Membership Has Its Rewards

What a nice little surprise in the mail today - a "token" of appreciation from the Kennedy Center for being a member for 25 years. Keen! Nice to have an anniversary to celebrate.

I'm trying to remember "where" I was in my life and career 25 years ago that I decided I had enough moolah to start contributing it to arts organizations, which are, after all, not curing cancer or providing shoes to ailing orphans. I'd been at my job going on eight years and so must have just begun putting the "salad years" behind me. (Trust, me it's still rather famished around my checkbook even today.)

Anyway, recognizing the joys, and even meaning, that theaters, museums, and concerts have given me, that's about when I began signing up. The membership benefits are pretty nice, though I don't always take advantage of them. At the Kennedy Center, only in the last couple of years have I done the Thursday morning NSO dress rehearsals. At my level, I'm entitled to bring a pal, but everyone I know works at that hour of the week. I myself never took that Arts Day Off until last year. If I'd known how fun it was, I would have done it sooner. (Another benefit I was too shy to take advantage of on my own was a recent reception and backstage tour of the Eisenhower Theater.)

Ford's Theater is another one with nice member benefits. I get the annual Ford's Theater calendar, which is beautifully photographed and printed, but which I always give away because I make my own calendars every year (two, in fact--Clay and non-Clay).

The sweetest benefit at Ford's is the personal touch. If you're a member, and you buy your theater tickets through the box office instead of Ticketbastard, you get a nice envelope taped to your seat, with a thank-you note on letterhead and a slim box of mints with Lincoln's face (on the box, not the mints). This last time, when I went to 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, I even got a handwritten "enjoy the show" message from the staff member I've been harassing to find me a recording of either Clay Aiken singing "Sarah" at the 2008 gala or Edward Duke during any of his Jeeves appearances, 1984-89.

Ford's also sends invitations to lots of events, most of which, again, I'm too shy to attend on my own. (If I were to give my theaters a little tiny suggestion: do Meetups.)

Museums and galleries also offer social events as membership benefits, but I get more out of the magazines, even if they do pile up in my "reading" tray. Some good ones are Folger Shakespeare Library, the Phillips Collection, the National Museum of Women in the Arts, American Indian, and of course Smithsonian (which, ironically, somehow missed sending me the May issue, on science fiction and futurism. Maybe they were too ashamed!)

Also noteworthy in the member-benefits department is the fabulous Shakespeare Theatre Company, though I have to say I've mostly been mooching off a friend's STC member benefits. Yes, it's probably about time I invested in my own.

So anyway, thank you, Arts, for letting me join you once in a while. And Happy Anniversary, dear Kennedy Center.

Love, hosaa
Member of a civilization worth supporting

Second-to-Last Row

Happy Mother's Day to those who have not voluntarily remained in the audience of this big stage of a world. Pardon me while I reflect from my seat in the second-to-last row.

Yes, I do miss my mother today, but, upon reflecting on the last few years of her life, I probably miss having children more. That is, I see what life may be like for me in the future, and find that it would probably have been a good idea to have a good, well-brought-up kid around to look after me when I get wicked and stupid.

(Note, I loved my mom. She wasn't really wicked or stupid. Her afflictions, addictions, and infirmities did bad things to her throughout her life. That's what I resented and, for myself, what I fear.)

Hawaii, 1993

Observers of life's dramas can learn from watching others, though. That's part of the point of going to the theater. Artists have a way of working things out and explaining things (it's like the reasons the spiritually inclined folks go to church, in many ways--to connect with our fellow humanity, to make sense of things).

I had a great time at the theater yesterday, specifically 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee at Ford's. It was a lively, fun production, very talented cast portraying high-striving, high-achieving kids mostly hoping to earn their parents' approval and love.

Now, as a grown-up, I realize that I was never motivated by a need to earn my parents' approval and love. I always had it. Mom started telling the world of my wonderfulness as soon as possible, putting me in the Little Miss Christmas beauty pageant at the tender age of five. It was up to my teachers to poke my intellectual complacency in the ribs.

