In writing "All Grace," I've been experimenting with scenes in a new way, playing around with what constitutes a scene, what constitutes "action." All this while also playing around with adapting real life events to a fictional/theatrical world. This has become more evident as I plunge further and further into the play, digging into the form and the material.
Two scenes have come from my experimenting. I'm very proud of these scenes, but wonder what people will think of them. I suppose part of this comes from ushering at the University's Summer Rep plays, which are comedies. I see the audiences come out of the theatre, cheering, ecstatic, they say things like, "There should be more plays like this." Part of me wonders, well, so who am I writing plays for? These people probably wouldn't enjoy "All Grace." They probably wouldn't know what to make of it. And people in the Playwrights Workshop might just rip it to shreds, questioning everything that isn't mainstream or "normal." I know I'm going to get questions about the scenes I've written yesterday and the scenes yet to come.
The first scene I wrote yesterday, concerned Lipchitz on the subway in NYC having recently fled France because of the Nazi invasion. There was an anecdote I read in which Lipchitz saw a woman weeping at her radio and mistakenly thought she was crying for the plight of Europe, only to find out that she was crying because her baseball team was losing. I spent a while looking up baseball scores on the internet for 1941. The 1941 World Series: The NY Yankees Vs. The Brooklyn Dodgers. The Yankees won in five games. A put Lipchitz on the subway with a man listening to his radio, crying. I gave Lipchitz a monologue about the war and his new joy at finding someone who was obviously connected to his plight. This is a comedic scene, which then falls on its head. True story twisted around for dramatic purposes. Not as twisted around as the other scene I wrote yesterday.
There were several anecdotes about Lipchitz' life that I intertwined to create one scene. 1. There was an old hermit named Saint Michael that Lipchitz knew. 2. Lipchitz had asked a doctor friend of his for something to give him a quick death if he was in a desperate situation. 3. In the dead of night, some friends helped Lipchitz clear out his art studio with a truck to hide pieces from the invading Nazis. What didn't fit in the truck, they buried in the garden.
I crafted the scene with Lipchitz talking to Saint Michael. I made the decision that I would write the scene from the perspective that the man WAS Saint Michael and not just a vagabond. In a bit of research, I found that Saint Michael was seen as a great protector of the Israelites. What better figure to help save Lipchitz from the Nazis? Saint Michael tells Lipchitz he is providing protection to which Lipchitz replies, "You call this protection?!" Lipchitz reveals a small envelope of poison, which he received from his doctor friend and explains its use. He even offers to give some to Saint Michael to help through the "desperate times." In the end, Saint Michael gets Lipchitz to throw out the poison and instructs him to empty out his studio and whatever doesn't fit in the truck, bury it and Saint Michael would personally protect it. He also instructs Lipchitz to take the "other sculptures," (the unmade ones) to America.
Earlier this week, I also crafted the Annunciation scene. The Virgin Mary starts off the scene asking the question of Passover, "Why is this night different from all other nights?" She then has a monologue about a strange and violent dream she had the night before. The Angel Gabriel arrives with his message, which frightens Mary, yet in the end, she accepts her role and the fact that her son will "change the world." "Into what?" she asks.
I know people in the Workshop are going to question these scenes. Why this? Why that? Why is his name Saint Michael? Why did Lipchitz get the poison? Why is the man crying about baseball, isn't that a bit far-fetched? Why is Mary talking about Passover (if they get the reference)?
These are all questions I can feel are coming. I'm struggling right now with how many of these questions I should consider, and how many I should just ignore. This is some of my most interesting writing so far and I would hate to subject it to the ripping apart that could happen in the Workshop. Perhaps I'll feel differently when the play is a fully finished draft.
Friday, July 15, 2005
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Structure
As I think of the play and write more of the scenes, I have been wondering more and more about the structure of the play. This isn't a narrative story, it is not necessarily being led by the series of events. This is especially true seeing as how I've been jumping through time to craft certain scenes. This is a montage, a collage of images and moments, but I want it to have a foundation, something to drive things, not necessarily for the audience, but so that I know where things are going.
In a happy, subliminal accident, I found the structure of the play. In Couturier's opening monologue, I wrote: "You are about to take part in a sacred ritual." By "sacred ritual," I meant theatrical performance. But what if he meant a mass? What if I created a mass of images rather than prayers? What if I took the structure of the mass and created the scenes to speak to those moments of the mass? This means there would be prayers, there would be an offering, scripture. I planned to use the scripture readings to explore the character of the Virgin Mary. If this is a mass, then it would make sense to have Mary in a biblical scene in the play. I have listed the general form and parts of the Catholic mass in order to keep myself moving forward:
Entrance Procession
Greeting
(Rite of Blessing and Sprinkling Holy Water)
Penitential Rite
Kyrie
Gloria
Opening Prayer
First Reading
Responsorial Psalm
Alleluia or Gospel Acclamation
Gospel
(Homily)
Profession of Faith
General Intercessions / Prayer of the Faithful
Presentation of the Gifts / Preparation of the Altar
Prayer over the Gifts
Eucharistic Prayer
Lord's Prayer
Sign of Peace
Breaking of the Bread
Communion
Prayer after Communion
Blessing
Dismissal
This is my structure. Not every part of the mass will have a separate scene, but it will progress in time. The intercessory prayers might be connected to the offering and presentation of the gifts. This will also help me craft scenes and find that "motivation" I've been looking for. It gives the scenes a purpose. Not a traditional theatrical "What For?" but a purpose nonetheless.
