Dropping the Curtain on a Tiny Universe

Photo by Brian Geltner

How does one sum up months of rehearsal and ten successful, almost entirely sold out performances of an original, musical puppet play, based on the writings of Federico Garcia Lorca? Magic. In this world, thirteen cast members, three pit musicians, a composer, director/creator, assistant director, lighting, costumes, sound, friends, and unseen helpers brought to life puppets who in this story even brought themselves to life.

I do not speak Spanish. Neither did many of our audience members. Regardless of some not very subtle shadow puppetry and at least half of the performance in English, the purely Spanish moments read so clearly. Unmistakably familiar emotions translated across the audience and cast as Lorca, Rima Fand, and Erin Orr weaved their webs of comedy and incredibly human grief, as felt by the puppet Don Cristóbal.

When a new friend discovers the truth of my new adventures in puppetry, he inevitably wants more information. How? With whom? When? Where? I have yet to hear the missing question. Somehow whether young or old, everyone seems to relate to well-acted puppets telling a meaningful tale. Within the span of less than two hours, our audience connected to the point of caring about the heart of a wooden puppet. Each night as the puppet maker replaced Don Cristobal’s heart, I listened to hear their reaction. Sad sighs of empathy and occasional laughter as Don Woodsman, the puppet maker, held the broken heart of a puppet in his hands.

In those moments, I knew we had done our jobs as actors, transforming a small theater on Suffolk Street into a world in which strangers might empathize with the emotions of a self-aware puppet who had impossibly fallen in love and, as a result, felt “terrible.” I listen to the music still, even now on my ipod as I ride the subway. Familiar melodies and a beautifully touching story refuse to dissipate from the forefront of my memory, persisting in a way for which I give thanks.

After the close of such a captivating show with such a talented team of artists, and even tonight at the start of Orfeo at the Metropolitan Opera, knowing we have only four performances remaining, I feel akin to Don Cristóbal. Somewhat heartbroken, everything hurts sometimes when such magical universes come to a close for performers. “¡Ay! What a hard time I have loving you as I love you…”

Yet the next gig arrives already before the first ends, and I move on to another audience and another inspiring work of art. Don Cristóbal will hopefully one day return to the stage, and I already have the fortune of working with composer Rima Fand for Tableau Vivant this month. I will rejoice if I again work with Erin Orr and everyone on the insanely gifted cast and crew someday. In the meantime, visions of the moon, the midnight hours, the Rio Guadalquivir, and a brilliant production will have to suffice.

Photo by Brian Geltner

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• Video: Orfeo ed Euridice – Joyce DiDonato Interviews Mark Morris (youtube.com)
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Answers for the Patient Anonymous ~ 168

Ms. Wright,
Just a repost question from November 29th. If you don’t want to respond, it’s ok, but I thought since you were working on a new post about the Tableau Vivant you may want to combine the issues. I am sorry to hear about your feelings, though I think getting out of the house, showering and doing something (anything, reallly) is quite helpful. Kudos to you for doing so, for blogging about it and for holding yourself responsible to keep up your promise to yourself. It ain’t easy but you only get one life and you, for better or worse, get to run a business around your life. Being a solo practitioner is a hard and stressful task and you should give yourself credit for doing it.

And kudos to you for owning the Tableau Vivant and being so open about it. I suspect that one reason you get so many hits on this issue is that only your blog (apart from Ms. Smalls blog) comes up in Google if you search for it. You are the only artist to publicly identify yourself as one of the artists in the performance (at least by Google search standards). Not fully understanding the purpose or intent of the Tableau Vivant performance, I’m not sure why this is, or what it means or says, but others have apparently not embraced their performance in the same way that you have. As a result, you get the Google hits for having so publicly embraced your performance.

I read your blog a while back after the Dumbo Arts Festival and commented on your being a part of the Tableau Vivant show. You were kind enough to respond in the comments. For background, we stumbled on the performance when we went to the bookstore and was told a performance was about to start, so we stayed.

First, more power to you for posting the video where all your friends could see you. It is one thing to perform naked in public and have it disappear, or to have it appear generally on the Internet, but another to directly link it to yourself for the world (and your friends, family and future significant others) to find and see it. Perhaps this is part of your liberation and “skydiving” experience.

Second, and more importantly, can you please explain what the performance meant? we watched the original performance, and the video, and remain confused. I’ve also read Ms. Small’s site, but I still don’t get it. Since it was apparently such a significant experience for you, I’m also curious what you got out of it (beyond the freeing experience of being naked on a stage).

