Friday, January 28, 2011
Last Night at the ACT
Barbara Damashek - my dear, valued old and gifted Quilters friend - took me as her date to see the Opening Night of Bruce Norris' Clybourne Park last night at the American Conservatory Theatre down on Geary Street. It was a good night in the theatre, and one that revived my sagging spirits and my slightly jaded soul, as far as live theater is concerned: I've been concentrating so hard on getting the writing thing going, I'd forgotten the nourishment I get from superbly produced and well acted live theater performances. I guess I've been in "the Biz" too long, and my point of view has needed some time off. San Francisco and its gloriously nature-based physical glories have helped a lot to freshen my view, and so I was able to give the superbly-acted production last night all I had to give: I was ready to be taken away, transported and transformed, as only - and I do mean only - live theater can do.
I was not disappointed : it was absolutely wonderful! Sitting in that venerable old ACT Theatre - one I've studied for years in school , founded by the infamous Bill Ball , who I once met at a party in NYC , an American institution of regional theater where so many famous actors got their start, and writers and designers learned their crafts...I mean, ACT: an important part of this country's theater history...not as old as Barter Theatre (an infant , in comparison, since it was only founded in 1965), it nonetheless came smashing onto the American scene, as a vital part of the regional theater movement, and with the flamboyant, creative style of that marvelous Bill Ball to help put it in focus, i recall that ACT had an actual core acting company long before I had heard of other theaters having one ...it seemed determined and proud to be a real , American, trained and dedicated theater with its own acting company to draw from, and I remember this being inspirational to me when I was in college.
It was born at the same time my college career was, so we are both of a particular time in this country's theater identity: we are flower children, the ACT and I. I remember that Bill Ball used to be famous for many things, but one fashion quirk of his was a powder blue hat he was known for always wearing: it was his symbol, his panache. I saw him in it the few times our paths crossed. A baby blue bolero hat, with a wide brim....he was a unique character. Impossible to even think of the ACT and not think of Bill Ball. Even though Cary Perloff has put her stamp on it for the past 20-something years or so. It's still Bill Ball's ACT. At least in my mind.
Bruce Norris, British writer of several interesting plays, wrote this marvelous two-acter, Clybourne Park, about what happens after the curtain comes down on the famous American play A Raisin In The Sun, by Lorraine Hansbury, a Black playwright who died shortly after writing her signal success, Raisin, which is a deeply powerful play about race and prejudice. The family in Raisin is going to move into a white neighborhood , in a Chicago suburb called Clybourne Park, and that play is about the many conflicts in the black family at the prospect of moving into a white enclave. It's a wrenching drama, famous for the brave voice Lorraine Hansbury gave to what Black Americans were thinking at that explosive time in our history. I remember reading it and it moving me to tears. It was the first play by a Black female to be produced on Broadway, and the first play directed by a Black director (Lloyd Richards) to be done there as well. A milestone play, for sure.
Bruce Norris' Act One is in the family home of the white people whose house the black family are about to move into. It's written in the style of a 1950's family sit-com, but secrets, painful revelations and moments of high rage and sorrow develop , amidst many many enormously funny moments: it's one of those wonderful plays where the audience is moved to tears in the middle of large laughter....my idea of what good theatre can do for an audience.
Act Two is moved forward to present day, same house, but by then, Clybourne Park has become a Black enclave and white people want to move into this house and the other side of prejudice and overwrought political correctness laid bare for us to be delighted by at the same time we're being horrified by it: again, laughter then tears, then copious amounts of more laughter. By the time those characters explode off the stage (same actors playing genealogical descendants of the 1st Act characters), we are exhausted with laughter - of course we see our selves in those blundering , well-meaning but selfishly misguided 2nd act people - and we are left with a memory scene, a flashback, eerily lit, of a moment in time before tragedy transforms the house and sets it on its jangling journey through real estate purgatory. Gloriousy lit, that final scene is a killer.
Alexander V. Nichols, Lighting Designer: Bravo. Truly great work. I love it when lighting becomes another character in the play, helping to tell the story like nothing else can.
So, last night at ACT....today spent in the glorious Headlands, drinking in views of San Francisco that made my head spin they were so stunningly gorgeous......i saw the sun on the stretch of the Bay melting into the Pacific Ocean - that place in where the waters merge called the Golden Gate, and understood why it's called that: the sun makes the water look like molten gold....this entire day has been a visual blessing. Almost Heaven, San Francisco! My Home Sweet Home!
I was not disappointed : it was absolutely wonderful! Sitting in that venerable old ACT Theatre - one I've studied for years in school , founded by the infamous Bill Ball , who I once met at a party in NYC , an American institution of regional theater where so many famous actors got their start, and writers and designers learned their crafts...I mean, ACT: an important part of this country's theater history...not as old as Barter Theatre (an infant , in comparison, since it was only founded in 1965), it nonetheless came smashing onto the American scene, as a vital part of the regional theater movement, and with the flamboyant, creative style of that marvelous Bill Ball to help put it in focus, i recall that ACT had an actual core acting company long before I had heard of other theaters having one ...it seemed determined and proud to be a real , American, trained and dedicated theater with its own acting company to draw from, and I remember this being inspirational to me when I was in college.
It was born at the same time my college career was, so we are both of a particular time in this country's theater identity: we are flower children, the ACT and I. I remember that Bill Ball used to be famous for many things, but one fashion quirk of his was a powder blue hat he was known for always wearing: it was his symbol, his panache. I saw him in it the few times our paths crossed. A baby blue bolero hat, with a wide brim....he was a unique character. Impossible to even think of the ACT and not think of Bill Ball. Even though Cary Perloff has put her stamp on it for the past 20-something years or so. It's still Bill Ball's ACT. At least in my mind.