In a happy, subliminal accident, I found the structure of the play. In Couturier's opening monologue, I wrote: "You are about to take part in a sacred ritual." By "sacred ritual," I meant theatrical performance. But what if he meant a mass? What if I created a mass of images rather than prayers? What if I took the structure of the mass and created the scenes to speak to those moments of the mass? This means there would be prayers, there would be an offering, scripture. I planned to use the scripture readings to explore the character of the Virgin Mary. If this is a mass, then it would make sense to have Mary in a biblical scene in the play. I have listed the general form and parts of the Catholic mass in order to keep myself moving forward:
Entrance Procession
Greeting
(Rite of Blessing and Sprinkling Holy Water)
Penitential Rite
Kyrie
Gloria
Opening Prayer
First Reading
Responsorial Psalm
Alleluia or Gospel Acclamation
Gospel
(Homily)
Profession of Faith
General Intercessions / Prayer of the Faithful
Presentation of the Gifts / Preparation of the Altar
Prayer over the Gifts
Eucharistic Prayer
Lord's Prayer
Sign of Peace
Breaking of the Bread
Communion
Prayer after Communion
Blessing
Dismissal
This is my structure. Not every part of the mass will have a separate scene, but it will progress in time. The intercessory prayers might be connected to the offering and presentation of the gifts. This will also help me craft scenes and find that "motivation" I've been looking for. It gives the scenes a purpose. Not a traditional theatrical "What For?" but a purpose nonetheless.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Movement
I've been doing a lot of thinking of what scenes to present in "All Grace," but haven't asked myself the question of "What conflicts exist in those moments?" Everything that I've written so far feels right to me. All the scenes that I want to show feel right to me, but I don't think I can fully answer the question of "What's the conflict?" I can barely answer the question "What's the story?" Well, I can answer it, but not in a way that satisfactorily describes the journey I want the audience to take. It's about seminal, spiritual moments that happen in ordinary life, modern life. Hm. That hits it pretty well, I guess. But I guess the question extends to, "So, what happens?"
"What happens?" We travel through extraordinary parts of people's lives in order to fully show the magnificence, though flawed, grandeur that is Notre Dame de Toute Grace.
New scenes that I would like to include are:
The Virgin Mary's calling by the Angel Gabriel. I see this as some sort of touchstone for the play. Not as much of a cornerstone as Couturier's first monologue, but a place where the themes and thoughts of the play land and rest.
A scene with an ailing Couturier and the Virgin Mary. In most everything I've read, Couturier is sick. I've read letters Couturier wrote to Matisse describing his ailments, apologizing for his weakness, and complaining about being bedridden. I think this scene would be closer to the end of the play. Couturier passed away before he was able to see Lipchitz' Virgin. That seems very important to me.
I want a scene with Leger on the war front. Perhaps the scene in which he is gassed. In my mind, I see Leger narrating the scene as it passes and he lives it. Much like my friend Marnie Glazier used the device in her play "Hum." In that play, children narrated their childhood as they lived it onstage. It struck me as very fulfilling. It was living prose, closer to short story than theatre, but it was walking in front of us. I want that same type of feeling, but it all goes back to the question of conflict. I never fully consider the question of "What is the conflict in this scene?" I would wager that most, if not all, of my colleagues in the playwrights workshop do consider this question before they write. It's a very important question, one that was hammered into me as a directing student. Conflict, Action. Buzzwords of the trade. Where is the conflict in this play?
I want very much to finish this play in the next month. I've been studying and adding to my knowledge. Today, I read Blaise Cendrars' "Easter in New York," which hits on many themes I struggle with. I had hoped to use Cendrars' poetry somehow in the play, but don't know if that's a feasible possibility any longer. I have more reading to do.
With all my reading, I still feel as though my knowledge is inadequate to write this play. I'm not sure if this inadequacy rests in my knowledge of the war, knowledge of France, knowledge of the true modern art sensibilities, knowledge of cubism... Somewhere. Somewhere something is lacking and this feeling of inadequacy is causing me to hesitate in putting more words to the page. Even though what I have already written speaks to me more than many of my other projects. Perhaps I'm afraid at letting myself down with this play. I have such high hopes. "This can be the one!" I suppose nothing fully lives up to expectation and I should just buckle down and get writing.
"What happens?" We travel through extraordinary parts of people's lives in order to fully show the magnificence, though flawed, grandeur that is Notre Dame de Toute Grace.
New scenes that I would like to include are:
The Virgin Mary's calling by the Angel Gabriel. I see this as some sort of touchstone for the play. Not as much of a cornerstone as Couturier's first monologue, but a place where the themes and thoughts of the play land and rest.
A scene with an ailing Couturier and the Virgin Mary. In most everything I've read, Couturier is sick. I've read letters Couturier wrote to Matisse describing his ailments, apologizing for his weakness, and complaining about being bedridden. I think this scene would be closer to the end of the play. Couturier passed away before he was able to see Lipchitz' Virgin. That seems very important to me.