By that I mean I don’t understand the message or meaning other than the nudity and singing (beautiful by the way). Perhaps I’m not that understanding of modern art or concept pieces (I once saw a “play” in the East Village, I think by Mac Wellman, and had similar difficulty). Yes, it is rather interesting to see naked people, and the different bodies, sizes and types, and to watch them sort of interact or move about, and to have it done to music, but to what effect? How was the performance described to you when you auditioned and during rehearsals? What was Ms. Small telling or describing when she wanted the actors/actresses to move? Were the movements choreographed in a particular way for a particular reason? This was why I had googled Tableau Vivant after the show and found your blog.

Thanks for listening and I look forward to your response (but rest and have fun–no need for an immediate response, or any if you prefer). ~Anonymous

 

Original Photo by Andy Stromberg

This past week, I have once more had the honor of participating in Sarah Small’s Tableau Vivant, singing in my church choir, rehearsing for an upcoming Valentine’s Day concert at the Cornelia Street Café, and recording Lorca-inspired music for the talented composer Rima Fand, among other fantastic activities. I’ve worked with incredible friends, colleagues, musicians, actors, videographers, makeup artists, models, directors, composers, and seemingly average folks living quite extraordinary lives. For those who believe that the artistic community gives or collaborates too little or has reached a point of stagnation, even in the winter, my little life in New York and I beg to differ.

While speaking on the phone with Sarah Small tonight for more than an hour after my recording session with Rima, I felt overcome by gratefulness for the small role I have to play in her world and art. In a brief moment, I understood how her work exists as a microcosm for life itself, in all of the common but sometimes unexpected pieces of ourselves and our relationships with one another that we so often hide from the public world. In the next few days and posts here on Skydiving for Pearls, I hope to take you on a journey inside my understanding of one woman’s Tableau Vivant.

For my patient anonymous reader, thank you for your persistence in questioning our motives and inspirations. You’ve truly helped me to “flesh out” the meaning in a piece that has instinctively meant so much to me and opened up my heart to a new confidence and vulnerability. I hope these next few days will shed some light for you on a performance that has illumined my life in so many ways.

Wolfy’s is a Journey Worth Taking ~ 150

 

Wolfy's Journey, by Leat Klingman

For anyone who has ever contemplated a journey of self-discovery, missed a soulmate or friend, indulged in too much of a good thing, hidden himself away in solitude, or faced a frightening task, the path of a small wolf puppet feels like home. Last Sunday night at the Moviehouse in Brooklyn, 3rd Ward‘s home for film and video screenings, an overflowing crowd gathered despite the cold to catch a first glimpse at Leat Klingman‘s Wolfy’s Journey, a puppet feature film over a year in the making. Foraging the building for extra chairs with many settling for the cold cement floor barely in front of the movie screen, we all settled in for fifty-five minutes of magic, laughter, and inspiration.

The star of Wolfy’s Journey began simply in 2007 as a wolf who wanted to eat the world in a few short films. including A Wolf I Say, although definitely not without effort. Leat Klingman explained in her question and answer session following the film that while she would prefer to take more even more time, the process of creating and detailing just one of her puppets takes about three months. As a visual artist, her attention to detail and extreme talent shine through all of the seven incredibly unique characters (eight, taking into consideration a two-headed dragon comprised of Cheri #1 and Cheri #2).

Also simply, his tale begins as Wolfy contemplates his destiny and role in the world as a wolf, wandering alone in the forest at night. Along the way, he encounters Ella Bella, a gorgeous Italian bird who sings and tells him tales of an enchanted tree in her magical forest. Lisa Van Wambeck puppeteers this fuchsia-feathered and cleverly-clawed creature convincingly and with the grace befitting her character. Skillfully operating the characters of Master Gugu Nunu and Alone as well, Lisa has her hands in much of the success of this production. Rima Fand, who voices Ella Bella, speaks and sings lyrically and with a lilting and authentic Italian accent. While her delightful voice sounds only through Ella Bella, Rima’s music as composer along with Leat Klingman enthralls the audience throughout Wolfy’s Journey, creatively using strings and piano alongside unusual instrumentation such as the accordion in the background music and in the charming and well-paced songs sprinkled throughout the film.

