Mural Mania a Hoot!

Mural Mania, my new comedy, performed at the Edmonds Mural Society's First Annual Unveiling Gala, was a huuuuge success!  The wacky performances of New Classics favorite Lars Enden, alums Robin Strahan and Eileen McCann, and the New Classics debut of Catherine Bailey all hit the audiences' funny bone on target!  The idea of three hapless muralists at each other throats as a Mural Society board member tries to marshal them into collaborating on the raising of a mural went down as a hoot that night!

And most importantly, it put everyone in a festive mood as the real work of the evening began.  The raising of all that cash that shall raise our murals this summer.  I'm still waiting to hear the final numbers, but it appears that we raised all the cash we hoped to!


(Be gentle with me, though, if some unforeseen cost comes up...)

Regardless, we did well!  Very well!  And thank you, all of you for making this happen!  In particular, let us heap laurels on these following hardy souls of the Edmonds Mural Society Board (and, when you run into them next, be sure to bestow their cheeks with wet and gooey kisses!)...

• Tricia Thompson - media extraordinaire and tirelss work horse
• Shawn O'Connor - Tricia's sis and equally indefatigable worker
• Rebecca Anjewierden - board secretary and tracker down of glittering auction packages
• Pat Brier - muralist liaison and creator of one of the five murals being raised this summer

They have - we have - all done very, very well!  Go Edmonds!  Go Edmonds Mural Society!

Jeff

newclassicstheatre.org

Meeting the Audience

Let's face it: the arts can be brutal.  Uplifting, meaningful, inspiring even; yes, the arts can be all of those things.  The arts can also be brutal.

Recently I sat through one of the worst performed plays I've ever seen.  By this judgment - and I want to be fair, here - I mean the following, specifically:

• the actors didn't know their lines (most were reading straight out of the script, believe it or not)
• they didn't know their blocking; didn't know their entrances and exits
• as a result, there was precious little characterization of any poignancy and, therefore,
• relationships between the characters (which make up the heart of any entertaining performance) were almost entirely non-existent

In short, it was a lot of well-meant, if quite hapless, flailing around up there.  What was the problem?  In a sentence: the play was badly under-rehearsed.  It should never have gone to curtain in that state.  Now, perhaps we might fault the cast for not trying harder.  However, in fact, it is squarely, and almost solely, the director's fault.  (I know - that sucks, but it's part of the onus of being the director.) 

On the other hand, one might argue that I am, unfairly, taking this way too seriously.  That, after all, it's only community theatre (which it was).  Or, in a similar vein, that the audience got what it paid for (the ticket price was, I admit, absurdly low).  Of course, that argument always overlooks the obvious: community theatre or not, modern audiences pay the ticket price  + performance time + commute time.

There's a rule in theatre: Audiences take their time very seriously; dramatists who fail to, soon quit.  For example, I know from experience that you can get away with such poorly rehearsed theatre for about ten to twenty minutes, tops.  Most audiences will forgive just about anything up to that time limit.  After that, however, is a different story as the audience will, first, grow restless, then bored, then resentful.  Yep, stretch that period to half an hour, an hour, an hour and a half, two hours or (as was the case here), well over two hours and now you have an audience that is fairly growling, "Can we just get this f*king thing over with, already?"  In the case of this show, by the time I ducked out early, 1/3 the house had already left.  Clearly, they had better uses for their time.  Then, too, right before I left, I could hear the mutter on all sides: "Is this show ever going to end?"

So, yes, in the dramatic arts, it's important to meet the audience's expectations.  (Fail to, and they will let you know real fast.  Particularly American audiences.)  Therefore, meet their expectations or quit.  Those are the rules.  I know that sounds brutal.  Maybe it is.  But those are still the rules.  If you don't want to play by them?   It's simple: do something else.

But you know what?  The visual arts are ruled similarly (if less dramatically).   Fail to meet the audience's (or collectors') expectations and your fine art or fine craft will collect dust on that gallery shelf until the gallery owner moves you out, replacing your work with another's that moves enough to help him pay his rent.  Same rules: meet their expectations or quit.

Perhaps this awareness is why I am so amused these days at squabbling by, say, two self-appointed cognescenti over whether, say, a painting is great art.  I could care less.  What I want to know is whether that painting will meet a collector's expectations.

And, after that?  Well, let's just say that after a decade or two of meeting audiences' or collectors' expectations, we'll know who the artists are and who chose some other field.

Jeff

Holy Smoke! (Teacup Tipsy's review)

Jeff Stilwell as Man In The Box.  Courtesy Wendy Enden.

