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Mr. Dylan Gets Religion

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by Kirk Woodward

[This will be Kirk’s fourth post on Bob Dylan, of whom, ROTters will know, he’s a big fan (see “Bob Dylan, Performance Artist,” 8 January 2011; “Bob Dylan at Woodstock – And a New Album,” 14 November 2012; and “Bob and Ringo,” 1 December 2017).  That makes Dylan Kirk’s second-most frequent subject onRick On Theaterafter the Beatles (six posts, including again “Bob and Ringo,” which does double duty).  (I count posts on Shaw as three, though one of those is a five-part series.)  “Mr. Dylan Gets Religion,” however, covers a different aspect of the folk-rocker’s work from his musicality.

[Another part of Kirk’s background and focus, equal in strength and influence—perhaps even greater—to his interest in theater and music, is his faith.  Kirk, as he affirms below, is an active Christian.  Dylan was born into a Jewish family, but in the late 1970s, after a profound spiritual experience, he became a “born-again” Christian, a conversion that’s reflected in his songs.  It is at this phenomenon at which Kirk looks in “Mr. Dylan Gets Religion.”  (According to various biographical notes, the artist returned to Judaism, even flirting with orthodoxy, after three years.)  It’s certainly a part of Dylan’s musical life about which I was unfamiliar, and I imagine many ROT-readers will find it at least a little surprising, even in the complex career of Bob Dylan.]

Years ago, while I was a college student, I did the most daring thing I’d ever done up to that point: I went to a record store in town and asked for a copy of an album known as The White Wonder, by Bob Dylan. What was daring about this transaction was that the album was a bootleg– an unauthorized recorded compilation of a number of songs written and sung by Dylan.

Bootlegs are so common now that it’s hard to believe anyone was ever as skittish about buying one as I was then. I imagined the Record Industry Police descending on me, I suppose, and in fact the record industry has pursued a number of cases of bootlegging, using batteries of lawyers. However, no one pursued me for my illicit purchase.

A few recording artists endorse bootlegging, notably the Grateful Dead, who encouraged their fans to record their concerts and circulate the recordings. Bob Dylan very definitely has not encouraged bootlegging. He has been remarkably protective of his copyrights. All the same, a great deal of unauthorized Dylan material is available.

Columbia Records (now Columbia/Legacy), Dylan’s record company, took an audacious step to control the amount of unauthorized Dylan material that’s circulating. Starting in 1991, it began what it calls the “Bootleg Series” of outtakes, concert records, and miscellaneous items Dylan has created, but not officially released, in the course of his career.

Thirteen volumes of this series have been released to date, comprising into the hundreds of CDs, with more presumably on the way. Each volume covers a different period or aspect of Dylan’s career, and much of the material is invaluable. The fecundity of Dylan’s writing is simply staggering.

The latest bootleg series volume, Trouble No More 1979-1981, released on November 3, 2017, is of particular interest, because it represents what’s often referred to as Dylan’s “Christian” period. Dylan, born (in 1941) to a Jewish family and raised in Hibbing, Minnesota, had a sort of “born again” or “conversion” experience in late 1979-early 1980.

He released three albums during this period: Slow Train Coming (1979), Saved(1980), and Shot of Love (1981). The single release “Gotta Serve Somebody,” which won a Grammy Award for Best Vocal, came from this time. The songs on the first two albums all specifically relate to Dylan’s current religious beliefs; those on Shot of Love have a somewhat wider focus.

This period of Dylan’s career was, needless to say, controversial. He did some “preaching” to audiences during his concerts. He made no secret of his strong beliefs. He gained some audience and lost some. By the end of 1981 he was playing more not specifically religious songs, a trend that soon dominated.

My own experience with Dylan’s “Christian period” amounted to this: I heard about it; my sister loaned me the first album of the period, Slow Train; I listened to it, found it harsh and unappealing, returned it to my sister, and didn’t listen to any new Dylan albums again until the early 1990s.

What a difference almost four decades make! The Trouble No More collection is – pardon a probably inevitable Biblical reference – a revelation. In order to describe why I think so, let me present some comments I’ve either heard or made myself about the music of this period, and give my new opinions on them.

I’ve already mentioned my own initial opinion that the albums sounded harsh. There’s something to this opinion. There’s a great deal more in the songs about God’s judgment than about God’s mercy – an approach that one often sees in new converts to a faith, who can be highly critical of what they themselves had only recently believed.

However, in the recordings on Trouble No Morethis harshness, if real, is leavened – there’s that Biblical vocabulary again – by Dylan’s exuberance and his humor, not to mention by his art. Sometimes he is charming, as in the children’s song “Man Gave Names to All the Animals.” Sometimes he is droll, as in the rollicking, previously released “Ain’t Gonna Go to Hell (For Anybody).” Often it’s the flow of the lyrics, with their mix of the highfalutin’ and the conversational, that provides relief:

You may be a state trooper, you might be a young Turk
You may be the head of some big TV network
You may be rich or poor, you may be blind or lame
You may be living in another country under another name
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody…

Some reacted to Dylan’s “Christian” songs in surprise that he was suddenly so involved in religion, but that in itself shouldn’t have been surprising – his songs have always had strong religious tendencies, sometimes explicit, as in much of the album John Wesley Harding(1967). The song “All Along the Watchtower” on that album, the one Dylan has played most in concerts (2257 times to date), conjures up Old Testament imagery:

All along the watchtower
Princes kept the view
While all the women came and went
Barefoot servants too

But the album also contains a splendid summary of Christian theology in the song “The Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest”:

The moral of this story,
The moral of this song,
Is simply that one should never be
Where one does not belong.
So if you see your neighbor carrying something,
Help him with his load,
And don’t go mistaking Paradise
For that home across the road.

Dylan’s songs have always had a sense of right and wrong, of sin and righteousness, of darkness and light. In other words, they often exhibit a religious sensibility, the surprise in the 1979-1981 period being that that sensibility is made explicit. The same may be said for the theme in many Dylan songs of an approaching judgment. This sense is strong in early songs, like “When the Ship Comes In” (1964):

Oh, the time will come up
When the winds will stop
And the breeze will cease to be breathin'
Like the stillness in the wind
Before the hurricane begins
The hour that the ship comes in

That vision is apocalyptic, and not at all out of keeping in tone with Dylan’s “Christian” period.

I remember reading a review around 1980 suggesting that Dylan embraced Christianity as a way of reinvigorating his creative processes. I doubt that, both because his “conversion” is clearly genuine – I defy anyone to listen to these recordings and doubt it – but also because he leaps into the new subject matter with such energy and skill that it’s hard to imagine he was having any problems to start with.

I’m talking here primarily about the numerous concertrecordings included in the release. In concert he betters the three studio albums in every case that I’m aware of. In the concerts he sings as well as he ever has. A friend of mine said once that he thought Dylan was the greatest rock and roll singer, and these concert recordings justify that remark. He sings with abandon.

He also sings with a double dose both of determination and of discipline. Notoriously, as a live performer Dylan is capable of giving his supporting musicians fits, as he changes set lists, song words, and arrangements with abandon.

These recordings, however, are musically focused, crisp, and tight. Dylan still experiments with musical styles, tempos, and textures, not to mention words, as he has throughout his career. But there is no feeling here that his changes are arbitrary. He explores restlessly. That’s a theme of his entire body of work. But the work in Trouble No More has focus.

I’d always heard that people were furious at Dylan’s new direction, but on the concert recordings we hear crowds whistling and applauding. There are other surprises, too. Dylan notoriously almost always says little or nothing to his audiences. In these recordings he is practically friendly, introducing the band several times, thanking people for coming and hoping they’ll come again the next night, and at one point saying something like "I heard a request from somebody in the crowd. Was that for 'Solid Rock'?"– a question that would be unthinkable through most of his career.

Speaking of Dylan’s band, it is crackerjack. Dylan has said that "nobody listens to my music for the solos," but many of the solos from these recordings are outstanding, particularly those of the lead guitarist, Fred Tackett (b. 1945). There is also impeccable work from the drummer, Jim Keltner (b. 1942), once the intermediary who got me Ringo Starr's autograph!

Dylan is also accompanied on these recordings by a group of gospel singers (first three, then increasing in number). I have heard people refer to this feature as a sign of laziness on Dylan’s part. Not on these recordings – the backup singers work hard but they don't work any harder than Dylan does. The effect is blistering.

The songs on the new release – many not available on recordings before – are outstanding, unless one rejects them simply because their subject is religion. In a sense, that’s not their subject, because Dylan’s interests are always wider than one category. He looks, with a skeptical eye, at human behavior (particularly his own) in every sphere of life, a vision that gives his lyrics wide scope.

One of the fascinating features of Trouble No More is liner notes by Penn Jillette (b. 1955), the magician and, in his own words, a “lifelong atheist.” Jillette describes his early feelings about the albums from Dylan’s “Christian” period – pretty much the same as mine, although he’s an atheist and I’m a Christian – and his different response to these recordings – also pretty much the same as mine. His notes are well worth reading for an insight into what art can offer beyond its immediate subject matter.

So what happened to Dylan’s Christian fervor? Maybe nothing – who knows? I have no idea what goes on in Dylan’s mind, and that’s fine. His published comments are ambiguous. He has never wanted to be a “thought leader” – he has always wanted people to think for themselves. As noted above, he eventually returned to playing songs in concert that he’s written over the last fifty-five years or so.

However, he still plays songs from the “Christian” period now and then. He participated in the album Gotta Serve Somebody: The Gospel Songs of Bob Dylan (2008), singing his “Gonna Change My Way of Thinking” with Mavis Staples (b. 1939). [Mavis Staples is a rhythm and blues and gospel singer, actress, and civil rights activist and a member of her family’s singing group The Staple Singers.  She was nominated for a 2003 Grammy Award for her duet with Dylan on “Gonna Change.”]  He has performed “Gotta Serve Somebody” in concert as recently as 2011.

Besides, which Dylan songs are “religious” and which aren’t? Like his contemporary Leonard Cohen (1934-2016), Dylan fills his songs with religious imagery – and with imagery of many other kinds. Perhaps we need a wider definition of “religious.” Listening to Trouble No More can help.


"The Festival Where Being a Female Playwright Isn’t a Rarity"

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by Jeffrey Brown

[I recently posted a series of articles from the Theatre Communications Group’s American Theatre magazine that covered various aspects of theater by America’s indigenous peoples—American Indians, Native Hawaiians, and Native Alaskans.  Among those reports and articles was Celia Wren’s “Law of Nations,” on the production of Sovereignty by Mary Kathryn Nagle, directed by Molly Smith at Washington, D.C.’s Arena Stage from 12 January to 18 February.  Nagle is a member of the Cherokee Nation and her play was Arena’s entry in Washington’s Women’s Voices Theater Festival (15 January-15 February), the only play in the festival by a Native American.  

[On 5 February 2018, the PBS NewsHour’s Jeffrey Brown presented a segment on the festival, in which 25 Washington-area theaters produced plays written by female playwrights.  The presenting group started with the originating companies of the 2015 festival: Arena Stage (Washington, D.C.), Ford’s Theatre (Washington), Round House Theatre (Bethesda, Maryland), Shakespeare Theatre Company (Washington), Signature Theatre (Arlington, Virginia), Studio Theatre (Washington), and Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company (Washington).  Joining them this year are 4615 Theatre Company (Silver Spring, Maryland), Ally Theatre Company (Washington), Baltimore Center Stage (Baltimore, Maryland), Brave Spirits Theatre (Alexandria, Virginia), Convergence Theatre (Washington), dog & pony dc (Washington), Folger Theatre (Washington), Mosaic Theater Company (Washington), Nu Sass Productions (Washington), Olney Theatre Center (Olney, Maryland), Pointless Theatre (Washington), Rainbow Theatre Project (Washington), Rapid Lemon Productions (Baltimore), Rep Stage (Columbia, Maryland), Spooky Action Theater Company (Washington), Strand Theater Company (Baltimore), Taffety Punk Theatre Company (Washington), and the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts (Washington).]

The Women’s Voices Theater Festival, which produces works written entirely by women, opened in Washington last month.  Jeffrey Brown sits down with three of the featured playwrights to discuss why they believe festivals like this are meaningful, the #MeToo movement, and the unique perspective female playwrights can bring to the stage.

John Yang:  Turning from the political theater of Washington to the dramatic stage.

Almost two dozen theaters around D.C. are producing the second Women’s Voices Theater Festival.

Jeffrey Brown sat down with three of the playwrights to discuss why this effort is meaningful, particularly now.

Jeffrey Brown:  A play about a young American moving with her family to Nigeria in the 1960s by Caleen Sinnette Jennings.

Caleen Sinnette Jennings:  As progressive as theater is in many ways in the United States, there’s still something around the edges that says women’s stories are maybe more precious, less edgy, less intellectually challenging.

There’s a sort ugly cloud that hangs over it, and I think this is a way to dispel all of those notions.

Jeffrey Brown:  A 17th century comedy becomes a story of rich and poor in America today in the hands of playwright Theresa Rebeck.

Theresa Rebeck:  The fact is, women do tell stories in a different way. And there are mighty stories out there waiting to be told. And I don’t believe that playwriting is a gene on a Y chromosome. None of us believe that, right?

Jeffrey Brown:  A personal history that’s also an unsettling piece of American and Cherokee tribal history by Mary Kathryn Nagle.

Actress:  Today, Native women face rates of domestic violence and sexual assault higher than any other population in the United States.

Mary Kathryn Nagle:  Part of dehumanizing a people is silencing them. And I think the more women’s stories are told on stage, the more our culture will start to shift. It’s not a coincidence that we face such high rates of domestic violence and sexual assault, and at the same time our voices have not been presented equally.

Jeffrey Brown:  These are just three of the plays and playwrights of the Women’s Voices Theater Festival, a month-long, 24-theater project now under way in Washington, D.C., with all new plays, including 13 world premieres.

It’s the second such festival here, the first held in 2015, and the largest of its kind in the country, taking direct aim at a fact of life in American theater:

the paucity of productions by female writers, around a quarter of plays across the country, according to several studies.

At Arena Stage, one of the originating companies heading the festival, I talked with three women whose work is on display.

Caleen Sinnette Jennings, a professor of theater at American University, took part in the first festival. She’s back with a sequel to her earlier play [Queens Girl in the World at Theatre J], both based on her own life.

The new one is titled “Queens Girl in Africa.” [Performed at the MosaicTheater Company]

Caleen Sinnette Jennings:  It’s semibiographical, so nobody else could tell the story. But what’s important is the fact that the story is worth telling, and the story is worth seeing.

I think, particularly women of my generation wrestled with that thought. And it’s good to see younger women coming along saying, why was this even a question? Of course your story is worth telling.

Jeffrey Brown:  Are you surprised, though, that it’s still a thing that there would be a need for a festival of women’s voices?

Caleen Sinnette Jennings:  No, because racism is still here, sexism is still here, everything is still here, just wearing different clothes. So, it’s all here.

Jeffrey Brown:  Pulitzer Prize-nominee Theresa Rebeck, a veteran of television and film, as well as the stage, decided to redo an English Restoration era comedy, “The Way of the World,” written by William Congreve.  [Rebeck’s play, presented at the Folger Theatre, uses Congreve’s title.]

Theresa Rebeck:  It’s not like I looked that play and said, I want to do a feminist retelling of the Congreve play. But there is no mistaking that a woman wrote it, that I inhabit the female characters in a completely different way than what Congreve did.

Point of view is one of the tools you have as a writer, and this is the point of view of a woman. It’s not an agenda. It’s the truth. If our agenda is always to tell the truth, the truth out of a woman’s mouth is going to sound different than the truth out of a man’s.

Jeffrey Brown:  Mary Kathryn Nagle, an enrolled citizen of the Cherokee Nation, also works full-time on behalf of tribal rights as a lawyer.

Her play “Sovereignty” [at Arena Stage (see “Staging Our Native Nation,” Article 3, posted ROT on 30 March)] presents another window into that world, and is set in the past — Andrew Jackson is one of the characters — and in the present-day Supreme Court.

Mary Kathryn Nagle:  When anyone tells me that some plays are political and some are not, I think it’s all political. We can say it’s just art, but I think we’re political beings. We’re humans, right?

And I don’t see any art in this world as apolitical. And, as a woman, the political is deeply personal. It affects our lives in such profound ways. And getting to see that on stage is exciting.

Jeffrey Brown:  Do you think of yourself as a woman playwright?

Mary Kathryn Nagle:  I do, yes. Yes. I also think of myself as a Cherokee playwright. And I think that combination is terribly exciting and new.

Theresa Rebeck:  Can I answer that as well?

I have to say, when I was just starting out as a playwright, I had a mentor who said very clear to me, you have got to be careful not to let them categorize you as a woman playwright. It was sort of said as a kind — as kindly meant advice.

And I — in my youth, I was like, well, I am a woman and I am a playwright, so it’s unclear to me, like, why that would be something I needed to be careful about.

Jeffrey Brown:  During the recent women’s marches, close to 100 theaters in more than 30 states hosted readings of new works by women. The Washington, D.C., festival was planned well before the explosion of the MeToo movement.

I asked the playwrights if they were surprised by recent events.

Caleen Sinnette Jennings:  We are in an extraordinary time in our history. Something major happened in our last inauguration. And I think this groundswell comes from that. So I think theater has often challenged the norms and sort of — and the artists have stepped up and led the wave of change. But it’s not surprising to me that this is happening now.

Mary Kathryn Nagle:  No, all these women coming forward with stories, it doesn’t surprise me that the stories exist. I knew they existed. I have done work…

Theresa Rebeck:  Yes, we all knew.

Mary Kathryn Nagle:  Right? We all knew.

Theresa Rebeck:  And we’re stunned that people are saying, we didn’t know. I’m like, oh, come on.

Mary Kathryn Nagle:  Right. That’s shocking.

The people who claim they didn’t know, that’s shocking to me. And, in fact, thankfully, I think a lot of men are now coming forward to say, well, I knew, but, you know, how could I take down this man in power, because my career was dependent upon him accepting me?

Theresa Rebeck:  I had a moment where I thought, I wish this felt better. I don’t understand why it doesn’t feel better, you know?

And I think that must be because I don’t believe that real change is coming. My heart doesn’t believe it, somehow.

Jeffrey Brown:  On this issue of how hard it is just to make it as a playwright, how hard is it?

Theresa Rebeck:  It’s really hard. I have been through so many ups and downs that they finally.

The Dramatists Guild, they do a little magazine, and they put me on the cover of the issue about survival.

(LAUGHTER)

Theresa Rebeck:  Right? I was like, I am the poster child for survival. That’s what you know me for.

Jeffrey Brown:  Caleen, what do you hope comes out of this?

Caleen Sinnette Jennings:  Much harder to say, well, I just know any women playwrights. Much harder to say.

And I hope — I hope this model will be replicated all over the country.

Theater is also a very important place, because, yes, we are all the same. Yes, we’re incredibly different. But that difference need not frighten you. That difference need not be a mystery. That difference should be something you walk towards in order to build that empathy.

Jeffrey Brown:  The Women’s Voices Theater Festival runs through February 15.

For the “PBS NewsHour,” I’m Jeffrey Brown in Washington, D.C.

"Anna Deavere Smith Puts Herself Into Other People’s Words"

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by Anna Deavere Smith

[Last week, I posted a report from PBS’s NewsHour on Washington, D.C.’s Women’s Voices Theater Festival, a region-wide collaboration of 25 theaters producing plays by women playwrights.  One of this country’s strongest and most prominent exemplars of women in theater, both as a writer and a performer, is Anna Deavere Smith, whose one-women plays have been unique and powerful theater for several decades.  

[Smith’s work is really a form of documentary theater, but instead of digging out records and hearing transcripts of long-past events, she creates her own documents of current issues by interviewing the participants, witnesses, and those affected—and then, channeling them from the stage in some of American theater’s most remarkable performances.  

[On 5 April, Smith presented her “Brief But Spectacular” essay on PBS NewsHour, an explanation of her perspective on how and why she does what she does.  Here is the transcript of that presentation.]

Anna Deavere Smith, actor, playwright and activist, says she has been trying to become America, word for word. By conducting interviews and creating a narrative, she aims to make a current problem come alive. Deavere Smith offers her Brief but Spectacular take on listening to people.

John Yang:  Finally, we turn to another installment of our series Brief But Spectacular, where we ask people about their passions.

Tonight, actor, playwright and activist Anna Deavere Smith, widely known for her roles on “The West Wing” and “Nurse Jackie.” She has also earned critical acclaim for her one-woman shows. The latest, “Notes From the Field,” recently aired on HBO.

Smith shares her unique process for getting into character.

Anna Deavere Smith:  When I was a girl, my grandfather said that if you say a word often enough, it becomes you.

And I have been trying to become America word for word. In the way that you would think about putting yourself in other people shoes, I’m putting myself in other people’s words.

I interview people, and I learn what they say and try to put together a lot of disparate parts of interviews in one whole, in order to make a current problem come alive.

There are certain points in any interview that I do that people start to speak in a way where the rhythm, you know, leads me to believe that there’s emotions stored in there. And so, as an actor, emotions are my fuel, and those are the types of moments that I want to reenact on stage.

Drinking malt liquor. This is not the time for us to be playing the lottery or to be at the Horseshoe Casino. This is not the time for us to be walking around.

I was a mimic as a child. And, you know, I guess you could say that what I’m doing now is a more respectable version of that, which was — you know, inevitably, mimicry is a little bit subversive. I don’t mean to be subversive. I’m not an impressionist.

I’m delighted if audiences think something’s funny, but I’m not making fun of a person.

My most recent play, “Notes From the Field” was based on my having done 250 interviews around the United States on the subject of what we call the school-to-prison pipeline.

I’m interested in complicating the narrative and revealing to the people in my audience that there are many narratives. The more roots you have going off in different directions and grabbing the ground, you’re probably going to be a stronger tree. And that would be my objective.

All of my works of art is a form of activism. I don’t have answers. I don’t indict people. I can let the judges do that. I can let the media do that. I’m a dramatist.

A drama is always a constructive journey, where something is lost and then it’s going to be regained.

I went to New Orleans right after Katrina. And to watch people looking around at everything they lost and trying to make some sense and making an impromptu plan is really important to me in how I view the world.

You know, you could say, oh, my goodness, isn’t that so hard? Doesn’t that make you sad? For me, it’s the opposite. It shows me just how inventive people are.

I believe that the theater and other art forms are an opportunity to convene people around these issues and ask them while they’re sitting together to do something.

My name is Anna Deavere Smith, and this is my Brief But Spectacular take on listening to people.

[The backstory of “Brief but Spectacular,” a weekly series that premièred on NewsHour in 2015, begins with creator Steve Goldbloom, the creator and host of the original comedy news show for PBS, “Everything But the News,” and his longtime producing partner Zach Land-Miller who conduct every interview off-camera and off-screen.  (The segments are all two to four minutes long and there are no cutaways to reporters or interjections of questions.)  Each Thursday, “Brief but Spectacular” introduces NewsHour viewers to original profiles; these short segments feature some of the most original contemporary figures, offering passionate takes on topics they know well.  These have included household names like actors Alec Baldwin and Carl Reiner, artist Marina Abramović,  and activist Bryan Stevenson.  Topics have included comedian, writer, and director Jill Soloway (Amazon’s original series Transparent) on gatekeepers in Hollywood, journalist Ta-Nehisi Coates on police reform in America, Abramović on the art of performance, author Michael Lewis on finding disruptive characters, performers Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer on the rise of their hit Comedy Central series BroadCity, engineer Jason Dunn on creating the first 3-D printer in space, and many more.]

'Who's Who In CIA': A Cold War Relic

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The year after my father left the Foreign Service and returned to the U.S., a little book was published in East Berlin.  It was entitled Who’s Who in CIA and purported to name everyone who worked for the spy agency.  (It’s full title was Who's Who in CIA: A biographical reference work about 3000 employees of the civilian and military intelligence branches of the U.S. in 120 nations.  (I blogged briefly on this book in “Spook Book,” part of “Short Takes III,” posted in Rick On Theater on 8 February 2012.)  There are in fact something over 2,500 biographical entries in the book’s 605 pages.) When the English edition of the book was published in East Germany in July 1968 (it went to press in May and a German edition came out in June), it created quite a stir in the circles of official Washington, especially among Foreign Service (and former-Foreign Service) officers . . . not for fear of being outed as a spy—the book wasn’t taken that seriously by anyone—but because everyone wanted to see her or his name listed.  If you were anybody, you were in the book.  In fact, if you weren’t in the book—you weren’t anybody.  I guess it was the 1968 equivalent of Googling yourself—except without the tech. 

There was a rush on copies of Who’s Who so the curious could see if their names were listed—and my dad is in it.  The little entry, modeled, apparently, after the famous Marquis Who’s Whos of prominent Americans in various fields, has most of my dad’s facts correct—except the ones that concern his “intelligence” work.  For instance, his military service is indicated as “1941-46 Captain in CIC of US Army.”  (The CIC was the Counter Intelligence Corps of the World War II army, the precursor of today’s Military Intelligence Branch, in which I served 25 years later.)   In truth, Dad’s World War II service was as an artilleryman, first as an enlisted man and then as a company-grade officer, culminating as the commander of the headquarters battery of an artillery battalion that fought in western Europe from France to Germany at the end of the war. 

Dad was not an intelligence officer (I was), but because he spoke German, he’d been sent for extra training at Camp Ritchie, Maryland, the army’s Military Intelligence Training Center during the war.  (Almost all GI’s who spoke one of the enemy languages—German, Italian, Japanese, Czech and Slovak, Romanian, Hungarian, Bulgarian, and several others of hangers-on which sought German or Japanese protection from Soviet or Chinese aggression—or a language of any of the occupied countries—Arabic, Chinese, Danish, Dutch, French, Greek, Indonesian, Norwegian, Polish, Thai, among many others—were sent to MITC, though not all of them made it through the training.)  When Germany surrendered in May 1945, Dad was assigned briefly to the CIC during the occupation to help interview Germans and interrogate captured Third Reich officials to identify and locate high-ranking Nazis who were sought for arrest.  (Dad was shipped out for the Pacific in late August and then back to the States in September.  He actually separated from the service at the end of 1945, not ’46 as Who’s Who shows; he was officially discharged in 1946, but he was already married to my mom by then and at his civilian job in Washington, D.C.)  But he was dubbed a CIC officer by Who’s Who’s compilers on the basis of a three-month temporary assignment.
                                                                                               
Another item in my father’s Who’s Who entry was the notation “from 1962 in USIA, work for CIA.”  USIA was the United States Information Agency (also known as the U.S. Information Service, or USIS), the Foreign Service’s public diplomacy agency; it dealt in cultural propaganda intended to promote the idea of the United States as a nation and a social concept.  It’s operations were entirely transparent and overt.  (In Germany and Austria after World War II, USIA was an adjunct of the Allies’ de-Nazification program.)   Because my dad’s employer had been the U.S. InformationAgency, and in Europe where, in many languages, ‘information’ and ‘intelligence’ are the same word—Nachrichten in German, for instance, or svedeniya in Russian—the informationservice was the intelligence service, a misunderstanding ensued (and was exploited by the compilers of Who’s Who in CIA). 

The compilers went on to add another item in my dad’s biographical profile: “resident: Bad Godesberg, Turmstrasse 77.”  Bad Godesberg was the suburb of Bonn, then the capital of the Federal Republic of Germany (akaWest Germany), in which most diplomatic missions, including the U.S. Embassy, were located.  (Now part of the city of Bonn, it was also where the U.S. Embassy housing complex was located, in the section of Bad Godesberg known as Plittersdorf, which was what the complex was often called unofficially; Turmstrasse 77 was the address of our apartment in the complex.)  Below that information, the entry stated “OpA: Coblenz, Frankfurt/Main, Bonn (Attaché).”  “OpA” was the book’s abbreviation for area(s) of “operation,” and Koblenz (the modern German spelling used in the FRG) was Dad’s first post in USIA.  He was director of the Amerika Haus there (his official title was Information [not Intelligence] Center Director, Koblenz), the USIA cultural center with a library and auditorium/meeting hall for concerts, readings, lectures, receptions, and performances. 

Frankfurt am Main, a little over 75 miles east of Koblenz, was the site of the U.S. Consulate that had oversight for the Koblenz Amerika Haus and other USIA facilities in the state of Rhineland-Palatinate (Rheinland-Pfalz); other Amerika Häuser were overseen from different consulates.  Dad went there for meetings with his immediate superior and the Consul-General, but he was never stationed there (though Dad’s official mailing address through the Army Post Office was at the Frankfurt Consulate-General).  He was transferred to the embassy in Bonn in 1965 as the Cultural Affairs Officer, sometimes unofficially referred to as as the cultural attaché.  He left Bonn and USIA the year before Who’s Who was published. 

I note that Who’s Whodoesn’t say “residence,” but “resident.”  In the espionage game, a resident is a spy who operates in a foreign country for prolonged stretches; he or she is sometimes the head of a spy ring.  The same word, with the same meaning, exists in both German (Resident) and Russian (rezident).  As far as an area of “operation” is concerned, Dad’s responsibility extended to the region surrounding the city of Koblenz (a town of 100,000 inhabitants) plus its suburbs and satellite towns.  He met with civic, business, political, and religious leaders of the region, as well as students of both the high school and university levels, to talk about U.S. history, culture, and political system.  For instance, he gave a series of lectures to German Hochschule(high school) students about the American Civil War, a subject of particular interest to my dad and of great curiosity to Germans, who knew very little about this uniquely American event.  Dad also arranged performances by American artists such as opera singers or classical musicians who were members of the local municipal opera company and orchestra.  The first experience I had with Edward Albee was a reading, in German, at the Amerika Haus of his American Dream (1961), for example.  Those were the kinds of “operations” in which Dad engaged. 

Furthermore, Koblenz was in the former French Zone of Occupation, only 100 miles from the Luxembourg border on the far western frontier of the Federal Republic (and almost 300 miles from the nearest point on the border with the German Democratic Republic), hardly an area of Cold War espionage (as Berlin was even a decade later when I was there).  A real CIA officer would have had little to do in Koblenz in 1962-65, the time of my father’s assignment at the Amerika Haus.  There might have been a better argument regarding Dad’s next assignment, at the embassy in Bonn—but there already was a CIA officer posted there (about whom I’ll say a little more in a bit).

The ‘information’/’intelligence’ overlap was probably part of the reason that the book listed my dad.  Furthermore, since all Soviet Bloc diplomats were “spies” at some level or another; they just assumed all of ours were, too.  (In fact, when I was training for Military Intelligence, we were admonished that certain professions were not authorized for use as cover identities for agents because such use could taint the real work of people in those lines.  These jobs included Red Cross workers, clergy, teachers, medical personnel—and diplomats.)  Believe me (or don’t: it’s really too late now, anyway), my dad was not in the CIA.  Though because Dad worked for the Information Agency, his father, who was born in Eastern Europe (and spoke both German and Russian among other languages), thought his son was a spy until the day Grandpa Jack died. 

According to Who’s Who’s publisher, “CIA” is “used as an appropriate synonym for the whole of the US intelligence system.”  In the ministry halls of the Eastern Bloc, that “system,” included such agencies as: 

  • the Department of State and the U.S. Foreign Service
  • the U.S. Information Agency (USIA, my dad’s outfit)
  • the Agency for International Development (USAID, the U.S. foreign-aid agency)
  • the U.S. Arms Control and Disarmament Agency
  • the Peace Corps
  • the U.S. Education Exchange
  • the U.S. Mission to the UNO (United Nations Organizations, aka: the U.N.) 
In the words of Who’s Who, all these agencies and several others “are used by the CIA for intelligence purposes or . . . have, with official sanction, been infiltrated.”  (There’s actually no such organization as “the U.S. Education Exchange”; I presume Mader was referring to the U.S. Department of State Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs which oversees both the National Student Exchange Program and the Fulbright Program, though most of their clients are high school and college students.)

The book’s publisher explains that the intent of the book is “to demask . . . leading officials and officers, collaborators and agents of the US intelligence services who are operating on five continents.”  It ended up naming almost everyone who ever served overseas, however, even privately, or served in any high-ranking post in the government.  In testimony before the U.S. Congress in 1980, Ladislav Bittman, a former intelligence officer for the Czech Intelligence Service specializing in disinformation (1964-66), who defected to the United States in 1968 and claimed to have been one of the coauthors of the book, asserted:

About half of the names listed in that book are real CIA operatives.  The other half are people who were just American diplomats or various officials; and it was prepared with the expectation that naturally many, many Americans operating abroad, diplomats and so on, would be hurt because their names were exposed as CIA officials.

In fact, Who’s Wholeft out actual CIA and other intelligence people.  Richard Helms (1913-2002), the Director of Central Intelligence in those days (1966-73), is in there, as are his predecessors Roscoe Henry Hillenkoetter, (1897-1982; DCI, 1947–50), Allen Welsh Dulles (1893-1969; DCI, 1953–61), John A. McCone (1902-91; DCI, 1961–65), William Francis Raborn, Jr. (1905-90; DCI, 1965–66), as well as William Joseph [“Wild Bill”] Donovan (1883-1959, the founding director of the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), the World War II forerunner of the CIA.  (Oddly, Donovan is listed, even though he was long dead by the time the book was compiled, but Walter Bedell Smith, DCI from 1950 to 1953, who’d died in 1961, is not.)  

(As I will throughout this article, I have used the names as presented in Who’s Who’s biographical entries.  I’ve marked insertions with brackets and I’ve corrected errors, such as incorrect birth years, and added current data, like years of death, as pertinent.)

In addition, included in Who’s Who in CIA are Lyndon Baines Johnson (1909-73; President of the United States, 1963-69), Professor Hubert Horatio Humphrey (1911-78; Vice President of the United States, 1965-69), Robert Strange McNamara (1916-2009; U.S. Secretary of Defense, 1961-68), Professor Dean Rusk (1909-94; U.S. Secretary of State, 1961-69), Clark M. Clifford (1906-98; adviser to Presidents Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, and Carter; White House Counsel, 1946-50; Chairman of the President’s Intelligence Advisory Board, 1963-68; Secretary of Defense, 1968-69), and several National Security Advisors and heads of the National Security Agency, the Defense Intelligence Agency, and the Office of Naval Intelligence.  There’s even an entry for journalist and commentator Bill D. Moyers (b. 1934) who served as Deputy Director of the Peace Corps (1962-63), a special assistant to President Johnson (1963-67), and White House Press Secretary (1965-67). 

(Who’s Who alsolists as intelligence officials other prominent previous and current members of the federal government such as: Frank Church, 1924-84, U.S. Senator from Idaho, 1957-81; Lawrence S. Eagleburger, 1930-2011, career Foreign Service Officer from 1957, later Secretary of State, 1992-93; [R. W.] Scott McLeod, 1914-61, Department of State’s Bureau for Security and Consular Affairs, 1953-57, Ambassador to Ireland, 1957-61; Professor Dr. Dr.  Arthur Meier Schlesinger [Jr.], 1917–2007, National Chairman of Americans for Democratic Action (ADA), 1953-54, Special Assistant to the President, 1961-64; and Cyrus Roberts Vance, 1917-2002, Secretary of the Army, 1962-64, Deputy Secretary of Defense, 1964-67, later Secretary of State, 1977-80.)

Among the well-known and government-connected, however, are also some just-plain citizens, some with recognizable names, caught up in Who’s Who’s net because many (but not all) had an association with an intelligence agency during their World War II service:

·   Stewart Johonnot Oliver Alsop (1914-74), newspaper columnist and political analyst; worked with the OSS during World War II (aiding the French Resistance, for which he was awarded the Croix de Guerre).
·   Leroy Anderson (1908-75), composer (“The Syncopated Clock,” “Sleigh Ride,” “The Typewriter”); served in CIC during World War II.
·   August Hecksher [II] (1913-97), public intellectual and author; editorial staff of the New York Herald Tribune (1948-56), Parks Commissioner of New York City (1967-72); worked for OSS in North Africa during World War II.
·   Garson Kanin (1912-99), playwright and film and stage director (Born Yesterday; husband of actress-playwright Ruth Gordon).
·   [Andrew C.] McLellan (1911-86), labor leader and Inter-American Representative of the AFL-CIO.
·   George Meany (1894-1980), labor leader and president of the AFL-CIO (1955-79).
·   Professor Dr. Eugene Willard Miller (1915-2002), geographer, university professor, and academic writer; professor of geography at Pennsylvania State University (where he created the Department of Geography), 1945-80; worked as a geographer for OSS during World War II.

Less (in)famous are the agents who later would participate in the CIA-backed Chilean coup of 1973 that overthrew Salvador Allende Gossens, the elected Marxist president, who are also named in the book, including David A. Phillips (1922-88), a CIA officer in South and Central America who was involved in the Allende coup and a similar operation in Guatemala in 1954.  Who’s Who in CIAalso names Richard Skeffington Welch (1929-75), the CIA station chief in Athens who, seven years after the book appeared, was gunned down outside his residence by Marxist guerrillas after his name and address were published in a local newspapers.  (Also listed is former CIA agent Philip Agee, 1935-2008, who in 1975 published Inside the Company: CIA Diary [Penguin Books] which identified 429 names and descriptions of “employees, agents, liaison contacts or were otherwise used by or involved with the CIA or its operations; and of organizations financed, influenced or controlled by the CIA.”)

Missing are any Deputy Director for Operations (or Director of Plans, as the position was called at the time Who’s Who was compiled and published; Desmond Fitzgerald, 1965-67, and Thomas Karamessines, 1967-73 were the incumbents during that period), the head of the CIA Directorate of Operations (DO), the clandestine arm of the agency (except those, like Dulles and Helms who rose to become DCI), and J. Edgar Hoover (1895-1972), the long-serving Director of the FBI (1924-72).  (Karamessines, 1917-78, was actively involved in the 1970s in plans to destabilize the government of Chilean President Allende.)  Another CIA name omitted from Who’s Who is that of Aldrich Ames, b. 1941, who went to work for the agency in 1962 and by 1985 had become a KGB mole in the CIA providing intelligence to the Soviet Union and Russia until he was arrested in 1994.  Ames was tried and convicted of espionage and is serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole.

Some other people well known to have been connected with the CIA who aren’t mentioned in the book are G. Gordon Liddy (b. 1930) and E. Howard Hunt (1918-2007), two of the Watergate burglars who, in 1972, helped break into the Democratic campaign headquarters in Washington on behalf of Richard M. Nixon’s Committee to Re-Elect the President; either of the other Watergate burglars who were CIA operatives (Bernard Barker, 1917-2009, and James W. McCord, Jr., b. 1924); William “Rip” Robertson (1920-70), another operative engaged in the Guatemala coup; Gerry Patrick Hemming (1937-2008), a mercenary soldier and CIA operative who worked in Cuba (where he met Lee Harvey Oswald, assassin of President John F. Kennedy) to aid Fidel Castro overthrow dictator Fulgencio Batista in 1959; and James Jesus Angleton (1917-87), the famous mole-hunter in the CIA who became almost obsessed with uncovering a KGB undercover operative inside the agency, predicting the discovery and arrest of Aldrich Ames—which Angleton didn’t live to see.

Also not named are any of my father’s USIA, consular, and embassy coworkers (except one, Dad’s immediate predecessor in Koblenz and Bonn: Gunther Karl Rosinus, b. 1928, who’d served in the State Department’s Office of Intelligence Research from 1951 to 1953)—most notably the woman who was the embassy spook, Herma Plummer (1908-91), although everyone (including this teenaged foreign service brat) knew what her job was.  Plummer was not a covert operative when she was in Bonn, even though her career had included years in the DO, and before that she was an alumna of “Wild Bill” Donovan’s OSS.  Described by an embassy colleague, George Jaeger (b. 1926), who’d arrived in Bonn around the time my father left (and is listed in the book!) as an “elderly Margaret Rutherford-like graduate of . . . Allen Dulles’ World War II operation,” she cut  a distinctive figure along the halls of the embassy in her proto-earth shoes and earth-mother attire.  (This was the Herma Plummer I remember, but according to a CIA colleague from the 1950s, she’d been “an attractive, tall woman, always elegantly dressed.”)  She retired as a GS-15 (the equivalent of an army colonel or a navy captain) a month after the English version of Who’s Who was published, a recipient of the CIA’s Intelligence Medal of Merit, the agency’s third-highest award.  (Dad was an FSO-4, the Foreign Service equivalent of a GS-10 or -11, the same as an army captain or a navy lieutenant.)

Who’s Who in CIAwas compiled by Mohamed Abdelnabi (Beirut), Ambalal Bhatt (Bombay—now Mumbai), Fernando Gamarra (Mexico City), and Shozo Ohashi (Yokohama), under the direction of Julius Mader (1928-2000; aka Thomas Bergner) doubtless with the assistance and guidance of the GDR’s Ministerium für Staatssicherheit (Ministry for State Security or, more commonly, Stasi, the East German secret police) and possibly also the Soviet KGB.  Mader, a self-declared journalist who, as an agent of the MfS Department of Agitation (Abteilung Agitation) with the rank of major and an Offizier im besonderen Einsatz (OibE, or a special operations officer), was adept at anti-Western propaganda and disinformation.  (‘Disinformation,’ or Desinformationin German and dezinformatsia in Russian, is, according to Wiktionary, “Intentionally false information disseminated to deliberately confuse or mislead.”)  He “self-published” Who’s Who so it wouldn’t bear a government publishing label—although in reality there was no such thing as an independent publication in the GDR. 

The book, like most Soviet Bloc publications in that era, is cheaply bound at 5¾″ x 4¼″ and, as I noted earlier, 605 pages long.  It has a red fabric hard cover and a dust jacket of cerulean blue on the top half and crimson-and-white stripes on the bottom half to call to mind the U.S. flag (without exactly matching the colors).  Aside from the biographical listings, Who’s Who in CIAcontains a “Foreword” by Mader, the facsimile  of a short letter of thanks on Foreign Relations Committee letterhead from Senator Joseph A. Clark (1901-90; Democratic Senator from Pennsylvania, 1956-68) to Mader (whom a note explains “helped the US Senate in investigations against the CIA”) for “suggest[ing] additional readings on the CIA,” “Notes for the user,” and a list of abbreviations used in the entries.  Mader also includes six fold-out line-and-block diagrams of the organizational structures of the “American Intelligence Services,” the “Office of Intelligence Research of the State Department,” “Military Intelligence Headquarters of the USA,” the National Security Agency (NSA), the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), and the “System of several cover organizations used by the CIA.”  At the end of the book are included two detachable cards, one for corrections and additions and the other for the submission of more names of U.S. intelligence agents.

Mader, whose real name was apparently Thomas Bergner (there’s some confusion over which name was his birth name and which a pseudonym), was born in the Sudetenland in what is now the Czech Republic, the part of Czechoslovakia with a large ethnic German population which Hitler annexed in 1938.  After the German surrender in 1945, Sudeten Germans, including 16-year-old Mader’s family, were forcibly resettled within the Soviet occupation zone of Germany, which in 1949 became the German Democratic Republic, a puppet state of the Soviet Union.  After a brief turn studying business in 1946 and ’47, Mader began studying law, journalism, political science, and economics at the Universities of Berlin and Jena, the Institute of Internal Trade in Leipzig, and the German Academy for Political and Legal Science “Walter Ulbricht” in Potsdam.  He earned a masters degree in business in 1955.

