Alicia Holmes, writer in residence at the Jack Kerouac House, held an abstract writing workshop. This workshop was organized by Mary Ann de Stefano of Mad About Words. When I arrived at the Kerouac House, the writers, all of them women were already hard at work. They had been encouraged to incorporate some element of the mythical into a short story. I started sketching as everyone was writing in the living room. When I was half-finished with the sketch, Mary Ann called all the writers into the living room to share their work.
One woman wrote a story told from the point of view of a modern day Medusa. She complained of all the statues that littered her front lawn. Neighbors would stop over and admire how lifelike the statues were. Medusa, of course knew they had all been alive. She considered a plane flight to get away from her troubles, but imagined getting upset with fellow passengers and turning them all to stone so that mode of transportation was not an option. If she got upset, the plane would certainly drop from the sky like a meteor.
Kathryn Sullivan, wrote a haunting story about looking at a painting in a museum. Her mind wandered and she felt at peace as she approached the work. In her mind she imagined the work as peaceful and violent all at the same time. She felt that if she reached out, the painting might heal her. She was transfixed and drew closer. Suddenly alarms sounded and a guard asked her to step away from the painting. She had reached out and touched a Jackson Pollock painting. The painting was titled “Lavender Mist.”
If I Had My Way by Joseph Hayes
If I Had My Way was written by local playwright Joseph Reed Hayes. This reading of the play at the Winter Park Playhouse was funded in part with a development grant from United Arts of Central Florida. The play is set in Central Florida in 1945 at a time when there was a POW camp where the Kissimmee airport is now located. Margaret Perry had left her southern home and was educated in Atlanta and New York. Her mother lived her whole life in the ranch home in Central Florida and when she became ill her daughter returned to take care of her. Margaret resented every aspect of having to work in the ranch taking care of her sick mother. She rejects friends and suitors until one day an Italian POW, bought to the ranch as replacement help, teaches her her the power of love though the beauty of fresh cooked food. Joseph read a section of the play in which Bernice, a young 19 year old woman who works in the kitchen, dreams about her future husband who she has yet to meet.
The play deals with bigotry and hate in the old South. Joseph says the play is influenced by the Blues and you can feel the lonely rhythm throughout. This is a serous play about lonely souls in hard times. Yet towards the end of the third act the actors talk about the scent of Orange blossoms which is a sweet smell that once experienced, is never forgotten.
I attended the reading because Darlyn Finch a local poet and friend had been asked to play the part of Mrs Alecia Jamison the ailing mother. Darlyn didn’t have to act to pull off a convincing southern accent and she did fit the part perfectly. In a question and answer session following the reading Joseph explained that the play is still a work in progress. Some lines changed as he worked with the actors. Even in this early stage the play packs a punch and I felt deeply for each of the characters. I hope that when the play is presented on the stage for the first time I will be there to sketch.
Artists & Writers Crawl
The Artist & Writer Crawl I hosted made for a very fun evening. I met so many new artists and writers. After all the Crawlers saw “The Singing Menorah” we headed up to the Peacock Room at 1321 North Mills Avenue. I reloaded my water brush in the men’s room an then sat at the end of the bar so I could get a good view down it’s length. Karrie Brown and Tod Caviness are shown in the sketch diligently putting images and words to paper. Tisse Mallon followed the Crawl taking photos along the way. I would estimate that there were about 20 Crawlers all together. People came and went throughout the night. After a while it became impossible to distinguish the Crawlers from the regulars. A large group of people showed up, all of them coming from Bold Hype Gallery, where they saw the work of Andrew Spear. I spoke with someone named Nelson Martin who was trying to get the bartenders attention. It turns out he is a web designer and fine artist and we discussed art while I continued to sketch.
The walls of the bar were covered with paintings of women with really large eyes by Patrick Fatica. The work was highly polished, surreal and haunting. The paintings had long titles which would make you pause and wonder like “The angels have slipped through our landslide and filled up our garden with snow.” This painting has a large eyed woman holding a towel over her bare breasts standing in front of a mist filled white landscape.
I had a beer at each bar we went to and after this sketch I focused a bit more on socializing than sketching. At the end of the evening only 5 artists remained. As we stumbled across the street from the Funkey Monkey towards Wally’s we were almost all killed when a police car came screaming down Mills in the center turn lane at 90 miles an hour. It really was a close and sobering near miss. With our crossing attempt thwarted we had to run back to the sidewalk to avoid the new line of traffic approaching.
