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| To Miz - Pax Vobiscum (1964) |
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| Equinox (1958) |
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| Song of the Nightingale (1964) |
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Cont'd
But what does any of that mean in terms of an aesthetic...
For me, I think it means things happen gradually; things build and suddenly overwhelm. We ask ourselves: have the lights gotten unnaturally bright? Is that color the same as it's been, or has it changed? Were those stars there all along, or have they only just now appeared?
We discussed this briefly--I think I mentioned my inclination towards changes in light or color or space that sneak up on an audience, and suddenly make them wonder if something's actually changed or they're just imagining it. My friend today was describing a production she saw in London, during which she started to notice that a table that had appeared normal had started to seem as if it was tilted at an odd angle. And in fact it was, ever so slightly, angling up and up until suddenly a book on its surface slid to the floor. This seems like a physical, visual manifestation of the over-full silence.
I wonder about angled surfaces, that mean two characters may start off on the same level, but in moving away end up on different planes.
Taibi mentioned that perhaps Luis and Fran are within physical reach of each other. I quite like this. Does the light hitting one inevitably hit the other? Do we wonder whether we're supposed to be able to see Luis or not? Are there windows? How do we create a wall through which it is possible to pass in many ways?
Are their spaces actually interwoven?
What about the distinctiveness of light at different times of day?
How do we create the feel of the magic door? And how is it different from the other little door through which Enrique passes? Can we make all our doors out of light? It seems important that there are not just many places from which to enter and to exit but that each mode of entry exit is distinct (ie, the rope ladder, the staircase, the little door, the window, the airshaft, etc). How do we maintain the feeling of this?
Gray seems important, but not an ugly gray--a pearl gray, or gray stockings. Red seems important.
For me, I think it means things happen gradually; things build and suddenly overwhelm. We ask ourselves: have the lights gotten unnaturally bright? Is that color the same as it's been, or has it changed? Were those stars there all along, or have they only just now appeared?
We discussed this briefly--I think I mentioned my inclination towards changes in light or color or space that sneak up on an audience, and suddenly make them wonder if something's actually changed or they're just imagining it. My friend today was describing a production she saw in London, during which she started to notice that a table that had appeared normal had started to seem as if it was tilted at an odd angle. And in fact it was, ever so slightly, angling up and up until suddenly a book on its surface slid to the floor. This seems like a physical, visual manifestation of the over-full silence.
I wonder about angled surfaces, that mean two characters may start off on the same level, but in moving away end up on different planes.
Taibi mentioned that perhaps Luis and Fran are within physical reach of each other. I quite like this. Does the light hitting one inevitably hit the other? Do we wonder whether we're supposed to be able to see Luis or not? Are there windows? How do we create a wall through which it is possible to pass in many ways?
Are their spaces actually interwoven?
What about the distinctiveness of light at different times of day?
How do we create the feel of the magic door? And how is it different from the other little door through which Enrique passes? Can we make all our doors out of light? It seems important that there are not just many places from which to enter and to exit but that each mode of entry exit is distinct (ie, the rope ladder, the staircase, the little door, the window, the airshaft, etc). How do we maintain the feeling of this?
Gray seems important, but not an ugly gray--a pearl gray, or gray stockings. Red seems important.
Thoughts from Thursday's meeting
Here's what's been running through my head: Impossible things happen, and we cannot control them; the rest of the time, we do the best we can with what we have--words, gestures, objects, people. So we have to be patient, with ourselves and with others, with time and with things.
That's very general, and it may or may not be satisfying. Let me know. But I will explain a bit of the thinking behind it. I realized, talking with Taibi, that I feel like this play is, in part, about patience, and about attempts and successes and failures to figure out how and what to do, and about trying different tools for transforming one's given circumstances, tools for communicating; and, I think, it's about how we interpret or fail to interpret each other's attempts, because these attempts can feel circuitous or mis-directed; that is, Fran does not write back--instead she dances. Maybe this is all she can do, maybe not, but there is a reason why she doesn't write back, why she uses another medium, one that cannot travel in the same way--in an envelope, across borders, over water. And we, I think, are meant to experience both the frustration of her silence but also to learn a kind of patience towards her. We are not given a lot of information about Fran, and this is precisely the kind of test we are given about strangers every day--do we judge a person's silence, assuming what we don't know or can't discern? Or do we accept that people do the best they can with what they have? Perhaps this play is about the complexity of silence and absence. Silence marks not emptiness, but overfull-ness. Absence is a kind of presence. And these are interesting places to start, but I am especially concerned with what they mean for the way we try and fail or succeed, however fleetingly, to understand each other, to bridge distance.
