t see my name. This was a much bigger event than I expected, and for a moment I thought I might not get in.

Exhausted I sat on the windowsill and observed all the excitement in the room. I heard a woman say, “let me grab my wine.” She reached behind me and grabbed a cup. I had almost sat on it. Thank god it didn’t spill. A young woman sat next to me to relax. Mitzi, a perky young mom, started talking to her and I discovered I was sitting next to Annie Baker, one of the playwrights. Mitzi was talking about one of her children and Annie who is 30 wondered if she would ever have time for a family. Mitzi’s husband, a handsome man in a light suit and dark spiked hair joined the conversation. He thought Annie was just in her mid twenties and he said, “You look too young to have written five plays.”

The cow bell rang letting everyone know it was time to enter the theater. Peg Okeif was the moderator. The Mad Cow Theater will be moving this year to Church Street Station which will put it in the midst of all the new nightlife being generated thanks in part to the new arena. Excerpts were performed from each of the three women’s plays. I discovered that I was seated next to all the actors who performed that night. I moved aside each time they went on stage to read. Each of the readings had an amazing blend of humor and serious drama. I was left wanting more.

The moderated conversation with the playwrights afterward inspired and charged me. Annie Baker who wrote “Circle Mirror Transformation” said, “Art is about holding up a mirror, that mirror can be smooth and representational or distorted. We try to show what peoples lives are like and what the inner landscape of peoples minds look like. Art is about chronicling.” I was surprised when Dael, who wrote Yellow Man, pointed out that several college professors discouraged her writing. Heather had similar experiences. Annie spoke about a professor who wanted to share the true secret of great playwrights. The students leaned forward with bated breath. He said, “The best playwrights are the ones who read the most.” Annie noted an alarming flood of people who want to write yet they have no interest in reading. Dael pointed out that the more she reads, the more she humbly realizes what she doesn’t know. When asked about the artist as recluse Annie pointed out that she has the best of both worlds. She writes for months at a time alone and focused then she gets to work with the actors offering plenty of interaction. Asked how she knows her play is done, Annie said, “The play is never exactly what I hoped it would be when I started. But even though it might have a swollen eye and be misshapen, I still love it like a child.”

Heather Woodbury’s plays are created on the web allowing a full view of her creative process. Her serialized ongoing online videos create a world she hopes people will want to return to again and again. She plays every roll. I’m fascinated with the way she is embracing and recreating her art for this new digital medium. There was concern that only the rarefied elite go to plays anymore since ticket prices are so high. Great plays speak to everyone. By the end of the evening I felt a glowing kinship with each of the playwrights. I wish I could have talked to each at length but when the evening ended they were surrounded. I rushed out of the theater after grabbing a card from Heather and walked the streets downtown feeling rejuvenated.

Blank Canvas at OMA

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On the first Thursday of every month the Orlando Museum of Art opens it’s front gallery for local artists. It is an evening of art, food, drink and entertainment. This evening featured ten artists who would begin with a blank canvas offering patrons a chance to see their creative process. Walking the room, there were several painters, a print maker, jewelry maker and a sculptor working in the center of the room with a model. The model was all legs in a bikini. I circled around the sculptor and his model several times but I couldn’t find a place to plant myself so I moved on.

The print maker was using leaves and other natural found objects to begin her multi layered prints. A painter blocking in a traditional portrait didn’t appeal to me. A young woman strummed her guitar. I finally settled myself next to a jewelry maker to sketch this group of artists working on three large space themed canvases. The closest canvas depicted a satellite circling Earth. The painter let a little boy put down some bold strokes of blue on the painting. The planets on the central painting began as faintly fogged in orbs on a dark canvas. As I sketched the planets were painted in thick impasto.