In Wally’s I ordered my last beer for the evening from the sullen bar maid and sipped it while watching a man and woman who were rubbing noses and making out. When they left the woman tripped on a bar stool and could bairley keep her eyes open. Tod didn’t like the music playing on the jut box so he got up and remedied the situation. It was 2AM when we all decided to call it a night.
7 Challenges Writers Workshop.
Phil Deaver and Lezlie Laws hosted a writers workshop at Rollins College. The focus for the day was to address the seven challenges that face writers. There is a different energy that is felt when you work in a room full of creative people. I feel it when I sketch.
Lezlie discussed reasons she has found to avoid writing. She pointed out that she had manifested hurricanes just to keep from sitting down and facing a blank page. What she usually does however is find busy work. She knows now that if she ends up straightening up in the garage, that she should be writing. She pointed out that when a writer is not writing, they are abandoning themselves.
Phil pointed out that he sits down to write even when he has nothing to write about. If writing were easy, then everyone would be doing it. He feels that the important thing is to turn on the spigot. The first sentences he writes are often useless but if he persists they will begin to work. Once the ideas begin to form, the writer can feel a wave of happiness. Phil said that a writer should try to work longer than they usually do, to write even when the ideas are not ready and fully formed. He pointed out that the struggle adds character to the final “sketch” or narrative. Writing is often like wandering into a dark cave without a flashlight. What you don’t know will come to you. The artist needs to be open, not digging or forcing ideas into existence.
A quote was offered and I paraphrase, I treat writing like a rehearsal, I attempt to try out everything. I reject nothing. Lezlie and Phil had the students do a word association game that forced their brain to remain in the left brain mode, allowing for free association and creative thought. From a random list of words generated by the students they then assembled a paragraph and the results were surprising and strikingly visual.
Phil said that authors need to stay at the work table, if they do then everything would come to bear. If the author keeps pushing , then inspiration would come. It comes only when the author is wrestling the muse. The writer has to write about conflict. The story must deal with tensions exploring a dynamic arc. Revelations only come out of that conflict. The author must set the trap then spring it. Many authors promote an illusion by writing around the conflict. Many people are artful dodgers. A writer should not be afraid of failure, a writer should be afraid of not doing anything.
Shut Up And Write!
Mad About Words organized this writing event called “Shut up and Write”. Mary Ann deStefano who runs Mad About Words usually hosts events where writers gather and talk about the process of writing. In some ways all this academic talk is just another form of procrastination. So Mary Ann organized this free event where writes gather and quietly write together. Besides this front room of Dandelion Communitea Cafe there were two other rooms in the back filled with writers at work. As I walked up to the cafe several writers even sat outside at the picnic tables and were tapping away on their laptops. Mary Ann said 22 people signed her sign in sheet but I am certain that many more authors came and went during the 3 hours of this writing event.
Since the room was so packed, I decided to lean against a wall in the doorway between rooms. I had to step aside each time a waitress would go by but it was worth it since this location offered me a great view of the entire front room. The interior of Dandelion is brightly colored and festive. The fellow in the foreground knew of my flickr page and I suspect he is also a blogger. A sign on the wall pointed out that the maximum occupancy is 49 people and this event made me think that maximum might be met.
Some authors left while others drifted in. A few were just here for dinner. A girl in the far corner leaned back in her chair after writing for an hour and exclaimed to her boyfriend “I have officially been productive today.” The two of then then chatted for a while before getting back to work. Patricia an author that teaches a write your life workshop that I sketched last week, came in and asked me if I wanted a tea. I had a butter cup iced tea that has an interesting creamy taste. I really liked it. To say this event was a success would be an understatement. The arts are very much alive in Orlando.
Writing Your Life
I met Patricia Charpentier at a Cajun concert. Her last name definitely has a Cajun ring and she had researched her family history for many generations back. As I sketched at that concert she was looking over my shoulder and after the concert we talked for a while. I found out she teaches a writing workshop so I asked if she would mind if I sketched one of the classes.
Several months later when I arrived at the Marks Street Senior Center, I met Patricia in the parking lot and she showed me the way to the classroom. The Senior Center is a beautiful warm pink stucco building in a Spanish Colonial style.
