The Feldman Dynamic

Posted on by Thor

When performance artist Brian Feldman lived in Orlando, I tried to sketch as many of his performances as I could. Nearly two years ago he moved to Washington, D.C where he has only done one performance piece, a “friend building” experience called “BFF” for the Capital Fringe Festival. I lost all contact with him after the move since my primary interest was always in sketching and writing about his performance concepts. Orlando lost an unusual and unique artist when Brian left, and I lost a major source of inspiration.

“The Feldman Dynamic” was first performed in 2003 and started Brian on the road to becoming a performance artist. I didn’t start following Brian until 2009 when I started this blog. I knew about the Dynamic, but had never seen the original performance which was part of the New York International Fringe Festival. The members of his family have since moved in different directions. His parents are divorced. His mother is a breast cancer survivor and his sister has been married and now lives south of Orlando. Nearly a thousand miles separate the family’s daily lives.

When I got to the Jewish Community Center in Maitland, I had to have my drivers license scanned at the security desk in order to enter. Outside the Harriet and Hymen Lake Cultural Auditorium I saw Brian putting fliers on a table outside the auditorium entrance. He was a nervous ball of energy. I was pleased to see signs that announced “No Google Glass allowed inside the Theater!” No aspect of the performance was permitted to be filmed, but sketching was strongly encouraged during the pre-show announcement. I laughed out loud.

On stage the dining table was being set up and Brian’s mom, Marilyn Wattman-Feldman, was at the back of the auditorium warming up dishes in the kitchen.  Brian’s dad, Edward Feldman, was busy trying to get connected to the internet. He had me flip through a large portfolio full of his art work.  Adrienne McIntosh, Brian’s sister, was trying to get the internet password from JCC security. Brian helped me set up a crude barrier that would keep the audience from noticing me as I sketched from stage left. The resulting structure was rickety and I was afraid the whole time that it might collapse into the audience. Luckily it held up. An old radio was found backstage and placed on Edward’s computer table. Brian let me know that it was the same one from the last show he had performed there, a JCC production of Neil Simon’s “Brighton Beach Memoirs”15 years earlier.  Both he and Adrienne were child performers.

At 7:15pm the house opened and the audience entered. The family walked on stage together and sat down for dinner. Edward spent much of the time standing and serving food. A bottle of sparkling cider couldn’t be opened since no one had a bottle opener. Edward put the bottle on the edge of the stage and said, “I bet the bottle will magically open itself.” Sure enough, Carl from the audience got up and opened the bottle with his utility knife. For some reason Brian was wearing a tuxedo he had rented for Amanda and Matt Simantov‘s wedding. I knew this because he had e-mailed me and asked if I wanted to rent the same tux for the wedding. I stuck with my suit which I discovered had paint stains on the pant legs. I don’t think anyone at the wedding noticed.

Brian is a very private person. For one of his recent performances,he stayed off Facebook for an entire year. It looks like that performance lasted for four months. Then Brian explained that Facebook
only lets events last for four months. Since he didn’t log on to
the site for the entire year, he couldn’t keep changing the start and end
dates to cover the full 12 months. Yet another hangup with the site. I had no idea what life in D.C. has been like for him. The family chatted about films they had seen. Brian has seen tons of films and his mother has seen maybe 2 in the last year. He stood up midway through the meal feeling he needed to make an announcement to is family. His father asked, “Are you getting married?” “Wow, that makes sense”, I thought. Brian let them know that he had been fired from his job. He showed them the letter of termination. They read it in silence but Edward felt Brian should write a letter of apology and maybe he would be taken back. Brian had fallen asleep at a security job at 2am. “Well, they have to understand, maybe you were tired!” his father consoled. The audience laughed. Brian let them know that he wasn’t asking to move back. He is getting unemployment and actively looking for another job. Performance art would have to wait until he got a full-time job. Adrienne had an announcement as well. She got a promotion at Disney moving from one department to another. She was even getting a raise. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound!