Bruce Norris, British writer of several interesting plays, wrote this marvelous two-acter, Clybourne Park, about what happens after the curtain comes down on the famous American play A Raisin In The Sun, by Lorraine Hansbury, a Black playwright who died shortly after writing her signal success, Raisin, which is a deeply powerful play about race and prejudice. The family in Raisin is going to move into a white neighborhood , in a Chicago suburb called Clybourne Park, and that play is about the many conflicts in the black family at the prospect of moving into a white enclave. It's a wrenching drama, famous for the brave voice Lorraine Hansbury gave to what Black Americans were thinking at that explosive time in our history. I remember reading it and it moving me to tears. It was the first play by a Black female to be produced on Broadway, and the first play directed by a Black director (Lloyd Richards) to be done there as well. A milestone play, for sure.
Bruce Norris' Act One is in the family home of the white people whose house the black family are about to move into. It's written in the style of a 1950's family sit-com, but secrets, painful revelations and moments of high rage and sorrow develop , amidst many many enormously funny moments: it's one of those wonderful plays where the audience is moved to tears in the middle of large laughter....my idea of what good theatre can do for an audience.
Act Two is moved forward to present day, same house, but by then, Clybourne Park has become a Black enclave and white people want to move into this house and the other side of prejudice and overwrought political correctness laid bare for us to be delighted by at the same time we're being horrified by it: again, laughter then tears, then copious amounts of more laughter. By the time those characters explode off the stage (same actors playing genealogical descendants of the 1st Act characters), we are exhausted with laughter - of course we see our selves in those blundering , well-meaning but selfishly misguided 2nd act people - and we are left with a memory scene, a flashback, eerily lit, of a moment in time before tragedy transforms the house and sets it on its jangling journey through real estate purgatory. Gloriousy lit, that final scene is a killer.
Alexander V. Nichols, Lighting Designer: Bravo. Truly great work. I love it when lighting becomes another character in the play, helping to tell the story like nothing else can.
So, last night at ACT....today spent in the glorious Headlands, drinking in views of San Francisco that made my head spin they were so stunningly gorgeous......i saw the sun on the stretch of the Bay melting into the Pacific Ocean - that place in where the waters merge called the Golden Gate, and understood why it's called that: the sun makes the water look like molten gold....this entire day has been a visual blessing. Almost Heaven, San Francisco! My Home Sweet Home!
Labels: SF arts and theatre
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Writing Buddies and Tropical Trees
So, I met Andrew C. down at Green's (my local vegetarian place by the Bay) this morning to talk about his screenplay, and to discuss writing in general. It was such fun, so productive for us both, we decided to become writing partners, meet every Tuesday morning at Green's, and assess each other's work. We will drink organic coffee and talk.
Andrew is my upstairs neighbor. From Canada, right outside Toronto, he is adorable, 40-something, bright-eyed, articulate, and very very passionate about film writing, acting, and his gorgeous French girlfriend. They own the most beautiful red setter named Pastis. While Valerie studies to become a Somatic Therapist (hello, San Francisco), Andrew waits tables at a nearby swank eatery and takes a UCLA screenwriting course on line. I've read part of one project he's working on, and now am in possession of an entire screenplay he feels is ready to be shopped around, if only he knew how to do it. As writing partners, I promised him I'd help him find a way.
I like Andrew C. He is very smart about structure, and I can learn from him, even though I am not writing for the screen, because, after all, story telling is story telling, and the elements are pretty much the same, no matter the medium: premise, scene , dialogue, conflict, strategies, denouement, surprise, simplicity, power. How to build tension. How to economically create truthful characters. And it's nice to have someone outside my workshop to discuss these things with. He is smart, is Andrew, and can articulate his ideas well. Since he's studied acting both in Canada and NYC, and believes, as I do, that Sanford Meisner is the best of the modern American acting "gurus", we have more of a common language than usual, and his desires to communicate , I find, are actually very theatrically oriented, so there is an avenue of discussion we can walk down together as we both explore how to become better writers. This is the sort of friendship I find myself developing here in this new city I call home.
Last night, speaking of developing friendships, Peter and I went to an amazingly delicious dinner party at Paul and Stephen's. Six truly nice and interesting members of the San Francisco Insight Meditation sangha (community) were invited to sit around Paul and Stephen's red dining table and share some wonderful food and wine, and, as usual, Stephen outdid himself creating another totally tasty meal for all: trout fillets, done to perfection, an enormous bowl of the most succulent roasted root vegetables, colorfully pretty and totally delicious (he has a way of seasoning that truly enhances vegetables), another steaming bowl of fresh greens, with tomato, garlic,etc...and a new thing he tried: a mushroom pasty, comprised of layers of delicate puff pastry filled with a mixture of chopped wild mushrooms, grains and ricotta cheese...absolutely fabulous! A perfect meal. Hearty, thoroughly good tasting, with textures that enhanced each mouthful. One of those great meals! Dessert was good coffee and two of Stephen's specialties: an apple-dapple cake, topped with a yogurt-citrus sauce(yum!) and a chocolate tofu pie ,fresh out of the oven and melt-in-your-mouth divine! We all sat at table for nearly 3 hours, the food and conversation was flowing like crazy...wines too, although , knowing of my morning meeting with Andrew, I drank water and Diet Coke all night. We all ate too much, but we had to, it was so good.
The main thing from that dinner last night? I could feel important and warmly necessary new friendships germinating, and ones already established, growing. I felt like this was a community we could easily gain from being part of, and we came away truly liking these people. It was a smart table, and knowing their Buddhist practice centers them in compassion and concern for the planet and those who live on it, these are also people who use their intelligence to help others and to improve their own places on the planet as well. In other words, good food, good people: a productive evening for our future here in the marvelous new city of ours.
And, i have a new writing buddy: Andrew C. Good allies are important to have. Never can have too many, especially ones whose intellects you admire. In line with , I am meeting my workshop partner, Chuck H. for a burger at The Grind , near Adair's house, before tonight's workshop meeting.
We will, of course, talk about writing. And the workshop . And then, probably , more about writing.
