Caitlin Doyle

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I met the present resident author of the Kerouac house, Caitlin Doyle, at Rachel Kapitan’s reading of her short stories at Neon Forest. We became Facebook friends and after a quick exchange of messages, I arranged to sketch her on a Friday evening after I finished work at Full Sail. I was nervous and excited when I parked in front of the Kerouac house. It was dark outside but a warm light filtered through the 1950s styled curtains. I knocked and the old door shook on its hinges.

Caitlin welcomed me and made her way to the kitchen table where her computer and note pads were set up. She offered me water but I just wanted to get right to work. I explained that the sketch might take a couple of hours and I would be quiet as a mouse. There was some sort of scurrying scratchy noise that came from the kitchen or back of the house. I asked, “What was that?” She got up and went into the dark kitchen looking at the ceiling. “I don’t know” she said, “This house makes some strange noises.” She was a bit self conscious at first about writing while I sketched. She thought she might not be able to concentrate. She explained that she had been painted by an artist once before, and he talked to himself the whole time which made her want to laugh.

Soon we were both working, lost in the moment. She was working on a series of poems about objects in bottles. The poem she was working on went through multiple drafts. She worked with pencil on paper. Occasionally we both erased and made frantic adjustments. Pencils and pens scratched away in unison. A smoke detector or security device made faint chirping sounds but soon those sounds were erased from my thoughts as the sketch took form. She only glanced at the computer a few times, referring to a thesaurus. There is a shared energy that comes when creative people work together in the same room. This must be what life was like in Victorian times when people gathered in parlors and spent quiet creative time together rather than passively staring at a TV.

Later we had a fascinating discussion on the similarities between our art forms. I explained that creating a sketch on location was much like a jig saw puzzle where all the pieces are constantly in motion not only on a two dimensional plane, but deep in space. I would commit to a puzzle piece and lock it in place in the sketch making compositional adjustments around it. She said poetry is much the same only the pieces are words. Her poems have a predefined rhyme scheme but then she needs to find ways to break up the pattern making it organic and unpredictable. She erased and changed lines until the poem took form, its meaning and depth growing in the process.

After the first sketch was done, Caitlin said she had made serious headway on the poem she was working on called “The Ship.” She had been so focused, that she forgot I was there. Since she was comfortable, and we were both getting plenty of work done, I asked if she minded me doing a second sketch. She agreed. I made bolder choices and allowed the second sketch to take form with ease. Caitlin had to review a You Tube video of one of her poetry readings. I leaned forward to listen. Some of the poems were light hearted and fun while others had a dark profound meaning.

The strength of poetry is that it never feels like fiction, it strips a soul bare unquestioned. Caitlin told me her last name Doyle means black stranger. With her jet black hair and poems that have a sharp cunning edge, the name is a perfect fit. She is reading some of her poems tonight at Infusion Tea (1600 Edgewater Drive, College Park) starting at 7pm. Come on out to what is sure to be a great evening of poetry.

Rachel Leona Kapitan Reading

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Rachel Kapitan had a reading from her upcoming book of short stories titled, Small Town Heretics of the Emerging Sciences. I arrived a little early at Neon Forest Art Gallery, and found Rachel seated in the front row in a room full of folding chairs. She took a sip of her Rockstar energy drink. She was reading her manuscript and next to her there was a pile of graph paper note pads with strips of type written copy taped down in rows with yellow stickies protruding everywhere.

I said hello then let her focus on her work while I walked around to see the art in the room. The gallery show was titled, Grab and Go. Every piece of art was on sale for less than $100. Most pieces were around $50. Tonya Dickie entered the gallery and she spoke to Rachael about how clients she gives massages to would sometimes share their darkest secrets while lying on the massage table. Rachel had similar experiences with costumers at Infusion Tea. It is so true that reality is often so much stranger than anything that an author could make up.

Soon the room filled with people. Rachel was talking to another author about Modernism and Post Modernism. She mentioned her ideas about Poetic Terrorism which would wake people up from their complacency. She is developing a literary style she called Synthetic Fiction. It was all way over my head, but I was intrigued. I was introduced to Caitlin Doyle the current resident author at the Kerouac house.

