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.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Opening Image
I looked through the collection of articles in "Sacred Art" by Couturier and caught a sense of the priest's voice. I was taken in by his turns of phrase and his strong convictions. I found myself nodding and becoming excited by his thoughts and calls to action.
I've been searching for a doorway into the play. The first words are always the hardest for me. The initial move from "Nothing" to "Something." Heck, even making a new file for the play is a bit daunting. The start of the play is always risky. It never turns out how I want it. There is so much energy moving into the project that the first words fall flat and turn that energy into plain, old words. Plain old words... So, the process of a play is "Energy," to "Plain, Old Words," then back to "Energy" in a production. In the beginning of writing all that can be seen are the plain, old words and not the inciting energy or the explosion of energy yet to come in some far off possible production. So, where to start?
Melanie Marnich (and Julie Andrews to a certain extent) say to start at "the very beginning." Melanie mentioned that you want to have a very clear vision of the opening moment of your play. What is the first thing the audience sees? What energy rests in that opening image?
Reading Couturier's words, I had the vision of this older priest, gaunt, draped in a black cassock and cloak, large rimmed round black glasses. He stands smiling and staring at us in a spotlight. This is Pere Couturier, a Dominican priest. And he has come to speak to us.
That is my opening image for this play.
I've been searching for a doorway into the play. The first words are always the hardest for me. The initial move from "Nothing" to "Something." Heck, even making a new file for the play is a bit daunting. The start of the play is always risky. It never turns out how I want it. There is so much energy moving into the project that the first words fall flat and turn that energy into plain, old words. Plain old words... So, the process of a play is "Energy," to "Plain, Old Words," then back to "Energy" in a production. In the beginning of writing all that can be seen are the plain, old words and not the inciting energy or the explosion of energy yet to come in some far off possible production. So, where to start?
Melanie Marnich (and Julie Andrews to a certain extent) say to start at "the very beginning." Melanie mentioned that you want to have a very clear vision of the opening moment of your play. What is the first thing the audience sees? What energy rests in that opening image?
Reading Couturier's words, I had the vision of this older priest, gaunt, draped in a black cassock and cloak, large rimmed round black glasses. He stands smiling and staring at us in a spotlight. This is Pere Couturier, a Dominican priest. And he has come to speak to us.
That is my opening image for this play.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Forced Schedule
This weekend, I decided that the only way to finish all my work this summer was to make a schedule and stick to it. So, each day, I'll have my work cut out for me. 8:30-10:30, I'll work on "Hades & Persephone." This morning, I cleaned up the first twenty pages and turned it into something manageable and fun. Tomorrow, I'll move into uncharted scenes of the "middle of the play." If I work with this schedule, I should polish off a nice, happy, and complete first draft by next week. My goal is to churn out these plays to prove to myself that I don't have to take soooo much time to complete them if I set my mind to it. When I finish "Hades & Persephone," I'll change the 8:30 writing slot to "Spiral from Normalcy" time and go from there.
And from 10:30-1:00pm, I work on "All Grace." Today, this meant reading a VERY in-depth biography of Lipchitz. It was written like fiction. How could this author have known such things that were going on in the minds of the "characters." Thanks to this biography, I have a strong feeling of Lipchitz and his journey he will take in the play. I haven't quite decided how to incorporate so much of the past and in what way to incorporate the spiritual/imagination. How far do I take it from reality? Certain images and moments haunt me and beckon me from my imagination, which I feel is connected to something beyond my personal understanding... I feel like I should make a list of all the moments and episodes that are speaking to me and then take it from there. See what moments are in dialogue with one another and also wait and see which are related to the other stories (Leger and Couturier).
Now, I'm on lunch break until 2pm. At 2pm it's time to work on the musical "The Conquest of Don Pedro." My collaborator, Eliott Kahn, is going to call on Tuesday so we can discuss moving further into Act 2. Right now, we're a bit stuck at Act 2 scene 3. I've written a version of scene 4, but don't think it works anymore. Too much plot in one scene, but no character to it. I think it should rest with minor characters talking about the main characters. Plus, it would give those actors a fun song. Moving on after getting these scenes in order should work just fine. I feel very confident and comfortable with finishing up the musical very soon. I'd love to have a reading of it at the university, but how do you get people together to sing and learn songs? Getting actors together for a Monday night reading at Playwrights Workshop is hard enough.
From 4:00-6:00, we're back to "All Grace" time again. Now, that I've compiled a lot of information on Lipchitz and lived with his work for a bit, I'm going to give a looksey at Leger's life and works. Then, I'll see what I am compelled to do tomorrow during my "All Grace" slots.
At 6pm-7:30, (which can shift slightly because of dinner times and Rachael's arrival home), I'll work on my preparations to direct Stephen Ptacek's play "Billie the Kid." Stephen gave me the first season of the HBO series "Deadwood" to watch and get inspiration from. I've watched all of them, except for the last two episodes, which Stephen has somewhere... I'll read the rewrites, take notes, see where I have questions, and start mapping out beats and progression of action.
So, all in all, I hope to work 10 hours a day on theatre. 8:30 - 7:30, with a break for lunch. If I can get this schedule in my system, I can finish:
*"Hades & Persephone"
*"All Grace"
"The Conquest of Don Pedro"
"Spiral from Normalcy"
Four plays. Five, if you count the one I already finished ("Solamente Una Vez"). So I'm off to a great start.
* = priority
And from 10:30-1:00pm, I work on "All Grace." Today, this meant reading a VERY in-depth biography of Lipchitz. It was written like fiction. How could this author have known such things that were going on in the minds of the "characters." Thanks to this biography, I have a strong feeling of Lipchitz and his journey he will take in the play. I haven't quite decided how to incorporate so much of the past and in what way to incorporate the spiritual/imagination. How far do I take it from reality? Certain images and moments haunt me and beckon me from my imagination, which I feel is connected to something beyond my personal understanding... I feel like I should make a list of all the moments and episodes that are speaking to me and then take it from there. See what moments are in dialogue with one another and also wait and see which are related to the other stories (Leger and Couturier).
Now, I'm on lunch break until 2pm. At 2pm it's time to work on the musical "The Conquest of Don Pedro." My collaborator, Eliott Kahn, is going to call on Tuesday so we can discuss moving further into Act 2. Right now, we're a bit stuck at Act 2 scene 3. I've written a version of scene 4, but don't think it works anymore. Too much plot in one scene, but no character to it. I think it should rest with minor characters talking about the main characters. Plus, it would give those actors a fun song. Moving on after getting these scenes in order should work just fine. I feel very confident and comfortable with finishing up the musical very soon. I'd love to have a reading of it at the university, but how do you get people together to sing and learn songs? Getting actors together for a Monday night reading at Playwrights Workshop is hard enough.