So, those are my Mother's Day reflections. Excuse me if I don't particularly wish to join the celebrations of mothers and their daughters today. I'm in a mood.

Pink tulips at the Kennedy Center. Photo by C. G. Wagner, 2014

Love, hosaa
A pretty good kid after all, but arranging her own bouquets.

Art Day Interrupted

This past Thursday was supposed to be one of my semi-annual art therapy days, beginning with the morning working rehearsal for the National Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy Center. (It was heavily attended last year when I went for a big-name guest artist, Emanuel Ax, so this year I went for someone I never heard of. More on that in a moment.)

Like last year, I intended to spend the afternoon exploring one of the galleries I hadn't had the chance to visit in awhile. I started aiming for the Phillips Collection (north of Dupont Circle), but Madame de Which-Way here got a bit lost around Washington Circle. So I took the familiar and predictable Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House and the Corcoran, which is where I went last year.

Unfortunately, the doors to the Corcoran were closed. The sign out front, disappointing a good half-dozen other visitors to town, indicated that there was a big event going on later, for which the room was being prepared. I told the out-of-towners that the Renwick was handy, just up yonder, ornate red brick building ... and it's the Smithsonian, so it's free!

I charged up on ahead of the group to find, to my chagrin, another closed-for-internal-reasons sign. Apologies to all the out-of-towners I misdirected. I was frustrated, too. And I hope a part of the Renwick's two-year restoration project will include adding a cafe, because not only was I tired at this point, I was also hungry.

The Phillips being a straight shot up 17th/Connecticut was still a bit of an enticement, but at about 10 long city blocks, not enough of an enticement. So I called it a day, ducked into the Metro, and headed home. (If the Metro had run just five minutes faster, I would have made it to the afternoon showing of Grand Budapest Hotel, though I confess the sticker shock at the box office probably would have deterred me anyway. The point of Art Therapy Day is to do free stuff, or at least stuff that was part of my membership benefits, like the NSO rehearsal and entry to Corcoran and Phillips.)

Art therapy days are also supposed to be based on serendipity, so I don't usually research my destinations. This worked out well in the past for such things as that great Diaghilev show at National Gallery of Art last year. But clearly planned serendipity doesn't always work out.

What really did work out this time was the NSO working rehearsal. The guest conductor was Osmo Vänskä, working with guest clarinetist Martin Fröst for the performance of a clarinet concerto by Finnish composer Kalevi Aho. What I didn't realize was that this trio was well established, and the Fröst-Vänskä recording of the Aho piece is available at iTunes. (Sample it on the Aho page linked above.)

Martin Fröst and Osmo Vänskä, February 2014, via Facebook

via martinfrost.se/images/

via martinfrost.se/images/

It was a lot of fun watching Vänskä do the work of preparing the orchestra for the performances (which were Thursday night and tonight). He was an exacting but patient and cordial instructor. Fröst came on first to prepare the clarinet concerto, though it would be performed second on the program, right before the intermission.

Fröst is boyish, geeky, and super-cool in that Scandinavian way, animated and uninhibited. The NSO musicians could scarcely keep their eyes off him! His rapport with Vänskä made it all supernaturally natural, permitting them to communicate through quick glances, nods, and that delightful, cheekbone-carving grin that a skilled clarinetist can manage when his mouth is otherwise occupied.

Spoiler alert here: They also rehearsed an encore for Fröst when the Aho piece was wrapped up. No announcement, obviously, but we all recognized the flavor of the piece: pure Klezmer! Upon further research, I see Fröst recorded some Klezmer for his album entitled Dances to a black pipe (2011). As breathtaking as the Aho piece was, its sobering Finnish expressionism was not quite the crowdpleaser that the Klezmer dance encore was.

As conductor/instructor, Vänskä was very chatty and gave instructions throughout the rehearsal. The musicians took notes and asked "Maestro" questions frequently. I liked the interruptions, actually. I like seeing the work of arts. As I've said before, just because you know the trick doesn't mean it isn't magic.