He joined the Sozialistische Einheitspartei Deutschlands (Socialist Unity Party of Germany, the communist party of the GDR) in 1958.  In 1960, Mader became a full-time agent of the MfS (with yet another cover name, Faingold), earning the designation OibE in 1962 and the rank of major in 1964.  (Both the KGB and the MfS were military or paramilitary organizations with uniforms and military ranks.)  He was awarded a doctorate in economics and social sciences from the Academy of Law and Political Science in 1965.  At the MfS, where he wrote propaganda tracts and books and works of disinformation, his specialties were the operations and structure of the intelligence and security organizations of the FRG (the Bundesamt für Verfassungsschutz—the Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution—the West German equivalent of the FBI, and the Bundesnachrichtendienst—the Federal Intelligence Service—the FRG’s CIA counterpart), the United States, and the United Kingdom.  (Mader also wrote extensively about the Third Reich, a pervasive bugaboo for the East Germans, Soviets, and the whole Warsaw Pact.  There are frequent references to “fascists” and “neo-fascists” in Mader’s writings, including Who’s Who in CIA.)

Some of Mader’s books before the publication of Who’s Who in CIAwere Gangster in Action: Design and crimes of the U.S. Secret Service (1961) and No Longer a Secret: The secret of the German Federal Republic and its subversive activity against the GDR (1966).  He continued to write such books until 1988 (CIA Operation Hindu Kush: Intelligence activities in the undeclared war against Afghanistan was his last), the year before the Berlin Wall came down, and the year Mader received the Patriotic Order of Merit in silver, the award’s second-highest level, for outstanding service to the GDR in civilian life.  All together, his books, including translations, sold several million copies, mostly in the Soviet Bloc.  He died in (a reunited) Berlin at the age of 71, though the final 12 years of his life, after the dissolution of the German Democratic Republic, to which he’d devoted his entire adult life, seem to have gone largely unrecorded.

In his Foreword to Who’s Who in CIA, Mader explains his rationale for compiling the book.  In doing so, he doesn’t hesitate to employ portentous language to depict the dire importance of the publication:

Never in the history of the USA has the influence of its intelligence system on home and foreign policy been as great as it is today.  For, as tools of the monopoly groups that rule in North America, the various intelligence services of the USA play a special part in the global strategy of that state. (p. 7)

[The US intelligence services] send out their spies and subversive agents, conspire with neo and pro-fascist cohorts, prepare putsches, and armed intervention, and stimulate ideological subversion. (7)

Oddly, much of what Mader and is cohorts say in Who’s Who is largely factually correct, but it’s spun in a propagandistic way that, first, makes the facts seem ominous and threatening:

. . . psychological warfare and all the dirty methods of subversion were publicly raised  to state policy for the USA. (8)

The US intelligence services . . . plan and organize dangerous actions at every hour.  For this reason the people of all nations are warned of the organizers of the CIA machinations. (14)

This approach served both to alert the populations of Warsaw Pact nations to Western plotting and subterfuge and to provide legitimacy for the activities of the Soviet Bloc security forces like the KGB and the Stasi.

Second, the book omits any mention of activity by the Soviet Bloc forces that might necessitate U.S. and Western response, portraying itself as the innocent victim of U.S. intrigue.  In fact, Mader accuses the U.S. of actions and practices in which the USSR and the Eastern Bloc openly engaged:

North American imperialism takes upon itself the right as the world’s policeman, so to speak, to intervene against every democratic, progressive and non-capitalist development all over the world. (7)

[The CIA] has been unmasked hundreds of times the world over as [the] leading centre of imperialist espionage activities and as the coordinating centre for coups d’etat against lawful governments as well as for counter-revolutionary attacks. (10)

Third, perfectly ordinary actions and policies are made to appear dangerous and excessive. 

By far the largest and most influential of the American intelligence branches is the Central Intelligence Agency which is directly subordinated to the Executive Office of the President of the USA, and whose director holds a key position in the mechanism of the North American power system. (9-10)

The fact that the CIA is the largest U.S. intelligence agency is irrelevant.  Some agency will obviously be the largest in its category; it’s not pertinent, but it sounds scary because one of Mader’s main goals is to demonize the U.S. intelligence complex, with special emphasis on the CIA.  Remember that Mader’s intended audience wasn’t the populace of the the Western allies but the people of the Soviet Bloc and,  more pointedly, the so-called unaligned nations.

That the DCI is subordinate to the U.S. president is also routine.  So is the Secretary of Defense, the civilian head of our military; in fact, as Commander-in-Chief, the president is de facto and de jure the direct superior of the generals and admirals of all branches of the armed forces.  The same command structure pertains in nearly every country on earth, including both the Soviet Union and the present-day Russian Federation. 

I’m not sure what Mader means when he asserts that the DCI “holds a key position in the mechanism of the North American power system” since I’m unaware of any collective power structure for Canada, the U.S., and Mexico (not to mention Greenland, the nations and territories of Central America, and those of the Caribbean—all part of North America), but if he really means the United States, then . . . well, duh.  The DCI is an important member of the president’s national security team—for obvious reasons, I should think—but only an occasional participant in the National Security Council, attending only when invited for matters  pertaining to his responsibilities.  (The current regular intelligence advisor to the NSC—though not a permanent member—is the Director of National Intelligence, a post that didn’t exist until 2004.  Before that the DCI held the position, but even so, the NSC has no executive authority; it’s an advisory body whose recommendations must be confirmed and issued by the president.)  The DCI isn’t autonomous, however.  He (or she, though the office hasn’t yet been filled by a woman) can’t launch operations on his own or define policy, any more than the Secretary of State can establish diplomatic relations with a nation or the Secretary of Defense can go to war at their volition.  (Actually, not even the president is supposed to be able to do that latter, but Vietnam proved that he can.) 

Public opinion in the USA already fears that the CIA has become the “invisible government”.  This becomes particularly clear when one analyses to which alarming measure the CIA and the Department of State, the Foreign Office of the USA, have become integrated in terms of personnel.  Even the “New York Times” of April 27th, 1966 estimated that 2,200 CIA agents are active in the diplomatic service if the USA “under official cover abroad”. (10-11) 

Certainly there’s cross-over between the State Department, the military, and the intelligence community.  (Does anyone believe that this didn’t happen in the Soviet Union and the GDR?  Before we elected George H. W. Bush, a former DCI in 1976-77, president in 1988, Yuri Andropov, Chairman of the KGB from 1967 to 1982, was premier of the USSR, 1982-84.  Today, the President of the Russian Federation, Vladimir Putin, was head of the Federal Security Service, successor of the KGB, from 1998-99.)  The experiences and backgrounds are analogous—which doesn’t mean that the crossovers in the Department of State are spies any more than the former military officers in the foreign office are still warriors. 

The New York Times estimate of intelligence personnel abroad cited, 2,200, isn’t out of line as a worldwide figure, especially given what was going on around the world in the the mid-1960s.  (Saigon and Vietnam would probably have accounted for a majority of these people.  Berlin, where I was stationed five years later, was also agent-dense during the Cold War.)  Most of those wouldn’t be espionage or counterespionage agents, but technicians, interpreters and translators, and various specialists, some on short-term assignment for specific tasks.  Mader makes the number seem sinister—without acknowledging the size of the clandestine Warsaw Pact presence beyond the borders of Eastern Europe in response to which the U.S and Western activity would have expanded. 

In addition, “official cover” doesn’t mean the intelligence personnel attached to embassies or consulates are clandestine or covert (though some are, of course).  Many are known to the other mission workers and even the public just as Herma Plummer was at the Bonn embassy in the ’60s.  (When I was an MI counterintelligence agent in Berlin, we wore civilian clothes and didn’t use our ranks in public, but everyone knew where we worked—there was a brass plaque at the entrance to our office that read “66th Military Intelligence Group.”  Many civilian intelligence personnel operated under similar conditions.)

(The New York Timesmaterial cited in the passage above is from “How C.I.A. Put ‘Instant Air Force’ Into Congo: Intervention or Spying All in a Day’s Work,” published on 26 April 1966—not 27 April, as Mader writes.  The correct quoted line is: “under official cover overseas,” a quotation from historian Arthur Schlesinger’s 1965 book A Thousand Days: John F. Kennedy in the White House.  This Times article was the second of five in a series about the CIA, 25-29 April.)

Furthermore, Mader often writes in Marxist boilerplate, probably for the consumption of the already-converted leftists in his audience, that sounded rote, stilted, and unconvincing even in 1968.  Take, for instance, this statement:

. . . the intelligence service of the USA has always been the domain of the fanatical enemies of democracy and a stronghold of the anti-communists. (8)

The Stasi writer is here deliberately employing the logical fallacy of “equivocation,” that is, using a word with two different meanings without specifying which sense the writer intends so as to mislead the reader or draw the reader to a false understanding.  The word here is ‘democracy,’ which we in the West understand to mean “a government by the people” but by which Mader and the communist East mean “a government in the name of and for the people” (such as, the German Democratic Republic, the former East Germany, or the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, the present-day North Korea). 

Leaving aside the descriptive “fanatical,” which is certainly intended to be a hot-button word to inflame the reader, the whole of the U.S. government—yea, even our entire culture at large—could be said to be “anti-communist” during the Cold War, as we are also “anti-fascist” and “anti-imperialist.”  (Okay, I’m talking officially and theoretically.  I know we don’t always live up to the ideal.)  That’s no surprise.  But we’re only an “enemy of democracy” if you define ‘democracy’ as a single-party socialist state and not a country with a government of freely elected representatives of the citizens.  Mader wants you to read the passage above and think we’re opposing such nations as France, Australia, Japan, Sweden, or India.  (Granted, we have sometimes overstepped our bounds, such as in Iran in 1953, Guatemala in ’54, and Chile in ’73.)  Whatever differences we have with the so-called liberal democracies, we don’t oppose them; at the same time, we do oppose countries like Cuba and the DPRK, sometimes with a ferocity and tenacity that exceeds logic, I’ll acknowledge—but we have also reconciled with other nations such as the Socialist Republic of Vietnam, a one-time implacable enemy who essentially defeated us.  Mader wants readers of Who’s Whoto think the United States is secretly fighting our capitalistic allies on behalf of some crypto-fascism—hence, the Marxist equivocation in his rhetoric.

Who’s Who in CIAwas largely regarded in the West as an act of disinformation.  The errors and omissions, the inclusion of so many people who weren’t connected to any kind of intelligence work, was seen as a way to roil the waters of East-West Weltpolitik by sowing distrust among the citizenry of friendly or neutral nations.  The omission of so many actual intelligence personnel, especially working agents abroad, was interpreted as a tactic by the communist agencies like the Stasi and the KGB to divert attention from the U.S. agents so that it would be easier to keep an eye on what they were up to or to make use of them in various ways—feeding them false information or preventing them from successfully acquiring useful intelligence. 

Despite its official dismissal by the United States’ intelligence community, the CIA nevertheless felt Who’s Whowas worthy of some kind of response.  The agency helped journalist and investigative writer John Barron, publisher of Reader’s Digest,  to write KGB: The Secret Work of Soviet Secret Agents (Reader’s Digest Press, 1974).  The book’s appendix, on which the author admitted that the CIA collaborated, names 1,600 alleged KGB and GRU officers posted abroad as diplomats. (The KGB, whose initials are an abbreviation of the Russian name Committee for State Security, was the main security organization and secret police of the Soviet Union; the GRU, the Main Intelligence Directorate, was the principal military intelligence agency of the USSR—and is still the largest foreign intelligence organization of Russian Federation.  Remember that I said earlier that that  Soviet and present-day Russian diplomats were also spies?)  In the New York Times, reviewer Hugh Trevor Roper, an Oxonian historian of early modern Britain and Nazi Germany, wrote, “How the K.G.B. functions, how it uses its unchallenged, arbitrary power, is the subject of Mr. Barron’s book,” which sounds to me like a direct reaction to Mader’s book. 

Reviews of Who’s Who in CIA included Daniel Brandt’s assessment for his website NameBase, which focuses on people involved in international intelligence activities and related subjects, such as reviews of books and articles on intelligence and espionage.  In his review, Brandt, once an activist with Students for a Democratic Society (SDS), a counterculture organization in the 1960s and ’70s, states, “Mader paints with a broad brush,” admitting to listing “former OSS, military intelligence (even during WW2), State Department personnel . . ., FBI counterintelligence, and also the occasional politician who sat on this or that intelligence committee.”  Adding, “Generally when Mader includes a name, it’s merely an indication that Mader found this person interesting for one reason or another,” Brandt quipped.  “Some of his names . . . appear to have been compiled by looking for the word ‘intelligence’ in the State Department Biographic Register.”  He cautioned that “further research and corroboration is needed before any conclusions can be drawn.”  Nonetheless, “Mader apparently had access to some information on CIA officers that was not publicly available,” and the reviewer concluded, “For the occasional investigator who is too experienced to expect easy answers, this book continues to be quite useful.”

Brandt’s review is clearly a much later evaluation (it’s undated, but NameBase wasn’t started until 1995), however a contemporaneous notice was published in the Los Angeles Free Press (28 March 1969), an alternative weekly with a radical political perspective.  In “Who’s Who in the CIA: A Review of the Real Underground,” which also reproduces some of the charts and listings from the book, Freep (as the paper was known) founder and editor Art Kunkin asserts, “‘Who’s Who in CIA’ was undoubtedly compiled as a weapon of Russia against the United States,” adding, however, “It is not surprising, therefore, that this book has much to say about the obviously anti-democratic effect of the United State’s huge intelligence apparatus but not one word about the other noted enemy of human freedom, the equally sizeable and repressive Russian espionage system.”  Pointing out all the evil work of the Soviet secret police that Mader neglects to mention—perpetrating domestic terrorism to maintain the power of Soviet leaders, murdering or assassinating political opponents, “forging” evidence for show trials, planning the invasions of Hungary (1956) and Czechoslovakia (1968), murdering opponents in the Spanish Civil War (1936-39) including communist partisans in anti-Stalinist factions—Kunkin observes, “However, it must be underscored that these omissions do not detract at all from the book’s graphic demonstration of the power and size of ‘invisible government’ in the United States.” 

Kunkin maintains that “the reasoning of spy hunters is that any person who has ever been associated with intelligence work is always suspect” (which I suppose is an explanation for my father being labeled a CIA operative off of a few months’ assignment with the CIC in World War II), and he illustrates his contention with a quotation from Who’s Who regarding the “knowledge that imperialist intelligence services usually ‘buy-up’ the recipients of their pay, and also those who have fallen into their clutches till the end of their lives.”  Kunkin does admonish Mader (parenthetically) because he’s “not very clever.  The nature of his real employer is verified not only by his convenient cold war omissions but by his communist cliches.” 

(Let me make a personal observation concerning Kunkin’s first statement above, that among “spy hunters,” especially those of the Warsaw Pact, I suspect, once someone’s been associated with an intelligence agency, he or she is forever after tagged with the label “intelligence operative.”  My father, as I noted, was temporarily assigned to the CIC during the beginning months of the occupation of Germany, from May 1945, when the Third Reich government surrendered, until Dad was shipped to the Pacific in August.  He never had any contact with an intelligence organization before that or after.  I, on the other hand, was an officer in Military Intelligence, the successor of the CIC, for almost five years.  It was the whole of my army service, including 2½ years as a counterintelligence special agent in Cold War Berlin.  Once I got out of the army, however, I never had any dealings with MI or any other intelligence agency.  No one ever contacted me or tried to recruit me.  I’m proud of my service and what I did during that time, but that part of my life ended in 1974.  What I have left is what I learned about myself from the experience—and a lot of stories.  I have never had call to use any of the tradecraft I learned again.  Neither had my father, and neither, I’m sure, had any of the people in Mader’s book who had a one-off connection with some intelligence agency at one time in their lives.  To believe otherwise is absurd—and paranoid.)

The Freep editor further suggests:

In this shadowy cloak and dagger world it must also be assumed that the Russians do not even want to expose certain American agents.  It is obviously easier in some circumstances to tolerate a known agent whom you can watch and divert from important information than continually have to cope with uncovering new agents. 

Who’s Who’s listings, Kunkin observes, “are usually people whose Intelligence background has already been publicized.”  Furthermore, he says, “Their past and present affiliations probably could be determined simply by close study of telephone directories, newspaper files, etc.”  There may even be a few “ringers” in the entries as well, “thrown . . . at us for [the Soviets’] own political purpose.”  But Kunkin bemoaned that some private citizens where lumped in with the intelligence workers, and what he feared most  was “that these suspect listings may be correct,” after all. 

He singled out the entry for Frederick Amos Praeger (1915-94), founder of Praeger Publishers, who issued books on communism (as well as other topics such as art and archeology).  Feared Kunkin, “Praeger’s ‘listing’ may simpl[y] be a result of his anti-fascist affiliations in World War Two [Praeger was born in Austria], but, then again, the widespread rumor that he has published ‘cold war books’ with CIA money may indeed be true.”  Who’s Who in CIA, says the reviewer, shows “how American trade union leaders, businessmen, college professors, government officials, and military men are entangled in the web of the so-called Intelligence agencies.”  The lesson Kunkin took away from the bookis:

On the one hand, we had an elected government presumably responsible to the people; on the other hand, the military-industrial complex which President Eisenhower warned about linked its future with the development of a super-secretive intelligence-operational group manipulating domestic and international affairs with a total disregard for democratic procedures anywhere.

The Free Presseditor and publisher concludes his anti-establishment treatise (Kunkin had much more to say that wasn’t directly pertinent to the book) by affirming: “The public needs to be informed of the urgency of the problem.  Given these considerations, ‘Who’s Who in the CIA’ is a valuable book despite its compromised source.”

None of this is to say, of course, that the Washington world of the foreign service and intelligence apparatus like the State Department, USIA, and the CIA wasn’t entirely engaged for months in the summer of 1968 looking to see who was named and who wasn’t.  At social functions which my dad’s former foreign service colleagues attended, there was alwaysinsouciant chatter about the book and its listings.  Almost immediately upon its release, Who’s Who in CIAbecame impossible to find in bookstores and reports are that it even disappeared from many libraries across the country.  Art Kunkin guessed that the book’s popularity was partly spurred by government secretaries and clerks who bought it to see what their bosses were hiding in their backgrounds.

Dad obtained a copy of Who’s Who in CIAas soon as it was released, but my mom gave it away with  most of her and m father’s books after he went into a nursing home and she moved to a smaller apartment, not realizing what it represented.  I wanted to replace it, but it was hard to find in the early ’90s and I used to check the used bookstores, of which there were then dozens near my home in New York City.  I even checked Revolution Books, a Marxist bookstore off Union Square near where I live, that had a section devoted to military history and related subjects.  After the Internet had become available and I used it to search for a copy of the English edition in good condition for a reasonable price, I eventually replaced the book in 2005, nine years after my father’s death.  (I paid €18, or $23 at that time.  Today, some copies are selling for anywhere from just over $100 to well over $300.)

The world in which Who’s Who in CIAcould exist is gone now and for those born after the Cold War ended and the Soviet empire collapsed, it probably seems a little ridiculous and silly.  In “Berlin Memoir, Part 4” (posed on Rick On Theater on 9 February 2017), I wrote: “The Cold War was a wondrous time—if you’re Franz Kafka!”  (I’ve blogged a lot about my MI experiences in Berlin; see “Berlin Station,” 19 and 22 July 2009; “The Berlin Wall,” 29 November 2009; “Berlin Stories: Three SNAFU’s,” 18 August2012; and “Berlin Memoir,” 16 and 31 December 2016, 20 January 2017, 9 and 19 February 2017, 11 and 29 March 2017, and 13 April 2017.  I also wrote a little about my dad’s work with USIA in Germany in “An American Teen In Germany,” 9 and 12 March 2013, and “Home Alone,” 12, 15, and 18 June 2015.)  This article is about a little piece of that world-spanning absurdity that briefly touched my own family a little.  It’s obviously a memory I still carry with me after 50 years.

Art New York 2018

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I haven’t been to many art fairs; gallery shows and museum exhibitions, sure—plenty and varied.  Even the occasional artist’s studio.  I’ve been to the odd county fair that included a sampling of art and craftwork among the agriculture and artisanry exhibits.  (I even have a wonderful ceramic sculpture I bought at a Maryland county fair—the artist, Doug DeLind, is a Michigander—in around 1993.)  I went to an ArtExpo New York in about 1987 when it was housed at the then-newly opened Jacob K. Javits Convention Center on Manhattan’s far West Side in Midtown.  Israeli sculptor Hayim (now known as Haim) Azuz was exhibiting there and I had bought one of his bronzes a few years earlier at the Israeli artists’ colony of Safed, so he sent me an announcement.  That was the extent of my exposure to art fairs until 4 May (yes, Star Wars Day) 2018 when I went up to Pier 94 at 55th Street and 12th Avenue on Manhattan’s Hudson River bank for Art New York 2018.

This year’s Art New York was the city’s fourth, running from Thursday, 3 May, to Sunday, 6 May; the inaugural fair was in 2015.  (Art New York, founded by Miamian Nick Korniloff, actually started in 2014 as the Downtown Art Fair, housed in the 69th Regiment Armory at Lexington Avenue between East 25th and 26th Streets in Manhattan, not far from where I live.)  As it happened, the same period of May this spring was art fair week in New York City, with Frieze New York taking place on Randall’s Island on 4-6 May, TEFAF (The European Fine Art Fair) New York Spring 2018 at the Park Avenue Armory on 4-8 May, and 1-54 Contemporary African Art New York 2018 from 4-6 May in Brooklyn.  Also in Brooklyn the same weekend were The Other Art Fair, 3-6 May, and Fridge Art Fair, 2-6 May.  (In mid-April, the 2018 ArtExpo was installed at Pier 94.)  I got a brochure for Art New York, however, with a two-fer ducat (regular day tickets went for $40 with discounts available for seniors and students), so I called my friend Diana, a member of several art museums in New York City and a former art student at New York’s Art Students League, and asked if a trip to Pier 94 for the fair interested her.  She affirmed it did, so we met a 3 p.m. on that Friday and spent five hours (until closing) walking through the fair and it was fascinating. 

Art New York, an offshoot of Art Miami, includes nearly 100 galleries from 30 countries—including cities across the United States.  It’s a commercial set-up—there was a “VIP Preview” day on Thursday, 3 May, principally for gallery buyers and collectors—so the art is all for sale (at prices mostly in the five-figure range).  The fair’s promos state that Art New York displays “works by important artists from the contemporary, modern, post-war and pop eras” and provides “a platform for a selection of new and established contemporary galleries to present emerging, mid-career and cutting-edge talent.”  Each booth was a display by a retail gallery with work by such artists as David Hockney, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and Anish Kapoor; there were also special exhibits like a solo show by Cey Adams (Gary Lichtenstein Editions of Jersey City, NJ), the original creative director of Def Jam Recordings; a display by Jason Newsted, the one-time Metallica bassist, of his on-going series, “RAWK” (55Bellechasse, Paris and Miami); and an installation by actor-turned-artist Adrien Brody. 

There was also a considerable presence of charitable organizations; for instance, the “RAWK” exhibit supported the Perry J. Cohen Foundation, which sponsors the arts and environmental, marine, and wildlife education and preservation, and the Cey Adams (American, b. 1962) exhibit benefited the Jon Bon Jovi Soul Foundation that helps to fight homelessness and hunger in the U.S.  Also represented were the Children’s Museum of the Arts in Manhattan’s SoHo and the Joe Namath Foundation that supports several children’s charities and neurological research.

At 133,000 square feet, the T-shaped Pier 94 has become a preferred site for large exhibitions, both for trade shows and for art expositions.  Approximately 144 feet wide by 746 feet long, the pier building can be configured in several ways, but for Art New York, it was essentially a straight promenade of three aisles with cross-overs about every 25 yards or so and several side displays at the entrance.  (The building’s ceiling height is 20-26 feet, so the space feels cavernously high.)  There must have been about 150 display booths, clustered in groups of three to five, with a cocktail bar off to the left at the front, a café bar to the right, a “VIP Lounge” in the center, and a café at the far end. 

The booths were all identical, like oversized office cubicles, all white-walled and without ceilings, running in four rows along the length of the building.  Some of the art spilled over into the aisles, lending to the sense of a vast, almost endless space.  Looking down the aisle from the entrance, it seemed to go on forever—and when we actually reached the café at the western end of the exposition, I was taken a little by surprise.  There were few places to stop and sit down, aside from the lounge and the café, so five hours made for a long (and physically tiring) afternoon.  Since there’s no unifying theme as in museum shows and even most gallery exhibits, it was a lot like looking at an art kaleidoscope.  Fair publicity asserts that there were 1,200 artists represented.  I won’t be able to give a detailed “review” of Art New York,  so I intend just to try to describe my experience that Friday afternoon. 

This isn’t to say that it wasn’t an enjoyable experience.  I’m not sure I’d rush to repeat it, but it wasn’t a disappointment; after all, I did spend five hours there.  In general, I’m not enamored of the latest in art—say from the ’90s on (see my report on the Whitney Biennial, posted on 22 June 2017)—but there was also a lot of work from the ’50s, ’60s, and ’70s (and even earlier, the classics of 20th-century art), and some surprising exhibits that were interesting to see even if I wouldn’t want to own any of the art.  

Among the stalwarts of the 20th century were Stanley Boxer (represented in my late parents’ art collection by my mother’s favorite piece, Highfromblare (High From Blare), c. 1987; see my report “A Passion For Art: My Parents’ Art Collecting,” posted on Rick On Theater on 21 November 2017), Fernando Botero (ditto and Fernando Botero: Abu Ghraib (2007),” 26 November2017), Alexander Calder (“Calder: Hypermobility at the Whitney,” 21 August 2017), Marc Chagall, Chuck Close, Jim Dine, Marcel Duchamp, M. C. Escher, Sam Francis, Helen Frankenthaler, David Hockney, Hans Hofmann, Robert Indiana (and his many imitators), Jasper Johns, Yayoi Kusama (whom I looked for but didn’t see on my visit; see my profile on 18 May 2017), Roy Lichtenstein, Man Ray, Joan Miró, Kenneth Noland (of the Washington Color School; see my article on 21 September 2014), Pablo Picasso (yes, that guy), Robert Rauschenberg, Larry Rivers, Richard Serra, Andy Warhol (some of whose pieces on show were different from what I expect from this artist), among others. 

Diana, to her delight, was very taken with Sam Francis (American, 1923-94), an abstract expressionist whose work was exhibited by several galleries at Art New York.  Diana spotted a couple of his pieces in a display very close to the entrance, the Rosenfeld Gallery of Manhattan and Miami, and was so impressed with his use of color and space that she took a few cell-phone photos to send to her friend in Chicago who’s a former gallerist in that city.  After Untitled of 1953 (watercolor on paper on board) and untitled of 1990 (acrylic on paper), Diana stopped at many other Francis canvases in the exposition (Untitled SF87-071 (Acrylic), 1987, Gilden’s Art Gallery, London; Untitled, 1982, Masterworks Fine Art, Oakland, Calif.) and exclaimed to the gallery reps staffing the displays how much she admired the art for its “core,” by which she meant the solid basis of the work, the artist’s groundedness in the principles of his art, the seriousness of his intentions—as opposed, it appeared, to the impulsiveness of other, later expressionists who, Diana seemed to feel, just daubed paint haphazardly on the canvas or paper without consideration of balance or harmony.  (I’ve said before that Diana appears to like art that follows established principles and fits recognizable patterns, even in abstract art.  She displays the same predilection in theater.)

The Rosenfeld Gallery, right at the beginning of our trek, also displayed a number of other striking pieces by established artists, sort of setting a tone for the afternoon’s experience.  Aside from Francis, among the artists from the mid-20th century were Jean Dubuffet (French, 1901-85 – Group Society, 1979; Dessin Bonpeit beau neuille, 1982), Roy Lichtenstein (American, 1923-97 – Landscape 7, 1967), Andy Warhol (American, 1928-87 – Jacqueline Kennedy II ( Jackie II), 1966; Rollover Mouse (From the Toy Painting Series), 1983), Kenneth Noland (American, 1924-2010; Doors Easel, 1989), and Alexander Calder (American, 1898-1976 – Untitled, 1949; Untitled, 1965).  These are all artists with whose work I’m quite familiar—or so I thought. I got the same lesson throughout the fair.

Warhol’s Jacqueline Kennedy II, for instance, is a color silkscreen print of a photo bust of the former First Lady, not unlike other work by the pop artist, but Rollover Mouse (synthetic polymers and silkscreen inks on canvas), while it’s a recreation of the box from a child’s wind-up toy, it’s much more impressionistic than his iconic soup cans and Brillo boxes, with blurry edges of the lettering and the mouse figures.  Labeled a “unique work,” it’s also not the whole box, as if it were a cropped photo.  Lichtenstein’s Landscape 7, a screenprint on four-ply, white rag board using iridescent silver Mylar collage mounted on board, wasn’t one of his signature comic book scenes (though there were some of those around as well) but a geometric abstract, more Op than Pop. 

Calder, whose mobiles were the subject of the recent Hypermobility and whose wire sculptures were the heart of Focus at the Museum of Modern Art about a decade ago, was a surprise for me with his 1965 Untitled gouache on paper which, while it could have been a graphic representation of the elements of one of his more fanciful mobiles, was apparently filtered through the eye of Joan Miró with some of the Spanish Surrealist’s squiggles, arachnidan thingies, crescent moons, and discs floating over a schmeared pink-and-brown background.  (The two artists met in Paris in 1928 and became lifelong friends.  There were actual Mirós in several other galleries at Art New York.)  The small 1949 Untitled (it’s only 9 x 12), gouache and ink on paper, was even more of a surprise: a totally abstract expressionistic piece of black and white splotches, with irregular outlines and blurred edges, and a black circle in a red field. 

Golden oldies weren’t the only art that Rosenfeld premièred for us at the fair.  Nearly ubiquitous at Art New York were two former street artists who flourished in the 1980s: Keith Haring (American, 1958-90), with 1981’s ink-on-paper Untitled, Untitled from 1982, 1983’s Monkey Man, and  Untitled of 1986, in Rosenfeld’s display, and Jean-Michel Basquiat (American, 1960-88), whose untitled (marker on paper, 1981) and In Color (oil, acrylic, oil stick, and mixed media on paper, 1986) were exhibited by that gallery as well.  These artists, though, didn’t surprise with divergences from their familiar styles—neither artist having lived long enough, I suppose, to stray from their initial impulses.  (I’m not really a fan of Basquiat, but Haring’s virtually an icon of late-20th-century American art, and I actually still remember with fondness his signature chalk drawings in the blank advertising panels in the New York subway stations; their whimsy and the joy Haring seemed to be expressing with his dancing figures—even the dogs—made a subway ride more tolerable, especially in the Execrable Eighties.) 

Adrien Brody, a film producer and Oscar-winning actor (for The Pianist in 2002), turned seriously to making art with his début exhibit in 2015 at Art Basil Miami.  He’d been painting as an avocation for a long time, he’s said, because he appreciates “the creative autonomy afforded me as an artist, which an actor doesn’t have.”  His multi-media installation, Metamorphosis: Transformations of the Soul, is displayed in a small room off to the right, just past the entrance to Art New York and uses  video, sound, photographs, collage, and painting to explore Brody’s artistic influences, reflecting “a lifetime of influences, experiences and labors of love.”  Viewers walk into the roomlet that brings to mind a cluttered artist’s studio (which exists somewhere in upstate New York, but the exhibit attendants wouldn’t say where) to encounter mementos, bits of art or art studies, photos, newspaper clippings, books, bric-a-brac, and an apparently haphazard collection of items, as if Brody’d been assembling bits and pieces of his life over many years.  Entering through a doorway on the left, visitors may meander through the space at will for as long as they wish, communing with Brody’s assemblage, eventually exiting back out to the small wing of the exposition through a doorway on the right.  I found myself rather unengaged by the experience, but I suppose your response depends a lot on your interest in the actor.

Near Metamorphosis was the small exhibit of the Joe Namath Foundation.  Several contemporary artists celebrated legendary Jets quarterback Namath, whose 75th birthday is on Thursday, 31 May, in a set of specially selected works.  Edwin Baker III (American, b. 1991), a Florida-based painter who is Broadway Joe’s son-in-law, created I Get Better Looking Every Day (2018), a collage portrait of the Hall of Famer for the Art New York exhibit.  Other artists in the display, the proceeds of which go entirely to the foundation, included Skyler Grey, Bradley Theodore, Mr. Brainwash (the anonym of French-born, Los Angeles-based filmmaker and street artist Thierry Guetta), Harry Benson (an iconic photograph of the Hall of Famer), Danny Minnick, Jason Newsted, Al Baseer Holly (aka ABH), and Yigal Ozeri.  (While most of the art in this display clearly and directly referred to Namath, famous football player, one painting seemed to be all about The Simpsons—yes, those Simpsons: Homer and Bart, et al.  I can only guess that the allusion is to the two appearances Namath made on the animated TV show.  Namath’s image doesn’t appear in the painting, the creator and title of which I’m embarrassed to say I don’t remember.)

In the exhibit of Rock and Roll Hall of Famer Newsted (American, b. 1963), “RAWK” (the title is the “eye dialect” spelling of ‘rock’), with which I was unfamiliar, stopped me at the 55Bellechasse cubicle because so many of his images resembled Basquiat: Circle of Willits (2006), Blue Griot (2007).  Then I spotted one canvas frankly called Basquiatty(2007), which kind of clinched my impression!  At the Cavalier Galleries (Greenwich, Conn.; New York City; Nantucket, Mass.), I was also arrested in my amble down the aisle of Art New York by a sculpture with which I felt I was familiar.  Well, not so much the actual sculpture, but its style, so I thought I recognized the artist’s work.  It’s a 6½-foot tall bronze casting of a standing man in a sort of neo- impressionistic rendering.  He’s holding out his right hand, bent at the elbow, and on his up-turned palm stands a tiny version of what I took to be himself.  The larger image is looking gently at the little man in his hand, his left arm behind his back.  The sculpture is called Inner Dialogue(2017) by Jim Rennert (American, b. 1958), and I knew I’d seen something very like it, in a much larger scale, in Union Square a year or so ago.  So I stopped and asked a man in the gallery who was wearing an ID badge around his neck if this was the same artist.  “It is,” said the man I took for a gallery attendant, “and I’m the artist!”  (Rennert’s 2013 Think Big was the piece on public display in a triangle off the southeast corner of Union Square.  The 12-foot statue, which always made me think of Charles de Gaulle, stood in the square from June 2014 to May 2015.)  

There were several other sculptures by Rennert in the gallery, including Listen (2017), a two-foot bronze piece of a man standing with a finger pressed to his lips, and Paradigm Shift, a 2017 flat bronze-and-steel panel of a forced-perspective room lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, and a man standing in the open doorway at the end of it, seemingly very far away.  I then noticed that the walls of the space, lined with prints and paintings, held several of a similar iconography, like Hustling (2016), depicting the black silhouette of a businessman on a yellow-and-white background, attaché in his right (up-stage) hand, walking determinedly to some engagement, which turned out to be Rennert’s work as well.

In the same gallery were several whimsical bronze sculptures of hippopotami in fabric tutus, clearly reminiscent of Edgar Degas’s famous Little Dancer Aged Fourteen (1878-81).  One, in fact, Hippo Ballerina, fourth position (2015), could have been a direct parody of the beloved Degas.  The artist, Bjorn Skaarup (Danish, b. 1973), has done a series of animals in human activities and costume, such as Rhino Harlequin, Bowing (undated) and Greek Warrior Mouse (undated).  I dubbed the hippo set “Degas by way of Disney” in reference to the Fantasia“Dance of the Hours” sequence from the 1940 animated film.

Obviously, some of the pleasure of Art New York were the quirky and amusing pieces, a sense of fun and humor in what’s often a self-important business, and some was the delight in seeing so many of the modern masters whose work was the cutting edge when I was growing up and experiencing art for the first time.  (I’ve written of my experiences surrounding my family’s involvement with Washington, D.C.’s Gres Gallery in “Washington Art Matters,” 5 September 2013; “Yayoi Kusama,” 18 May 2017; “A Passion for Art,” 21 November 2017; and “Fernando Botero: Abu Ghraib (2007),” 26 November 2017; among other posts.)  I’m not sure I’ll rush off to another art fair soon—it’s an exhausting endeavor—but I did enjoy Art New York, both seeing the art (though there’s an awful lot to digest if you really want to see it) and chatting with the gallerists—who are there, of course, to sell you their wares, but who also know a bit about art, especially “their” artists.

Music Theater Programs for Kids

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[Two topics readers of Rick On Theater will know are of major interest to me are arts and theater education for school children and young adults and live music in the theater.  I’ve written about them and posted articles by other writers on this blog man times, but I still see a need to reemphasize the importance of supporting these efforts.  (See “Degrading the Arts,” posted on 13 August 2009; “The Sound of Muzak,” 16 June 2011; “Arts & Music Education,” 21 March] 2014; and “Arts In Schools,” 18 November 2015, among others.)  I’ve been holding on to two articles on the subjects for a couple of years now, and I feel this is a good time to republish them on ROT.  Both are about musical theater programs for children and one emphasizes the importance of live music to the experience. 

[First up is the transcript of a broadcast of “On Stage,” a program of NY1 News, the local news channel of Time Warner Cable (now Spectrum).  Hosted by Frank DiLella, the Emmy-winning (2018) host of “On Stage” who’s also appeared as a theater correspondent for the BBC, Sirius XM, “The Early Show” on CBS, CTV (Canadian private television broadcaster), and Al Jazeera TV, the program aired on 18 August 2012.] 

PROGRAM BRINGS BROADWAY TO STUDENTS ACROSS THE WORLD
By: Frank DiLella

The classroom: Broadway. The course: musical theater. And the faculty: members of the Great White Way. Welcome to the school of Students Live!

Students Live! founder Amy Weinstein created the company after she was asked by the producers of the original production of “Rent” to form a curriculum that would help develop young audiences for Broadway.

“It grew into an interactive training ground to connect Broadway artists in front of and behind the scenes to young people from all over the world,” Weinstein said.

Students Live! teacher and “Wicked” dance captain Alicia Albright regularly conducts a Broadway choreography workshop for aspiring young performers. On the day NY1 stopped by, Albright was teaching a portion of the song “Dancing Through Life” to some students.

“The goal is that they leave remembering that hard work brings results and also, no matter what they do, whether they pursue this or not, if they do pursue it, hopefully it gives them hope and inspiration to pursue it and if they don’t, hopefully they will support the arts and the Broadway community for the rest of their lives,” Albright said.

“It kind of reminds us if we want to be an actor or singer, we can if we work hard and we put our minds to it,” said dancer Gianna Newborg.

While musical theater and Broadway are considered staples of American culture, in 2008 Students Live! opened up their program to folks overseas.

Forty-eight students from South Korea are currently putting the finishing touches on their musical show entitled “Journey to America.” The musical revue features well known Broadway songs including “One,” “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” and “NYC.” Tony-nominated actor John Tartaglia and Broadway casting director Benton Whitley recently attended a rehearsal to provide the kids with some musical theater advice.

“You forget that these kids are from another country. Most of them don’t speak English at all and all of a sudden they come here and in 14 days, it’s total immersion,” Tartaglia said. “All of a sudden, they’re singing all these complicated lyrics from 40 different Broadway shows. From where they started to where they are now, it’s incredible. It’s overwhelming.”

“I think a lot of times, kids from other cultures think they should be seen and not heard,” Whitley said. “I think theater is an incredible outlet for them to actually realize that’s not always the case.”

Veteran Broadway producer Alecia Parker said programs like Students Live! are essential for the New York theater community and beyond.

“It makes our industry stronger and builds new audiences for tomorrow, which we can’t ever forget about,” she said.

While her program seems to be thriving, Weinstein said she has big plans for the future.

“My goal in the next five years is to have a brand name that Broadway has as a conservatory on Broadway to develop younger audiences,” she said. “Not necessarily just to sell a ticket but to create what they need to cast in their shows and to create appreciation for all the shows.”

[For more information on the Students Live program, log on to www.studentslive.net.

[Since 2000, StudentsLive’sAward-Winning live interactive education programming have attracted over 100,000 participants from as far away as Guam, the UK, Italy, and from all across the United States.  The League of American Theatres and Producers and the Theatre Development Fundhave awarded StudentsLive grants for Outstanding Education Programs on Broadway.  StudentsLive’s programs are now attracting adult groups and tour internationally in collaboration with presenters all across the world.

[Guest Speakers and workshop participants at the high profile Exclusive Student Matinees and Workshops on Broadway have included: Judge Judy, Geraldine Ferraro, Johnnie Cochran, Tommy Hilfiger, Kathy Lee Gifford, Susan Lucci, George Hamilton, Reba McEntire, Chazz Palminteri, Bernadette Peters, Joey Fatone, Scary Spice

[StudentsLive’s ongoing commitment is to create highly effective, interactive and engaging workshops, events and programs for audiences of all ages in partnership with the best theater the  U.S. has to offer, “Broadway.”  The organization offers a highly personal inside connection to live theater with educators, corporations, group leaders, families, Girl Scouts, adult individuals, and overall educated, sophisticated and new theater attendees worldwide.

[StudentsLive’s mission is to create and inspire newer, better and wider audiences and artists alike: and to connect and provide deeply engaging and creative access to Broadway shows by offering the highest quality programming, and services on Broadway today.  As Hilary Clinton stated: “Programs like these enable a new generation of audiences to make the arts a permanent part of their lives.”]

*  *  *  *
ENCHANTED!
byBettina Covo

[The second article was originally published in the February 2014 issue of Allegro, the member magazine of Local 802 of the American Federation of Musicians, the union that represents members of the pit orchestras for all Broadway and many Off-Broadway shows (among other gigs around town).  It’s not surprise, then, that its pages often contain articles in support of live music in New York theaters—Local 802 supplies the instrumentalists and music directors for all those shows.  I couldn’t agree with them more strongly—even though I don’t play an instrument.  This program, which AFM supports for obvious reasons, is Inside Broadway and the series I question is called Creating the Magic—because that’s what happens when drama, music, singing, and dancing all come together in a theater!  (It’s all the more appropriate that the production for this year was Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II’s most magical of all musical, Cinderella—which ROTters will know is a show close to my heart since I saw it in its world première on television in 1957 (see my post “Cinderella: Impossible Things Are Happening,” 25 April 2013).]

Live music brings the magic of theatre to kids

What happens when you combine the wonders of live music with the power of live theatre? Magic! Recently, over 3,000 public school children were treated to a special holiday gift – a look behind the curtain into the inner workings of a Broadway show.

Inside Broadway has presented another wonderful production in its Creating the Magic series. This time, the show was Rodgers and Hammerstein’s magical “Cinderella” and the venue was the Broadway Theatre at 1681 Broadway.

As the morning began, excited students piled into the theatre, many of them rushing to take a peek at the musicians in the orchestra pit. Even though protective netting prevented anyone from getting too close, it didn’t stop the kids from trying. When asked if they played music, many of the students gleamed with pride as they named the instruments they studied. To say they were excited to hear live music from live musicians would be an understatement.

Inside Broadway’s executive director Michael Presser began the presentation with a short history of the Broadway Theatre, which was immediately followed by one of the numbers from the show. Spellbound, the children watched as the stage director and various crew members from the many theatrical departments – lights, sound, props, set changes, costumes – came out on stage to reveal the secrets of producing a Broadway show.