From 4:00-6:00, we're back to "All Grace" time again. Now, that I've compiled a lot of information on Lipchitz and lived with his work for a bit, I'm going to give a looksey at Leger's life and works. Then, I'll see what I am compelled to do tomorrow during my "All Grace" slots.
At 6pm-7:30, (which can shift slightly because of dinner times and Rachael's arrival home), I'll work on my preparations to direct Stephen Ptacek's play "Billie the Kid." Stephen gave me the first season of the HBO series "Deadwood" to watch and get inspiration from. I've watched all of them, except for the last two episodes, which Stephen has somewhere... I'll read the rewrites, take notes, see where I have questions, and start mapping out beats and progression of action.
So, all in all, I hope to work 10 hours a day on theatre. 8:30 - 7:30, with a break for lunch. If I can get this schedule in my system, I can finish:
*"Hades & Persephone"
*"All Grace"
"The Conquest of Don Pedro"
"Spiral from Normalcy"
Four plays. Five, if you count the one I already finished ("Solamente Una Vez"). So I'm off to a great start.
* = priority
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Odd Inspiration
While eating my #1 from McDonalds this afternoon, I had the urge to crack open my DVD collection and find a "making of" special I hadn't watched. After scanning title after title, I rested on a documentary on the second disc of "Pulp Fiction." As people were describing the writing, they talked about how ordinary the characters were. This was real. Tarantino talked about taking these grand movie genre characters and shoving some real life rules at them. This is very close to my thoughts about showing the Epic in the Mundane. Or, Sacred in the Profane as it were. I started to think of the story of "All Grace," and realized again that I don't want the play to be big and grand. I want it to have a quietness to it.
Also, Tarantino was describing "Pulp Fiction" as three stories that come together to create one story. This is what "All Grace" is. Three simple stories weaved together, brought together by "Mary" and the building of the church. What I realized when I boiled down the stories to their essence is that I've written these stories before!
Story 1: A priest with some "new ideas" tries to incorporate the "modern" world into his practices and has problems with the authorities of the church. ("Father Bob")
Story 2: A person who grew up immersed in a religious household has lost his faith and trust in the Church, yet is called to be a part of a great "mission" for God. ("Holy Schmidt!")
Story 3: A man has a religious experience in the NYC subway that informs his artwork and challenges his everyday life. ("Dialogues with Lars")
There are my stories. Simple. Now, where to start? It's probably too early to start thinking about structure, though I'm certainly curious about what a mix of Tarantino and Caryl Churchill would bring. What are the "episodes" of the three stories that make the larger points of the play? And, perhaps more importantly, what ARE the larger points of the play?
Also, Tarantino was describing "Pulp Fiction" as three stories that come together to create one story. This is what "All Grace" is. Three simple stories weaved together, brought together by "Mary" and the building of the church. What I realized when I boiled down the stories to their essence is that I've written these stories before!
Story 1: A priest with some "new ideas" tries to incorporate the "modern" world into his practices and has problems with the authorities of the church. ("Father Bob")
Story 2: A person who grew up immersed in a religious household has lost his faith and trust in the Church, yet is called to be a part of a great "mission" for God. ("Holy Schmidt!")
Story 3: A man has a religious experience in the NYC subway that informs his artwork and challenges his everyday life. ("Dialogues with Lars")
There are my stories. Simple. Now, where to start? It's probably too early to start thinking about structure, though I'm certainly curious about what a mix of Tarantino and Caryl Churchill would bring. What are the "episodes" of the three stories that make the larger points of the play? And, perhaps more importantly, what ARE the larger points of the play?
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Focus
The last time my fiancée, Rachael, and I met with the pastor who will be marrying us, Brian Milford, the pastor passed along a copy of Mircea Eliade’s “The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion.” He told me that he had been thinking a lot about the book after he saw the staged reading of my play “Holy Schmidt.” I started reading the book today, taking a break from “The Brothers Karamazov,” and I came across a passage that pushed my ideas for the play NddTG further. First off, I think I will be calling the play “All Grace” for now. That sounds like a great title to me on many levels. Anyway, the passage that hit me was this:
“For a believer, the church shares in a different space from the street in which it stands. The door that opens on the interior of the church actually signifies a solution of continuity. The threshold that separates the two spaces also indicates the distance between the two modes of being, the profane and the religious. The threshold is the limit, the boundary, the frontier that distinguishes and opposes two worlds – and at the same time the paradoxical place where these worlds communicate, where passage from the profane to the sacred world becomes possible.” (Eliade 25)
So, I thought about the doorway of the church. What is striking about the entrance of NDdTG? Fernand Leger’s façade mosaic. This striking and beautiful, colorful and vibrant work of art. I started to consider Leger’s place in the play: How does he fit in with my ideas concerning Lipchitz? What is the connection. It astounded me how simple and obvious the answer was: The subject matter. Both the works by Leger and Lipchitz depict the Virgin Mary. Lipchitz is not the nucleus of the play! MARY IS! D’oh! It was right there in front of my face. I can’t believe I missed it in my last post as I discussed the role of Mary in the church! I’ve decided to focus on the creation of the works of art that concern Mary. What is so beautiful about these works of art is that one was created by an outsider (Lipchitz), while the other was created by a man who had been heavily involved with the Church that he rebelled against it. Leger was a communist and not afraid to be vocal about it and often spoke out against the Church. The mere fact that Couturier convinced Leger to create the façade is a miracle. The two discussed the possibility of working together on a “great work” (Rubin 116). This all took place in America as they were in exile by the war.
In my mind, there is a scene where Leger comes face to face with the blank wall of the church. It is documented that Leger proclaimed, “At last, a wall” (Rubin 118). He begins to plan his work around the challenging structure: pillars, roof, windows. He is approached by a woman, carrying roses. They speak together for a time.
I’ve decided this play shouldn’t be completely narrative. I’m not going to tell the story of the creation of the church, and it may not be told linearly. I want episodes. I want a bit of “spiritual” help in the form of Mary. I don’t know whether to call her “Mary” in the script or not. My feeling is that it should be ambiguous whether or not the woman is really there or if she is a collective figment. Who hears her? Who speaks to her? How does she interact with them?
I have another scene in my mind of Father Couturier and Father Devemy (Father Devemy actually started the project to build the Church) speaking together about creating the art for the church. Mary sits with them, in conference with them, deciding the course of action.
I’m slowly starting to think of this play as smaller than I first thought. At first, I thought this should be a grand, epic play with many characters, lights, and huge backdrops. Now, I’m starting to see a smaller scale, but with the characters having time to breathe. Perhaps this is a shorter play. I feel the need to do more research into the personal lives of Leger and Lipchitz before I can actually begin crafting the play. I feel I’m on the verge of beginning this play.
