txt at Urban ReThink

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Conceptual artist Brian Feldman has one more performance of txt tonight, July 25th at 7pm at Urban ReThink (625 East Central Blvd.). I sat in on the first of three performances to sketch. I have seen txt performed several times before and was entertained every time. For the first time, I signed into the proper Twitter account and was prepared to send Brian a txt during the performance to be read aloud. Brian walked out and sat at the spindly desk waiting for his cell phone to vibrate. He read, “Let’s get started with a couple of ground rules.” Terry was busy munching on a bag of potato chips. I wrote my first txt, he read, “Rule number 1. No eating!” He shouted it out, pointing at Terry. I placed my phone on the floor and forgot about it as I lost myself in the sketch.

“Thor is wearing a shirt he bought in North Carolina.” Terry must have written that, I thought. I looked at my shirt. Funny, I don’t remember buying it in North Carolina. Tod Caviness walked in late. “This guy is late,” Brian announced. I raised my hopes thinking Tod would offer some literary subtlety to the strange meaningless flow of ideas. As always, the unfiltered thoughts turned to sex. “Raise your hand if you want to have a 3 or 4 way later.” “Oh, there are swingers in the room?!” “Rule number 16, if no one laughs I’m going to stand on Thor’s shoulders and fart in your face.” Who on earth wrote that? I thought. Do I know that person. Do I want to know that person? “Rule number 237. No sex in the champagne room with Thor.” What?! I blushed. Alright, who wrote that? More important was it a man or woman? I looked around for a guilty face. Where on earth is the champagne room? I need to go sketch it now.”Sex in the champagne room at Hue. See you at 8.” Well that answers that question anyway, Hue is a night club. “I would totally rock Thor’s hammer.” “OK, who mentioned sex with Thor? It wasn’t his wife and if she finds you she will scratch your eyes out.” “Why is everyone talking about Thor, lets chat about Green Lantern! He is great too!” Thank Odin, the conversation wasn’t about me at all. I’m so vain.

Across from me Peter Murphy was sitting next to Colleen Burns. She wore a blue dress. “Hey girl in the blue dress, don’t wear a bra next time.” I looked up at Colleen her mouth was open, aghast. “Awkward.” Brian announced. “Later on I’m going to get down with that lady in the… (my eyes are bad)… The Blue dress!” “My boyfriend is obsessed with the girl in the blue dress.” “The girl in the blue dress is taken.” Well that settles that, I thought. “Imagine me planking on the lady in the blue dress later. Ha!” Colleen seemed to take all the attention with humor. “I am NEVER wearing a blue dress ever again!”

With no filters, no social niceties, people don’t have a need for polite meaningful conversation. The Internet has unleashed an age of unrestricted self-expression and the results are often brash and ugly. Tapping out every thought that pops into our heads isn’t art. Having contributed to this performance by tapping out my one tweet, I felt a little dirty. I was complicit in the crime of random expression. This show shocked and amazed me every time I saw it. It is a guilty pleasure. Several evenings later I saw Colleen at another event. She was wearing a blue dress.

The Little Black Dress Fundraiser

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Blue Martini located at the Millenia Mall hosted the Little Black Dress Fundraiser to raise funds for Dress for Success. The mission of Dress for Success is to promote the economic independence of disadvantaged women by providing professional attire, a network of support and the career development tools to help women thrive in work and in life. Wendy Wallenburg brought the event to Terry’s attention and she was excited to sport one of her little black dresses. She told me as we got ready, that I was a very lucky man, since I would be escorting three beautiful women. I dressed all in black for the occasion.

When Terry and I arrived at Blue Martini, we had to stay outside at the bar since they hadn’t opened the doors yet. The bar was packed. We did two laps searching for a table with no luck. We finally asked to sit with an older couple. A women at the next table waved to me and let me know they were leaving soon. We joined them. Terry leaned in and gestured to the couple we had just left. They were making out, hot and heavy. “Sheesh, get a room.” she joked. Donna Brooker Connors, a friend of Terry’s from Book Club, joined us. A thick dark blanket of storm clouds were rolling in. Lightning flashed on the horizon. I could smell the ozone.

