I wish I had more time/energy to blog about specifics, but sadly, I don't. I'm hitting my bed NOW because I need the sleep, but I feel really revved up and excited for everything to come. More another time, perhaps, when I'm not passing out as I write this...
Showing posts with label Devoted and Disgruntled. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Devoted and Disgruntled. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
What a difference a day makes...
I wish I had more time/energy to blog about specifics, but sadly, I don't. I'm hitting my bed NOW because I need the sleep, but I feel really revved up and excited for everything to come. More another time, perhaps, when I'm not passing out as I write this...
Labels:
Amy Lee,
devising,
Devoted and Disgruntled,
exhaustion,
hope,
Improbable,
Jason,
SHUNT,
Sir John Soane's Museum
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Easter Holidays: Week 2
Another pretty full week, though this one mostly of fun and friends. Which was a nice change. I did put in two days of transcription for the school, taking the whole ten hours I was scheduled to work to type up and format a 56 minute long round table discussion that had been held at Central in January about developing new work. Considering it's usually an average of 3-4 hours to type an hour's worth of material, my average is pretty pathetic. That being said, it's really hard work to do because people don't speak the way they write. How do you punctuate modern speech so full of waffling? And you sit for HOURS at a time. My friend Abby has her own business providing transcription services, and bless her little heart: I don't know how she does it. The topic was interesting, it's true, but the action was tedious and boring. Which is probably another reason why it was so hard to get through. Also: theatre people are long winded and they talk Really Fast, which I am certain added to the sheer amount of text to type out. But I'll stop defending myself now and move on...

There's Lisa and I, attired as such. You can see I really went for the beatneck look, influenced by the French poets/mimes of the 50's and 60's. Maria went for something a little more European:
Oh, the Greeks.
The other acts on that evening were so spectacularly avant-garde and artsy (save an adorable and hilarious guitarist named Tom McDonnell who played a set akin to the wares of Flight of the Conchords, and who may draw me back to the Great OT this Thursday, just to hear his set again), that no one really noticed us when were were doing ours. We got a couple backwards glances from people seated nearby, but for the most part we were left alone, and that was perfect. The nature of our act is not to "perform" for an audience, but to simply express what we feel in a space, and so we just did that without worrying about being entertaining. So it worked out devinely.
Day 2 of the weekend at the Barbican was really more of a walk-by. Thanks to Time Out London, I had a few walks I had wanted to try over parts of the city I hadn't seen yet. I chose a wander around the financial district, and was joined by Max, Amy, and Caitlin. Now, since it was a Saturday, and we were in the financial district, there was literally nothing open, which was very disappointing and made me wish I'd picked a different walk. We diverged at one point to stop for food near the already closing Borough Market, and ended up at The George, to drinks of stale, awful beer, a long line with cutters, and two packets of crisps. It was a horrible place and I will never return to it again. You know a place is bad when all of your complaints are ones your mother would make: "It's so dank in here and smells like mildew! I waited in line for fifteen minutes, and kept getting cut by people who just shoved their way up to the bar! It was like, 'Hello? Haven't you seen me standing here for the past ten minutes? Make them wait!'"
(Seriously, my mom sounds just like that sometimes. And that was the whole monologue running in my head while we were there. Another reason to never go back: I will, without a doubt, turn into my mother.)
We got back on the vaguely established trail (thank you for nothing, Time Out London) set down in the magazine. Max got caught behind some bars:

And we also found this really racist street:

When the walk came to an uneventful close, we tubed ourselves out to Paddington and ate well-deserved Indian food. It was a full day, and we were exhausted by the time we sat down to dinner. The sights along the walk may have been uninspiring, but it was still nice to be outside on such a pleasant day, meandering with friends.
But screw The George: that place is awful.
Today was my favorite day at the Barbican out of the whole weekend. I went to a two hour workshop on plasticine animation (claymation, for the majority of the US citizens reading this) for adults. It wasn't terribly in-depth, and I'm glad I knew a little something about the form thanks to this book, and this video I watched this morning. But it was still so fun. Being a stop-motion animator still ranks up there as one of the jobs I'd love to have if I wasn't an actor, and occasionally trades off for the top slot on that list, traditionally held by "Being a Muppeteer."
(But only on occasion. The Jim Henson Company can have my soul if it wants it.)
So today I got to pretend that I worked for Aardman, built my own figure, and animated it using Mac software (God bless you, Macintosh), a video camera (I need one of those), and a partner (a fine architect student from Spain named Isabel). Together, Isabel and I crafted a dinosaur romance. The pictures below chronicle the phases of my own dinosaur, Herman.
