Sunday, May 8, 2011

Marietta at the Playwrights Center


We are doing a staged reading of the play, Marietta, at the Playwrights' Center on Saturday, June 4th. Doors at 7 p.m., show at 7:30 p.m. Free will offering, pay what you can. Only 72 seats.
Marietta is based on the true story of a woman who forgives the abductor of her daughter, before she knows her daughter's fate. This helps them find the guy, and get him to confess. Marietta is now an activist against capital punishment.
This play also includes visions of the murder, and the murderer. that turn out to be true.
Steven O'Toole wrote the play based on interviewing Marietta almost 15 years ago. He pulled it out of the drawer and now we want to produce it. It has a cast of five. This is an Equity Showcase, with the idea in mind of building support to achieve the $17,000 budget to give it a full three week run. We only need another $10,000.
Produced by Dean J. Seal for Spirit in the House.


Marietta: Barbara Reid (pictured)

David: David Laux

Bill: Jon Hegge

Chorus Man: Sean Dooley

Chorus Woman: Beth Gilleland


Director: Jerry Gomis

Stage Manager: Kara Schuette


Wednesday, October 6, 2010

True Ghost Stories Oct. 30th 2010

Spirit in the House presents
True Ghost Stories!
being the spoken accounts of actual events.
In conjunction with Cheap Theater,
We will present One Show Only.
Black Forest Festaal Room. Doors open at 7:00, show is at 7:30. $10.oo Suggested, $5.oo to $12.oo pay as you can.
Questions?
Ask me.
seal13dean@gmail.com

Saturday, May 1, 2010


IMAGINATION AND MEMORY

Interact Theater Company

by Dean J. Seal

From December, 2004


I don’t know what anyone else thinks, because I don’t read the trades anymore. But I know what I think: Interact Theater does some of the best, most creative, form-stretching work of any company in town.

Bar none.

There’s plenty of innovation at some top-line showcase art houses, but a great deal of it is meaningless. There is a great deal of exquisite production at some top of the line theatrical institutions, but a great deal of it is formulaic, and none of it is surprising. A lot of high buck high art smells like the ancient ivory tower with this year’s room freshener spritzed about to make us think something is actually happening.

Enough about them, more about the Interactors.

The lobby sets the tone. It is decked out in art that is themed with the show, plus a shadow-puppet stage and a stick-puppet stage running before the show. There is a a “smelling bar” where you can sample a few bottled scents and then write down what it makes you think of. This gallery is newly remodeled, as is the performance space, and it makes for an attractive place to buy cool art while you are waiting for the show to begin. It sets the tone for the kind of wild and wooly production you are going to see: a naive approach that turns up unexpected gems of hard-won wisdom at every turn of the trail.

The show tells a half-dozen stories that each cut to the chase. This is a show about what happens to people who lose their memory and have to build a new one. Or people who have lost their sight, and find that it helps to focus their vision. Or someone who has one disability, envying people who have another. These are situations ripe for irony, but presented here as fact, not with anger, not with cynicism. Eriq Nelson narrates: ”...you have entered a place where you will not recognize things as they are, but as they are seen....remembered by the amnesiac through the lens of the eye of the imagination.”

Interact has been operating a split personality studio for a dozen years, with a fine arts studio and a performance company, and never the twain did meet, until now. This show marks the first experiment of moving artists between the two departments. “I don’t know why we didn’t do it before,” said Artistic Director Jeannie Calvit a few weeks before opening, “but it’s working great.” Studio artists were sent up stairs to work with the new show, and performers were encouraged to go downstairs to get some painting action.

But more than that. They hired a pair of famous artists, Ta-coumba Aiken and Lourdes Cue, to work on set design. They also brought in Michael Sommers to consult on a rear-screen projection system which allowed for shadow puppets, merging images and small tableaux silhouettes writ large.