This makes me happy. Whenever I used to come out West with a touring show I was in, and we'd "sit down" in SF or LA for a series of weeks' performances. I'd wake up every morning, smell the fresh lemon trees and be grateful that I had a job that gave me the privilege of living , even temporarily, in such glorious places. I'd be grateful for the sun, the Ocean, the fresh fragrances of California, the palm trees. This morning , as I was walking to Green's in the 8:00 A.M. mists across Fort Mason Park, I realized something:
I've now given myself this luxury, this privilege, of being in a fine place with a warm and congenial climate and, with this decision to concentrate on writing for now, I don't even have a 7:30 "half-hour call" for a show tonight! I have my life to call my own...in a place with palm trees. I sigh with joy.
Andrew is my upstairs neighbor. From Canada, right outside Toronto, he is adorable, 40-something, bright-eyed, articulate, and very very passionate about film writing, acting, and his gorgeous French girlfriend. They own the most beautiful red setter named Pastis. While Valerie studies to become a Somatic Therapist (hello, San Francisco), Andrew waits tables at a nearby swank eatery and takes a UCLA screenwriting course on line. I've read part of one project he's working on, and now am in possession of an entire screenplay he feels is ready to be shopped around, if only he knew how to do it. As writing partners, I promised him I'd help him find a way.
I like Andrew C. He is very smart about structure, and I can learn from him, even though I am not writing for the screen, because, after all, story telling is story telling, and the elements are pretty much the same, no matter the medium: premise, scene , dialogue, conflict, strategies, denouement, surprise, simplicity, power. How to build tension. How to economically create truthful characters. And it's nice to have someone outside my workshop to discuss these things with. He is smart, is Andrew, and can articulate his ideas well. Since he's studied acting both in Canada and NYC, and believes, as I do, that Sanford Meisner is the best of the modern American acting "gurus", we have more of a common language than usual, and his desires to communicate , I find, are actually very theatrically oriented, so there is an avenue of discussion we can walk down together as we both explore how to become better writers. This is the sort of friendship I find myself developing here in this new city I call home.
Last night, speaking of developing friendships, Peter and I went to an amazingly delicious dinner party at Paul and Stephen's. Six truly nice and interesting members of the San Francisco Insight Meditation sangha (community) were invited to sit around Paul and Stephen's red dining table and share some wonderful food and wine, and, as usual, Stephen outdid himself creating another totally tasty meal for all: trout fillets, done to perfection, an enormous bowl of the most succulent roasted root vegetables, colorfully pretty and totally delicious (he has a way of seasoning that truly enhances vegetables), another steaming bowl of fresh greens, with tomato, garlic,etc...and a new thing he tried: a mushroom pasty, comprised of layers of delicate puff pastry filled with a mixture of chopped wild mushrooms, grains and ricotta cheese...absolutely fabulous! A perfect meal. Hearty, thoroughly good tasting, with textures that enhanced each mouthful. One of those great meals! Dessert was good coffee and two of Stephen's specialties: an apple-dapple cake, topped with a yogurt-citrus sauce(yum!) and a chocolate tofu pie ,fresh out of the oven and melt-in-your-mouth divine! We all sat at table for nearly 3 hours, the food and conversation was flowing like crazy...wines too, although , knowing of my morning meeting with Andrew, I drank water and Diet Coke all night. We all ate too much, but we had to, it was so good.
The main thing from that dinner last night? I could feel important and warmly necessary new friendships germinating, and ones already established, growing. I felt like this was a community we could easily gain from being part of, and we came away truly liking these people. It was a smart table, and knowing their Buddhist practice centers them in compassion and concern for the planet and those who live on it, these are also people who use their intelligence to help others and to improve their own places on the planet as well. In other words, good food, good people: a productive evening for our future here in the marvelous new city of ours.
And, i have a new writing buddy: Andrew C. Good allies are important to have. Never can have too many, especially ones whose intellects you admire. In line with , I am meeting my workshop partner, Chuck H. for a burger at The Grind , near Adair's house, before tonight's workshop meeting.
We will, of course, talk about writing. And the workshop . And then, probably , more about writing.
This makes me happy. Whenever I used to come out West with a touring show I was in, and we'd "sit down" in SF or LA for a series of weeks' performances. I'd wake up every morning, smell the fresh lemon trees and be grateful that I had a job that gave me the privilege of living , even temporarily, in such glorious places. I'd be grateful for the sun, the Ocean, the fresh fragrances of California, the palm trees. This morning , as I was walking to Green's in the 8:00 A.M. mists across Fort Mason Park, I realized something:
I've now given myself this luxury, this privilege, of being in a fine place with a warm and congenial climate and, with this decision to concentrate on writing for now, I don't even have a 7:30 "half-hour call" for a show tonight! I have my life to call my own...in a place with palm trees. I sigh with joy.
Labels: SF Writing
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Learning New Things
So, here's what's happening: I am in this writers workshop now....led by the delightful Adair Lara...and I am writing so much on the many assignments we are given, I seem to have totally forgotten about writing in this blog !! Therefore, this lovely Sunday morning in San Francisco, I decided I'd better rectify that situation and do a little catching up , so you faithful readers will know why I've been absent for a while. My head is whirling with new stuff I've learned and am learning, and each day is centered right now on writing, writing and more writing....I want you to be included in on some of it, and where it comes from in the workshop process.
First, let me say I'm sorry for ignoring you. You're the people who have been so faithful in listening to whatever I've had to say in these spaces, and you've never stinted in your support and praise...i feel there are friends I've made through this blog that I would not have otherwise...and I want to keep you both as friends and readers. So let me assure you of one thing: what I am learning in this writers workshop is fantastically interesting and can only benefit my future writing, so hopefully all of you who read it will benefit too. But it's interesting in another way as well.
When you focus on something, you see it in more detail, and you notice its flaws as well as its beauties. And right now, with a specific audience to write for (my workshop group) and certain goals to achieve (the exercise work we are assigned in large amounts every week), i have become more self-conscious of how and what I write.
This is not a bad thing. No, not at all.
But it is a different thing. A different way of my coming to my writing. A different set of awarenesses and considerations about it. And more often than I can ever remember before, I am wanting it to be "good"...to follow certain rules...new rules I am learning on what good writing is made of....in the workshop , we read as well as write, and with each new essay I read, I am overwhelmed by the craft it takes to write it.