Just before the rain hit, it was time to go in. We slipped in the back door and Terry rushed to a table at the far end of the place. I lingered behind, sitting at a spot where I could sketch the band and dance floor but then I decided to just go with the flow. I joined Terry at her chosen table. Sarah Austin joined us. She is another Book Club friend of Terry’s. All the women looked amazing in their little black dresses. The women got free champagne. I couldn’t hear the conversation at our table, I could only hear the roar of the room. I dashed off my first sketch as the place filled up getting louder. When the band started to play, Terry and I got up to dance. Musicology performed an eclectic blend of very danceable music. Then they played a slow song and we danced cheek to cheek. It was a blissful moment.

Back at the table, Donna had to leave since she was getting over a cold. Wendy sent Terry a text saying she couldn’t make it. She was stuck up in Winter Park in the rain. Sarah and Terry compared notes on the men in the room. Sarah shared a picture of her boyfriend who has a ponytail. Then we realized there were men everywhere in the room with ponytails. A group of very busty women piled into the table next to us. A woman hugged her girlfriend from behind cupping her breasts and shaking them. Some women had impossible Disney Princess figures supplemented with silicone. There was a chocolate fountain and designer handbags. Every woman had a raffle ticket for the big items being given away at the end of the evening. Sarah had Terry and I laughing all night.

Put a Cork In It!

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Amanda Chadwick invited Terry and I for a night of Absent Minded Improv Comedy at Put a Cork In It (7339 W Sand Lake Rd). One wall was stacked with fine wines and patrons are encouraged to pick their own bottle from the racks. Amanda and Terry sat in the front row in some thick leather arm chairs. I found those seats too restrictive so I found myself a table in the back. The comedy was lively and entertaining. The Absent Minded Improv Comedy Troup performs here every Saturday evening from 8pm to 9:30pm and there was a $5 cover charge that was tagged onto the bill at the end of the evening.

I drew Elisabeth Drake-Forbes and Mike Besaw as they performed a piece in which then had to say, “If you know what I mean,” after each statement. Terry yelled out that the routine should incorporate a Llama. Elisabeth said, “I need to go outside and shear the Llama, if you know what I mean…” The sexual innuendos flourished and everyone laughed. The quaint space was packed seating about 20 people in plush seats arranged around coffee tables.

After the performance I sat back up front with Amanda and Terry. Comedian Drew McCalmon stooped baseball catcher style in front of our coffee table joking with Terry. Terry gave him a playful shove and his arms spun up as he tried to catch his balance. He hit a wine glass which crashed to the floor. Amanda gave Terry a time out locking her outside the wine bar. Jokingly Terry pounded on the glass doors reminiscent of the final wedding scene in the Graduate. Amanda couldn’t stop laughing.

Filming Hank Williams Jr. at Full Sail

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Full Sail sent out an e-mail saying they needed extras for the filming of an NFL Monday Night Football theme song by Hank Williams Jr. When I arrived at Full Sail Live there was a small crowd of people outside in their football jerseys. There was a registration tent for media and one for extras. I decided to sign in with the extras. The release basically said that when I entered the film set I would not hold Full Sail responsible for any injuries I sustained. The group of football fans were being lead inside. I quickly signed my life away and ran to get in with them. We all waited in the lobby as a stage hand explained the ground rules. Inside we could hear loud music and screaming. Someone leaned over and said, “Looks like we’re missing the party.” We were told that we could leave the filming area at any time but we wouldn’t be able to get back in. One of the football fans started eating M&Ms from a catering table. Our guide said, “That food is for the paid extras.” The M&Ms were dropped.