Her first story was a straightforward reading of one of her short stories called “This is not a Beach.” The story contained some sexual exploits that would have made Anais Nin blush. What followed was fascinating and unexpected. She had cut up one of her stories into 64 segments which were taped down with 8 segments per page on 8 pages in several graph notepads. She asked members of the audience to pick a number between 1 and 8 for the page of the draft and then a number between 17 and 31 representing the draft of the story which had been reordered 64 times. Based on these random choices, she read the story, titled “Jubilation Saints”, out of order. There were sections of the story that would repeat again and again as if the refrain in a song. Rachel said that randomizing the story like this allowed the author a chance to re-experience the work as a reader. Even though the story was randomly shuffled, it always made sense. This story graphically related the sexual affair between two wildlife researchers of squirrels. The repeated attraction played out over and over in the reading as if this couple kept making the same irreversible choices again and again. I began to anticipate and take comfort in the repetition. As a listener I had to fill in the blanks thus personalizing the story in my mind, recreating it for myself. It was a fun exercise allowing the audience to step into the creative process.

Heat Grand Opening

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Terry and I went to the grand opening of a new club downtown called Heat (55 West Church Street) which offers signature cocktails, tapas and live entertainment. The press preview began at 6pm and the general public was invited starting at 10pm. I had come directly from the Scottish Highland games so I was in jeans and a sweatshirt. It became painfully obvious that I was under dressed as soon as I saw some women regally stepping out of a Mercedes with elegant sequined gowns. Terry was dresses better than me but even she felt under dressed. The bouncer at the velvet rope could not find my name on the list but he could not deny that I had an invitation inside the gold envelope sealed elegantly with wax.

When we stepped inside we were greeted by a phalanx of leggy young women all in tight black skirts who welcomed us and offered free champagne. The wall behind them was brightly illuminated red and I considered sketching but I felt I should look around first. I turned down the offer of champagne but Terry decided to indulge. The interior was lit Vegas style and behind the bar a jazz group assembled to perform. I was reminded of the Cantina scene in the original Star Wars. This place was elegant rather than ominous. Within a minute of starting my first sketch a woman pushed up beside me to see what I was doing. I explained that there wasn’t much to see yet at this point. Soon the bar was packed and I was being shoved by groups of people who were posing for photos. When I was getting shoved from behind by people reaching for drinks, I gave up on the sketch and found a quieter spot away from the bar. Terry was at a table so I joined her there. We were told the table was reserved so I never sat down. I leaned against a wall and tried valiantly to save my first sketch. The woman who spoke to me at the bar checked back a second time to see my progress. I was bristling, annoyed at the interruptions but I graciously showed her what I was up to.

Terry and I moved outside where space heaters kept patrons comfortable as they lounged on wicker chairs. Mark Baratelli and Terry struck up a conversation as I worked on my second sketch. Every time Terry went to the bar, someone would approach me and ask to see the sketch I was working on. One woman said we had met before and she asked if I remembered a Valentines party. I didn’t remember sketching any Valentines party and just as I said this Terry walked up. The woman disappeared. Terry seemed to think I was being hit on. That seemed impossible since I was grubby with a half grown beard and jeans on. Every other man at this place was quite honestly, handsome compared to me. They had tailored Italian suits on and perfectly gelled hair. With my hiking boots and jeans I must have looked very out of place.

Terry was having a grand time people watching. Four women sat at the table next to us deep in conversation. The redhead had an intense gaze which cut through the loud ambient noise of the club. Terry seemed convinced that these woman in the backs of their minds were wondering why men were not hitting on them. To me they just seemed to be enjoying each others company. The woman who had asked me about Valentines day stumbled into the man she was talking to. The high heels might have caught her off guard. The crowd was quite diverse with twenty somethings standing elbow to elbow with women who were noticeably older than me. I loved sketching here where I could observe people up close in a crowded setting where I remained mostly unnoticed. I was glad that Terry was having as much fun as me soaking in the setting. By 10pm there was a long line of people waiting to get past the velvet rope.