Following Ella Bella’s scene, Wolfy runs into Aitch, his best friend who disappeared and has now returned. Erin Orr, puppeteer and vocal artist of Aitch, gives Wolfy’s companion a consistently sweet and lovable demeanor whose high point arrives later during a hilariously clever song about berries. Eventually agreeing to combine adventures, they get into some trouble and visit a spectacular and original puppet named Master Gugu Nunu. Without giving away too much of the story, I definitely would purchase the DVD if only to see and hear the sparkling-gloved duo of Lisa Van Wambeck and Brendan McMahon. Brendan’s prowess as a voice actor shines through the Master’s commanding and dynamic demeanor as he places a spell on Wolfy that one must experience firsthand.

Rising out of a foggy lake, the two-handed, sequined dragon puppet of Cheri Cheri greets Wolfy and Aitch on their next stop in the land. Having sung, recorded the voice-overs, and puppeteered for Cheri #2, the silver diva of the two French-accented pair, I couldn’t watch this scene from an unbiased perspective in any way. I did however smile giddily at the presentation of it all, happily remembering Kim Berman’s efforts as the puppeteer for Cheri #1, sweating under the set with me for several hours this past summer. Logan Hegg, the voice for Cheri #2, and I also had a great time in both our recording sessions for the song and the dialogue, and I hope our mirthful rapport in reality read through our dragon selves.

Entering into a much starker setting, our two wolf friends Aitch and Wolfy finally come upon the final focus of their journey: to assist an artist who has stopped creating and sharing his art. Due to his melancholy state, all color has left his cave and the surrounding land. This black and white realm results in profound explorations of the meaning and purpose of art and companionship through the introduction of the artist appropriately named Alone. Whimsical and beautiful in his solitary state, this furry puppet brought to life again by Lisa Van Wambeck and the dynamic voice of Lake Simons (the skillful puppeteer of Wolfy throughout the film) has a huge emotional range from despondent to ecstatic, which this team executes impressively well.

Watching portions of the process of creating such a seamless and endearing product, I have to applaud Leat Klingman and Shachar Langlev (Director of Photography) first and foremost for their vision and commitment to Wolfy’s Journey. I can only speculate how many hours Leat especially dedicated to her first of hopefully many feature films, and the devotion of all of the cast and crew who tirelessly donated their time and talents reads in every second of this heartwarming tale. How happily I watched it all come together as a moving story of themes so familiar to my heart as an adult and yet so incredibly accessible and alluring for an audience of children. Thank you, Leat, for allowing me to take a small part in a truly beautiful voyage in creating your film. I can’t wait to see where you and Wolfy journey next.

To reserve your copy of Wolfy’s Journey, visit the film’s website.

If you have a way to help distribute or promote the future of this film, please contact the production team at wolfy@wolfysjourney.com or visit Wolfy on Facebook.

The Inestimable Value of Vulnerability (A Tableau Vivant), Day 128

The Powerhouse Arena fills with people, their chatter and curious glances, and a subtle scent of wine and excitement amidst the still few but consistent camera flashes. On Saturday at the DUMBO Arts Festival, I make my final dash to the restroom in my green satin robe, take one last gulp of water, and join the line of clothed and nude models waiting to take our places. Leah, Morgan, and I excitedly wish each other luck, and as we descend the wide cement stairs to our places and static poses, I feel equally vulnerable without my water bottle as without my robe. Listening to Kamala Sankaran sing “Caro Nome,” I feel the defiant but calm confidence that comes from a performance that teeters on an edge with other talented and committed actors. My hands behind my head, resting on the column behind me with a frozen but intentional look of shock across my face with bit lip, I know Christina wraps elegantly around the column behind me, Liliana stretches her tattooed body back to a casual but beautifully dressed and supportive Donna, Des and Dragonfly kiss, Dashiell stands looking dapper in an early century suit, and CJ Boyd keeps me company to my right, as the only other disrobed musician, clothed only by his upright bass.

Kamala ends “Caro Nome” stunningly mid-aria after sensing the arrival of all of the other players and for a few minutes, we hold our charged but quiet poses to the din of flashes and growing whispers. Six plucked notes on the cello signal the singing of a Bulgarian folk quartet by members of Black Sea Hotel dressed in traditional wool attire, adorned with flowers in their hair. Half of their song about awaiting death and love ends as every model continues to carry the key to a single drowned pitch. The first pulsating and repetitive melody begins, one cycle of keys completes. The cello enters, another cycle finishes. My turn. Each group of models enters on their soli lines to add a layer to the now undulating round and at the height of our crescendo, our inspiration stands and enters the tableau to interact with hers.

Photographer and creator of this Tableau Vivant, Sarah Small ascends each cement stair and signals to various groups and individuals to activate their poses and more fully interact. Christina and I embrace and separate in a repetitive motion that somehow enhances our already connected singing until Sarah comes around once more to return us to our (connected) solitude and decrescendo the action and vocal dynamic.