The opening number features a ten-piece band (The Cigars of Beauty band) and a 22-voice chorus singing out a theme song, “There Is a Land of a Quiet God”. This is followed by the killer bit of the night, “Tracy’s Story.” Tracy tells the story of a seven-day seizure that rubbed out her memory. As she reconstructed what her life had been, it seemed like a memory worth erasing. She asked the poignant question, “Wasn’t there anyone in my life who loved me?” The answer was Yes. In one of her foster homes, there was a girl named Michelle, who bonded with her. They loved each other deeply, “fiercely” but could not be kept together because they were both disabled and the foster parents were getting old. By some luck, they managed to get placed on the same block, so they could maintain contact and even go to the same school. When Michelle was killed by a drunk driver, Tracy found out a story “which I cannot imagine or remember.” Michelle had actually been her sister, and the Catholic Charities, in one of their many silent miracles, had moved heaven and earth to keep the two together. They didn’t just care for these kids, they cared about them.

So now, Tracy could look at these pictures from an unremembered past, look into the eyes of her sister, and imagine being loved, and loving back. It’s enough to make a life out of.

Another story comes from Joy, who talks about the weird chromosomal problem called “Prater-Willi Syndrome.” She eats whatever she can get her hands on, and is cranky, and puts on weight. She envies the Down Syndrome people, who are always happy, and fun-loving, and cracking up.

John Boler has been a musician with the troupe for a long time, and he told about how he thinks that before he completely lost his sight at ten, he could perceive colors. Now he still can see them, in the blackness of his blindness, and even equates them with musical notes. He loves green, and was “disappointed to find out that chocolate wasn’t green.”

There are more stories than I have space for. But my point is that the form here is one of tailored delivery of substantial tales of people in mind-altering states of reality that fiction writers can only pretend to understand. They are presented with wit and strength, none of the feel-bad-for-me-the -tortured artist that one can encounter in other performance venues. This is a message of survival and hope delivered without cynicism, with honesty and without fraud, with clarity and without doing anything that needs to be explained. It’s real stuff, delivered transparently, by the storytellers who lived it.

As a staged-up storytelling cabaret, I think storytellers could learn a lot from this. Adding music, a singing chorus to tie the stories together through some musical knitting, lights and sounds and background visuals used effectively to put the story across make this a visual treat for a format that usually is better heard than seen. As a theater cabaret, it holds together because the stories keep connecting to the core theme. And it’s not a theme like the high school prom theme, something fake tacked together in a forced simile of meaning; it is a deep, true subject for anyone who walks in, or rolls in. It works for the disabled and the temporarily abled.

This is the real thing.


Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Gotama: A Journey to the Buddha

The Buddha has been peering around the corners of my spiritual life for a long time. It comes recommended to me by Jewish liberals, Anglican Canons, Japanese booksellers, and Unitarians recovering from the more punitive forms of Christianity. So I was looking forward tot his production to learn more.

It was a good start. This delicious production is touching, moving, a delight to the eye and ear, and conveys the beginnings of the journey that the young prince makes when he escapes from his stately pleasure-dome to see what the world is really about. My only complaint is that it stops short. It uses its time to tell us how he got here, but not to tell us where he got. It's the story of a teacher without any of his teachings. Maybe it would be best to call it Part One. But I'd sign right up for part 2; this is a quibble more than a complaint. I would heartily recommend this show to anyone who wants to enjoy a superb 75 minutes of minutely crafted world theater that blends stagecraft from around the globe to make sense out of a great religion to anyone wondering in from East lake Street.

The story is of a rich prince who seemed poised to inherit the best of everything. He will inherit his father's kingdom, he is known to be a great archer and athlete, a lover of learning and a lovely lover. His father tries to keep him in the dark about the outside world, because the prophecy of his youth is that he will either be a great prince of a great teacher, and we all know the differential in salary between those two posts. His father wants the best for him, as he can only hope for from what he knows. But Gotama escapes.

He sees the sights foretold; an old man, a sick woman, a dead man, and a monk who has renounced the world. He asks, does this happen to all of us? His charioteer acknowledges this truth, that death comes to us all. Gotama is moved. He casts off his clothing and all that is attached to the manor to which he was born, and takes on the teachings and the trappings of the ascetics who would instruct him in self denial. It leads to a night under the banyan tree where he achieves enlightenment. This is the story of us, of how we could be, if we peeked around the corner of our wealth and the walled gardens of our prosperity, and saw the despair of Darfur, of Baghdad, of our own streets stared of food and compassion. We need to look to be moved, and we need to feel the pain of others in order to be able to help. That is what this play calls enlightenment.