“For a believer, the church shares in a different space from the street in which it stands. The door that opens on the interior of the church actually signifies a solution of continuity. The threshold that separates the two spaces also indicates the distance between the two modes of being, the profane and the religious. The threshold is the limit, the boundary, the frontier that distinguishes and opposes two worlds – and at the same time the paradoxical place where these worlds communicate, where passage from the profane to the sacred world becomes possible.” (Eliade 25)
So, I thought about the doorway of the church. What is striking about the entrance of NDdTG? Fernand Leger’s façade mosaic. This striking and beautiful, colorful and vibrant work of art. I started to consider Leger’s place in the play: How does he fit in with my ideas concerning Lipchitz? What is the connection. It astounded me how simple and obvious the answer was: The subject matter. Both the works by Leger and Lipchitz depict the Virgin Mary. Lipchitz is not the nucleus of the play! MARY IS! D’oh! It was right there in front of my face. I can’t believe I missed it in my last post as I discussed the role of Mary in the church! I’ve decided to focus on the creation of the works of art that concern Mary. What is so beautiful about these works of art is that one was created by an outsider (Lipchitz), while the other was created by a man who had been heavily involved with the Church that he rebelled against it. Leger was a communist and not afraid to be vocal about it and often spoke out against the Church. The mere fact that Couturier convinced Leger to create the façade is a miracle. The two discussed the possibility of working together on a “great work” (Rubin 116). This all took place in America as they were in exile by the war.
In my mind, there is a scene where Leger comes face to face with the blank wall of the church. It is documented that Leger proclaimed, “At last, a wall” (Rubin 118). He begins to plan his work around the challenging structure: pillars, roof, windows. He is approached by a woman, carrying roses. They speak together for a time.
I’ve decided this play shouldn’t be completely narrative. I’m not going to tell the story of the creation of the church, and it may not be told linearly. I want episodes. I want a bit of “spiritual” help in the form of Mary. I don’t know whether to call her “Mary” in the script or not. My feeling is that it should be ambiguous whether or not the woman is really there or if she is a collective figment. Who hears her? Who speaks to her? How does she interact with them?
I have another scene in my mind of Father Couturier and Father Devemy (Father Devemy actually started the project to build the Church) speaking together about creating the art for the church. Mary sits with them, in conference with them, deciding the course of action.
I’m slowly starting to think of this play as smaller than I first thought. At first, I thought this should be a grand, epic play with many characters, lights, and huge backdrops. Now, I’m starting to see a smaller scale, but with the characters having time to breathe. Perhaps this is a shorter play. I feel the need to do more research into the personal lives of Leger and Lipchitz before I can actually begin crafting the play. I feel I’m on the verge of beginning this play.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Friday Thoughts
Couturier: "[Christian art should be resurrected by geniuses who happen also to be saints], but under actual conditions, since men of this kind do not exist... it would be safer to turn to geniuses without faith than to believers without talent" (Rubin 68-69)
Couturier (Quoting St. Augustine): "Many are outside who believe themselves to be within, and many are within who believe themselves to be without" (Rubin 69)
Bryan Moore, who has been helping me with research and discussions, told me earlier this week that I should be ready to start writing some scenes. Maybe a monologue or two, just to see where my thinking is. I started to consider this today, wondering what scene I could possibly write.
In rereading the story of the evolution of Lipchitz's Virgin created for the baptismal font of NDdTG, I am struck with the feeling that Lipchitz might be my nucleus. While reading "The Brothers Karamazov" today, my mind fluttered around and, for some reason, rested on the New York subway system. Why? I'm not sure. It was my curiosity and fear of the subway, my own personal reflections on the subway and New York life that had created my first play, "Dialogues with Lars." The NYC subway was a place of spirituality, of rebirth, and of sacredness. The story of Lipchitz's creation of the Virgin discusses how he had a "vision" on the subway in NYC in 1948. He was so moved by this vision that he took out an address book, the only paper in his pocket, and sketched what would become the basic foundation of the sculpture. In my thinking about this play, I've been "seeing" that scene onstage. It is the only scene that I can "see." The subway. An older man. A sudden apparition. Inspiration.
What is this apparition? Is it Jesus Christ? God Himself? I've been toying around with a celestial body being in the play, interacting with the others. Then, it hit me. Mary. The Virgin Mary. She's the namesake of the Church. She has the greatest representations in NDdTG, (on the facade of the Church, in the Lipchitz sculpture). It should be her. She should be Lipchitz's vision. Not in the visions of tradition- in a blaze of light and carrying roses, but a woman in the clothes of the 40's. A nice dress, maybe even pants. Maybe carrying roses? That strikes me as an important link. Roses. She's selling roses on the subway. She sits next to Lipchitz. What are they talking about? Perhaps nothing of consequence, but she strikes a nerve. And as she gets off the subway, leaving Lipchitz alone, he has an epiphany. His mind goes back over his conversation and he draws his first image of what would become his Virgin.
Lipchitz described his experience creating the Virgin as a religious experience.
"When working, I am linked to the entire cosmos. By rhythm I am linked to time, by volume I am linked to space, and by the subject matter I am liked to human beings, to their sufferings and joys. And through the feeling of creation I am bound to our Lord himself. From this comes the fascination of work and also the feeling of responsibility"(Rubin 133).
Now, I think I may have found my nucleus. How does this branch out to take hold of the rest of the material? Taking into account Lee Blessing's advice to me of looking at a play as a "Lawyer's Opening and Closing Remarks," what am I trying to prove with this play? And what is my evidence? So far, the first clue is: NYC subway. Does that mean that true spiritual experience happens outside of the Church?
Couturier (Quoting St. Augustine): "Many are outside who believe themselves to be within, and many are within who believe themselves to be without" (Rubin 69)
Bryan Moore, who has been helping me with research and discussions, told me earlier this week that I should be ready to start writing some scenes. Maybe a monologue or two, just to see where my thinking is. I started to consider this today, wondering what scene I could possibly write.
In rereading the story of the evolution of Lipchitz's Virgin created for the baptismal font of NDdTG, I am struck with the feeling that Lipchitz might be my nucleus. While reading "The Brothers Karamazov" today, my mind fluttered around and, for some reason, rested on the New York subway system. Why? I'm not sure. It was my curiosity and fear of the subway, my own personal reflections on the subway and New York life that had created my first play, "Dialogues with Lars." The NYC subway was a place of spirituality, of rebirth, and of sacredness. The story of Lipchitz's creation of the Virgin discusses how he had a "vision" on the subway in NYC in 1948. He was so moved by this vision that he took out an address book, the only paper in his pocket, and sketched what would become the basic foundation of the sculpture. In my thinking about this play, I've been "seeing" that scene onstage. It is the only scene that I can "see." The subway. An older man. A sudden apparition. Inspiration.