At every Creating the Magic event, representatives from Broadway unions are invited to speak. Recording Vice President John O’Connor attended on our behalf to talk about Local 802 and the importance of live music.

Later, the talented cast (Laura Irion, Andy Jones, Rebecca Luker, Laura Osnes and Kirstin Tucker) performed several more charming musical numbers from the show, accompanied by Local 802 members Brian Taylor (piano), Billy Miller (drums) and Mark Vanderpoel (bass), under the direction of musical director Andy Einhorn. After each number, Michael Presser interviewed the cast members to talk about their theatrical careers.

Andy Einhorn was then given the opportunity to address the audience from the podium, explaining the role of the music director in a Broadway show. The children were totally engaged, attentively listening to Einhorn talk about the music and the orchestra.

“Participating in Inside Broadway was truly a rewarding opportunity for me and the other musicians who helped out,” Einhorn said. “It was great to see so many children experience the joy of watching how the sets, props, lights and music all function to help create the totality that is a Broadway musical. We are blessed at ‘Cinderella’ to have a large orchestra thanks to our producers and our friends at the Rodgers and Hammerstein organization.”

The presentation concluded, aptly enough, with the song “There’s Music in You,” followed by a question-and-answer period. Most of the questions are usually directed towards the actors and sometimes the stage director and crew. This time, it was truly heartening to see so many of the children ask Andy Einhorn questions about being a Broadway musician. He was pleasantly surprised. “I particularly found myself encouraged that so many students had questions about how to become musicians on Broadway,” Einhorn said.

A young trumpet player asked “How does one become a Broadway musician?” Einhorn’s response, “Practice, practice, practice, but above all – have fun!”

And indeed, fun was had by all, especially the fortunate children who were privileged to see what it takes to produce the nightly miracle of a Broadway show. Thank you to the musicians and the creative team, and to Michael Presser and his dedicated staff as well as the board and patrons of Inside Broadway for giving everyone involved such a magical holiday gift. Finally, as reported in last month’s Allegro, Local 802 was recently asked to join the board of Inside Broadway. We’re proud that we are represented in this wonderful organization.

'Summer and Smoke' (CSC)

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I’m not a full-fledged authority on Tennessee Williams, but I do know good deal about him and some of his plays as the result of several years of work with and for some scholars who are TW experts.   (For a number of years back in the ’80s, ’90s, and ’00s, I did research for pay and my principal clients ended up being a passel of Williams scholars who lived out of town and needed someone in New York City who could track down information and documents here.   That led me to doing several Williams-related projects of my own—some of which have been republished on Rick On Theater—and thus, I gathered a lot of biographical, literary, and theatrical information about the great playwright.) 

In particular, I did a great deal of work on two of Williams’s connected plays: Summer and Smoke (première 1947, Broadway 1948) and The Eccentricities of a Nightingale (written 1961, première 1964, Broadway 1976), his  reconsideration of the earlier play.   One of the Williams scholars, Philip C.  Kolin, asked me to contribute the chapter on the two plays to Tennessee Williams: A Guide to Research and Performance (Greenwood Press, 1998), which he was editing.   That eventually led to “The Lost Premiere of Tennessee Williams’s Eccentricities of a Nightingalefor The Journal of American Drama and Theatre (Spring 1999) and ultimately to “‘The Sculptural Drama’: Tennessee Williams’s Plastic Theatre” in theTennessee Williams Annual Review (2002).   (The latter was posted in ROT on 20 March 2010 and the former on9 May 2015.   I also wrote two original pieces for this blog: “Getting from Summer and Smoke to Eccentricities,” 26 February 2015, which, as the title suggests, relates how Williams reimagined Summer and Smokeas Eccentricities, and “‘The Pieces Don’t Fit!,’” 13 March 2015, which was suggested by a line spoken in the first act of Summer and Smoke and echoed in the second.)

In the spirit of full disclosure, I’ll also note that I appeared in a production of Eccentricities of a Nightingale in New Jersey in 1979—my first union show, from which I got my Actors Equity card.   (I played Roger Doremus, Alma’s nebbishy wannabe suitor.)

So, as I said, I know a bit about Summer and Smoke, currently running at the Classic Stage Company (for the next couple of days, anyway).   I also have strong feelings about the play, somewhat proprietary in a way, which will necessarily inform my report on the production.   

Summer and Smoke was the second of his major plays Williams wrote but the third to be staged on Broadway.   He began composing it in 1945 (as Chart of Anatomy) and it was first produced (as Summer and Smoke) in Dallas by Margo Jones at her esteemed regional company, Theatre ‘47, premièring on 8 July 1947.   Because A Streetcar Named Desire, written after Summer and Smoke,opened in December, the Broadway transfer of Summer to the Music Box Theatre was delayed until 6 October 1948.  (The Glass Menagerie had opened on Broadway on 31 March 1945 and ran until 3 August 1946.)  Compared unfavorably to both Menagerie and Streeetcar, Summer ran only until 1 January 1949, 102 performances.  (Menagerie and Streetcarhad original runs of 563 and 855 performances, respectively—very long for that time.)  The play was considered a flop and nearly derailed the nascent playwright’s career.   

Directed by Jones in both Dallas and New York with Tod Andrews as John and Katherine Balfour as Alma in the world première and then Andrews and Margaret Phillips on Broadway.   On Broadway, Mrs.  Winemiller was played by Marga Ann Deighton, Reverend Winemiller by Raymond Van Sickle, Dr.  Buchanan by Ralph Theadore; Anne Jackson appeared as Nellie Ewell and the wonderful Ray Walston had the near-cameo role of the salesman Archie Kramer.   The Broadway set and lighting were designed by Jo Mielziner and the costumes by Rose Bogdanoff; Williams’s friend Paul Bowles wrote original incidental music for the production.  Mielziner’s scenic design was highly praised in the 1948 reviews and I’ll have something to say about this aspect of the CSC production shortly.

In 1950, a tour of Summer and Smokestarring Dorothy McGuire and John Ireland covered the western United States.   On 22 November 1951, the London premiere, directed by Peter Glenville, openedwith William Sylvester and Margaret Johnston as the would-be lovers.  (Foreign-language premières opened all over the globe from 1950 to 1994.)  Then, on 24 April 1952, Off-Broadway was born when Circle in the Square restaged Summer and Smoke starring Lee Richardson and Geraldine Page.   Running for 356 performances, the revival was directed by José Quintero.   The production established Off-Broadway as an important venue for serious theater, revived the reputations of the play and the author, and made names for Quintero (who went on to become a renowned interpreter of Williams’s work) and Page.   

Two years later, Washington, D.C.’s Arena Stage produced a popular Summer (9 February-21 March 1954) directed by Alan Schneider with George Grizzard and Dorothea Jackson, with Frances Sternhagen as Mrs.  Winemiller.   In 1975, Gene Feist staged an Off-Broadway revival for New York’s Roundabout Theatre Company in its Chelsea home with Michael Storm as John and Debra Mooney as Alma.   In July 1986, Christopher Reeve and Laila Robins portrayed the central couple at the Williamstown (Massachusetts) Theatre Festival and two years later, Marshall Mason directed Reeve for the Center Theatre Group, Los Angeles, opposite Christine Lahti (11 February-1 April 1988). Roundabout revived Summer and Smoke on Broadway in 1996 with Harry Hamlin and Mary McDonnell as John and Alma under the direction of David Warren.   

Paramount produced the film adaptation of Summer and Smoke, with a screenplay by James Poe and Meade Roberts, in 1961.   Geraldine Page, nominated for an Academy Award, repeated her Off-Broadway stage success as Alma opposite Laurence Harvey under the direction of Peter Glenville (director of the London stage production).   On 23 January 1972, a television adaptation of Summer and Smoke was aired in the British Broadcasting Company’s “Play of the Month” series.   Never broadcast in the United States, the program starred American actors David Hedison and Lee Remick.

Summer and Smokeis the only major Williams play to have been set to music in his lifetime (not counting the 1952 Streetcar ballet).   Composed by Lee Hoiby with a libretto by Lanford Wilson, the opera debuted on 19 June 1971 by the St.  Paul Opera Association with John Reardon singing John and Mary Beth Peil, Alma, under the conductor Igor Buketoff.   

The current Off-Broadway revival, co-produced with the Transport Group Theatre Company and directed by its artistic director and co-founder, Jack Cummings III, began previews at CSC’s East Village home on 11 April 2018 and opened on 3 May.  The production, extended from a 20 May closing, is now scheduled to end on 25 May; I saw the 8 p.m. performance on Friday, 11 May.

The Transport Group Theatre Company is a non-profit, Off-Broadway theater troupe in New York City.  Founded in 2001 by now-artistic director Cummings and actress Robyn Hussa, Transport stages new plays and musicals and revivals with a focus on American stories told in a visually progressive way.  The company, which currently performs in various venues around New York, also commissions new works by American writers, including re-imagined revivals.  Since 2007, Cummings has been artistic director and Lori Fineman, executive director.  Through its first eight years, Transport Group was a resident theatre company at the Connelly Theatre; an Off-Broadway venue in Manhattan’s East Village.  Transport’s produced several environmental productions including the OBIE Award-winning The Boys in the Band (2010), which seated the audience in chairs around the play’s living room set in a Chelsea penthouse, and the first New York revival of Michael John LaChiusa’s Hello Again (2011), in which round banquet tables doubled as both the audience seating and the actors’ playing space. 

In 2007, Transport Group received a special Drama Desk Award for its “breadth of vision and presentation of challenging productions” and in 2018 the company won a Drama Critics’ Circle Award Special Citation.  Transport Group has been nominated for 31 Drama Desk Awards, five Outer Critics Circle Awards, five Drama League Awards, three Off-Broadway Alliance, and two Lucille Lortel Awards, among others.  In 2011, Transport Group’s production of the Douglas Carter Beane-Lewis Flinn musical Lysistrata Jones transferred to Broadway and was nominated for a Tony Award.   The American Theatre Wing awarded Transport Group a National Theatre Company Grant in 2011.

In 1967, director Christopher Martin founded the Classic Stage Company Repertory in a 100-seat theater at Rutgers Presbyterian Church on Manhattan’s West 73rd Street as a theater committed to reimagining classic plays for contemporary audiences.  In 1973, after a period of peripatetic existence, the theater moved into its present home on East 13th Street, formerly an East Village carriage house.  Martin left the company in 1985 and was succeeded as artistic director by Craig Kinzer and Producing Director Carol Ostrow (until 1987), Carol Perloff (1987-92), David Esbjornson (1992-98), Barry Edelstein (1998-2003), Brian Kulick (2003-16), and John Doyle (2016-present).  In the 50 years since its founding, CSC has become a leading Off-Broadway theater that is a home for new and established artists, as well audiences seeking epic stories intimately told.  (The troupe’s performance space, a thrust configuration with seating on three sides of a floor-level acting area, holds only 199 spectators.)  CSC Productions have been cited by all major Off-Broadway theater awards including the OBIE, Drama Desk, Outer Critics Circle, Drama League, and the Lucille Lortel Award for Outstanding Body of Work.  Summer and Smoke is Tennessee Williams’s debut production at CSC.

Tennessee Williams (1911-83) was born Thomas Lanier Williams III in Columbus, Mississippi, to Cornelius Coffin (C. C.) Williams (1879-1957), a traveling shoe salesman, and the former Edwina Dakin (1884-1980), who like many of her son’s heroines thought of herself as a Southern belle; the couple married in 1907. (Tom Williams became Tennessee in 1939.  Through his father, Tom was a descendant of John Sevier, 1745-1815, the first governor of Tennessee from 1796 to 1801, and 1803 to 1809.)  Edwina was the daughter of the Reverend Walter Dakin (1857-1955), an Episcopal priest, and Rosina (Rose) Otte Dakin (1863-1944), who taught music and singing to some of her husband’s parishioners.  Because of his father’s peripatetic work, Williams and his mother, sister  Rose Isabel Williams (1909-96), and brother Walter Dakin Williams (known as Dakin; 1919–2008) lived with his maternal grandparents in the parsonages where Williams’s beloved grandfather was pastor. 

In 1915, Reverend Dakin, a fixer for troubled parishes, was assigned to St. George’s Episcopal Church in Clarksdale, Mississippi, a small river port in the Mississippi Delta area. The Dakins and the Williamses lived in Clarksdale until 1918 (and Tom returned there from 1920 to ’21 to finish elementary school), so the dramatist lived there for a large chunk of the period in which Summer and Smoke is set.  It’s generally accepted that Clarksdale became several towns of Tennessee Williams plays, including the Glorious Hill of Summer and Smoke and Eccentricities of a Nightingale. 

(From 1902 to 1905, Reverend Dakin served as Episcopal minister in Port Gibson, Mississippi, 175 miles south along the Mississippi from Clarksdale.  This town has a famous landmark: the First Presbyterian Church whose steeple is topped by “an enormous gilded hand with its index finger pointing straight up, accusingly, at—heaven,” as Alma describes her father’s Glorious Hill Episcopal church in Eccentricities.  The description doesn’t appear in Summer and Smoke, however.) 

Williams is far too well known (and his life much too full) to summarize here; he’s easy to look up in any number of sources.  This brief snippet, however, provides many clues to the origins and conception of the playwright’s second major play.  In all his plays, Williams was a compulsive recycler of bits of his biography and experiences.  In Summer and Smoke, like Reverend Dakin, for instance, Reverend Winemiller was the Episcopal minister of the town and like “The Nightingale of the Delta,” Williams grew up at the rectory.  (Williams once insisted, “I’m Alma.”)  Reverend Dakin’s father had been a small-town doctor like the Drs. Buchanan and Rose Dakin had taught piano and voice like Alma.  C. C. Williams was a drummer for a shoe company, just as is Archie Kramer, the young man Alma picks up in the play’s last scene.  (The salesman’s last name comes from Tennessee Williams’s first girlfriend, Hazel Kramer, the only woman to whom he proposed marriage when he was 18.)

Both Mrs. Winemiller and Alma manifest characteristics of Williams’s sister, Rose, and mother.  The older woman is drawn from the later, clearly schizophrenic Rose, but Edwina Williams’s depiction of her daughter’s overreaction to illness echoes Alma’s.  (Rose Williams began exhibiting symptoms of her illness at 14 and was diagnosed in 1937, when she was institutionalized.  Rose was lobotomized in 1943 and Tennessee looked after her all of his life.)  Much of Alma is also drawn from Edwina Williams, the small-town minister’s daughter with a streak of Puritanism who had been called a nightingale. 

The egocentric hedonist of Summer and Smoke, John, is a portrait of Williams’s father, who preferred carousing to domesticity.  C. C. Williams lost part of his ear in a fight over a card game; John is knifed in a drunken fight while gambling at Moon Lake. (Moon Lake is a real recreation area just 18 miles north of Clarksdale and Lyon, where Dr. Buchanan, Sr.’s fever clinic is, is a tiny town about two miles northeast of Clarksdale.).  The elder Dr. Buchanan, a remote, cold, and censorious father, depicts another aspect of C. C. Williams, who denigrated his son and called him “Miss Nancy.”  The Reverend Winemiller is inspired by (but not a portrait of) Rev. Walter Dakin, whom Williams adored all his life.. 

The foundation of Summer and Smoke (and Eccentricities) is Edwina Williams’s tales of her youth in Port Gibson and Natchez, Mississippi, that she told her children (and which were published in her memoir, Remember Me To Tom [G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1963]).  Both plays had their origins in a short story, “Bobo,” which Williams wrote in 1941, then revised into “The Yellow Bird” in 1946; published in 1947, “Yellow Bird” centered on a preacher‘s daughter named Alma Tutwiler.  (There were Tutwilers in Clarksdale; the name Winemiller came from another story, “One Arm.”) 

Like most of Williams’s plays, Summer and Smoke exists in two versions, a “literary” or “reading” text and an “acting” text.  The longer, “literary” version was the play as Williams wrote it, successfully produced in Dallas, but trimmed during Jones’s rehearsals in New York.  The shorter version is the text sold by Dramatists Play Service, the agent for all non-professional productions and publisher of the official “acting version.”  The “literary” text is published in hardcover volumes (including anthologies such as The Collected Plays of Tennessee Williamsfrom the Library of America) and trade paperbacks (New Directions’ The Theatre of Tennessee Williams).  The historic Quintero revival in 1952 was based on the longer version, with the Prologue of Alma and John as children meeting by the stone angel, the iconic image of the play, and so is the CSC mounting.

Set in the fictional town of Glorious Hill, Mississippi, in “the first few years of” the 20th century to 1916, Summer and Smoke—the title comes from a linein the poem “Emblems of Conduct” (c. 1924, pub. 1926) by Hart Crane (1899-1932), an important emotional influence on Williams—opens at “dusk of an evening in May” in the town square.  There we meet Alma Winemiller, the daughter of Glorious Hill’s Episcopal minister, as a ten-year-old (played at CSC by the same actress who plays the part as an adult, Marin Ireland), standing in front of the stone statue of an angel—which in Cummings’s mounting is represented by a framed tinted photograph on an easel. 

As Alma leans down to drink from the statue’s fountain, young John Buchanan, Jr., son of the town doctor (Nathan Darrow, also the adult actor for the later character), sneaks into the square and startles Alma.  They are schoolmates and clearly well acquainted with one another as Alma has given Johnny a box of handkerchiefs because he has a runny nose, and he knows exactly how to tease her.  As they banter, Alma tells John that the stone angel has a name: Eternity.  In fact, the two Buchanans and the Winemillers are neighbors, for the church’s rectory and the doctor’s office and home are next door to one another.

This Prologue, omitted from the “acting” version of the text, prefigures Alma and John’s relationship as adults.  We see her as a sensitive, possibly even hyper-sensitive, girl with religious tendencies (“My name is Alma and Alma is Spanish for soul,” she tells Johnny) and an almost maternal concern for John’s well-being and demeanor.  John, on the other hand, reveals the beginnings of his carelessness, apparent callowness, and rebelliousness at the same time as he’s obviously drawn to Alma—though not in a particularly spiritual way.  As young adults, both will manifest these characteristics to a more (over-)developed degree.  In Cummings’s production, the Prologue isn’t Williams’s foreshadowing of things to come, however, but Alma’s memory of the way things were before life happened.  In this conception, the adult actors portraying their characters’ younger selves works well.

After the Prologue, the scene jumps to July 4th a few years before the U.S. entry into World War I.  Reverend and Mrs. Winemiller (Jay Russell, taking the place at this performance of T.  Ryder Smith, and Barbara Walsh) arrive just as Alma finishes singing in the town’s Independence Day band concert.  (In the “literary” version, there’s a short scene that Cummings didn’t use of townspeople gathering in the square for the entertainment.  It seems that the Transport Group director reverts to the shorter script at this point.)  It’s apparent that Mrs. Winemiller is, as we used to say, not a well woman, having suffered a breakdown years earlier.  She slipped “into a state of perverse childishness,” Williams states, and Reverend Winemiller and his daughter refer to her as their “cross to bear.”  
After the elder Winemillers depart, John, who’s just returned home after studying medicine in Baltimore, approaches Alma, who is waiting to meet Roger Doremus (Jonathan Spivey), Alma’s would-be gentleman caller who plays French horn in the town band.  To attract her attention, John tosses a firecracker toward her when she isn’t looking.  Also passing through the square, as Alma and John banter somewhat tentatively, are Rosa Gonzales (Elena Hurst), whose father (Gerardo Rodriguez) owns the Moon Lake Casino, and Nellie Ewell (Hannah Elless), a 16-year-old voice pupil of Alma’s; we learn a few details about both women (who both represent figures in Williams’s pantheon of women). 

From this point on, the scenes mostly alternate between the rectory and the doctor’s office, with occasional visits to the fountain and one trip out to Moon Lake.  This rotation starts in Dr. Buchanan’s office, which is visually distinguished by a wall chart of human anatomy (represented in Dane Laffrey’s minimalist CSC set by a framed chart on another easel).  Each scene emphasizes the differences between Alma’s and John’s outlooks on life, reflected in the “triptych” set that Williams conceived for the play: the rectory (soul) on one side of the stage, the doctor’s office (body) on the other, and the stone angel (“eternity”) between them.  Cummings, however, has conceived a non-set that dispenses with all visual representations of the themes except a photo of the stone angel and Dr. Buchanan’s anatomy chart.  (All hand props, from Mrs. Winemiller’s picture puzzle to the telephones in the rectory and the doctor’s office to the firecrackers, are mimed.  Kathryn Rohe designed period costumes, but they don’t change from scene to scene.)

The rest of the acting environment is a white platform with a half dozen plain wooden chairs, moved by the actors to create seating arrangements for each location, and a hanging “ceiling” of a framed opaque white fabric which, from my seat’s perspective (fourth row up in the center section of CSC’s three-sided audience), made the space that is Glorious Hill seem all the more claustrophobic and closed-in than the text alone ordinarily would.  (Jesse Green likened the set to a “coffin” in his New York Times review.)  According to Cummings, in a program note, his purpose here is to “return the focus back on the actor and the writing.”  In Williams’s script, he indicates the scene shifts with lighting cross-fades, but R. Lee Kennedy’s lighting design, which is essentially continual muted white light covering the whole acting platform, doesn’t accommodate this technique.

Alma, who reminds us several times that her name means ‘soul,’ is Williams’s embodiment of piety, exaggerated and exclusive of all other human impulses, and the young Dr. Buchanan, who lives to use “his senses to get all he can in the way of—satisfaction,” represents a life devoted entirely to physical experience in pretty much all its forms.  But the playwright doesn’t advocate for either position, and Alma and John essentially switch philosophies at the end of the play.  The actual struggle between these two impulses isn’t between Alma and John, however; it’s really within each of them.  Alma comes off the worse in the end, as she goes from one extreme to the other.  In the last scene of Summer and Smoke, Alma picks up a traveling shoe salesman, Archie Kramer (Ryan Spahn), following in the path of Nellie’s mother, who’s known as Glorious Hill’s “merry widow” because she meets all the trains coming into town to pick up drummers.

Other characters exhibit a range of other positions on the continuum, as well as other attitudes Williams diagnosed in American society.  Both fathers are remote and disapproving men, valuing public opinion and social reputation above all other attributes, but they are both leading representatives of the establishment (the church and business community).  Alma’s “little group . . . of young people with—intellectual interests” (Roger; Rosemary, the town librarian played by Glenna Brucken; and Mrs. Bassett, a gossipy widow portrayed by Tina Johnson) are the social rejects, along with Alma, Nellie Ewell (ostracized because of her mother’s reputation by everyone in Glorious Hill except Alma), and Rosa (the young Mexican good-time girl with whom John takes up), who are marginalized by the likes of Reverend Winemiller and the elder Dr. Buchanan (Phillip Clark).  The men, who are both images of Williams’s own father, don’t see that all the outcasts are products of their unrelenting censoriousness. 

Rosa is essentially a female counterpart of John, but she is also a manifestation of Williams’s view, now seen as an unflattering stereotype, of Latins as “elemental” people (South Americans and Mexicans, Spaniards, and Italians often appear in this guise in Williams’s plays and stories), while Nellie is the character who has found the healthy balance between her sensual and physical nature and her spiritual side—and is largely responsible for John’s salvation in the end when he turns from Rosa and a life of pleasure (in South America, notably) to marriage to the wholesome and rounded Nellie.  (Nellie Ewell isn’t a large role in Summer and Smoke, but the character is significant and dramatically pivotal.  Some top actresses, some before they became known, took the part.  In the Broadway première, it was Anne Jackson, who married Eli Wallach the year the play was presented in New York and became one of our leading actors of the 20th century; Pamela Tiffin played Nellie in the 1961 film.)

Summer and Smoke is filled with symbols and symbolism.  Some critics have complained that there’s too much of that, but Williams wove it into the play.  Cummings’s stripped-down mise-en-scène left me somewhat bereft because I felt the lack of the visualization of Williams philosophical and dramatic themes.  (I refer readers to my blog article on plastic theater, mentioned earlier, for a discussion of Williams’s notion that playwrights should construct their texts to include the physical environment they conceive as integral aspects of the play and not abandon that element of dramaturgy to directors and designers.) 

Very possibly, a viewer who doesn’t know as much about Summer and Smoke as I do now won’t have missed the triptych and the imposing omnipresence of the stone angel, and I had no serious problem with the mimed hand props or the imaginary fireworks (which all have symbolic significance in Williams’s concept, such as the plumed hat), but the total absence of any visual reinforcement of Williams’s ideas weakens the play in my estimation and interfered with my reception of the performance.  (A note: Cummings’s physical reinterpretation was not nearly as detrimental to Summer and Smoke as Sam Gold’s of The Glass Menagerie was to that production; see my report on 8 April 2017.)

The actors, however, do fine jobs in this bare-minimum production.  Among Williams’s principal strengths as a playwright were always his lyric dialogue, rising to the level of prose poetry in his best plays, and his characters, especially his women.  Cummings’s cast gives straightforward characterizations, strongly focused and beautifully delivered (including Jay Russell, who took the part of Reverend Winemiller at the performance I saw).

The CSC-Transport presentation of Summer and Smoke is an ensemble show, a strong one, though the portrayals are a bit bland for such a melodramatic property.  One exquisite performance, however, does stand out—that of Marin Ireland as Alma.  I gather that she has a reputation for fine acting, especially in contemporary roles, but I’m unfamiliar with her work.  I can’t compare her Alma with past work, but I can state that her embodiment of this ephemeral and conflicted woman is sensitive and emotionally gripping, and a lovely rendering of the heart of the production.  Alma, like all of Summer and Smoke’s characters, is, at most, two-dimensional, but Ireland keeps her alive and engaging; unfortunately, her John, in the hands of Nathan Darrow, is no match for her on this score.

For a guy who for most of the 2½ hours of this Summer and Smoke (there’s one ten-minute intermission) is a thoroughgoing hedonist, in the interpretation of Darrow, another actor with whom I have no experience, John Buchanan, Jr., is surprisingly tame.  Oh, sure, the script takes care of a number of depravations—he’s stabbed in a bar brawl over gambling, he hooks up with a hot Latina and a teenager, he drives fast—but Darrow’s persona is unthreatening. He fits the John of Eccentricities better than he does the John of Summer and Smoke.

The rest of the company, including Reverend and Mrs. Winemiller and Dr. Buchanan, Sr., do what they have to more than adequately but not excitingly.  This is  yeoman’s ensemble.  Only Hannah Elless’s Nellie Ewell comes close to sparkling—and much of that is accounted for by Williams’s writing.  They were like Laffrey’s set—utilitarian without being extraordinary.  (I will add that Elena Hurst brought a measure of earnest intelligence to her portrayal of Rosa which helped greatly to diminish the negative Latino caricature.)

On the basis of 34 reviews, the website Show-Score gave Cummings’s Summer and Smoke an average rating of 76, a somewhat middling score.  Positive notices made up 71% of the total, 26% were mixed, and 3% were negative.  The highest scoring review was 90, accounting for eight outlets, including BroadwayWorld, Time Out New York, and New York Magazine/Vulture, backed by a single 88 (the website BSonArts); the site’s lowest score was TheaterScene.net’s 45.  I surveyed 15 reviews for my round-up.

In the New York Times, Jesse Green singled out the performance of Marin Ireland for extensive praise.  Calling her “one of the great drama queens of the New York stage,” Green found her “a fascinating if counterintuitive choice” for Alma.  But the Timesman asserted that “the choice pays off; Ms. Ireland is riveting.”  Otherwise, the reviewer lamented, CSC’s revival of Summer and Smoke was “lackluster.”  Cummings “is known for minimalist, or essentialist, stagings,” observed Green; however, “this ‘Summer and Smoke’ has been scraped too close to the bone.”  By way of illustration, he wrote:

Dane Laffrey’s big white shoe box, or coffin, of a set conveys all too well Alma’s empty prospects but offers nothing to suggest either the suffocating trap of her Victorian circumstances or the richness and romance of her imagination.  Her statue of Eternity is not even stone; it’s a framed photograph.

I’m sorry if I seem to be beating a dead horse, but Green appears to feel the same way I do about the physical production at CSC.  He continued:

Williams specified minimalism—no doors or windows—but he meant something more poetic by it. In his production notes he refers to de Chirico and Renaissance paintings as a way of suggesting the natural world Alma must finally embrace.  . . . .  But it mustn’t play out its bleakness too soon or there’s nothing to lose, and thus no drama.

“Ms. Ireland’s imagination is so well calibrated that she manages, almost single-handedly, to correct for that distortion,” Green insisted.  If the production doesn’t fulfill Williams’s full intentions, the Times reviewer felt, “I don’t blame the cast.”  “No,” he insisted, “it’s the parsimony of the production that’s at fault, offering little that’s lovely.” 

Calling Cummings’s production “gripping” in the Village Voice, Zac Thompson contended that Laffrey’s “simple yet effective design is not only in keeping with the author’s production notes” (about which you know now I disagree strenuously).  Thompson felt that “the absence of scenery helps to strip away all distractions from the play’s central struggle between the sensual and the spiritual.”  Like most other reviewers, he heaped praise on Ireland, whose “gutsy depiction of what becomes a last-ditch grab for happiness is piercing and raw,” but the Voice reviewer also found Darrow’s “haunted vulnerability . . . adds poignancy to the character’s professed self-disgust.”

Sara Holdren of New York magazine/Vulture (one of the 90’s) labeled Cummings’s Summer and Smoke“a spare, intelligent, deeply affecting production” in which the director’s “light, exacting touch both lifts and elucidates the text.”  Holdren, too, lauded “the stellar Marin Ireland” whose performance “is an exquisite study in awakening.”  Darrow, she noted, “is delivering a tough, vulnerable performance” as John and the “riveting” Barbara Walsh makes Mrs. Winemiller “one of this Summer and Smoke’s brilliant surprises.”  The New York review-writer was pleased that Cummings and Laffrey didn’t pay any attention to the playwright’s detailed suggestions about the physical design of Summer and Smoke, providing only “a wall-less box that evokes both spartan purity and, despite its open sides, claustrophobia.”  She affirmed that “Cummings knows how little fuss-and-stuff a richly layered piece of writing needs to work on stage,” finding that “the play’s elegant staging is a lesson in trimming the fat.” 

In Time Out New York (another 90), Helen Shaw exclaimed, “Transport Group and Classic Stage Company's exquisite version is strong enough to power a rocket into orbit—and that’s without mentioning the gigantic performance at its center.”  That performance, of course, is Ireland’s and she “plays Alma Winemiller as though the part had been written for her, and as though it had been written yesterday; her Alma is at once radiant and frightening, as heart-stopping as a painting that looks up and catches your eye.”  Shaw declared Darrow “superb” and asserted, “The show is a painful dance between the two.”  She described designer Laffrey’s “cantilevered white roof-and-floor set” as “a tomb with the lid lowering into place” and felt that director Cummings “has taken away the heavy stuff of production so we can focus on—and have our hearts broken by—all those invisible shimmering things.”  The TONY reviewer left us with the thought that “the show does cling to you, hanging around you like a haze even once you’re blocks away.”

Pronouncing this Summer and Smoke revival “sultry and sensitive” (and “far superior” to all other recent revivals), Broadway World’s Michael Dale loaded his notice (yet another 90) with praise of Ireland, declaring her “one of the absolute best actors to regularly grace New York stages during this century.”  Dale proclaimed that Ireland is “so good” as Alma that “she just might have you leaving the theatre thinking that SUMMER AND SMOKE should be regarded right up there with A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE as one of the playwright’s master works.”  Darrow, the BWW review-writer said, gives a “nicely underplayed performance” and the ensemble is “fine.”  The director “creates a minimalist production that effectively focuses on Williams’ words and the captivating performances.” 

On New York Stage Review (still another 90), David Finkle dubbed Cummings’s production of Summer and Smoke a “first-rate, top-drawer, A-number-one revival” with the “treamwork” of “nothing less than the best tandem performance currently available on a New York City stage” as the center of the production.  All this was an excuse for Finkle to say (surprise!) that Ireland has “quietly announced herself as one of the City’s most astonishing players—maybe the best.  As the nervous, uncertain, giddy to the verge of frequent hysteria Alma, she gives her best performance yet.”  Finkle asserted, “Distinguished by an inner glow, she inhabits Alma,” but added, “Just as astonishing is Darrow as” John.  Eliciting “courageous performances” from his cast, Cummings, insisted Finkle, “works . . . at the height of his substantial powers.”

Zachary Stewart of TheaterMania characterized the CSC Summer and Smoke as a “scorching revival” that “smolders with unsatisfied longing thanks to powerful performances and a handsomely pared-down staging by” director Cummings.  Ireland is “commanding” and Darrow exudes the “languid confidence of one who knows he doesn't have to try very hard to be adored.” “A drama of unexpected richness,” Stewart concluded, “Summer and Smoke reaches full bloom in this glorious production” which the TMreviewer observed Cummings “stages . . . with brutal simplicity.”

“Under Jack Cummings III’s careful direction, the cast captures the essence of” Summer and Smoke, said David Roberts of Theatre Reviews Limited.  “Each member of the ensemble cast develops her or his character with sensitivity,” found Roberts, “and each delivers an authentic and believable performance.”  In sum, this Summer and Smoke“is given a captivating interpretation in this well thought out production.”  Fern Siegel of TheaterScene.com dubbed Cummings’s interpretation of Williams’s play “an interesting, stripped-down” production in which Ireland “delivers a standout performance,” though Darrow “does not equal Ireland’s nuanced efforts.”  Cummings’s direction is “minimalist,” but “compelling scenes and a capable ensemble grip our attention.”  Siegel ends by stating that “it is a calibrated Ireland who deserves the shout out this round.”

Jonathan Mandell labels Summer and Smoke at CSC “a minimalist” production “which feels neither classic nor transporting” on New York Theater.  Taking exception to Cummings program statement that he wants to “return the focus back on the actor and the writing,” Mandell contended that “ironically the staging has the opposite effect.”  He argued, “The writing and the acting would certainly be more affecting in the CSC/Transport production, however, if it weren’t for the distraction of the staging.”  Laffrey’s set, the New York Theater writer reported, “looks like something out of a low-budget sci-fi movie about life in a spaceship.”  Miming the props didn’t work for Mandell for several reasons.  In “a fine 12-member cast,” however, Ireland is the “clear standout.” 

JK Clarke of Theater Pizzazz found that Cummings’s “hyper-minimalist approach diminishes” the “inspired” performances of several of the cast.  Clarke also wondered why, with the “beautiful and impressive period costumes (Kathryn Rohe), the stark ecru-and cream rectangular set looks like the ladies footwear department at Bloomingdales, circa 1979.”  The TP reviewer also found the miming of the props “on the whole is [more] distracting than instructive, and doesn’t seem to augment the story in any way.”  Ireland, Clarke felt, “inhabits Alma beautifully, but the strange, austere production design distracts from her character’s development.”  Quoting Mrs. Winemiller’s line “The pieces don’t fit!” Clarke pointed out, “They don’t.” 

The “superb Marin Ireland” gives “a performance of heartbreaking intensity and meticulous desperation” in Summer and Smoke, “joined by Nathan Darrow who . . ., too, is sensational in an almost impossible role,” proclaimed David Hurst on Talkin’ Broadway.  “It's a shame Cumming[s]’s oddly directly production isn’t as electrifying as its stars and their game supporting cast.”  Hurst complained that the director’s “stark concept for this revival” is bereft of “the traditional elements of any Summer and Smoke production.”  He also objected to the miming of the props.  Like so many other reviewers, Hurst lavished praise on Ireland, but in the end he had this to sat about the production overall:

In addition to lots of clumsy blocking, it’s a shame so many distractions of Cumming[s]’s making pull the audience out of the action and away from the story.  Why isn’t the cast using props?  I can forgive the spartan set (though it does nothing to help the story), and all the white lighting, but why have detailed, period costumes with no props.  Can you give John a stethoscope and, for goodness sake, let Alma have a pair of gloves?  And can Mrs. Winemiller please have a hat with a plume?  What does such a decision serve.  It’s bad enough they’re performing in a white cube of sterility and colorlessness, but then you force them to do all this crazy pantomiming.  It’s a testament to how wonderful the cast is that Summer and Smoke remains as affecting and moving as Williams no doubt hoped it would be. 

On CurtainUp, Elyse Sommer, who admitted she’s admired Cummings “for years,” labeled this Summer and Smoke“sluggish” and “disappointing” and complained that “minimalism . . . can distract as is the case here by keeping the audience so focused on trying to figure out what’s happening and where we are.”  Nonetheless, Sommer found the “performances at CSC . . . seemed to be in good hands” with a “solidly cast” ensemble and (once again) singled out Ireland, who “has the acting chops to be [a] riveting Alma.”  (Sommer was also peeved because CSC has started an “annoying custom of not handing out programs until after the show.”  I couldn’t agree more!)  The review-writer concluded by observing, “Even in a disappointing production like this, Williams’s language still gives Ireland’s Alma an opportunity to break our hearts.”

Of Cummings’s production of Summer and Smoke, Samuel L. Leiter declared on Theatre’s Leiter Side, “It’s very likely . . . that, if Summer and Smoke’s lugubrious current Off-Broadway revival . . . were its premiere, it would suffer a fate worse than that of the original.”  Cummings, Leiter observed, follows an aesthetic of “paring shows down to their minimum” claiming that “the point of his sometimes daringly reconceiving familiar plays is to highlight the actors’ work.”  The TLSblogger proclaimed, “In Summer and Smoke, though, he seriously misfires.”  Leiter complained, “Removing all traces of traditional investiture and treating the play as if it were a cousin of the noh theatre completely deprives it of all-important atmosphere . . . and specificity of locale.”  (Leiter is an expert on Japanese theater, including Noh, and had published several books on the subject.)  One of the few reviewers who was displeased with Ireland’s performance, Leiter stated: “As Alma, the usually exciting Marin Ireland does a lot of acting, with numerous emotional transitions, but fails to conjure up the image of a wounded, soulful woman devolving into a creature of the flesh.”  The blogger finished by lamenting, “The uneven supporting cast is mildly satisfactory but, hampered by Cummings’s approach and the lack of a compelling Alma and John, it’s simply not strong enough to sustain interest in this doleful revival.”

In Show-Score’s lowest-rated notice (45), David Kaufman of TheaterScene.net(not to be confused with TheaterScene.com, quoted above) posited that Cummings’s Summer and Smoke“never rises above the play’s failure [in 1948] to become something of an accomplished piece.”  Kaufman complained about the lack of a set and that “the many players (a dozen in all) are often reduced to charades, as they describe a new gaudy hat, or a jigsaw puzzle, or gloves.”  He complimented Ireland somewhat wanly when he observed that “Alma is here played by Marin Ireland with appropriately scenery-chewing effects.” 

[I want to add two comments that don’t really fit in the report above.  One’s a simple complaint (already stated by reviewer Elyse Sommer of CurtainUp: I found that policy of not handing out programs until after the performance annoying and arrogant.  I like to read the program before the show and I like to be able to consult it at intermission.  That’s especially true if, like the CSC program for Summer and Smoke, there are informative essays or articles about the play or production.  But even if all there is are the credits, I still like to look them over to see if there are any actors or other artists whose work I know from before—or new artists about whom I know little.  I usually take my seat in the auditorium several minutes before the performance starts so I can look through the program.  It’s arrogant of the theater’s leadership to take that traditional activity away from me on spurious grounds that programs are some kind of distraction!

[The other note I want to make is about the plumed hat mentioned both in the play and in my report.  This is an interesting little bit of symbolism relating to Tennessee Williams view of himself and his family heritage.  Williams saw the two branches of his family, the Dakins (his mother’s side) and the Williamses (his father’s side) as descendents of the Puritans on the one hand and Cavaliers on the other.  He believed that his own nature was torn by a conflict between these two sides of his personality—represented in Summer and Smoke by Alma (Puritan) and John (Cavalier).  “Roughly there was a combination of puritan and Cavalier strains in my blood which may be accountable for the conflicting impulses I often represent in the people I write about,” the playwright wrote in 1952.  The hat with a plume is a symbol of the Cavalier side of Tennessee Williams’s nature; that’s why it’s in the play at all.  By the way, this isn’t a comment on the CSC production.  I just find it a fascinating little fillip and I wanted to share it.]

“Tony Season: Equity Is Fighting For #Everyoneonstage”

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By Doug Strassler

[Frequent readers ofRick On Theater will have noticed recently that I’ve reported on a number of plays which I labeled “ensemble productions.”  Ensemble casts and ensemble acting is among the interests I have about performance and acting; I even posted one of my earliest articles on this blog on the subject: “Ensembles,” 9 August 2009.  In that article, I observed: “Those astonishing performances that come out of the ensembles, the startling virtual reality they can create and draw you into, are addictive.  Once you’ve had a taste, you want more of that.”  Recognizing that accomplishment, in a way, could spur more of it on American stages.  The Actors Equity Association, the stage actors’ union, seems inclined that way and is campaigning to initiate an ensemble Tony; below is AEA’s plea for support, originally published in Equity News, the union’s  member magazine (vol. 103, number 2 (Spring 2018).]

“Why isn’t there an ensemble award?”

Harvey Fierstein posed this question while accepting his 2003 Tony Award as Best Actor in a Leading Role in a Musical for Hairspray. And he had a point.

That isn’t the only time a Tony winner has expressed such a sentiment. In 1978, Richard Maltby, Jr., Best Director of a Musical for Ain’t Misbehavin’, similarly extolled the virtues of his show’s ensemble: “Someday I would like the Tony committee to find some way to honor what I consider to be the highest achievement in theatre: the collective effort of an ensemble of actors.”

It is clear that there is a history of widespread support for the performers who comprise the choruses and ensembles of Broadway musicals and plays. Yet so far, they remain the one segment of stage performers to never win a Tony – not because they are not deserving, but because there aren’t categories to recognize them.

Actors’ Equity has taken a bold step to try and rectify that. On April 11, Equity announced the launch of a new campaign called Everyone On Stage, which seeks to create two new categories at the Tony Awards beginning with the 2018-2019 Broadway season: Best Chorus in a Musical or Play and Best Ensemble in a Musical or Play.

With the inclusion of these two categories, all Equity performers who appear on a Broadway stage would finally receive award recognition – appreciation of the valuable contribution they provide that would be visible throughout the entire industry.

“It’s not an exaggeration to say that the ensemble is frequently the hardest-working group on the stage,” said Kate Shindle, President of Actors’ Equity. “Today, the Equity members who work in the chorus or ensemble are often expected to do it all: act, sing, dance, even play one or more instruments.”

This push was kicked off when Equity sent an official letter of request to the American Theatre Wing and the Broadway League, the two bodies that produce the Tony Awards. At launch, this campaign included a new website, EveryoneOnStage.com, which includes a look at famous choruses and ensembles of the past, a hypothetical look at what certain productions would have looked like without the contributions of its full chorus and, most importantly, a petition for supporters to sign, committing to their championship of this cause.

“These new Tony Awards Categories can be a win for everyone, from the performers to the producers,” said R. Kim Jordan, 2nd Vice President and Chair of Equity’s Advisory Committee on Chorus Affairs (ACCA). “It's not too soon to start thinking about the next Tony season and how we can ensure that the chorus and ensemble members who are such an important part of bringing a Broadway production to life can be recognized for their invaluable contributions.”