I want a scene with Leger on the war front. Perhaps the scene in which he is gassed. In my mind, I see Leger narrating the scene as it passes and he lives it. Much like my friend Marnie Glazier used the device in her play "Hum." In that play, children narrated their childhood as they lived it onstage. It struck me as very fulfilling. It was living prose, closer to short story than theatre, but it was walking in front of us. I want that same type of feeling, but it all goes back to the question of conflict. I never fully consider the question of "What is the conflict in this scene?" I would wager that most, if not all, of my colleagues in the playwrights workshop do consider this question before they write. It's a very important question, one that was hammered into me as a directing student. Conflict, Action. Buzzwords of the trade. Where is the conflict in this play?
I want very much to finish this play in the next month. I've been studying and adding to my knowledge. Today, I read Blaise Cendrars' "Easter in New York," which hits on many themes I struggle with. I had hoped to use Cendrars' poetry somehow in the play, but don't know if that's a feasible possibility any longer. I have more reading to do.
With all my reading, I still feel as though my knowledge is inadequate to write this play. I'm not sure if this inadequacy rests in my knowledge of the war, knowledge of France, knowledge of the true modern art sensibilities, knowledge of cubism... Somewhere. Somewhere something is lacking and this feeling of inadequacy is causing me to hesitate in putting more words to the page. Even though what I have already written speaks to me more than many of my other projects. Perhaps I'm afraid at letting myself down with this play. I have such high hopes. "This can be the one!" I suppose nothing fully lives up to expectation and I should just buckle down and get writing.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Mary
I read an article in "Time" from March this morning and realized I've been neglecting a certain character from "All Grace." Mary. The article talked about the Protestant church reinvestigating Mary's place in the Church and her role as Jesus' mother, the first disciple, and what should be done with her. As a man who grew up Catholic (Mexican-American Catholic no less), Mary holds a giant place in the Church. She is the doorway to Jesus and, therefore, to God. I was once told to pray to Mary since she is the "Mediatrix" and that if whatever we ask Mary to do for us, she'll ask Jesus, and how can Jesus say "No" to his mother? Guaranteed answered prayer, sounds great!
But I haven't really looked into how I can use Mary for the benefit of the play. Leger's mural depicts the Litany of the Virgin, but I'm not sure of what that entirely entails. I've been so entwined with research about the artists that I'd forgotten to investigate Mary as a CHARACTER and see how she can help inform the play. For example, how does the "Annunciation" play into things? How is Lipchitz' calling similar to Mary's? This is a small example of a different approach to the material.
The play is starting to take a very free form. The scenes skip through time and accentuate certain moments of the artists' lives. Now that I'm thinking about it, can I skip through time with Mary's life as well? What would it be like to move from her calling with the angel Gabriel to the subway to see Lipchitz inspired? It's a crazy idea, yes, but I think I like it!
In writing the opening monologue for Couturier, I've stated that this is a "ritual." The play should feel like a freeform ritual with music and prayer. I've already put Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" in the play, I would like to add Russian folk songs(though I don't know any), what about the "Magnificat?" Prayers to Mary? Are there more prayers in this? Couturier's rant (which needs some beefing up), is followed by a scene in which Lipchitz encounters a homeless, Jewish woman called "Yenta the Crazy" praying in front of a Catholic Church. What is Yenta praying? How does this continue throughout the play?
But I haven't really looked into how I can use Mary for the benefit of the play. Leger's mural depicts the Litany of the Virgin, but I'm not sure of what that entirely entails. I've been so entwined with research about the artists that I'd forgotten to investigate Mary as a CHARACTER and see how she can help inform the play. For example, how does the "Annunciation" play into things? How is Lipchitz' calling similar to Mary's? This is a small example of a different approach to the material.
The play is starting to take a very free form. The scenes skip through time and accentuate certain moments of the artists' lives. Now that I'm thinking about it, can I skip through time with Mary's life as well? What would it be like to move from her calling with the angel Gabriel to the subway to see Lipchitz inspired? It's a crazy idea, yes, but I think I like it!
In writing the opening monologue for Couturier, I've stated that this is a "ritual." The play should feel like a freeform ritual with music and prayer. I've already put Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" in the play, I would like to add Russian folk songs(though I don't know any), what about the "Magnificat?" Prayers to Mary? Are there more prayers in this? Couturier's rant (which needs some beefing up), is followed by a scene in which Lipchitz encounters a homeless, Jewish woman called "Yenta the Crazy" praying in front of a Catholic Church. What is Yenta praying? How does this continue throughout the play?
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
More Scenes and Thoughts
For "lunch," I went to Panera and had a bagel and a coffee. I took a collection of plays by Hispanic women with me to read. Before I started eating or reading, I had to document some "scenes" I had come up with while in the shower. How odd how many scenes come to me in the shower. What is it about the shower that presents answers to me?