Once inside I separated from the group and looked for a vantage point to sketch from. I sat up on an empty stage platform and got to work. Most of the time everyone stood around waiting for the filming to begin. I had no idea if I was in the shot or not. I kept thinking someone would tell me to move closer into the crowd. I must have looked like I was part of the crew as I worked furiously on the sketch. Hank Williams Jr. ambled out with his cowboy hat, cigar and big sunglasses. He posed for pictures with a few people then got on the stage which was painted like a football field. When I sketched him, he had his back to me as he sat waiting for the next take.

Finally the cameras were ready to roll. The drummer started playing and Hank strutted around on the stage as cheerleaders danced. People were moving their lips to the lyrics but no one sang. Then sparks began to cascade from the ceiling. In a second shot everyone was warned that there were loud firecrackers above their heads. They were told they were safe as long as they stayed on the near side of a red line on the floor. I was on the wrong side of the line. I glanced up and there was the pyrotechnic device maybe 10 feet above my head. I can sketch under most conditions but this time I decided to move. The explosions were loud and everyone screamed even louder. The director called, “Cut! Alright everyone it’s time for lunch.” My sketch wasn’t finished but I had no choice, the extras were being ushered out. I had no need to get back to the testosterone fueled NFL theme song war zone.

The Creative Center’s AIR Program funded by LIVESTRONG

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United Arts applied for a grant to LIVESTRONG to bring the creative process to patients at MD Anderson Cancer Center. The Creative Center Artist-In-Residence Program was made possible through a cooperative agreement with LIVESTRONG. This is the inaugural year and I arranged to sketch Andrea Canny as she brought art to patients. I met Katie Dagenais in the lobby and she arranged for patients to sign releases before leaving me with Andrea. Joan Dougherty was the patient we visited with. Joan sat in the tiny room with her friend waiting to get her chemo therapy. Andrea explained all the art supplies she had on her cart and Joan quickly decided she would do a collage on a mat for Nina, her grandchild.

I thought back to when I was ten years old waiting in a hospital in NYC, a woman invited me to create a small mosaic for my mother who had breast cancer. I became so focused on those tiles intent on creating a masterpiece for Mothers Day. My mom died the day before Mothers Day so she never saw that creation. She was just 47 years old. I wonder where that mosaic is now.

A nurse entered and hooked an IV up to Joan’s left wrist. She complained briefly of a burning sensation near the IV site on her wrist, then she started cutting paper in a flurry of artistic activity. She chose a red background with organic swirls rising from the bottom of the page. She then carefully cut out butterflies which she glued in the corners. Her friend said, “I could never do something that artistic, I would rather get a beating!” We all laughed. Andrea started explaining the importance of art in schools and then she had to check in on another artist she was inspiring in the next room. The complex looking IV machine started beeping incessantly. I started to wonder if something was wrong. Joan was lost in her creative process so I relaxed. Soon a nurse cheeked in and the beeping stopped.

Andre said that research showed that patients who were creating experienced pain far less than a control group. They never pushed the red pain medication button. LIVESTRONG is a national program but funding will have to come from grants applied for yearly or private donations. Joan cut out individual letters that spelled out NINA and she glued them to the mat. Her grandchild is at a stage where everything is fresh new and unexpected. Everything is a learning experience.

When Joan was finished with her creation, I finished with my sketch. Joan has a true artistic spirit. Faint whisps of hair lay on her shoulders having fallen from under her beautiful head scarf. It was inspiring to see that art could provide strength and meaning even when life is most challenging. LIVESTRONG offers support and resources to help patients face the challenges of cancer survivorship. Andrea gave Joan a book filled with resources and information. She also gave her a blank journal where she could create anytime.

Afterwards I sketched the MD Anderson Cancer Center. It thrusts up like a towering beacon of hope to help fight cancer. A group of three people walked up beside me. I thought they were curious about the sketch but they picked up a few soda cans scattered in my vicinity and shoved them in a large black plastic bag. They then stepped through a hole in a chain link fence and disappeared.

I thought back to the playful banter Andrea shared with Joan and the way that art can always enrich our lives. I hope that LIVESTRONG continues to flourish and grow here in Orlando. Not ready to die we LIVESTRONG.

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.