Other bodies have, in fact, honored these talents. The campaign points to a precedent of similarly-minded awards created at other voting bodies in both regional theatre (e.g. Chicago’s Joseph Jefferson Awards, Washington, D.C.’s Helen Hayes Awards) and at SAG-AFTRA, which created ensemble acting awards for film and television at their annual televised awards ceremonies more than two decades ago.

It was while watching a telecast of the SAG Awards that Jordan brainstormed the two new categories. She feels that this recognition is unquestionably deserved for all performers, and that their inclusion also paints a more accurate picture of the team spirit it takes to ensure success onstage.

“While I was watching, I noticed that the award that got the most enthusiasm was the ensemble award,” Jordan said, “and I get it. This is the equivalent of when a sports team wins their conference. On the team that wins, each contributor gets recognized. It’s a ‘you make me better’ thing.”

ACCA was among the first groups to decide that Broadway choruses deserved award recognition; they began handing out their Outstanding Broadway Chorus Award in 2007. This honor is currently the only industry award specifically designed to recognize the contributions of the original chorus of a Broadway musical.

Reaction to this campaign was quick and overwhelmingly positive. “Having proudly spent a large part of my career as a member of the chorus, I support Equity’s effort wholeheartedly,” said Eastern Chorus Councillor Kirsten Wyatt. “We are triple (sometimes quadruple and quintuple) threats, and I think it is recognition that is long overdue.”

“For generations, members of the Chorus have been the unsung heroes of Broadway’s musical legacy,” said Joanne Borts, Eastern Principal Councillor. “Can you imagine West Side Story, Oklahoma! or Fiddler on the Roof without the singers and dancers of the chorus? Or modern-day musicals like Kinky Bootsand Hamilton without the women and men who help to tell these vibrant stories? It’s impossible – these performers are truly the backbone of the American musical: the people who make theatrical magic happen.”

Jenn Colella, a member in the Eastern Region, echoes that sentiment completely. Colella is currently in the breakout feel-good musical Come From Away on Broadway, and was the one member of the cast to receive a Tony nomination, as Best Featured Actress. Still, “It would have been so incredible to have shared that nomination with my family at Come From Away last season!” she said. “I am wholeheartedly in support of the Tony Awards honoring the chorus and the full ensemble of Broadway shows. I truly hope that this comes to fruition.”

Eastern Principal Councillor Stephen Bogardus certainly knows a thing or two about awards selection. He has been a Tony Award voter as well as a nominator, and understands that certain principal roles lend themselves to nominations. “There are certain arcs, certain things people are asked to do, that you say, ‘That’s a Tony kind of role,’” he said.

He even played one of those roles himself, garnering a 1995 Best Featured Actor in a Play nomination for the Terrence McNally hit Love! Valour! Compassion! He was one of three actors nominated for a play that consisted of seven actors, all of whom played substantial, demanding roles that interfaced with one another.

“I think everyone in that show would have been very honored to be recognized as an ensemble,” he said. “When you’re in a show you’re not there to get a Tony nomination; that’s the icing on the cake if you get that recognition. Look at all the August Wilson plays – the fabric of a play is that it’s an ensemble piece. Everyone makes the piece what it is.”

Eastern Chorus Councillor Jonathan Brody also believes that these categories will echo the sentiment of many in the community. “I've so often heard people say, ‘What a strong ensemble a show has’ or ‘The chorus works harder than the leads!’” he said. “There are well-known and respected performers working on Broadway who have made careers going from one chorus to another, never getting mentioned in reviews or getting the recognition of their more featured peers. They contribute so much to a show's success and often its development, it’s high time they are recognized for this.”

Among the other instant proponents of the Everyone On Stage campaign is Andy Karl, who began his career as a chorus member (he even lists his ACCA Award in his bio!) before transitioning into the role of Tony-nominated principal actor (Groundhog Day, On the Twentieth Century, Rocky).

“I’m very much in support of chorus and ensemble recognition,” he said. “I’ve had good fortune in the theatre over the years, and it has always been obvious that a great ensemble deserves special credit, never more so then when I was a principal in a show.

“The ensemble gives an incredible amount of effort to tell the story, and in Groundhog Day especially the ensemble had to produce as much storytelling as I had in the ‘lead’ role. Personally, every role I’ve ever had, either ensemble or principal, I’ve been asked to create, practice, nuance and energize my performance to make the production its best. Ensembles absolutely deserve recognition for their incredible efforts.”

According to Lindiwe Dlamini, an original chorus member of Sarafina! and the last original chorus member still performing in The Lion King on Broadway, this kind of appreciation is a long time in coming: “I’ve always felt that chorus people are not often recognized, but they do a lot of the work. They’re just as important to the show. We say in The Lion King, ‘the chorus members are the true principals of the show – we are in it from the beginning to the end;’ more than the actual principals, some of whom are only onstage for fifteen minutes! We also understudy the principal roles.”

Chorus and ensemble members clearly do a significant amount more than just fill the background of a scene. The manner in which chorus and ensemble members weave together the fabric of a narrative requires much technical aplomb. “They are the hardest-working people on Broadway,” Bogardus said. “They’re there in the background, and when they have finished a dance, they do all the work in transitioning to the next scene, and they do it with panache, with élan, enhancing the whole scene.”

These categories could also serve to demystify the notion that chorus parts are only a stepping-stone to principal roles and eventual fame. As both Brody and Dlamini referenced, it would be incorrect to assume that chorus or ensemble roles are a temporary career step on the way to principal roles or greater fame. Many performers are proud to carve out a lifelong career in such roles, which provide stability, the opportunity to employ the skills they have honed over a lifetime and the ability to surround themselves with similarly-minded professionals.

“Some of the most important and wonderful performances I have seen onstage have come from chorus members, including those who constantly understudy stars who play leading roles,” Equity Business Representative Corey Jenkins said. “They are extraordinary performers who make their lives and careers out of chorus work. They are the stabilizers onstage across the entire company.”

“Without the ensemble,” Dlamini said, “I don’t think The Lion King would be what it is. There are many people who have been with the company for a long time. They have made being in the chorus their career. I am actually surprised a decision to recognize the chorus hasn’t been made before.”

Jennifer Cody, Eastern Chorus Councillor, has appeared in the ensemble of such Broadway shows as Urinetown, The Pajama Game, Taboo and Shrek the Musical. Like Dlamini, she knows firsthand what it feels like for a hit show to be celebrated and for nonprincipal performers to feel overlooked.

“You create this new show and are such a part of developing it as an ensemble member, and all this hoopla happens,” she said, “but only the principals of the show are celebrated – they’re given gifts, they’re taken to dinner and we go, ‘We did this too!’”

Cody also points out that due to the changing economics of Broadway, choruses and ensembles have gotten smaller – making each member on a production that much more valuable. “We are now elite,” she said. “Where there were once twenty people on a show, now maybe there are eight. And we have to sing and dance and play multiple roles within a show and understudy roles too. The ensemble members take on so much more of a load than they ever have before.”

It frequently falls on the members of a chorus or ensemble to physically guide the audience’s view. They serve as a spotlight, the stage equivalent of a zoom lens, focusing attention in the direction of a certain principal or set piece and away from something else. Their ability to literally help set the stage makes it all the more bittersweet that they go unrecognized at Tony time.

“Look at the history of choreographers,” said Bogardus. “These people told stories with their dancers and they told amazing stories with their ensemble. Choreographers are recognized for their work, but what about the actor-dancers who provide the extraordinary palette and bring the picture to life with their collective individuality? It’s long overdue that they have an award that recognizes their extraordinary contribution to making a successful show.”

Perhaps the greatest value in Tony Awards for chorus and ensemble might be their literal payoff, serving as a way for producers to market their shows.

Brody agrees: “Having this recognition from the Tony Awards would certainly add cache to a show and add to the nominations and awards counts that help advertise and sell a show,” he said. “It would also help burnish the careers of countless performers.”

Such a win, of course, is also great for the individual. “Producers often undervalue the Equity chorus member,” said Ben Liebert, Eastern Chorus Councillor. “Maybe this will wake them up. If the Tonys care about the chorus, then the audience will care about the chorus, and the producers have to care about the chorus. That changes the bargaining game and could put real money in our pockets.”

The message is loud and clear: the time is now to sing a different tune at the Tony Awards – for those who comprise the backbone of a show to get some face time.

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JOIN THE CROWD

Other Equity members have also sung the praises of #EveryoneOnStage. This is what they have had to say!

ARIANE DOLAN[Midwest: Young Frankenstein, Sunset Boulevard, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Spamalot, Funny Girl, Oklahoma!, Brigadoon, The Producers, It’s A Bird, It’s A Plane, It’s Superman, Crazy For You, Cats, The Tempest, West Side Story]

“The chorus and ensemble are the most versatile, hardest working actors, and are responsible for making a show fly. Recognition for them by the Tony committee is long overdue.”


FRANCIS JUE[Broadway: Pacific Overtures, Thoroughly Modern Millie, M. Butterfly; Off-Broadway: The World of Extreme Happiness, Kung Fu, Love’s Labor’s Lost, Coraline, Yellow Face, The Winter’s Tale, Hamlet, Dream True: My Life with Vernon Dixon, Pericles, Timon of Athens, King Lear, A Language of Their Own, The Tragedy of Richard II, Pacific Overtures]

“It’s time to honor the chorus with a Tony Award, to acknowledge their impact on their shows and the art form.”


SAYCON SENGBLOH[Broadway: Eclipsed, Holler If Ya Hear Me, Motown The Musical, Fela!, Hair, The Color Purple, Wicked, Aida; OB: The Red Letter Plays: In the Blood, Eclipsed, Hurt Village, Hair]

“I absolutely believe in a Tony Award for the ensemble! I was thrilled to receive my first Tony award nomination for Eclipsed— being a part of such a strong Broadway ensemble was one of the highlights of my career.”


JENNIFER SMITH[Broadway: Anastasia, Tuck Everlasting, A Gentleman’s Guide to Love & Murder, Nice Work If You Can Get It, A Tale of Two Cities, The Drowsy Chaperone, The Producers, High Society, The Scarlet Pimpernel, Once Upon a Mattress, Victor / Victoria, She Loves Me, The Secret Garden, A Change in the Heir, La Cage aux Folles; OB:White Lies, One Two Three Four Five]

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[Doug Strassler writes about the entertainment industry.  During one year, Strassler saw almost 300 plays, 200 movies, and over 100 different TV shows.  He’s the editor at OffOffOnline.com and of the New York IT Awards newsletter, and was editor-at-large at Show Business magazine.  His writing can also be found in New York Press, Back Stage, Our Town Downtown, and West Side Spirit, and on Broadway Direct, TheaterMania, TailSlate, and The Critical Condition.  In 2010, Strassler served on the special nominating committee for the Drama Desk.]



'Paradise Blue'

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One of the things I like about subscribing to the Signature Theatre Company’s season is that it’s an easy way to get to see multiple works by playwrights I don’t know.  In past years, I’ve been introduced to Will Eno, Quiara Alegría Hudes, Branden Jacobs-Jenkins, and Annie Baker, among others.  (It’s also been a good way to catch up with writers I do know but don’t manage to see often enough, but that’s note for another report.)  This month was Dominique Morisseau’s turn.  As with many of the others, I’d heard Morisseau’s name; her last play in New York City, Pipeline, was presented last summer by Lincoln Center Theater.  I’d never seen any of her plays, however, so I was pleased when Morisseau was named to a Residency 5 at Signature, which will entitle her to three productions at the Pershing Square Signature Center over a five-year residency.  The 2017-18 season has brought one of her plays to Signature’s stages; the remainder of her work in the residency has not been scheduled, but I look forward to seeing the plays in upcoming seasons.

Morisseau’s first offering at Signature is Paradise Blue, the second play of the dramatist’s three-play cycle (but the first in the chronology of their settings), The Detroit Project.  It premièred at the Williamstown Theatre Festival in Massachusetts (where it was also developed) in 2015 with Ruben Santiago-Hudson as the director and STC cast members Kristolyn Lloyd as Pumpkin and Keith Randolph Smith as Corn.  (Both Detroit ’67, set during the Detroit riots of July 1967, and Skeleton Crew, about auto-workers during the recession of 2008, the other two scriptsin the series, were first staged in New York: Public Theater, Classical Theatre of Harlem/National Black Theatre – 2013; Atlantic Theater Company – 2016, respectively.) 

Paradise Blue underwent further development at Princeton, New Jersey’s McCarter Theatre, the New York Theatre Workshop, and New York’s Public Theater, and the TimeLine Theatre Company of Chicago gave it a mounting in 2017; the Signature presentation is Paradise Blue’s New York City début.  The play won the 2012 L. Arnold Weissberger New Play Award and the 2015 Edgerton Foundation New Play Award.  The current production, in the Signature Center’s variable-space, black-box Romulus Linney Courtyard Theatre, started previews on 24 April 2018 and opened on 14 May.  Diana, my theater friend, and I saw the 8 p.m. performance on Saturday, 19 May; the production is scheduled to close on 17 June (extended twice from 3 June). 

Morisseau, 40, was born in Detroit to a mother from Mississippi and a father from Haiti.  She’s trained as an actor, with a BFA in acting from the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor (which is also where she met her husband, Jimmy “J.” Keys,  a music promoter and hip-hop musician also from Detroit, whom she married in 2013.)  She began her theater career as a performer, starting as a speaker of live poetry—which may account for some of her writing style, which is lyrical in the vein of Tennessee Williams and August Wilson, a model for her playwriting.  One of her roles was in a 2008 workshop staging of The Mountaintop by Katori Hall, who became a Residency 5 playwright at Signature in 2011; she repeated her performance in The Mountaintop at the Actors Theatre of Louisville in 2013.  Morisseau continues to act, but she says she won’t appear in any of the premières of her own plays.

Finding a dearth of roles for her at U of M, Morisseau began writing plays herself.  One of her first scripts, written while she was still in college, was The Blackness Blues – Time to Change the Tune (A Sister’s Story) (1998), “a choreopoem like Ntozake Shange writes” which she also directed (as well as choreographed, performed in, produced, and designed lights for).  She returned to the Lark Play Development Center in New York City, where she had acted in Hall’s Mountaintop in 2008, with a Playwrights of New York (PoNY) fellowship in 2012 and ’13.  She has also worked with City University of New York’s Creative Arts Team as a Teaching Artist.  In October 2015, American Theatre included Morisseau in its list of Top 20 Most-Produced Playwrights for the 2015-16 season at number 10 with 10 productions across the U.S. in non-profit theaters (all members of the Theatre Communications Group, publisher of AT).  (The playwright is a writer and story editor on the Showtime cable series Shameless.)

Morisseau writes disquieting social dramas which spotlight the African-American experience—much the way August Wilson’s celebrated plays do.  Like Wilson’s feeling for his hometown, Morisseau has a strong affection for Detroit, “a city,” one journalist recently observed, “that outsiders have repeatedly left for dead.”  She recounts:

I thought, after reading [Wilson’s] cycle of Pittsburgh, that the people of Pittsburgh must feel so valued after reading this man’s work, and I wanted the people of Detroit to have an author doing the same thing for them. . . .  I love my city, so this trilogy is also my way of spreading that love.

Paradise Blue bears some significant similarities in theme and plot elements with August Wilson’s Jitney (see my report on Manhattan Theatre Club’s Broadway production of Wilson’s play, posted on 24 February 2017), which was also directed by Santiago-Hudson.

The Washington Post reviewer Peter Marks called Morisseau a “social observer of invigorating insight” and declared that “she reveals a knack . . . for nuanced accounts of the travails of blue-collar men and women and the questionable choices that illuminate their complicated lives.”  Her prose combines the lyricism of her Southern roots and the musicality of her father’s Caribbean heritage.  The playwright’s mother was an elementary school teacher and devoted to literature and the arts, so she got her daughter into dance at her aunt’s dance company, starting her in performance, and read her poetry, which informed the budding dramatist’s writing.

Morisseau has said that music also plays an important role in her dramaturgy and (as sister STC playwright Quiara Alegría Hudes has also said—see my report on Daphne’s Dive, posted on Rick On Theater on 29 May 2016) acknowledges that it often informs the script she’s writing: “It’s a resource and clue to my work, and music plays a unifier among cultural barriers.”  Her husband is a musician and hip-hop artist and she was also a dancer as a child and used to play the piano, so music is part of the idiom of her life and art.  “Music is everything and everything is music to me,” she says.”  (As you’ll soon learn, Paradise Blue is set in the world of jazz musicians and clubs in 1949 Detroit.  There is considerable music, both on record and “live,” in the production: Silver travels with a record player and her album collection and Blue “plays” a few licks on his trumpet when he’s alone.  Original music for the production was composed by jazz trumpeter and trombonist Kenny Rampton; Bill Sims, Jr., is the music director for Paradise Blue.)

Paradise Blue is a two-act play (one intermission) set in Detroit in 1949.  The Blackbottom neighborhood, the center of African-American life in Detroit, is slated for “urban renewal” by Albert Cobo (1893-1957; city treasurer, 1935-50; mayor, 1950-57).  Paradise Valley, the business and entertainment district of Blackbottom, is home to many jazz clubs, including Paradise Blue, the focus of Morisseau’s play.  The great jazz artists such as Billie Holiday, Sam Cooke, Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Billy Eckstine, Pearl Bailey, and Count Basie perform in the area’s clubs and boîtes—and the Linney walls are decorated with reproductions of posters for such artists.  (Blackbottom, usually spelled Black Bottom, was totally razed by the so-called slum clearance, and never rebuilt.  Mayor Cobo instead expanded Detroit’s freeway system and built highways through the neighborhood, obliterating Paradise Valley, the site of which can no longer even be found as all the landmarks have disappeared.  Cobo had won the mayoralty by campaigning to halt “the Negro invasion of white neighborhoods in Detroit.”)  “I knew I wanted to tell a story about how we lost Paradise Valley . . .,” explains Morisseau.  “Theatre allows you to resurrect people, places, and communities.” 

The play is set up as a sort of flashback, though theatergoers might not spot that (Diana didn’t).  It opens on Blue (J. Alphonse Nicholson) “playing” his trumpet alone at a mic on a dimly lit stage of Paradise Blue, the jazz club where he and his band play.  Within seconds, he mimes an action (which I won’t specify) that, if the viewer remembers it two hours and 20 minutes later, is a foreshadow of the play’s last moment.  Following a black-out, the lights return to normal and the action of the play begins as Pumpkin (Kristolyn Lloyd), the club’s Cinderella and gal Friday, is sweeping the empty bar.  Corn (Keith Randolph Smith), the piano man, and P-Sam (Francois Battiste), the percussionist, arrive.  They’re waiting for Blue, wondering if he’s going to sell the club to the city for “slum clearance” (“We the blight he talkin’ about,” says P-Sam.) and if he’s replaced Joe, the bassist, who’s quit over Blue’s dictatorial management style (“My club.  My band.  Ain’t nobody gettin’ solo time but me,” he proclaims).

Blue, a gifted but haunted trumpeter and the owner of Paradise Blue, is torn between remaining in Blackbottom with Pumpkin, his loyal girlfriend, and leaving behind a traumatic past.  It’s no surprise that the band members want the club to remain open so they can keep their gig.  The arrival of a mysterious woman named Silver (Simone Missick), however, stirs up curiosity and concern and the fate of Paradise Blue comes into doubt.  After all, the  joint isn’t doing well at the box office and is about to succumb to the wrecking ball anyway—along with the rest of the neighborhood.

Blue is tormented by memories of his mother, strangled to death by his mentally unbalanced father, a jazzman from whom Blue inherited both the club and his musical chops, because he saw the devil trying to take her.  He’s also on a lifelong search, according to Corn, for “Love Supreme”—“what we call it when you hit that perfect note that cleans your sins.  Like white light bathin’ him with mercy.  It’s that part in the music that speak directly to God, and make you ready to play with the angels,” Corn explains.  Pumpkin is devoted to Blue, so much so that she excuses and overlooks all his angry and insensitive behavior; she also loves to recite poetry aloud.  (The playwright, who you recall performed spoken poetry in her pre-playwriting days, has Pumpkin drawn to the verse of Harlem Renaissance poet and playwright Georgia Douglas Johnson, 1880-1966, because Morisseau wanted an “under-known” Black woman poet.)  Blue’s intemperance makes the volatile hustler P-Sam (because he’s “Percussionist” Sam—though he hates to be called just Sam) seem almost reasonable, and Corn (short for Cornelius) is the older man of reason (just as Smith’s character in Jitney, Doub, was), except that he guesses wrong about almost everyone. 

Silver, the epitome of a noir femme, is a disrupter and an honest-to-God black widow, having shot her husband before arriving at Paradise Blue (which also rents rooms upstairs) from Louisiana.  (Her widow’s weeds—the costumes are designed by Clint Ramos and the ’40s-style hair and wigs are by Charles G. Lapointe—are a cross between the Black Knight’s suit of armor and something Sleeping Beauty’s evil stepmother might wear.)  Her very walk gives away her personality as soon as she makes her appearance (Signature’s casting notice described it as “a meeeeaaaannnn walk”), and she immediately captivates everyone, including Pumpkin.  Morisseau’s play is really less about the story than it is about the interaction among these denizens of Blackbottom and Paradise Blue; the plot, what little of it there is, is the catalyst for the character study.

Paradise Blue is Morisseau’s (stage) take on a film noir, which fits right in with the 1949 setting and the jazz-joint milieu.  (The playwright has said that as a child, she was “very much into mysteries” and even “tried to write a few myself.”  Since the mystery movies of the ’40s were often noir films, that’s another likely link to the genre for Paradise Blue.)  Slinky, fataleSilver isn’t the only noir element in the play: there’s the moody jazz score (there’s something about a lone—and lonely—trumpet that just shouts “noir”); the shadowy club lighting (designed by Rui Rita), the sword hanging over the club, neighborhood, and characters; Blue’s mercurial temperament; the undercurrents of violence and sexuality; the many unspoken secrets the characters are hiding.  There’s even a genuine McGuffin in the guise of a pistol Pumpkin finds in Silver’s dresser drawer when she goes snooping while changing the bed linen.  Once Pumpkin reveals the gun—and later Silver lets on she knows Pumpkin found it and it’s produced a second time—we know it’ll be used sooner or later.  (Shades of Alfred Hitchcock—a dab hand at the art of noir!)  Like any film noir, you know that Paradise Blue will not end happily and no one will come out a winner.

Director Santiago-Hudson, who also helmed Morisseau’s Skeleton Crew at ATC , has the Linney set up with audience on two opposite sides of the runway-like stage, which runs along the short axis of the Linney from wall to wall; the audience risers are oriented along the room’s long axis.  (Our seats were on the left side as we entered the Linney.  I’ll orient my description as I was looking at it.)  The acting area, as designed by Neil Patel, incorporates the Paradise Blue’s bar on my right with a few café tables; the bandstand containing P-Sam’s drum set, Corn’s piano, and the mic where Blue reaches for that Love Supreme in the middle; the upstairs bedroom Silver rents on a slightly raised platform on the far left; and the second-floor corridor along the right side of the runway (the rear of the stage from my perspective).  Entrances are made from “outside” the bar below the counter (again, from my point of view) or from the “kitchen” (and the stairs to the second floor) above it.  Rui Rita’s lights are cross-faded as the action moves from one area to another, but no area is blacked out as characters not involved in the scene could be in one of the other spaces, such as Silver in her room or moving along the corridor. 

The look, both in Patel’s set and in Ramos’s costumes, is befitting the 1949 setting and rundown nature of the building.  Neither the bar nor the people are doing all that well—though Blue and the others put up a good front.  (We don’t learn much of Silver’s circumstances but she has access to money since she’s maneuvering to buy Paradise Blue.)  Overhanging the stage is a large sign made up of light bulbs that proclaims “PARADISE” in huge letters as if to designate an oasis in the downtrodden world that is Blackbottom.  Sound designer Darron L West’s jazz music track, supplementing Silver’s records and Blue’s trumpet-playing, adds to the overall period-and-milieu atmosphere.

Jazz is a metaphor in Paradise Blue, not the subject or the theme of the play.  But it infuses the production as it does the lives of the characters and the life of Paradise Valley.  It’s the quintessential African-American art form, an expression, in its foundation in improvisation and self-expression, of freedom, an outlet for creativity denied black Americans in many other fields—and it became universally popular first at home among white Americans then abroad.  Furthermore, jazz is largely, almost entirely, about feelings, often exuberant when much of the rest of African-American life—as exemplified by Blackbottom and its imminent fate—was soul-crushing.  As much as jazz is symbolic of black liberation in its spiritual sense, Blackbottom and Paradise Valley are symbols of black entrepreneurship and economic independence.  (The neighborhood was settled by African Americans during the Great Migration to the industrial cities of the North from the former Confederacy following Reconstruction.  The migrants were fleeing the oppressive triad of inescapable poverty, racial violence, and Jim Crow discrimination.) 

There are, though, some significant aspects of Morisseau’s plot that I couldn’t parse.  First, the struggle over who’ll buy Blue’s club, assuming he doesn’t sell it to the city.  Both Silver and P-Sam (who hit the number) have designs on the joint—P-Sam even suggests a deal between him and Silver to sort of double-time Blue.  I don’t get it.  If Blue doesn’t sell out to the city, Mayor-elect Cobo, when he takes office in the new year, will simply condemn the property and seize it.  No matter who owns it after Cobo becomes mayor, the wrecking ball gets it.  (The characters don’t have to know that the area won’t be rebuilt—that’s not even relevant.)  Second, Pumpkin is consistently disrespected by Blue, which she keeps excusing, but we never see him use violence.  Yet, after being his dishrag all these years, at the very end of the play, out of nowhere I could discern, she abruptly turns on him.  What does that get her?  It won’t save the club or the band.   If it’s some kind of revenge for unrevealed abuse, it isn’t in the play; if it’s not, the punishment doesn’t fit the crime.

As usual at Signature, the acting was good.  But Morisseau laid a trap for the performers and Santiago-Hudson didn’t avoid it.  The characters aren’t clichés or stock and they’re not really predictable, but they seem to be following a predetermined path.  They seemed programmed and none of the actors broke the sense I had that they were all on a railroad track that was taking them to a planned end.  What I said to Diana at intermission was that I felt as if Morisseau had started with a vision of the play’s ending (I won’t spoil it by being specific) and went about contriving a story that led there, essentially working backwards so that each scene would comprise a plot that took the characters step by step to that outcome.  It isn’t character-driven or plot-driven so much as conclusion-driven. 

In a corollary to the programmatic characters, they’re also overly consistent, leading the actors to give, if not one-note performances, then ones in which a single tone is dominant.  As Blue, Nicholson is either barely keeping his anger in check or lashing out.  (It made me wonder why Pumpkin remains so devoted to him—but that’s her problem.)  Missick’s Silver never lets down her air of mystery and secrecy so that it reaches the extent that it becomes banal.  Lloyd makes Pumpkin such a Pollyanna that it’s hard to believe anyone could miss the bad things happening all around her, seeing no threat from Silver, who mesmerizes Pumpkin, or the violence beneath Blue’s skin.  One consequence of this is that the play’s final final moment comes out of nowhere.

As Daub in Jitney, Smith was wise and perspicacious, giving good guidance even if no one takes it.  As Corn, he dispenses wisdom, which no one in Paradise Blue takes, either—but his judgment of human nature and situations is off and he keeps getting them wrong.  Nonetheless, he doles it out continuously and neither he nor anyone else calls him on it.  Battiste’s P-Sam is like a porcupine with his quills always out, though he never quite goes off.  He makes plans and cooks up schemes, but never sees them through.  He’s always so on edge, I wondered how he never had an aneurysm. 

As director, Santiago-Hudson doesn’t help his cast out of these monochrome portrayals, however well the actors execute them. These are pretty big problems, I think, but the other work, including Morisseau’s writing, is of high enough quality to mollify the fault—though not completely overcome it.  Paradise Blue consequently remains an artificial drama, sort of the way a video game isn’t as authentic as a movie. 

On Show-Score, on the basis of 26 published reviews, the website gave Paradise Blue an average score of 76.  Positive notices made up 85% of the total and mixed reviews made up 15%; there were no negative notices.  There were three scores of 90 at the top (Broadway World, Stage Left, and Exeunt Magazine), followed by seven 85’s (including CurtainUp and Theater Pizzazz); the site’s lowest rating was two 60’s (TheaterScene.netand Variety), backed up by two 65’s (New York Times and Village Voice).  My round-up will encompass 14 reviews.

In the New York Times, Jesse Green commented on the names Morisseau gave her characters by quipping, “The bassist has quit, perhaps because his name was just Joe”; the women are called Silver and Pumpkin, “as if they were paint chips.”  Then Green added more seriously, “Everything is overripe . . . in ‘Paradise Blue’ . . . .  The names are the least of it.”  Green saw that Morisseau seemed to want the play to center on the tormented artist—“Cost o’ bein’ colored and gifted.  Brilliant and second class make you insane” is how Corn explains Blue’s erratic behavior—but found “that explanation, however true, isn’t effectively dramatized.”  For “a play that features so much talk of jazz and poetry, the real estate story is the most compelling aspect of ‘Paradise Blue.’”  Green felt that the play “so overplays its genre tropes that the characters feel like incoherent afterthoughts.  Especially in the second act, as the plot tries to wind itself into a climax, they stop making sense.”  His overall assessment of the production is:

Instead of resisting that problem, Mr. Santiago-Hudson . . . doubles down on it.  Every choice seems as extreme as possible, from the cut of the costumes . . . to the chiaroscuro lighting . . . .  The performances, too, are hot and compelling in the way a five-alarm fire is, making you want to keep watching but also keep your distance.

The Timesman was especially critical of Nicholson’s Blue, whose “intensity is especially alarming”; but the reviewer added thar “Ms. Missick makes a stunning New York theater debut just walking across the stage.”  His final judgment was that Paradise Blue, “despite several years of development[,] feels like a work that merits deeper and longer reconsideration.  Though it engages powerful ideas in a format too weak to handle them, that’s a much more promising problem than the other way around.”

For New York magazine/Vulture, Sara Holdren asserted at her review’s outset that “Paradise Blue . . . is one of those plays that feels, for the most part, powerful when you witness it, and starts to spur more and more questions of character and logic the farther you get from it.”  Holdren continued, however: “That’s not necessarily a dire flaw.”  Now, I dislike quoting reviews at length in my reports, but New York magazine’s review-writer has penned a disquisition that states part of her opinion in detail:

The play . . . feels fable-like.  It’s got the pull of fate to it, an air of moody melodrama that, at least in the moment, helps it gloss over questions of strict behavioral naturalism, of real actions and real consequences, in favor of a lively experimentation with archetypes and genre tropes.  In particular, Morisseau is playing with noir, and in Paradise Blue’s most exciting moments, she both digs into our expectations for this kind of smoky, 1940s, damaged-dudes-and-dangerous-dames narrative and overturns them.

Holdren had considerable difficulty with the problematic ending of Paradise Blue (as did I) and in the final analysis, she concluded:

Paradise Blue balances somewhere between a truthful portrait of human suffering, awakening, and transformation in a gritty, changing city, and a genre exercise that obscures details of justification and consequence through a glass of dark glamour.  Despite the murky fun of a good noir, I prefer the moments when, outside of archetype, I can see the play’s characters clearly.

Despite what I said above about quoting reviews at length, Helen Shaw of the Village Voice authored such a pungent description of her view of Paradise Blue that I have to share it:

The moment Silver walks through the door of Paradise Blue’s set, we know where we really are.  We’re not just in Paradise Valley, the legendary jazz-club strip in Detroit’s Black Bottom neighborhood.  Once Silver, played with glacial grace by Simone Missick, slinks in wearing her tight-fitting widow’s weeds, we see our surroundings for what they are.  We’ve slipped out of the real world of 1949 and between the pages of a hard-boiled noir.  From here on in, the femmes will be fatale, the men either lovable saps or tortured creeps, and the streets—as Raymond Chandler would have said—will be dark with something more than night. 

Shaw had some caveats, too, however: “Morisseau’s ability to exploit the genre applies itself unevenly.  Sometimes she’s got noir firmly in her grasp, while at other times (particularly in the final scene), you realize that she hasn’t stage-managed all the necessary motives and confrontations.”  Of the New York première, she said, “Still, the piece gets significantly better as it goes along, and the production—gorgeously sound-designed by Darron L. West—has its own swing and strut.”  The Voice reviewer concluded, “When Paradise Blue is running smoothly, it smuggles its insights onstage under cover of pulpiness.”  In the New Yorker’s “Goings On About Town” column, the unnamed reviewer called Santiago-Hudson’s mounting a “charming and often incisive production” which “zips along with the spirit and verve of the music that imbues it, offering a rich slice of postwar African-American life, not least in Neil Patel’s spot-on set and Clint Ramos’s delectable period costumes.”

In Time Out New York, Raven Snook asserted, “Like the passionate music played in the 1949 Detroit jazz joint where it’s set, Dominique Morisseau’s Paradise Blue attempts to harmonize disparate influences.”  She named August Wilson, Tennessee Williams, and Alice Walker as recognizable influences, but acknowledged that “the playwright’s singular voice eventually rings out.”  Snook reported that “Blue comes off as a bit of a cipher, . . . because his decline is a metaphor for what happened to the Motor City’s famed African-American enclave Black Bottom, which was razed by wealthy white interests.  But the supporting characters in his orbit have much richer melodies . . . under Ruben Santiago-Hudson’s lucid direction.”  The TONYreview-writer’s final analysis was that the play “has overlong riffs and isn’t as satisfying as her Obie-winning Skeleton Crew.  Yet its haunting themes are liable to get stuck in your head.”

Frank Scheck’s “Bottom Line” in the Hollywood Reporter was “The language sings” and he went on to say, “There’s a musicality to Dominique Morisseau’s new drama, and it’s not only because the action takes place in a jazz club.”  Scheck caviled, however, that “the thin storyline takes a back seat to the rich language on display; like many a jazz composition, Paradise Blue doesn’t cohere very well, but there are some dazzling solos.”  The HRreviewer found the seduction of Corn by Silver “the play’s most compelling, fully realized aspect,” complaining, “The evening’s other plot strands prove thinner,” labeling them “forced,” “out of nowhere,” and “underdeveloped,” leading to a “melodramatic ending that feels unconvincing.”  Scheck demurred some, however, asserting that “the play feels very much alive anyway, thanks to Morisseau’s prodigious gifts for language and creating small moments that register with significant emotional impact.”  He lauded Santiago-Hudson’s directing for “infusing the proceedings with vivid atmosphere” and for the “mostly superb turns” he elicits “from the ensemble, which delivers the sort of lived-in performances that make you forget they’re acting.”  The reviewer had praise especially for Missick’s performance (“mesmerizing”), Patel’s set design, Ramos’s costumes, and Rampton’s score.  In the end, Scheck decided, “Paradise Blue may be an imperfect play, but it’s receiving a nearly perfect production.“
 
In Variety (one of Show-Score’s low-rated notices at 60), Marilyn Stasio, dubbing Paradise Blue a “black-and-bluesy play,” lamented that while the real-estate background “lends a good deal of perspective to the play, . .  it’s too bad that the playwright didn’t make it integral to her plot-thin drama.”   Stasio found, “Lacking that kind of thematic core, the play restricts itself to being an atmospheric but insubstantial slice of dramatic life.”  The Variety reviewer reported, “In lieu of a plot, Morisseau presents us with a cast of full-bodied characters.”  On the positive side, Stasio felt that “under the confident direction of Ruben Santiago-Hudson, the thesps have a good handle on their characters and the creative team offers them heroic support” and praised Patel’s set, Rita’s lighting, and West’s sound designs.  Blue is Morisseau’s surrogate for the fate of Blackbottom and Paradise Valley, Stasio explained, “But in order to be that character, Blue needs more depth, along with a richer sense of humanity.”

Elyse Sommer of CurtainUp, noting that the play is “a fine way to launch Morisseau’s Signature residency,” observed that some focal aspects of Paradise Blue are “just a tad clichéd,” but added that “Mr. Santiago-Hudson and this ensemble make them very classy classy [sic] clichés.”  Sommer found that “Santiago-Hudson has a good feel for the special nuances in . . . Morisseau’s . . . work” and has “fine tuned [the playwright’s distinctive voice] and the flexible Romulus Linney Courtyard Theater has enabled him and his designers to make the audience . . . feel immersed in” the play’s milieu.  All the actors are “excellent,” but “it’s Lloyd’s Pumpkin and Smith’s Corn who are the most emotionally engaging characters.”

On Broadway World, Michael Dale (in one of Show-Score’s high-scoring 90’s) proclaimed that Paradise Blue“firmly establishes Morisseau as one of the most exciting voices to be heard at New York theatres”; he declared her “a playwright who firmly tackles controversial issues through realistic characters while embracing the varying linguistic tones of urban America.”  Dale acknowledged that some of Paradise Blue’s dramaturgy “seems [a] bit familiar,” but he asserted, “Morisseau's beautifully stylized piece embraces this, and other character depictions, as antiquated classics and hints at the changes ahead for urban African-Americans and in relationships between men and women.”  Santiago-Hudson, the BWW reviewer reported, “keeps the atmosphere fluid and darkly dreamy, aided considerably by lighting designer Rui Rita and sound designer Darron L. West.” 

Samuel L. Leiter, on his blog Theatre’s Leiter Side, described Morisseau’s writing in Paradise Blue as “highly actable and often humorous” and declared the play an “always engrossing work, sizzlingly staged by Ruben Santiago-Hudson.”  Leiter, however, found that Paradise Blue has a “rather conventional plot” and complained, “Things grow increasingly melodramatic . . . and the late accumulation of developments and their contrived resolution bring the play to an ending that, for all its shock value, is . . . hard to buy.”  He concluded that the play, “absorbing as it is, too frequently has the feel of something you’ve seen and heard before”; however, it “proves once again that Dominique Morisseau is a playwright to follow.”

Kenji Fujishima observed on TheaterMania, “Paradise Bluemay be set in the world of jazz, but Dominique Morisseau’s play . . . feels less like an improvisatory jazz number than a tightly structured opera.”  The “sense of freedom inherent in the most thrilling improvisations of . . . many of the . . . jazz greats whom Morisseau’s characters cite is lacking in Morisseau’s carefully cultivated world here” because her “setups lead to inevitable payoffs.”  Fujishima backed off a little: “To some degree, that sense of airlessness is appropriate to a play that is largely about people trapped, willingly or not, in particular environments and mindsets.”  But he confirmed that Morisseau’s writing, “even at its most eloquent, can’t . . . fully escape a touch of the schematic,” despite “the very fine actors who bring these ciphers to vivid life.”  The TM review-writer reported that Santiago-Hudson “runs with the stylization in this production,” but “a high level of visual and aural imagination helps Morisseau’s flawed but worthy drama sing even when we sometimes find ourselves too conscious of the notes she’s trying to hit.”

Paradise Blue . . . is a dazzling fireworks display of a play,” proclaimed Howard Miller on Talkin’ Broadway.  “As with any show of pyrotechnics,” Miller affirmed, “a few of the explosives fizzle out prematurely, but most land with . . . kinetic energy.”  Morisseau’s play is an “ambitious work that employs a degree of hyperrealism to capture the essence of life for both the African American community and for the individuals who are both protected and trapped within the narrowing space over which they have marginal control.”  Nonetheless, Miller felt that the play “could profit from another round of revision” to strengthen some of the main plot points and pare back some of the extraneous ones.  “Despite the occasional rickety bits, however, it is quite possible to see Dominique Morisseau as the heir apparent to August Wilson,” concluded the TB reviewer.  Still, Morisseau’s “voice and style and characterizations are decidedly her own, and there is a lot going on here that makes us eager to see more of what this gifted playwright has in store.”

Joel Benjamin on TheaterScene.net (another low-rated 60 on Show-Score) found that despite similarities with August Wilson’s plays, Paradise Blue doesn’t have characters “quite as well rounded as Wilson’s and her injudicious inclusion of an over-the-top melodramatic ending turns a dark character study—not without its charms—into something ludicrous.”  Directed by “experienced, sharp-eyed/eared’ Santiago-Hudson, the “talented cast . . . expertly fills in [the] blanks” formed by “much that is left unsaid” in Morisseau’s lines “with naturalness and energy.”  Unfortunately, found Benjamin, “even . . . these qualities can’t quite make sense of the last volatile moments of Paradise Blue.”

On Theater Pizzazz, Sandi Durell characterized Paradise Blue as “finely layered” and compared Nicholson to “a young Denzel Washington filled with powerful, aching moments of pain.“  She felt, however, “It’s Ruben Santiago-Hudson’s strong directorial hand that turns this cast into a well-oiled remarkable machine that creates its own buzz, resulting in real and truthful performances, aided by Clint Ramos’ costumes and Kenny Rampton’s jazz infused music.”

'Our Lady of 121st Street'

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In my last play report, I wrote that I liked subscribing to the Signature Theatre’s seasons because it afforded me the opportunity to see plays by authors whose work I either didn’t know or hadn’t seen enough of.  That report was on Dominique Morisseau’s Paradise Blue (posted on Rick On Theater on 2 June), a play by an author whose work I hadn’t seen yet.  This time, I’m catching up with a playwright a couple of whose plays I have seen before, but whose work I don’t yet have a handle on: Stephen Adly Guirgis.  Coincidentally, the play on which I’m reporting here is one of the two I’ve seen previously, Our Lady of 121st Street; I saw the début production after it moved to the commercial venue, the Union Square Theatre, in 2003.  Oddly, I didn’t remember much about the production or, arguably more importantly, my response to it.  (2003 was years before I started writing performance reports, both the e-mail versions I sent my out-of-town friends and my ROT reports, so, alas, I have nothing in writing on that production.)

Pulitzer Prize-winner Guirgis (for 2015’s Between Riverside and Crazy), as readers of my reports will know, was the 2017-18 Residency 1 playwright at the Signature Theatre Company (succeeded by Morisseau); Our Lady is his second play (following the revival of 2000’s Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train last fall) of the three he’ll have at the company during his year-long term.  (Guirgis’s third residency play, a new one, was supposed to be produced at STC during the 2018-19 season, but the script isn’t ready so the unannounced new play will be presented in a later season.  I hope it will  be because I’d like to see where he’s gotten to since 2000 and 2002.  For a brief bio of Guirgis, see my report on Jesus, posted on 6 November 2017.) 

Our Lady of 121st Streethad its world première Off-Off-Broadway from 20 August to 12 October 2002 at Center Stage, NY (on W. 21st Street in Manhattan’s Flatiron neighborhood).  Produced by the LAByrinth Theater Company (of which Guirgis was a member), it was directed by the late Philip Seymour Hoffman, the company’s founder and artistic director.  It moved to Off-Broadway and reopened at the Union Square (with the same director and cast) on 6 March 2003 (after starting preview performances on 18 February); the production ran until 27 July, collecting a passel of 2003 award nominations, including the Lucille Lortel Awards for Outstanding Play and Outstanding Director, Drama Desk Awards for Outstanding Play and Outstanding Director of a Play, and the Outer Critics Circle’s John Gassner Playwriting Award (unfortunately, taking home none).