Anyway, I got to reading "Miriam's Flowers" by Migdalia Cruz. It was written in short scenes that moved back and forth across time, no holding back on location, moving from Church altars to graveyards to bathtubs to a grocery store. Some scenes were merely stage directions. 37 scenes in this short play. They were powerful images, however, and certain scenes were rough to get through. Images and stage action that turned my stomach. Scenes of self-inflicted violence. Miriam's flowers turned out to be flowers that Miriam carved into her arms with a razor. Almost too much for me to take.
I was inspired by the dominating presence of the Church, the saints, Christ, and spirituality. I was also struck at how statues (Jesus, Mary, San Martin) would serve as silent representatives for the larger characters. Jesus was in the play, he had scenes with Miriam, but he was silent. It was obvious that he was present in those scenes despite his silence.
Songs were also peppered throughout the play. The Jackson Five, Spanish children's songs. Music mingled with the visuals, whole scenes being held up by silence or sound. I started to wonder if I'd been influenced by a unconscious Latino sensibility in my writing. Magic realism, drifting time and space, music as an integral character. The scenes spat out their harsh realities in "Miriam's Flowers," and it made me wonder about "All Grace." How will I depict war, pain, and despair in ways that will make an audience feel the full effect?
When I came home, I looked at the tiny tidbits I had written at Panera. I imagined a scene in which Lipchitz returns to his studio to find it burned to the ground. I wrote:
"As a boy, you destroyed a home. As a young man, you destroyed a home. But now. You have finally succeeded. You have destroyed me. Completely destroyed me."
I typed this out when I came home. I let myself drift a moment. Then, I saw the scene:
LIPCHITZ stands before charred ruins of his studio. OUR LADY stands before him.
LIPCHITZ
When I was a boy, you tried to destroy me, but you only destroyed my home. When I was a young man, you tried again, but again, you only destroyed my home. But now. Now you have finally succeeded. You have destroyed me. Completely destroyed me.
(HE kneels, rocks back and forth, eyes closed, mumbling out a whispered prayer.)
OUR LADY
Are you praying to me?
LIPCHITZ
I’m praying to whoever will listen.
OUR LADY
This is where I was sitting. Right here. When it happened.
LIPCHITZ
How did it happen?
OUR LADY
A spark. From somewhere. I don’t know where. But a spark was struck and began to eat and mature, a flaming snake was brought to life. I watched as it ate my brothers and sisters around this room. Each one, crying out. Not for themselves. But for you, Chaim. For you. “Save me, Our Lady! Save me! Not for myself, but for Chaim!” But the fire didn’t listen. It ate them slowly. The circle of fire grew around me like a storm.
LIPCHITZ
I can see it.
OUR LADY
Can you.
LIPCHITZ
I can see it all over.
OUR LADY
It was beautiful, Chaim. When the fire was over me, at first. At first, I wasn’t burning. I was whole, the fire only caressing me. I was the burning bush. I was the burning bush, waiting for you to see the signs of God I was revealing to you. But you never came. I stood up to the fire as long as I could, held it back. “Chaim must see me! I am his miracle!” I grew weak. Miracles are so exhausting to maintain. I could no longer hold back the raging fire. I let go of the miracle. The fire leapt at me. Took hold of me with its piercing claws. And devoured me. Layer by layer. I was disappearing. From white. To grey. To black. Ashes. Here are my ashes, Chaim. This is all that remains of my miracle.
Anyway, I got to reading "Miriam's Flowers" by Migdalia Cruz. It was written in short scenes that moved back and forth across time, no holding back on location, moving from Church altars to graveyards to bathtubs to a grocery store. Some scenes were merely stage directions. 37 scenes in this short play. They were powerful images, however, and certain scenes were rough to get through. Images and stage action that turned my stomach. Scenes of self-inflicted violence. Miriam's flowers turned out to be flowers that Miriam carved into her arms with a razor. Almost too much for me to take.
I was inspired by the dominating presence of the Church, the saints, Christ, and spirituality. I was also struck at how statues (Jesus, Mary, San Martin) would serve as silent representatives for the larger characters. Jesus was in the play, he had scenes with Miriam, but he was silent. It was obvious that he was present in those scenes despite his silence.
Songs were also peppered throughout the play. The Jackson Five, Spanish children's songs. Music mingled with the visuals, whole scenes being held up by silence or sound. I started to wonder if I'd been influenced by a unconscious Latino sensibility in my writing. Magic realism, drifting time and space, music as an integral character. The scenes spat out their harsh realities in "Miriam's Flowers," and it made me wonder about "All Grace." How will I depict war, pain, and despair in ways that will make an audience feel the full effect?
When I came home, I looked at the tiny tidbits I had written at Panera. I imagined a scene in which Lipchitz returns to his studio to find it burned to the ground. I wrote:
"As a boy, you destroyed a home. As a young man, you destroyed a home. But now. You have finally succeeded. You have destroyed me. Completely destroyed me."
I typed this out when I came home. I let myself drift a moment. Then, I saw the scene:
LIPCHITZ stands before charred ruins of his studio. OUR LADY stands before him.
LIPCHITZ
When I was a boy, you tried to destroy me, but you only destroyed my home. When I was a young man, you tried again, but again, you only destroyed my home. But now. Now you have finally succeeded. You have destroyed me. Completely destroyed me.
(HE kneels, rocks back and forth, eyes closed, mumbling out a whispered prayer.)