One way I connect with this is--you all may also have had this same specific experience--writing letters that you don't send because they feel inadequate? And then that means you don't send a letter at all, and you know that the silence that comes from the absence of the letter you didn't send is a FULL silence; the silence is a reflection of all that needs to be said, and the impossibility of saying it in a way that feels true and sufficient. But you also know that on the other end (to the person to whom you have not written back) the silence may simply feel like silence; someone who couldn't be bothered to send a letter, or didn't have the time, or didn't have anything to say. That is a horrible feeling, to think that someone does not or may not know or realize that you are thinking about them. It's a horrible place to be in.
It's what Joseph experiences in his inability to tell Fran how he feels.
It's the problem of writing a poem.
It's trying to explain "blushing" or falling in love, because these are impossible to explain.
But the play, to me, is also about the beauty of these attempts, the awkwardness and clunkiness of people trying to speak, to express and connect. And it is the way the awkwardness and clunkiness becomes a kind of beauty, the moment we recognize that we are watching people do the best they can with what they have.
It's Marc's fascinatingly and beautifully clunky poem.
It's the human ingenuity and desire for beauty that is present in seemingly ordinary, daily acts, as when Enrique describes how they use the cans.
It's Fran pinching Joseph's cheeks.
It's the angel that sits in your lap.
It's Jerry's letter to the city.
It's Gerardo's climb up to the roof.
And the play also shows us the moments when all our efforts overflow reason, and manifest in a magic kind of way, that seems to have little to do with what we've done.
The magic panel opens, the dances happen, the grey stockings arrive, the rose is dropped. We blush, the car moves one foot. A man from one world appears in another.
So, we can discuss.
On a more practical note, I mentioned to Taibi and Flordelino that I am interested in the design elements being somewhat ambiguous as to time; such that, if you looked at the set and costumes and someone told you the play was set in 1962, you'd find that reasonable, but also that if they told you it was set in the present, you'd also find that reasonable. Which is to say, I imagine the design elements not really emphasizing temporal specificity, while also feeling like they are in a given time. I also want to avoid anything visual overtly trying to signal "Cuba" or "New York."
That's very general, and it may or may not be satisfying. Let me know. But I will explain a bit of the thinking behind it. I realized, talking with Taibi, that I feel like this play is, in part, about patience, and about attempts and successes and failures to figure out how and what to do, and about trying different tools for transforming one's given circumstances, tools for communicating; and, I think, it's about how we interpret or fail to interpret each other's attempts, because these attempts can feel circuitous or mis-directed; that is, Fran does not write back--instead she dances. Maybe this is all she can do, maybe not, but there is a reason why she doesn't write back, why she uses another medium, one that cannot travel in the same way--in an envelope, across borders, over water. And we, I think, are meant to experience both the frustration of her silence but also to learn a kind of patience towards her. We are not given a lot of information about Fran, and this is precisely the kind of test we are given about strangers every day--do we judge a person's silence, assuming what we don't know or can't discern? Or do we accept that people do the best they can with what they have? Perhaps this play is about the complexity of silence and absence. Silence marks not emptiness, but overfull-ness. Absence is a kind of presence. And these are interesting places to start, but I am especially concerned with what they mean for the way we try and fail or succeed, however fleetingly, to understand each other, to bridge distance.
One way I connect with this is--you all may also have had this same specific experience--writing letters that you don't send because they feel inadequate? And then that means you don't send a letter at all, and you know that the silence that comes from the absence of the letter you didn't send is a FULL silence; the silence is a reflection of all that needs to be said, and the impossibility of saying it in a way that feels true and sufficient. But you also know that on the other end (to the person to whom you have not written back) the silence may simply feel like silence; someone who couldn't be bothered to send a letter, or didn't have the time, or didn't have anything to say. That is a horrible feeling, to think that someone does not or may not know or realize that you are thinking about them. It's a horrible place to be in.