The story is told in layers of superb puppetry and live actors. Julian McFaul carries the narrative ball as the Charioteer who accompanies the prince in his pleasures and guards him in his fall to earth. The ensemble of puppeteers (Masanari Kawahara, Janaki Panpura, Sandy Spieler) are wonderfully trained and inspired in their humanizing of the sculpted characters. We expect the best from Heart of the Beast, and we get it. They are dressed in white; instead of disappearing like black-clad bunraku puppeteers, this ensemble guides us with their eyes,m and with their expressions, to where we should look, and to coach us in the effect of the action. Its like having company in watching the show. The baby Gotama is tiny, the young Gotama is larger, the seeker Gotama is life-sized,m the enlightened one is bigger than a tree.

The special effects make this a satisfying experience through out. Music by the astonishing duo of Laura Harada and Tim O'Keefe start us in strings of violin and other (maddeningly unnamed) stringed instruments, a variety of percussion, and the occasional glass, played for a rim-hum that gave us an unending bell-like tone at the central core of the storyline. The shadow puppetry on the scrim filled in story bits with abstract images that told specific bits of information, storytelling in pictures like a black and white stained glass window. As a produced piece of theater, this was an exquisite treat tot he eye, ear and heart.

There was one problem in staging, and one problem in plotting, both of which happen at almost the same time. As Gotama the puppet tastes the milk-rice which leads him tit he middle way, suddenly the charioteer becomes Gotama. What happens to Channa the charioteer? Why is the puppet Gotama lead off the stage as if he dies? I'd be okay with showing that he had found a middle way by becoming a more human monk, leaving behind the stick-man puppet to become the more fully enfleshed enlightened one, but the confusion of him taking on the life of Channa is confusing. I kept wondering, did Gotama leave? Did the charioteer become the Buddha?

Following this confusion is the confusion of the Enlightened One's enlightenment. We have to take their word for it. We do not get to hear the great teacher teach. We hear nothing about why everyone should be interested enough in this fellow to tell his story. It's as if we were told the story of Jesus and ending it when he was baptized, without hearing what he had to say or how he lived. Why can't we have the Buddha make an appearance? Why can't he say what he came to say? It reminded me of how Oscar Wilde described cigarettes as being the perfect luxury: "They are delicious and delightful, and leave one feeling unsatisfied." If the intent of the playwright is to leave us wanting more, it was a success. If it was to teach us about the Buddha's teaching, it fell short. I accept it as the story of his life-changing journey in a search for meaning. And that's a great gift in itself.

In the Heart of the Beast, 1500 East lake St. Minneapolis. 612=721-2535 or www.hobt.org

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

He Qi: Two Levels of Amazement

There is an innovative cross-cultural artist from Nanjing who has illuminated the Christian art world. Whatever it is you do, whatever you are interested in, let me say this about that: Must See. Must See. Must See. He Qi (pronounced ho chi, not Quie) does two absolutely remarkable things. I’ll tell you about them one at a time.

He Qi is a professor a Nanjing Union Theological Seminary, Nanjing, and is categorized as a Contemporary Christian artist, a rare commodity to come out of the People’s Republic of China. The paintings in this exhibit are of biblical motifs, both New Testament and the Hebrew Bible, and they are wonderful compositions that seamlessly combine many different styles. In a nativity scene with he Magi, he has traditional folk elements of peasant portraiture combined with modern avante pictures of the Wise Men, each in a style accurate to their background from Asia, Europe and Africa, as the tradition tells us. Yet the gift that is centered in the picture is a blue-and-white vase from the Chinese tradition that is rendered so accurately it might have been cut out and pasted into place. In a quasi-abstracts portrait of a story, this telling detail is the only thing painted realistically, and he chose a work of art.

The colors he chooses in his gouache pieces feature bright jewel tones and soft pastoral organic backgrounds. His effort to cast Mary as a Chinese woman, or the finding of the foundling Moses by a Chinese princess, is a conscious effort to make the Christian story less foreign and more familiar, less western and more universal. This is as it has always been; Jesus is the Greek name given Yeshua by the Greeks, a blue-eyed Jesus has been featured for many years on Scandinavian calendars; african nativities have African shepherds gathered around an African mother and child. To take this action is not new, but to pull it off in such an honest and compelling style has got to be seen as exceptional.