Revivals and regional premières of Our Lady have been staged all over the United States, including Chicago (Steppenwolf Theatre Company, 5 February-28 March 2004; Eclipse Theatre Company, 14 July-21 August 2016), Washington, D.C. (Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company, 8 December 2004-5 January 2005), San Francisco (San Francisco Playhouse, 4 March-22 April 2006), Los Angeles (Matrix Theatre, c. 23 November-30 December 2006; Burbank – Victory Bare BonesEnsemble/Zubber Dust Players, 1 May-7 June 2015), Pittsburgh (Pittsburgh Playhouse, 4-13 December 2015), Miami (Ground Up & Rising, 2-11 September 2016).  (The play is also very popular in school theaters, including, despite the language, high schools.)  Signature’s two-hour, one-intermission revival, the first in New York City since the première, began previews in the Pershing Square Signature Center’s Irene Diamond Stage, the company’s 294-seat proscenium house, on 1 May 2018 and opened on 20 May.  My theater partner, Diana, and I caught the 7:30 performance on Friday evening, 25 May; the production is currently scheduled to close on 17 June (after an extension from the original 10 June closing).

Since there’s almost no discernable plot, synopsizing Our Lady is a hard task.  Essentially, a diverse gathering of characters (sort of Grand Hotel-ish), each struggling with his or her own problem(s), comes together at the Ortiz Funeral Home in their old (East) Harlem neighborhood to mourn the death of Sister Rose, a severe but dedicated nun who’d been the teacher of many of them.  (She wasn’t averse to taking a “shillelagh” to her charges who “loved her, even when we didn’t.”)  Sister Rose, known to “any kid who grew up ’round a hundred twenty-first” as “Our Lady,” drank herself to death.  On the day of her wake, her former students, ranging from 30-somethings up to 50-somethings (plus a few hangers-on), discover that her body’s been stolen from her casket.  One ex-pupil, Balthazar (Joey Auzenne), who has his own issues, is an NYPD detective and is investigating the bizarre theft.  This extends the funeral schedule and all the . . . ummm, mourners (I can’t think of a more precise word—though there’s little mourning in evidence, just some recollecting), who’ve returned from all over the country, stick around longer than they’d planned. 

Our Lady’s apparently—according to the theater’s promos and several reviewers—about what happened when these mismatched folks, with only two things in common—the nabe and Sister Rose—come together after several decades and their old feelings, beefs, and attitudes resurface.  I’m not convinced that that’s actually what Guirgis had in mind when he composed (or assembled) Our Lady, but in any case, nothing is resolved from all the sound and fury (not even the theft of Sister Rose’s body, despite a gruesome revelation at the end of the play). The characters don’t actually develop over the course of the play, but remain the same throughout the play, just more intense (like TV characters in sitcoms over a season or more).  The play doesn’t actually end . . . it just stops.  (I fall back on my unsubstantiated impression that the playwright sampled chance exchanges and sundry characters and then stitched them together with the Sister Rose contrivance.)

In addition to Balthazar, Sister Rose’s former students who’ve gathered for her funeral are Rooftop (Hill Harper), a popular Los Angeles DJ who got his nickname for his habit of taking “every Jordache bubble-butt from Ninety-sixth on up” onto the tenement roofs for sex, looking to reconcile with his ex-wife, Inez (Quincy Tyler Bernstine); Flip (Jimonn Cole), a closeted gay lawyer who arrives from Wisconsin with his needy lover, Gail (Kevin Isola), an amateur actor in denial about his effeminacy and who finds Flip’s return to his hetero high school persona frightening; fiery, foul-mouthed, eternally furious “Nasty” Norca (Paola Làzaro), with a wicked wit, who slept with her best friend Inez’s husband, Rooftop, but still expects Inez to forgive her; and Edwin (Erick Betancourt, who played one of the prison guards in Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train at STC), a local building super and caretaker for his brain-damaged brother, Pinky (Maki Borden), who was injured as a child when Edwin threw a brick out a window, hitting his little brother on the head.  There’s also an older former student, Victor (John Procaccino), who makes his appearance in the very first scene without his pants . . . because they were stolen while he slept at the funeral parlor when Sister Rose’s body was taken.  (There’s a bit of Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godotin this turn—a man in underpants standing before a coffin.)  In addition to Gail, who wasn’t one of Sister Rose’s students, are Father Lux (John Doman), a wheelchair-bound priest at the church to which the school was attached who lost his legs in the Korean War and who may be losing his faith; Marcia (Stephanie Kurtzuba), the nun’s allergy-plagued niece; and Marcia’s friend Sonia (Dierdre Friel) from Connecticut, who’s a little lost in this world and whom Norca insists is a hated former schoolmate—Norca even assaults her—though Sonia was never one of Sister Rose’s pupils.

The characters are mixed in age from the mid-70’s (Father Lux) to early 50’s (Victor) to mid-40’s (Rooftop) to mid- and late 30’s, as well as race and ethnicity (Hispanic, black, white).  The time is unstated in the program (one published script puts it as “The present”), but there are indications in the script as well as Rashad’s staging that suggest the early 2000’s, when Our Ladyof 121st Street was written (mentions of “if Rudy [Giuiani] were still in office”—his term expired in January 2002; New York City newscaster Bill Buetel, who retired in 2003 and died in 2006; and actor Gail getting work on Law & Order, which was cancelled in 2010; the characters carry “flip” cell phones, which were outdated by the mid-2000’s); furthermore, if the play were set in 2018, Father Lux would be 10 years too young to have fought in Korea. 

Like Neil Patel’s set for Signature’s Paradise Blue, Walt Spangler designed an acting environment for the Diamond stage that incorporates multiple areas: sections of the Ortiz Funeral Home (up center) towering over which is a huge sign with the business’s name, the neighborhood church (predominantly the confessional, down right), and a local bar and grill (down left and center) while accommodating incidental locations as the script requires.  (This design choice leave a large empty chasm in the center of the bar and grill set that’s a large void when not in use for a street scene or some other action.)  As a result, Rashad’s staging flows among the many short scenes much like a movie or TV show.  Given the discontinuous structure of the script, this decision is necessary—though not sufficient.

Our Lady isn’t a rookie play, coming two years after Jesus, a much better script, but Guirgis displays a shaky grasp of dramatic structure here.  The play has characters and scenes that are clearly juicy for actors—remember that Guirgis trained and started as an actor (he regards himself as “primarily an actor who writes,” says Leslie (Hoban) Blake in an interview with the playwright) and LAByrinth is basically an actors’ theater (Hoffman was also first and actor).  While Guirgis’s writing in Our Lady still has some (street-) poetic notes (albeit with a lot of F-bombs!), that’s not enough to compensate for the fragmented structure.  It’s probably supposed to have been a string-of-beads structure, but the string—the characters’ relationship to Sister Rose, her death, and the theft of her corpse—hardly exists; it’s a phony construct that means nothing and leads nowhere—an excuse for this unintegrated group to come together. 

Our Ladyof 121st Street turns out to be a collection of disjointed scenes about a disparate group of characters who are near-clichés—and the script never coheres.  You could label it a portrait of a community, or a slice of life, or a snapshot of a time and place in a corner of New York City, but though I call it a “play”—because actors stand on a stage and speak lines before a live audience (and I don’t have another adequate word)—in the end it’s not a drama.  I said to Diana that it felt to me as if Guirgis had eavesdropped on snippets of random conversations on the streets and bars in Harlem and transcribed them, then decided to assemble them into a “play” without ever finding a common theme.  The separate scenes, many of the them two- or three-handers, are terrifically actable serio-comic pieces, wonderful material for scene-study classes, but they don’t add up to a satisfying evening of theater.  

The acting is fine, with the caveat that no one breaks away from the stereotypes Guirgis contrived—and they probably couldn’t have, given the script.  Standouts include Doman’s Father Lux, combining world-weariness, sympathetic toughness, and impatience, especially for Rooftop’s narcissism (his long peroration in the confessional kept reminding me of the joke that ends with the priest scolding, “You’re not confessing.  You’re bragging!”); Làzaro’s Norca, with her mercurial volatility and sharp tongue; Borden’s Pinky, a simple man-child in constant need of reassurance and acceptance, and Betancourt’s Edwin, expressing his love and concern for Pinky through gruffness and apprehension.  The whole cast, though, acquits themselves well, even if they never come together as a true ensemble but remain a gathering of quirky individuals.  I’m not sure director Rashad, an award-winning actress who makes her New York directorial début here, could have melded them into a whole any more than she managed.

Based on 29 published notices, Show-Score, the review-survey website, gave Our Ladyof 121st Street an average score of 79, with 83% of the reviews being positive, 14% mixed, and 3% negative.  The site included five top scores of 90 (Hollywood Reporter, Gotham Playgoer, Daily Beast, and two notices on New York Stage Review), backed up by an 89 for Front Row Centerand nine 85’s (including Theatre’s Leiter Side, CurtainUp, and Talkin’ Broadway); Show-Score’s lowest score went to the website Reclining Standards with a score of 40.  My round-up will cover 17 published notices.

In the Wall Street Journal, Terry Teachout declared that Rashad’s directing, “if uneven, [is] mostly pleasing,” and said the same of the play itself, which  “comes through with all sails billowing.  It isn’t perfect, but it’s smart and touching—and fun.”  In fact, whether despite or because of Guirgis’s liberal use of expletives (that Teachout can’t quote in the Journal), the reviewer states, “‘Our Lady’ is one of the funniest plays I’ve ever seen—or, rather, one of the funniest acts, since things get serious after intermission.”  He added, however, “The problem with “Our Lady of 121st Street” . . . is that it’s essentially plotless.”  As Teachout knows, “No matter how funny you are, it’s tough to keep a plotless comedy in motion—especially a serious one.”  The Journalist felt, though, “It’s a tribute to [Guirgis’s] inborn talent that he manages to make ‘Our Lady’ work in spite of its aimlessness,” and continued that “it’s no less a tribute to this well-cast revival that everybody in it . . . makes a sharp and strongly flavored impression.” 

Max McGuinness of the U.S. edition of the Financial Times observed, “It’s the oldest trick in the theatrical book.  Kill someone off.  Then round up family and friends for the funeral, where they can settle scores and rekindle old flames.”  Then the FTreviewer continued, given the circumstances of Our Ladyof 121st Street, “It’s as if Guirgis is sending up the emptiness of his own plot device.”  He reported, “The loosely connected scenes . . . mostly serve as vehicles for Guirgis’s bawdy, rapid-fire repartee and colourfully sketched characters.”  Despite Rashad’s staging, which “keeps the comic tempo humming along nicely, . . . Guirgis’s text has a narrow, overly boisterous emotional range.”  Barbara Schuler’s “Bottom Line” in Long Island’s Newsday was “An entertaining study of some crazy, mixed-up characters” in a play made up of “brief scenes that director Phylicia Rashad keeps moving right along.”  Schuler declared, “This is a character study, pure and simple” and “offers no resolution whatsoever.” 

The New York Times’ Jesse Green posited that “drama is about people behaving badly” and there are a lot of “whiners and wastrels to be found on New York stages . . . .  But undoubtedly the most enjoyable screw-ups you can catch right now are those hanging around the Ortiz Funeral Parlor in ‘Our Lady of 121st Street.’”  He called the STC production “a raucous, rough-edged revival” and asserted that it’s been a long time since “dialogue so laced with profanity [has] been so gorgeously employed to define and distinguish character” by “a dirty dozen of unpublishable grievance.”  The Timesman observed that “even without curses the back-and-forth is biting.”  He assured us, though, “Cutting they may be, but Mr. Guirgis’s characters are never merely indulging in insult comedy.  They are groping toward the core of conflicts that are hard to put into words otherwise.”  In Our Lady, Green explained, the “scenes . . . don’t drive forward so much as accumulate. . . .  This is not the stuff of pointed drama; Balthazar the detective doesn’t even solve the crime.”  The Timesreviewer continued, “But these aren’t failings so much as expressions of Mr. Guirgis’s overall despair that humans, however well intentioned, are not equipped to repair the damage they cause.  Really, they are only equipped to keep causing it.” 

Under Rashad’s direction, reported the review-writer, “the cast offers a very rich, primary-color rendition of a complicated group of people.”  But Green found that “good as they are, they too often seem to cut corners rather than hug the curves of the play’s twisty contours” and he blames Rashad’s staging, “blurry and amorphous,” for that.  “It is often difficult to tell where the action is taking place, and even where to look. . . .  And when scenes end, they do so awkwardly or indifferently, with an abrupt change of lights (by Keith Parham) or music (by Robert Kaplowitz), as if under-rehearsed.”  Saying that “no contemporary playwright is better at the long game of setting up jokes, and making them pay unexpected philosophical dividends” than Guirgis, Green went on:

I hesitate to say that the play, too, might have benefited by some rethinking. . . . .  And especially in the second act you can feel Mr. Guirgis’s dramaturgical anxiety mount as he tries to juggle too many stories.  Some he just drops, or tosses offstage when he hopes no one is looking.  The ending is a sheepish shrug.

Sara Holdren, in New York magazine/Vulture, labeled Our Ladyof 121st Street“a play full of combustible energy that would benefit from compression and claustrophobia.”  “The production,” Holdren found, “is a curious creature:  It’s powered by a number of individually gutsy performances, yet, taken as a whole, its punch doesn’t quite hit the gut.”  She explained:

It rails and rants and gets characteristically raw—Guirgis is a playwright of the every-other-word-is-fuckin’ school—but in the Diamond, under the actor-friendly direction of Phylicia Rashad, its energy can feel diffuse and its trappings noticeably un-gritty.  It doesn’t need an intermission, but it’s got one.  All in all, it often feels weirdly comfortable, like a downtown street cat that’s moved uptown and indoors, where its claws get regularly clipped and there are always Friskies in the bowl.

In her direction, “Rashad seems most at home working with Our Lady’s cast in these individual moments of outsized emotion, connection, and indignation,” Holdren found, “but the arrangement of scenes in space feels static and tableau-ish, and the transitions—conventional music-plays-while-the-lights-go-dark affairs—fail to add meaning or movement.”  The reviewer blamed Spangler’s set, “a bit like a series of dioramas.”  As a result, “the characters of this Our Lady of 121st Street—all scrappy, surly fighters—have too much breathing room.”  Holdren found, “Some of their anger, which should bounce off the walls and smack us in the face, floats off into the air, or gets absorbed in the carpet that covers the stage.”  She concluded that “the vigor and power of this Our Lady belong to its actors, while the play itself feels a little defanged.”

The reviewer for the New Yorker’s “Goings On About Town” section warned us that “tight storytelling is not the point here, and neither is Sister Rose.”  The unnamed review-writer pointed out, “Plot strands are brought up and abandoned; people come and go for no good reason.”  Still, “the play does have memorable characters spouting memorable dialogue,” acknowledged the New Yorker writer.  “Few contemporary playwrights have Guirgis’s sense of rhythm or his flair for telling, grounding details.”  The reviewer’s estimation of the STC revival was: “The Signature’s cast is firing on all cylinders under Phylicia Rashad’s direction, even as it battles a sprawling set, by Walt Spangler, that creates problems rather than solving them.”

Frank Scheck of the Hollywood Reporterwrote in his “Bottom Line”: “Superb performers do full justice to blisteringly funny material” and recommended, “Acting students would be well advised to head immediately to the off-Broadway revival of Stephen Adly Guirgis’ Our Lady of 121st Street.”  The play’s “procession of darkly hilarious scenes providing a ready-made series of indelible audition pieces for male and female performers of varying ethnicities.”  In his high-scoring review (one of Show-Score’s 90’s), Scheck effused, “This superb production, staged to perfection by Phylicia Rashad, provides a master class in how it’s done.”  The HRreviewer warned, “To say that not much really happens in the course of the play is an understatement,” adding that the ostensible missing-corpse plot “proves merely a springboard for the characters to unveil their hopes, fears and disappointments in a series of confrontations that are frequently as moving as they are riotously funny.”  Rashad, reported Scheck, “delivers an assured staging that fully allows the actors to flower in their roles while resisting the temptation of going over the top” and “all the performances feel fully lived in.”  “While it might benefit from being presented in one of the theaterplex’s smaller spaces,” observed Scheck, the STC revival of Our Lady“makes a strong case for the playwright as one of our most essential theatrical voices.”

“I’ve been struck by how often Stephen Adly Guirgis . . . is praised for the authenticity of his street vernacular,” remarked David Fox on Reclining Standards, which scored Show-Score’s sole 40 (as you’ll soon see why).  “Maybe, but since the comment most often comes from critics (which I mean here to be taken as code for mostly affluent and white), how exactly would they know?”  Fox continued his argument:

I freely admit I’m not in a position to judge its accuracy, but what I hear is dialogue that feels highly constructed, with flashes of cleverness and wit, heavily laced with Guirgis’s signature barrage of expletives. It doesn’t suggest “authenticity” to me so much as the sassy cousin of funny TV writing, deliberately made racy for shock value.

Fox’s objection to Guirgis’s playwriting is that “although he’s an exceptionally good craftsman—adroit at telling a story and keeping a lot of (forgive the expression) balls in the air—his plays only intermittently go deeper than their surface shock tactics.”  As for Rashad’s “flashy, shallow” revival of Our Ladyof 121st Street at Signature, asserted Fox, “You certainly won’t find much depth” there, “though Guirgis doesn’t help.”  The RSreviewer felt that “from the get-go, Guirgis signals that seriousness will be consistently undercut with humor,” and the production becomes “a rollercoaster ride, veering from comedy to tragedy”—except, Fox lamented, “Rashad’s direction inserts an unwelcome sense of jazz-hands flash into the short scene-lets, which here look more like the kind of miniatures specifically designed for acting showcases than part of a long, thoughtful story arc.”  He also complained of “the awkwardly wide performance space of the Irene Diamond Stage, which further compounds the artificiality.”  His ultimate analysis was that “a production meant to celebrate Stephen Adly Guirgis’s importance and influence paradoxically reveals his faults.  As seen at Signature, Our Lady of 121st Street is perilously close to TV comedy, with the addition of a lot of dirty words.”

Jonathan Mandell of New York Theater found STC’s revival of Our Ladyof 121st Street“a production smartly cast and competently directed by Phylicia Rashad.  The script,” he continued, “exhibits some of Guirgis’s familiar street energy, full of harsh, foul-mouthed humor; it even touches on some of his usual themes (living with sorrow and regret; betrayal; spiritual redemption.)”  Mandell reported, however, that “‘Our Lady of 121st Street’ is less substantive and less satisfying than many of his other plays.”  The play’s opening scene “promises . . . a farcical mystery,” then “quickly swerves in a different direction—or, more precisely, loses direction.”  Our Lady unfolds “mostly in two-character or three-character scenes that amount to little more than darkly comic vignettes.”  Each of the play’s characters (as I noted earlier) has a roster of serious personal problems, “but these are largely undeveloped,” explained Mandell, “told in throwaway lines.  The comedy dominates. (I’m not sure if any director could bring the poignancy more to the fore; this one doesn’t.)”  The NYTheaterreviewer found, “Some of the scenes, though, are not so much funny as just odd, or incomplete,” while “[o]thers get by on the force of the acting.” 

Howard Miller labeled the Signature production of Our Lady a “snappy revival” of a “scary-comic” play on Talkin’ Broadway.  “Don’t go looking for much of a plot,” warned Miller.  “Our Lady of 121st Street is a character-driven play.”  The TB review-writer reported that “the entire first act is made up of short scenes that serve as introductions,” continuing, “Every encounter seems like the ultimate non sequitur, most of them hugely funny though seemingly unrelated to the others, until the jigsaw puzzle starts to assemble itself piece by piece in Act II.”  Guirgis, “the excellent cast,” and director Rashad “deliver the goods.”  Miller concluded, “The permeating dark humor of Our Lady of 121st Street masks a great deal of pain, and Stephen Adly Guirgis uses it smartly to turn over a lot of rocks.”

On Broadway World, Michael Dale dubbed the STC revival a “crackling production” which “hits the ground running” in “a series of touching and funny interactions between everyday souls getting through their own personal struggles.”  In his final assessment of the performance, Dale asserted, “Skillfully gliding from sharp, scatologically-expressed humor to realistic pathos, OUR LADY OF 121ST STREET is a terrific collection of genuine New York stories.”  Sandi Durell of Theater Pizzazz characterized Our Lady as an “all too funny, poignant and earthy story about the down-trodden.”  Durell found “the characters are rich and ripe” and Rashad “takes the reins and willingly lets go allowing her cast to fly untethered.”  In her final word on the production, the TP reviewer advised, “Be prepared for the unexpected and enjoy the ride! Guirgis is a genius when it comes to dark irreverent comedy.” 

On TheaterScene,net, Joel Benjamin recalled the 2003 première of Our Ladyof 121st Street“as a dark tale of troubled characters, not without an edge of humor.  I didn’t come away laughing, but trembling partly in anger and partly in disgust.”  However, he found that the STC revival “magically now comes across as an addled, profane sitcom.”  Benjamin affirmed:

It’s entertaining and at times moving, but the real magic is that the very same words can be tended by a solid director—this one obviously experienced in sitcoms [readers will recall that Rashad played Clair Huxtable on The Cosby Show for eight years]—and refresh a theatrical experience so completely.  Rashad has shown that scathing can be scathingly funny.  This time I left laughing.

“Scenes switch quickly” with a “parade of characters.”  All the characters have “neuroses and social issues, few of which are dealt with when the play ends on an abrupt, breathless note.”  Benjamin felt. “It’s Guirgis’ . . . talent to make these different elements coalesce into a wonderfully rich crazy quilt of humanity on the lowdown.” 

Elyse Sommer emphasized on CurtainUp that the missing-corpse scenario is “a device for initiating a series of verbal pas-de-deux or trois character-defining scenes for a big cast of terrific actors.”  Guirgis, she affirmed, “did weave all those episodic interchanges into a memorably hilarious very dark human comedy.”  Rashad has “assembled an excellent top to bottom ensemble and competently guided them.” 

On Theatre’s Leiter Side, Samuel L. Leiter labeled Our Ladyof 121st Street a “black comedy” that’s “essentially plotless” with a first act that is “hilariously potty-mouthed.”  Leiter described Our Lady as, “rather than a conventional play, an episodic, dramatic concert in which the songs have been converted to acting arias, including solos, duets, and choral numbers.”  The play’s structure is a “series of scenes . . . with rippling, sinewy dialogue that commands attention and ignites raucous laughter, introducing us to a succession of pulsing livewires whose connections with others create fiery sparks.”  The TLSblogger confirmed that “Our Lady has loose ends [and] several vaguely drawn characters,” but “[d]espite the play’s structural problems, its characters and language are so electric that, even when the laughs subside in the more serious Act II, you remain invested in these damaged souls.”  Leiter had problems with the set design, which “is too spread out on the wide stage, dissipating focus, and creating problems that Rashad’s directing doesn’t fully resolve.”  Still, the blogger concluded that “even with its flaws, Our Lady, of the nearly 20 plays I’ve reviewed since the 2018-2019 began, is (by a hair) the best.”

On New York Theater Guide, Donna Herman observed, Our Lady “is missing several elements that are usually vital to a play—like a plot and an ending. But the biggest thing it’s missing is . . . more.”  She explained, “When the lights came down on the revival of Our Lady of 121st Streetcurrently playing at the Signature Theatre, I didn’t want it to end.”  In a unique comparison, Herman offered, “What Our Lady of 121st Street really resembles is an uptown version of Seinfeld.  Not a lot really happens in terms of plot.”  Furthermore,

Mostly everyone sits around talking to each other.  But the characters get under your skin, and their quiet and not-so-quiet struggles to stay afloat in a hostile world, and their ability to see the humor in the darkness, is like water in the desert. You thirst for more

In the end, the NYTG reviewer declared, “Hats off to a superb cast, insightful and powerful script by Stephen Adly Guirgis and deft direction by Phylicia Rashad.”

Hayley Levitt of TheaterMania proclaimed that director Rashad has built “a vibrant yet subtle energetic network within her brilliant ensemble of actors” for STC’s Our Ladyof 121st Street.  In contrast to most reviewers, Levitt found that “Walt Spangler’s sectioned scenic design perfectly accommodates the play’s vignettes, which begin as their own mini-plays but bleed together into the single space of the funeral home waiting room by Act 2.”  The set “also gives a semblance of structure to an amorphous narrative where conflicts are left unsettled, crimes are left unsolved, and goals are left extremely undefined.”  The TM review-writer felt that “if after Our Lady of 121st Street we feel somewhat unsatisfied, that means we’re hungry for more.” 

'Where We Are: Selections from the Whitney’s Collection, 1900–1960'

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My friend Diana, with whom I usually go to the theater, called me on the evening of Tuesday, 8 May, to tell me that the Whitney Museum of   Art was holding a Member Night on Wednesday, the next evening.  Diana’s member of the Whitney, which is now (since May 2015) located in Manhattan’s West Village, within walking distance from my apartment in the Flatiron District.  On designated Member Nights—the Whitney holds them throughout the year; we went to another one on 7 July—museum members get to spend two-and-a-half hours, 7:30 to 10 p.m.) after the museum closes to the public (6 p.m. on Wednesdays) for free.  Each member may bring a guest—that would be me in this case—and there are some special events scheduled throughout the evening: talks, performances, demonstrations and workshops, music); while not all the museum’s facilities aren’t open after closing, the main restaurant, Untitiled, the Studio Café and Bar on the eighth floor, and the museum shop and bookstore in the firs-floor lobby are all operating.  All the exhibit galleries are open for viewing, and, after a light meal at Untitled, off the lobby north along Gansevoort Street in the shadow of the southern terminus of the High Line Park, we decided to go straight to the seventh floor where Where We Are: Selections from the Whitney’s Collection, 1900-1960is on exhibit.


Where We Are opened on Friday, 28 April 2017, for an open-ended run.  It features artists drawn entirely from the Whitney’s holdings such as Louise Bourgeois, James Castle, Elizabeth Catlett, John Steuart Curry, Edward Hopper, Jasper Johns, Jacob Lawrence, Archibald Motley, Jr., Florentine Stettheimer, and Georgia O’Keeffe, among others.  Where We Are, comprising around 140 works, is organized by David Breslin, DeMartini Family Curator and Director of the Collection, with Jennie Goldstein, assistant curator, and Margaret Kross, curatorial assistant.

Spread out over several galleries, including the Jasper Bloomberg and Zelda  Bloomberg Outdoor Gallery, the works of painting, drawing, photography, and sculpture are separated into five themes: family and community, home, work, the nation, and the spiritual. The museum’s publicity explains the show’s rationale:

During the six decades covered here, the United States experienced war and peace, economic collapse and recovery, and social discord and progress.  American artists responded in complex and diverse ways, and a central aim of the exhibition is to honor each artist’s efforts to create her or his own vision of American life.  The artists and their works suggest that our sense of self is composed of our responsibilities, places, and beliefs.

The curators have taken the poem “September 1, 1939” by W. H. Auden (1907-73) as a sort of guiding template for the exhibit’s organization, using lines from the poem for the title of the entire exhibit and each of its sections: “No One Exists Alone,” a look at family relationships and responsibilities, filial and parental affection, and friendship; “The Furniture of Home,” an examination of “the objects with which we identify, the home [which] can serve as a window into the period when an artwork was made, a stand-in for its inhabitants, or a symbol of the class of its residents”; “The Strength of Collective Man,” displaying “works that portray the sites of production, scenes of working, and the individuals who constituted the workforce”; “In a Euphoric Dream,” featuring works by artists looking at the symbols of the United States to study the times in which they lived and the history of the country George Washington called a “great experiment” (in a letter to British historian Catherine Macaulay Graham on January 9, 1790); and “Of Eros and Dust,” representing artists who “sought recourse in spirituality and mysticism . . . through the symbolic, the sublime, the natural, and the abstract.”  

(The date in the title of Auden’s poem, written on the first day of World War II, is the date of the German invasion of Poland.  First published on 18 October 1939 in the magazine New Republic and then in book form in the Auden collection Another Time in 1940, the poem, speaking of anguish over events that have occurred and apprehension about the potential repercussions, has figured in several modern occasions in the United States.  A paraphrase of one of the poet’s lines, “We must love one another or die,” was included in a speech by Pres. Lyndon B. Johnson that became part of the famous “Daisy” campaign commercial for Johnson’s election in 1964.  In the commercial, which ran only once, on 7 September 1964, Johnson’s voice is heard saying “We must either love each other, or we must die.”  After the 11 September 2001 terror attacks, Scott Simon, host of Weekend Edition Saturday, read the poem on National Public Radio and it was widely discussed and reprinted in the days following the attacks.)

Having said all that about the themes and curatorial narrative of the Whitney’s Where We Are, I should confess that I was far more interested in the art—that is to say, the individual works and the artists whom I didn’t already know—than what the exhibit’s organizers intended to tell me about “how artists have approached the relationships, institutions, and activities that shape our lives.”  The whole relationship of the art and artists with Auden’s poem went pretty much right over my head.  The curators have written, for example:

Although mournful, the poem concludes by pointing to the individual’s capacity to “show an affirming flame.”  Where We Are shares Auden’s guarded optimism, gathering a constellation of artists whose light might lead us forward.

This strikes me as awfully pretentious and overblown, even for a museum self-promotion.  The poem’s a response to the first shots fired in what would become a six-year, worldwide armed conflict; most of the art wasn’t anything like that.  Furthermore, I don’t accept the suggestion the curators seem to be making that the artists’ intentions were to comment specifically and directly on the themes the organizers have carved out.  Theirs is a retrospective reinterpretation from the vantage point of a half century to a century after the art was created.  Somehow I doubt anyone asked the artists about their intentions—almost all of them are dead.  (As an acting teacher of mine used to say about playwrights no longer with us: We don’t have their telephone numbers.  Which makes the curators free, I guess, to say whatever they want.)

In the end, the thematic organization was irrelevant to me; the art itself was all the mattered.  Nonetheless, I enjoyed the show if for no other reason than it was largely made up of works from perhaps the greatest era so far of American art (IMHO), the post-World War II period of the ’40s to the ’60s.  The decades of the 20th century before that, from the century’s turn until the war cut us off from Europe’s cultural influence and allowed American artists to set a path of their own, was the cocoon out of which an indigenous American art emerged.  Mind you, I should acknowledge here that the culmination of this period was the time when I first was introduced to modern art and the period of the art that most influenced my interest and taste.  (I’ve told the story of Gres Gallery and its connection to my family several times in this blog—see, for example, “Washington Art Matters,” 5 September 2013; “Yayoi Kusama,” 18 May 2017; “A Passion for Art,” 21 November 2017; and “Fernando Botero: Abu Ghraib (2007),” 26 November 2017; among other posts.  That started in 1958, or thereabouts, when I was 11, and continued through about 1961, the years when I was forming tastes and interests that would follow me into adulthood.  By the way, my tastes in music also began in those years as well; so did my interest in theater, though my appreciations in that field broadened considerably in the ensuing years.)

Through there are many wonderful artists in the Where We Are, the star of the show is arguably painter Edward Hopper (1882-1967), who also happens to be a favorite of Diana’s (though not of mine; as I wrote in my 2008 report on EdwardHopper at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., this artist “doesnt move me; I find his work cold and emotionless”).  Visitors congregated around his paintings and the Whitney has scheduled an “Exhibition Talk,” one of the perks of attending a Member Night, on A Woman in the Sun(1961), one of the two Hopper canvases in “The Furniture of Home.”  Small crowds gathered for the four short (15-20 minutes) lectures by Whitney teaching fellow Janine DeFeo.  Diana and I listened in on this talk, which also included a stop at New York Interior (c. 1921), the other Hopper in this section of Where We Are.  While DeFeo made some pointed comments about Hopper’s painting style, noting his use of light—one of his signatures—and space, the solitariness of the woman in the picture, and the sparseness of the room’s décor, I don’t really appreciate someone telling me what a piece of art “means,” since  by its nature, art means something different to each partaker.  Art—whether music, poetry, drama, or painting—means to me whatever I take from it, not what someone else tells me I should take from it.  Once again, we come up against the tendency of some “expert” deciding what the artist meant to communicate which, unless she or he left notes (and even then . . .), none of us can actually know.  (Diana complained strongly about commentators who “psychoanalyze” a painting, and I think this is what she objected to.) 

In her 1964 essay “Against Interpretation,” Susan Sontag asserts:

The aim of all commentary on art now should be to make works of art—and, by analogy, our own experience—more, rather than less, real to us.  The function of criticism should be to show how it is what it is, even that it is what it is, rather than to show what it means.

I have had a hard time agreeing with Sontag’s ban on interpretation for one fundamental reason: it’s not possible to experience a work of art—or nearly anything else—without finding some kind of meaning in it.  I think it’s human nature—we’re hard-wired to find meaning in what we see and experience.  But when it comes to someone else—a critic, say—interpreting  a piece of art for me, that is in my steador in my behalf—I’m with Sontag: I say nix!  (I’m not even terribly sanguine about artists themselves telling me what their art should mean to me!)

Actually, I’ve almost always seen Hopper’s paintings, at least those with people in them, as stills from a playlet or a scene from a play.  I can spin a whole little scenario from them.  (My favorite painting for this exercise, which isn’t in Where We Are, is 1942’s Nighthawks, a scene at night in a corner diner from the perspective of the street outside.  As I pondered in my pre-ROT report on a Hopper show at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., it makes “you wonder what might have just happened—or might be about to happen—in that single lighted room on a dark, empty street.”)

A Woman in the Sun depicts a nude woman standing profile in the center of a shadow-shrouded bedroom.  She’s brightly lit, however, by the sun shining through an unseen window out of the frame to the right, creating a long rectangle of yellow light and casting the elongated shadows of her legs behind her.  The bed to her left is unmade, as if she’d just gotten out of it; her high-heeled pumps are sitting haphazardly on the floor just at the edge of the bed.  Another window in the room’s far wall is closed, but the curtains are pulled back as if the woman wasn’t concerned if anyone could see in.  The rolling green hills just visible through the glass suggests that the room’s on an upper floor and that the house in in the country so there’s no one to see her anyway.  The room, with sea-green walls, is sparsely decorated and furnished.  The only piece of furniture is the bed; there are framed pictures on two walls.  Aside from the shoes, there’s no other clothing insight.

So, what’s the woman’s story?  Is this her room, or is she a guest in the house?  A visiting relative?  An old friend?  A paying guest?  Did she sleep naked?  There’s no nightgown or pajamas or slippers.  Was there a lover or a husband just moments before?

Is it morning, afternoon, or evening?  The curtain visible at the right edge of the canvas seems to be billowing a bit, so that window might be open.  That suggests it’s warm out—maybe late spring or summer.  Of course, if it’s down south some place, it could be fall or even winter—we don’t know. 

The woman’s not young—probably early middle-aged.  She’s got long, brown hair, which doesn’t seem mussed from the woman’s having been in bed just moments ago.  Did she brush it just before the picture was made?  There are no toiletries to be seen.  A bathroom down the hall, maybe?  There’s no bathrobe around, though.  Maybe the house is hers and she’s alone and doesn’t have to worry about such things.  The woman doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get dressed or go anywhere. She’s smoking a cigarette.  Why is she smoking standing up instead of sitting on the bed?  There no ashtray in sight—does she drop her ashes on the green rug? 

New York Interior, though a smaller “scene,” raises many intriguing questions, too.  The woman sitting with her back to us, sewing what looks like a white dress, could tell a fascinating story.  Is she making the dress, or mending it?  Letting it out or taking it in—maybe for someone else?  Is it a hand-me-down?  The room looks well furnished and appointed—it’s not a tenement.  I could go on—Hopper leaves so much out of his paintings—but supplies hints, even if he doesn’t mean to.

In another section of Where We Are, Hopper’s Early Sunday Morning(1930) is on display.  It’s one of the artist’s works with no people in it, a deserted strip of storefronts along a town street.  It’s a stage set!  Are the shops, all empty like the street, closed because it’s early morning on a Sunday (no businesses open on Sundays in 1930!)?  Or is it because it’s 1930—the second year of the Great Depression?  (The painting’s title was apparently attached by someone else, not Hopper—so maybe it isn’t even Sunday.)  There are apartments on the second floor above the shops—but no one’s visible there, either.  The artist’s said that the painting depicts 7th Avenue in New York City, but does it?  It looks like a small town to me.  Sunday Morning’s less intriguing than the populated paintings, but there’s still a lot we can wonder about and imagine.

The exhibit opens with a display outside the entrance to the first gallery, facing museumgoers as they exit the elevators in the seventh floor, of .Jacob Lawrence’s War Series, 14 panels that present expressionistic representations of World War II, which Lawrence (1917-2000) saw first hand as a Coast Guardsman.  In the paintings, made between 1946 and 1947, Lawrence showed the war a perceived by the individual, whether soldier or civilian on the home front.  Among the War Series are depictions, in muted earth colors of rust and olive green and brown and black with splashes of white, of Coast Guardsmen reporting for Another Patrol (1946), soldiers Shipping Out (1947) for the combat zone, wounded and injured men Going Home(1947), a father or brother or son receiving The Letter (1946) telling him his loved one died in battle, and finally, Victory (1947), the image of a soldier in full battle gear, his rifle held vertically in front of his, kneeling in prayer or thanks.  The series may be the most moving images in the show. 

One example of what I meant when I complained about shoe-horring an interpretation onto a piece of art that may not have been remotely what the artist was out to do comes from Pittsburgh (1927) by Elsie Driggs (1895-1992).  It’s in “The Strength of Collective Man,” the section on industry, labor, and the working man.  Pittsburghis a painting of the stacks and tubes of a steel mill, presented as a depiction of 20th-century American industry, the “dark Satanic mills” of William Blake, perhaps a warning of industrial pollution to come.  But Driggs said she was compelled to paint the scene because, “This shouldn’t be beautiful.  But it is.”  So she drew it!  It was a purely aesthetic impulse, not an environmental or political one.  The Where We Are curators are perfectly free to see in Driggs’s Pittsburgh what they want, or what they feel.  But the don’t get to lay their experience of the art work on me.  I see more or less what Driggs saw at the mill—a (perhaps frightening or ominous) beauty, majesty even, in the almost gracefully curved and sentinel-straight steel pipes, stacks, and tubes.  (There’s even a hint of M. C. Escher.)

Where We Are is too chock-full of terrific art to do it justice in a short report.  (Fortunately, the show is open-ended and should be accessible for a while yet, so I can recommend a trip down to Gansevoort Street in Greenwich Village  for you to see it for yourself.)  I do need to make one more stop: Morris Louis’s Tet (1958).  I do this not only because I like Louis’s work—I like it a lot because (and Diana doesn’t understand this) it cheers me up, it makes me happy—but also because Louis (1912-62) is  founding member of the Washington Color School (about which I blogged in The Washington School of Color,” 21 September 2014) and, yes, I am a hometown chauvinist.  (So sue me!)  Tet (Morris’s titles aren’t his—he didn’t title his canvases before he died at the age of 49; after his death, his wife assigned titles, almost all letters of the Greek or, as in this case, Hebrew alphabets) is one of the artist’s Veil paintings.  (I explain what Morris’s techniques were, including “veiling,” in my post “Morris Louis,” 15 February 2010.)  But I want to make another point here about assigning meaning to works of art.  Tet is in the section covering spirituality and mysticism, “Of Eros and Dust.”  The Color School movement, however, wasn’t about meaning.  Not at all.  A piece of Color School art was meant to stir the viewer totally by the pleasure received from the colors and shapes.  A Color School painting doesn’t mean anything—not spiritual or mystical or concrete or symbolic.  Now, you can find meaning in it—like you do when you look at clouds—but you cannot tell me I have to find your meaning in the painting, or any meaning at all.  So Tet doesn’t “mean” anything to me—it’s just wonderful colors on a canvas that please me.  (By the way, if you check out my post on Morris, you learn that he didn’t actually “paint” his canvases.  He poured the pigment onto the canvas and let gravity and chance share in the creation of the effect.  It’s hard to make meaning with that technique.)

There wasn’t a lot of critical press on Where We Are.  Calling the exhibit “timely” at this time when we’re debating “what it means to be American,” Elena Martinique of Widewalls observed, “Featuring both icons and the not-yet-known or the forgotten, the exhibition Where We Are brings together the beauty, diversity, difference, and complexity.”  In The Villager, Stephanie Buhmann called Where We Are a “stunning installation.”  Ben Diamond declared, “Every piece of art in this show is incredible,” in Avenue magazine, but reported that the exhibit is “a bold experiment, one that ignores the dictums of rigid art historians in favor of an approach grounded more in thematic and aesthetic concerns.  Unfortunately, its admittedly excellent parts never combine into a coherent whole.”  As if to echo my complaint about the curatorial interpretation, Diamond asserted, “The thematic groupings in “Where We Are” do the work on display [a] disservice, forcing viewers to interpret art in narrowly particular ways.”  The reviewer cited Frank Stella’s “maxim” that “‘what you see is what you see,’ was expressly created to resist the sort of easy interpretation that the show imposes on it.” 

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On Wednesday, 7 June, Diama invited me to another Member Night at the Whitney.  My friend and I checked out three exhibits.  One was another show drawn from the museum’s permanent collection called An Incomplete History of Protest, an exhibit of art and artifacts (from 1940 to 2017) inspired by or in support of various political movements (civil rights and anti-lynching, women’s rights, the AIDS crisis, anti-Vietnam war).  As art, it was only mildly interesting; as a look back at history, it covered movements most of which I’ve lived through and didn’t feel compelled to revisit.  (I’m not a devotee of political art, including political theater.  It’s almost always more compelling as politics than as art.)

We also breezed through Mary Corse: A Survey in Light.  She’s an artist of whom I’d never heard (she’s about a year older than I am, born in 1945), and a lot of her work is white-on-white paintings.  (Do any of you know a play called Art by Yasmina Reza, a French playwright of Iranian heritage, that played on Broadway in 1998-99?  Three men in a Paris apartment argue over whether an all-white painting one of them just bought is even art.  It won an Olivier and Molière Award and the 1998 Tony, all for best play.)  A Survey in Light is a small show, but I didn’t find it very interesting.

We spent most of the visit at Grant Wood: American Gothic and Other Myths.  The show opened in one of the museum’s fifth-floor galleries on 2 March and closed on 10 June.  Grant Wood covers all of the artist’s career, from his beginnings designing decorative objects, through his early paintings, to his fame generated by American Gothic (1930), and his mature work in murals; the exhibit also includes examples of his book illustrations and covers.

I’m not a fan of Wood’s, but though I knew he did other work, I only knew American Gothic (which is in the show, on loan from the Art Inst. of Chi.).  After seeing this exhibit, I’m not more taken with the Iowan’s art, but he is an interesting figure.  One thing I learned: he had a sly sense of humor which he occasionally exercised in his paintings.  Daughters of Revolution (1932) is a dig at the DAR’s pretensions and snobbishness disguised as a portrait of three middle-aged Iowan ladies.  (When I saw the canvas from across the gallery, before I even knew what its subject was, I immediately thought of The Music Man—a play set in Iowa, coincidentally—and the song “Pickalittle (Talkalittle)” in which three biddies show disdain for Marion “the Librarian” because “she advocates dirty books . . . Chaucer, Rabelais, Balzac!”)