First, I made the basic form for the body using polystyrene (Styrofoam) for the body, aluminum wires for the legs, arms, and neck, and one of those faux, practice golf balls for the head.
(NOTE: the holes became problematic later, and I would use more polystyrene instead if I had my way.)
Next, I started to cover the polystyrene with plasticine (clay). You build a model and cover it with clay, rather than making the model clay all the way through for a couple reasons. Firstly, the clay gets heavy if you use that much, making the model cumbersome to move. It also retains the figure's shape better, and eases the fluidity of motion. It also helps in terms of continuity: with a skeletal structure in place, an arm won't suddenly become shorter if you bend it and then bend it back.
In this picture you can see I've also hot glued the aluminum wire into place--the holes had gotten too large, and the legs were moving too much or slipping out, so I had to secure them.
We filmed last in the workshop, and consequently were rushed, and I'm not totally 100% pleased with our finished product. But for the amount of time we actually had to work on it, it's really not bad. The short should be up on the Barbican website sometime this week (the others looked really great, too, I must say, as many of the attendees looked to be art/former art students) and we're supposed to be getting our individual clips e-mailed to us. I'll post it if it comes in. This workshop was so much fun, and makes me want to become an animator again. Oh, if only there was enough time and money to stay in school forever...
To complete the plasticine themed day, Caitlin and I caught "Dark Dreams in Plasticine," a series of plasticine animated shorts from a bunch of different artists, all of them subversive or scary or simply disturbing. The most eerie films were by a man named Robert Morgan, who makes me want to drink myself to sleep, simply because I don't know how I'll be able to get to bed without one this evening. Very Brothers Quay. Also represented were the bolexbrothers and Suzie Templeton, people I hadn't heard of before but enjoyed. There was also a short featuring Sir Ian MacKellen voicing crow. Very strange indeed. Not your typical idea of a grand day out, but great exposure to using this art form to show a less cuddly side of the world. I quite liked it.
That's all there is to report for this week. Though in other news, I think I'm swearing off men for awhile. At least ridiculous ones. But it's alright: I have Herman to comfort me.
WEDNESDAY
Max, Amy and I headed over to SHUNT for a quiet session of D&D, the first session I've caught this year since the weekend-long event in January. Even though attendence was low, the old Open Space Technology motto of "Whoever comes are the right people," still rang true, and I attended a conversation about the ups and downs of being devoted to a 400 year old play, as well as hosting a conversation concerning where one could find affordable rehearsal space in this city. Both were delightful. One of the most notable parts of the evening was meeting an alumnis of the course I'm on. While this is just generally good and interesting all on its own, I was initially drawn to her by the jumper she was wearing, a creation of her own design and knit-loving hands. It was genius, and you can find it and her blog here. I want one, but I don't know if I could wait 14 months for it. Or learn how to knit that well in that time, either.THURSDAY
I headed out to Bethnal Green with the majority of my RMO group and one stand in (Elizabeth Gibbs for Ronan), to attend and perform at The Great Orchidaceous Travesty! I expressed a bit ago the sentiment of being nervous about what would happen at the event, but all went well and I look forward to returning on the 16th to repeat the performance. My group-mates and I wore hats:
There's Lisa and I, attired as such. You can see I really went for the beatneck look, influenced by the French poets/mimes of the 50's and 60's. Maria went for something a little more European:
Oh, the Greeks.The other acts on that evening were so spectacularly avant-garde and artsy (save an adorable and hilarious guitarist named Tom McDonnell who played a set akin to the wares of Flight of the Conchords, and who may draw me back to the Great OT this Thursday, just to hear his set again), that no one really noticed us when were were doing ours. We got a couple backwards glances from people seated nearby, but for the most part we were left alone, and that was perfect. The nature of our act is not to "perform" for an audience, but to simply express what we feel in a space, and so we just did that without worrying about being entertaining. So it worked out devinely.