I am not dismissing my talent -if I dare to call it that - I know I have a way with words and how to make them flow.I understand rhythm, a certain kind of "voice" and I am relatively literate: I know how to put words together to form thoughts, some of which, at certain times are not uninteresting. If I didn't like what I've already written over the years (in my 38 or more years of journal writing, and my decade or so of writing on line journals), then I'd stop doing it! But I do, so I won't.
But, I'm in this learning place, y'see...and what I don't know - or more to the point - what I don't DO , is beginning to make me want to do more and know more. But the main verb here is "do"...i need to write , yes...but then I need to re-write and re-write and re-write some more to make it better, tighter, more focused, deep, richer. I am so used to simply letting my thoughts just flow out onto a writing surface, that I have spent very little time both considering what I write and re-writing it to make it better, and now I have the time to learn how to do that, I want to do it. So I spend my days at my writing desk learning by doing.
The flow is of course an extremely important thing to never stop....I am not saying I must stop the flow of my thoughts and words onto pages, wherever the pages may be....no, the flow of course matters deeply. But I need to think and learn now how to capture the flow and make it serve an art form I have always adored, but never taken the time to truly master. I've picked up just enough along the way to serve me well - and to bring my thoughts to others in ways that have mattered to me, and to those others ( you among them). Now, I want to become better at it. So, let me tell you about this workshop, and why it has taken me away from these particular pages for a while lately. This will be the subject of the next few blog entries: the Adair Lara Winter 2011 Writers Group, and what goes on there!
So stay tuned! And, once again...thanks for listening.
First, let me say I'm sorry for ignoring you. You're the people who have been so faithful in listening to whatever I've had to say in these spaces, and you've never stinted in your support and praise...i feel there are friends I've made through this blog that I would not have otherwise...and I want to keep you both as friends and readers. So let me assure you of one thing: what I am learning in this writers workshop is fantastically interesting and can only benefit my future writing, so hopefully all of you who read it will benefit too. But it's interesting in another way as well.
When you focus on something, you see it in more detail, and you notice its flaws as well as its beauties. And right now, with a specific audience to write for (my workshop group) and certain goals to achieve (the exercise work we are assigned in large amounts every week), i have become more self-conscious of how and what I write.
This is not a bad thing. No, not at all.
But it is a different thing. A different way of my coming to my writing. A different set of awarenesses and considerations about it. And more often than I can ever remember before, I am wanting it to be "good"...to follow certain rules...new rules I am learning on what good writing is made of....in the workshop , we read as well as write, and with each new essay I read, I am overwhelmed by the craft it takes to write it.
I am not dismissing my talent -if I dare to call it that - I know I have a way with words and how to make them flow.I understand rhythm, a certain kind of "voice" and I am relatively literate: I know how to put words together to form thoughts, some of which, at certain times are not uninteresting. If I didn't like what I've already written over the years (in my 38 or more years of journal writing, and my decade or so of writing on line journals), then I'd stop doing it! But I do, so I won't.
But, I'm in this learning place, y'see...and what I don't know - or more to the point - what I don't DO , is beginning to make me want to do more and know more. But the main verb here is "do"...i need to write , yes...but then I need to re-write and re-write and re-write some more to make it better, tighter, more focused, deep, richer. I am so used to simply letting my thoughts just flow out onto a writing surface, that I have spent very little time both considering what I write and re-writing it to make it better, and now I have the time to learn how to do that, I want to do it. So I spend my days at my writing desk learning by doing.
The flow is of course an extremely important thing to never stop....I am not saying I must stop the flow of my thoughts and words onto pages, wherever the pages may be....no, the flow of course matters deeply. But I need to think and learn now how to capture the flow and make it serve an art form I have always adored, but never taken the time to truly master. I've picked up just enough along the way to serve me well - and to bring my thoughts to others in ways that have mattered to me, and to those others ( you among them). Now, I want to become better at it. So, let me tell you about this workshop, and why it has taken me away from these particular pages for a while lately. This will be the subject of the next few blog entries: the Adair Lara Winter 2011 Writers Group, and what goes on there!
So stay tuned! And, once again...thanks for listening.
Labels: SF Writing
Monday, January 17, 2011
Frenzied Joy - Again, At Last!
To celebrate Peter's birthday yesterday, Paul and Stephen took us for our first visit to the San Francisco Symphony at their stunning home in the concert-perfect Davies Hall, down on Van Ness , a bus ride away from our apartment. It was thrilling. Totally thrilling.
How have I allowed myself to be away from this particular joy for so very long?
If there was any doubt - which there has not been - about the wisdom of moving to San Francisco, last night's experience at Davies Hall disappeared that doubt forevermore: we are in a city with a world-class great orchestra - thoroughly accomplished and deeply gifted - and we can now count ourselves among its true fans: we will armor ourselves with tickets for whatever we want to hear, and we want to hear a lot. We have found the remedy for our patient ears and our suffering souls: out ears have been very patient, as we tried to give them the best we could find , our souls have been suffering for lack of thrilling inspiration, and we have found - yes indeed - we have found their remedy: the San Francisco Symphony
I've never been a symphony orchestra groupie before, but, this might be my time. Last night's program of Katchaturian, and Prokofiev, with a charming, delicate curtain raiser by Mussorgsky, was so gorgeous, i cried most of the way through it all...especially the Prokofiev Romeo and Juliet , which threw me back to anotrher wonderful evening many decades ago.
I had the privilege of seeing Rudolph Nureyev and Margot Fontanne, and the entire Royal Ballet Company, dacne the Prokofiev Romeo and Juliet. They were on tour, and miraculously, Atlanta was included in that tour. Momma got us front row center seats, if you can imagine, at the lovely old Fox Theatre, so I could see Nureyev sweat, we were so close the stage. And I could practically smell the sweet talcum powder on Dame Margot....she had to have been 50 by then...but she danced with the grace and delicacy of a young ballerina and I fell so madly in love with the entire art form at that moment of her entrance.