Denise Lebenstein a friend from college days was in town and she leaned against the wall behind me. I hadn’t seen her in 20 plus years. I interrupted the sketch to give her a hug. I told he I’d seek her out when I was finished with the sketch. She checked out the museum with her friend Patti while I worked. Joe Rosier took a break from selling drink tickets and he shook my hand. Laughing, he wanted to know why I wasn’t sketching the beautiful model in the middle of the room. A puppeteer from Pinocchio’s Marionette Theater introduced herself. She said she saw me sketching a performance of Aladdin’s Magic Lamp. I don’t remember ever sketching that show. As she spoke, I kept wracking my brain, confused.

As I finished up, Denise stopped back to check on my progress. I put away my sketchbook and ventured out into the rain with her and Patti to get some Vietnamese food at Viet Garden. We had fun recollecting memories about our times in art school in NYC. It’s odd how selective memories can be. She remembered that we once went to a Broadway show on New Year’s eve. Watching the play we could hear the crowds gathering in Times Square. The play over, we ventured out into the massive crowd. We tore up our programs and used them as confetti at midnight when the ball dropped. I had totally forgotten about that night. Neither of us could recall the play.

Orlando Weekly “Best of Orlando” Party

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Each year the Orlando Weekly publishes a “Best of Orlando” edition. There is a category for Best Blog, but this year I threw my AADW votes to The Daily City. Even with my support, The Daily City only got 2nd place. Some Republican political blog won 1st place. Anyway, I was asked to submit an illustration to this edition of the paper and part of the compensation was two comp tickets to the big bash at The Beacham Theater. The Beacham is newly renovated, and I was curious to get a glimpse inside. When I arrived, Brian Feldman was getting ready for his performance piece, “The Boxer.” He was going to hand out copies of the Orlando Weekly from inside on of their red newspaper boxes. Since I was early, Brian walked me inside and up to the balcony where I had a view of all the action below. He said, “This is the first time I’ve been in this theater since I was 11 years old.” He went back outside to continue setting up, and I started sketching on my digital tablet.

The bands were doing soundchecks. One group had urban tap dancers and plastic paint cans as drums. As I sketched, people started to trickle in. Busty barmaids in slick black dresses vogued as they shot photos of each other. Soon the place was packed. The bar became a hive of activity. Blackjack tables started getting busy. Entry to the event entitled each person to 1,000 units of Casino Chips, which could be turned in at the end of the evening for prizes.

With my balcony sketch finished, I went outside to sketch Brian. Terry was at the bar trying to shoot photos of Brian Feldman and Mark Baratelli’s awards as they popped up on a large video screen. Outside, Brian was in the tiny red box right at the entrance. That meant I had to sit on the sidewalk to get a view of him. I wedged myself against the red velvet rope and got to work. There was maybe two feet of space behind me to the curb and I had to shove forward several times to let caterers by with huge vats of food. I think Brian’s presence threw people for a loop and some searched around for another way in. One woman cooed to Brian, “Oh, you’re so cute.” When she was gone he pointed to the back of his throat and gagged. He had trouble keeping his head up and he napped between groups of people entering the club. People kept offering him food and drink. He always refused. I , on the other hand, was actually quite hungry and parched.

The sketch was going good, the ink work finished, when I heard a voice behind me. It was a policeman on a bike. “Oh no, not again .” I thought. He asked me to, ” Move along.” Since I wasn’t finished with the sketch, I asked, “Can I sit out in the street to avoid blocking pedestrian traffic?” “No,” he said, “Then I’d be concerned you might get injured.” I just sat for a moment, thinking. He said, “Is he on a time out?” It took me a moment to realize he was referring to Brian in the box. I explained that it was performance art and for a second I thought he was going to ask Brian to move along as well. He didn’t. He asked me to move again, then biked off. He didn’t say I couldn’t stand where I was, so I stood and started quickly throwing down watercolor washes. I worked fast since I figured the bike cop might just go around the block and check back in on my anarchist sketch in progress.

