Dress Rehearsal

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David Lee the author of this play had been given the wrong theme before he started writing. Chasmin Hallyburton had told him the theme was Traditions rather than Transitions. He started writing at 2am and the final draft seems to fit the intended theme perfectly anyway. Play in a day works in strange and twisted ways.

Beth Marshall came out to the courtyard after lunch with some touristy clothing on hangers. She had a black mu-mu for John Connon who was going to play her. She gave him her necklace and he was given a big red wig and as the crowning touch, a Mickey Mouse beanie. Sarah Lockhard had a bright orange T-shirt that said, “Aqua Girl.” She was given a Stitch hat with floppy alien ears and a tiny Stitch head hanging from a chord. The fact that I had worked on Lilo and Stitch when I was at Disney Feature Animation warmed my heart. Stitch is as much a pop icon as Mickey now. Being the youngest member of the cast Sarah had fun playing a spunky child. Steven Middleton had his own costume picked out. His loud Hawaiian shirt had palm trees and a bright sunset against the bright blue design.

Beth wanted John to have her tattoos so I stepped in and painted the tattoos in watercolor on his arms and feet. His right arm had an intricate spiraling ivy pattern festooned with leaves and a spade. His left arm had an owl and each foot had a tattoo. I simplified the designs since I knew they would be seen from a distance. He was a little worried at how permanent they might be but I assured him they would wash right off. Watercolor always washes off my skin easily. Clothing on the other hand…

I watched the actors rehearse again and again till the play was second nature. Sarah grew more animated and energetic with each pass. Though I heard this short play perhaps 20 to 4o times, I always found something fresh and unexpected in each performance that made me laugh. When there was a line that said, “We’re traveling light, no props Missy.” John looked at his non-existent cigarette with disdain. Sarah discovered the sunroof as she shouted, “I AM a seagull.” Extending her wings in the wind.

Rehearsing in the Darden Courtyard

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Beth Marshall was warned that 300 children were about to swarm the lobby to see the play, “Miss Nelson is Missing.” Beth decided to move her cast outside. After several read throughs, Beth invited the actors to go “off book.” There were a few hiccups, but the actors memorized their lines amazingly fast. John Connon pretended to smoke a cigarette. Steve Middleton had his loud tourist costume bundled up beside him. The three actors were playing parts in a family inside joke that they easily slipped into. Sarah Lockhard pointed shouting, “That one!” “No to small.” John countered. “How about that one?” she screamed. “No too large.” Steven replied. “That one!” “Yes that’s just right.” John responded. They were playing a game of eye spy as they drove into Orlando. Steve swore he saw the Aurora borealis but it was just the outlet malls.

After passing Holy Land, the cast began singing “Star of Wonder.” While Beth was checking the progress on the other six plays the actors came up with the idea of inserting the “Star of Wonder” lyrics into “It’s a Small World After All.” This was a playful spark of genius. They decided to move like animatronics as they sang. “Star of wonder star of night. Star of royal beauty bright. I-4 west leading still proceeding. Guide us to the perfect light.”

They were playing and having fun. By noon they had their lines down. Beth moved three metal chairs into the center of the courtyard and they performed the piece straight through. David Lee prefaced his play as, a small Christmas Play in homage to the days when Play in a Day was written to celebrate Halloween.

Play in a Day

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Beth Marshall invited me down to the Orlando Shakes on November 3rd to experience the creative process of Play in a Day. Play in a Day kicked off the festivities for Playfest, the Harriet Lake Festival of New Plays which ran from November 3-6. When I entered the Shakes, actors were already divided into six groups and they were doing the initial read throughs of of the scripts. Play authors had been given the theme of unexpected transitions and a twist, no props allowed, the previous day. Most scripts had been written overnight right up to the moment they had been turned in at 7am. There was then a thirty minute pow wow between the writer, director and actors. Then the writers were asked to leave to avoid endless re-writes. I decided to sketch actors Sarah Lockhard, John Connon and Steve Middleton who were reading and laughing. The play was short, only about seven minutes, but it was fun. Someone in the lower lobby shouted, “I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s funny!” Beth Marshal who had just sat down said “That is the perfect review.” Rob Ward had also stopped in to read the part of Michael Wanzie. He did a hilarious, spot on impersonation.

The short play, titled, “Family Road Trip” was about a family road trip to Orlando. Sarah was the daughter riding in the back seat and John played the mom while Stephen was the dad behind the wheel. David Lee the author now lives in NYC but he had a long history at the Orlando Shakes. Beth explained the piece to the actors, “David writes for the audience, the whole thing is a poem. He’s not Anton Chekhov.” She asked the actors to try a read through with British accents which she didn’t like, then Southern accents which worked better. When they pointed out specific Orlando venues, like the Orlando Science Center, the Orlando Rep and the Orlando Museum of Art, she asked them to loose the accent. Stephen asked for some clarification so he could better memorize the lines. Much of the dialogue centered around groupings of three.