The Prokofiev is stunningly dramatic, and those opening strains were forever embedded in my soul because of that performance...they became instantly familiar to me, as did the passages introducing young Juliet to the stage, as flighty as a feather or a heavenly species of bird. I relived it all on Saturday night, therefore the evening was rich with brilliant technical prowess (SF has some damned fine payers), and gorgeous memories, not to mention, in the Katchaturian Violin Concerto, the utter stunning beauty of the violin soloist Vadim Gluzman's playing: yikes! such dexterity and speed, with every single note clear as a bell in the even the fastest possible passages...and deeply exciting surprises in Katchaturian's writing...we were treated to gloriousness! Three movements, laced with magnificent folk melodies, virtuoso execution of extremely difficult cadenzas, and achingly beautiful storytelling...i've never heard a live performance like it in my life. Bravo Gluzman! And bravissimi for keeping up with him, you gorgeous musicians of San Francisco!
I am so in the right city for where I am in my life now, and my evening with the San Francisco Symphony underscores that lovely truth! Play on!
All of us.
Play...and dammit, dance on, as well!
How have I allowed myself to be away from this particular joy for so very long?
If there was any doubt - which there has not been - about the wisdom of moving to San Francisco, last night's experience at Davies Hall disappeared that doubt forevermore: we are in a city with a world-class great orchestra - thoroughly accomplished and deeply gifted - and we can now count ourselves among its true fans: we will armor ourselves with tickets for whatever we want to hear, and we want to hear a lot. We have found the remedy for our patient ears and our suffering souls: out ears have been very patient, as we tried to give them the best we could find , our souls have been suffering for lack of thrilling inspiration, and we have found - yes indeed - we have found their remedy: the San Francisco Symphony
I've never been a symphony orchestra groupie before, but, this might be my time. Last night's program of Katchaturian, and Prokofiev, with a charming, delicate curtain raiser by Mussorgsky, was so gorgeous, i cried most of the way through it all...especially the Prokofiev Romeo and Juliet , which threw me back to anotrher wonderful evening many decades ago.
I had the privilege of seeing Rudolph Nureyev and Margot Fontanne, and the entire Royal Ballet Company, dacne the Prokofiev Romeo and Juliet. They were on tour, and miraculously, Atlanta was included in that tour. Momma got us front row center seats, if you can imagine, at the lovely old Fox Theatre, so I could see Nureyev sweat, we were so close the stage. And I could practically smell the sweet talcum powder on Dame Margot....she had to have been 50 by then...but she danced with the grace and delicacy of a young ballerina and I fell so madly in love with the entire art form at that moment of her entrance.
The Prokofiev is stunningly dramatic, and those opening strains were forever embedded in my soul because of that performance...they became instantly familiar to me, as did the passages introducing young Juliet to the stage, as flighty as a feather or a heavenly species of bird. I relived it all on Saturday night, therefore the evening was rich with brilliant technical prowess (SF has some damned fine payers), and gorgeous memories, not to mention, in the Katchaturian Violin Concerto, the utter stunning beauty of the violin soloist Vadim Gluzman's playing: yikes! such dexterity and speed, with every single note clear as a bell in the even the fastest possible passages...and deeply exciting surprises in Katchaturian's writing...we were treated to gloriousness! Three movements, laced with magnificent folk melodies, virtuoso execution of extremely difficult cadenzas, and achingly beautiful storytelling...i've never heard a live performance like it in my life. Bravo Gluzman! And bravissimi for keeping up with him, you gorgeous musicians of San Francisco!
I am so in the right city for where I am in my life now, and my evening with the San Francisco Symphony underscores that lovely truth! Play on!
All of us.
Play...and dammit, dance on, as well!
Labels: SF Symphony
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Writing ,Writing and More Writing
So....okay...looking through my years and years of handwritten journals, i keep running across the Phrase "Oh, if I only had time to write about this" or "Gee, I wish I had time to really just write and write and write...",....stuff like that...there is a constant stream of yearning to write...put words and more words onto paper and tell stories, and record ...well...record ME...my life..my thoughts.,....(are we our thoughts?)
It seems I have always wanted to not only be a writer, but I've always wanted to write...and ,if the journals are any evidence, i have done a lot of it: writing, I mean...and as I go through the stacks and notebooks and boxes of stuff we are now unpacking, i am realizing how much other stuff I have produced as well, besides the journals: stories, poems...more stories...ideas for all sorts of things....i have lots and lots of writing already done!..Not finished...but essentially and substantially done. It's a pleasure to make these discoveries....i am proud of all I've put on paper. And on my computer blog as well.
It's not difficult to actually call myself a writer, based on all the stuff I have actually written.
Now it's important to me that I actually learn how to do it well, and it would also be good if I produced some publishable things . So, part of this time is for my beginning a real submission period: getting my writing out there. My meagre attempts to get some poetry published some years ago actually did yield about three or four of my poems being accepted and put into print...in small journals no one ever heard of...but still , there was some acceptance out there. And now it's time for more...more.
My much-anticipated Winters Writers Workshop with Adair Lara began a couple of nights ago, at the lovely house that Adair owns and shares with her husband Bill. I believe that part of the large building is rented out to friends,etc. but the part that Adair and Bill live in is spacious, comfortable, and incredibly familiar: it felt homey and ,as I said, familiar from the moment I walked in....it felt like Peter and I lived there: the books, the art, the large screen HDTV, the comfy furniture and lamps, the warmth of it, the creativity. It felt so so so familiar...so comfortable.
I had a one-on-one meeting arranged with Adair, before the 6:45 start time, so I was by far the earliest to arrive, and she invited me right away back into her large kitchen...i needed to clear my thinking and get my bearings as far as how to proceed in this new experience ...and she was very helpful: she listened, truly listened....and we shaped a few ideas about projects I both wanted to already do, and ones that were possible...she was helpful. And when we went around the circle once the workshop began, it was those ideas i told the group about.