So that's why I've been bonkers the last few days.  Complete creative exhaustion.  Alarmingly incoherent babblings and rantings on Tuesday, the day after we closed.  After several glasses of wine, and Manya's soothing caresses; finally, tortured sleep.  The following day?  Press repeat, if to a less pronounced degree.  And so on.

Why the hell do we do this to ourselves as artists?

Can we do otherwise?  Well, I suppose.  Of course, on that day, a crucial part of us withers and dies.

(Then, too, this subject always brings to mind the painful memories of how many times I've been discarded as manic/depressive.  The odd thing is that the diagnosis typically comes from someone who works a routine 9 - 5 office job; needless to say, someone who has a hard time imagining artistic risk.)

Then, again, from time to time it proves worth it.  I have two things to offer up this morning.  The first is a slideshow of photos from the play in case you missed it.  You'll find the slideshow on the right.  (If you'd like to see larger sizes, simply click on the image.)   The photos ("candids" we call 'em, in the biz) are fairly the prettiest I've seen in some time for a play.  They were taken by a very talented photographer just on the horizon:  Wendy Enden (www.laughingtabbyphotography.com).  Enjoy!

Then, too, Teacup merited a review!  No small thing, given its sole weekend of performances (ordinarily The Enterprise Newspapers will spend its valuable column inches on a show running longer).  It has to be one of the most congratulatory reviews I've ever received; not least because the reviewer, Dale Burrows is not afraid to chastise me when he feels I stopped short of my potential.  Phrases like "that wows,"  "imaginative comedy and thoughtful fable," "blew away those of us," "ground-breaking in ways more than one" characterize the review.  I cheerfully admit that I bawled like a baby when I saw it.

Maybe the pain is worth it, after all?

Jeff

What Price Art? (Bloody Noses)

Goodness, where has the time gone?

Well, I suppose that's what happens when you are mounting a new play.  The final weeks pass by in a flurry of activity.  Barely a moment to catch one's breath.

This one, my heart-warming new fable, Teacup Tipsy, is no exception.  It began quietly enough.  As usual, a couple of designers had to drop out and be replaced.  Barely a ruffle there.  But, then, an actor dropped out when he abruptly lost his car and couldn't make it to rehearsals anymore.  So, he, too, had to be replaced, on the fly.  (That was a bit knuckle-gnawing.)

Nevertheless, after all that, we had managed to settle down into the routine of mounting a show.  Good, solid, work-a-day routine.  Over time, though, we noticed that our actor playing Man In The Box couldn't get his lines down.  Now, I should mention that this is the largest part I've ever written for any actor, anywhere.  It's huge.  It rivals Hamlet in size.  And scope.  Here's a sample...
Sweet-scented olive grove on hillside stood
In gentle climes of sun-strewn hues and balms
Where one may stroll, and sit, and olive chew
And spit the tangy pit to new grove grow
And garland said hillside’s dew with olives new.


I've often awakened in the middle of the night wondering if the part isn't simply too large.  Nevertheless, Greg, the actor I cast, had a great deal of heart and considerable focus.  I believed that he would make it.  The weeks in rehearsal coasted by until we approached that point in the rehearsal process that most actors dread: Off-book day.  That day that you may no longer use the script.  It's all in your head at that point or you're screwed.

Of course, most actors also understand that the real acting begins when you're off-book and not before.  So, while it's a painful transition, it's a necessary one in any production worth mounting.

Anyhoo, as we got closer to that day, Greg and I realized that for a number of reasons, he simply wouldn't be able to get there.  All the heart in the world wasn't going to make a damn bit of difference, either.  What to do?

Well [swallow hard], we'd have to replace him.  Which we did.  (He's currently pursuing Improv acting in Olympia; I'm giving him lots of advice and support as he establishes himself in that demanding field.)

So, now, here we are, the clock is ticking, and we need a new actor who can master an elephant-sized part in just forty-eight hours.  To whom did we turn?  You guessed it.  It took me every minute of those two days, costing three bloody noses from the sheer stress of it all (believe it or not).  I hope never to undergo such an experience again.  Whew!  Of course, after the elephant was, finally, swallowed, I didn't have to do it again.  But, still.

Of course, the story doesn't end there.  I knew that having taken on a role, I could no longer direct; it would hurt the show.  So, Manya stepped in.  She established authority in minutes (no easy thing on the stage) with her characteristically light touch and has led the cast through the polishing phase since.  Tonight is our cue-to-cue tech rehearsal, when the cast and the technical crew are put together for the first time, everyone wondering if this team of oxen will pull in the same direction.