Qi was getting ready for his reception when I had a few short words for him. I asked about the difficulties of being a follower of the Christian faith in a communist country. “During the Cultural Revolution, all the foreign missionaries were sent out. I was put out in the country, but i couldn’t do the hard work. They needed people to make statues and paintings of Mao, to worship him. I thought, that’s a good job for me. So I got that job for my area. At night, I would paint soft pictures of the Madonna.

“I felt our people had the struggle-spirit too much. Every day, struggle. I wanted to create peaceful scenes. We need to hear the peaceful voice of heaven.”

His studies of medieval paintings in Europe have shown off well in colors like blue and green that seem as bright as stained-glass. He also draws the color palette from minority folk art traditions, which carry vibrant tones of red and yellow. Combining these with modernistic design components, he renders work that is fully Chinese and fully Christian, being of one substance, as it were.

The paintings are bold, deeply colored and strongly evocative of the story portrayed. “Out of the Garden” has the angel casting Adam and Eve from their secluded paradise, which is surrounded by a small wooden fence and a tiny gate. “Abraham and the Angels” has a skeptical Sarah in the back, a welcoming and hospitable Abraham as the proud householder, and three faceless, bi-gendered angelic guests, mysterious and yet casting a beautiful shimmer through the room. “Elijah and the Raven” is a countryside portrait of the prophet in hiding, being brought food by God’s raven. Elijah looks at peace, in comfort, amazed and grateful by this inexplicably miraculous act of generosity from the God he is serving. The colors are more muted and flat in this one to convey a more realistic tone, a more landscape texture to the still modernized figurative creatures portrayed. Any one of these pieces would grace any wall.

Oh, and the second amazing thing? There’s another dozen pieces that are as beautiful, as amazing in their color and composition, and thematic content, and they are made from silk, woven into tapestry. This is the part that has to be seen to be believed. It’s one thing to experience a great artist doing moving, profound work; it’s quite another when that same level of excellence is run through a process one has never encountered before, never even heard of. Each silk strand is dyed carefully by silk artists who have been building the skills of the craft for many thousands of years (the country’s name was originally silk)

and under the watchful eye of He Qi, they take about a month constructing these pieces. The light changes and jumps as you move past each peace; some landscape backgrounds are done in several shades of green, and as you walk by they shift in emphasis; the magnificent jewel tones and the classic modern compositions stay true tot he artist’s forms in his paintings. There is no way to do this work justice in words; Go See. Go See. Go See. It’s a brand new thing to me.

Ruth and Naomi are done is a swirling abstract of rounding forms, feminine yet undefined as people, a merger of two souls. The Song of Solomon has a collection of motifs drawn from the book of erotic love poetry ( the best-kept secret in the Old Testament) that pairs the gorgeous half naked lovers with he metaphors they use to describe each other in lingering, hot-breathed longing. Sleeping Elijah is a symphony of green silk, a cascade of wandering colors that glitter and murmur with each passing. The effect is stunning.

The silk pieces range in price from $1,800 to $4,900. and the paintings go from $4900 to $12,000, with most around $9500.

Premier Gallery, 141 South 11th Street, Downtown Minneapolis. 612-338-4541

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Kevin Kling and Interact: Seeds of the Guthrie Show


Kevin Kling’s work for NPR and his book, The Dog Says How, have all been high-profile. But his work with Interact Center’s Performing Arts have been more Down Under the Radar. The work with Jeannie Calvit that went from Australia to the Frozen North ended up on the Dowling Stage at the Guthrie as "Northern Lights, Southern Cross." This is how they got there.

Jeannie Calvit is the Artistic Director of Interact, which has an art studio and theater company that develops the skills of people with disabilities. Calvit is an innovator and revolutionary in the field. The performing arts wing has produced memorable shows that have toured to London, Norway, Sweden, British Columbia, and Australia.