What is this apparition? Is it Jesus Christ? God Himself? I've been toying around with a celestial body being in the play, interacting with the others. Then, it hit me. Mary. The Virgin Mary. She's the namesake of the Church. She has the greatest representations in NDdTG, (on the facade of the Church, in the Lipchitz sculpture). It should be her. She should be Lipchitz's vision. Not in the visions of tradition- in a blaze of light and carrying roses, but a woman in the clothes of the 40's. A nice dress, maybe even pants. Maybe carrying roses? That strikes me as an important link. Roses. She's selling roses on the subway. She sits next to Lipchitz. What are they talking about? Perhaps nothing of consequence, but she strikes a nerve. And as she gets off the subway, leaving Lipchitz alone, he has an epiphany. His mind goes back over his conversation and he draws his first image of what would become his Virgin.
Lipchitz described his experience creating the Virgin as a religious experience.
"When working, I am linked to the entire cosmos. By rhythm I am linked to time, by volume I am linked to space, and by the subject matter I am liked to human beings, to their sufferings and joys. And through the feeling of creation I am bound to our Lord himself. From this comes the fascination of work and also the feeling of responsibility"(Rubin 133).
Now, I think I may have found my nucleus. How does this branch out to take hold of the rest of the material? Taking into account Lee Blessing's advice to me of looking at a play as a "Lawyer's Opening and Closing Remarks," what am I trying to prove with this play? And what is my evidence? So far, the first clue is: NYC subway. Does that mean that true spiritual experience happens outside of the Church?
Monday, May 23, 2005
Crazy Idea
NDdTG was built for the patients of a tuberculosis sanatorium. What if the play takes place in the sanatorium with the patients performing a play about the creation of the Church? It's a crazy idea, but that was the community this church was built for. What are the needs of this community? Are they the same needs that exist for the Church today? For our society in America?
The decorations of the church were chosen expressly for the community at hand, they were 1. The sick, 2. French, 3. Christian. This seems to be the heirarchy that defines the congregation. For example, the windows depict saints based on their involvement with sickness and cure, yet also the majority are national French heroes.
From "Modern Sacred Art and the Church of Assy":
"Surverying the decoration from within the church, one is struck by a feeling of isolation of parts, resulting to some extent from the absence of a continuous iconographic scheme. This sense of disjunction is reinforced by the marked difference in style from one work to the next. Thus, just as the musical saints of the tribune seem to have no connection with the iconography below, the style of Bazaine is at variance with that of Rouault. Yet this iconographic and stylistic discontinuity is not out of harmony with the more individualistic, less group-oriented religious experience of the convalescents at Assy" (Rubin 39).
"Another unusual aspect of the iconographic program is the almost total absence of narrative imagery. None of the themes popular among even modernist Catholic artists (like the Stations of the Cross) are present. Although the saints are included on account of their acts, they are never shown in action; rather they are portrayed as simple standing figures, resembling more the medieval 'icon' than the narrative image familar since the time of Giotto... This absolute insistence upon the 'icon' presentation is peculiar to the church of Assy among the twentieth-century churches, and it may be that it results in part from the particular expressive needs of the participating modern artists. In general, narrative imagery has been foreign to modern painters" (Rubin 43-44).
How does this affect the style and structure of the play? Are the artists shown as icons rather than as characters? Does this play take place during the building of the church or after? How long after? Does this play take place in Heaven? What is the foundation of the play? The artists, the church, or the priests behind it? Or the patients? What bearing does this individualistic, non-narrative quality of the art have on the play? I'm still drowning in questions, themes, and topics. Where is the nucleus?
Caryl Churchill keeps jumping into my mind as I think of writing this play. "Top Girls." "Cloud Nine." What does that mean?
The decorations of the church were chosen expressly for the community at hand, they were 1. The sick, 2. French, 3. Christian. This seems to be the heirarchy that defines the congregation. For example, the windows depict saints based on their involvement with sickness and cure, yet also the majority are national French heroes.
From "Modern Sacred Art and the Church of Assy":
"Surverying the decoration from within the church, one is struck by a feeling of isolation of parts, resulting to some extent from the absence of a continuous iconographic scheme. This sense of disjunction is reinforced by the marked difference in style from one work to the next. Thus, just as the musical saints of the tribune seem to have no connection with the iconography below, the style of Bazaine is at variance with that of Rouault. Yet this iconographic and stylistic discontinuity is not out of harmony with the more individualistic, less group-oriented religious experience of the convalescents at Assy" (Rubin 39).
"Another unusual aspect of the iconographic program is the almost total absence of narrative imagery. None of the themes popular among even modernist Catholic artists (like the Stations of the Cross) are present. Although the saints are included on account of their acts, they are never shown in action; rather they are portrayed as simple standing figures, resembling more the medieval 'icon' than the narrative image familar since the time of Giotto... This absolute insistence upon the 'icon' presentation is peculiar to the church of Assy among the twentieth-century churches, and it may be that it results in part from the particular expressive needs of the participating modern artists. In general, narrative imagery has been foreign to modern painters" (Rubin 43-44).
How does this affect the style and structure of the play? Are the artists shown as icons rather than as characters? Does this play take place during the building of the church or after? How long after? Does this play take place in Heaven? What is the foundation of the play? The artists, the church, or the priests behind it? Or the patients? What bearing does this individualistic, non-narrative quality of the art have on the play? I'm still drowning in questions, themes, and topics. Where is the nucleus?
Caryl Churchill keeps jumping into my mind as I think of writing this play. "Top Girls." "Cloud Nine." What does that mean?
Battle for Modern Sacred Art
From Pope Pius XII:
Attacked "works which astonishingly deform art and yet pretend to be Christian...from which naturally derives the fact that there is no lack in our times of priests infected in some way with a similar contagion...who have allowed themselves to be carried away by the mania of novelty" (Rubin 47-48).
Reaction against Notre Dame de Toute Grace (NDdTG) was focused after its dedication, 1950, and carried on long after.
From the "Tract of Angers":
"certain modern pictures which pretend to represent religious subjects, though the eye can discern only angular, grimacing, and unformed figures, in the midst of violent colors. The pure visage of the Virgin is replaced by a dirty caricature...This is not religious art, but an infamous profanation" (Rubin 50).
From an unnamed Dominican priest:
"modern art will have had three enemies, Hitler, Stalin, and the Pope" (Rubin 51).
Because of protestations, the crucifix designed by Germaine Richier was removed from the Church, though the residents of Assy had no reaction against the work of art. In fact, after its removal, members of the community wrote letters begging for their crucifix to be restored. The Papacy was very much removed from the situation itself. How does this disconnection fit into the play?