(I can hear it right now. Steve G. is thinking to himself: That puts Manya in the driver's seat with a whip in her hand.  Hmmmm....)

Steve!

Thinking of all of this, I can't help but ponder the price of art and what we are willing to sacrifice in order to create beauty and meaning.

Wish us a broken leg!  Driftwood is fronting the cash on this one, so it plays by their rules.  One weekend only - this weekend, in fact - in a special engagement.  This Saturday (2 pm) and Sunday and Monday (7:30 pm).  Tickets ($10) to be had at 425.774.9600.

Manya Vee Selects, of course, is having its usual wine soiree, this time on Sunday night, at the gallery, immediately following the performance.

See you then!

Jeff

Choreography too?

Many of you know me as a jewelry designer and gallery owner.  Well, in the immortal words of MVS artist Pat Brier, "Sometimes one form of creativity leads to another."  So yes.  You can now add choreographer to the list as well!

In Jeff's latest play, Teacup Tipsy (opening April 17 at Driftwood Players in Edmonds), there is a dance sequence in which our heroine, Lyla, dances her sorrow.  (Yes, this IS a comedy I assure you.)  Never one to shy from something new, I leapt at the chance to try my hand at it.  After all, I had studied dance for many years as a youngster, and for a few years in college as well.  And you all know that was just a few years ago, right?

But how to capture a mood, her emotions, in movement?  That was my challenge.  I spent quite a few hours boning up on my familiarity with dance steps, listening to the music to which Lyla dances, and dreaming about which movements would work best.  I tried series after series, and didn't like any of them.

So I let it sit for a day or two and tried not to think about it (which was sort of hard, given the number of times I had listened to the tune, and it was now refusing to leave my brain).  Finally, after picking it up again, I worked on it for several more hours when it all came together!  Lovely, graceful movements that reflect Lyla's mood and her chosen song.

But now comes the hard part.  I actually have to SHOW it to the director and the actor playing the role of Lyla.  Yikes!  What if they don't like it?  What if they think it's silly?  I've had many years to get used to the idea of putting my jewelry out for others to see.  Doesn't faze me at all anymore.  I know some people are going to like and others not, and I don't really care.  But this?  This is an entirely different animal.  An entirely new art form.  So, breathing through my anxiety, and forgetting the next move only once, I showed them.

You can imagine my great relief when I saw smiles of appreciation on their faces as they watched.  Wow, they actually liked it!  Whew!  I just passed my first test as a choreographer!  And Catherine, our Lyla, captures it beautifully.  How fun to watch someone else work with what I imagined!  An amazing feeling to be sure.

Manya

What's Next?

Yes, let the work begin!  (Or is that: Let the work continue?)

From a wee gallery featuring Manya's jewelry designs, to an Art Walk that grew to be one of the largest in the state, to the newly celebrated Mural Society, to my latest, most artistically ambitious play: Teacup Tipsy (my fourteenth produced!).  That's an awful lot in just ten years.

What's next?  If anyone had told me a decade ago that our lives would be so full, I would have dismissed him as a crank.  For, I know that when you look at Manya today, you see the sober, responsible, arts leader.  Nevertheless, I can safely assure you that the Manya we all know today bears little resemblance to the girl I met in Asia twenty years ago.  Indeed, that winsome lass was equal parts reckless hellion and effervescent party girl.  Hardly the type we would expect to sprightly jump through all those logistical hoops, smilingly endure the seemingly endless committee meetings, patiently harmonize all those clashing tempers, or tirelessly rally the troops to the cause again and again and again; in short, all the ingredients needed to found, say, an Art Walk of acclaim.

Still, we did that.  We do that.  How?  Why?  I know that part of the answer is the public service bone that I inherited from my mother.  Yet, sometimes I have to scratch my head and wonder.  There's no luster in it.  And there certainly isn't any lucre.  And, yes, there are those moments in the hard times, during the darkest hours of the night when I wake thinking, "I can't go on."  

More fundamentally, though, I know why we do it: You.  That's why we do it.  That's why we keep working hard to help build this art scene in Edmonds.  Some things we do for you, that's true.  But I always love it most when we get to do them with you.  Nothing gives me greater pleasure than a delightful conversation at the gallery about some aspect of the growing, fertile arts scene with someone who truly cares.

Let this blog serve as a new clearinghouse for shared ideas.  Let it become a beacon of inspiration on those dark nights.  Let it become a central focusing point as we all move forward mounting those five murals next summer, celebrating the Art Walk's ninth year, and watching the summer exhibitions top fifty artists on that evening each month.

And whatever comes next, we'll do it together.

--Jeff