David Lee texted Beth from NYC, “Do they like the skit?” Beth texted back, “Steven found all the deep meaning, Sarah is playing Veruka Salt and John is playing me! “When asked to describe the short play she was directing, Beth said, ” It is HA-Larious!” I decided to stick with this group of actors and see how the rehearsal progressed. They would have to be ready to perform at 7pm that night.

Chief’s Bird Cabin

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I came back from New Orleans before Terry since I had a commissioned painting I had to get started. The painting for Margot Knight, had to be drawn in such a way that I could let people lay in the establishing brush strokes at a farewell party in her honor. I had to supervise as people brushed in colorful washes. It was difficult to give up some control, but I’m finding the painting is progressing quickly as I adjust the final painting around those initial colors.

Anyway, I had to pick up Zorro, our Umbrella Cockatoo, from his vacation at the Bird Cabin. Once Zorro saw me, he started screaming bloody murder until I got him out of the cage. Then he was happy as could be, saying “Hello” sweetly and swinging and dancing. I asked if his travel carrier was around, but it wasn’t. I faced the prospect of trying to drive him home without a carrier. I knew from past attempts that he would crawl up my arms onto the steering wheel and nip and shout for my undivided attention. He would cause an accident.

The woman in the shop let me borrow one of their carriers. Zorro wasn’t used to it, but he went inside knowing he was homeward bound. He chewed on the container with a vengeance the whole ride home. That night I let him cuddle with me as I watched TV in bed. He liked to slip under the covers and when I lifted the covers to look at him, he would make a soft playful hissing sound. He snuggled up against my waist making clicking noises with his beak as I pet his back and under his wings. It turned out he was nibbling at my belt loop with his strong beak and almost had it shredded clean 0ff. As I watched “The Walking Dead“, he was content to sit on my knee. I drew him with my digital tablet and I swear he was posing and smiling, content to have my attention.

Next Fall

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l have begun a project called “LifeSketch” where individuals are interviewed by an author while I sketch. The sketch is then matted along with the person’s life story making a unique present and memorable keepsake. Actor and instructor Thomas Ouellette bid on a LifeSketch at a fundraiser and he won. I had forgotten about that auction item which sold many months ago, but Thomas contacted me and invited author Mary Hill and myself to a play called “Next Fall” at the Mad Cow Theater. I asked to be seated in a back row in case I needed a book light to sketch. I arrived right after work and sketched the theater which is right down the street from Avalon Art Gallery. After I was seated, I rifled through my bag looking for my book light. It was nowhere to he found.

The Mad Cow Theater will soon be moving to Church Street so “Next Fall” would be the last show produced in the Magnolia Street address. The theater was small and intimate with the audience sitting on opposite sides of the central staging area. Next Fall was a beautifully structured play that was non linear. Thomas played Adam who didn’t believe in religion yet he fell in love with Luke who was a firm believer. Adam would constantly poke fun and even denigrate his partner’s beliefs. When Luke is in an auto accident, Adam finds he can not visit him in the hospital because he wasn’t “family”. He shouted, “I want more time!” I welled up. A young woman seated directly across from us was also in tears. Seeing her reactions often pushed me over the edge. The actor’s every step and breath was deeply felt in the intimate setting. I’m glad I wasn’t sketching, because it might have distracted me from the overwhelming emotional force of the play.

Luke’s father was a man’s man who refused to admit his son’s sexuality. He loved his son however and when he collapsed in grief, it was Adam who held him, comforting him with Luke’s words of faith. Perhaps Adam had a deep well of faith that he chose to ignore but tragedy brought that faith and hope to light. When the lights came back up, I had to wipe my eyes.

After a standing ovation, the actors sat center stage for a talk back. They confided that they talk about the audience backstage. We were a particularly engaged audience that laughed loudly when things were funny. They knew we might be devastated when they dropped the boom.This play, written by Geoffery Nauffts, started in a tiny theater similar to Mad Cow. Elton John went to see the play and he was so moved by the production, that he decided to invest six million dollars to bring the play to Broadway. It is success stories like this that keep some actors in this business, whose main rewards are emotional, rather than financial. So many times I am finding my mission to sketch people every day has caused me to care deeply for the people I observe. In this way, artists are blessed.