I had a strange dream last night. Brian and I were seated on the ground floor of a parking garage that had been converted into a women’s prison. A woman in an orange jumpsuit had ankle cuffs with a noisy chain and was being escorted up a ramp by an armed guard. Brian was smiling broadly and giving me advice. “You should get a job,” he said. “I work at Full Sail,” I replied. “No, you need to get a full-time job. It has been too long.” It was an odd dream. I have no idea what it means.

After dinner the family stood around the computer looking at family pictures and shots of Adrienne’s dachshund. Before I knew it, they were taking a bow. The audience was maybe a quarter full with most of them being friends and local media. There were plenty of left overs. Edward served me some salad and beef brisket, which was delicious. I topped it off with some apple pie and got back to the sketch. Stage manager Sharli’ Ward was having an animated conversation about Israel with Marilyn. If you didn’t know about The Feldman Dynamic, you missed a personal, unplanned slice of life and some great food! It was theater as life.

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.

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.

The Most Expensive Gas in America

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I was running late getting to Brian Feldman’s “The Most Expensive Gas in America.” When I piled my art supplies into my truck I realized I was low on gas. Driving out of my subdivision, my bright yellow gas light flickered on. It is shaped like a gas pump to further remind me that I needed to fill the tank. To save time I pulled into a 7-Eleven where the gas was a bit more expensive than my usual gas station. The regular gas cost me $3.39/gal. The $50 plus price tag hurts each week, but I need to get places to sketch them.

Sun Gas, located just north of Orlando International Airport (5600 Butler National Dr., off of S. Semoran Blvd.) charges unsuspecting tourists up to $5.99 a gallon for gas. The gas station is now being fined $250 a day by the City of Orlando for not posting their prices. The gas station has a huge sign that announces airport valet parking, an Arby’s and 24 hour convenience store. There is plenty of room on the huge two story high sign to list the gas prices. A sign was placed in the parking lot behind the store (where no one will see it) but again no prices were listed. On the day of Brian’s performance, Sun Gas was in court challenging the city ordinance to display their prices.

Brian Feldman decided to take the issue to the streets by standing at the intersection and announcing the prices to passing motorists.

Current prices (as of June 30th 2011)
Regular (87) $5.799/gal.
Plus (89) $5.899/gal.
Super Premium (93) $5.999/gal.

Brian arrived a bit late saying, “I had to go and get more nines for the sign.” He had his portable theater marquee around his neck. That thing is made of metal and it is heavy. His sign had all three prices listed and he waved to passing cars. I was shocked when cars pulled into the station. Brian’s small sign probably isn’t easy to read from a passing car. A news photographer arrived and started shooting photos of Brian. The photographer spoke to me briefly stating, “You picked a strange day to be sketching. Look behind you. Those steel blue clouds will be here in 20 minutes.” I started to sketch faster. Shortly thereafter, a car pulled up to the corner and the driver started screaming at the photographer. “Are you reporting the news or creating the news!?” He was livid, thinking the photographer was staging the public service of showing consumers the gas prices. The photographer tried to explain that it was a conceptual art performance but that made the man’s face get redder. His wheels screeched as he sped off onto Semoran when the light changed.

Later, a leggy blond woman approached Brian from the gas station. After she left he shouted out to me, “Incident!” My drawing was just about done so I walked over to see what was up. She had made indications to Brian that she knew where he was parked. The implication being that she would arrange to tow his car. Brian handed me his car keys and asked me to move his father’s Ford Focus to the restaurant across the street where I had parked. I half expected to find his car gone, but I found it and drove over to my truck. I then drove over to where Brian stood and returned his keys. He had many hours to go, as he planned to announce the prices for 5.999 hours which is an hour for each dollar charged for the gas. As I drove north the rain pounded my truck. Is price gouging the American way?

