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.

Carry Yourself Back to Me by Deborah Reed

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Author Deborah Reed used to live in Orlando back in the 1980’s. She now lives in the Pacific Northwest and her book “Carry Yourself Back to Me” had just been published. She read a chapter of the book at Urban ReThink. The main character in the book is Annie Walsh, a singer and songwriter , who has sequestered herself away in a small rural Orlando home after her husband, 0wen, left her for another woman. Owen was her muse, and since he left she was unable to sing anymore. A cricket was chirping a lovely serenade under her porch and her brother, Calder, explained that only one male cricket sang at a time. The lady crickets are mesmerized by the song. The silent male crickets sneak up on the females who are lost in lust for the singer, and snatch them away. The sad part is that the singer is short lived. He dies off long before the silent types who steal the women.

The book offered a nostalgic look at rural Central Florida. When asked where the book took place, Deborah said she was describing Clermont, out by Howell Branch Road. Of course the tangelo groves she described have been replaced with strip malls and housing developments. Deborah is a big fan of the rhythmic sentence. She would go through her copy adding comas and taking them out until the sentence had just the right cadence. She isn’t a songwriter herself but she does identify with Annie, the main character.

The drama escalated when Calder is accused of murder. He fell in love with a married Scandinavian woman and her husband was murdered. The number of affairs and family secrets was astonishing. I had to pick up a copy of the book and yesterday I read it cover to cover. I’m not that voracious of a reader, but I couldn’t put it down. The sweet smell of citrus, the springs and an unexpected winter frost all bring Central Florida vividly alive. All of the characters made mistakes and had to live with the consequences. News of the murder brings Annie’s husband, Owen back to her. But she may have been waiting for the wrong man.

Star struck, I asked Deborah to sign my sketch.

Joe David Bellamy Talk and Book Signing.

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Author and writing your life instructor, Patricia Charpentier, hosted an evening with Joe David Bellamy at the Marks Street Recreational Complex (99 E. Marks Street in Downtown Orlando.) discusses the motivation behind writing, “Kindred Spirits: 400 Years of an American Family“, his approach and how he accomplished this labor of love. Joe is very intrigued by family history and he became a dedicated researcher when he realized that much of what had been written about his family’s history was wrong. He pointed out that we are living in a revolutionary time with the Internet making information easily available and DNA testing making genetic family ties irrefutable. Ninety two percent of the people who lived and died on this planet left no trace of their life.

When he spoke about the actual process of writing, he became animated. He said, “Writing should feel like play. Spontaneity is part of the pleasure of writing.” He stressed that “finding your voice” is the most important part of becoming a writer. He told us the story of how his father met his mother. His father moved to another state and began selling vacuum cleaners to make a living. When he entered one home he was taken with a picture of a young woman on a mantle. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and he said so. He sold the vacuum. Several weeks later he returned to see if the vacuum was working. The woman was in the next room on the phone setting up a date. He walked in and said, “It’s a shame you have a date because I was going to ask you out.” She broke her date. Lightning struck them both.

Joe pointed out that statistically speaking, cousins often end up marrying cousins. He found the same thing happened in his family. Two sisters moved to separate states and each had children. When the children met, not knowing they were related, they were instantly attracted. Just like the mom was attracted to her own son in “Back to the Future.” Joe’s parents were kindred spirits and they never knew it.

There Will Be Words

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There will be words featured local authors reading excerpts from prose they had written. The event happens on the second Tuesday of every month at Urban ReThink. When I arrived I spotted Darlyn and Brad Kuhn who had recently been married. I congratulated them and hope to attend a celebration in their honor at the end of the month. I then sat next to Leslie Silvia to talk visual art as the stage was set. Lesly did the cover and all the headers for the “Best of Orlando” issue of the Orlando Weekly. She executed the assignment using silhouetted paper cut outs.

When the authors were ready to read, I went upstairs for a birds eye view. Jana Waring was introduced as being the “Best Local Author” as voted by Orlando Weekly readers. She read a short story in which the protagonist didn’t like pets. She described manic and unpredictable pets from her childhood. With plenty of tongue in cheek humor, she indeed convinced me that owning pets is insane.

Jared Silvia read a hilarious piece about Lobster Fest. I laughed the whole time realizing I’m just as much of a misguided geek at heart. Darlyn Finch read a touching story about a present she had brought for her ill brother. Knowing he had recently lost the battle, often forgetting those who loved him before he died. Darlyn has a way of writing from the gut that I admire. Small collectible books called “chapbooks”, were hand bound of each of the author’s stories. The evenings host, J. Bradley, announced that we should buy them now before the authors died and the value of their words escalated. There is something very rewarding about being in a room of people sharing their stories. Events like this remind me that Orlando has a thriving literary community.

