Spetses wall hanging
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Epidarus
We venture now to Epidarus for the National Theatre of Greece's production of Aristophanes- (pronounced Ar- ist- o- phan- es) The Frogs. The director for our final performance is in the company. Epidarus- an ancient fourteen thousand seat house- packed. When's the last time you saw that for a piece of theatre?
In it, Dionysius travels to the Underworld to bring back the greatest tragic playwright. Will it be Aeschylus or Euripides? The two playwrights fight it out using examples from their writing.
In this version- the plays seem totally and completely mutable- true directors theatre- it was done as a sporting event- complete with astroturf covered stage and bullpens they retreated to, covered in sponsors stickers like a Nascar racer. The shapeshifting chorus was the most interesting for me- great mask work- some huge, some on the back of heads- otherworldly- and some delightfully simple; a hoody with eyes.
The Prince
Yes and No
(To be read in the style of the late George Carlin)
The rules of art are written by the beholder.
Not the artist.
The artist offers the big bountiful Yes and it sounds like everything;
An orgasm and a death rattle.
A fart and a cri du coeur.
Yes is a question. And a call to arms.
No is an amputation and a gelding.
No is nothing. A cul de sac in a tract development.
No severs the artery, bites the tongue, kills the party, aborts the fetus, scrapes the pallet, bombs the hospital of Yes.
Yes bounces.
No sinks. Forever.
Yes shines like the eyes of the eager.
No spray paints the monument.
No is a sledge hammer.
Yes is a fulcrum, the arrow and the bow.
No steals.
Yes borrows.
No leers while Yes smiles,
No says no to Yes.
Yes says yes to No.
Yes listens and No is deaf and dumb and never dreams.
Yes dreams all the time.
Yes takes the car out for a drive.
No has a head-on with a stranger.
No runs out of gas and Yes survives on fumes.
No gives bad directions.
Yes gets lost and doesn't care.
Yes shoots and scores,
No sits on the bench.
Yes swallows.
No vomits.
Yes vomits too sometimes.
Yes has more fun than No.
Unless Yes needs a little No.
No is necessary, No is essential.
Yes is optional. Yes is Yesserific!
No is a dictator.
Yes is a prince.
(To be read in the style of the late George Carlin)
The rules of art are written by the beholder.
Not the artist.
The artist offers the big bountiful Yes and it sounds like everything;
An orgasm and a death rattle.
A fart and a cri du coeur.
Yes is a question. And a call to arms.
No is an amputation and a gelding.
No is nothing. A cul de sac in a tract development.
No severs the artery, bites the tongue, kills the party, aborts the fetus, scrapes the pallet, bombs the hospital of Yes.
Yes bounces.
No sinks. Forever.
Yes shines like the eyes of the eager.
No spray paints the monument.
No is a sledge hammer.
Yes is a fulcrum, the arrow and the bow.
No steals.
Yes borrows.
No leers while Yes smiles,
No says no to Yes.
Yes says yes to No.
Yes listens and No is deaf and dumb and never dreams.
Yes dreams all the time.
Yes takes the car out for a drive.
No has a head-on with a stranger.
No runs out of gas and Yes survives on fumes.
No gives bad directions.
Yes gets lost and doesn't care.
Yes shoots and scores,
No sits on the bench.
Yes swallows.
No vomits.
Yes vomits too sometimes.
Yes has more fun than No.
Unless Yes needs a little No.
No is necessary, No is essential.
Yes is optional. Yes is Yesserific!
No is a dictator.
Yes is a prince.
Getting Cast
After the claustrophobia... Comes the prize. "Getting cast" takes on a whole new meaning as Sally Tonge, mask maker for Theodorus Terzopolous and major contributor to the Opening ceremonies of the 2004 Olympics makes a mold of my head.
After 45 minutes in darkness and silence and then being pried from your warm, wet, white cocoon to confront your image in negative is a true transformative experience.
I then sculpted a tragedians mask over the custom form. In honor of the 2 year old boy who is the son of one of our workshop participants, I named him Prince Davon of Hydra. Last night little Davon performed a complete menagerie of creatures for everybody under my direction. After each impression he'd run back to me and say "More."
At that age life is so simple. There is "Yes", "No" and "More". There is no room for "Maybe".
I'm finding that at my age too, "Maybe" is pretty useless.
That evening as the sun set over the Saronic Gulf I wrote the preceding reflection.
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