OUR LADY
Are you praying to me?
LIPCHITZ
I’m praying to whoever will listen.
OUR LADY
This is where I was sitting. Right here. When it happened.
LIPCHITZ
How did it happen?
OUR LADY
A spark. From somewhere. I don’t know where. But a spark was struck and began to eat and mature, a flaming snake was brought to life. I watched as it ate my brothers and sisters around this room. Each one, crying out. Not for themselves. But for you, Chaim. For you. “Save me, Our Lady! Save me! Not for myself, but for Chaim!” But the fire didn’t listen. It ate them slowly. The circle of fire grew around me like a storm.
LIPCHITZ
I can see it.
OUR LADY
Can you.
LIPCHITZ
I can see it all over.
OUR LADY
It was beautiful, Chaim. When the fire was over me, at first. At first, I wasn’t burning. I was whole, the fire only caressing me. I was the burning bush. I was the burning bush, waiting for you to see the signs of God I was revealing to you. But you never came. I stood up to the fire as long as I could, held it back. “Chaim must see me! I am his miracle!” I grew weak. Miracles are so exhausting to maintain. I could no longer hold back the raging fire. I let go of the miracle. The fire leapt at me. Took hold of me with its piercing claws. And devoured me. Layer by layer. I was disappearing. From white. To grey. To black. Ashes. Here are my ashes, Chaim. This is all that remains of my miracle.
Moving Right Along
I've been reading about Fernand Leger all morning, tryng to find those seeds of his life and his art that would push "All Grace" along. Little dates of marriages and affairs, of joining the Communist party, of being friends with Lipchitz. The greatest friendship of his life was with the poet, Blaise Cendrars. Part of me wants to look at Cendrars' poetry to see if it can be incorporated into the play somehow.
This whole process has been figuring out what can fit into this play. What goes in, what stays out? Leger's "Four Colourless Years" in the army seems very important to me, but how does that mix with everything else? With Lipchitz' experiences as a child, especially the episode in which he is carried out into a field during a storm as his grandmother calls out to nature to "Heal him."
Both Leger and Lipchitz share a love of the circus and acrobats, which I don't know how to explore. There are great tiny anecdotes about Lipchitz' life, particularly of seeing an old beggar called "Yenta the Crazy" praying before a Catholic Church. Lipchitz was livid, but Yenta told him, "I'm old. Who knows who's there on the other side." (Patai 61) Lipchitz also had a run in with an old hermit who called himself St. Michael. These are amazing moments, but do we SEE them happening before us, or are these stories Lipchitz TELLS during the course of the play? Do we SEE the fire that destroys Lipchitz' studio? Do we SEE the moment in WWI that Leger is gassed? Do we SEE the creation of the art? I want to see them creating the art. I don't want this to be one of those plays where you have a great painter, but you never see them paint. I want paint onstage and clay onstage. I want actors climbing and interacting with art.
I've seen pictures of Leger's sets for theatre and ballet and they are enlightening. Cartoony in a sense. "Leger Clouds" descend from the sky with heavy, weighty black outlines. The world is distorted, yet feels primal, native. His costume and set designs make me consider the style of "All Grace." I don't want a "realistic" telling of the story or the events. I want something that feels like a dream, that exists in the present as much as the past, an event that is alive with visuals that speak as much as the words of the play.
The first monologue I have written, Couturier speaking to the audience, turned out much differently than I had planned. I didn't plan on music or projections or those exact words to be said. I started with a skeleton of direct quotes from "Sacred Art" by Couturier himself. Then, I adapted these quotes into a single speech to the audience sitting in the theatre. This speech was meant to be like the Homebody in Kushner's "Homebody/Kabul." A character that gives a rich history that informs what is to follow. I feel it still does that, but wonder if there needs to be more in-depth talking about the history. I feel like I've merely scratched the surface of possibility, but wonder where the play will be if I extend that opening. I know that each part of the play can exist in a different world and there doesn't need to be direct connections between scenes and moments (something I re-learned as I wrote "Solamente Una Vez"). But I wonder about the arc of the play itself. Where is it going to end up? What is the final argument? I have chosen three distinct stories to tell, but I'm still not quite sure of the gel that holds them together. Part of me wonders if I should approach this as three distinct plays. Even to the point of using different files altogether. One for Lipchitz, one for Leger, one for Couturier. I remember, my friend, and probably my favorite writer in the workshop, Anton Jones, told me that he keeps certain scenes in separate files until the end when he pieces the play together. Maybe I need this sort of disconnection to understand what binds them.
I hear different voices, different tools calling out for each story. Part of my hesitation in writing the scenes I see is not having a sense of "tradition?" Is that what I mean? I feel like I have to find a play, or a scene that speaks to me and a structure that I can write these scenes with. Earlier, I investigated Tarantino and Caryl Churchill as possible structural/stylistic muses, but I don't feel that connection as strongly now that I've put words to the page. My mind has been flipping through images and scenes and words that I've experienced, desperately trying to find that muse, that connection.
With "Solamente Una Vez," I combined the movies "Spanglish" and "Closer" in my mind and created a play that was my own view of those movies, their concerns, their styles, their arguments. I don't know where to look for the "tradition," which is the only word I can think of to describe what I'm looking for. Which writers, which plays? I have so many plays on my shelves and wonder which has the key to unlock the images that are pounding on the door of my mind, demanding to be let loose onto the page...