An Uncomfortable Evening with Lulu Eightball

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Emily Flake who has a weekly cartoon called Lulu Eightball in the Orlando Weekly, was going to sign books and was going to offer “PowerPoint assisted hilarity and general hijinks.” I had several hours to kill between 5pm when I got off work and 7:30pm when Emily was supposed to speak at Park Avenue CD’s. I decided to ask Terry out for dinner at Stardust Video and Coffee. She at first refused saying she had work to do and wanted to go home when she was caught up. She called right back however and decided to join me when she was done. At Stardust I ordered a humus plate and sat down to enjoy Doug Rhodehamel’s “Sea of Green”. The corrugated green fish with large plastic cup top eyes were suspended everywhere, some swimming just above the floor. As I sketched one twirled slowly right beside my head. The sun set and the darkening dusk sky made it harder for me to see what colors I was using. Ironically I often like sketches I do in the semi-darkness since I am unable to focus on minor details and the colors become richer since I can’t see what I am doing. By the time Terry arrived I was finished with the sketch. I put the book away and focused on her.

She agreed to join me when I walked across the street to Park Avenue CD’s (2916 Corrine Drive). She drove her car over and I walked. There was a crowd of maybe 15 to 20 people passing the time flipping through albums and CD’s, waiting for Emily’s talk, I set up my stool and started sketching in the stage which had rows of tiny drink umbrellas hanging above it. There was a cute young woman standing beside a projector and I assumed she must be the cartoonist. I was pleased that my artist radar had been eight. When she got on stage I was happy that she faced me rather than the people out among the isles since she needed to glance at the screen behind her.

What followed was a very humerous account of her dashed expectations of luxury when she was asked to cat sit in uptown NYC. I am not sure if what she read was fact or fiction, but regardless it was very funny. It is a shame she is from Canada because this was someone who’s brain I would love to pic about publishing and syndication. Her second story had to do with horrific places she had pooped. When she was finished she hurried off the stage probably sure she must have offended people. Instead there was applause. She sheepishly climbed back on stage to take questions. When asked to name a favorite contemporary cartoonist, she she loved the work of Sherri Flanigan.

When the event was over, the screen was quickly rolled up along with a mat on the stage. Calvin who was the one taking care of all this, introduced himself to me. He asked, “Aren’t you that artist who always is sketching and has work in the Orlando Weekly?” he was right on one hand but the Weekly doesn’t publish my sketches, so I had to correct him. Regardless he said he loved my work which is always heart warming to hear.

McFeldman Wedding

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At the start of the year I was asked to join the Feldman family as they celebrated the wedding of Adrienne Feldman to Jason McIntosh. The wedding took place at the Orlando Shakespeare Theater (812 East Rollins Street). When I arrived, I immediately went inside the Goldman Theater where the ceremony was going to take place. The Houpa was already set up, so I used the time prior to the ceremony to work out the details of the space. It was on this stage that the Feldman family once performed as the “Feldman Dynamic.” This Fringe show organized by Brian Feldman, simply featured a dinner table and the family eating dinner as they always did. There was no script, this was a simply demonstration of life as theater. Now the family once again took to the stage to enact the simple drama of joining two hearts. Before the ceremony Brian paced the stage excitedly.

When the wedding party took to the stage, I started sketching frantically, since I knew the wedding ceremony would last at most a half an hour. The family had saved several seats for Terry and myself in the front row but I liked the view from the back row where I could work some audience members into the foreground. When it came time to exchange rings, a small Dachshund ran up to the stage. The dog was wearing a tuxedo and the rings must have been tied to the outfit. Everyone laughed out loud at the sight. The ceremony was quick and to the point. When Jason had to stomp on a glass, he missed on his first and second try. Once again the seriousness of the occasion was broken and people laughed.

The reception was held in the Patrons Room which was once a planetarium in the buildings past. A green laser projected thousands of green points up onto the dome shaped ceiling. Every table in the room was labeled with a month of the year. The newlyweds sat at the January table at the front of the room. Adrienne approached me and said she was excited to finally be in one of my sketches. She was upset however that only her back was in the sketch. I decided I would have to sketch her during the reception to make it up to her. The moments of the celebration seemed to fee by as I sketched. Brian joked with me that this assignment was much harder than the sketch I did of the swan boat talks. He was absolutely right. Getting this sketch was a major challenge since the reception flew by at the breakneck pace of an MTV music video. As I worked, the caterer insisted I move to make room for an ice cream table. I said that wasn’t going to happens, he shoved the table up behind me. Jason’s mom, Janice, tackled the job of cutting the wedding cake. She joked with me that she hadn’t signed on for cake duty but she was a trooper and as the last slices were being handed out, I was finally wrapping up my sketch.