David Plotkin, the new art director at the Orlando Weekly, introduced himself to me just as I was finishing up the sketch. I flipped through my sketchbook to show David and his lady friend my work. I was still rattled thinking the police might return. My wife Terry had just left and I was feeling guilty for not spending more time with her inside the party. I went back inside and made myself several soft tacos from the decimated food table. The stage was empty. I wolfed down the tacos and typed a text message on my cell to Terry, “Heading home.” I left, still feeling persecuted by the law. Besides, I wasn’t a winner.

White House Concert

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Satuko Fujii Ma-do, an experimental jazz quartet from Japan performed at the White House at an unusually early 3pm show. The White House concerts are free, being hosted by Benoit Glaser and his beautiful family. The concert space was designed by Benoit and it is acoustically exceptional. Benoit is the music director for Cirque du Soleil.

When I entered, I immediately wandered up the spiral staircase to the top floor where I filled my watercolor brushes with water in the bathroom. I found a seat right up against the railing overlooking the stage. I love this “god’s eye” view. Robin Maria-Pedrero was the visual artist who worked next to the stage. Robin’s canvas developed quickly as she brushed in large bold blocks of color. Under these colors was some masking agents which she rubbed off revealing hidden shapes and forms. Her bright multi layered work was a good match to the abstract experimental sounds of Satuko Fujii Ma-do.

The music was often dissonant and disjointed. The trumpet was used to create squealing wet sounds that caused some audience members to laugh uncomfortably. It was fun to sketch to and the rising swell and thrust of each piece inspired the lines I was dashing off on the page. Terry showed up late and her friend Wendy Wallenberg was there to joke around with us as we stood around the snack table after the concert. Wendy took over the hostess duties by straightening up and rearranging everything on the table.

I spoke with Robin the visual artist after the performance. She explained how she likes to find recognizable forms in the abstract brushwork she first puts down. She pointed to a canvas on the wall and said the rabbits were such a revelation to her. I didn’t see the rabbits at first and I was surprised when their tiny forms jumped out at me.

Waiting for the rain to stop

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As the 2-D Animation class wound down, I heard thunder and the distinct sound of rain hitting the building’s flat roof. I didn’t have my umbrella. Kathy Blackmore, the Course Director, suggested I could dash out a little early but I didn’t want to get drenched. More importantly, I didn’t want my tablet PC or sketchbooks to get drenched. I lingered after class straightening up the classroom at a leisurely pace. When I finally got out to the lobby, I stopped in my tracks.

Looking out the large glass doors was a view of a cascading, torrential waterfall. I couldn’t even see the nearest cars in the parking lot. I always park at the furthest parking spot away from the building under a shady tree. I like the walk and I always know where I parked. Now that was a problem. I decided to sit on the floor and sketch. There were quite a few students who waited along with me. Occasionally a student would run in soaking wet and laughing. one particularly wet girl followed a classmate around offering a hug. Kathy decided to make a run for it.

As I finished up the sketch the rain began to slow. I walked out to my truck in the faintest drizzle just having to avoid the lake sized puddles in the parking lot.

Meeting Mr. Mennello

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I went to the Mennello Museum to do a few more sketches for the mural. Genevieve and her husband Seth Kubersky posed for me in the museum. When I arrived at the museum there was plenty of activity. There were several large trucks in the parking lot and a mobile crane was moving around behind the museum. Seated inside the museum at the large bay windows in the Cunningham gallery, Mr. Menello watched as a large sculpture was being positioned over a cylinder shaped concrete podium. The artist, John Robert Wolfe was kneeling and trying to position the base of the sculpture on some small base support pads. One man held a rope to keep the large sculpture from spinning while the crane lowered it down gently. The process took several hours with a crew of five or so men. This bright primary colored sculpture moved in the breeze like a Calder mobile. It is an abstract representation of Mr. Mennello. He explained that the companion piece which represents Mr. Mennello’s wife is in the front yard of his home.