This group of people...what can I say? It's like I have died and , yet again, gone to heaven, it is so perfect...like so much of this entire San Francisco time of my life: it is perfect. The folks in it - some 12, I'd say - are smart, interesting, well-read, fun and funny, easy to be with, accomplished in so many varied professions...and did I say smart?? So many book titles , of things people were suggesting be read, and of things they themselves have written, were flying around the discussion, i had trouble writing them all down....and Adair is all business: no chitchat allowed: it's all about the writing. We can - and will - chat on our breaks...and over cups of coffee after the workshop, over dinners and , I suspect, lots of cocktails, if we evolve the way we possibly could evolve as a group. It is a personable lot. Oh, and did I say smart as well? This is a smart gang.
We are assigned a new writing partner each week - so I will end up working with 12 new people in all - and this week I have the good fortune to be working with a man about my age, maybe slightly older, named Chuck H. who is so truly interesting and the writing he has sent me so far is so good, so hearty and deeply thought and felt. We've given each other three new pieces, based on pre-workshop exercises Adair suggested, and I have sent him a couple new things quickly revised from blog entries that I want to submit to local papers. And because we have all been advised to use the Track Change function on our MACS, i am learning an entire new thing about my computer's word processing abilities...and that is swell...so truly useful.
So, for a week, we send our writing partner everything we write. Plus, Adair gave us three or four things to write for next Tuesday...based on articles and ideas she uses to get our minds going...plus, she has already sent one , what she calls, "prompt", which is an order to drop everything else and write for 15 minutes about the topic she gives us. She sent one this morning. It was fun. And I sent Chuck that as well. PLUS, we all had to choose 5 specific dates on which we will give her and her alone pieces of writing we want her to critique and work with. So, clearly, at least around my house, there is a lot of writing going on. Heavenly. Wonderful . Exactly what I have been wanting for so long. Ecstasy.
And with the new shelving Peter has put in our bedroom, i have a true writing area now....with room for all the stuff I have already written to be catalogued and stored for easy access..and room as well for all the new writing i am doing and it's great. I have come to San Francisco, home to my writing self.
It seems I have always wanted to not only be a writer, but I've always wanted to write...and ,if the journals are any evidence, i have done a lot of it: writing, I mean...and as I go through the stacks and notebooks and boxes of stuff we are now unpacking, i am realizing how much other stuff I have produced as well, besides the journals: stories, poems...more stories...ideas for all sorts of things....i have lots and lots of writing already done!..Not finished...but essentially and substantially done. It's a pleasure to make these discoveries....i am proud of all I've put on paper. And on my computer blog as well.
It's not difficult to actually call myself a writer, based on all the stuff I have actually written.
Now it's important to me that I actually learn how to do it well, and it would also be good if I produced some publishable things . So, part of this time is for my beginning a real submission period: getting my writing out there. My meagre attempts to get some poetry published some years ago actually did yield about three or four of my poems being accepted and put into print...in small journals no one ever heard of...but still , there was some acceptance out there. And now it's time for more...more.
My much-anticipated Winters Writers Workshop with Adair Lara began a couple of nights ago, at the lovely house that Adair owns and shares with her husband Bill. I believe that part of the large building is rented out to friends,etc. but the part that Adair and Bill live in is spacious, comfortable, and incredibly familiar: it felt homey and ,as I said, familiar from the moment I walked in....it felt like Peter and I lived there: the books, the art, the large screen HDTV, the comfy furniture and lamps, the warmth of it, the creativity. It felt so so so familiar...so comfortable.
I had a one-on-one meeting arranged with Adair, before the 6:45 start time, so I was by far the earliest to arrive, and she invited me right away back into her large kitchen...i needed to clear my thinking and get my bearings as far as how to proceed in this new experience ...and she was very helpful: she listened, truly listened....and we shaped a few ideas about projects I both wanted to already do, and ones that were possible...she was helpful. And when we went around the circle once the workshop began, it was those ideas i told the group about.
This group of people...what can I say? It's like I have died and , yet again, gone to heaven, it is so perfect...like so much of this entire San Francisco time of my life: it is perfect. The folks in it - some 12, I'd say - are smart, interesting, well-read, fun and funny, easy to be with, accomplished in so many varied professions...and did I say smart?? So many book titles , of things people were suggesting be read, and of things they themselves have written, were flying around the discussion, i had trouble writing them all down....and Adair is all business: no chitchat allowed: it's all about the writing. We can - and will - chat on our breaks...and over cups of coffee after the workshop, over dinners and , I suspect, lots of cocktails, if we evolve the way we possibly could evolve as a group. It is a personable lot. Oh, and did I say smart as well? This is a smart gang.
We are assigned a new writing partner each week - so I will end up working with 12 new people in all - and this week I have the good fortune to be working with a man about my age, maybe slightly older, named Chuck H. who is so truly interesting and the writing he has sent me so far is so good, so hearty and deeply thought and felt. We've given each other three new pieces, based on pre-workshop exercises Adair suggested, and I have sent him a couple new things quickly revised from blog entries that I want to submit to local papers. And because we have all been advised to use the Track Change function on our MACS, i am learning an entire new thing about my computer's word processing abilities...and that is swell...so truly useful.
So, for a week, we send our writing partner everything we write. Plus, Adair gave us three or four things to write for next Tuesday...based on articles and ideas she uses to get our minds going...plus, she has already sent one , what she calls, "prompt", which is an order to drop everything else and write for 15 minutes about the topic she gives us. She sent one this morning. It was fun. And I sent Chuck that as well. PLUS, we all had to choose 5 specific dates on which we will give her and her alone pieces of writing we want her to critique and work with. So, clearly, at least around my house, there is a lot of writing going on. Heavenly. Wonderful . Exactly what I have been wanting for so long. Ecstasy.
And with the new shelving Peter has put in our bedroom, i have a true writing area now....with room for all the stuff I have already written to be catalogued and stored for easy access..and room as well for all the new writing i am doing and it's great. I have come to San Francisco, home to my writing self.
Labels: SF Writing
Saturday, January 08, 2011
Momma's Phone Calls
Seven years ago today Peter and I got married at Disney World down in Orlando , Florida.I think it was on a Thursday.