Wekiva Photo Shoot

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Mary agreed to pose for a photo shoot to raise awareness about breast cancer. The catch was that she would heroically have to expose her breasts. Mary and Joseph (her ex husband) agreed I could come along to sketch. The photographer, Angela Marrocco, told us to meet her where they rent canoes on the Wekiva river. I arrived first and sat back on a bench to watch a few tourists relaxing near the river drinking beers and soaking up the sun. It was a beautiful day. Joe and Mary arrived and we discussed the logistics. Since there would be four of us, we would need two canoes. The women would go in one canoe and the men in the other. Once Angela arrived, she quickly rented her canoe and she and Mary headed down to the docks.

I used the digital device on the bar to try and rent the second canoe but got lost in the multiple forms. When asked to sign my name, I did it at first with a real pen before realizing I needed to use a stylus. By the time Joe and I got to the dock, the women were already paddling down river. Joe had never been in a canoe before. We jumped in and started paddling but we discovered we were still tied to the dock. Before long, we were working as a team picking up speed.

I had only seen two canoes in the time I spent waiting for folks to arrive. When the photographer found a cove where she could shoot Mary in the canoe, there were suddenly a dozen canoes crowded in the narrow river. I tried to get close to a tree that was overhanging the river. I figured if we anchored to that, I might be able to sketch the women in the other canoe. As I struggled with branches, I saw the photographer shoot several shots of Mary who had slipped her dress top down to her waist. Dang, I didn’t even get the sketchbook out yet! When Joe and I were finally secured against the tree, the women paddled back out into the river looking for another photogenic spot. I sighed and we followed.

For the next shot we all got out on dry land. There was an old worn out boardwalk set up in case of floods. Mary picked some ferns from the base of a thick tree trunk and used them to hide her face for the photo. She was a bit self conscious since she was visible to anyone paddling by in a canoe. The photographer worked quickly. I sketched as fast as I could. The photos were shot and my sketch was barely blocked in. For once I would have to finish the sketch in the studio.

Joe and I struggled to help the women launch their canoe. On the trip back, Mary was surprised by a branch and she fell back in her canoe with a thud. I’m amazed neither canoe capsized with all the activity.

Occupy Orlando Evening of Day 19

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I’m working strange hours this month from 5 pm to 9pm. I decided to drive down to the Chamber of Commerce after work to see how many people were still camping out in the Occupy Orlando protest. As I approached Senator Beth Johnson Park, I saw a tall man in an overcoat and fashionable hat balling up yellow police caution tape. I asked what the police tape was for and he told me he was souvenir hunting. People aren’t allowed to sleep in Orlando Parks so the protesters moved to the vacant lot across the street. Before long the police forced the protesters off the vacant lot since it was private property. The yellow tape was put up to remind protesters to stay away.

There were between 20 and 30 Occupy Orlando protesters who looked like they would be sleeping on the sidewalks that border the park that night. One guy had a hammock set up between several trees and he slumbered peacefully, an American flag tucked into the hammock rope at his head. I was told one man was sleeping on the sidewalk and he accidentally rolled onto the park’s grass. He was arrested. There was a folding table set up which had kitchen supplies.

It is fine to be in the park so long as you are awake. There is however a curfew. I heard drumming and walked into the park. Political protest signs were lying in the grass. I approached the make shift drum circle and started sketching. Another fellow listened, lying on the sidewalk and resting his head on his skate board. The rhythms punctuated the night. I rocked as I sketched. The drumming was interrupted when someone walked up with his laptop open. A live streaming video showed the thousands of people gathered in Oakland, California. The fellow with the cigarette and Amish beard looked at my sketch and did a happy jig. “That is so cool.” He said.

Two young college girls were seated in the grass next to me. The red headed girl had come from NYC’s Occupy Wall Street to join the Orlando protest. She was upset that her boyfriend didn’t join her in the protest. The other girl calmed her, explaining he was probably afraid. On November 6th eleven people were arrested in Beth Johnson park in Orlando, so the 0ccupation does have risks. On Halloween the red headed girl had to come up with a make shift costume out of the duffel bag of clothes she had brought from NYC. She told people she was Molly Ringwald and sure enough, she was a dead ringer.

I didn’t talk to anyone about politics, grievances or changes that need to be made. For me, It was enough to be witnessing a peaceful national demonstration that is unprecedented. Americans are assembling, and their voices are being heard. People suddenly realize, they are not alone, they are the majority.