Love, hosaa
still planning some more serendipitous art, if I can get off my lazy butt

ETA - great interview with Martin Fröst at WETA-FM.

At the Ballet: Don Quixote and Friends

One of my mantras in life is "More information is better than less information," so when American Ballet Theatre's spring appearance at the Kennedy Center was originally announced, with no mention of our favorite Daniil Simkin, I pretty much blew it off. The schedule gets overloaded this time of year anyway.

From 2011: Daniil Simkin at the Kennedy Center.

I'm amending my mantra: "More information, sooner, is better than less information." The moment that I learned the team of dancers participating in the D.C. tour ending this afternoon now included Daniil, I bought my ticket for the most convenient performance for me, the Saturday afternoon matinee. He was to dance the lead role of Basilio in Don Quixote! Yay!

The price and timing for tickets being what they were, I ignored the fact that Daniil would also be dancing in the mid-week mixed rep, a program that included Frederick Ashton's "The Dream." If I'd had the money and time, this would have brilliantly enhanced my 2014 collection of A Midsummer Night's Dream adaptations (including last month's Bristol Old Vic & Handspring Puppet version and next month's BSO concert at the Strathmore). Damn.

Daniil Simkin as "Puck." Photo by Gene Schiavone via Facebook.

At any rate, the DQ performed yesterday was nothing but delightful, and I benefited from a fortuitous audience enhancement. The couple sitting next to me had come down from New York especially to see this performance. They were huge ABT supporters and fans of Daniil Simkin in particular.

Since not everyone can be expected to know everything about their favorites, it's a gift when you can swap information. I shared the fact that Daniil had been posting some fabulous photos and videos on his site, demonstrating remarkable transplatform versatility. My neighbors shared with me some knowledge about Daniil's early training (which I already knew: basically home-schooled by his ballerina mother), which led them to observe that his partnering skills have long been wanting. The demanding DQ pas would be revealing (it's one of the pieces Leslie Browne and Mikhail Baryshnikov performed in The Turning Point).

Lack of early training in partnering is the least of Daniil's problems--he is not a burly Bluto of a man. He's Ariel, he's Puck. Can he lift his lady? Can he hold her steadily as she turns? Can he keep from dropping her on her head whenever she flies headfirst into his arms?

Yes, yes, and yes. And his lady, Isabella Boylston, even shot him a sweet smile of tender confidence during some of these difficult moves. (Yes, I brought my binoculars. Always.)

My knowledgeable friends next door were quietly commenting on much of the program in play; this was one of the very few times in my theater-going experience that I didn't object to neighbors chatting. In fact, I wished I could hear what they were saying. "Disappointing" caught my ear. Yikes! What was disappointing about what I just saw? Nothing! Nothing! Certainly not Daniil. At the intermission, they turned immediately to me to see my reaction, and of course I loved it. They said that Daniil was dancing fantastically, so--whew--he was not the source of that fleeting "disappointment."

Another comment I overheard was that so-and-so should be promoted out of the corps de ballet--she (or he) is too good. I was too shy to ask who. Really, eavesdroppers need to be careful about digging for dirt, even if it's good dirt.

One young dancer they did point out to me as a future superstar was the male half of the Gypsy Couple, Zhiyao Zhang. "He's just a teenager!" my neighbor enthused while the young man was dancing. He'd mentioned also that this Saturday matinee cast was far from being "the B team"; rather, it was the "young team." (ZZ is actually 20 or 21, according to his bio.)

In all, the dancing was beautiful, the sets and costumes were beautiful. I loved the curtain projection of a giant painted fan decorated with Spanish scenes of villages and bullfights.

So glad I went. I had ditched the stage door after the last time Daniil danced here (midweek evening performances are very taxing), but it was a lovely early evening by the time curtain came down yesterday. I joined the other bunheads (about two dozen of various ages) at the Opera House stage entrance, and all seemed to be waiting for Isabella and Misty Copeland (DQ's fiery street dancer). Both lovely ladies delighted the fans with photos and autographs.