As Sarah takes her position amidst us to sing her solo within the Bulgarian folk tune, I thank God that I remain as one of the few voices to support her in the background. I enjoy few things in life as much as supporting, literally and figuratively, an artist as talented and a human being as sensitive and creatively giving as she. Despite a week-long cold and directing rehearsal alongside Adam J. Thompson since 8:30 that morning, Sarah Small sings fully and with a clear, beautiful tone above the drone and few softer solo voices. As she fades away, the drone diminishes to nothing throughout the final section of the Bulgarian folk quartet who hauntingly and skillfully end the piece with the word “umre,” meaning death.

“Umre” resonates through the spacious arena as each model intones the word for death and passes it along to a neighbor while finding an audience member upon whom to rest his or her gaze. I sing the final “umre,” and we all relax our positions, standing straight toward the audience, with whom we interact for the first time as a group. For a heart-pounding minute and a half, we remain in silence this way as the noise-level amongst the non-performers in the room begins to rise. Unable to decide if waiting longer would make me more or less nervous, I end the standstill. “Vois sous l’archet frémissant…” I perform Massenet‘s passionate plea to the poet from Les Contes d’Hoffmann, and the models and other singers begin to exit the stairs.

With the refrain and a final return of the chorus remaining as I stand alone on the top step, vulnerable, unclothed, and with only a bass player to my right and the cellist and violist (diversely talented and skilled music director Rima Fand) far to the left, everything stops in a moment of surreal suspension. In the span of one short second, I see a friend or two and strangers packed into the large space from each wall all the way to the door, watching, snapping photos, taking videos, and ordering wine. I remember the long rehearsal day of singing and interacting with incredible and emotionally available people, from the models to the musicians, to the makeup artist who donated her time and cosmetics in part to “glam me up” with big hair, hot pink lipstick, and pretty little flowers in my hair.

Considering the lyrics, I share a deeply held belief of mine with the audience of strangers and friends, that music and love do heal and console all of us. For one brief moment, I allow all of them to see all of me, as I share my voice in a way I have never done and transcend a lifetime of countless barriers in performance. This, and the interactions shared in time spent with the creative team and models, makes every second of preparation and performance worth my time, talent, energy, and heart.

When I receive the video of Saturday evening’s Tableau Vivant of the Delirium Constructions: Part II, I will post the link here as well. Having learned so much about vulnerability and nudity, I have at least one more post to contribute on the subject from this experience. In the meantime, I can only say thank you. My most loving thanks to my dear friends Rima Fand, Charlene Jaszewski, John Rose, and Leat Klingman for your sincere and supportive presence on Saturday. Sarah, you inspire me to no end. Adam, thank you for your clear direction and kind friendship. I hope to work with both of you again soon and often. To all of the other performers, I feel so blessed to have met you and your beautiful spirits. May we all embrace the giving and vulnerable energy we shared on Saturday throughout our lives together and apart. Until our next meeting, all my love and gratefulness…

Stylist Melanie Randolph's Concept Rendering of Tableau Vivant

Winds of Fate and Puppetry, Day 107

As Leat Klingman and I sit in Brooklyn at The Hook recording studio listening to the final touches of one of the songs in her upcoming puppet film, I stand again in amazement at her specific vision and talent as a visionary. She devotes an almost overwhelming amount of her energy, time, and finances to furthering her art. In truth, I admire her so much that I feel compelled to stay and watch like some silly groupie, hours after finishing my portion in one unusually successful take.

Admittedly, some small part of this impulse could stem from pure vanity, as I shockingly listen to how great I sound singing in a musical theater-like style. Fantastic encouragement as I continue diversifying my performance skills!  As a further reinforcement of said goal, our remarkably talented songwriter, pianist, violinist, and accordionist Rima Fand offered me a position as actor, singer, and puppeteer in next spring’s production of Don Cristóbal.  Overall, I welcome the chance to meet and work with more creatively artistic people associated with such talented women.

Moving to New York to sing at the Metropolitan Opera almost three short years ago, I never foresaw myself finding and embracing so many off-the-beaten-path opportunities and working in so many different arenas with such great people.  I think I might have sadly mourned the idea of not having a full time position by the start of my fourth season, had I thought about it then.  Now, although I would still love to have such a coveted job as a full time chorus member at the Met, I can’t help but enjoy my life’s unexpected direction and its occasionally whimsical work.  Who could complain about such favorable winds of fate?  Not me.