Angelle’s Whiskey River

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Terry and I had been to Whiskey River the last time we were in Louisiana. The place is a dive bar located on the edge of a swamp in Henderson. We exited off the rural road and climbed a steep dirt road up an embankment over a levee. Dust rose creating a cloud behind us. The bar was a ramshackle place with a crude dance hall built with exposed beams and plywood. Five dollars at the door got us a wrist band. The band was doing a sound check. I sat at a bar at the back of the dance hall. When I started the sketch the place was almost empty but by the time I finished the place was packed wall to wall with people. The beers flowed. When the sketch was done I decided to drop my bag of art supplies off in the rental car.

Walking back to the bar a fellow stumbled towards me. His eyes were bloodshot. He had already had too much to drink. I shook his hand as he welcomed me. “You are going to have the time of your life buddy.” he said. I smiled thanked him and went inside. The band was called Geno Delafose & French Rockin‘ Boogie. Terry was on the sidelines of the dance floor swaying to the Cajun beat. I tapped her on the shoulder and we made our way out on the dance floor. We couldn’t help but bump into other couples. People were twirling, stomping and dipping to the beat. The accordion twisted its notes in a frenzy. A musician with a washboard on his chest scraped his spoons in quick and fluid wrist movements.

Terry and I did a dance move we learned at a folk festival once. We held hands and I twirled her keeping our grip until our arms formed a graceful knot. We then spun to untangle ourselves and we went the other way. The fellow from the parking lot was dancing up a storm. He was suddenly all balance as he gripped a girl close. These folks all knew how to dance. The plywood floor was pounding and swaying. A sign on a ceiling beam read, “No parking on the dance floor.”

Terry and I danced to the point of exhaustion. She confessed that this was her favorite place in the universe. Outside the light dimmed and the silver blue green hanging moss grew dark. We ordered some food from a food truck out in the parking lot. The lady inside got every order wrong but it didn’t matter I would have eaten anything. Mosquitoes the size of humming birds buzzed around us. When the music and dancing ended, we drove back towards our hotel getting lost on the rural roads.

Tropical Isle’s Bayou Club

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In the evening, Terry and I ventured out into the madness of Bourbon Street. I thought this place was only packed at Mardi Gras time but the craziness seems to happen every night of the week. Terry had on a nice dress and was carrying a beer in a paper cup. Some guy walked right into her and spilled her drink down the front of her dress. She screamed at him and threw the remaining beer at his back. We lowered our shoulders and stuck out our elbows whenever someone stumbled into us. Women with big butts jiggled them in open doorways inviting people in to see the live sex acts. People were tossing bead necklaces down from balconies to people who flashed some skin.

Terry knew where she wanted to go. She was looking for the one bar that played traditional Cajun music on Bourbon Street. In every bar there seemed to be live music. Cars crossing would have to crawl through the never ending crowd. We finally found the Bayou Club and were lucky enough to find a table right up front. The band, T’ Canaille, was doing its sound check. The accordion player went up to the bar and had several shots to warm up. I sketched quickly through the first set. People in the audience were invited to stand in front of the band and play the washboard with spoons. Unfortunately people who went up were either drunk or they had no sense of rhythm.

When the second set started, Terry turned to me and said, “Lets dance.” We danced on the tiny dance floor with several other couples until we were exhausted. Back on the street, I felt practiced now as we navigated the throngs. It was easier to dance through the insanity than to fight our way through the crowd.

The French Quarter

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From our hotel in the Business District, Terry and I walked to the French Quarter in New Orleans. As soon as we crossed Canal Street we were shuttled back in time. Ornate wrought iron balconies over hung the street. The buildings were old with ancient histories. We walked past antiques shops and Terry started to feel the itch. She wanted to shop. We walked into an old shop that sold vintage muskets and pistols as well as rare coins. We had been here many years ago and Terry had bought an old Spanish piece of eight silver coin from the Atocha. She had to look at the treasure again. She asked a dealer to open a display case.

I heard music down the block. Musicians were performing in the street. Terry and I agreed that I could get a sketch while she shopped. I found a spot in the shade and sat down leaning back against a drainage pipe running down an old brownstone. The sidewalks were made from large slabs of slate. Slowly a large crowd formed listening to the music. They blocked my view so I looked up around them drawing the architecture. A woman walking in front of me collapsed in slow motion as a slate slab shifted under her feet. Her husband offered her his hand to help get her up. She refused but kept struggling to get her weight up. He grabbed her under her arm pit and pulled. She was fine, I kept sketching.

The trumpet player was thin and emaciated. He thrust his hips forward when he played arching his back as he belted out the notes. When the set was over, he came up to me to see what I was up to. He let me know that they would be playing later that evening a block away on Bourbon Street. He asked me how they sounded, and I thought they sounded great. I was still throwing down watercolor washes as the musicians packed up their instruments and left.