This whole process has been figuring out what can fit into this play. What goes in, what stays out? Leger's "Four Colourless Years" in the army seems very important to me, but how does that mix with everything else? With Lipchitz' experiences as a child, especially the episode in which he is carried out into a field during a storm as his grandmother calls out to nature to "Heal him."
Both Leger and Lipchitz share a love of the circus and acrobats, which I don't know how to explore. There are great tiny anecdotes about Lipchitz' life, particularly of seeing an old beggar called "Yenta the Crazy" praying before a Catholic Church. Lipchitz was livid, but Yenta told him, "I'm old. Who knows who's there on the other side." (Patai 61) Lipchitz also had a run in with an old hermit who called himself St. Michael. These are amazing moments, but do we SEE them happening before us, or are these stories Lipchitz TELLS during the course of the play? Do we SEE the fire that destroys Lipchitz' studio? Do we SEE the moment in WWI that Leger is gassed? Do we SEE the creation of the art? I want to see them creating the art. I don't want this to be one of those plays where you have a great painter, but you never see them paint. I want paint onstage and clay onstage. I want actors climbing and interacting with art.
I've seen pictures of Leger's sets for theatre and ballet and they are enlightening. Cartoony in a sense. "Leger Clouds" descend from the sky with heavy, weighty black outlines. The world is distorted, yet feels primal, native. His costume and set designs make me consider the style of "All Grace." I don't want a "realistic" telling of the story or the events. I want something that feels like a dream, that exists in the present as much as the past, an event that is alive with visuals that speak as much as the words of the play.
The first monologue I have written, Couturier speaking to the audience, turned out much differently than I had planned. I didn't plan on music or projections or those exact words to be said. I started with a skeleton of direct quotes from "Sacred Art" by Couturier himself. Then, I adapted these quotes into a single speech to the audience sitting in the theatre. This speech was meant to be like the Homebody in Kushner's "Homebody/Kabul." A character that gives a rich history that informs what is to follow. I feel it still does that, but wonder if there needs to be more in-depth talking about the history. I feel like I've merely scratched the surface of possibility, but wonder where the play will be if I extend that opening. I know that each part of the play can exist in a different world and there doesn't need to be direct connections between scenes and moments (something I re-learned as I wrote "Solamente Una Vez"). But I wonder about the arc of the play itself. Where is it going to end up? What is the final argument? I have chosen three distinct stories to tell, but I'm still not quite sure of the gel that holds them together. Part of me wonders if I should approach this as three distinct plays. Even to the point of using different files altogether. One for Lipchitz, one for Leger, one for Couturier. I remember, my friend, and probably my favorite writer in the workshop, Anton Jones, told me that he keeps certain scenes in separate files until the end when he pieces the play together. Maybe I need this sort of disconnection to understand what binds them.
I hear different voices, different tools calling out for each story. Part of my hesitation in writing the scenes I see is not having a sense of "tradition?" Is that what I mean? I feel like I have to find a play, or a scene that speaks to me and a structure that I can write these scenes with. Earlier, I investigated Tarantino and Caryl Churchill as possible structural/stylistic muses, but I don't feel that connection as strongly now that I've put words to the page. My mind has been flipping through images and scenes and words that I've experienced, desperately trying to find that muse, that connection.
With "Solamente Una Vez," I combined the movies "Spanglish" and "Closer" in my mind and created a play that was my own view of those movies, their concerns, their styles, their arguments. I don't know where to look for the "tradition," which is the only word I can think of to describe what I'm looking for. Which writers, which plays? I have so many plays on my shelves and wonder which has the key to unlock the images that are pounding on the door of my mind, demanding to be let loose onto the page...
Monday, June 13, 2005
First Writing
Here they are. The first written moments of "All Grace"
(An older priest, gaunt, draped in a black cassock and cloak, large-rimmed round black glasses. HE stands in a spotlight, smiling at us. This is PERE COUTURIER, a Dominican priest. And HE has come to speak to us.)
COUTURIER
You are about to take part in a sacred ritual. In fact, the ritual has already started. Before these lights around us dimmed, before you entered this place, before you arrived, before you left your home or office, you were preparing to come. That preparation was the start of this beautiful ritual. I, myself, was preparing. I made sure my robes were in order, my glasses clear of debris. I cleared my voice, knowing that I would be addressing you this evening and hoping that in my clarity of voice, I would also, somehow, be able to present a clarity of thought. But let me tell you this. As you participate in this ritual. Do not think. For, in art, it is not the intellect that judges and discriminates, it is the senses. Tonight, you must use the intuition of your senses and not of your reason. Already many of you are questioning, “Do not think? What does he mean? Art? Reason? Sacred ritual? What is the meaning of this?” We must quiet those restless minds of yours.
(A burst of music from Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring” erupts loudly. COUTURIER speaks over the music. Projected images of machinery, politicians, pop-culture, etc. punctuate his words.)