FRIDAY
I spent nearly the entire weekend at the Barbican, starting with Friday, when I caught Romeo Castellucci's Inferno there. It was the first in his trilogy of work running through the 9th, taking it's inspiration from Dante's Divine Comedy works. It was aesthetically asserting, hyper-theatrical in its staging and effect, and was a really pretty piece of theatre in its use of scale and spectacle. If you asked me what it was about, however, my answer would be vague and non-commital. It was very European, in that it was high in aesthtic quality, but didn't necessarily strive for...a point. But that's alright, because it was *real* pretty, and I got to see a fellow classmate of mine onstage as one of the chorus of volunteers they recruited for the show. And the opening sequence to the piece can't be beat: a man walked on stage, said, "I am Romeo Castellucci," and was then fitted with a suit while 8-10 German shephards were led onto stage, and then chained in place along the apron. Castellucci waited while the dogs began to bark, becoming louder and more frenzied. Suddenly, a dog runs on from stage right, and grabs Castellucci's inner thigh with his jaw. Another follows and grabs his arm, then another which gets his shoulders. The dogs (aided by Castellucci) are able to rotate him in place on stage, and then are called off. Oh yes: My name is Romeo Castellucci, and I am about to have myself mauled by dogs for the sake of performance. Pretty crazy, but also a little more than awesome. Now that's a risk, people!SATURDAY
Day 2 of the weekend at the Barbican was really more of a walk-by. Thanks to Time Out London, I had a few walks I had wanted to try over parts of the city I hadn't seen yet. I chose a wander around the financial district, and was joined by Max, Amy, and Caitlin. Now, since it was a Saturday, and we were in the financial district, there was literally nothing open, which was very disappointing and made me wish I'd picked a different walk. We diverged at one point to stop for food near the already closing Borough Market, and ended up at The George, to drinks of stale, awful beer, a long line with cutters, and two packets of crisps. It was a horrible place and I will never return to it again. You know a place is bad when all of your complaints are ones your mother would make: "It's so dank in here and smells like mildew! I waited in line for fifteen minutes, and kept getting cut by people who just shoved their way up to the bar! It was like, 'Hello? Haven't you seen me standing here for the past ten minutes? Make them wait!'"
(Seriously, my mom sounds just like that sometimes. And that was the whole monologue running in my head while we were there. Another reason to never go back: I will, without a doubt, turn into my mother.)
We got back on the vaguely established trail (thank you for nothing, Time Out London) set down in the magazine. Max got caught behind some bars:
And we also found this really racist street:
When the walk came to an uneventful close, we tubed ourselves out to Paddington and ate well-deserved Indian food. It was a full day, and we were exhausted by the time we sat down to dinner. The sights along the walk may have been uninspiring, but it was still nice to be outside on such a pleasant day, meandering with friends.
But screw The George: that place is awful.
SUNDAY
Today was my favorite day at the Barbican out of the whole weekend. I went to a two hour workshop on plasticine animation (claymation, for the majority of the US citizens reading this) for adults. It wasn't terribly in-depth, and I'm glad I knew a little something about the form thanks to this book, and this video I watched this morning. But it was still so fun. Being a stop-motion animator still ranks up there as one of the jobs I'd love to have if I wasn't an actor, and occasionally trades off for the top slot on that list, traditionally held by "Being a Muppeteer."
(But only on occasion. The Jim Henson Company can have my soul if it wants it.)
So today I got to pretend that I worked for Aardman, built my own figure, and animated it using Mac software (God bless you, Macintosh), a video camera (I need one of those), and a partner (a fine architect student from Spain named Isabel). Together, Isabel and I crafted a dinosaur romance. The pictures below chronicle the phases of my own dinosaur, Herman.
(NOTE: the holes became problematic later, and I would use more polystyrene instead if I had my way.)
In this picture you can see I've also hot glued the aluminum wire into place--the holes had gotten too large, and the legs were moving too much or slipping out, so I had to secure them.
We filmed last in the workshop, and consequently were rushed, and I'm not totally 100% pleased with our finished product. But for the amount of time we actually had to work on it, it's really not bad. The short should be up on the Barbican website sometime this week (the others looked really great, too, I must say, as many of the attendees looked to be art/former art students) and we're supposed to be getting our individual clips e-mailed to us. I'll post it if it comes in. This workshop was so much fun, and makes me want to become an animator again. Oh, if only there was enough time and money to stay in school forever...
To complete the plasticine themed day, Caitlin and I caught "Dark Dreams in Plasticine," a series of plasticine animated shorts from a bunch of different artists, all of them subversive or scary or simply disturbing. The most eerie films were by a man named Robert Morgan, who makes me want to drink myself to sleep, simply because I don't know how I'll be able to get to bed without one this evening. Very Brothers Quay. Also represented were the bolexbrothers and Suzie Templeton, people I hadn't heard of before but enjoyed. There was also a short featuring Sir Ian MacKellen voicing crow. Very strange indeed. Not your typical idea of a grand day out, but great exposure to using this art form to show a less cuddly side of the world. I quite liked it.
That's all there is to report for this week. Though in other news, I think I'm swearing off men for awhile. At least ridiculous ones. But it's alright: I have Herman to comfort me.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
"Today, too, I experienced something I hope to understand in a few days."