It's what Joseph experiences in his inability to tell Fran how he feels.
It's the problem of writing a poem.
It's trying to explain "blushing" or falling in love, because these are impossible to explain.
But the play, to me, is also about the beauty of these attempts, the awkwardness and clunkiness of people trying to speak, to express and connect. And it is the way the awkwardness and clunkiness becomes a kind of beauty, the moment we recognize that we are watching people do the best they can with what they have.
It's Marc's fascinatingly and beautifully clunky poem.
It's the human ingenuity and desire for beauty that is present in seemingly ordinary, daily acts, as when Enrique describes how they use the cans.
It's Fran pinching Joseph's cheeks.
It's the angel that sits in your lap.
It's Jerry's letter to the city.
It's Gerardo's climb up to the roof.
And the play also shows us the moments when all our efforts overflow reason, and manifest in a magic kind of way, that seems to have little to do with what we've done.
The magic panel opens, the dances happen, the grey stockings arrive, the rose is dropped. We blush, the car moves one foot. A man from one world appears in another.
So, we can discuss.
On a more practical note, I mentioned to Taibi and Flordelino that I am interested in the design elements being somewhat ambiguous as to time; such that, if you looked at the set and costumes and someone told you the play was set in 1962, you'd find that reasonable, but also that if they told you it was set in the present, you'd also find that reasonable. Which is to say, I imagine the design elements not really emphasizing temporal specificity, while also feeling like they are in a given time. I also want to avoid anything visual overtly trying to signal "Cuba" or "New York."
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Protestant
I wish I could get to the library and run this down a little more thoroughly, but according to Wikipedia he was a member of the Protestant Ascendancy growing up.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Tibetan Sand Mandalas
This stems from a discussion I had with Taibi, and later developed with Aubrey, about the format of our performance. Coming out of talking about permanence vs. impermanence and the idea of ecology, we're starting to think of the performance as a form of Tibetan Sand Mandala.
We're starting to come to the conclusion that whatever groundplan or design we develop should be brought into the space, and set up as the beginning of the ritual. At the end of the performance, the set is deconstructed again and given away to the participants.
We're starting to come to the conclusion that whatever groundplan or design we develop should be brought into the space, and set up as the beginning of the ritual. At the end of the performance, the set is deconstructed again and given away to the participants.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Dan and Aubrey Meeting Notes
Some notes/ideas. Also brought from his previous meeting with Taibi that he shared with me:
-Manadal Monk Art: A kind of art made by monks with sand. After they make it they ruin it or undo it in some way. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mandala
- Ecology of the play, the musician brings in items for the set and they are given to the audience as a parting gift. It is more than a gift, it is a memento, a reminder. A reminder to do what? What ever they take acts as a reminder to wake them up to their lives. A momento but more importantly, a seed.
- The dance done by the guardian actually is the well. It is the thing that is immortal. ( I don't totally get this, butI dig it)
What is the function of the musicians in this play?
A sort of narrator. In a hierarchical web, they are between God and the Guardian and a little to the left.
Narrators? What kind of narrators?
What is an Arbitar?
They are Priests. They are spiritual facilitators.They are arbiters of spirituality in time.
They help us to expereince. They teach us how to be revert so they can expereince the play?
We strongly feel that these musicians look and feel like Erik Ehn. Three of them.
When these musicians stop singing, the world around them freezes. ( Dan says this..I still dont get it)
What is the most climactic moment in the play for Dan?
The moment the Guardian gets the Young Man to leave.
Something I reminded Dan of that we both find interesting is the line where the old man says, "There is no bird" We don't know what that is, but for me, it lifts this play into another dimension, questioning the audeince about what real in time and space.
What is the quietest moment in the play for Dan?
After his 4th unit of dramatic action in the play.
"Come to me, human faces"
Do we ever subvert the purpose of the musicians, or the musicians themselves?