I do remember it was sunny, clear and the blue sky shone sweetly, giving the Magic Castle a clean and clear backdrop against which to look majestic and fanciful. Eighteen of our nearest and dearest attended:
Paul and Stephen , Aunt Margie and Uncle Herman (now deceased), Cousin Miriam, Niece Rachel, Nancy Truitt, Pat and Charles Yonka, Bushia and Joe (Peter's grand folks), Eliza and Frank Ventura, Rick Rose and Amanda Aldridge, Carol Jones (Peter's "Aunt"), Richard and Barbara Baron. Peter and I stayed at the Animal Kingdom Lodge, with a balcony overlooking the wild animal preserve. We could converse with giraffes and hippos at breakfast. It was thoroughly wonderful. And we had a very good time with it all, and with everyone. A rehearsal dinner was thrown for us at the unique African restaurant in the Lodge the night before the wedding. Very exotic and delicious. All guests received passes to the parks, and we had plenty of time to spend with each and every guest individually. It was a perfect two weeks, before we had to get back to work on the next Barter season. Peter was partially bald, because he had just played the Phantom in Barter's Phantom of the Opera (the Maury Yeston one).
And now, seven short years later, we are residents of San Francisco, and are happier than we have ever been together. It has been textured, exciting, challenging, wonderful, awful, good bad, ugly, glorious, and very very right. Peter is an extraordinary man in every way, and so I can only conclude that I have done something wonderful in a former life to deserve such a fine, fair and good man - also sexy and beautiful to look at . He is devoted. Caring. Patient and , as I said, good.
I woke up this morning wishing I was about to receive one of my Momma's phone calls.
On every special day - birthdays, anniversaries, opening nights, holidays, it was Momma calling when the phone rang first thing in the morning. I knew it. Expected it. Was worried if it did not happen (it always eventually did).It was Momma calling. I knew her voice. I felt her love. It was her way of being part of my life : to be the first to call and not the specialness of those days. Her calls were as normal as breathing to me. It was part of who she was, and became part of me. This morning I am missing my Momma.
She once said the only thing she'd regret about dying is that she would miss what would be happening in my life. She adored being part of it all. And she would be having such wonderful fun with us here now in this great new city of ours. She'd have two men who loved her here: my former spouse Paul -who always treated her like a Queen. She felt more betrayed than I did when Paul came out. But eventually she gave way to her love for him, and all was well, as time went on. After all, her husband was named Paul too! And of course, Peter would be a total joy to her. And she would love the city we are in - go into every one of its book stores - she would adore the water every where. THe hills would be a challenge, because she adored walking, but she would conquer them. She'd adore the culture here, the plentitude of Jews (her "people"), the smartness of this fine city. She would be glad we lived here. And we would be glad to have her with us. This is truly Momma's kind of city. She would have thriven here.
And I would have been able to receive her phone call. If she were only still alive and kicking. But she is not. And so, I must make due with warm memories of her. And her in my silent heart for all she gave to me. I miss you , Momma.
She once said the only thing she'd regret about dying is that she would miss what would be happening in my life. She adored being part of it all. And she would be having such wonderful fun with us here now in this great new city of ours. She'd have two men who loved her here: my former spouse Paul -who always treated her like a Queen. She felt more betrayed than I did when Paul came out. But eventually she gave way to her love for him, and all was well, as time went on. After all, her husband was named Paul too! And of course, Peter would be a total joy to her. And she would love the city we are in - go into every one of its book stores - she would adore the water every where. THe hills would be a challenge, because she adored walking, but she would conquer them. She'd adore the culture here, the plentitude of Jews (her "people"), the smartness of this fine city. She would be glad we lived here. And we would be glad to have her with us. This is truly Momma's kind of city. She would have thriven here.
And I would have been able to receive her phone call. If she were only still alive and kicking. But she is not. And so, I must make due with warm memories of her. And her in my silent heart for all she gave to me. I miss you , Momma.
Labels: Momma
Monday, January 03, 2011
Happy New Year: Leaping Off the Cliff!
Happy New Year to all! May the year be blessed for each and every one of you, filled with health, creativity, good fortune and love. May we all meet over terrific meals, good wine, talk of important, interesting things, and resolve to love each other always, with open hearts, caring thoughts and generous actions. Love is truly all we have, so let's invest it wisely and grow it well.
As for me: we spent the last day of 2010 in interesting ways. Peter, Paul, Stephen and I started out the day, bright and early, at the marvelous Asian Art Museum, down on Larkin Street, at a special Buddhist bell-ringing ceremony. Paul and Stephen holiday gifted us with a membership to that wondrous museum, so all 4 of us went at the special "members' only" early hour to stand in line to get tickets in order to actually ring the bell, which was a 16th century Japanese bell, huge and ornate, with Buddhist inscriptions all over its large brass body, very grand and gorgeous. It was hanging from a specially built "bell tower", constructed so that people could stand next to the bell, take the large wooden "clapper", made of a log some 6 feet long all tied up in intricate secure ropes, and with the force of 2-6 people at a time, ring that bell. Our little group of four was number 48 in the line of 108 groups. The number 108 is significant in Buddhist practice - the mala - the prayer beads - are always 108 in number...exactly what the number's significance is, I am not sure. But the bell was to be rung 108 times, thus the number of groups to ring it was also 108.
Before the actual ringing, the Abbot of a Northern California zendo gave a blessing and read from the Heart sutra, some very beautiful Japanese storytelling about the Buddha and the nature of reality and emptiness. It was a lovely ceremony. And right in the middle of a museum! Pretty impressive, actually. This museum is unique in certain ways, and this ceremony, which they've been performing for 25 years now, is one of the many ways they are special. When I first read about the ceremony taking place, I knew it was the way we should all be together for our last day of 2010. To mark the start of our San Francisco time together, and to recognize the special courage it took for us all to make this time happen the way we have been envisioning it. I still look around and have to more or less pinch myself, it still seems so unreal to me: we now reside in San Francisco! it is our home. Still feels sort of odd. Right...very right...but odd. I am now a Californian...something I never thought would be true for me.