24 Hour Embrace (after Young Sun Han)

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On Father’s Day, conceptual artist Brian Feldman vowed that he would hug his father for 24 hours straight. “24 Hour Embrace” was first performed by artist Young Sun Han at Swimming Pool Project Space in Chicago, Illinois on December 31, 2008. “24 Hour Embrace (after Young Sun Han)” marked the first time that Young Sun Han had granted permission to re-perform this piece, as well as the first time that Brian Feldman had re-performed another artist’s work.
I arrived at Orange Ave Gym (1616 North Orange Avenue) just before midnight on the eve of Father’s Day. Brian was a nervous spinning dervish. He kept knocking over his “Best of Orlando” award plaques as he adjusted them. He coached volunteers David Mooney and Christin Carlow on admission prices and the media press comp list. I was thankful that I was on that list. Admission was $10 for an all day wristband. Christin slipped the wristband snugly around my wrist. I asked where the boxing ring was and she directed me to a cavernous back room to the left. When I entered the back gym, Brian’s dad Edward was getting changed by a locker. He asked me to shoot several photos on his iPhone when he and Brian first embraced.

This was going to be one of Brian’s last major projects of 2011. I felt a sense of urgency and wanted to fully document this piece. I considered doing 12 to 24 sketches, staying with Brian and his dad through the whole embrace. After talking to Terry, I altered my plan, deciding to just sketch the beginning and end of the hug. As I was filling my watercolor brushes with water in the bathroom, Brian and his father entered the ring. Edward opened his arms and said, “I love you Brian.” and the hug began.

The event rules stated that I could enter the ring at anytime. I took off my boots and crawled under the ropes. I set up my stool and leaned back in the corner. Brian and his dad shifted their weight leaning back and forth into each other. They twisted and rotated always searching for a new more comfortable angle. David shouted, “Good night!” and soon Al Pergande came in and shot some digital photos. Orlando Live had a video camera set up to record all 24 hours. Two videographers shot cutaway shots constantly during the first hour. Halfway into my first sketch I was alone with father and son. One of the rules was, “No talking inside the ring.” The embrace continued in silence.

I began my second sketch around 8pm on Father’s Day. Brian looked green and exhausted, relying of his father’s blocky solid stance for support. Omar Delarosa and his mom Virginia Brown sat and watched for a while. Then they crawled into the ring and embracedfor perhaps 15 minutes before leaving. In the final hours, a crowd began to gather. A rowdy young man put on some boxing gloves and danced around the ring like a gorilla to his girlfriend’s delight. His antics actually caused Brian to laugh. A freelance photographer shot endlessly. With my second sketch finished, I exited the ring and laced up my boots. I didn’t need to see them exit the ring. The drama was not in the smattering of applause but in the long tedious moments of pain and reflection that happened when there was no audience. I was a proud witness.

txt at the Telephone Museum

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As part of ArtsFest, Brian Feldman held a performance of “txt” at the Telephone Museum in Maitland (221 West Packwood Avenue). The very first time I sketched Feldman, he was performing “txt” at the Kerouac House. Brian specifically grew his beard back for this one performance. I found my vantage point in the front row before anyone else arrived. I also set up my video camera which recorded the performance from the back of the room next to a telephone booth. Ancient phones loomed above Feldman’s head and photos of switchboard operators were on the walls. There were perhaps thirty or so folding chairs set up in front of the large oak desk where he sat.

The idea of “txt” is that the audience supplies every line of dialogue that is spoken. Fifty protected Twitter accounts are set up so that each audience member can send a tweet directly to Brian’s show account, all of which are redirected to his phone thus keeping every entry completely private. Before the performance space was opened, Feldman crawled under the desk to wait for his entrance. When the fifteen or so people were seated, he crawled back out and sat in the leather chair causing laughter.

The young couple across from me immediately started tapping on their phones. The girl resembled actress Julianne Moore. She kept glancing at her boyfriend’s phone, not sure what she should type. She kept laughing at his entries. Brian’s phone vibrated and he picked it up. He read, “Football may be America’s pastime, but basketball players sweat much more.” I glanced around thinking I knew where the text came from. For this performance, Feldman acted out and dramatized his readings. One text read, “The man in the front row blushes whenever he laughs.” I was one of three men in a front row seat. I was certainly laughing. Was I blushing? Could people see emotion and expression just from the involuntary rush of blood through my veins?