Attacked "works which astonishingly deform art and yet pretend to be Christian...from which naturally derives the fact that there is no lack in our times of priests infected in some way with a similar contagion...who have allowed themselves to be carried away by the mania of novelty" (Rubin 47-48).
Reaction against Notre Dame de Toute Grace (NDdTG) was focused after its dedication, 1950, and carried on long after.
From the "Tract of Angers":
"certain modern pictures which pretend to represent religious subjects, though the eye can discern only angular, grimacing, and unformed figures, in the midst of violent colors. The pure visage of the Virgin is replaced by a dirty caricature...This is not religious art, but an infamous profanation" (Rubin 50).
From an unnamed Dominican priest:
"modern art will have had three enemies, Hitler, Stalin, and the Pope" (Rubin 51).
Because of protestations, the crucifix designed by Germaine Richier was removed from the Church, though the residents of Assy had no reaction against the work of art. In fact, after its removal, members of the community wrote letters begging for their crucifix to be restored. The Papacy was very much removed from the situation itself. How does this disconnection fit into the play?
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Segments of a Letter to Artists from Pope John Paul II
The artist, image of God the Creator
None can sense more deeply than you artists, ingenious creators of beauty that you are, something of the pathos with which God at the dawn of creation looked upon the work of his hands.
The link between good and beautiful stirs fruitful reflection. In a certain sense, beauty is the visible form of the good, just as the good is the metaphysical condition of beauty. This was well understood by the Greeks who, by fusing the two concepts, coined a term which embraces both: kalokagathía, or beauty-goodness. On this point Plato writes: “The power of the Good has taken refuge in the nature of the Beautiful”.(5)
It is in living and acting that man establishes his relationship with being, with the truth and with the good. The artist has a special relationship to beauty. In a very true sense it can be said that beauty is the vocation bestowed on him by the Creator in the gift of “artistic talent”.
Those who perceive in themselves this kind of divine spark which is the artistic vocation—as poet, writer, sculptor, architect, musician, actor and so on—feel at the same time the obligation not to waste this talent but to develop it, in order to put it at the service of their neighbour and of humanity as a whole.
Society needs artists, just as it needs scientists, technicians, workers, professional people, witnesses of the faith, teachers, fathers and mothers, who ensure the growth of the person and the development of the community by means of that supreme art form which is “the art of education”. Within the vast cultural panorama of each nation, artists have their unique place. Obedient to their inspiration in creating works both worthwhile and beautiful, they not only enrich the cultural heritage of each nation and of all humanity, but they also render an exceptional social service in favour of the common good.
* * *
Even in the changed climate of more recent centuries, when a part of society seems to have become indifferent to faith, religious art has continued on its way.
It is true nevertheless that, in the modern era, alongside this Christian humanism which has continued to produce important works of culture and art, another kind of humanism, marked by the absence of God and often by opposition to God, has gradually asserted itself. Such an atmosphere has sometimes led to a separation of the world of art and the world of faith, at least in the sense that many artists have a diminished interest in religious themes.
You know, however, that the Church has not ceased to nurture great appreciation for the value of art as such. Even beyond its typically religious expressions, true art has a close affinity with the world of faith, so that, even in situations where culture and the Church are far apart, art remains a kind of bridge to religious experience.
In order to communicate the message entrusted to her by Christ, the Church needs art. Art must make perceptible, and as far as possible attractive, the world of the spirit, of the invisible, of God. It must therefore translate into meaningful terms that which is in itself ineffable. Art has a unique capacity to take one or other facet of the message and translate it into colours, shapes and sounds which nourish the intuition of those who look or listen. It does so without emptying the message itself of its transcendent value and its aura of mystery.
But can it also be said that art needs the Church? The question may seem like a provocation. Yet, rightly understood, it is both legitimate and profound. Artists are constantly in search of the hidden meaning of things, and their torment is to succeed in expressing the world of the ineffable. How then can we fail to see what a great source of inspiration is offered by that kind of homeland of the soul that is religion? Is it not perhaps within the realm of religion that the most vital personal questions are posed, and answers both concrete and definitive are sought?
None can sense more deeply than you artists, ingenious creators of beauty that you are, something of the pathos with which God at the dawn of creation looked upon the work of his hands.
The link between good and beautiful stirs fruitful reflection. In a certain sense, beauty is the visible form of the good, just as the good is the metaphysical condition of beauty. This was well understood by the Greeks who, by fusing the two concepts, coined a term which embraces both: kalokagathía, or beauty-goodness. On this point Plato writes: “The power of the Good has taken refuge in the nature of the Beautiful”.(5)
It is in living and acting that man establishes his relationship with being, with the truth and with the good. The artist has a special relationship to beauty. In a very true sense it can be said that beauty is the vocation bestowed on him by the Creator in the gift of “artistic talent”.
Those who perceive in themselves this kind of divine spark which is the artistic vocation—as poet, writer, sculptor, architect, musician, actor and so on—feel at the same time the obligation not to waste this talent but to develop it, in order to put it at the service of their neighbour and of humanity as a whole.
Society needs artists, just as it needs scientists, technicians, workers, professional people, witnesses of the faith, teachers, fathers and mothers, who ensure the growth of the person and the development of the community by means of that supreme art form which is “the art of education”. Within the vast cultural panorama of each nation, artists have their unique place. Obedient to their inspiration in creating works both worthwhile and beautiful, they not only enrich the cultural heritage of each nation and of all humanity, but they also render an exceptional social service in favour of the common good.
* * *
Even in the changed climate of more recent centuries, when a part of society seems to have become indifferent to faith, religious art has continued on its way.
It is true nevertheless that, in the modern era, alongside this Christian humanism which has continued to produce important works of culture and art, another kind of humanism, marked by the absence of God and often by opposition to God, has gradually asserted itself. Such an atmosphere has sometimes led to a separation of the world of art and the world of faith, at least in the sense that many artists have a diminished interest in religious themes.
You know, however, that the Church has not ceased to nurture great appreciation for the value of art as such. Even beyond its typically religious expressions, true art has a close affinity with the world of faith, so that, even in situations where culture and the Church are far apart, art remains a kind of bridge to religious experience.
In order to communicate the message entrusted to her by Christ, the Church needs art. Art must make perceptible, and as far as possible attractive, the world of the spirit, of the invisible, of God. It must therefore translate into meaningful terms that which is in itself ineffable. Art has a unique capacity to take one or other facet of the message and translate it into colours, shapes and sounds which nourish the intuition of those who look or listen. It does so without emptying the message itself of its transcendent value and its aura of mystery.