Commentary on the weekend long D&D session coming, but till I find the time/energy to get something useful down, please enjoy this short that in turn lead to this film several years later. We watched both on our first day back. I liked it, thought it was sexy, and thought I'd throw it up here for the sake of sharing. Enjoy!
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Travel Update
Changed my flight today for a mere $35 (thank you, International Youth Travel card), and will be getting in earlier on the 10th than originally scheduled. Let's hope D&D will be worth the profound jet lag. Looking forward to it!
Labels:
Devoted and Disgruntled,
International Travel,
STA
Sunday, December 28, 2008
OMG! I = your BIGGEST FAN!
If I was a more honest person, I'd wax poetical all day and all night about the VAST enthusiasm that fills me every time I see art I really like. I'd proclaim it to the heavens, dance in the street, herald it to the masses, and probably even cry (like I did within the first ten minutes of Wall-E--BOTH times!). But I put up a front because often I fear I'll look like a child if I'm caught enjoying anything. And living in New York for a while hasn't done much in terms of making me a more openly enthusiastic person.Well, friends, today this ends, twofold. First, I found out I got a belated ticket to Improbable's annual theatre forum Devoted and Disgruntled. My love of the theatre company knows no bounds (at least, I've yet to find the boundary yet) and ever since I dug around their website after the awe-inspiring production of Satyagraha I caught at the Met last year, I can honestly say I have been waiting for the opportunity to go to this event since April. I am so psyched! But there's a glitch: I arrive back in England the morning of the event. It starts at 10AM, and I get into Heathrow at 8:45. What is it with me and the close calls re: continental travel? Seriously, I need an assistant. Not to mention the jet lag I'm going to be dealing with those two days. Also, I never sleep on planes. But it will be worth it, I just know it!
(Hear those famous last words?)
Maybe I'll try to change my ticket. I need to stop living at extremes.
The second thing I'd like to gush about today is The Wrestler. I caught it the other night at one of my favorite smaller art house cinemas in NYC, and loved it. I hated the last Aronofsky film (HATED it) and despite my complete adoration of Requim for a Dream, I wasn't sure I could ever trust that man again. But now my fears are all allayed. The topic of the film seems almost ludicrous, and as someone who used to watch professional wrestling a lot (I was doing it so I would have something to talk about with a boy--lame I know, but who here isn't guilty of that sort of thing at least a few times in their lives) I wasn't too sure what I would gain from watching this movie. Of course, the film doesn't deal with the more recognizable, more commercial version of professional wrestling that blew up about nine or ten years ago, but the time that comes after the fall of fame for one wrestler, played with the most beautiful honesty by Mickey Rourke. For serious guys: he was really freakin' good. I haven't seen a performance like this in a while, probably not since Javier Bardem in A Sea Inside. If you know anything about Mickey Rourke's career, the film takes on an extra life beyond the screen when you watch his character, Randy "The Ram" Robinson, dealing with the seeming futility of his life. (Oh, Mickey Rourke...) Clint Mansell's scoring is really sparse, and Aronofsky keeps most of the film silent, with an occassional rush when Randy puts his hearing aid on. It's a really nice choice, and makes the movie more realistic, less melodramatic or sweeping which seems to be the effect of the scores to the other Aronofsky films I've seen (never caught Pi--I know, I know, I have no integrity).
The director also made a really interesting choice in having the camera follow his subject from behind, obscuring his face for most of the beginning of the movie--this sense of following close behind Randy, joining him on his day to day journey, and also creating a sense of distance between the character and the audience by denying us his face. The proverbial "they" always talk about the psychological association that a viewer experiences when watching a film: if you see someone looked scared, you experience fear; if you see someone with a smile on their face, you feel at ease. We recognize ourselves and our own feelings in characters. It's a natural, more basic, more psychological extension of empathy, really. This is something I've brought up briefly before re: my interest in exploring how to create this effect on the body using people on stage (perhaps a little more next term) and it's really great to see such an effective example of this.
(Quick side note: I seem to be pre-occupied with adapting filmic qualities for the stage. This seems ludicrous for a lot of reasons I needn't list here, mostly because some are so painfully obvious. But the big piece of feedback I got from my peers on my final solo performance piece for the term (which you will not see here because of my fear of artistic plagiarism, but I will grant special viewings for those who request them) was that my work was very "filmic." I don't know if that was meant as a compliment, an insult, or if it was a strict observation. But that's what was said.)
But anyway, yes: great film, go out and see it today.
And now to discover the cost of a flight change...
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