I focused more intently on the drawing. Remarks were made about the corporate looking portrait above Feldman’s head, and about a creepy mannequin dressed as a telephone repairman. An early text warned against using profane language since women and children were in the audience. Surprisingly everyone complied. I consider “txt“ to be Feldman’s signature performance piece and it would be great to see it performed in a larger venue. There is something interesting in clandestine, anonymous communication that indicates where we are moving as an interconnected society.

The Skill Crane Kid

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As part of ArtsFest, Brian Feldman purchased a skill crane machine, stuffed it full of plush toys and then crawled inside where he remained for 16 hours. The machine was set up in Stardust Video and Coffee. When I arrived with Terry, Brian had already been inside for over six hours. Children especially loved the performance, often begging their parents for more change so they could try the skill crane again. Some people took pleasure in dropping the metallic skill crane claws on Brian’s head. For me the performance once again had a Kafkaesque quality reminding me of the Hunger Artist. Brian’s presence also reminded me of carnival barkers at the fair whose main objective is to keep the rubes from winning a prize. Brian acted as a sort of anti-carnie, actually placing a plush toy in the claws of the feeble skill crane to satiate each child’s greed and desire.

I seldom had an unobstructed view of the skill crane. More often than not families blocked my view as they took pictures and stuffed quarters in the machine. A friend of Brian’s named Helen Henny was shooting photos the whole time I was sketching. Sultana Ali, Brian’s girlfriend, was in the next room and she seemed to be updating Brian’s Twitter and Facebook accounts as the performance progressed. I heard the performance was streamed live. Terry and Sultana had lunch while I sketched. Several hours later when the sketch was finished, I walked up to the skill crane to say goodbye to Brian. He gestured from inside saying I had to try my hand at the skill crane. I refused, until Terry lent me the dollar to play. Several people in the room egged me on so I gave in and decided to play. I maneuvered the crane over a small teddy bear right near the exit chute of the machine figuring that if the crane didn’t grab the bear, it might just get knocked loose. I really didn’t need a teddy bear, and I didn’t want to play the game, but once the machine took the money, then the stakes were high. I had two tries and both times the poorly designed claw picked up nothing but air. With this failure I suddenly realized I was upset, not at the machine but at Brian. I had seen him coax the toys into the claw for child after child as I sketched. He even coaxed a toy out for Genevieve Bernard. Everyone was a winner but me! His passivity as I played made him just like any loud mouthed carnival barker who coaxed money from people at the fair using insults and dark sinister humor. I felt robbed.

As a child I once dreamed of getting a huge balloon that was for sale on an ice cream truck that wandered my neighborhood. Inflated, the balloon was larger than me . By the time I had convinced my mom to give me the change needed, the truck was long gone. I ran down the street for many blocks before finally giving up. I was devastated. The next day the balloon was forgotten. I had new obsessions. The night after Brian exited the skill crane, I met him in Stardust video and coffee to get my video camera back which had recorded most of his performance. Brian took me out to Sultana’s truck and presented me with the palm sized bear I had tried to win. I refused at first, but he insisted. At home my pet cockatoo was scared of the little stuffed bear at first, his crest rose in surprise, but then he ripped out its eyes and eviscerated its stomach playfully.

The Chalkboard Exercises

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It was six in the morning and I was standing in my driveway waiting for Brian Feldman to pick me up with a U-Haul he had rented. It was still pitch black outside and a deep wet fog made the orange glow of the streetlights quickly fade away as they marched away down the street toward the horizon. I heard the roar of the truck before I saw it. I pulled out my iPhone and flashed it at the oncoming headlights. I had my tablet to sketch with since it is the best option when sketching in low light. Brian had asked me to bring me video camera and tripod as well, so I piled them into the cab. In the back of the U-Haul was a large portable chalkboard. Brian had labored for days to find one since most classrooms have whileboards these days.