Dan wants the Musicians to basically teach the congregants/audeince to be reverent in the space and believe. They Musicians fail at this. This is a subversion at the top of the play that sounds fun.
What is the sound of the function of the play for Dan?
Dan really digs the Meredith Monk stuff and I am going to look more into some Bobbi Mcfarren and "watermelon Man" by Herby Hancock. He is still really interested in when the beat drops in this play. I love that idea. Thinking more about the ecology of the play and that these musicians have instruments what are the instruments? Are we interesested in a Zither? We are both interested in repurposed objects that are also instruments, like blowing into a bottle, using your voice, body percussion. I am going to look into this more.
-Manadal Monk Art: A kind of art made by monks with sand. After they make it they ruin it or undo it in some way. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mandala
(Looks like a badass well to me)
- The dance done by the guardian actually is the well. It is the thing that is immortal. ( I don't totally get this, butI dig it)
On to Sound Design
What is the function of the musicians in this play?
A sort of narrator. In a hierarchical web, they are between God and the Guardian and a little to the left.
Narrators? What kind of narrators?
What is an Arbitar?
a person empowered to decide matters at issue; judge; umpire.
a person who has the sole or absolute power of judging ordetermining.
They are Priests. They are spiritual facilitators.They are arbiters of spirituality in time.
They help us to expereince. They teach us how to be revert so they can expereince the play?
We strongly feel that these musicians look and feel like Erik Ehn. Three of them.
When these musicians stop singing, the world around them freezes. ( Dan says this..I still dont get it)
Some questions we tossed around
What is the most climactic moment in the play for Dan?
The moment the Guardian gets the Young Man to leave.
Something I reminded Dan of that we both find interesting is the line where the old man says, "There is no bird" We don't know what that is, but for me, it lifts this play into another dimension, questioning the audeince about what real in time and space.
What is the quietest moment in the play for Dan?
After his 4th unit of dramatic action in the play.
"Come to me, human faces"
Do we ever subvert the purpose of the musicians, or the musicians themselves?
Dan wants the Musicians to basically teach the congregants/audeince to be reverent in the space and believe. They Musicians fail at this. This is a subversion at the top of the play that sounds fun.
What is the sound of the function of the play for Dan?
Dan really digs the Meredith Monk stuff and I am going to look more into some Bobbi Mcfarren and "watermelon Man" by Herby Hancock. He is still really interested in when the beat drops in this play. I love that idea. Thinking more about the ecology of the play and that these musicians have instruments what are the instruments? Are we interesested in a Zither? We are both interested in repurposed objects that are also instruments, like blowing into a bottle, using your voice, body percussion. I am going to look into this more.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
First Round Playlist for Hawks Well
Meredith Monk – Prophecy
Meredith Monk – Hey Rhythm
Meredith Monk – Cow Song
Crystal Castles – I Am Made Of Chalk
alt-J – Interlude 1
Meridith Monk – Panda Chant Ii
Zoe Keating – Updraught
Professor Liang Tsai-Ping – Winter Raven's Sporting Over Water
Professor Liang Tsai-Ping ... – Old Monk Sweeping the Buddhist Temple
Professor Liang Tsai-Ping ... – Freedom March
RJD2 – The Proxy
Aesop Rock – Boombox Apocalypse
Kudu – Black Betty
Paul Simon with Ladysmith Black Mambazo – Homeless
Ladysmith Black Mambazo – Hello My Baby
Meredith Monk – Prophecy
Meredith Monk – Hey Rhythm
Meredith Monk – Cow Song
Crystal Castles – I Am Made Of Chalk
alt-J – Interlude 1
Meridith Monk – Panda Chant Ii
Zoe Keating – Updraught
Professor Liang Tsai-Ping – Winter Raven's Sporting Over Water
Professor Liang Tsai-Ping ... – Old Monk Sweeping the Buddhist Temple
Professor Liang Tsai-Ping ... – Freedom March
RJD2 – The Proxy
Aesop Rock – Boombox Apocalypse
Kudu – Black Betty
Paul Simon with Ladysmith Black Mambazo – Homeless
Ladysmith Black Mambazo – Hello My Baby
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