But can it also be said that art needs the Church? The question may seem like a provocation. Yet, rightly understood, it is both legitimate and profound. Artists are constantly in search of the hidden meaning of things, and their torment is to succeed in expressing the world of the ineffable. How then can we fail to see what a great source of inspiration is offered by that kind of homeland of the soul that is religion? Is it not perhaps within the realm of religion that the most vital personal questions are posed, and answers both concrete and definitive are sought?
Andy on the Connections of Theologians and Artists
Some ad hoc remarks on the secularization of sacred art and the current relationship of art and theology:
Christian art became "very tame and saccharine" mostly in response to the Protestant Reformation. The Protestants became disenchanted with, perhaps disaffected by, the art of the churches. This forced the Catholics to reevaluate their use of art, particularly sculpture and images.
The Council of Trent decreed, "All superstition must be removed from invocation of the saints, veneration of relics and use of sacred images; all aiming at base profit must be eliminated; all sensual appeal must be avoided, so that the images are not painted or adorned with seductive charm.... And lastly, bishops should give very great care and attention to ensure that in this matter nothing occurs that is disorderly, ...nothing profane and nothing unseemly, since holiness befits the house of God."
Thus the beginning of kitsch in Christian art. A healthy concern for holiness in art became a paranoia of undomesticated artistic style--a stifling of artistic style.
In the meantime, the Reformers' suspicion of art in general (as idolatry) gave rise to an interesting phenomenon--the secularization of art. Some of the Reformers outright refused art as a valid occupation for Christians at all. Some simply disallowed art in churches. Others allowed art in church as a teaching tool only. They all agreed, however, that veneration of the images (as with the icons) was not to be practiced. This divested art of its sacredness, its holiness, its numinous quality. In addition, many of the Reformers advocated art in private collections (mostly held by the wealthy, such as aristocracy or royalty) and in the secular world in general. Thus we find the beginnings of a division between the private and public as well as the sacred and secular uses of art among Christians in the Protestant Reformation (ca. 1500).
It is at this time that art begins to have a new patronage as well. Because the reformers continued to advocate the arts outside of the religious sphere, the private sphere (again, mostly among the wealthy) began to consume art at a much higher rate. The Church was no longer the patron of the arts She used to be, so the public began patronizing the arts.
This trajectory, of course, continued into the Enlightenment/post-Enlightenment era. During the Enlightenment all things sacred took a huge hit. The rift between the secular and sacred gaped, due to a number of cultural revolutions. The churches (whether Protestant or Catholic) reeled. In the world of art, all innovation came from outside of the churches. Coincidentally, as the end of the nineteenth century approached, art became a religion of sorts--art for art's sake. The museums became temples, artists became gods, art became works idols, and critics became priests. Artists took art seriously because they took Beauty (albeit, sometimes hidden beneath ugliness) seriously. Is it any wonder that more soul was to be found in secular art?
Can we find a bridge between art and religion anymore? What can unite the two worlds? Where do we look for answers? I have to bypass a number of problems on the way to an answer here, and ignore serious questions that could be raised. But there are two distinct connections between art and Christianity--creation and incarnation. In creating, artists participate in the work of God the Creator. I would go so far as to say that the creation of artists attempts to reflect some small ray of what is Beautiful. And when it does this well, art participates in part of the divine nature. (There are any number of qualifications that should be made here, but I spare you the thirty-page essay.)
The incarnation validates particularly religious images. God took on human flesh, the mundane, the worldly by God's own volition. In the Scriptures, Christ is called the image (eikon=icon) of God (2 Cor 4.4; Col 1.15). This transgresses the line between worldly and otherworldly, between immanent and transcendent, and allows for communication between the sacred and the profane or the secular and the sacred. My Munch paper will draw these lines a little more closely. The incarnation is also the validation for the Eucharistic collision of mundane (bread and wine) and divine (body and blood of Christ).
At any rate the experience of the aesthetic is akin to experience of God. As a theologian AND as an artist I am captive to the Infinite void that beckons in Beauty, in Truth, and in the Good. The mysterium tremendum strikes us dumb when we encounter it and enraptures us as it enthralls us. In a great mystery it is only this void, which is not a void, that can offer us any answers. It is the thirst for transcendence that calls both artists and theologians.
Ok, so these have necessarily been very incomplete thoughts, but there they are. JP II wrote a letter to artists in 1999 that reflects the same kind of thinking I have adopted. It's worth checking out.
Anyway, that's the most concise I can make it tonight.
Christian art became "very tame and saccharine" mostly in response to the Protestant Reformation. The Protestants became disenchanted with, perhaps disaffected by, the art of the churches. This forced the Catholics to reevaluate their use of art, particularly sculpture and images.
The Council of Trent decreed, "All superstition must be removed from invocation of the saints, veneration of relics and use of sacred images; all aiming at base profit must be eliminated; all sensual appeal must be avoided, so that the images are not painted or adorned with seductive charm.... And lastly, bishops should give very great care and attention to ensure that in this matter nothing occurs that is disorderly, ...nothing profane and nothing unseemly, since holiness befits the house of God."
Thus the beginning of kitsch in Christian art. A healthy concern for holiness in art became a paranoia of undomesticated artistic style--a stifling of artistic style.
In the meantime, the Reformers' suspicion of art in general (as idolatry) gave rise to an interesting phenomenon--the secularization of art. Some of the Reformers outright refused art as a valid occupation for Christians at all. Some simply disallowed art in churches. Others allowed art in church as a teaching tool only. They all agreed, however, that veneration of the images (as with the icons) was not to be practiced. This divested art of its sacredness, its holiness, its numinous quality. In addition, many of the Reformers advocated art in private collections (mostly held by the wealthy, such as aristocracy or royalty) and in the secular world in general. Thus we find the beginnings of a division between the private and public as well as the sacred and secular uses of art among Christians in the Protestant Reformation (ca. 1500).
It is at this time that art begins to have a new patronage as well. Because the reformers continued to advocate the arts outside of the religious sphere, the private sphere (again, mostly among the wealthy) began to consume art at a much higher rate. The Church was no longer the patron of the arts She used to be, so the public began patronizing the arts.
This trajectory, of course, continued into the Enlightenment/post-Enlightenment era. During the Enlightenment all things sacred took a huge hit. The rift between the secular and sacred gaped, due to a number of cultural revolutions. The churches (whether Protestant or Catholic) reeled. In the world of art, all innovation came from outside of the churches. Coincidentally, as the end of the nineteenth century approached, art became a religion of sorts--art for art's sake. The museums became temples, artists became gods, art became works idols, and critics became priests. Artists took art seriously because they took Beauty (albeit, sometimes hidden beneath ugliness) seriously. Is it any wonder that more soul was to be found in secular art?