Kling was asked to join forces by Calvit, who had corralled allies in Australia. Pat Rix runs a similar theater company called Tutti, and Pat brought aboriginal performers together with some Native Americans gathered by Calvit. Kling had worked with Calvit and Company before his near-fatal motorcycle accident, and his recovery had made for a significant re-direction in his work.

Through Calvit’s ministrations and Kling’s inspirations they recently did a show, Northern Lights, Southern Cross, which played at the Adelaide Fringe Festival. It examines the underlying spirituality that encompasses people who have survived trauma, whether it is personal, tribal, or global.

In a conversation, over tuna burgers and malts at Joe’s Garage, we plumbed the depths of this topic. Here are excerpts from that luncheon.

Seal: Tell me about the show. Did it come out of your hospital experience?

Kling: You know what? No. It began long before this. For me, the jump off point was when the Australians came to Minnesota, and we went dog sledding. There was, like, 11 performers with disabilities, and staff from Tutti came and we went up North. That was amazing, and we went ice fishing, and that's where we met Al Baker (Native American medicine man), and got tied into the Native community here. Then, all of a sudden, that started to become the idea: how do indigenous cultures tie in with cultures with people with disabilities and with survival? And then Sindebad (Minneapolis artist) and I went to Australia last year, and they kinda did to us what we did to them. They took us to the Outback, and we really got to know the members of their indigenous community. Jeannie and Pat Rix, they brought these two forces together; and then we started working on the sending of ideas back to Pat, who did the music.

Calvit: Pat's the main collaborator, and she's a composer. She's the mover and shaker over there, and she and I wanted to do it Obijwe wanted to do a real co-production, that involved our two companies.

I was thinking about things we have in common as two cultures, and it is that we were (countries) settled by white people, who almost destroyed our indigenous people, and I feel that there is some underlying spirituality that's still left over from them . I think that, if you really look into the New Age Stuff, the same stuff I was learning at my New Age church was exactly what Al's teachings are about, and so I felt like that sad aspect of our two cultures was interesting.

Seal: When did you add the idea of the global and personal trauma?

Kling: That was after. I was looking for what connected these communities together. What do the indigenous have, because they're born into it, and then what people with disabilities have, either born into it, or acquire it. The story starts from my motorcycle accident; so it's acquiring a trauma, and then when you're in a coma or you're trying to come out, you end up going epic to survive.

Calvit: I remember the light bulb. Al started talking about the Haioka, Hai-yo-ka. who were contrary - in the Native American culture, they are like spiritual teachers; they do things backwards. They're annoying; they press your buttons. And suddenly the concept of the Haioka, if you look at the origins of the clown - the clowning, the kind of clowning I did at Jacque LeCoque school was about that because he's a little bit different, that's why he gets away with it because he's a little bit crazy.

Kling: Like Lear's Fool.

Seal: He's got license. Like the court jester who can say the unsayable and not get his head cut off.

Calvit: And so, that was just like, "O.K., I know what I'm gonna do! I'm going to create a clown chorus with these disabled artists.”

Kling: Acknowledging both that you are a contrary, and that there are contraries that you can learn – whether it’s Haioka, or Fool, or whatever you want to call it – there is the idea of learning from people who have a foot in two worlds, and you are looking at this world through a prism; and by doing that, you can turn and look at the world you live in. Without that, you are in the world, but if you go through a prism, you can turn and then look. That’s one of the things that Haiokas, contraries, or people with disabilities – one of the things they have to offer is the ability to turn and look at a parallel universe.

Calvit: In the play, There’s a woman who met him (Kling) when she came over to the states. She got caught in a snowstorm. And then she’s telling him, “Don’t ride your motorcycle!” Of course he rides his motorcycle, has the accident, and goes into the coma. That’s when he’s over in the other world, where he meets up with all these Aboriginal and Native American guides, and all these things happen to him.

Kling: I think what the main part of the show was not that we are in trauma; but how you heal from trauma. It did deal with trauma on a cultural, global and personal levels. And How Do You Heal? And the fact that the two ways I found that you heal: Sense of humor, and knowledge of self. Knowledge of self comes from tradition, and stories, of where you come from. That concerns me a bit about America, because I think our kids are born into trauma, now, from 9/11. And the two things they’re going to need; a sense of humor- when you talk about the indigenous culture, the survivors are all hilarious. And the other thing is, knowledge of self; many are also still steeped in the traditional methods. I think storytelling is so important in this day and age because we need to find out who we are so we can survive. And so I think that’s why we’re turning to the indigenous cultures, at this time.