Gender in Art

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I went to meet Terry at the Orlando Museum of Art for a discussion about the new exhibit at the museum which focuses on Gender in Art. There was a wonderful spread with Salmon, spinach dip , crackers, chips and deserts. A fairly large crowd filled the central atrium with the blue Chihuly chandelier. As I was eating I noticed that another crowd had gathered in the central gallery. No food was allowed inside so I gulped down my soda and crackers and dashed inside. A woman was giving a talk and she moved people around the room explaining the art. There was a Warhol print of Marilyn Monroe and some paintings of women throughout the ages. There was a long line of women’s slips suspended from the ceiling presumably to hint at a woman’s closet being a work of art. A small fabric doll from china had bright gold beads and pins sewn on one side and the other side had black beads in an intricate pattern. This was supposed to indicate how women are perceived and then how they are actually treated.

I sat opposite this wedding dress created by LesleyDillin. The dress is made from acrylic and thread on a mannequin. In 1994 this dress was worn by a model who read the Emily Dickenson poem, “The Soul has Bandaged Moments.” The poem is written all over the dress in bold black paint. As the model read, she ripped the dress off, shredding it to pieces. Lesley later sewed the pieces back together with black thread.

The Soul has Bandaged moments –
When too appalled to stir –
She feels some ghastly Fright come up
And stop to look at her –

Salute her – with long fingers –
Caress her freezing hair –
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips
The Lover – hovered – o’er –
Unworthy, that a thought so mean
Accost a Theme – so – fair –

The soul has moments of Escape –
When bursting all the doors –
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings upon the Hours,

As do the Bee – delirious borne –
Long Dungeoned from his Rose –
Touch Liberty – then know no more,
But Noon, and Paradise –

The Soul’s retaken moments –
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the Song,

The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue –

– Emily Dickenson

Annulment

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After being married for 11 months and one week, Brian Feldman and Hannah Miller ended a marriage that, though not entered into lightly, was not about the love between a man and woman. Rather they were married as a demonstration that a man and woman who don’t even know each other can easily get married, while same sex couples who might have lived together for years are denied the same privilege and rights. Theirs was a fight for equality.

When I arrived at the courthouse on the day of the annulment there was a long line of people waiting to enter the courthouse as the sun began to warmly illuminate the granite courtyard and columns. Behind me a man dropped his cell phone. He picked it up and someone asked if it was alright. He said, “I won’t be needing it where I am going. ” He went on to explain that he had been pulled over and he had no registration. Which according to him, would land him in jail for 20 days. The man behind him said, “That is nothing, I drove for 19 years without a registration. I only got caught because I wasn’t wearing a seat belt.” Inside we shuffled through switchbacks until we came to the X-ray machines and metal detectors. My bag was pulled aside to be searched and I was patted down. In my bag the guard found some soda bottle tops which I planned to recycle. The offensive item being searched for was my palette with its menacing grid of colors. After I was asked to open it, I was let go with a smile.

Up in the courtroom 16H waiting area, I sat down, surprised to not see Brian or Hannah. Terry Olson showed up and decided to check another courtroom down the hall to be sure we were in the right place. After the announced court time had passed, I decided the annulment might not happen, so I started sketching lawyers. Then Brian poked his head out the courtroom door and signaled me to come inside. He whispered to me that I should start sketching the court room. As I debated about whether to sit in the front or back row, the bailiff officer asked if he could help me, never a good sign. He asked what case I was with, and when he confirmed I was not with the active case, he asked me to leave. Out in the waiting area Hannah arrived as did four or five friends.

People were getting divorced like clock work. Judge Maura T. Smith would ask a few pointed questions and then the divorces were granted. Finally Brian and Hannah’s case was called into the courtroom. Judge Smith asked Brian to explain his petition for annulment. He explained that he and Hannah did not consummate the marriage, in fact he had only seen her maybe 10 times since they were married. He briefly mentioned that the marriage was intended as a performance piece. Judge Smith indicated that everything was in order and she instructed the couple to get the final paperwork filled out down the hall. The case could not have lasted more than ten minutes. As the courtroom emptied I stayed behind intent on finishing my sketch. Hannah signaled to me from the doorway indicating I should join them. I feared she might attract the bailiffs attention, giving him another reason to kick me out of the courtroom before the sketch was finished. The bailiff came over to see my sketch. He said, “Nice, but you left out the most handsome man in the room.”