COUTURIER (cont’d)
In the Western world, over the past hundred years, your senses have been progressively corrupted. Corrupted by the products of official academicism, by assembly lines, by mediocrity! Look, listen, taste, smell, touch, FEEL!
(The music becomes ear-shattering, the images flash with ferocity.)
COUTURIER (cont’d)
WAKE UP!!
(Silence.)
COUTURIER (cont’d)
For too long have your senses been assaulted with mediocrity. Especially in the realm of art. In the beginning, there was an unbroken tradition, century after century, of Masters who created art. And in the Catholic Church, these Masters were cultivated, no matter how diverse or revolutionary their thinking, by popes and bishops and abbots who entrusted the greatest monuments of Christendom to these Masters. One only has to mention the name Michelangelo and you know of what I’m speaking. The Masters filled the most sacred places on Earth with their art. With the nineteenth century all this began to change. One after another the great men were bypassed in favor of secondary talents, then of third-raters, then of QUACKS, then of HUCKSTERS. So, in fashion, the biggest monuments were also the worst. LOOK. Look at Lourdes, Fourviere, Lisieux! Too many to name! Mediocrity! Outside of the Church, the plague continued. Ecclesiastical circles and civil officials no longer knew who the real masters were! New art was being created, new Masters were rising, but these Masters were being ignored by the Church in favor of “SACRED ART” such as THIS!
(An image of a “prayer book” picture.)
COUTURIER (cont’d)
This is the “Sacred Art” of today. But I propose that this is neither SACRED, nor ART! You may discuss this amongst yourselves, but LOOK! Look at it, please. Is this the amount of spiritual vitality in the Christian Church? THIS is the greatest portrayal of faith? THIS is MOVING? It is SENTIMENTAL, dear people. It is POPULAR. Christian people, with their clergies in the lead, are pleased with what they see. That is what people like because, at a certain level, that is what people ARE. This art is a SHAME. A corruption of all that is purest in the Gospel and in the faith. This art reveals a very real crisis of faith. It is lamentable. I am calling out to you. You. You. You. You! There must be a revolution in our times! Wake up!! Where is your faith? Where is your life? WAKE UP!!
(An older priest, gaunt, draped in a black cassock and cloak, large-rimmed round black glasses. HE stands in a spotlight, smiling at us. This is PERE COUTURIER, a Dominican priest. And HE has come to speak to us.)
COUTURIER
You are about to take part in a sacred ritual. In fact, the ritual has already started. Before these lights around us dimmed, before you entered this place, before you arrived, before you left your home or office, you were preparing to come. That preparation was the start of this beautiful ritual. I, myself, was preparing. I made sure my robes were in order, my glasses clear of debris. I cleared my voice, knowing that I would be addressing you this evening and hoping that in my clarity of voice, I would also, somehow, be able to present a clarity of thought. But let me tell you this. As you participate in this ritual. Do not think. For, in art, it is not the intellect that judges and discriminates, it is the senses. Tonight, you must use the intuition of your senses and not of your reason. Already many of you are questioning, “Do not think? What does he mean? Art? Reason? Sacred ritual? What is the meaning of this?” We must quiet those restless minds of yours.
(A burst of music from Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring” erupts loudly. COUTURIER speaks over the music. Projected images of machinery, politicians, pop-culture, etc. punctuate his words.)
COUTURIER (cont’d)
In the Western world, over the past hundred years, your senses have been progressively corrupted. Corrupted by the products of official academicism, by assembly lines, by mediocrity! Look, listen, taste, smell, touch, FEEL!
(The music becomes ear-shattering, the images flash with ferocity.)
COUTURIER (cont’d)
WAKE UP!!
(Silence.)
COUTURIER (cont’d)
For too long have your senses been assaulted with mediocrity. Especially in the realm of art. In the beginning, there was an unbroken tradition, century after century, of Masters who created art. And in the Catholic Church, these Masters were cultivated, no matter how diverse or revolutionary their thinking, by popes and bishops and abbots who entrusted the greatest monuments of Christendom to these Masters. One only has to mention the name Michelangelo and you know of what I’m speaking. The Masters filled the most sacred places on Earth with their art. With the nineteenth century all this began to change. One after another the great men were bypassed in favor of secondary talents, then of third-raters, then of QUACKS, then of HUCKSTERS. So, in fashion, the biggest monuments were also the worst. LOOK. Look at Lourdes, Fourviere, Lisieux! Too many to name! Mediocrity! Outside of the Church, the plague continued. Ecclesiastical circles and civil officials no longer knew who the real masters were! New art was being created, new Masters were rising, but these Masters were being ignored by the Church in favor of “SACRED ART” such as THIS!
(An image of a “prayer book” picture.)
COUTURIER (cont’d)
This is the “Sacred Art” of today. But I propose that this is neither SACRED, nor ART! You may discuss this amongst yourselves, but LOOK! Look at it, please. Is this the amount of spiritual vitality in the Christian Church? THIS is the greatest portrayal of faith? THIS is MOVING? It is SENTIMENTAL, dear people. It is POPULAR. Christian people, with their clergies in the lead, are pleased with what they see. That is what people like because, at a certain level, that is what people ARE. This art is a SHAME. A corruption of all that is purest in the Gospel and in the faith. This art reveals a very real crisis of faith. It is lamentable. I am calling out to you. You. You. You. You! There must be a revolution in our times! Wake up!! Where is your faith? Where is your life? WAKE UP!!