Isabella Boylston

Misty Copeland

Now, I did see Daniil peek out the door, still in makeup, and happily inviting a young female friend backstage. There were a few VIP friends and family of dancers invited through the big door. But Daniil didn't come back out to greet the fans as he had done three years ago. There were only about six of us ladies left waiting when a stage door guardian informed us no one else would be coming out. (Looking at the time stamp on my 2011 photo, I see Daniil took at least an hour after curtain before emerging that time, so I was prepared for a wait.) It might have been a ruse to clear the corridor. Several ladies hung back a bit, but the guard stood at the door, seemingly keeping an eye on errant fan behavior.

Maybe that's what happens when you become a superstar. (It is also possible he was simply deferring to the ladies this time. Despite his thunderous ovations, he didn't take a soloist's bow at curtain. He presented his lady, who sweetly shared one of her beautiful roses with him.) I don't deny Daniil or anyone the privilege of managing his time or audience face-time. He did what he was supposed to do: Delight.

Love, hosaa
not really a bunhead

ETA, April 21 - Awwwww!

Post by Daniil Simkin.

Dinner Out

All of the following is trivial in light of a friend's house burning down yesterday.

Transcribed from my handy-dandy notebook:

4-15-14 Tuesday.

American Tap Room. I just felt like a margarita.

This is the space that used to be Austin Grill, Mom's favorite hangout.

Rainy, cold, maybe even a freeze warning.

The Spring is confused. We just had a glorious cherry blossom weekend, and now the worms are stunned on the sidewalk, camaflouged (ack! sp!) by downed twigs, which is actually a spurious disguise. I should do a haiku about it. I recently took up haikuing (ack! sp!) but have abandoned the exercise as a little too disciplined and existential. I only haiku (verb) in the morning.

I remembered what I was going to say--it's about memory. It's hard to memorize anything now (witness, the first exercise in Ken Ludwig's book How to Teach Your Children Shakespeare  (or is it ...Teach Shakespeare to Your Children?), and yet I remember all or most of the two sonnets I memorized in high school.

My career as an actress has officially been called off.

I should have brought a book.

I could draw or something. No one's lurking, unless they're behind this decorative mirror.

Hello, lurkers behind the decorative mirror! Are you NSA or just a creep?

[Here, the author scribbles a "Kilroy Was Here" doodle]

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes | I all alone

Oh, mushroom swiss burger here!

Oh, and guess what. I got carded on the margarita. No shit.

...

Love, me.

\\// 
-(@ @)- 
--oOO-- (_)-- OOo--

Second Glance - DIY: Folger Day

Well dang, I buy the paper today and the "Second Glance" puzzle isn't included. So once again, I'm doing-it-myself.

Here's one of my pictures from last week's open house at Folger Shakespeare Library for the Bard's 450th Birthday. Find 12 differences in the second picture. The third picture includes the key, but don't cheat!

To get a better view, download the images to your own computer. Right-click and select "open in new tab," click again to enlarge, and save.

Answers:
1 - Find the boyfriend!
2 - Five cents?
3 - Move over
4 - De-ugly sweater
5 - Ropeless
6 - Stripey socks alteration
7 - Something smells fishy
8 - Cracked marble
9 - Turtle waves!
10 - Shadowless
11 - Colored collar
12 - What watch, Mickey?

About 7 Billion "Trains Running"

I should know by now to write very shortly after thinking of something, because I had a much better title for this post than that when I woke up this morning and forgot it already.

The thing is, when I went to see Two Trains Running at Round House the other day, it was the same day I'd just been to a memorial service for one of my Shakespeare Readers friends. And if you don't know the story behind Two Trains, much of it is about the funeral business and the death of an acquaintance whose life would have been worth knowing better.

Of the performance, I'll say it was long but not at all draggy. The production is evenly divided into two 90-minute acts, with a 15-minute intermission, so it makes for a long mid-week night. Still, the audience was on its feet to applaud the work, not to clamor to the exits.