Can we find a bridge between art and religion anymore? What can unite the two worlds? Where do we look for answers? I have to bypass a number of problems on the way to an answer here, and ignore serious questions that could be raised. But there are two distinct connections between art and Christianity--creation and incarnation. In creating, artists participate in the work of God the Creator. I would go so far as to say that the creation of artists attempts to reflect some small ray of what is Beautiful. And when it does this well, art participates in part of the divine nature. (There are any number of qualifications that should be made here, but I spare you the thirty-page essay.)
The incarnation validates particularly religious images. God took on human flesh, the mundane, the worldly by God's own volition. In the Scriptures, Christ is called the image (eikon=icon) of God (2 Cor 4.4; Col 1.15). This transgresses the line between worldly and otherworldly, between immanent and transcendent, and allows for communication between the sacred and the profane or the secular and the sacred. My Munch paper will draw these lines a little more closely. The incarnation is also the validation for the Eucharistic collision of mundane (bread and wine) and divine (body and blood of Christ).
At any rate the experience of the aesthetic is akin to experience of God. As a theologian AND as an artist I am captive to the Infinite void that beckons in Beauty, in Truth, and in the Good. The mysterium tremendum strikes us dumb when we encounter it and enraptures us as it enthralls us. In a great mystery it is only this void, which is not a void, that can offer us any answers. It is the thirst for transcendence that calls both artists and theologians.
Ok, so these have necessarily been very incomplete thoughts, but there they are. JP II wrote a letter to artists in 1999 that reflects the same kind of thinking I have adopted. It's worth checking out.
Anyway, that's the most concise I can make it tonight.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Theologians and Artists
I've been reading up on the Church of Assy and the history of sacred art a bit and it seems there are interesting parallels with trends that are happening today: those in power creating a very tame and saccarine version of faith for the masses to consume, a very commercialized version of Christ where "sacred art" looks just like "kitsch." There is no difference, no soul in either. And it's so sad that the only way to find the soul in the sacred was to look to atheists, those supposedly without faith. Outsiders. There was so much disconnection from the world that there was this experiment for "worker-priests," priests in everyday clothes, working side by side with the common men of the day. They declared France to be a "missionary country," which meant to deal with it as other countries without faith. Desperate times I suppose. Secular Vs. Sacred. Has this always been the way of things? What is the bridge? What can unite those worlds? As a theologian, where do you seek the answers? As an artist, where do you seek the answers? Is that the most logical pairing: Theologian and Artist? It seems that theologian and politician has never been a good mix looking back at history and the corruption of the papacy. But Theologian and Artist. Where's the link? Is it a natural bond?
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Dramaturgical Questions from Bryan Moore
Do I focus on the Project itself?
The artists lives during the project?
Did they have any problems working together?
Did religion cause any problems? Jew Vs. Catholic Vs. Atheist?
Focus on the criticism and arguments against the artists?
How much is the outside world (ie., WWII) informing the play?
How did the artists react to the war?
If the artists were forced to stop work on the Church, why did they stop their work? Why did they continue after the war?
Was there a deadline? Did the war affect this deadline?
Are there only a couple of artists to focus on?
Are we looking at the artists for their art, for their religion? What angle?
Is this a personal story or more of a larger scale/project oriented?
Is this the story of M.-A. Coutrier? Conflict of bridging the gap?
What about the forgotten artists? How did they decide? Is that important?
What was the state of art in the world at the time? Sacred art?
Why was this so important?
How was Modern art being considered in general?
What questions are the important ones to answer?
Only two of the artists were practicing Catholics.
Were there any specific works that caused some flack, had to be changed, or weren't used? There were many designs, but were any not used?
Was there a painter or artist who worked to put everything together? The link between all the artists? What is the linking factor? What is the nucleus?
Is this an ensemble piece?
The artists lives during the project?
Did they have any problems working together?
Did religion cause any problems? Jew Vs. Catholic Vs. Atheist?
Focus on the criticism and arguments against the artists?
How much is the outside world (ie., WWII) informing the play?
How did the artists react to the war?
If the artists were forced to stop work on the Church, why did they stop their work? Why did they continue after the war?
Was there a deadline? Did the war affect this deadline?
Are there only a couple of artists to focus on?
Are we looking at the artists for their art, for their religion? What angle?
Is this a personal story or more of a larger scale/project oriented?
Is this the story of M.-A. Coutrier? Conflict of bridging the gap?
What about the forgotten artists? How did they decide? Is that important?
What was the state of art in the world at the time? Sacred art?
Why was this so important?
How was Modern art being considered in general?
What questions are the important ones to answer?
Only two of the artists were practicing Catholics.
Were there any specific works that caused some flack, had to be changed, or weren't used? There were many designs, but were any not used?
Was there a painter or artist who worked to put everything together? The link between all the artists? What is the linking factor? What is the nucleus?
Is this an ensemble piece?
Note
Lipchitz: Do you know that I'm a Jew?
Cleric: If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother us.
(Rubin 126)
Lipchitz wanted a special inscription on the Virgin he would design. This inscription is now written on the back of the Virgin:
"Jacob Lipchitz, Jew, faithful to the religion of his ancestors, has made this Virgin to foster understanding between men on earth that the life of the spirit may prevail." (Rubin 126-127)
Cleric: If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother us.
(Rubin 126)
Lipchitz wanted a special inscription on the Virgin he would design. This inscription is now written on the back of the Virgin:
"Jacob Lipchitz, Jew, faithful to the religion of his ancestors, has made this Virgin to foster understanding between men on earth that the life of the spirit may prevail." (Rubin 126-127)
Monday, May 16, 2005
Preliminary Bibliography
Couturier, M.-A. Sacred Art. Trans. Granger Ryan. Texas: University of Texas Press, 1989.
Crumlin, Rosemary. Beyond Belief: Modern Art and the Religious Imagination. Austrailia: National Gallery of Victoria, 1998.
Dillenberger, Jane and John Dillenberger. Perceptions of the Spirit in Twentieth-Century American Art. Indiana: Indianapolis Museum of Art, 1977.
Dillenberger, John. A Theology of Artistic Sensibilities: The Visual Arts and the Church. New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company, 1986.
Mastisse, Henri, M.-A. Couturier and L.-B. Rayssiguier. The Vence Chapel: The Archive of a Creation. Trans. Michael Taylor. Italy: Skira Editore S.P.A., 1999.
Purdy, William A. Seeing and Believing: Theology and Art. Butler, Wisconsin: Clergy Book Service, 1976.
Rubin, William S. Modern Sacred Art and the Church of Assy. New York: Columbia University Press, 1961.
Viladesau, Richard. Theology and the Arts: Encountering God through Music, Art and Rhetoric. New York: Paulist Press, 2000.
Crumlin, Rosemary. Beyond Belief: Modern Art and the Religious Imagination. Austrailia: National Gallery of Victoria, 1998.