Wood (1891-1942) began as a decorative artist, though he didn’t accept a distinction between decorative art and fine art.  In the early part of the show, there are household furnishings, including a Tiffany-like glass lampshade, that Wood designed.  His early paintings were decidedly impressionistic, influenced by the European artists he was studying and emulating (Van Antwerp Place, 1922–23).  In 1930, the rear he painted American Gothic, Wood decided that he was going to devote himself to developing an indigenous, hard-edged, straightforward American style of art, influenced and inspired by his Midwestern roots and Iowa landscape in which he grew up and the people he knew.  (His models for American Gothic, for instance, were his sister—a portrait of whom, Portrait of Nan, 1931—is in the show, and his dentist.)  He often included images of Iowan icons, especially corn, in  his works (especially Corn Cob Chandelier for Iowa Corn Room, 1925, one of his decorative arts creations for the Montrose Hotel in Cedar Rapids.). 

Another example sense of humor is Parson Weems’ Fable (1939), which presents the famous apocryphal tale of  young George Washington confessing to his father that he chopped down the cherry tree.  It’s shown as a stage scene, with Parson Weems, the fable’s originator, pulling back a  curtain to reveal the drama taking place.  Presented as a fiction this way, Woods manages to cast doubt on the  popular story’s veracity while still celebrating the moral lesson it purports to teach.

Woods painted many scenes celebrating the Iowa farm and small-town culture in which he’d grown up (Rural Landscape, c. 1931. for example).  But the farms, rural landscapes, and little towns he painted were not only idealized renditions of the real Iowa if the 1930’s, but they weren’t even the actual Iowa of his childhood, though that’s what he put out that he was painting.  He was recreating images not of the world he remembered as a child, but a world he wanted to remember—but which never actually existed.  In his later work, however, Wood wasn’t above treating some ominous or dark subjects, most starkly exemplified in Death on the Ridge Road, a 1935 oil that depicts a rather expressionistic scene, viewed from above as if he were suspended in the air, of an impending automobile crash as two cars are speeding along a windy two-lane blacktop as a truck is hurtling down the steep road towards them.

Short Takes: Some Art Shows

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[I seem to be on something of an art jag onRick On Theater just now (“Akunnittinni: A Kinngait Family Portrait” on 15 January; “Art New York 2018” on 13 May; “Where We Are: Selections from the Whitney’s Collection, 1900-1960” on 12 June), so I thought I’d dig up some comments on past art shows that are too brief to post on their own (they were parts of longer reports mostly about theater) and collect them in a “Short Takes”—something I haven’t done in a long time now—and post them for a look back.  (The dates on each section below are the dates I wrote the original report; they are not necessarily the dates of the exhibits or my visit.  Multiple dates indicate I wrote the complete report in installments.)  One of the following mini-reports is on Edward Hopper, an exhibit I saw at the National Gallery of Art in 2008 and which I mentioned in my recent post on the Whitney Museum’s Where We Are.  Another segment below is on the Barnes Collection when it was at its original home in Merion, Pennsylvania, before it moved to Philadelphia.  I haven’t seen the collection since the move, so I don’t know if the lay-out duplicates the initial set-up, mandated by founderAlbert C. Barnes, but that arrangement of the art was unique, to say the least, and I though it would be interesting to record my impressions of that peculiar display.  ~Rick]

PIERRE BONNARD: EARLY AND LATE
9 & 12 January 2003

Pierre Bonnard: Early and Late at the Phillips Collection in Washington, D.C. (22 September 2002-19 January 2003), is interesting, but less so than its size would suggest.  It’s a big show, installed on three floors of the gallery (two flights of stairs to climb), and covers his paintings, etchings and prints, posters and illustrations, sketches, and photos.  That was part of the interesting aspect—that this artist, who really began as a dilettante, explored so many different forms of expression, including the very new technique of photography.  (The photos on display were all from around 1900—some original prints and some new prints from old negatives.) 

There were works from his earliest days right through the end of his life, but the most interesting works for me were his prints and etchings.  These were mostly small—though there was a wonderful three-panel screen (he did several screens, inspired, apparently, by the Japanese practice) of scenes from the Paris street.  Many of his prints were no more than four colors—a practice he experimented with frequently.  Bonnard (1867-1947) was also one of the first “graphic artists” and he got his professional start making advertising posters (for champagne, for instance), some of which resemble the famous theater posters of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec.  He also did illustrations for books and was one of the very first graphic artists to use text as part of the artwork—not just the content, but the style.  Bonnard’s paintings were pretty much the least interesting part of this show. 

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THE CUBIST PAINTINGS OF DIEGO RIVERA: MEMORY, POLITICS, PLACE
11-13 May 2004

A small show, The Cubist Paintings of Diego Rivera: Memory, Politics, Place, was at the National Gallery of Art’s East Building (4 April-25 July 2004): an exhibit of Diego Rivera’s cubist paintings.  Rivera (1886-1957) went to Paris in the 1920s to study contemporary art on a stipend from the government from his home state in Mexico.  He was in the circle that included Pablo Picasso, Georges Braque, and Marcel Duchamps, and others, and he began trying out all the current styles, including Cubism, for brief periods, trying to find his own voice.  None of these experiments lasted very long, and there weren’t many cubist works in the show—and most of them were interesting only as curiosities the way Picasso’s realistic works as a young artist are.  They merely contrast with the more identifiable works of the maturer artists—in Rivera’s case, the murals and Mexican history and folklore he worked with for most of his career.

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HENRI ROUSSEAU: JUNGLES IN PARIS
21-25 August 2006

On Wednesday, 16 August 2004, my mother and I went down to the East Building of the National Gallery to see Henri Rousseau: Jungles in Paris (16 July-15 October 2006).  Rousseau (1844-1910) isn’t among my favorite artists; in fact, I find his paintings curious without being really compelling.  After reading the Washington Post review, however, I found him an interesting socio-artistic phenomenon.  First, he was unschooled as an artist.  He was a weekend duffer, so to speak, until he retired from his job as a customs clerk at 49—he was known in the art world as Le Douanier (the customs agent)—when he took up painting full time.  His aim was to be accepted by the Paris art establishment, which was committed to Realism, but he failed completely. 

He was, however, embraced by the avant garde, the upstart Impressionists and their literary confrères(Guillaume Apollinaire; Alfred Jarry, who gave him his nickname).  Picasso bought several of Rousseau’s paintings, as did others among the new, young artists and writers—whom Rousseau rejected.  (He found Matisse’s work “horribly ugly.”)  The irony is too much.  The fact seems to be that Rousseau really stumbled onto his naïve style and bold forms—he was trying to paint Realism and didn’t have the skill.  By sheer coincidence, he was doing naturally what the Impressionists were trying to do, and they had a fondness for “primitive” art.  They usually found this in far-off cultures like Africa, but in Rousseau, they saw their very own, homegrown primitive.  (All those jungle paintings, which were his most popular and are his most recognizable today, are the products of his imagination and his visits to natural history museums and international exhibitions or from magazine illustrations.  Rousseau never left France, and rarely left Paris.  His notion of the jungle wasn’t close to accurate—or he took tremendous liberties—since he combined images that don’t belong together, such as an American Indian fighting with a gorilla—in the rain forests of, what?  Illinois?) 

The Post even poses a provocative paradox: “Rousseau’s best paintings are undeniably great . . . .  But that begs the question of whether the man who made them was also a great artist.”  When he died penniless and was buried in a pauper’s grave, Picasso and fellow artist Robert Delaunay paid for a better plot, Apollinaire wrote a poem for the headstone, and sculptor Constantin Brancusi engraved it.  I don’t care much about his art, but Rousseau’s story is wonderful.

As part of the exhibit, the gallery is displaying many of the sources of Rousseau’s fantasies—a stuffed lion attacking an antelope from a natural history museum, illustrations in nature magazines, and so on.  Among these are two large bronze statues by Emmanuel Frémiet (described in the Post as “a hack realist”).  One of them is called Gorilla Carrying Off a Woman (1887), and that’s just what it depicts.  It looks exactly like a scene from King Kong (except that the woman is more Jane Russell than Fay Wray).  The museum labels and panels don’t say if this was in any way connected to the movie—say an inspiration for it—but you have to wonder if someone like the screenwriter or the director, whoever originally conceived of the movie, hadn’t seen the sculpture.  I mean, it’s just too exact.

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A VIEW TOWARD PARIS: THE LUCAS COLLECTION OF 19TH-CENTURY FRENCH ART
17 January 2007

Mom and I drove over to Charm City (I don’t know, either) to see an exhibit at the Baltimore Museum of Art and got my cousin, who lives in Baltimore, to meet us there.  The show, A View Toward Paris: The Lucas Collection of 19th-Century French Art (1 October–31 December 2006), had gotten an interesting review in the Washington Post and was going to close on the last day of the year, so we went over on Thursday, 28 December 2006, on what turned out to be a beautiful afternoon. 

George A. Lucas (1824-1909) was the heir to a Baltimore papermaking fortune who made a trip to Paris in 1857 and ended up staying 52 years, until his death.  He became an art collector, both for himself and as agent for others back in the U.S (including Duncan Phillips, whose art became the basis for the Phillips Collection in Washington; William and Henry Walters, who formed the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore; and William Corcoran, founder of the Corcoran Gallery of Art in D.C.).  Lucas was instrumental in bringing many of the late-19th-century painters on the Paris art scene to the attention of American collectors and critics.  But he had one peculiarity in retrospect (though it wouldn’t have seemed so at the time): he liked the art that everyone else liked, including the contemporary critics—the mainstream art, not the avant-garde work by the Impressionists and the Post-Impressionists.  As a result, the works and artists he championed weren’t the ones that later went down in art history as the greats of the era and have emerged as the icons of modern art. 

This isn’t to say Lucas collected bad art or supported mediocre artists—they were the stars of their day, in fact, and the point of the exhibit, in a way, is a reappreciation of these neglected painters who are often totally unknown today—undeservedly so, according to Post critic Blake Gopnik.  (Gopnik points out that one artist, August Molin, “doesn’t appear once in the 32,600 pages of the Grove Dictionary of Art, and even a thorough Google search comes up with all of two hits that have anything to do with him.”  He suggests that “his impressive walk-on part in the Lucas show will get some graduate student to dig deeper.”)  Since most of the works fall into the Realism and Romanticism categories—not my favorite styles of painting—and only a few barely touch on the emerging Impressionist challenge, the medium-sized show (200 works) became a little repetitive for me, but there were certainly some charming pieces.  (Nothing for a Midnight Shopping Trip, though.) 

What’s more, a number of the artist in the exhibit were the teachers of the emerging Impressionists or had been influential on their development.  In addition, the comparison of the works in Lucas’s collection—he ended up with 300 paintings and almost 20,000 prints—with the more famous works of the late 19th century not only shows a little of the development of the groundbreaking innovation that was Impressionism but also raises your appreciation for those iconoclastic artists and their work. (Impressionism is one of my favorite styles of art.)  It wasn’t a great art exhibit, and not to my mind as interesting as the Picasso and American Art at the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York City a few months ago (28 September 2006–28 January 2007), but it was more than pleasant, and had its virtues.  (One curiosity, because Lucas developed relationships with many of the artists whose works he bought, was that some of the painters presented him with their palettes—some just as they had been used for work and others with art added as a lagniappe.)

Besides the art, Mom, my cousin, and I had lunch in the museum restaurant.  And, since we were in Baltimore, I got to have crab cakes from an authentic Maryland kitchen!  Unless you’ve had crab cakes from within shouting distance of the Chesapeake, you haven’t lived!!  (If you’ve had them anywhere else, conversely, you have no idea what you’re missing.)

*  *  *  *
THE BARNES COLLECTION (Merion, Pennsylvania)
20 August/20 September/27 September 2007

[The Barnes Collection reopened at its new building in Philadelphia on 19 May 2012.]

On my return to New York City on Friday, 17 August 2007, after a visit with my mother in Washington, Mom decided to accompany me so we could make a detour to Merion, Pennsylvania, the suburb of Philadelphia where the Barnes Collection is located (until they move to Philadelphia as they plan).  In part because of the way Albert C. Barnes set his foundation up and the restrictions he put on it in his will, this is also a confusing collection—although the quality of the art makes up some for the oddness of the display.  (I won’t go into all the peculiarities of the legal set-up—it’s been in the news for the past several years as the board has sought permission to move from Merion into Philadelphia—but he mandated that no painting could be moved, either on the walls or from the building.  This is why the courts are involved in the proposed move, which the museum’s directors feel is necessary to increase attendance and income in order to maintain the collection.) 

Barnes (1872-1951), who became wealthy from a pharmaceutical invention he made in the early 20th century, also became interested in art, especially modern art (though he also has an extensive collection of African pieces) and began collecting here and in Europe at the turn of the last century into the years before WWII.  Now, some guys who do that end up with awful pieces by some of the most famous artists of the modern canon, but Barnes had excellent taste and he has a beautiful collection of Monets, Cézannes, Prendergasts (both brothers), Modiglianis, Lipschitzes (mostly sculptures), Klees, Picassos, Rouaults, and so on. 

But the paintings are mounted on walls in no order or thematic arrangement whatsoever, and they are hung from about waist height to about 10-12 feet off the ground.  (Mother said that when she first went there years ago, they were hung all the way to the ceiling.)  They’re not labeled (though the artists’ last names are sometimes on the frames) so the only way to identify the paintings (none of the sculptures or other objects—there are some tapestries and a lot of furniture pieces—are identified at all) is to go to the small placards placed in each room.  These are a photograph of each wall (or, when the wall is long and full of art, half the wall) with each picture frame numbered.  Below the photo of the wall layout is a list with corresponding numbers that names the paintings, the artists, the dates, and the media, like the wall labels on most other museums. 

Since there are at least four different layouts in each room, and there are several copies of each placard, you have to shuffle through all of them to find the wall you want to look at, then find the next one, and so on.  Not only is this an annoying task, it’s also time-consuming; the visit to each gallery takes at least half again as long as it otherwise would.  The galleries—there are two floors of art; Barnes had 2500 pieces when he died in 1951—are also dimly lit and there are no lights on each painting.  (This is not a building converted from a residence or anything; it was built, albeit in the ’20s, to be an art gallery.)  As I said, if it weren’t for the quality of the man’s art, the Barnes would be a monumentally frustrating place to visit. 

*  *  *  *
EDWARD HOPPER
            4 February 2008           
(21 December 2007-4 January 2008)

[I quoted from these comments in my report on the Whitney’s Where We Are.]

Im not really a fan of Edward Hopper, but Ill give a very brief (well, superficial anyway) run-down of the National Gallery exhibit nonetheless.  A fairly large show was at the East Building of the NGA on the Mall.  We went down to see EdwardHopperon Boxing Day, 26 December 2008, and encountered a very long line snaking around the second floor of the East Building.  The line kept growing even as we stood debating whether we should switch over to the West Building and give J. M. W. Turner a try; but fortunately, it moved quickly and we spent a pleasant-enough afternoon walking through the several galleries housing the 110 works of the show. 

Hopper (1882-1967) doesnt move me; I find his work cold and emotionless.  His lack of human figures in most of his paintings leaves them bloodless and vacant.  Even in the works with people, they are distant and alone—unengaged.  I know that this is what Hoppers fans find intriguing in his work, and its surely a fascinating psychological insight into his art, but it makes his paintings an intellectual curiosity to me, not an artistic experience.  He was captivated by architecture and the way light and shadow played on buildings and houses and he could paint the same one from different angles and at different times of the day over and over to try to capture the various ways the light fell, but this is a study to me, not an aesthetic evocation. 

Hopper painted at the same time that many other American artists were turning away from figuration and experimenting with abstraction and expressionism (and, er, Abstract Expressionism), but he fiercely resisted the shift and became an icon among younger and later artists of figurative painting.  (Not surprisingly, I guess, I am a fan of abstract art; I know some commentators—not necessarily art critics, however—see that movement as a fraud on gullible viewers, arguable most famously the late Morley Safer’s “Yes . . . but Is It Art?” segment on CBS’s 60 Minutes on 19 September 1993, but Ive always found the works exciting and moving, emotional and expressive.)  So I found the show, called simply Edward Hopper, pretty much just a curiosity; there was nothing I wanted to come back for on a Midnight Shopping Trip. 

This doesnt mean that I didnt learn anything, however.  The earliest works in the exhibit were etchings; I never knew Hopper did any kind of print work, and the 12 small etchings on show here, though they all displayed the same focus on empty cityscapes and lonely figures, were somehow more interesting to me than the later large oils.  (Hopper also painted watercolors in his early days.)  I will also add that theres a strange kind of theatricality in Hoppers paintings—not action or drama, but his interiors especially look like stage sets, a kind of set designers rendering. 

Theres an implied plot in some of them.  People sitting, essentially isolated even in a group, in a diner, viewed from the street through a long expanse of window (Nighthawks, 1942), make you wonder what might have just happened—or might be about to happen—in that single lighted room on a dark, empty street.  The woman, apparently an usher, leaning against a wall in a near-empty movie theater (New York Movie, 1939)whats she thinking about while the movies unreeling on the screen just out of her vision?  But these are intellectual curiosities, not emotionally-engaging ones.  A Hopper play would likely be one in which people sit around speaking in low tones—but only occasionally, leaving most of the play to silence.

[I mentioned in passing a “Midnight Sopping Trip” above a couple of times.  As regular ROTters will recall, this was my mother and my private joke, used as a benchmark for art shows we liked, suggesting a return after closing to pick up the pieces we liked.] 

“Glenda Jackson’s third act is a return to Broadway after decades in politics”

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by Jeffrey Brown

[Glenda Jackson is indubitably one of the best actors on the English-speaking stage and screen, with many iconic roles to her name.  Currently, she’s appearing (through 24 June) in the Broadway première of Edward Albee’s 1994 Pulitzer Prize-winning play, Three Tall Women at the John Golden Theatre (for which she’s now won both a Tony and a Drama Desk  Award for her performance).  On 4 June 2018, PBS NewsHour correspondent Jeffrey Brown sat down with Jackson for an interview, the transcript of which is republished below (and available at https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/glenda-jacksons-third-act-is-a-return-to-broadway-after-decades-in-politics#transcript).]

Glenda Jackson is back on Broadway for the first time since 1988, starring in Edward Albee's “Three Tall Women.” Jackson, 82, sits down with Jeffrey Brown to discuss the challenge of finding interesting female roles and why she spent 23 years away from acting as a Labor Party member of the British Parliament championing women's rights.

Amna Nawaz:  Now the return of one of the greats of theater and film, after many years she spent in politics.

Two years ago, Glenda Jackson made a powerful acting comeback, and now she’s back on Broadway with a third act to her remarkable career.

As Jeffrey Brown reports, she is also a strong favorite for a Tony Award later this week.

Jeffrey Brown:  It was quite a return. After 23 years away from the theater, Glenda Jackson took to the stage of London’s Old Vic in 2016 in Shakespeare’s “King Lear” playing Lear.

Glenda Jackson:  That’s one of the endearing things about the theater. I can put it into a kind of immediate context. You work with people, you may not see them for decades, you bump into them in the street, and it’s as though you have just walked out to the same coffee bar. You know, there’s no time gap.

Jeffrey Brown:  Now 82, Jackson is back on Broadway for the first time since 1988, starring with Laurie Metcalf and Alison Pill in Edward Albee’s “Three Tall Women.”

It’s a play about memory and aging that appealed to Jackson partly because of its strong female roles, something she says is a rarity. We talked recently at the famed Sardi’s Restaurant in Times Square.

Glenda Jackson:  It has been my experience, ever since I first walked onto a stage and got paid for it, that contemporary dramatists find women really, really boring. We are never, or hardly ever, the kind of dramatic engine of what they are writing.

Jeffrey Brown:  Why do you think that that’s been the case?

Glenda Jackson:  You’re a man. You tell me. Why do men, who are in the main still the majority of contemporary dramatists, find us so boring? They just don’t seem to think that being a woman is either interesting or dramatic or challenging or dangerous, or any of the things that any woman in the world knows our lives can and not infrequently are.

Jeffrey Brown:  And has this been a problem for you in your career in finding roles that you like?

Glenda Jackson:  Well, of course it’s a problem.

Jeffrey Brown:  Yes.

Glenda Jackson:  And it’s a problem that doesn’t seem to have changed.

That is bemusing to me, because it hasn’t shifted in all the years that I was in the theater, and now I am back in it.

Jeffrey Brown:  It’s hard to imagine anyone finding Glenda Jackson boring. Beginning in the 1960s, Jackson was a prominent presence on stage and screen on both sides of the Atlantic.

Glenda Jackson:  I could never love you.

Jeffrey Brown:  She reached wide fame in the 1969 film “Women in Love,” for which she won her first Academy Award for best actress.

Her performances, often playing strong, dynamic women, continued to win acclaim and awards, including two Emmys for the 1971 BBC series “Elizabeth R,” which aired on public television’s “Masterpiece Theatre.”

She won a second Oscar for the 1973 film “A Touch of Class.”

But in 1988, Jackson, a longtime critic of the government of conservative British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, left acting for what would become a decades-long political career as a Labor Party member of the British Parliament.

Glenda Jackson:  By far, the most dramatic and heinous demonstration of Thatcherism was where every single shop doorway, every single night, became the bedroom, the living room, the bathroom for the homeless.

Jeffrey Brown:  When you left acting, was it because you had done enough or had enough?

Glenda Jackson:  Good heavens, no.

Jeffrey Brown:  No.

Glenda Jackson:  My country was being destroyed. Anything I could do that was legal to get Margaret Thatcher out, and her government out, I was prepared to have a go at, and because everything I had been taught to regard as vices, she told me were virtues.

Greed wasn’t greed. It was doughty independence. Selfishness wasn’t selfishness. It was taking care of your immediate responsibilities.

Jeffrey Brown:  Did you come to feel that you accomplished something meaningful as a politician? Was it…

Glenda Jackson:  Not as an individual, because the idea that you have individual power in that sense is actually not true. You have clear responsibilities towards your own constituents and your own constituency.

And that was for me the most interesting part of it. But, yes, we did make changes. But then, of course, along came the Iraq War, and it went boom, like that, as far as I was concerned.

Jeffrey Brown:  One issue she championed, women’s rights in the home and workplace. I asked if she was surprised by the force of the MeToo movement now.

Glenda Jackson:  What surprises me is that people are surprised. I mean, in my country, for example, two women die every week at the hands of their partner, not infrequently male, usually, invariably male, every week.

Now, that’s not on the front pages of our newspapers every week. So this sudden almost cataclysm of surprise, shock, horror, how could this have happened, I don’t buy it. I mean, people are deluding themselves. I mean, we fail to acknowledge it, we fail to really work to eradicate it, and it — it takes more than just being shocked to eradicate it.

Jeffrey Brown:  So, for you personally, do you have any regrets about having taken the time away from acting to be a politician?

Glenda Jackson:  No.

Jeffrey Brown:  No.

Glenda Jackson:  I mean, it is an inordinate privilege to be a member of Parliament. I mean, people give you their trust, and they also give you what I regard as their most valuable right in a sense, their vote.

And that is a very humbling and privileged experience to have.

Jeffrey Brown:  So, now that you’re back, do you plan to continue acting?

Glenda Jackson:  Well, I would hope to. Yes. I mean, you know, yes. It’s one of the things that have been and is at the moment very central and essential in my life, if the work is that exciting and daunting as I have been privileged to experience over the past couple of years.

Jeffrey Brown:  “Three Tall Women” runs through June 24.

For the “PBS NewsHour,” I’m Jeffrey Brown on Broadway in New York.

Dispatches from Israel 15

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by Helen Kaye

[My generous Tel Aviv friend Helen Kaye has sent me another pair of her Jerusalem Post reviews from earlier this month.  In this instance, both plays are by Israeli dramatists, Hillel Mittelpunkt (b. 1949) and Hanoch Levin (1943-99); coincidentally, both writers are also native Tel Avivians (though, of course, Levin was born in Mandatory Palestine).  Mittelpunkt’s The Others is a new drama, while Levin’s The Child Dreams (also known as The Dreaming Child) premièred in 1993.  I’ll let Helen tell you more.]

The Others
Written & directed by Hillel Mittelpunkt
Cameri Theater, Tel Aviv; 4 June 2018

A Mittelpunkt play is always an Event, but this is the first Mittelpunkt play I’ve seen that doesn’t seem to be sure of itself, trying to paper over the cracks with a lot of posturing and shouting. Like some of his other plays, (Track to Damascus– 2010,Then,Prague– ’13) Othersis set in the Palestine of the British Mandate, here a few months short of its end, a period that Mittelpunkt has described as “a fertile cushion for ‘big’ dramas” because of the various and competing forces in Jewish society at the time.

We are in Ida’s (Irit Kaplan) shabby, beachside boarding house – a metaphor for transience – where jobless jazz musician Amiram (Avishai Meridor) is playing the piano prior to an audition that may or may not provide him with employment. Another resident is Thea (Kineret Limoni) who very often entertains British soldiers in her room. Then there’s the silent Mr. Mayer (Itzhak Heskia), a Survivor, dumped by the Jewish Agency whom a relative is supposed to, but never does, pick up.

Then one morning Dassi (Neta Garty) arrives. Her very presence is heinous. She is an outcast, disowned by her family, her name on a Jewish blacklist of ‘traitors’. Her crime? She fell in love with, and married, a British soldier, bore his child, and went to live in the UK. She is here, ostensibly, for her sister Gila’s (Joy Rieger) wedding, but that plan goes awry due to her father, Marshak (Dudu Niv) and despite her sympathetic Aunt Riva (Esti Kosovitsky). From there it’s basically downhill until the (more or less) deus ex machina ending.

I suspect that what Mittlepunkt is trying to say with his cast of solitary and diverse characters is that we are all Others to somebody, especially here, especially then, and even more especially now when, if we cannot see and respect the Other – whoever he or she may be – destruction may be the consequence.

Or as Ida says “you see how the best ideas lead to the worst deeds? There’s no ideal in the world that justifies murdering a 17 year old.”

The characters themselves are mostly believable. It’s some of what they do and how they act that seems contrived, even forced sometimes as in the case of Marshak, presumably feeling guilty over his lucrative World War II dealings with the British, whom Dudu Niv uncomfortably plays as a bullying, raving male harridan. Esti Kosovitsky’s Riva, Dassi’s only link to Eretz Israel, radiates sympathy, but that seems to be her sole function while the purpose of Amiram, whom Meridor plays with a nice mix of anxiety and nonchalance, indicates that he’s carrying a large torch for Dassi, and that’s it. The Gila character also serves, more or less, only as a conduit but Rieger does the best she can with her.

As Dassi, the charming Neta Garti anticipates too much, her body and voice often signaling what’s going to happen before it does, which is unfortunate. We get to know only that she considers herself a victim, that she lies a lot, that she’s manipulative, which is why what she finally does cannot ring true.

Others truly springs fully to life first in Limoni’s unabashed yet, still innocent (despite her profession), Thea, then in Itzhak Heskia’s quivering, slowly-getting-less-terrified, silent-but-speaking-volumes Mayer, and finally and most wonderfully in Irit Kaplan’s energetic, no-nonsense, utterly decent Ida whose for-the-record barkings actually fool nobody. It’s she who gives The Others heft.

*  *  *  *
The Child Dreams
By Hanoch Levin
Directed by Omri Nitzan
Cameri/Habima Theaters, Tel Aviv; 14 June 18

Is there more perfect tranquility than the sight of a quietly sleeping child, the eyelashes gently feathering pink cheeks, the small, even breaths as the little chest rises and falls?

“Let time stop now at the peak of happiness because better than this it cannot be,” says the Mother (Ola Schur-Selektar) as she looks at her son (Naama Chetrit) asleep in his little white bed, and at his Father (Ben Yosipovich) across the bed while Yosef Bardanashvili’s starry (for the moment) music reinforces the idyll.

Then Hell breaks forth. Literally. From a gaping blood-red maw suddenly come tumbling refugees, desperate, clutching their suitcases, and a violinist, dying of a gunshot wound to the belly, still unable to believe that he should be targeted.

This juxtaposition drives Omri Nitzan’s beyond superb production of The Child Dreams, each nostalgic, indifferent, tender, brutal, white-hot and unrelentingly poetic moment perfectly tempered for maximum impact.

Polina Adamov’s set is brutalist, á la 1950s Soviet architecture, the stage being on two levels which a curve (to tumble on, the curve that life throws, the curvature of the uncaring earth – you pick the metaphor) connects. The bed on which we first see the Child becomes a boat, becomes an island, becomes limbo. The colors of Adamov’s costumes are drab, washed out, save for the gold mesh and bright yellow dresses, respectively, of The Woman Born for Love and the Governor’s Wife (Ruth Asarsai). The Dead Children wear white underwear (underwear is a Nitzan trademark signaling vulnerability and often guilelessness).

On the surface Child deals with the fortunes of a group of refugees who attempts to find shelter after being driven from their homes. It is the Child, wrested from peace and innocence, hounded inexorably towards death, who drives the narrative. For parents, for us all, the death of a child represents an ultimate awfulness. But Levin doesn't do surface; The Child Dreams is universal; it is at once a searing indictment of man's ghastly inhumanity to man and an anthem to mercy, even hope.

The 20th was a seminal century, encompassing the glorious – the discovery of antibiotics, man on the moon, and the gruesome – two horrendous world wars, MAD [mutually assured destruction], Josef Stalin and Adolf Hitler, monsters masquerading as humans, and then, around the time that Child premiered we had the Balkan wars, the seemingly endless civil wars in Africa that are still ongoing, and the refugees that inevitably result from conflict.

Which makes the revival of Child almost mandatory because, at the moment, there are some 21 million refugees in the world, more than at any time since World War II. We have some of them and we treat them about as well as the Governor (Alexander Krul/Shahar Raz) – he has an electric bullhorn in place of a head – treats the refugees that attempt to land on his Island. Childis a morality play but there’s no God present.

The 20 member cast plays many roles and every actor gives of his utmost and with utmost effect. Most outstanding are Schur-Selektar whose Mother dredges up the strength to continue with no hint of pathos, Chetrit’s Child is real, disciplined and infinitely touching, and Oshrat Ingedeshat impresses as a compassionate Dead Child. As the Woman Born for Love and the faceless Governor’s Wife, Asarsai is beginning to realize the promise she showed in Woyzzek while Norman Issa chills as the rapacious Captain.

Perhaps Child’s greatness best comes through in this exchange between the Lame Youth (Shlomi Avraham) and a Bum (Eran Sarel): “You wrote those poems to make an impact/And now you try to impress by tearing them up./It’s too dramatic, excessive, unnecessary/. . . You will yet learn to despair/More quietly, more modestly/In silence. As you ought.”

[Readers should note that The Child Dreams was written long before the current refugee and immigrant crises that have enveloped Europe (mostly from the Syrian war against ISIS and the simultaneous civil war) and the United States (because of Donald Trumps immigration policies concerning our southern border). Though the Cameri/Habima production seems especially relevant to the latter issue right now, it was obviously planned and scheduled long before the Mexican-border crisis involving separating migrant children from their incarcerated parents developed here.

[This is Helen’s fifteenth installment of “Dispatches from Israel”; her last collection of reviews was posted onRick On Theater on 18 April.  Helen’s also contributed several other articles for this blog, but the list of her guest blogs has grown so long, I won’t include it here.  Instead, I refer interested readers to “Dispatches 10” (11 November 2016) for the dates of Helen’s posts up to then—look down in the afterword—and add numbers 11 (17 June 2017), 12 (27 October 2017), 13 (27 February 2018) , and 14.]

Science, Curiosity, and God

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[I've watched the PBS NewsHour, as it’s now called, pretty much every night since it was the McNeil/Lehrer Report.  In the last several years, the program’s introduced two regular features that are essentially oral essays by guest contributors.  They’re generally opinion pieces on subjects of particular interest to the essayist, but they cover a wide range of topics and presentation styles.  Recently there have been several of these segments that especially caught my attention, and two of them, one from “Brief but Spectacular” and one from “In My Humble Opinion,” seemed somewhat related.  So I’ve decided to post them together and let them play off one another for the benefit of readers of Rick On Theater.  ~Rick]

“WHY NEIL DEGRASSE TYSON WANTS TO FIX THE ADULT CURIOSITY PROBLEM”
by Niel deGrasse Tyson

[This essay, part of NewsHour’s “Brief but Spectacular” feature, was originally aired on Thursday, 24 May 2018.]

Neil deGrasse Tyson says he is like a “smorgasbord of science food” – he’s recognized hundreds of times every day and people are always hungry for more knowledge. DeGrasse Tyson, who spends much of his professional life encouraging science literacy in adults, gives his Brief but Spectacular take on bringing the universe down to Earth.

Judy Woodruff:  Finally, we turn to another installment of our weekly “Brief but Spectacular” series. Tonight, author and astrophysicist, Neil DeGrasse Tyson.

For more than two decades, he has served as director of the Hayden Planetarium in his home town of New York City. Tyson’s latest book, “Astrophysics for People in a Hurry,” is available now.

Neil DeGrasse Tyson:  What I think actually happened, was that the universe chose me. I know that’s not a very scientific sentence, but that’s what it felt like. The universe said, come, Neil, join us. And yes, I never looked back, back at earth. I kept looking up.

I was star struck at age nine. A visit to my local planetarium. Having been born in the Bronx, I thought I knew how many stars there were in the night sky, about a dozen.

Then you go into the dome of the planetarium and then thousands of stars come out. I just thought it was a hoax.

By age 11, I had an answer to that annoying question adults always ask children, what do you want to be when you grow up? I said, astrophysicist.

That usually just shut them up right there. Nobody knew anybody who was an astrophysicist and then I’d get back to the telescope.

So, deniers are people who wish the world were a way that does not agree with the operations of nature.

Believe what you want. I’m not going to even stop you. I would just hope you don’t rise to power over legislation and laws that then affect other people who do understand how science works. That’s dangerous.

Skepticisms is I will only believe what you believe what you tell me in proportion to the weight of the evidence you present. If you start speaking in ways where no known law of physics supports it, then I’m going to be all over you with my skepticism.

I’m recognized basically several hundred times a day. I wish I could put on a mustache and not be noticed but, of course, I have a mustache. They don’t care about me, tell me about that black hole you mentioned a program I saw the other day. Or, will we ever travel through space?

It’s like, I’m just this, this smorgasbord of science food and I got them hungry from something I did before and they’re still hungry and they want more. Most of my professional effort is trying to get adults scientifically literate. I think kids are born curious and if you fix the adult problem, the kids problem gets fixed overnight.

Part of my confidence is I see this generation who’s been born since 1995, teens, low 20s. That generation has only ever known the Internet as a source of access to knowledge. I have very high hope and expectations for what world they will create when they actually assume the mantles of power.

It’s the gap between when they do and what’s going on now that concerns me. It’s the adults that may have once been curious and forgot or there’s a flame that has been tamped down and you want to fan that flame and reawaken a sense of wonder about this world that we so often take for granted.

When I see eyes light up because that moment was reached, I’m done.

I’m Neil DeGrasse Tyson, your personal astrophysicist, and this is my “Brief But Spectacular” take on bringing the universe down to earth.

*  *  *  *
“A SCIENTIST STARES INTO INFINITY AND FINDS SPACE FOR SPIRITUALITY”
by Alan Lightman

[This comment from “In My Humble Opinion,” essays by thinkers, writers and artists, was broadcast on PBS NewsHour on4 June 2018.]

Amna Nawaz:  One conflict in the ongoing culture wars seems to suggest that science and religion cannot coexist peacefully.

Alan Lightman is a distinguished physicist and a novelist who teaches at MIT. Tonight, he shares his Humble Opinion on how to make space for both facts and spirituality.

Alan Lightman:  I have worked as a physicist for many years. And I have always held a purely scientific view of the world.

And by that, I mean that the universe is made of matter and nothing more, that the universe is governed by a small number of laws, and that everything in the world eventually disintegrates and passes away.

And then, one summer night, I was out in the ocean in a small boat. It was a dark, clear night, and the sky vibrated with stars. I laid down in the boat and looked up. After a few minutes, I found myself falling into infinity.

I lost all track of myself, and the vast expanse of time extending from the far distant past to the far distant future seemed compressed to a dot. I felt connected to something eternal and ethereal, something beyond the material world.

In recent years, some scientists have attempted to use scientific arguments to question the existence of God. I think these people are missing the point. God, as conceived by most religions, lies outside time and space. You can’t use scientific arguments to either disprove or prove God.

And for the same reason, you can’t use scientific arguments to analyze or understand the feeling I had that summer night when I lay down in the boat and looked up and felt part of something far larger than myself.

I’m still a scientist. I still believe that the world is made of atoms and molecules and nothing more. But I also believe in the power and validity of the spiritual experience.

Is it possible to be committed to both without feeling a contradiction? I think so. We understand that everything in the physical world is material, fated to pass away. Yet we also long for the permanent, some grand and eternal unity.

We’re idealists and we’re realists. We’re dreamers and we’re builders. We experience and we do experiments. We long for certainties, and yet we ourselves are full of the ambiguities of the Mona Lisa and the I Ching.

We ourselves are part of the yin-yang of the world.


Gres Gallery, Part 1

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[In my post “Washington Art Matters” (5 September 2013), I confessed that I’d considered writing about the Washington, D.C., art gallery of which my parents were part-owners in the 1950s and ’60s, Gres Gallery, but didn’t find enough background information.  Well, since then, I’ve come across a cache of material and I’m going to give it a try.

[Frequent readers ofRick On Theaterwill know by now that my family’s involvement with Gres Gallery when I was between 11 and 15 was a seminal experience for me and I’ve mentioned it many times on ROT.  (It was particularly important in my blog about my parents’ art collection, “A Passion For Art,” 21 November 2017.)  It’s always been a passing mention for the most part, however, and I now want to try to fill in some of the details of the gallery’s history—especially since it preexists the Internet by so much that there’s virtually (pardon the use of the term) no footprint on the Web at all.  Let’s see what I can come up with.  ~Rick]

Gres Gallery was originally founded by John and Tana Gres at 1744 Columbia Road, N.W., in Washington’s small Lanier Heights neighborhood (within the now-trendy Adams-Morgan area).  It opened on 19 September 1957 with a show of the Colombian sculptor Édgar Negret and painter Jack Youngerman.  

Tana de Gámez was a Spanish-born actress, radio announcer, novelist, and artists’ agent who was raised in Havana before emigrating to the United States and becoming a U.S. citizen in 1941.  (Mrs. Gres’s name is Tana, not Tanya as I wrote it in other posts because that’s was how it was spelled in my only source at the time, Washington Art Matters: Art Life in the Capital 1940-1990, the book that was the inspiration for the art show of the same title on which I wrote the report noted above.  She’s also not from South America as the book asserts.)  

One of Ms. de Gámez’s jobs after moving to New York City in 1936 was as a translator during World War II for the Voice of America, the U.S. government radio (and now TV) broadcaster that sends news and positive political propaganda around the world   Also working in the Spanish-language section was John Gres, a Cuban-born announcer and narrator, who would become de Gámez’s husband and her partner in Gres Gallery.  Tana Gres ran the gallery, which moved to 1729 20th Street, N.W., off Connecticut Avenue at R Street near Dupont Circle, in April 1958.  The new gallery space opened with a one-man show of Ecuadoran painter Manuel Rendon.

The authors of Washington Art Matters (Washington Arts Museum, 2013), Jean Lawlor Cohen, Benjamin Forgey, Sidney Lawrence, and Elizabeth Tebow, characterized the Gres at its inception this way:

What most artists wanted even then was gallery representation, an agent who not only provided space for shows but also promoted sales and kept the books.  Fortunately, the still-active commercial pioneers . . . were joined by a number of new galleries . . . .

One of the most ambitious was north of Dupont Circle,  the Gres Gallery . . . .

Tana Gres steered her gallery to noticeable success in the flourishing art scene of post-World War II Washington.  As I explained in “A Passion for Art,” the Nation’s Capital has a vibrant art community with many excellent museums, working artists, art schools and university departments, collectors, and commercial galleries, and Gres Gallery took its place among the best of the exhibit spaces, closing its first season in June 1958 with Past and Future (4 June-31 July), a show of some of the most successful artists from the previous year and showcasing new artists who’d be spotlighted in the coming season, prompting Washington Post art reviewer Leslie Judd Portner to declare the foregoing months “an unusually successful first season for this up-and-coming gallery.” 

Having “established something of a record for success” in its first 11 months, the Gres faced an existential challenge in August 1958.  Tana Gres was forced to retire from managing the gallery because of a serious heart condition.  The Martha Jackson Gallery, an important New York gallery of the day, and some prominent art collectors from Boston and New York City optioned to buy Gres Gallery and absorb 84% of its stock—if the remaining 16% were picked up by local Washington investors at $3500 per share (over $35,000 today).  Tana and John Gres would move to New York City where  Tana Gres would serve as a representative of the gallery.  Martha Jackson’s offer would expire at the end of September if no local support for the endeavor materialized.  That gave interested Washingtonians a month-and-a-half to pull something together if they wanted to save the “dynamic” little gallery (as the Postdubbed it) in order to “help” the Capital “hold [its] position” as an “important,” “emerging” art center.

On 14 September, the newspaper announced that Dr. and Mrs. Francis Threadgill had bought the gallery.  Threadgill was a prominent D.C. surgeon and his wife, the former Olga Briceño of Venezuela, was a novelist and newspaperwoman.  Olga Threadgill was a long-time friend of Tana Gres—two accomplished writers, they met in New York during the war—and, like Tana Gres, had ties to Latin American artists, making it a good bet that Gres Gallery would continue its strong focus on Spanish, South and Central American, Mexican, and Caribbean art.  The new owners announced that they would fulfill the plans for the 1958-59 season that Tana Gres had made, including an opening show at the end of September featuring the paintings of Abstract Expressionist Norman Carton, a native Pennsylvanian who worked in New York.  (The gallery would reincorporate under its new ownership in January 1959.)

The 25 September Washington Post reported that the new manager of the Gres would be Beatrice Perry, former director of the Sculptors Studio in Washington’s newly hip and upscale Georgetown.  Perry, the wife of Hart Perry, an international corporate executive and U.S. government official, was trained as an artist at the Chicago Art Institute and studied sculpture with Austrian-born Franz Plunder in New York and Americans William Calfee and James Caudle in Washington.  It was with this management set-up that my parents and about nine other local investors joined.  (It was the wives, like my mother—I often tagged along—who were the active participants.  Known as the Gres Corporation, they included Mrs. Robert Cabot, Mrs. Saxton Bradford, Stuart Davidson, Mrs. Samuel Efron, Mrs. Richard McKinley, Mrs. Sidney Rolfe, Mrs. Cord Meyer, Mrs. Robert Anderson, and Mrs. Lucille McGinnis.  Hope Efron and her husband Sam, an international lawyer, were good friends of my parents as far back as I can remember—their son Eric and I went to high school together for a while and then were neighbors in New York City when I moved here after my army service—and Davidson, an investment banker, was the group’s sole bachelor; he later went on to found Clyde’s Restaurants in the Capital area.)   

I’ve recounted this story a few times: My father came home one day in September 1958 and announced, “Guess what I just did!”  Obviously, we didn’t have any idea, so my dad explained he’d bought a share of an art gallery, and Mom asked, “What  kind of art gallery?”  “Modern art,” Dad said, to which Mom replied, “But we don’t know anything about modern art!”  Well, we were about to learn, and it was the beginning of a family adventure that would have repercussions beyond the life of Gres Gallery.