The next person to enter the courtroom was a burly man in an orange jumpsuit with his hands chained behind him. He sat down in the chair Brian had just vacated. It seemed this convicted felon was involved in a divorce even while he was serving time in jail. When I left the court room, Brian was sitting in the hallway working on his iPhone. He showed me the final document with its official seal and signatures. As we made our way to the elevators, he suddenly ran towards the window to look down at the courtyard where Hannah was going to read a prepared statement. Watching her video had me in tears, the importance of what these two had done truly sank in. Both had sacrificed their love for a cause they believed in. I hope this inspires others to stand up to this and any other injustice. Every voice counts make yours heard.

22 Sandwiches

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Terry and I planned to go out Sunday afternoon to watch a football game at a bar. Before we did we went to visit Mary Hill at her mothers home in Winter Park. I had not gone to the reception after Margaret Hills funeral. Instead I rushed home and started to write. This was the first time Terry had visited Mary at her mom’s house. When we arrived Mary offered us drinks and sandwiches. Mary’s neighbor Phyllis Miller was there and she used a portable grill she had bought from home to toast our sandwiches so they were nice and crunchy like Panini’s. This was the first time Terry really had time to get to know Mary and they really hit it off. Mary’s friend Elizabeth Cohen showed up soon afterward. Terry and Elizabeth had many things in common for instance they had both lived in Israel for a while so they were like two peas in a pod.

After Phyllis left, Elizabeth and Mary started a sandwich production line. Elizabeth smeared on some mayo and then Mary put on cold cuts and cheese. Mary had so many leftovers from the funeral that she wanted to make sandwiches and hand them out at Lake Eola, in her mother’s memory. I warned Mary that there was a law on the books that said no one could feed more than 25 people in a public park in Orlando. In all they made 22 sandwiches. Terry was touched by this generosity and at first she wanted to go to Lake Eola to help hand out the sandwiches. Then Elizabeth got a call and realized that she had totally forgotten about a social engagement she had made. After Elizabeth left, Terry decided we should go with our original plan and we soon left to see a playoff football game downtown at Wild Side. Mary packed all the sandwiches into a fabric reusable grocery bag.

After Terry and I left for the bar Mary headed down to Lake Eola. The bar was really crowded but we muscled our way into a room with a large wide screen TV. I can’t really relate the details of the game because quite honestly I wasn’t paying much attention. I do believe the Packers won because I like the bright colors on their uniform and there was plenty of cheering whenever the bright green jerseys ran into the end zone. It was towards the end of the game that I got a text from Mary saying she had finished handing out the sandwiches.

Later I learned from Mary that this simple act of generosity was moving on so many levels. Everyone she approached was honesty thankful. One woman related that it was impossible to find food on a Sunday. She approached one group of 3 men and had two sandwiches in her hands. Two of the men stood side by side and the third was a few steps further down the trail. When Mary asked if they would like some sandwiches the first two men of course accepted her offering. The third had trouble walking and he hobbled closer. The man standing closest to Mary looked at his sandwich and then at the man hobbling closer to him. He paused and thought to himself before he decided to give the struggling man his sandwich. He looked down afterwards certain he must have made a mistake since he might have to go hungry that night. After a moments pause the man finally looked up at Mary. Luckily she had another sandwich in her bag and he was truly grateful. Mary was moved close to tears by his act of selfless giving on his part.

Mary had not had the chance to relate to anyone why she was handing out sandwiches at Lake Eola. When she handed out the last sandwich in her bag, the man thanked her saying, “You must be an angel, I was just standing here thinking to myself that I was an idiot for missing the food line earlier today and I would have to go hungry tonight. Then here you are handing me a sandwich!” He asked why she was here alone handing out sandwiches and she was able to relate her story of the leftovers after her mothers funeral. She said her mother was a generous person and she was giving away the sandwiches in her honor. The man said, “Your mother is still teaching you lessons isn’t she?” “Yes, she certainly is and I’m sure she will for many years to come.” Mary said.