My season tickets have been for the Thursday previews all these many years; so many scheduling conflicts led to my changing my ticket so many times, I finally opted to change to the Wednesday performances next season. I looked at the list of performances I'm to attend, and it turns out my Wednesdays will be the first performances. So they're going to be even rougher than what I've been seeing.

"Rougher." That's funny. One friend tells me that the ONLY show to go to is the last performance, when the actors have absolutely perfected their work. Well, that's one point of view. I like the earlier, "imperfect" performances. It seems more human, for instance, when the actor stumbles on a line or two.

Actors just amaze me. Truly. I've been trying to read and learn from this book that Ken Ludwig wrote, How to Teach Your Children Shakespeare--well, with reviewing it in mind, maybe--and discovering that I can't hold in my mind more than two lines of the speech from Midsummer Night's Dream that begins the process:

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows

And that's it. (Did I even get that much right?)

So when a team of actors puts three hours of dialogue and timing and blocking onto their shoulders to present their Two Trains to a few of the 7 billion others sharing their world, I am just always amazed and in total admiration.

Stand-outs for me were the two (maybe?) potential lovers, Sterling (Ricardo Frederick Evans) and Risa (Shannon Dorsey), both newcomers to the RHT stage. The character of Risa, the waitress whom all the men flirt with, with greater or lesser degrees of seriousness, is both enigmatic and pragmatic. She would rather be alone than with a man--like Sterling, the recently released convict--who would do nothing but worry her to death.

Ricardo Frederick Evans (Sterling) and Shannon Dorsey (Risa). Photo: Round House Theatre Facebook

I can relate to that. But to keep the men at bay, she had resorted to cutting up her own legs, making herself ugly to avoid unwanted attention. It didn't really work, and none of the men can understand a woman not needing or wanting a man. Sterling, for all his recklessness, is genuinely touched by Risa. The moment that they finally kiss, and Sterling receives the girl's absolute tenderness, is a revelation to him and a breathtaking moment for the audience.

Among the other trains spinning around in my mind with this story was all of the superstitions these people latched onto, whether it was routinely playing the numbers or following the spiritual advice of the mysteriously aged ("three hundred and twenty-two years old") Aunt Ester, which always involved throwing a twenty-dollar bill into the river for the advice to work. Aunt Ester's eschewing monetary gain for her work was a contrast to the other unseen character, the flashy local "prophet" about to be buried during the course of the play.

Back to my friend's memorial service earlier in the day. The first part of the service is the readings and the hymns and the recitations and the responses, none of which I knew. My other Catholic friends attending could participate. I sat (or stood, as required) and listened, not really comprehending. It was a good, peaceful time to think about our friend who had passed.

But at the end of the service, our friend's nephew delivered the eulogy. He had been the caregiver for this single, independent "Risa" for the past five months, and told the audience about how much she'd meant to him growing up. His voice quaked a few times, for which he apologized. It was moving and dear. And just as human as a professional actor muffing a line or two. It connects.

When two trains are running, they have to run on parallel tracks or on different schedules, lest they crash. When there are 7 billion of us running, those occasional "crashes" of crossing lives is actually what brings us together.

Two Trains Running
Written by August Wilson
Directed by Timothy Douglas
Round House Theatre, Bethesda, MD, through May 4, 2014

Cast
Memphis: Jefferson A. Russell
Wolf: Kenyatta Rogers
Risa: Shannon Dorsey
Holloway: Michael Anthony Williams
Sterling: Ricardo Frederick Evans
Hambone: Frank Britton
West: Doug Brown

scenic designer: Tony Cisek
costume designer: Reggie Ray
lighting designer: Dan Covey
sound designer/composer: Matthew M. Nielson
dramaturg: Otis Cortez Ramsey-Zöe

eta - later that same day ... I remembered the title I was going to use for this post. When the location for my friend's memorial service was said to me over the phone, I got the name of the church wrong: It was really the Church of Annunciation. What I wrote down was: Church of Enunciation. Which is what theater really is.