Under the new management, Gres Gallery opened for the 1958-59 season on 30 September with an exhibit of the paintings of Norman Carton (one of whose works, Intermezzo, my parents bought for me as a 12th birthday gift and which remains one of my most treasured pieces of art) and the abstract sculptures of Jorge Oteiza, a Spanish Basque artist.  The Washington Post celebrated the survival by the “newest and most provocative of the modern art centers here” of the near-crisis of Tana Gres’s sudden retirement.

Not that all ran smoothly right out of the gate.  The new Gres Gallery’s first show was almost scuttled before it even opened.  About two weeks before the 30 September opening of the Carton-Oteiza exhibit, four pieces of Oteiza’s sculptures—Empty Suspension, Dynamic Conjunction, Slow Forms Before Closing Space, and Metaphysical Box No. 1—were being held by the Baltimore office of the U.S. Customs Service.  The issue was one of duties.  And the official Customs definition of “sculpture.”  (Yes, there was one, based on a Supreme Court decision—from 40-45 years earlier.  Ummm. . . that would make it from 1913-1918.  What do you think?  Had art changed much in almost half a century?)   

The Spanish sculptor’s work is not just abstract, but, as Beati Perry acknowledged, is constructed of iron or aluminum pieces cut into shapes by machines and then bolted or welded together.  Therein lay the problem: the Customs rule for duty-free fine art rather than “new decorative art pieces” on which a 19% tariff was levied was that fine art must be “representations of natural objects or objects in nature,” according to J. Ross Prevost, U.S. Customs appraiser for the port of Baltimore.  He explained: “Modern art sculptures have metaphysical or abstract subjects . . . .   They don’t represent nature.”  Perry, who blamed the legal criteria and not the Customs Service, proclaimed: “It’s the unworkable law.  What was sculpture in the Renaissance isn’t enough for today.” 

(The law governing whether a piece of sculpture is art or “manufactured” or “fabricated” metal was under review by the Customs Service and a bill was introduced in the 84th Congress in 1957 to change the applicable law to reflect new criteria for modern sculpture “so there would be no question about admitting abstract art into the country duty-free.”  The bill failed to pass, leaving the definition of art the same as it had been for nearly half a century for customs purposes.  There was a second criterion in question as well, however.  The customs definition of fine art included that it must be made by hand or cast from hand-made molds, and Oteiza’s sculptures were largely machine-made.  A lawyer with customs experience explained that this regulation was in force to prevent machine-duplicated reproductions from flooding into the country duty-free in the guise of original works of art.)

When someone observed that Dynamic Conjunctionlooked like a pair of manacles, Prevost responded, “That’s close, but I just couldn’t say what it is.”  When the artist filled out the customs declarations for the sculptures, he described them as “iron, in crates.”  Therefore someone wondered why they couldn’t come into the country as scrap metal, which carried a 10% duty.  Perry pointed out that might be illegal, and would probably be dishonest: to pay the duty on the value of the metal in the sculptures and then turn around and sell them for thousands of dollars as art.  All a Customs official would say was, “They’re not scrap metal.”

Perry made her argument for the duty-free admissibility of the sculptures in the form of a very interesting analogy—the likes of which government bureaucrats are probably not likely to hear often:

If an artist created a machine-made iron sculpture of his concept of God, it could not be established whether it was like God or not.

Customs officials, if they refused duty-free status for the object, would be in a position of ruling that man could see God and so represent Him.

The case for metaphysical thought is similar.  No one can see them, but they can be represented as man attempting to relate himself spiritually to the universe.

Four days before the Gres exhibit was to open, the gallery “ransomed” the four artworks for $400, a 10% tariff, leaving the question of whether they’re art or not for a later debate.  It was a temporary solution, arranged with Olga Threadgill, new co-owner of the gallery, relying on the government agency to repay the money if it decided to deem the sculptures art—and collecting the full 19% tariff if they didn’t.  Perry reported that she heard the decision “will be a test case.”  On 30 September, the day of the exhibit’s opening at Gres, the U.S. Customs Service ruled that the four Oteiza metal constructions, which the artist labeled “theological boxes,” were, indeed, art objects and, consequently, could be brought into the country duty-free.  The decision allowed for the duty-free entry of sculptures that represent “other than natural objects.”  The Baltimore Sun offered the opinion that “The Customs Bureau edged into the slippery transcendental realm” when it decided Oteiza’s works were art.  Customs appraiser Prevost dubbed the decision “epoch-making.”  Celebrating the decision with champagne with her Gres colleagues, Perry said they’d now be requesting a refund of the $400 “ransom” paid to secure the release of the sculptures for the exhibit. 

Dynamic Conjunction is a sweeping assemblage of dark, curving iron bars, thin and flat and bending into each other, 13⅜ inches high.  Perry interpreted the works as expressions of “spiritually habitable space as a sort of metaphysical installation for man.”  She added: “The sculpture is intended to show man’s relation to the universe.”  According to Perry, the pieces “evolved from metaphysical discussions between the sculptor and the Dutch painter, Piet Mondrian.”  Dynamic Conjunction and Empty Suspension were prize-winners, awarded the First International Sculpture Prize in the international competition at the São Paolo Biennial in Brazil in 1957. 

So ended the preamble, and nearly the death-knell, of the new Gres Gallery’s first show.  Not the sort of notoriety the gallery might have wanted, but it worked out satisfactorily for the gallery and may have even helped prevent a similar occurrence for another exhibitor down the line by being a catalyst for changing the regulations governing importing modern sculptures into the United States.  Norman Carton and Jorge Oteizaran at Gres until 28 October.  Post art critic Leslie Judd Portner praised the two artists: Carton for bringing “a strong sense of structure and cohesion to his canvases” on which “[p]aint is piled . . . with brush and palette knife until in some instances it stands an inch away from the surface of the canvas”; and Oteiza as a “nice contrast to Carton” who “employs an art of reticent angular geometries . . . .” 

(Accompanying a Washington Post article on the conclusion of the Customs Affair and reporting the opening of the Carton-Oteiza show was a photograph, probably staged, of Olga Threadgill and Beati Perry hanging a painting in the gallery.  The photo is captioned “An Art Itself,” referring to the “proper” hanging of a framed canvas, and shows Perry on a tall step ladder as Threadgill hands a painting up to her as she stands to Perry’s left.  I mention this illustration because I was present for many of these picture-hanging sessions.  I would accompany my mother to the gallery and while the adults were working on arranging the art—I’d have been too small to be much help with this—I’d be sitting at a folding table stuffing envelopes with the announcement of the opening or a schedule of upcoming shows.  I got pretty good at folding flyers and fitting them nearly into envelopes!)

At the same time as the run-up to the first show at the Gres under its new ownership and management, and even during the brouhaha of the Customs quarantine of the Oteiza sculptures, a different sort of attention was being focused on Gres Gallery, a much happier kind. 

On 5 October 1958, the Washington Postannounced its fourth annual Christmas Painting Project, a contest for professional and amateur artists, high school and college students, and the general public.  $100 U.S. Savings Bonds were the prize for six winners—one each for a high-schooler and a college artist from public, private, and parochial schools in the District; the Virginia counties of Arlington, Fairfax, Alexandria, and Falls Church; and the Maryland counties of Montgomery and Prince Georges, and four for submissions from the public—for a Christmas-themed painting in any of a number of media.  The six winning submissions would be published in the paper in full color.  

After a preliminary jury of Poststaffers made judgments on the basis of “suitability of technique and subject”—there were some criteria—“for color reproduction,” a final round of judging would be conducted on 3 December by a distinguished panel of three local art professionals.  Among these was Gres Gallery’s executive director, Beatrice Perry.  (The other two panelists were Franz Bader of the District’s Franz Bader Gallery and [Hereward] Lester Cooke of the National Gallery of Art staff.)  Perry’s name and position appeared in further announcements and display ads for the painting project that ran until the deadline (26 November), keeping the gallery’s presence before the Post’s readership for several weeks.   

On 21 October, the Post published a letter from the chairman of the Department of Art at the District’s American University complaining about Leslie Judd Portner’s coverage of Gres Gallery.  Ben L. Summerford (known, for some reason, as “Joe”), a painter himself, wrote, “Will Leslie Judd Portner’s crusade in behalf of the Gres Gallery never end?”  Calling for “an uncommitted critic” whose focus is “serious criticism and not social news, whose writing can be respected for an unbiased evaluation of art exhibited here . . . .”  While Summerford acknowledged that “Mrs. Portner at times has been such a critic,” he lamented her “lapses such as have occurred in the past six or eight weeks in which her obvious favoritism seriously prejudices her judgment in other areas.” 

Summerford’s principal problem with Portner’s criticism was that he counted her among those in the District who “have ignored serious art done in the city, and in many cases given preference to mediocre work done elsewhere.”  The critic critic labeled this tendency “a regrettable aspect of our provincialism” and admonished the paper and Portner that if they “are concerned about art in Washington, they could do much to afford the climate in which it could exist.”  

(In the 1950s, the Nation’s Capital was still suffering from an inferiority complex regarding its indigenous culture—what Summerford called our “provincialism”—competing in the minds of Washingtonians, especially native-born residents, non-transients, and those not serving in the federal government, with New York City, a scant 250 miles north and a short hop by train or plane.  I discuss this in “Washington Art Matters” and reference a review of that show, ironically at American University where Summerford taught, by John Anderson in the Washington City Paper in which he also wrote of this phenomenon, asserting, “Washington Art Matters ostensibly intends to illuminate the importance of Washington’s art scene, but it’s awfully hung up on Manhattan—a common and ultimately counterproductive affliction in this town.”)

It might be worth noting here that Summerford was one of the artists who founded the Jefferson Place Gallery, a cooperative that was Gres’s principal competition—and neighbor in the Dupont Circle area of D.C.—in 1957.  Washington Art Matters observed of the friendly rivalry that Gres

created a social scene—with Larry Rivers, for example, playing jazz piano into the night.  Alice Denney [director of the Jefferson Place Gallery] remembers that gallery goers would arrive at her less-endowed operation the Jefferson Place Gallery trailing balloon bouquets from the Gres’s more elaborate openings.

Jefferson Place, located south of Dupont Circle at 1216 Connecticut Avenue near 18th Street, N.W.—four minutes south of Gres—focused on local artists, especially the Washington Color School (see my post, “The Washington School of Color,” on 21 September 2014).  Beati Perry didn’t want Gres to become known as a Washington gallery so she eschewed local artists.  As a consequence, several artists like Kenneth Noland and Morris Louis—and, you can imagine, Ben Summerford and his Jefferson Place  colleagues who were largely a group of American University artists—never showed at the gallery.   According to Washington Art Matters, Gres had already “created excitement among collectors who until then bought only in New York and Chicago.”

By 27 October, several other readers had chimed in on Summerford’s point.  Richard E. Trees of Washington wrote in “to second Mr. Summerford’s criticism of” Portner, but his issue wasn’t with the coverage of Gres.  (Trees complained about the Post critic’s assessment of an unnamed artist from an unidentified exhibit.  He took issue with what he saw as “almost . . . criticizing the artist[‘s] personality and ignoring his art.”)  On the other hand, Washingtonian Penelope J. Wright replied to Summerford: “Despite recent criticism of Mrs. Portner’s evaluation of the present exhibition at the Gres Gallery [the Carton-Oteiza show], I hope that The Post will continue to give so competent a critic as Mrs. Portner a free voice.”

A third letter-writer, Manuel Baker, took up Smmerford’s objection to Portner’s putative bias for outside artists over local ones.  The director of Washington’s I.F.A. Galleries (the initials stood for “International Fine Arts,” but no one called it that) declared, “I wish to register a sharp protest against the unwarranted criticism leveled against Leslie Judd Portner . . . by Ben Summerford.”  Listing Summerford’s complaints, Baker wrote, ”As the director of a gallery which has been exhibiting the work of both local and out-of-town artists for the past eight years, I find all these criticisms invalid.”  The letter-writer went on to praise Portner for her support of “a progressive gallery” whose “demise would have dealt a severe blow to the entire art community . . . .”  He asserted, “Mrs. Portner should be applauded and not criticized for her efforts, which played no small part in saving the gallery” (when Tana Gres had to retire precipitously).  Noting that the Post art reviewer had been covering local artists extensively  and that those outside artists she’d reviewed were “artists who have achieved substantial recognition.”  Baker’s conclusion was:  “To deprive Washingtonians of the pleasure of seeing and reading about their work would be the height of ‘provincialism.’”

In preparing this article, I perused all of Portner’s reviews of Gres Gallery’s shows, and I can report that, while she praised the exhibits and the art on display, she was no less effusive about the shows at other galleries—including the Jefferson Place.  Most of the notices Portner published on Gres shows were part of omnibus columns covering several art shows in town, so she wasn’t spotlighting Gres to the exclusion of other local outlets.  In addition, if she seemed enthusiastic about this new gallery, perhaps it was because it wasa new gallery in a town just coming into its own culturally and every new outlet—gallery, museum, theater, ballet troupe, orchestra—was an exciting and significant arrival on the scene.  Also, as Manuel Baker observed, the Gres almost died aborning, after a remarkably successful nine-month gestation period.  I’m biased, of course, and I was very young and impressionable when Gres was operating, but it was a pretty remarkable place.  It was the art world counterpart to the Little Engine That Could.  Portner, I think, can be excused for her apparent enthusiasm.  It wasn’t bias, but a response to something obviously special. 

According to a report in the Post at the time of Tana Gres’s departure in August, the gallery, “self-sustaining since the third month of its existence,” “has established something of a record for success” by grossing $10,420 from art sales (the equivalent of about $90,450 today) in its eleven months of operation.  Works had been purchased by the Phillips Collection in Washington, the Baltimore Museum of Art, the Brooklyn Museum, the San Francisco Museum of Art (now the S.F. Museum of Modern Art), the Yale University Art Gallery, the Museum of Modern Art in Caracas, and the Frankfurter Kunstkabenett.  Galleries such as the Martha Jackson, Betty Parsons, and Parma in New York also bought art from Gres and other galleries and museums brought Gres artists to New York to exhibit.  Artists of note—“who have achieved substantial recognition,” as Manuel Baker of I.F.A. put it—who exhibited at Gres included José Luis Cuevas, Mexican painter and sculptor; Colombian sculptor Édgar Negret; New York painter Anna Walinska; tapestry-maker Marie Tuiccillo Kelly from Pittsburgh; and a group of the most important German artists of the first half of the 20th century such as Kurt Schwitters, Georg Grosz, Wassily Kandinsky, and Paul Klee.  Ambassadors from the artists’ home countries usually attended the openings and sometimes gave embassy receptions in honor of the artist and her or his work in the exhibit. 

This all sounds like success to me--the kind that appropriately gets press coverage.  But Portner herself reported in December some other marks of Gres’s status.  Noting that when she started reporting on the District’s art scene in 1950, there was only one “professional art gallery” among a handful of tea rooms, antique shops, and movie houses that sold “art” on the side.  Now Gres is among the five that then existed in Washington.  (The other four were the Jefferson Place, the  Obelisk, the Art Rental, and the Hiratsuka Nippon Galleries.)  The Post journalist observed after only one year in the business, an “indication of its standards is that the Carnegie International Exhibition, currently in Pittsburgh, is exhibiting 11 of its regular artists.”  She added that among the 11 was Antoni Tápies, Spanish painter and sculptor who was scheduled to have his first U.S. one-man show at the Gres in March 1959, and who won the Grand Prize at the Carnegie.  The other 10 artists at the Carnegie from Gres Gallery were José Bermudez, a Cuban-born American known for drawings, sculptures, and watercolors; Luis Martínez Pedro, Cuban painter; Manuel Rendón, Ecuadorian painter; Matta (aka:Roberto Matta), painter from Chile; Mexican painter José Luis Cuevas; sculptor Jorge Oteiza from Spain, New York painter Norman Carton, born in Pennsylvania; New York-based sculptor Louise Nevelson, born in the Ukraine; New York-based artist in prints, paint, and sculpture Jack Youngerman, born in Missouri; and Édgar Negret, Colombian sculptor.  Portner concluded, “This is quite some recognition for a brand-new gallery.”

If someone wants to fault Gres for not showing Washington artists, that’s a fair criticism.  I like the work of Morris Louis, Kenneth Noland, Lou Stovall, Lila Asher (a childhood friend of my late mother’s), and Sam Gilliam.  (There are posts on many of these artists on Rick On Theater: “Morris Louis,” 15 February 2010; “Lila Oliver Asher,”26 September 2014; “Picasso, Bearden, Gilliam, and Gauguin,” 26 June 2011.  There’s extensive mention of Noland in “Washington School of Color,” referenced above, as well as some passing references in “Picasso, Bearden, Gilliam, and Gauguin.”)  I now think Beati was wrong to reject them back then—but it was her choice and I don’t think those artists suffered professionally for Gres’s rebuff.  (My mother told me a few years ago that both Louis and Noland approached Beati for shows at Gres and were turned down.  I wonder if Summerford made the same application.)

For the most part, things went swimmingly for Gres Gallery and its new owners, managers, and shareholders after the Customs Affair and the Critical Cavil.  (It was all very exciting to 11-going-on-12 me, of course.)  On 29 October 1958, Gres opened its first Fernando Botero show with Ambassador José Gutiérrez Gómez of Colombia officiating.  (The show, which Portner dubbed one of “the two most interesting shows in town this week,” paired the emerging Colombian painter with the much-more-established  Louise Nevelson, the mid-career American sculptor known for her monochromatic, abstract shadow-box constructions.  It closed on 25 November.)  The diplomat had given a reception at the embassy the day before in honor of the painter who was arguably the most famous—or would become so—of all the artists Gres showed.

Gres  was only the second gallery in the U.S. to mount a solo Botero show; the first was at the Pan-American Union (now the Organization of American States, or OAS) from 17 April to 15 May 1957.  Between 18 October and 12 November 1960, Gres held its second one-man show of the paintings of the Colombian’s art; it’s my recollection that MoMA bought the artist’s Mona LisaAged 12 from this Gres exhibit.    (Also from Gres’s second Botero exhibit, my mother, brother, and I bought the artist’s Boy with Guitar,sometimes called Boy with Mandolin, as a 42nd-birthday gift for my father.  Of course, my brother, then 11¾, and I, a month shy of 14, didn’t really contribute any cash to the purchase—we didn’t really have any—but Mom paid in the low three figures for the 3¼′ x 4¼′ painting which 58 years later is assessed at 1000 times as much!)

On 30 November 1958, the gallery opened Collages by Robert Keyser.  I don’t recognize the name, and his work doesn’t look familiar to me now, but the timing’s right for this to have been the source of a short-lived but significant influence on me.  Here’s the story (which I’ve told before in an abbreviated version):

It was the practice for Gres openings that the vernissages, the receptions for the artist or artists on the eve of the exhibit, rotated among the shareholders and were held at their homes.  The artists, if they were in town for the opening, were usually there as well, and this was part of what made our experience with the gallery so impressive: I not only saw a lot of new art “up close and personal” (remember, I was often at the gallery when the shows were hung), but I got to meet the artists—real, honest-to-God, professional artists!  (Since Keyser came from New York for the opening, he’d have been at the party, assuming I’ve got the right show.)

Pieces of the art to be shown were bought to the homes and displayed along the walls or propped up on mantels so the guests could get a preview of the show—an enticement, I guess you’d say.  My parents hosted many of these over the 3½ years we were involved with Gres, and I usually attended; I was often the greeter, “butler,” and cocktail waiter when my folks entertained.  One of the art parties my parents held was for a collagist—almost certainly Keyser, given the date and how soon after we got involved with Gres this happened—and I was helping when we laid out the art in prep for the reception. 

I was intrigued by the collages we were placing around our living room; Keyser’s work was described as composed of “many kinds and colors of paper . . ., including graph paper, wall paper samples and even old wrapping paper.”  I’m not sure I’d ever seen a collage—or knew what one was—before this introduction.  When the guests had started to arrive, and I was taking coats and drink requests, one man, someone my parents knew as I recall, was looking at a piece on the mantel.  I don’t remember if the man said anything, but I piped up: “I can do that!”  The man instantly took up my boast and said that if I made a collage, he’d buy it from me.  The challenge was on!

I immediately went upstairs to my room and, not having any other supplies at hand (or really knowing of any other suitable material—besides, Keyser worked in paper), I took some colored construction paper and started cutting and pasting.  It was an abstract assemblage, just shapes and colors without any intended meaning or message (what I now know as the foundation of the Washington Color School’s artistic principle).  Maybe 45 minutes or an hour later, I brought my creation downstairs and presented it proudly to the man who’d challenged me.  He lived up to his promise, too, and asked me what I thought the collage was worth.  What did I know?  I figured the materials were worth maybe 50 cents and, not adding anything for my time or labor—not even considering artistic inspiration—that’s what I quoted him.  He paid up (about $4.50 in 2018 bucks), and I was a successful artists (I’d never have known the designation ‘collagist” at that time)—I’d sold something I created!

But the story had repercussions:

I went on to make construction-paper collages to give to friends and family instead of greeting cards.  One of my creations was sitting on a table in the apartment of my “Aunt” Viv, my mom’s best friend, when she was entertaining a local Society Lady.  The Society Lady spotted the collage as she was leaving and asked Aunt Viv what it was.  “Oh,” joked Vivian, who had a puckish sense of humor, “that’s an original Richard K*****.”  “Yes, I’ve heard of him,” responded the Society Lady, not knowing, of course, that I was all of 13 or 14 at the time.  Having committed herself, Aunt Viv couldn’t admit now that she’d been kidding the Society Lady—who took herself very seriously—so Viv just let the woman believe I was a famous artist of whom she might have heard.

End of story . . . not.

The anecdote, both parts, made the rounds in my family—my mother continued to tell it decades later—and eventually it reached the ears of my Uncle Herb from Massachusetts.  He and my Aunt Mac were in New York City a few years later, shopping in a gallery on Madison Avenue.  While Mac was browsing, Herb, who had a peeve about pretensions and phoniness, cooled his heels until a saleswoman asked if he needed help.  “Yes,” he replied, in all apparent seriousness (but with a secret glint in his eye), ”I’m looking for some original Richard K*****s.”  After leafing through the shop’s collection of art and prints, the assistant told him, “I’m sorry, we don’t happen to have any at the moment, but we’re expecting some in shortly.  Shall I let you know when they come in?”  Needless to say, Uncle Herb—Mom used to call him a pixie—said she should.

I never did become a famous artist, by the way.

It’s one thing for an ambassador or chief of mission to make an appearance at a gallery opening, like Ambassador Gutiérrez Gómez of Colombia at the opening of the Botero show or the Chilean Chargé d’Affairs at the preview of the Matta exhibit.  That’s all about the official representative of a nation making a public fuss over a prominent son or daughter of the home country.  It’s like sending the Veep to the funeral of a foreign head of state—it part of someone’s official duties.  But it’s another matter when diplomatic officials from countries unrelated to the artist show up at an exhibit opening or other event.  Then it’s about the prestige of being seen at the gallery, spotlighting the venue rather than the artist.  In the case of Collages by Robert Keyser at Gres Gallery, the Washington Post reported that representatives of the British and French embassies attended the opening; so did the Turkish Press Attaché—even though Keyser was a New Yorker.  (Though meeting artists was a new and exciting experience for me at this time in my life, I went to school with the kids of senior diplomats, so it was no big deal for blasé li’l me; I used to go to the home of the Indian ambassador to play!  A few years after this, my dad would be an attaché himself.) 

[There’s more of this story to come and I hope that you’ll return on 10 July for the second part of “Gres Gallery.”  This has been a very personal and emotional visit for me, going back to a part of my life that I regard with great affection and a feeling of magic.  I hope some of that comes through to you readers.  At the same time, I want to record, in as complete an account as I can, the history of Gres Gallery, including some of my private recollections and some of the personal responses I had to this remarkable experience.  I’ve had to skip over a number of exhibits and leave out more than a few of the artists that Gres showed; I selected the ones I thought told something unique or important about the gallery. 

[I’m contemplating appending a list of the names mentioned in this article after Part 2—perhaps just the artists’ names, with their dates and the kind of art they made.  Maybe what I’ll do, if I go ahead with that plan, is to compile a list of Gres’s exhibits in chronological order and add it to the bottom of “Gres Gallery, Part 2.”]

Gres Gallery, Part 2

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[Welcome to the second part of “Gres Gallery,” my account of the history of the small modern-art gallery in Washington, D.C., of which my parents were part-owners in the late 1950s and early 1960s.  (I strongly recommend that ROTters who haven’t read Part 1, posted on 7 July, go back and catch up before proceeding to Part 2 below.)  The account picks up right were I left off at the end of the first half, beginning here with the start of 1959, the middle of Gres Gallery’s first season under the new ownership that included my folks.  You’ll see that things heated up a little for the gallery almost right away because of international politics and world affairs.]

Gres’s first show of 1959, Matta, opened on 22 January as an effective celebration of Gres’s reincorporation under its new directorship and with its new group of shareholders.  Portner declared the first show of the new year “an excellent selection of Matta’s work over the years, showing not only the continuing development of this extraordinary painter but also each period at its best.”  The show of Roberto Matta’s surrealistic paintings ran until 18 February, but on 16 February Washington held its first Jazz Jubilee, the patrons for which were First Lady Mamie Eisenhower and the wives of several other high-ranking federal officials.  The musical fête was held at Washington’s Sheraton-Park Hotel, the largest hotel in the Nation’s Capital, and was accompanied around town by various other cultural events tied to the theme of jazz music one way or another—a lecture, a memorabilia exhibition, and Gres Gallery’s Rhythm in Form and Music, an exhibit of African sculpture and woodcarving from 12 to 31 March (including a week’s extension). 

The art show was “accompanied by taped music of African rhythms and modern jazz counterparts . . . .”  The exhibit “attempts to show the close interrelation between music and visual art . . . .”  The director of the Library of Congress’s Music Division, Harold Spivacke, selected the recordings and Post art critic Leslie Judd Ahlander (formerly Portner; the review-writer married the Swedish cultural attaché, Björn Ahlander, in January) assured readers, “The impact of sight and sound will be an unforgettable experience.”  (I don’t remember this exhibit at all, and I don’t remember hearing either of my parents talk about it in later years even though after returning to Washington in the late ’60s, my dad went to work as the volunteer director of development for the private Museum of African Art, the predecessor to the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African Art on the Mall; see my post on 19 January 2015.  I’ve always thought that MAA was our introduction to the art of Africa, but it turns out that Gres Gallery mounted this show eight years earlier.)

From 8 February through 8 March, meanwhile, the Baltimore Museum mounted a show of paintings from the Gres, a selection of contemporary works.  Such an invitation to a private gallery rather than another museum or an individual is “a rare honor,” said Perry.  The Gres artists on loan were Botero, Bermudez, Marie Tuiccillo Kelly, and Anna Walinska, as well as Wilfredo Lam, a Cuban-born painter and sculptor who lived and worked in Paris, and British painter William Scott.  The Baltimore reviewer, however, wasn’t quite so impressed.  Of the Gres exhibit, the Sun’s art critic, Kenneth B. Sawyer, complained that “the work included, with one significant exception, seems thin indeed . . . .”  The exception was Scott, “regarded by some as England’s best younger painter,” who “dominates the exhibition.”  All the others, Sawyer dismisses pretty thoroughly, concluding “that  the company offers him little competition . . . .”  (“The Latin Americans, Botero, Lam, and Bermudez[,] suffer from the current European debility of manner,” he proclaimed.)  Sawyer led off by cautioning that “the Gres has provided its quotient of excitement,” but “I, among others, would have been quick to praise brave efforts had I but been convinced of their staying power.”  (Such a loan occurred again in January 1960 when the 20th Century Gallery in Williamsburg, Virginia, an affiliate of Richmond’s Virginia Museum of Art, borrowed the works of a group of contemporary artists from Gres.)

Also in February of 1959, Gres Gallery got itself somewhat embroiled in a small political controversy.  The backstory was the Cuban Revolution that had just ended.  On 1 January, Fidel Castro’s  Marxist revolutionary 26th of July Movement ousted right-wing dictator Fulgencio Batista from the island nation’s presidency and established a socialist state.  Members of the old regime were jailed, fled, or sought asylum in countries like the U.S. or Spain (which was still governed at the time by its own totalitarian dictator, Generalissimo Francisco Franco) and members of the new order came out of hiding to assume public profiles. 

(I have particular reason to recall this development, even though I had only just passed my 12th birthday, because I had a classmate—this would be 6th grade—who was the son of the Cuban ambassador under Batista,  Nicolás Arroyo y Márquez.  When Castro overthrew his father’s government, he disappeared from school, obviously in hiding with his family.  They were holed up in a hotel, it turns out.  Some weeks later, his father had gotten political asylum in the United States and my classmate returned to school.  All the boys in his grade were pulled aside and the Middle School principal, Frank Barger, explained the situation to us and then asked us to keep an eye on the boy when we where on the playground at recess or athletic field for gym and report any strangers we saw hanging around.  Of course, he had a security guard—we were used to this because I went to school with then-Vice President Richard Nixon’s daughters, so there were Secret Servicemen around all the time—but we were supposed to be another set of watchful eyes.  Nothing ever happened, and the ambassador’s son didn’t stay at school after that year ended.)

After Castro’s victory, President Dwight Eisenhower tried to keep relations with the new Cuban government normal and Castro visited the United States on 15-26 April 1959, meeting with Vice President Nixon.  But relations quickly soured as Castro moved swiftly into the camp of the Soviet Union under Nikita Khrushchev.  By the time President John F. Kennedy took office on 20 January 1961, the U.S. had broken diplomatic ties with Cuba (3 January 1961) and relations with the island reached a nadir on 17 April 1961 when U.S.-backed Cuban exiles invaded Cuba at the Bay of Pigs.  But in February 1959, relations between the two countries were stiff and wary, but not yet inimical.

On 19 February, Gres opened an exhibit of the paintings of Luis Martínez Pedro, a Cuban artist and Castro supporter; the show ran through 11 March.  The 20 February issue of the Washington Post carried two articles on the exhibit, one in the front news section entitled “Cuban Revolt Depicted In Paintings Shown Here” and the other, in the “women’s” section, provocatively headlined “Like Artist Exhibiting Them: Paintings Are Pro-Castro.”  (There was also  a regular review from Leslie Judd Ahlander on 22 February in which she described the paintings as “cleancut and intellectual.”)  In the first article, the unidentified journalist declared in his opening sentence: “Cuba’s victorious ‘26th of July’ movement, which culminated in the overthrow of the Batista regime, is the theme of a series of abstract paintings on display at the Gres Art Gallery . . . .”  The reporter described the paintings of Martínez Pedro, “one of Cuba’s outstanding artists,” as “stark and severe geometrical compositions in black, red and gray, the colors of Fidel Castro.”  This was the artist’s first exhibition for his work as during the final years of the Batista regime, he and his fellow artists and intellectuals didn’t create any work, he explained, in order to show their opposition to the dictator.  Martínez Pedro stated “with enthusiasm”: “Cuba is now a new world.  It is a renaissance.  Cuba under Castro is returning to itself.”

In the second article, reporter Frances Rowan quoted Martínez Pedro at the opening of the Gres show: “Before there was no such thing as freedom.  You couldn’t open your mouth.  Now, everything is wonderful.  Castro loves Cuba above everything.”  Rowan asserted, “The spirit of the Cuban revolution is evident in several of the artist’s paintings with the revolutionary colors of red, white and black predominating” and reported that Martínez Pedro predicted, “United States-Cuban relations will be as ‘good as ever,’” while decrying the U.S. government’s silence on “what was going on” under Batista.  The artist reiterated, “I painted these behind closed doors.”  Attending the opening, featuring 18 oil painting and five wood constructions, were Castro’s new Chargé d’Affairs in Washington, Dr. Emilio Prando, and the director of the Cuban Bank for Industrial Agricultural Development, “another Castro man.”  (The article also noted that my parents would be giving a cocktail party for Martínez Pedro that afternoon while another Gres couple would be hosting the painter at a dinner party.  Chances are, I was on the periphery of that cocktail party doing my usual butler-waiter routine!)

(What’s missing here, and could be significant, is coverage by the Evening Star, Washington’s long-ago afternoon paper.  It was a politically more conservative paper than the Post, but it’s not digitized—I don’t even think there’s an index—so I’d have to sit in the library for days combing through microfilms.  The New York Public Library holds the Starand one day, I may do that just to see what it reveals, especially about this “commie art”!)

Having acquired the rest of its two-story building on Northwest 20th Street, the Gres Gallery expanded its exhibit space over the summer of 1959. (The gallery was closed except by appointment in June, July, and August.)  On 12 October, Gres opened a second-floor gallery for work priced at $200 or less.  Using the summer hiatus to renovate the new space, a garden exhibition area for sculpture was in the works as well.  In conjunction with an exhibit at the Corcoran Gallery of Art of French paintings, Fifteen Painters from Paris(10 October-8 November), Gres’s first show in the new gallery was a collection of small oil paintings, etchings, lithographs, and drawings by some of the same artists showing at the Corcoran (Jean René Bazaine, Jean Dubuffet, Bernard Dufour, Hans Hartung, Paul Kallos, Andre Lanskoy, Charles Lapicque, Serge Poliakoff, Pierre Soulages, Nicolas de Staël, Tal Coat [aka: Pierre Jacob], Raoul Ubac, Victor Vasarely, Maria Helena Vieira da Silva, Wols [aka: Wolfgang Schulze]).

From 28 October through 18 November, Gres mounted a particularly interesting show.  The artist was Italian Franco Assetto (who went professionally by only his last name).  It’s really not accurate to call his work at this time “paintings” because his pigment wasn’t paint; it wasn’t even the new acrylic paint that would become widespread in the ’60s.  It was a chemical compound called aluminum gel; the coloration was caused by different chemicals added to the gel.  Having started out as a pharmaceutical chemist, Assetto developed the gel through extensive research.  He made it by whipping aluminum salts together with a coagulant, “like making mayonnaise,” he said.  (I never checked this out, but I’ve always suspected that this was either the same basic chemical compound or some variation of the chemical process that’s used to make artificial gems.  An artificial ruby, say, is differentiated from an artificial emerald by the impurities introduced into the aluminum compound.) 

The aluminum gel  creates such a durable paint-like medium that the artwork is impervious to both weather—some Assetto pieces are made free-standing for display outdoors like sculptures—and assaults by a hammer.  As a Post reporter put it, “If Assetto the artist had his way, all his paintings would bear the sign: ‘Please do touch.”  The artist himself proclaimed, “I want none of those ‘Please do not touch’ signs .  If one likes something, one should be able to touch it.  It’s part of loving.”  In all other respects, the art is essentially three-dimensional Abstract Expressionism.  (The artist worked in other styles and with other media at different points in his career.)  The pigments, explained Leslie Judd Ahlander, the Postart review-writer, were “troweled on with a plasterer’s tool in high relief which catches the light . . . .”  (I have a large canvas, 40½″ x 29″ called Ossidiana VI, a dark terracotta background with conjoined-twin swoops of rust in the lower half, from this show, the artist’s first one-man exhibit.  I’ve never tested it with a hammer, though.) 

On 23 May, the gallery opened an exhibit of Young British Painters, a circulating project of the Smithsonian Institution Traveling Exhibition Service.  (This was the first time that the Smithsonian sent an exhibit to a commercial gallery for sale to the public.)  What was remarkable about this show wasn’t so much the artists or the art on display, but one group that came to see it.  In the week that the show opened, Kenneth M. `on, art teacher at Eastern Junior High School (now Eastern Middle School) in Silver Spring, Montgomery County, Maryland, brought his 9th-grade art students to view the contemporary works.  Having visited the National Gallery of Art and the Phillips Collection to see Impressionist art, Washington’s Union Station to see how modern architecture had adapted the design of an ancient Roman bath, and the National Cathedral to study Gothic architecture, the teacher thought the members of his survey course on the history of painting, sculpture, and architecture “were ready for these extreme cases” of contemporary art. 

Scollon had prepared his students for this stage by tracing aspects of abstraction through the various periods of art they’d seen in their previous tours.  How well had he made out?  One student confessed, “It’s a little confusing, but if you attend and look at it . . . .”  (He still declared, “I think that’s cool.”)  Another young art critic wondered, “I’d like to know what they’re trying to get across.  I guess if you know more about it, it helps.”  A third 9th-grader offered, “That one over there with the bright colors says, ‘Look at me.’”  (The artists in the group show, running through 11 June, were William Scott, Sandra Blow, Louis Le Brocquy, Bryan Wynter, Donald Hamilton Fraser, Robyn Denny, and Peter Lanyon.  Leslie Judd Ahlander said they “subscribe to the international trends in art today that are making one country out of the artistic world.  More intellectual and cool than American abstract expressionist counterparts, they nevertheless are concerned with the same problems and solutions that engross artists all over the world.’)

On 15 October, Gres opened a group show of Six Painters of Japan, representing artists all working in modern Western styles (called Yōga) rather than the traditional Nihonga, or “Japanese-style painting.”  Among these artists was Yayoi Kusama who became something of a cultural and social phenomenon both in this country, where she lived and worked from December 1957 until 1973, and in Japan.  (She had a solo show at Gres from 19 April to 14 May 1960.  I’ve blogged on her before on 18 May 2017)  The other five painters in the group show were Minoru Kawabata, Kenzo Okada, Toshinobu Onosato, Takeo Yamaguchi, and Yukiko Katsura,  The work of all six is what would be labeled “avant-garde” and “at first glance,” observed Washington Post  reporter William McPherson, “appear to have little relationship with the Japanese tradition.”  Painter Katsura pointed out, “I see space all around me, but the space inside me—that is Japanese.  That space we all paint.”  McPherson went on to explain: “Minoru Kawabata’s paintings show the influence of Japanese calligraphy, Toshinobu Onosato’s resemble the textiles of his district,” Kiryu in Gunma Prefecture, a silk textile center. 

These artists weren’t unknown in the West, despite the non-traditional nature of their work.  Several, like Okada, had an international renown; Yamaguchi won the third Guggenheim International Award in 1958.  Others, like Onosato, had a reputation in Japan but hadn’t exhibited in the U.S.  In any case, the Western-style art these painters created was less well known here than the more traditional work of their countrymen, even though there were a few avid American collectors.  Gres’s Six Painterswas, by this measure, a stroke of acumen that attracted considerable attention around Washington and the American art world.  Leslie Judd Ahlander pronounced Six Painters of Japan, which was scheduled to close on 17 December but was extended to the 23rd to accommodate the addition of the pieces by Yamaguchi which had been delayed in transit from Japan, “a fine show and not to be missed.”  (I have always thought that this exhibit went in toto to New York for mounting at MoMA, but I can’t find any confirmation of that.  Like the exhibit of Contemporary Polish Paintings in 1961, discussed below, the art of several of the painters Gres displayed were later shown at MoMA, but my recollection was that the entire show was borrowed.  Either that memory is wrong, or I just haven’t found the confirmation yet.)

Skipping briefly ahead in time a few months to Gres’s opener for the 1960-61 season, the gallery exhibited the paintings of Aleksander Kozdej, a Polish artist of Abstract work (although he doesn’t like the label) from 26 September to 5 October 1960.  The one-man show, Kobzdej’s first in the U.S., I believe (Abstract art, indeed any modern work, was not officially sanctioned in Poland or anywhere in the Soviet Bloc where the only recognized style was Socialist Realism), even though the artist had a long list of international exhibits in his résumé, including the Venice and São Paolo Biennials (and won a prize in the 1959 Brazil show).  Aside from Kobzdej’s art (one of which, Biblique, also entitled Biblical, is in my parents’ collection, purchased from this Gres exhibit), however, what’s significant in terms of Gres’s history is that Aleksander Kobzdej of Poland was a precursor to one of Gres’s most significant events, a break-through in not only the District of Columbia, but the art scene of the United States. 

Over the summer of 1960, Beati Perry made an art tour of Europe, focusing on Poland—where, as I suggested earlier, contemporary work like that of Aleksander Kobzdej (his last name is pronounced KOBZ-day) wasn’t exhibited to the public in Poland; it wasn’t even officially recognized.  She collected the work of several Polish painters and Gres followed the fall Kobzdej one-man show with a spring group show, Contemporary Polish Painters which turned out to be quite a coup.  Perry spent June in Warsaw, known as the Paris of the East, making the rounds of the galleries and artists’ studios, personally selecting several dozen paintings representing “the diversity of interest and exploration taking place in Poland today” to bring home to Washington.  (As it happens, New York’s Museum of Modern Art was also thinking along the same lines and there was something of a competition for who would put the United States’ initial show of Polish contemporary art together first.  The small, private Gres Gallery turned out to be swifter and more maneuverable than the large institutional establishment with a board of directors and copious curators and advisers.) 

This was after Poland’s communist leader, Władysław Gomułka, initiated the Polish October, also known as Gomulka’s Thaw, in 1956—with Moscow’s tacit agreement, of course, unlike the ill-fated Prague Spring in 1968 (or the disastrous Hungarian Revolution in ’56)—and began a liberalization policy in the Soviet satellite that, though it only lasted until the end of the year, left an aftermath of a somewhat freer society that effected the arts in particular (note, for example, the blossoming of Polish cinema in the early 1960s).  Artists like Kobzdej and Wojciech Fangor had taken advantage of the liberalization to paint in a non-representative style that, reporter Stephen S. Rosenfeld of the Washington Post quipped, was “as far from the official Soviet ‘socialist realism’ as Picasso is from ‘The Happy Milkmaid.’”  While Perry was in Warsaw, the Polish government decreed that museums could not buy any more art—but it was unclear if that order also applied to commercial galleries like Gres. 

In any case, Perry returned to the Capital with 50 works representing 10 painters and two sculptors; among the artists on exhibit at Gres that spring were Kobzdej, Fangor, Marian Bogusz, and Rajmund Ziemski, all painters, and sculptor Alina Szapocznikow.  Contemporary Polish Paintings opened at Gres Gallery on 11 April 1961 and ran until 13 May (extended from the 6th) and the Post dubbed it “a very important first in this country.”  (Fifteen Polish Painters at MoMA ran from 1 August until 1 October with some pieces borrowed from Gres.)  The Gres Gallery show (as was the MoMA exhibit as well) was only semi-officially recognized by the People’s Republic of Poland.  The artists themselves were not allowed to come to the States to attend the exhibit and the Polish ambassador didn’t come to the opening; the embassy sent some mid-level official, however, so it wasn’t entirely ignored.  (For a later show that featured Kobzdej, Gres Artists at the Carnegie International Exhibit, the Polish embassy’s First Secretary and an attaché attended the preview.  My parents finally managed to meet Kobzdej in Germany when we were living there.  It took two attempts to make contact because, as was common, his schedule kept being changed by his government minders.  Biblique, which appeared with the artist in a photo accompanying one of the Post articles on this event, was one of the works of art that my folks took with them to Germany.)