The classroom quickly filled up and everyone introduced themselves and told a brief story about a unique incident that had happened in their life. Morrie told a harrowing story about living in the depression and not having enough food. He found a pear tree in an alley and returned that night to secretly pick some pears. Morrie’s job was to keep watch while the other boys picked the pears. He realized he might not get any pears if he was just standing watch so he climbed up as well. Suddenly a huge burly man started yelling and all the boys ran for their lives. He got his pants leg caught on a fence post nail and hung upside down helpless. He kept quiet and thankfully that man never saw his legs above the fence. Later some rustling startled him again and it was the boys who came back to help get him down. Morrie has a small book published called “Sundays with Morrie”.
The class was organized much like a sketch class with quick short exercises to begin and then longer writing sessions build upon the ideas discovered in the short exercises. After each writing session people would volunteer to read what they had written. Some of the stories were truly heart wrenching and others filled with joy. It was a wonderful sketching experience and I felt blessed to be able to hear these life stories.
Mary Hill, a late arrival spoke with me after the class. She had treated herself to the workshop because it was her birthday. She explained that she was taking care of her ailing mother. She also talked about the the courses she had taken in California that covered the more mystical side of healing. Doctors in America tend to be pushing drugs as the solution to all problems. Mary feels that the simple act of touch can offer healing. She told me about an instructor who could sense her feelings just with a phone call. The mystical forms of heeling she talked about were outside my understanding but I was intrigued.
Brian Turner Poetry Workshop
At the Kerouac House Brian Turner hosted a Ekphrastic Poetry workshop. Ekphrastic poetry is poetry that is inspired by works of visual art. Brian first spoke about his humble background. He grew up in a family of middle class intellectuals. His father used to read a book to the family at the diner table, but the family never discussed what was read. Brian put himself through college as a machinist. Later like his father he felt the need to serve his country in the military. When he was deployed to Bosnia and then Iraq he wanted need to learn about the country’s culture and ways. As a soldier he had to be keenly aware of the environment and the pace of life in the villages and towns. If the pace of life changed something was wrong.
As an exercise Brian asked all the poets to walk through the house and pick and object to write a poem about. From all these separate poems he later compiled the group poem “Tonic”.
Tonic
A lone gin bottle sitting on the headboard
labors to inspire the numbing dreams
which-out of love, like musicians
with their instruments laid down-
might serve to keep me company.
The air has turned electric-conducting
all that is about to happen. Through windows
of blue and grey-the air smells of rotten cabbage,
pond scum, rancid sweet fermenting,
stewing, the dark soul of a marriage
overcome by the hive of bees in sheet rock,
layers of winged frenzy sweetened
only by the magnolia out back.
If there’s only one thing I have learned-
not from the wandering,
not from the traveling, and
not how Aristotle said it best-
it’s how I move, most impressively,
alone. No one stretches me.
It is true. A bottle of gin is only lonely
when it is empty.
This collaborative poem was written by: Susan Shannon Spraker, B.J. Hart, Naomi Butterfield, Julie Dunsworth, Mary Ann deStefano, J. Northlake, Lorie Parker Matejowsky, Mary Elizabeth McIlvane, Kenny S. Murry, Gene Moore, Bernadette Adams Davis, and Brian Turner.
Tess Adamski
I met Tess at a writers workshop being held at the Keouac house. Tess designed the tattoo on her back herself and I found out that her tattoo artist in Toronto was named Thor, which happens to be my nickname. The tattoo consists of the last paragraph from Jack’s novel, “On the Road.” On the wall were photos of Jack writing in this very room. The center photo was the photo she used as reference for her tattoo. The red and green color scheme was far to perfect, there had to be a greater force at work here. There was something surreal about the whole experience. Tess refereed to it as Kerouacendipity.
“Like most people I read On The Road at age 17…and Jack answered and validated a lot of internal questions and thoughts that had me in a teenage turmoil. Growing up in an idyllic childhood in a small town…I always wanted out, feeling I should be somewhere else-so unlike my friends and family and wondering what is wrong with me? Why do I feel so unhappy? Jack let me know I wasn’t crazy and it was alright to see myself on the road out of my hometown. That was the pivotal point in my life.