It does feel - like the title of this blog entry states - like i am leaping off a hugely high cliff, spreading my wings, which , god knows, after all the years I've been living should feel strong and capable to me - but nonetheless, a leap is a leap, and with no familiar space beneath your feet, it feels like there is nothing at all beneath them, so trusting is important, yes..but there will be that moment before the wings start flapping ...that moment where you think: HOLY SHIT! I just stepped off a cliff! And the drop is a Looooooooong loooong way down, it seem to me! Oh yeah, start flapping! Get 'em moving! FLAP, dammit! The turning of new year is another slightly disorienting factor: everything is NEW!
The passing of time has always seemed particularly real to me at New Year's. The dripping of the years through the glass of time....my aging gets more and more real to me. And in that way - that totally solitary way - one meets oneself in an extremely intimate way in the growing and aging process. No one else can do it for you. Aging. Growing older. One can only do it by oneself. We can gather all we want to into groups, support groups, discussion groups, book clubs, etc. but the final experience of it all - unto death - is done in solitude. Yes the Spirit is with us ...there is that brain of ours that produces the ever - narrating voice, the announcer of our entire lives, who has been and is always with us - but aside form that little voice, our constant companion, we are utterly alone. We all know this. It's part of our awareness from the moment we are conscious beings. And we know it because that little voice inside our heads tells us it's so. The voice is particularly loud when leaping off a new cliff.
My commitment to writing in this new year - writing above all else - is scary for me. I have so much I want to write...so many things i've already written I want to get out into the world - so many new things I want to do....it's overwhelming me as I think about it all....but, I am a smart organized, courageous and clever woman, so I will conquer the overwhelm eventually....and the new writing workshop I am starting in a week, with Adair Lara, will be helpful, I know. It will mean more guided, assigned writing, but it will also mean more guided, wise learning from a woman I respect, and who can teach me many practical things. Right now, there is an embarrassment of riches pouring out of my files, piles and stacks and stacks of writing I've done through the years. Is it of any interest to ANYONE? Only time and lots of effort on my part will tell....and, patience...i must remember patience.
So, off we go...into the wild blue yonder of an extremely unknown unknown....when is it ever thus? Only when we fool ourselves that we are actually in control. Let go , let fly! See you in the mid-air!
As for me: we spent the last day of 2010 in interesting ways. Peter, Paul, Stephen and I started out the day, bright and early, at the marvelous Asian Art Museum, down on Larkin Street, at a special Buddhist bell-ringing ceremony. Paul and Stephen holiday gifted us with a membership to that wondrous museum, so all 4 of us went at the special "members' only" early hour to stand in line to get tickets in order to actually ring the bell, which was a 16th century Japanese bell, huge and ornate, with Buddhist inscriptions all over its large brass body, very grand and gorgeous. It was hanging from a specially built "bell tower", constructed so that people could stand next to the bell, take the large wooden "clapper", made of a log some 6 feet long all tied up in intricate secure ropes, and with the force of 2-6 people at a time, ring that bell. Our little group of four was number 48 in the line of 108 groups. The number 108 is significant in Buddhist practice - the mala - the prayer beads - are always 108 in number...exactly what the number's significance is, I am not sure. But the bell was to be rung 108 times, thus the number of groups to ring it was also 108.
Before the actual ringing, the Abbot of a Northern California zendo gave a blessing and read from the Heart sutra, some very beautiful Japanese storytelling about the Buddha and the nature of reality and emptiness. It was a lovely ceremony. And right in the middle of a museum! Pretty impressive, actually. This museum is unique in certain ways, and this ceremony, which they've been performing for 25 years now, is one of the many ways they are special. When I first read about the ceremony taking place, I knew it was the way we should all be together for our last day of 2010. To mark the start of our San Francisco time together, and to recognize the special courage it took for us all to make this time happen the way we have been envisioning it. I still look around and have to more or less pinch myself, it still seems so unreal to me: we now reside in San Francisco! it is our home. Still feels sort of odd. Right...very right...but odd. I am now a Californian...something I never thought would be true for me.
It does feel - like the title of this blog entry states - like i am leaping off a hugely high cliff, spreading my wings, which , god knows, after all the years I've been living should feel strong and capable to me - but nonetheless, a leap is a leap, and with no familiar space beneath your feet, it feels like there is nothing at all beneath them, so trusting is important, yes..but there will be that moment before the wings start flapping ...that moment where you think: HOLY SHIT! I just stepped off a cliff! And the drop is a Looooooooong loooong way down, it seem to me! Oh yeah, start flapping! Get 'em moving! FLAP, dammit! The turning of new year is another slightly disorienting factor: everything is NEW!
The passing of time has always seemed particularly real to me at New Year's. The dripping of the years through the glass of time....my aging gets more and more real to me. And in that way - that totally solitary way - one meets oneself in an extremely intimate way in the growing and aging process. No one else can do it for you. Aging. Growing older. One can only do it by oneself. We can gather all we want to into groups, support groups, discussion groups, book clubs, etc. but the final experience of it all - unto death - is done in solitude. Yes the Spirit is with us ...there is that brain of ours that produces the ever - narrating voice, the announcer of our entire lives, who has been and is always with us - but aside form that little voice, our constant companion, we are utterly alone. We all know this. It's part of our awareness from the moment we are conscious beings. And we know it because that little voice inside our heads tells us it's so. The voice is particularly loud when leaping off a new cliff.
My commitment to writing in this new year - writing above all else - is scary for me. I have so much I want to write...so many things i've already written I want to get out into the world - so many new things I want to do....it's overwhelming me as I think about it all....but, I am a smart organized, courageous and clever woman, so I will conquer the overwhelm eventually....and the new writing workshop I am starting in a week, with Adair Lara, will be helpful, I know. It will mean more guided, assigned writing, but it will also mean more guided, wise learning from a woman I respect, and who can teach me many practical things. Right now, there is an embarrassment of riches pouring out of my files, piles and stacks and stacks of writing I've done through the years. Is it of any interest to ANYONE? Only time and lots of effort on my part will tell....and, patience...i must remember patience.
So, off we go...into the wild blue yonder of an extremely unknown unknown....when is it ever thus? Only when we fool ourselves that we are actually in control. Let go , let fly! See you in the mid-air!
Labels: SF 2011