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Burn Out
A couple of people tried to warn me that my schedule was a bit too much. I didn't want to listen. I just wanted to have the work done, I wanted to make this summer a summer full of writing and not waste any time. But ten hours of writing a day is way too much. I'd think that two to four hours a day of writing is about right. There were days when I was working on "Holy Schmidt!" for eight hours a day. BUT that was rewrites! Right now I'm generating new work, new pages and that's rough. Once something is out there on the page, you can start to see what it is, play around with it, get into the material and knead it. Right now, it's trying to expel pages from thoughts and that's just plain hard, man. I have written about 13 or so pages for "Hades & Persephone," rewrote 2 scenes for "The Conquest of Don Pedro," globbed together an opening monologue for "All Grace," and written two "bake-off" scenes for the Chris Leyva and Sarah Hammond Bake-Off Extravaganza. These two scenes are insanely different from anything I've written. Well, perhaps not, but everything I write these days seems different and disconnected to me. The first scene was a man and a woman together, the man was calling each of the woman's body parts by name. I wasn't sure what I was doing with that scene, but it made sense while I was writing it. The second was based on a painting I ran across in my search through modern sacred art: "The Last Supper" by Harald Duwe. It shows twelve men from the seventies, bad clothes and hair all around, crowding around a table that has a severed hand, foot, heart, and Jesus' head on a plate. Glasses are filled with blood. It's a dingy display. It rips out the "metaphor" of the Last Supper to its direct meaning: eating the body of Christ. I found myself called by this painting to write a play about it. Not a long play because the subject matter wouldn't hold up (a hard lesson to learn), but a play. The painting was created in 1978, so by use of the internet, I learned that Holy Thursday of 1978 was March 23. Then, I went to the NY Times archives, got the Times from March 23, 1978 and read through as many articles that spoke to me, taking notes, and doing quick research. It took about an hour. Then I started writing. Now, I wondered, how can I have a conversation going between 12 different people? Impossible. As I started writing the scene, I put four people in a single conversation, but wanted to move on to another topic altogether. I realized that all I would have to do is have different conversations going in different parts of the room. So, I divided up the room into pieces. Four people "At the TV," four people "At the Table," three people "At the Window," and one person "In the Corner." I'm actually very satisfied with the completeness of this ten minute play. It doesn't feel like it's leading to something or missing anything. It feels like it is what it is. So, if anything, I'll have written many ten minute plays this summer.
Even with all my productivity, I feel like a failure already. Since I was burned out, it shot me into this tail spin and I can't find the scenes in my head. It's especially frustrating with "All Grace" because I've barely sketched together an opening monologue and a brief outline of scenes I want to write. I just don't feel as though I know enough to start writing. What's going on in the art scene? What were the childhoods like for these characters (people)? I want to be true to the people, but there is no information. I have to make things up, I know I have to make things up, but I always need some sense of foundation. Whether it's information or emotion... I usually pull and steal from my own experience and that's fine usually, but I want this play to be a bit more epic than my little problems and questioning. I suppose if I'm honest with myself and my writing, the epic will breach the surface of the mundane. Maybe I should just write craziness and see where it gets me. Just write, damnit! This play needs to get written! I want a first draft by the end of the summer because I know that if I can just write it, it just might be the best play I've written so far.
* * *
I've realized that part of my burn out is coming from the journey this summer being one-sided. So much writing, no refilling of the reserves. I've decided, therefore, to read more plays. At least one a day. My friend Andy bought me 82 plays for $30 at a used bookstore in Jersey. I still need to pay him back. Eighty two plays. How many days left in the summer? Two months? 60 days or so? One play a day? Sixty plays? Not bad. I need to find discipline that replenishes and energizes and does more than exhaust and enervate.
Even with all my productivity, I feel like a failure already. Since I was burned out, it shot me into this tail spin and I can't find the scenes in my head. It's especially frustrating with "All Grace" because I've barely sketched together an opening monologue and a brief outline of scenes I want to write. I just don't feel as though I know enough to start writing. What's going on in the art scene? What were the childhoods like for these characters (people)? I want to be true to the people, but there is no information. I have to make things up, I know I have to make things up, but I always need some sense of foundation. Whether it's information or emotion... I usually pull and steal from my own experience and that's fine usually, but I want this play to be a bit more epic than my little problems and questioning. I suppose if I'm honest with myself and my writing, the epic will breach the surface of the mundane. Maybe I should just write craziness and see where it gets me. Just write, damnit! This play needs to get written! I want a first draft by the end of the summer because I know that if I can just write it, it just might be the best play I've written so far.
* * *
I've realized that part of my burn out is coming from the journey this summer being one-sided. So much writing, no refilling of the reserves. I've decided, therefore, to read more plays. At least one a day. My friend Andy bought me 82 plays for $30 at a used bookstore in Jersey. I still need to pay him back. Eighty two plays. How many days left in the summer? Two months? 60 days or so? One play a day? Sixty plays? Not bad. I need to find discipline that replenishes and energizes and does more than exhaust and enervate.
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