I directed Brian on how to get from my place to Universal Studios. There was going to be a Principal’s Appreciation Breakfast at Hard Rock Live. The event began at 7am and Brian wanted to be set up at the entrance writing “I WILL SUPPORT ARTS EDUCATION.” over and over again. When we arrived at the Universal Studios security gate the guards asked us both for our drivers licenses. Brian was asked to open the back of the truck. While he was doing that I was asked who our contact was since our names were not on the list. I told him to ask Brian. Britt Daley, who works for the Orange County Arts Education Center which was the host if the event, was our contact. Brian called her and she scrambled to find out why we were not on the list. It turns out Brian’s name was on a list, just not the one the guard looked at.

We parked behind Hard Rock Live and unloaded the chalkboard which was surprisingly heavy. We wheeled it around to the entrance and set up. CityWalk across the lagoon looked gorgeous in the misty morning fog. I set up the tripod and asked Brian if he had the tapes. He had forgotten to get them. The event guests slowly arrived. Brian started writing and I began sketching. I rather liked the clacking sound the chalk made as it struck the board. Some teachers laughed out loud. But mostly there was the clacking of the chalk and the tapping of my stylus on the tablet. The moist air was making my hand stick to the tablet making it hard to let long lines flow.

When everyone was inside, I went in and stood at the back of the room to listen. The keynote speaker, John Ceschini, spoke about the importance of arts in education. He began with a quote from Yeats, “Education is not the filling of a pail, but the building of a fire.” On the table in front of me there were boxes of crayons and a single tile mosaic with gorgeous blue tiles and several clear spherical tiles. I thought back to a mosaic I had made for my mothers when I was 10 years old. On stage John quoted some more famous minds like Einstein who said,”Imagination is more important than knowledge.” A video was shown of a little girl talking about an abstract painting by Wassily Kandinsky. In it she saw birds, a bridge, a plane, rainbow and a black hole which was beginning to suck all light and color from the imaginary world. Here was a mind ignited by limitless possibilities of the imagination.

CarVerations

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Mark Baratelli’s “Mobile Art Show” had a different twist this month. Usually, Mark rents a U-Haul truck and has an artist exhibit their work inside. When I arrived at the City Arts Factory this month I found Mark unloading wrappers, newspapers and assorted bottles from the backseat of his beat up 1996 Chevy Cavalier. He put a bottle of mouthwash on the dashboard and loaded everything else into the trunk. He and Brian Feldman, a local performance artist, had decided at the last minute to create an event called “CarVersations,” in which people could pay one dollar could sit in the passenger seat and have a five minute conversation with Brian.

Evan Miga showed up having heard about the event on Facebook. Mark had announced it only hours before. Evan showed me some wire that was wrapped around his backpack. At the end of the wire was a silver box with a switch. When he flipped the switch, the wire glowed a neon blue. As we spoke the neon flickered, fluctuating to the volume of our voices as we talked. He plans to use these wires to outline the corrugated robots he is creating for”Dog Powered Robot and the History of the Future” which will be in the Orlando Fringe Festival this May.He said some scenes will be in complete darkness with just the neon glow illuminating the scene. Evan wrapped the wire around the outer edge of the windshield of the car so when people spoke, the wire would glow.

Brian showed up with his portable marquee and he set it up on the roof of the car. Mark shouted to Brian through the windshield, “Three minutes to places!” For some reason, after getting in the car, Brain flipped on the windshield wipers which sent the neon wire twisting in all directions. Mark shouted, “Noooooo!” Brian couldn’t figure out how to turn off the wipers quick enough. He shouted back, “How do you turn the wipers off?” I laughed out loud. It was like watching vintage Laurel and Hardy slapstick.

Several SAK Comedy Lab volunteers came down during the event to speak to Brian in the Car. Orlando Live host Peter Murphy had an interview with Brian, which the cameraman filmed from the backseat. My wife stopped by, paid her dollar and spoke to Brian for five minutes. I am not sure I gave her a solid five minutes of my attention since I was struggling with the sketch on my digital tablet. Before I knew it, CarVersations was over. Mark drove off and I continued to throw down digital washes till I was satisfied.

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.