Mr. Menello joked and talked as I was sketching Genevieve and Seth. Seth used his cell phone to check into the Mennello on Four Square. He was surprised that my wife was the Mayor of the Museum. Mr. Mennello inspected the overall plan for the mural and he decided he wanted to be sketched. Unfortunately Genevieve had arranged for me to sketch several children that afternoon for the mural so I didn’t have time to sketch him right then and there. He would have been cutting in line. Isabelle, a young artist who helped me on the first day I started the mural, was next to pose. She stood with a dynamic line of action from her head right down to her toes. She looked just like Dega’s “Little Dancer.” The sketch I did of her was effortless. Her sketches which I saw that first day were nice. We chatted about art as I sketched. Her mom and younger brother watched all the activity around the sculpture being installed outside. Isabelle enjoys drawing animals and I insisted that she start taking life drawing classes.

The next day I sketched Mr. Mennello in his home. He has a wonderful art collection. It was a humbling experience beginning my sketch. Behind Mr. Mennello was a blue glass sculpture of a woman looking upward with her mouth open. On a thin glass table was a sculpted bust of a young Grace Kelly as a princess. A little jumping bean of a dog bounded into the room insisting I play ball with her. As I left I walked past the companion piece to the sculpture just installed at the Mennello Museum. Titled “Grand Dame” it abstractly and colorfully represents Mrs. Mennello. Her playful forms will dance in the breeze for eternity.

Isle of Palms

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Terry and I drove to Isle of Palms early in the hopes of avoiding the July 4th traffic rush to the beach. Since we were several hours early we found the Sea Island grill and sat outside by the pool to relax. Terry ordered a coffee and I ordered a very weak lemonade. After the first tasteless sip I forgot about my drink. There were very few people seated outside so I focused my attention on Terry who was reading her New York magazine. If we ever move back to NYC she will have insights to every neighborhood. She has been reading that magazine since we met 23 years ago.

Terry’s cousins own a condo right on the beach. Barbecue hot dogs and burgers were being prepared. After a few snacks and sodas everyone headed down to the beach. I slathered some sun block on Terry’s back and we ventured into the water. Robbie who is a journalist waded out with us. The water was much colder than the water at Coco Beach in Florida. The first tentative steps were the coldest. Once my bathing suit was wet it was easier to dive in all the way. Well, I didn’t actually dive, since I had on a baseball cap and my glasses. I wanted to be able to see the waves. I love jumping up with each swell trying to ride over the wave before it breaks. One wave was just too large. It caught me by surprise causing me to tumble backward doing a flip under water. I felt my glasses flying off underwater and I reached out blindly and they danced on my finger tips before I grasped them. The cap found it’s way to the surface later and I scooped it up from the foam. We decided to go back to the beach towels and drop off the glasses. We rushed right back out.

I enjoy the persistent strategy of trying to predict and ride over each wave. It reminds me of dodge ball which I used to enjoy playing in gym. Terry was enjoying the surf as well and for once we could laugh and play like kids. Robbie was talking about his proposed blog so much that I lost sight of the waves behind me and I was again swamped and tossed like a rag doll. Each time I was caught by surprise I would sputter and stand up to the continuing onslaught with renewed enthusiasm. I saw Terry go under as well, and she also faced each new wave with childish buoyancy and delight.

Naval Shipyard

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Terry wanted to go for a walk so my sister Shirley drove us to the Naval Shipyard in Charleston. The Shipyard was in operation from 1901 to 1996. A developer by the name of Noisette had a vision to develop the former shipyard into a hip urban neighborhood with luxury condos and a trendy shopping district. Money to finance this Dubai dream ran out. The one thing that was built was the riverfront park which honors Navy veterans through the years. One feature I really like is a black concrete rivulet which runs in a gentle arch from a main fountain. I was drawn to this statue of a couple re-united after war. It reminds me of a famous V-Day photo taken in Times Square.

This park was going to be the home base for a fireworks display on July 4th. There were several dozen construction site mobile lighting units waiting to be set up. Shirley joined Terry on the walk and I worked quickly. I read one plaque that said that this Naval Shipyard was a major manufacturing site for naval mines. When Terry finished her walk, it was time to go.