Seal: There’s another thing that you said, that’s this healing thing – in my Chaplaincy training, one of the things they talk about is that Doctors are about Curing, Nurses are about Curing and Healing, and Chaplains are about Healing. Healing can happen even as someone is dying – you can heal relationships, heal your soul…

Calvit: That was a big thing about his play – you can’t cure a disability, but you can heal it – you can’t cure trauma, but you can heal it!

Seal: ….but healing takes on a whole, new meaning when you’re not talking about curing.

Kling: It’s not about that!

Calvit: There’s this beautiful bit at the end of the play – Kevin had gone into coma, has a fever, and the doctor doesn’t think he’s going to live. And there’s a metaphor for the Windigo (the Windigo is an Ojibwe mythical figure that devoured everything), and the mystical thing is that the Windigo came and took Kevin away when he was in a fever, but then we did an incantation with Larry Yazie, the fancy dancer, who got rid of the Windigo. The Windigo left and Kevin was sent back to Minnesota, and at the very end of the play, he’s standing there, and we have Northern Lights, and heavenly music, and then the clown chorus, the leader of the clowns. When Kling came out, he had this hat on…this little guy comes out, and there’s this beautiful aria happening, and the little guy tips his clown hat to Kevin and goes back, and Kevin says, “I came back, but I’m not the same person that left; I’m a Haioka, now.” And then all of the clown chorus comes over and puts their arms around him….so hugely moving. (pause) It was hard coming back to reality, to work

Kling: It was crazy to let it go!

Calvit: And we weren’t the only ones who felt it. Like the people in the choir, who wrote little notes when we left – everybody felt it, I think the audience felt it!

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Narrative Text in Color: Lisa Fifield, Storyteller in Gouache

There was a choice collection of Native American Art at the Ancient Trader’s Gallery in Minneapolis. Lisa Fifield takes dream imagery out of folk tales and brings them to vivid life on canvas.

Her work draws from many sources. The stories may be ones we know of, as in work inspired by Louise Erdrich. “Manitou” is a piece that shows the merging identity of the human, the elk, and the tree in a naturalistic, alert merging of the souls. With human clothes, a half-human face, a hoof for a hand, a branch that an owl is poised on, this mythic creation on a grey winter backdrop makes the unity of soul and nature a reality, the imagination made solid. Some translations of Manitou relate its definition as defining the Great Spirit, as “The Uncreated.” In this piece, we see a manifestation of the creator god that poses a oneness of life, nature as sentient, creation as a living thing. A shared kinship is evident; a potential harmony of life forms is realized.

Another piece “Dancing of the Elk Clan Women” shows a troupe of women in a tribal gathering of joy, dancing in an expression of togetherness that transforms them into leaping, flying elk. They are shape-shifting from earthbound humans to gravity free creatures of ecstasy. The earthtone colors of a mild watercolor backdrop and vivid gouache colors make the figures threaten to leap off the canvas.

Another piece, “Pretty Voice Hawk Woman” is a tribute tot he people killed at Wounded Knee, with the birds representing the living souls of the departed. The ten birds are drawn with patient attention to detail, and their centerpiece human looks out with both the hard knowledge of loss and the fierce determination of survival.

Fifield (Oneida, Black Bear Clan) had classical training at the Atelier LeSuer School of Art in Wayzata, and taught herself watercolor techniques. Some of her work was chosen for the opening of the Museum of the American Indian, which the Smithsonian opened in New York City in 1994. Her work is exhibited nationwide.

Much of her inspiration comes from the stories of the Oneida, one of the five Iroquois nations in the Northeast. Storytellers have a tradition of tales in which women have a special relationship with animals, learning from them or teaching, comforting and communicating. The Iroquois and other Native cultures understood early on the importance of storytelling, and it has always been central to the culture of American Indians.

Ancient Traders is at 1113 East Franklin Ave. in Minneapolis. For hours and information, call 612=870-7555.