Dillenberger, Jane and John Dillenberger. Perceptions of the Spirit in Twentieth-Century American Art. Indiana: Indianapolis Museum of Art, 1977.
Dillenberger, John. A Theology of Artistic Sensibilities: The Visual Arts and the Church. New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company, 1986.
Mastisse, Henri, M.-A. Couturier and L.-B. Rayssiguier. The Vence Chapel: The Archive of a Creation. Trans. Michael Taylor. Italy: Skira Editore S.P.A., 1999.
Purdy, William A. Seeing and Believing: Theology and Art. Butler, Wisconsin: Clergy Book Service, 1976.
Rubin, William S. Modern Sacred Art and the Church of Assy. New York: Columbia University Press, 1961.
Viladesau, Richard. Theology and the Arts: Encountering God through Music, Art and Rhetoric. New York: Paulist Press, 2000.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Research Revision
It begins. Research for a play. Already, I feel inundated with information and I've barely started. After speaking with Art, I've decided to focus my energy this summer to creating ONE play: The Church in Plateau d'Assy, France. The story is so specific while the other plays are more focused around large ideas rather than characters or a story. Plus, the story of the Church, Notre Dame de Toute Grace, is so ripe with theatrical possibility that I find it necessary to put it above the others. I've already started dreaming about the play. I found pictures of the Church itself last night and thought "What scenic designer wouldn't be inspired by these pictures?" The Church is on a mountainside in the Alps and is made of stone. The shape of the church is angular and sharp.
What I need to do is find information about all the artists in order to figure out reasons why they would have taken part in this project. I found a book on Matisse, which archives the creation of another chapel in France. It gives day to day documentation of Matisse's work and would prove useful in crafting this play.
I've tried to find the list of ALL the artists that were involved and have compile the following list. It may not be complete, but it's a start:
Léger
Lurçat
Bazaine
Bonnard
Braque
Richier
Chagall
Lipschitz
Matisse
Rouault
In the next few days, I will make my way to the libraries and fill my bag. Here goes.
What I need to do is find information about all the artists in order to figure out reasons why they would have taken part in this project. I found a book on Matisse, which archives the creation of another chapel in France. It gives day to day documentation of Matisse's work and would prove useful in crafting this play.
I've tried to find the list of ALL the artists that were involved and have compile the following list. It may not be complete, but it's a start:
Léger
Lurçat
Bazaine
Bonnard
Braque
Richier
Chagall
Lipschitz
Matisse
Rouault
In the next few days, I will make my way to the libraries and fill my bag. Here goes.
Sunday, May 01, 2005
From Andy
Hey, some more things:
Baudelaire's essay, "The Painter of Modern Life." Would be helpful for both projects, but probably especially for the Decadents.
Ellis Hanson--"Decadence and Catholicism." (For the Decadents, of course, and their relationship to Catholicism.)
William S. Rubin--"Modern Sacred Art and the Church of Assy." (Don't know how good it is, but I saw it in the library and thought it might be a good starting point.)
I'm sure I'll think of some other stuff at some point.
Baudelaire's essay, "The Painter of Modern Life." Would be helpful for both projects, but probably especially for the Decadents.
Ellis Hanson--"Decadence and Catholicism." (For the Decadents, of course, and their relationship to Catholicism.)
William S. Rubin--"Modern Sacred Art and the Church of Assy." (Don't know how good it is, but I saw it in the library and thought it might be a good starting point.)
I'm sure I'll think of some other stuff at some point.
Summer Independent Study
Last night, I spoke with my friend, Andy, for a long time. Mostly catching up, but also discussing the usual politics and religion and state of the human race, you know, the basics. And through our talk, I found two additional new plays to write! I’ve always been worried about finding ideas for plays, but I guess it’s not too hard to find things when you’re discussing what’s true and beautiful with the world and asking the big questions about REAL LOVE and DEATH. I've read, seen, and heard plays where writers write about love, characters fall in love, they write about death, characters die, but mostly the characters are meaningless and pitiful. The characters make themselves out to be victims in a world that’s really not that bad. Andy and I were discussing how people in the world are lazy and there’s no time for real thought. People are so caught up in living and living has become so cluttered and complicated that there’s no time to consider what’s true in the world.
So, now I have two play ideas:
1. A writer and a theologian on the fringe of The Decadents Movement try to sort through life in the “modern” world. This is a comedy of sorts, which I imagine in the vein of “Shakespeare in Love.”
2. M.-A. Couturier, a Dominican priest hires modern artists such as Léger, Braque, Matisse, Chagall, Lipschitz and others to decorate a new Church in the city of Assy in the south of France. This play is based on a true story. It would be great to embark on this journey and investigate all these great artists and the impact of creating the art for this Church. Can you imagine? Great minds together, the art that must have been created. I haven’t seen their work yet, I’ve only just heard of this event, so I’m going to spend my summer researching this event for my independent study.
Actually, I’m going to be researching for three plays, the two above and “Spiral from Normalcy (The Grand Justice),” which might just be getting a title change… Maybe something like “I’m Gonna Smite Thee?” Perhaps not. It depends on what the play ends up being.
So, here we go. For this summer:
Research The Decadents
Research The Church of Assy
Read “Crime and Punishment”
Read “The Brothers Karamazov”
Read Nietzsche’s “Thus Spake Zarathustra”
Read “Gilead”
Read “Against Nature”
Read plays of Sean O’Casey
These are my goals for my summer. Let my eyes be swift and my plays be plentiful.
So, now I have two play ideas:
1. A writer and a theologian on the fringe of The Decadents Movement try to sort through life in the “modern” world. This is a comedy of sorts, which I imagine in the vein of “Shakespeare in Love.”
2. M.-A. Couturier, a Dominican priest hires modern artists such as Léger, Braque, Matisse, Chagall, Lipschitz and others to decorate a new Church in the city of Assy in the south of France. This play is based on a true story. It would be great to embark on this journey and investigate all these great artists and the impact of creating the art for this Church. Can you imagine? Great minds together, the art that must have been created. I haven’t seen their work yet, I’ve only just heard of this event, so I’m going to spend my summer researching this event for my independent study.
Actually, I’m going to be researching for three plays, the two above and “Spiral from Normalcy (The Grand Justice),” which might just be getting a title change… Maybe something like “I’m Gonna Smite Thee?” Perhaps not. It depends on what the play ends up being.
So, here we go. For this summer:
Research The Decadents
Research The Church of Assy
Read “Crime and Punishment”
Read “The Brothers Karamazov”
Read Nietzsche’s “Thus Spake Zarathustra”
Read “Gilead”
Read “Against Nature”
Read plays of Sean O’Casey
These are my goals for my summer. Let my eyes be swift and my plays be plentiful.
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