Then it was a sweet progression into his works and life. With a background in classic literature, I spent my time with London, Fitzgerald etc…then comes Kerouac…whose writing touched me so deeply on a personal level from the honest passion that he created with the same 26 letters offered to everyone. Yet he created such a unique voice…I developed a real familiarity that was very comforting…like finding the perfect lover without all the mortal complications.
The more I delved into his personal life, I found myself becoming very protective of TiJean, sympathizing with the bombardment of misunderstanding that plagued his life and legacy of work. And so now, I am at a point in my life where I can devote my time to constant study of
Kerouac…working on a book to promote a further understanding of his writing genius. His voice is still an important voice to be heard and like hearing a great piece of music…reading Kerouac
once, is not enough. I’ve always thought that Kerouac could give sight to a blind man…the true historian of mankind…no one has documented the minuteness of sights, sounds and feeling of man like Jack… and he makes everyone of those details so poetic and soulfully important that it makes you glad you’re alive and a part of it.
Jack once said…Life is my art. And now I ink myself with his art-his words…. an eternal
canvas of the purest poetry of life….and it’s kinda nice to know that Jack always has my back.”
-Tess Adamski
The Joy of Writing
While Philip Deaver disappeared upstairs for several hours, the authors all focused and wrote. I was pleased to see that five out of six were using pen and paper as the chosen method of writing. The only computer that was being used was in the far corner of this table and can not be seen in this sketch. Some authors consulted with Philip for one on one advice but for the most part everyone was strictly focused on the task at hand. One person commented that drawing authors writing must be like watching paint dry. I found the opposite to be true. I found it to be an absolute thrill to be in the room with so many creative people pushing toward a common goal. There was no mindless chatter just the sounds of pens on paper. Once in a while someone would get away from the table and stretch like a prize fighter and then go back for another round.
When Philip returned he asked people how they were feeling about their progress. The goal for the next meeting was to be half way, or have thirty pages written. He stressed that in the beginning when you are trying to figure everything out progress is slow but once the project is up to speed things move fast. His analogy was the space shuttle. Lift off seems agonizingly slow but once the rocket is in orbit it moves at an astonishing 17,000 miles an hour.
Since the workshop Jana has expressed an interest in collaborating on future stories so that could spur me to push myself in new and unexpected directions. She had a list of interviews lined up that astounds and inspires. It was only 4 days ago that I wrote in a post that I need to get out and meet people and listen to their stories. Life has a way of amazing me. One quote from Phil really sticks with me “The end is not the goal, the journey is the goal.”
Mad About Words
Mary Ann de Stefano invited me to sketch at a novel writing workshop being run by Philip Deaver. The workshops meet monthly on Sunday afternoons for six months. Philip offers encouragement and insights then lets the authors work for several solid hours. I arrived a bit early. Mary Ann and I finally had a few minutes to sit down and talk face to face for the first time. She has followed this blog for a while. She saw a drawing I did of Darlyn, a past resident author of the Kerouac House. On a coffee mug in that sketch, I had drawn, Mad About Words. As it turns out Mary Ann is the founder of that organization and that tiny sketch of a mug has brought us together.
It had not rained in Central Florida for months. As people started to arrive it started to pour outside. A quiet knock sounded at the sliding glass back doors and there was Jana Waring in her wheelchair soaking wet. Mary Ann rushed to let her in and before Jana even had a chance to dry off she was introducing us. Jana brushed a wet strand of hair away from her face and we shook hands. She apologized that her hands were still wet. Mary Ann had already been bragging about Jana’s web site which consists of in-depth interviews with everyday Orlando citizens. Jana told me about how one interview with Jaqueline Siegel had caused a bit of a firestorm because Jaqueline is married to billionaire David Seigal and she was complaining about having to cut back to 5 nannies. I was fascinated, perhaps a bit envious, that this soft spoken young woman had gotten such an amazing story. When she said that her site had “taken on a life of its own” I knew that I had run across a kindred spirit. I sometimes explain to friends who ask, that my blog has taken on its own life and I am just trying to keep up. So within minutes of meeting Jana, I was on my knees showing her a sketchbook and suggesting that a collaboration might be an interesting prospect. I don’t know if I sold her, but I was sold with the first wet hand shake, and when I started to read her work online.