On the Tip of Your Tongue

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Mad About Words sponsored a writing workshop with Ellie Watts-Russell the current writer in residence at the Kerouac house. She organized the workshop to explore the power of taste, sound and touch as artistic triggers. The workshop began in the Kerouac house living room where she asked everyone to introduce themselves and point out one quirky fact from their lives. Ellie worked in a men’s prison. The man in front of me said the smell of bacon always reminded him of his time in the navy. A woman related that she electrocuted herself in the kitchen once. Every person offered a fascinating taste and I wanted to hear more. An excerpt was read from several authors who explored the senses in their writing. One paragraph was from Jack Kerouac’s Darma Bums, where he described his ascent up a rocky mountainside. It was vivid and clear. Ellie had a sweet British accent, and she would acknowledge writing she loved as “Brilliant.”

Ellie then asked everyone a series of questions which would help indicate if you were a visual, aural, or tactile author. One question was, after buying an item of IKEA furniture would you,
A. Read the instructions.
B. Ask a friend for advice or
C. Start building and learn as you go.
I was sketching but I am fairly sure I am a visual person. Besides I haven’t fully smelled anything since I moved to Florida.

Ellie then invited everyone to the back room of the house. There she had items to stimulate the senses. For smell there was a large Magnolia blossom floating in a clear bowl of water. For touch there was a brown puddle in a paper plate that held it’s form when lifted like some primordial ooze. For taste there was some cotton candy which had collapsed in the Florida heat forming compact pancakes of multicolored sweetness. Ellie was mortified and put out some fresh “candy floss” but everyone picked up and tasted the hardened masses. On the wall there were photos. A man pushed a large block of ice. A long line of people struggled up a dune. A young girls face was illuminated by her laptop.

Then everyone sat down to write. Many authors sat outside to enjoy the beautiful day. I finished my sketch as they wrote. I wanted to get home to Terry so I didn’t stick around to hear what everyone wrote. I thanked Ellie for letting me sit in and started home. On the drive back I passed a black limo and a hearse. It seemed sad that only two cars followed. Later a gleaming white hearse and limo made a left turn down the Orange Blossom Trail. A large white SUV screeched to a halt in the middle of the intersection and two men in white suits jumped out to direct traffic so that the insanely long line of cars could breeze through. As an artist or author we always hope we can touch many lives with whatever we create. I wondered if my funeral would have one car or a long line in tow. It is a vain glorious thing to ponder but what matters is that I leave something behind, and that I never let my senses grow dull. Howl at the moon and rush off in search of the next sketch.

Foil Muse Receptor Caps

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The Silver Fern Writing Workshop held the 2nd and 4th Tuesday of each month is approaching its second anniversary. To help celebrate this milestone, Janna and Geoff Benge decided to mix it up and have some fun by having the authors create their own thinking caps, which they would then wear to tune in to their creative muse. My wife Terry planned to attend and I decided this was a sketch opportunity which could not be missed. When I arrived Janna started telling me that she had just gotten a text from a friend who was in Roswell and he wanted to know if she knew where to find the aliens. This was rather fortuitous, a sign.

Muse cap supplies were scattered about on the dining room table. There was plenty of tin foil, tin pie pans, buttons, rubber bands, straws, soda cup tops, tape and a glue gun. The first author to arrive, already had his tin foil cap made. It had two large handles and a large satellite disk. He explained that tin foil is usually used to deflect the forces of mind control. The disk however was a conduit for pure creative inspiration. Rachel Kapitan designed an elegant Victorian looking bonnet that resembled a peacock when it spread open, fan like, perched on her head. Karen Price used a pie plate cap with a central antenna with a disk and button to catch her signal. Another author used a simple foil cap with foil flames flowing out behind his head. He claimed the design was based on the classic mullet hair style. One author crafted a very accurate Mickey Mouse aluminum skull cap with two buttons that made it look eerily life like. I made some very simple viking horns for my baseball cap to assist in my sketching.

Soon everybody put on their caps and got down to the serious business of writing. The room grew quiet and the pencils, pens and keyboards clicked and scratched out the messages caught by the twitching antennae capturing inspiration from the ether. Twenty minutes flew by as I sketched furiously trying to capture the quirky moment.

Everyone was then asked to share their musings. As Rachel read her story, I became infatuated with the way the potted Mother in Law tongue plant flamed up beside her. I enjoyed Geoff’s story about an author’s dependence on his foil cap. He claimed the cap allowed him to go where no mind had gone before. He experienced such a high from the creativity generated by the cap, that he started wearing it to sleep and in the shower. It slowly became clear that this man’s addiction to creativity bordered on insanity.

Terry managed to press the wrong button on her computer and she lost everything she wrote. Several authors helped her search the hard drive with no luck. This is another advantage of analog over digital, things don’t just disappear. After everyone had read their stories, the serious business began of drinking Funky Llama White Wine and enjoying the conversations about art and literature in the internet age. The stories and laughter lasted late into the night. Rachel gave Terry pointers on how to incorporate more dialogue in her stories. As I was walking to my truck outside, I glanced back through a window and noticed the warmth of the light as the remaining authors talked around the dining room table. One author was on the front lawn using his cell phone, the foil cap still on his head.