Martin Luther King Vigil

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It was 6:01pm and I sat in the balcony of the Knowles Chapel at Rollins College. At 6:01pm on April 4th 1968, Martin Luther King was shot while standing on the balcony of the Lorraine motel. He was just 39 years old. Everyone assembled stood for a moment of silence. Muffled through the thick church walls, the sound of church bells chiming solemnly filled the air. It was a quiet contemplative moment to honor someone who helped change millions of lives. We were reminded that although we might have come far, we have not reached the promised land. Rollins students gathered before the audience and sang, Lift every Voice and Sing, which is considered the black national anthem. I honestly had never heard this song before but by the end I was singing along with them. King dreamed of a world united, where everyone was engaged not as spectators but as active citizens fighting any injustice. As Baha’u’llah said, “So powerful is the light of unity that it can illuminate the whole earth.”

Several speakers mentioned that King was a man with many doubts. When he first demonstrated for human rights he was just 28 years old. He felt he had to step up. It was work that needed and if he didn’t do it, who would? It was precisely his self doubt and human frailty that made his accomplishments so astounding. The key note speaker, Nadine Smith, pointed to the continuing struggle to fight for the rights of gay lesbian and trans-gender members of our society today. She spoke about an incident when she was a student when several gay men were beaten by military personal at a public event. She in the back of her mind thought, that is terrible, but these things happen. The military claimed the men were behaving inappropriately in a way that threatened family values. Family’s who saw the beatings however stood up and stated that the only objectionable actions were on the part of the officers. At the public demonstration that followed Nadine saw straight and gay people arm in arm with their voices united in song. That moment changed her life. She suddenly realized she could no longer accept injustice as a fact of life. She needed to take action.

Maya Angelou said, “”When you learn, teach. When you get, give.” The message of giving back as a concerned and active citizen was returned to again and again. In fact an individuals constant striving to improve the world does make a difference. The shooting in Tuscon Arizona helped people realize they should speak with some level of civility. Yet what politician ever mentions love? Martin Luther King did believe and speak of loving one another. Soon everyone in the chapel was singing, “We shall Overcome.” The last time I had heard this song was on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. being sung by people who had just been made citizens of the United States. My heart filled with hope and joy then, as it did in this gorgeous chapel.

As Reverend Patrick Powers read Dr. King’s “I have a Dream” speech, everyone exited the church where they were given candles for a silent vigil. Soon I was the only person left inside listening to Kings resounding words. The moment felt important. Perhaps someday the dream will be made real.

Vanilla Dream

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After attending a funeral, I had time to kill before getting to Stardust to see Doug Rhodehamel’s “Sea of Green” exhibit. I had a note that another exhibit titled Connected by Jason Lee was happening at Rhapsodic Bakery (710 North Mills Avenue.) The five paintings shown in this sketch were the extent of the work being displayed at Rhapsodic. Prices ranged from $500 to $800 dollars. I had seen Jason’s work once before at the Peacock Room. The work is surreal and fanciful often involving images of the cosmos. Since I had well over an hour to kill, I walked up to the young girl behind the counter and tried to decide on a tasty treat for myself. I settled on the Vanilla Dream cupcake mostly because I liked how it sounded. She chimed in that the Vanilla Dream was her favorite as well.

After I settled in and started sketching she started to cut up hundreds of thin slips of paper using a tiny cutting board. Each slip had to be cut separately. she had to have been working for well over an hour cutting those slips of paper never once noticing that I was sketching her. When my sketch was finished the bakery had started to get busy and more customers were coming in. I asked her what all the slips of paper were for and she explained that they were for labeling orders of baked goods that were sent out to customers. I can say with no doubt that the Vanilla Dream that I ate was delicious. Washed down with a sparkling apple juice it was a perfect afternoon snack. I felt comfortable sitting and sketching away the hours and I noticed other customers come in with laptops which they flipped open so they could pass the time.

As I walked back to my truck I noticed an open door of one of the nearby Vietnamese shops. Inside Vietnamese men were sitting at card tables playing what I presumed to be poker. Behind the card tables were several pool tables. It should make for a great sketch, assuming I am welcome. That will have to wait for another day.