Aside from the remarkable Contemporary Polish Paintings, there followed a number of interesting shows after Aleksander Kobzdej of Poland (26 September-5 October 1960), Six Painters of Japan (15 October-23 December 1960), and the second Botero show (18 October-12 November 1960), including Karel Appel of Holland (16 January-11 February 1961), a one-man show of paintings and gouaches by the 1960 Guggenheim International Award-winning artist; a second Antoni Tápies exhibit (16 March-13 April 1961), where the art “kept conversation going the rest of the evening,” reported the Post’s Marie McNair, and the artist became “the most talked about young man in art circles in Washington”;  Architects’ Choice (16 May-10 June 1961), a show of paintings and sculptures selected by eight District architects, a concept that Leslie Judd Ahlander dubbed “a new idea in exhibitions”; Group Show: Selections for Young Collectors (July through September 1961), “a group show of artists regularly shown here in a potpourri of names and techniques . . . for young collectors . . . with one gallery devoted to works under $100”; and the mounting of Gres Artists at the Carnegie (26 September-6 November 1961), a preview of the work of the 10 artists Gres sent to the Pittsburgh exhibit (27 October 1961-7 January 1962) that Ahlander called “one of the three most important exhibitions in the world” (with the Venice and São Paolo Biennials).  Only one artist from Washington had ever been invited to the Carnegie International until 1961, when four, including one frequenter of Gres (José Bermudez), were included.  (The other three D.C. artists were handled by the Jefferson Place: Kenneth Noland, Howard Mehring, and William Calfee)  The Post art journalist asserted this was “an extraordinary tribute not only to the quality of local artists but also to the devoted spadework done by” Gres and the Jefferson Place Galleries.

Then on 24 October 1961, Gres opened a show of unique (for its day) art “that is making tongues wag all over Washington.”  The artist was Reva Urban, an American painter, and her art was “literally bursting out of the rectangle of the canvas,” said Post art critic Ahlander.  Reva, as she later chose to call herself, was born in Brooklyn (Coney Island), then spent most of her childhood in Pasadena, California.  In 1941, at the age of 16, she came back to New York City and obtained a scholarship to the Art Students League; she began exhibiting in the U.S.and abroad in 1958.  She eventually represented the United States in international art festivals and her work has become part of the collections of such institutions as MoMA, the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum and the Chicago Art Institute, among others.  In the ’50s and ’60s, Reva’s paintings were essentially Abstract Expressionism.

In 1959, Reva, feeling cramped by the rigid confines of the framed canvas, began adding “appendages” to her paintings.  “I felt my painting were being stopped—choked by the straight edge of the rectangular canvas,” she said in an interview.  As Post reporter Luther P. Jackson explained it:

At the height of her frustration, Mrs. Urban spotted a lumberyard near her studio . . . .  Her original inspiration was to enlarge her canvas by nailing a strip of wood to it.

In the course of her carpentry, however, Mrs. Urban picked up a scrap of wood formed like one of her brush strokes that had been stopped at canvas’ edge.  She carefully nailed the scrap to the canvas, giving birth to the “appendage” as an art technique—or as she put it, “a bursting form of sensuous energy.[”]

“I was free after years and years of butting against those darn hard edges,” exulted the artist.  “I was like a kid finding a new world, thinking about all of the new possibilities of life.”  Leslie Judd Ahlander characterized the works at Gres as having “tremendous power and vitality,” not dissimilar from the description of the curatorof MoMA’s department of painting and sculpture exhibitions, Peter Selz, who said, Reva’s art is “a highly original statement of astounding force.”  Ahlander observed:

Although artists in past years have tried to extend the boundaries of their work of art either by painting the frames as part of the composition, or by continuing the composition on around the sides of the canvas instead of framing it, or by panting larger and larger in a continuum without beginning or end, Reva Urban has actually added painted wood extensions onto her canvases to carry certain bush strokes  beyond the rectangle into space.

The critic had some technical objections to the accomplishment of the “appendages” that limited their effectiveness, but in the end, she acknowledged that “this is not to say that the device is not an excellent and valid one—it performs a very real and vital function in extending these powerful and challenging works.”  (It might be no surprise, given these particular encomia, that Reva was a staunch feminist even before the modern women’s movement began later in the decade.)

I don’t remember the Reva show, but that was most likely because I started boarding school the previous September and was still at school in New Jersey at the time.  The next revelation I found in my research was even more surprising because it contradicts my understanding of subsequent years.  The Washington Post  reported on 26 November that Washington’s Gres Gallery had opened a branch in Chicago at 49 E. Oak Street (and later at 156 E. Ontario Street).  The two Gres Galleries, the announcement said, would be working together closely and exchanging exhibits.  The new gallery opened on 22 November 1961 with an exhibit of Gres Artists Selected for the Pittsburgh International Exhibition of Contemporary Painting and Sculpture, including pieces by Kusama.  Now, I knew about the existence of the Chicago Gres and it was obvious that the Midwestern counterpart had been interested in some of the same artists since when I looked up one or another artist’s name (for example, Fernando Botero and Yayoi Kusama), I sometimes found that they’d exhibited at both the Washington Gres and the Chicago Gres—but I’d always believed they were separate businesses.  Apparently, I was mistaken about this.  (The Gres Gallery, Chicago, lasted a few years beyond the closing of Gres Gallery, Washington, closing around June 1964.)

My misapprehension about the relationship between the Washington and Chicago Greses was confirmed by a remark by Beati Perry reported by the Post on 20 January 1962.  What came next only put a specific date on an event that I, of course, knew about when it happened: On 4 March, the Post reported that Gres had announced that it would close on 17 March, at the end of its last show.  (The final exhibit was presumably the group show entitled Midwinter Gallery Exhibition, the last show on the Post’s “Monthly Art Calendar” [4 February—Gres wasn’t listed on 4 March or thereafter], originally scheduled between 16 January and 10 February, but probably extended until the closing.)  The Postcalled the Gres’s closing “a real loss for Washington.”  The Postwriter I believe was Leslie Judd Ahlander described the “four stimulating, pioneering years” as ones during which “many new artists were introduced to this city in exhibitions that were as provocative as they were sometimes controversial.”  “Gres Gallery Closes After 4 Stimulating Years” lists in extensive detail all the events that Ahlander felt were significant to the art scene of the Nation’s Capital, but her summary was:

Artists of international reputation were brought here, young painters and sculptors discovered and many others given the opportunity of exhibiting in an encouraging and dynamic atmosphere.

The Gallery’s record during its short tenure was impressive.

. . . .

Under the direction of Beatrice Perry, the Gres Gallery did much to bring the best contemporary international art to Washington.

Gres  Gallery was only the second gallery in the U.S. to mount a solo show of Fernando Botero’s work, the first U.S. gallery to exhibit abstract paintings from Poland, and the first to show modern Western-style art from Japan.  Among the solo U.S. débuts Gres presented were Jack Youngerman, José Luis Cuevas, Assetto, Antoni Tápies, Jorge Oteiza, Rudolf Hoflehner, and Henri Michaux; Gres also mounted the first shows of Matta and Larry Rivers in the U.S. outside New York.   Museums like MoMA and the Baltimore Museum of Art, among others, borrowed exhibits or artworks and sometimes even bought pieces from the gallery. 

The paper didn’t provide an explanation for why such a successful art dealership would fold so suddenly after so short a span (more like 4½ years).  There was no hint that finances were a problem or that the stewardship of the art business had faltered.  The truth is that too many of the group, the so-called Gres Corp., many of whom were Foreign Service Officers or international businessmen, were leaving the District at the same time—including Beati Perry, who, with her husband, Hart, returned to New York City for his business.  My own parents went to Germany in the fall of 1962 (my dad had joined USIA the year before). 

I don’t know why the Threadgills didn’t sell the gallery like the Greses had in 1958, but they didn’t.  The shareholders were paid back in part in unsold stock—that is, art.  Some of the works in my parents collection, which began at Gres, originated from that in-kind pay-out—and some of the Gres art has ended up in my own small collection. 

This whole venture (around 3½ years from Dad’s impulse purchase to closure), “helping out” in the gallery and meeting the artists at the vernissages, are some of the most vivid and cherished memories of my childhood.  It was an art education for my whole family and an adventure for me, and it had repercussions well beyond the demise of Gres Gallery to the ends of my parents’ lives.  I’ve decided that our involvement in Gres Gallery was the third greatest influence in my life after my teen years living in Germany and Switzerland and my army tour in West Berlin.  I’ve also seen that it’s the longest-lasting direct influence: my interest in art, especially modern Western art, continues unabated today.  The other experiences were probably more formative, however—I learned a lot about myself, especially from the military service, and perspectives that continue to inform my view of the world.

[That brings this tale of Gres Gallery to an end.  It was a wild ride for one pre-adolescent boy and obviously it still resonates for me.  I don’t expect that anyone reading this account will experience the same feelings I had—and continue to have—with respect to Gres, but I hope you glean a little of what it meant to me then (and means to me now).  Nearly no one connected with the gallery is still alive except a few like me who were children at the time. 

[I seem to be the only person to have attempted to put together a historical narrative of the gallery—and I know there’s material I haven’t uncovered yet that would expand the scope of this article.  For one thing, as I mention above, I didn’t go through the coverage of the Washington Evening Star, which I suspect would add some differing perspectives to the narrative.  I once checked the Art & Architecture Collection of the New York Public Library, looking for something specific connected with Gres, and I found very little there.  I haven’t checked the Smithsonian Institution’s Archives of American Art in Washington; I don’t know if there’s any information in those files, but I’d hope so.  (There is a New York Research Center for the AAA, but I don’t know if it would have any files on a Washington facility; I must inquire.)

[I said at the end of Part 1 that I was thinking about appending a list of the names mentioned in this article and, perhaps, a chronology of Gres Gallery exhibits, but the lists are very long, even just the artists whose names I mentioned here, so I’m considering making an appendix which I’ll post separately next week.  I’ll see if that’s feasible.]

Gres Gallery, Part 3

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[Below is an appendix to “Gres Gallery” listing the names I mentioned in Parts 1 and 2 of the main article (July 7 and 10, respectively).  I’ve separated them into two lists, one for the artists named in the article (including artists whose names appear only in the list of exhibits below) and one for all the other people I named.  Where available, I’ve included the person’s life dates and, where applicable (and accessible), I noted the person’s profession or field of endeavor.  (For the artists, that would be painter,  sculptor, printmaker, and so on, but I haven’t gone into any detail.  I rely on curious readers to look the people up on their own for more information.)  The names are alphabetized by family name, even though I haven’t listed them with the family name first.  (Be careful of Spanish names that include the mother’s last name, such as Luis Martínez Pedro, who is listed under “Martinez Pedro” rather than “Pedro.”) 

[The listed exhibits include as much information as I can find.  Not all will be complete, unfortunately, and I can’t be certain that I’ve identified all of Gres’s shows (in fact, I’m certain I haven’t).  Note that some of the exhibit titles varied and I don’t have access to catalogues or flyers from the gallery for a definitive title; the same is true of the names of the artists who participated in group shows: not all will be listed.  I’ve only included the Gres Gallery shows, not any of the other display events mentioned in the article.  Since some exhibit dates overlapped, I’ve listed the shows according to their opening date.]

LISTS

NAMES

ARTISTS

Karel Appel (1921-2006), Dutch painter
Hans Arp (aka: Jean Arp; 1886-1966), German-French Dada sculptor, painter, poet, and abstract artist in untraditional media
Lila (Oliver) Asher (b. 1921), American printmaker; lives and works in Washington, D.C.
Franco Assetto (aka: Assetto; 1911-91), Italian painter and sculptor
Willi Baumeister (1889-1955), German Modernist painter, scenic designer, art professor, and typographer
Jean René Bazaine (1904-2001), French painter and designer of stained-glass windows
Max Beckmann (1884-1950), German painter, draftsman, printmaker, sculptor, and writer associated with the New Objectivity (Neue Sachlichkeit)
José Bermudez (1922-98), Cuban-born painter and sculptor; worked in Washington, D.C.
Sandra Blow (1925-2006), British painter
Marian Bogusz (1920-80), Polish painter
Fernando Botero (b. 1932), Colombian painter and sculptor
Victor Brauner (1903-66), French-Romanian Surrealist painter and sculptor
Alberto Burri (1915-95), Italian painter of post-World War II modernism
William Calfee (1937-82), American sculptor, first chairman of art department at American University
Norman Carton (1908-80), American painter
James Caudle (1920-2010), American sculptor, taught at American University
Rolf Cavael (1891-1979), German non-representational painter, draftsman and graphic artist
Marc Chagall (1887-1985), Russian-French Modernist artist of Belarusian Jewish origin
Tal Coat (aka: Pierre Jacob; 1905–1985), French painter and printmaker
José Luis Cuevas (1934-2017), Mexican painter and printmaker
Nicolas de Staël (1914-55), French painter
Dorothy Dehner (1901-94), American Abstract Expressionist painter and sculptor
Robyn Denny (1930-2014), British painter
Otto Dix (1891-1969), German painter and printmaker
Jean Dubuffet (1901-85), French painter and sculptor
Bernard Dufour (1922-2016), French painter
John E[dwin] Dundin (1913-91), American Abstract Expressionist painter and art instructor who lived and worked in the Washington, D.C., area
Max Ernst (1891-1976), German Dada and Surrealist painter, sculptor, graphic artist, and poet
Wojciech Fangor (1922-2015), Polish painter, graphic artist, and sculptor
Lyonel Feininger (1971-1956), German-American Expressionist painter
Donald Hamilton Fraser (1929-2009), British painter
Robert [Franklin] Gates (1906-82), American muralist, painter, and art professor who lived and worked in the Washington, D.C., area
Sam Gilliam (b. 1933), American painter of Washington Color School
Julio Girona (1914-2002), Cuban sculptor, painter, cartoonist, and writer
Georg (George) Grosz (1893-1959), German-born America painter and caricaturist
Grace Hartigan (1922-2008), American Abstract Expressionist painter
Hans Hartung (1904-89), German-French painter
Rudolf Hoflehner (1916-95), Austrian sculptor
Sheila Isham (b. 1927), American Impressionist painter and book artist
Alexej von Jawlensky (1864-1941), Russian Expressionist painter active in Germany
Paul Kallos (1928-2001), French-Hungarian abstract painter
Wassily Kandinsky (1866-1944), Russian-born German and French painter
Yukiko Katsura (1913-91), Japanese contemporary-style painter
Minoru Kawabata (1911-2001), Japanese contemporary-style painter
Marie Tuiccillo Kelly (1916-2000), American artist and tapestry-maker
Robert Keyser, (1924-91), American collagist and painter
Paul Klee (1879-1940), Swiss German painter and printmaker
Aleksander Kobzdej (1920–1972), Polish painter
Robert E. Kuhn (1917-2000), American painter and sculptor who lived and worked in the Washington, D.C., area
Yayoi Kusama (b. 1929), Japanese painter, sculptor, and installation-maker
Wilfredo Lam (1902-82), Cuban painter
André Lanskoy (1902-76), Russian-born French painter and printmaker
Peter Lanyon (1918-64), British landscape painter
Charles Lapicque (1898-1988), French painter whose works were influential in the development of Post-Modern art
Louis Le Brocquy (1916-2012), Irish painter 
Morris Louis (1912-62), American painter of the Washington Color School
René Magritte (1898-1967), Belgian Surrealist painter
Luis Martínez Pedro (1910-90), Cuban painter
Roberto Matta (aka: Matta; 1911-2002), Chilean painter
Leonard Maurer (1912-76), American Abstract landscape painter who worked in the Washington, D.C., area
Howard Mehring(1931–1978), American painter of the Washington Color School
Mary Meyer (Mrs. Cord Meyer, Jr.; 1920-64), American painter of the Washington Color School; shareholder with her husband in Gres Gallery, 1958-62
Henri Michaux (1899-1984), Belgian-born French painter
Piet Mondrian (1872-1944), Dutch painter
Édgar Negret (1920-2012), Colombian abstract sculptor
Louise Nevelson (1899-1988), Russian-born American sculptor
Robert Neuman (1926-2015), American Abstract painter
Kenneth Noland (1924-2010), American painter of the Washington Color School
Kenzo Okada (1902-82), Japanese-born American contemporary-style painter
Toshinobu Onosato (1912-86), Japanese contemporary-style painter
Rafael Alvarez Ortega (1927-2011), Spanish artist known for drawings
Jorge Oteiza (1908-2003), Basque Spanish sculptor, painter, and designer
Franz Plunder (1914-86?), Austrian-born American sculptor, teacher, and boat-builder
Serge Poliakoff (1906-69), Russian-born French painter
Manuel Rendón (1894-1982), Ecuadoran painter
Larry Rivers (1923-2002), American painter
Kurt Schwitters (1887-1948), German collagist and sculptor
William Scott (1913-89), British painter
Gustave Singier (1909-84), Belgian non-figurative painter active in France
Pierre Soulages (b. 1919), French painter, engraver, and sculptor
Lou Stovall (b. 1937), American printmaker and drawer of Washington Color School
Ben L. Summerford (aka: Joe Summerford; 1924-2015), American painter, co-founder of Jefferson Place Gallery, chairman of Department of Art at American University; wrote letter to Washington Post  concerning Gres Gallery and Post art reviewer Leslie Judd Portner
Alina Szapocznikow (1926-73), Polish sculptor
Antoni Tápies (1923-2012), Spanish painter
Raoul Ubac (1910-85), French painter, sculptor, photographer, and engraver
Reva Urban (aka: Reva; 1925-87),  American painter and graphic artist
Victor Vasarely (1906-97), Hungarian-born French painter and sculptor
Maria Helena Vieira da Silva (1908-92), Portuguese painter
Manuel Viola (aka: José Viola; 1916-87), Spanish painter
Anna Walinska (1906-97), American painter
William Walton (1909/1910-94), American Abstract Expressionist painter
Wols (aka: Wolfgang Schulze, 1913-51), German painter and photographer
Bryan Wynter (1915-75), British painter
Takeo Yamaguchi (1902-83), Japanese contemporary-style painter 
Jack Youngerman (b. 1926), American painter, printmaker, and construction-maker
Rajmund Ziemski (1930-85), Polish painter

OTHER PEOPLE

Björn Ahlander (1920-82), Swedish cultural attaché; second husband of Washington Post  art critic Leslie Judd Portner (Ahlander), married in 1959
John Anderson (b. c. 1980), Washington City Paper art critic
Mrs. Robert Anderson, shareholder with her husband in Gres Gallery, 1958-62
Nicolás Arroyo y Márquez (1917-2008), last ambassador from Cuba from the government of Fulgencio Batista
Franz Bader (1903-94), American gallery owner, Washington, D.C.
Manuel Baker, director of I.F.A. Galleries in Washington, D.C.; wrote letter to Washington Post  concerning Gres Gallery and Post art reviewer Leslie Judd Portner
Frank Barger (1904-67), principal of the Middle School at Sidwell Friends School in Washington, D.C., 1944-67
Fulgencio Batista (1901-73), president and dictator of Cuba, 1940-44 and 1952-59; overthrown by Fidel Castro
Jean Bradford (Mrs. Saxton Bradford, 1920-2017), shareholder with her husband in Gres Gallery, 1958-62
Mrs. Robert Cabot, shareholder with her husband in Gres Gallery, 1958-62
Fidel Castro (1926-2016), Cuban communist revolutionary leader, then leader of Cuba, 1959-2008
Jean Lawlor Cohen (b. c. 1925), American writer, editor, and curator; co-author of Washington Art Matters: Art Life in the Capital 1940-1990
[Hereward] Lester Cooke (1916–1973), American painter, National Gallery of Art staff
Stuart Davidson (1922–2001), American businessman, shareholder in Gres Gallery, 1958-62
Alice Denney (b. 1922), director of the Jefferson Place Gallery (later other galleries and organizations)
Hope Efron (Mrs. Samuel Efron, 1918-2013), shareholder with her husband in Gres Gallery, 1958-62
Dwight D. Eisenhower (1890-1969), President of the United States, 1953-61
Mamie Eisenhower (1896-1979), First Lady of the United States, 1953-61
Benjamin Forgey (b. 1938), independent American critic; co-author of Washington Art Matters: Art Life in the Capital 1940-1990
Francisco Franco (1892-1975), Spanish general who ruled Spain as dictator, 1939-75
Władysław Gomułka (1905-82), Poland’s communist leader, 1943-48 and 1956-70
John Gres (1928-2018), a Cuban-born radio announcer and narrator; co-founder with his wife of Gres Gallery, 1957-58
Tana de Gámez Gres (b. 1920), Spanish-born actress, radio announcer, novelist, and artists’ agent, raised in Havana; co-founder and manager of Gres Gallery, 1957-58
José Gutiérrez Gómez (1910-2006), Ambassador of Colombia, 1957
Martha Jackson (1907-69), American art gallery owner, New York City
John F. Kennedy (1917-63), President of the United States, 1961-63; assassinated on 22 November 1963
Nikita Khrushchev (1894-1971), leader of the Soviet Union, 1953-64
Sidney Lawrence (b. 1948), American artist, writer, and critic; co-author of Washington Art Matters: Art Life in the Capital 1940-1990
Mrs. Lucille McGinnis, shareholder with her husband in Gres Gallery, 1958-62
Mrs. Richard McKinley, shareholder with her husband in Gres Gallery, 1958-62
William McPherson (1933-2017, Washington Post  reporter and art critic
Richard Nixon (1913-94), Vice President of the United States, 1953-61; President, 1969-74; forced to resign, 9 August 1974
Betty Parsons (1900-82), American artist, gallery-owner, and collector, New York City
Beatrice Perry (1921-2011), American artist and gallery-manager, executive director of Gres Gallery, 1958-62
Hart Perry (1918-91), American business executive and government official; husband of Gres Gallery executive director Beatrice Perry
Leslie Judd Portner (later Ahlander), art critic for the Washington Post and Times Herald; married Björn Ahlander in 1959
Emilio Prando, Cuban Chargé d’Affairs in Washington
J. Ross Prevost (c. 1900-1994), U.S. Customs appraiser for the port of Baltimore
Mrs. Sidney Rolfe (possibly Maria Rolfe, c. 1913-83, wife of economist Dr. Sidney E. Rolfe), shareholder with her husband in Gres Gallery, 1958-62
Stephen S. Rosenfeld (1932-2010), Washington Post reporter
Frances Rowan, Washington Post reporter
Kenneth B. Sawyer, Baltimore Sun art reviewer
Kenneth M. Scollon, art teacher at Eastern Junior High School
Peter Selz (b. 1919), art historian, curator of department of painting and sculpture exhibitions at the Museum of Modern Art, New York
Harold Spivacke (1904-77), director of the Music Division of the Library of Congress
Elizabeth Tebow, American art historian; co-author of Washington Art Matters: Art Life in the Capital 1940-1990
Francis Threadgill (1907-74?), Washington, D.C., surgeon; co-owner with his wife, Olga Briceño Threadgil, of Gres Gallery, 1958-62
Olga Briceño Threadgill (1925-77?),  Venezuelan-born novelist and newspaperwoman; co-owner with her husband, Dr. Francis Threadgill, of Gres Gallery, 1958-62
Richard E. Trees, wrote letter to Washington Post  concerning Gres Gallery and Post art reviewer Leslie Judd Portner
Penelope J. Wright, wrote letter to Washington Post  concerning Gres Gallery and Post art reviewer Leslie Judd Portner

CHRONOLOGY OF EXHIBITS

1957 [@ 1744 Columbia Road, N.W.]
19 Sept-19 Oct..: Édgar Negret and Jack Youngerman [inaugural exhibit]
24 Oct.-16 Nov.: [José Luis] Cuevas of Mexico
dates unknown: Contemporary Japanese Prints

1958
[6]-25 Jan. Anna Walinska
? -15 Feb.: Primitive Sculptures of Brazil and Jaime Sanchez of Venezuela [clay figurines of the Karaja Indians of Brazil’s Matto Grosso]; Beata Welsing
? -20 Mar.: Maria Tuicillo Kelly
12 Mar.-2 Apr.: German Contemporary Art [German artists of the first half of the 20th century such as Willi Baumeister, Max Beckmann, Otto Dix, Rolf Cavael, Max Ernst, Lyonel Feininger, Georg Grosz, Hans Hartung, Alexej von Jawlensky, and Wassily Kandinsky]
? -30 Apr.: Manuel Rendon
? -30 May: Senen Ubina of Spain
4 June-31 July: Group Show: Past and Future [presenting again some of the most successful artists from the past season and introducing some painters who will be shown in the following fall]
[gallery closed except by appointment for summer months]
30 Sept.-28 Oct.: Norman Carton and Jorge Oteiza [@ 1729 20th Street, N.W.]
29 Oct.-25 Nov.: Fernando Botero
1 Dec.- ?: Collages of Robert Keyser
ca. 21 Dec.: Christmas Collection [specially priced drawings, watercolors, collages, and oils by Cuevas, Walinksa, Julio Girona, Carton, Kelly, and Botero, among others]

1959
22 Jan.-18 Feb.: [Roberto] Matta
19 Feb.-11 Mar.: Luis Mártinez Pedro
12-24 Mar.: African Sculpture; Israeli Drawings
25 Mar.-28 Apr.: Antoni Tápies
29 Apr.-26 May: Drawings by [Rafael Alvarez]Ortega and Sculpture by Dorothy Dehner
[27 May ?]-13 June: International Group Show [Cuevas, Carton, Manuel Viola, and José Bermudez]
[gallery closed except by appointment for summer months]
30 Sept.-31 Oct.: Robert Neuman 
c. 4 Oct.?-27 Oct.: Surrealism: Image to Reality [Alberto Burri, Tápies, Louise Nevelson, Bermudez, René Magritte, Victor Brauner, and others]
c. 12 Oct.- ?: exhibit of French paintings, etchings, lithographs, and drawings by some of the same artists showing at the Corcoran Gallery of Art’s Fifteen Painters from Paris [artists at the Corcoran: Jean René Bazaine, Jean Dubuffet, Bernard Dufour, Hans Hartung, Paul Kallos, Andre Lanskoy, Charles Lapicque, Serge Poliakoff, Pierre Soulages, Nicolas de Staël, Tal Coa, Raoul Ubac, Victor Vasarely, Maria Helena Vieira da Silva, Wols]; inaugurated Gres second-floor gallery
28 Oct.-17 Nov.: Franco Assetto
3 Nov.- ?: Henri Michaux
18 Nov.-16 Jan 1960.: Robert Neuman
November: Christmas Exhibition 

1960
5-19 Jan.: Maria Kelly
19-31 Jan.: Grace Hartigan
13-12 Mar.: José Bermudez
15 Mar.-16 Apr.: Larry Rivers
19 Apr.-14 May: Yayoi Kusama
23 May-11 June: Young British Painters [William Scott, Sandra Blow, Louis Le Brocquy, Bryan Wynter, Donald Hamilton Fraser, Robyn Denny, and Peter Lanyon; lent by Smithsonian Institution Traveling Exhibition Service]
[gallery closed except by appointment for summer months]
26 Sept.-5 Oct.: Aleksander Kobzdej of Poland
18 Oct.-12 Nov.: Fernando Botero: One-Man Show
16 Nov.-23 Dec.: Six Painters of Japan [Yayoi Kusama, Minoru Kawabata, Kenzo Okada, Toshinobu Onosato, Takeo Yamaguchi, and Yukiko Katsura; artists working in contemporary Western styles]

1961
16 Jan.-11 Feb.: Karel Appel of Holland
14 Feb.-7 May: Toshinobu Onosato
16 Mar.-8 Apr.: Antoni Tápies
11 Apr.-13 May: Contemporary Polish Paintings [Kobzdej, Wojciech Fangor, Marian Bogusz, Rajmund Ziemski, Alina Szapocznikow, and others]
16 May-10 June: Architects’ Choice [paintings and sculptures selected by eight District architects; artists: William Walton, John E. Dundin, Robert Gates, Sheila Isham, Robert E. Kuhn, Leonard Maurer, Tápies, Ziemski, and Botero]
[gallery closed except by appointment for summer months]
[13 June.?]-25 Sept.: Group Show: Selections for Young Collectors[Hans Arp, Victor Vasarely, Gustave Singier, Hartung, Serge Poliakoff, Botero, Dehner, Bermudez, Ernst, Hartigan, Rivers, Matta, Tápies, Marc Chagall, Jean Dubuffet, Kobzdej, Cuevas, Kusama, Katsura, Onosato, Oteiza, Szapocznikow]
26 Sept.-6 Nov.: Gres Artists and the Carnegie International Exhibition [Bermudez, Assetto, Hartigan, Appel, Matta, Ziemski, Kobzdej, Kusama, Katsura, Mártinez Pedro]
24 Oct.-18 Nov.: Reva Urban
21 Nov.-23 Dec.: Franco Assetto andYayoi Kusama
                                                                                                                        
1962

16 Jan.-10 Feb.: Midwinter Gallery Exhibition [participating artists unknown; possibly extended to 17 Mar., the closing date for the gallery]

[Since ROT doesn’t publish footnotes, I have always promised to provide the sources for my material to any reader who requests them.  I haven’t reiterated this promise in a while, so I think “Gres Gallery” is a good post on which to restate it.  Leave a Comment expressing your interest and an e-mail address to which I can send the bibliography and I’ll send the list.  (I’ll delete the Comment at your request if you don’t want your e-mail to remain on line permanently.  Also, note that the list of sources for “Gres Gallery” is pretty long, so a request for the specific citation in which you’re interested would be appreciated.)]

Two on Musicals from 'Allegro'

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[I’ve frequently republished articles about musical theater from Allegro, the member magazine of Local 802 of the American Federation of Musicians.  Local 802 is the union chapter that represents the people in the orchestra pits of Broadway and (some) Off-Broadway theaters (among other New York City musical venues) and their issues and interests are often central to musical theater in general, from the singers and dancers to theatergoers.  Here are two articles about experiences in musical theater from the inside, one from a composer who chronicles his experience getting his original Off-Broadway musical onto the boards and the other about a program the union sponsors that gives children an inside look at how a professional musical play works in production.]

MEMBER TO MEMBER: FROM PAGE TO STAGE: THE MAKING OF A MUSICAL
by Dan Manjovi

[Dan Manjovi’s account of the work of seeing his musical play, I Am, I Will, I Do, produced appeared in Allegro, volume117, number 10(October, 2017).]

Creating and writing an original musical and bringing it to successful production is a time-consuming – and often arduous – labor of love. Local 802 member Dan Manjovi, a keyboardist, composer and arranger, debuted his original musical, “I Am, I Will, I Do,” last month at the 2017 New York Musical Festival. He wrote the following essay for Allegro about the process of navigating an original musical from the page to the stage. Manjovi has had a wide-ranging and interesting career as a musician, vocalist, actor, composer and teacher. His song “Somethin’s Comin’ My Way” appeared in the 2009 Oscar-winning film “Precious” (and its soundtrack recording). He’s also recorded several solo releases, and his credits in theatre include numerous regional and Off Broadway productions. Dan is a proud longtime member of Local 802, Actors’ Equity, and the Dramatists Guild, and is especially proud that the first New York production of “I Am, I Will, I Do” was all union. Manjovi was also thrilled to utilize Local 802’s Referral Service in recruiting the band personnel for the show.

How does a musical get born? Before I had ever thought about writing one, I had served in many productions as either a performer or musical director – or both, in a few cases. But my first foray as a musical theatre writer began in the early 2000s. I was approached by a small theatre company to write a musical revue and some scenes built around a few of my existing songs. I came up a loose plotline and three characters: a gay musician  and his two best friends, who were boyfriend and girlfriend. We performed it once, but the company folded and the show went nowhere. But writing was fun and intriguing for me. I enjoyed creating characters, developing and writing scenes and songs, and combining elements of drama, comedy, lyrics and music.

Afterward, I spent the next few years on the road, musically directing or performing in various productions throughout the country, among them “Master Class” by Terrence McNally, and “Gunmetal Blues,” by Craig Bohmler. I also performed in staged readings of new works, including a 2006 workshop of a musical revue called “The End,” by George Furth (“Company,” “Merrily We Roll Along”), and Local 802 member Doug Katsaros. I credit those productions, and the directors and writers with whom I worked, with giving me the training ground, guidance, and valuable lessons in how a show is honed, staged and produced.

In 2010, back home performing, teaching, and recording in New York City, the initial creative impulse for what eventually became “I Am, I Will, I Do” came to me, ironically, through my work in the single engagement club date field.

Working, teaching, and doing occasional single engagement club dates, I found irony, poignancy, and humor in seeing so many LGBT people (myself included) who were part of the wedding business, but legally unable to get married. I also drew from my experience of how people of all ages, ethnicities, sexual orientations, and walks of life seek the same things: love and fulfillment. I created a plot line that tracked the lives and struggles of a diverse group of friends, all connected to each other in some way, all at that pivotal age of 29 to 35, and all not quite where they had expected to be in life in one way or another. The ongoing national conversation about same-sex marriage was also part of the plot. I envisioned a romantic musical comedy about the ups and downs of 21st century relationships, not from a political, polemical standpoint, but from a human one.

Writing continued over the next few years, with continued character, plot, and score development. Rewrites were also required as the legal battle over same-sex marriage worked its way through the court system.

The three initial characters now became Dave Abbott (the musician) and  Nancie and Richard Peterson (now married and Dave’s business partners in a wedding planning business). Dave is perpetually disappointed in his search for true love, and frustrated with his stalled composing career. Nancie and Richard, married ten years, are facing unresolved strains in their marriage around money, career and family planning. Valerie and Tony, a bickering couple whose imminent wedding is being planned by the three, are taking their second trip down the aisle due to commitment issues. The best man, Harris Barnsworth, an African-American human rights attorney, and would-be singer is not living his own life. And Dr. Lara, a minister, and Oprah wanna-be, is a 40ish single woman, whose dreams of success have been dashed. When Dave and Harris are suddenly thrown together to rehearse Dave’s song “I Am, I Will, I Do” for Valerie and Tony’s wedding, the two men are forced to confront each other and their foibles. Simultaneously, the different yet related struggles of the other two couples and Dr. Lara emerge. For the NYMF production, a small feature role was added for Grace Hightower DeNiro, who plays an elegant night club singer at the Bijou, the local Karaoke bar.

By 2015, having completed a script and score draft, I set about finding a theatre to stage a reading, and eventually found a developmental home at Amas Musical Theatre. Amas has developed many shows to successful fruition over 49 years. With their help and expertise, we mounted two developmental readings of the show in 2015. Extensive book, music and lyrics exploration and revisions were made, with songs and scenes edited, revised, re-written or replaced. That development process is so necessary for a show to move forward.

In 2016, I pursued every opportunity to move the show forward. Then, unexpectedly, in January 2017, I was invited by the New York Musical Festival to stage “I Am, I Will, I Do” as part of their Beta Series. The Beta series focuses on shows that are further along in their development, and the production focuses on one or two elements. I quickly accepted, and decided to focus on the elements of staging/choreography, and implementing the full orchestrations, which I had written during the course of the show’s development.

“I Am, I Will, I Do” is scored for a four-piece band: keys, guitar, bass and drums. As an 802 member, I felt it was important that our musicians and creative team be union, because union talent is simply the most professional and the best. I recommended David White (bass) and Brian Radock (drums) for the project. They had worked together on another show, “The Illusionists,” at the Palace, during its Broadway run.

The guitar chair was still unfilled, however. I was very committed to equal opportunity and diverse hiring at every level of our team, and I conveyed that to the music director, who contacted 802’s Referral Service. The union recommended the wonderful Ron Jackson to us, and we were all set!

From May to July, the various elements that go into putting a show on its feet began to take shape. The arrangements were an important part of the show, and I took a lot of care in rehearsing them with the band. We ran down each arrangement, and the musicians contributed 100 percent in making the charts sound their best – they were terrific! In July, during our final week of rehearsal, when we finally brought the band and the cast together, everyone was really excited and energized.

David White told me, “It’s always a pleasure to work on shows in development and be able to have one-on-one interaction with the composer and creative team to be able to really help craft the show. ‘I Am, I Will, I Do’ was no exception. Local 802 has been making such outstanding headway in the NYMF festival and I look forward to see what the show has to offer going forward!”

Guitarist Ron Jackson said, “I was really happy to be recommended by the Local 802 Referral Service! I got to meet such great talent!”

“I Am, I Will, I Do” ran at the NYMF Festival for three performances this year. All were sold out, and enthusiastically received with standing ovations. In attendance were luminaries such as composer (and 802 member) Alan Menken, and actors Robert DeNiro and Judith Light, among others. Seeing and hearing the show performed onstage by a wonderful cast, and the score played by excellent musicians, with everyone giving their best, is thrilling. And big thanks to 802 for creating a positive work environment for its members, so that new shows can be developed and produced.

[Dan Manjovi is a longtime member of Local 802. If you are a Local 802 member with a story idea for our “Member to Member” column, send an e-mail to allegro@local802afm.org.]

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THOUSANDS OF KIDS LEARN ABOUT BROADWAY DURING THREE JAM-PACKED SESSIONS
by Bettina Covo

[This article about Local 802’s Creating the Magic by Bettina Covo was published in Allegro,volume 117, number 8, in September 2017.  This program, which Local 802 supports for obvious reasons (the kids will be their audiences in years to come), is called Creating the Magic because that’s what happens when drama, music, singing, and dancing all come together in a theater.]

The end of the 2017 school year was a busy time for Nick Sala, creator and producer of Inside Broadway’s successful Creating the Magic programs. Per usual, three Creating the Magic events were scheduled for the school year. These educational and entertaining presentations are the highlight of the season for the public school students invited to this unique behind-the-scenes look at a Broadway show. But this year, due to scheduling difficulties, the last two presentations fell within one week of each other, making for a whirlwind tour-de-force season finale.

In spring, 1,600 excited public school students stepped behind the curtain of the classic John Kander and Fred Ebb musical “Chicago” at the Ambassador Theater. “Chicago” is unique on Broadway partly because the orchestra performs on stage for the entire show. The students, most of whom have never experienced a Broadway production, were able to experience the synergy of musicians and actors simultaneously interacting live on stage. That alone made this presentation exceptional.

The actor who currently plays the character Roxie, Mexican-born Bianca Marroquín, kicked off the event with her character’s namesake song. Marroquín  proudly reminded the audience that she is the first person from Mexico who has been cast in a lead role on Broadway. The character Velma, played by South African-born Amra-Faye Wright, smiled wryly as she spoke to the students about the power of immigrants in the theatre. The two ladies made a formidable duo.

Local 802 members Scott Cady (piano), Ray Cetta (bass/tuba) and Tony Tedesco (drums) accompanied the actors, led by conductor /music director Leslie Stifelman. Stifelman spoke to the students about the colorful use of ragtime that helps maintain the decisively vaudeville flavor of the show. When asked about her role as conductor, Stifleman was emphatic: “I like being the boss and I like being the boss of the musicians.” To help demonstrate that point, she raised her hands, cued the students to start applauding and then gave them a clear cut off as the house went silent. Such is the power of the conductor.

The dance captain and others from the backstage crew came out to talk about the choreography, lighting, sound, and other stagecraft for this singularly minimalist production. The students observed firsthand how something that appears so simple requires a carefully coordinated team of extremely talented and skilled people on and off stage who endeavor to present a flawless performance each and every show.

Creating the Magic events take a great deal of planning and coordination, so producing two within a week of each other is no simple feat. Yet, without skipping a beat, Sala and team launched their final show without a hitch at the Majestic Theatre, for Andrew Lloyd Webber’s iconic musical “Phantom of the Opera.”

In stark contrast to the minimalist approach of “Chicago,” the cast and crew of “Phantom” transported 2,500 students on a captivating tour of some of the production’s complex props and stage sets replete with candelabras that magically appear out of the floor, floating gondolas that sail across the stage and, of course, the famous chandelier that soars up to the ceiling.

Creating the Magic usually employs a rhythm section of piano, bass and drums for these educational events. Luckily for this group of students, the producers felt it was important to maintain the show’s sweeping operatic style. So, of the 27 musicians who play “Phantom” nightly, Local 802 members Joyce Hammann (violin), Karl Bennion (cello), Daivd Lai (piano) and conductor Richard Carsey were on hand to accompany the actors. Adding the strings was a pleasant change.

It is has become customary for the music director or conductor to address the audience on behalf of Local 802 and the musicians. But this time, all four musicians were invited up on stage for a brief discussion about the role of the orchestra and the conductor. Hammann introduced herself, holding up her instrument to ask if anyone in the audience knew what she held in her hand. A large number of students proudly and rather loudly proclaimed, “A violin!”

Inside Broadway understands that this kind of interaction with the musicians themselves reinforces the connection between musician and musical. Hopefully, it will be the start of a new paradigm for these events.

Inside Broadway’s Executive Director, Michael Presser served as MC for both shows, deftly guiding the audience on a grand tour behind the curtain to explore and discover the multiple aspects of producing a Broadway show. Together with the actors, musicians, stage managers and the various crew members, the students were happily swept up in the whirlwind that is live Broadway. Bravo to everyone at Inside Broadway!

[Bettina Covo is a member of the Local 802 Executive Board and the chair of the union’s Education Subcommittee.]

"Artist's massive birds to nest on Broadway"

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by Mary Jo Dilonardo

[On Thursday, 19 July, my attention was caught by a short report on CBS 2 News at 5 about an up-coming public-art project planned for upper Broadway.  Artist Nicolas Holiber , a Brooklyn artist,is planning 12 huge wooden sculptures of birds, all of which are either native to the tri-state area or pass through on their migrations, to be displayed along upper Broadway next spring for eight months.  Sponsored in part by the National Audubon Society , the Audubon Sculpture Project, as the series is called, has an environmental purpose as well as an aesthetic one.  All the birds, sculpted from scrap and recycled wood, are “part of a group of over 300 North American species . . . that are in peril or face threats due to climate change,” said Holiber in the WCBS story.  (The 12 birds are: Red-necked Grebe, Peregrine Falcon, American Bittern, Scarlet Tanager, Brant Goose, Double-crested Cormorant, Common Goldeneye, Hairy Woodpecker, Hooded Merganser, Snowy Owl, Wood Duck, and Merlin.  I’ve added the artist’s renderings of the sculptures and a map of their proposed locations following this article.)  The WCBS report was very brief and only exists on the Internet as a video (https://newyork.cbslocal.com/2018/07/19/birds-on-broadway-project-hopes-to-send-environmental-message/), so I went in search of a more detailed text article I could republish.  Below is Mary Jo Dilonardo’s article, “Artist’s massive birds to nest on Broadway,” from the Mother Nature Network (MNN); it was originally posted on 9 July 2018 (https://www.mnn.com/lifestyle/arts-culture/stories/new-york-city-massive-bird-sculptures-holiber).]

Sculptures represent NYC birds threatened by climate change.

There are all sorts of unusual things to be seen on the streets of New York City — so much so that out-of-the-ordinary sights are often ignored. But that will be difficult to do with an art installation due to open on Broadway in April 2019.

A dozen huge bird sculptures — some bigger than a minivan — will alight on Broadway, stretching from 64th Street north to 166th Street in Manhattan. Called the Nicolas Holiber: Birds on Broadway, Audubon Sculpture Project, the exhibition features much-larger-than-life works by artist Nicolas Holiber.


Location map for the bird sculptures to be displayed along upper Broadway from April through December 2019.


The huge sculptures are being constructed from reclaimed wood gathered from the streets of the city. The goal of the project is to call attention to just a few of the many birds threatened by climate change.

Holiber chose the birds from the National Audubon Society’s 2014 Birds and Climate Change Report [http://climate.audubon.org/]. The report classified 314 species — nearly half of all the birds in North America — as severely threatened by global warming. From that list of 145 birds, Holiber focused on those that live or migrate through New York City.

“When I first looked at the list, I was amazed at how many bird go through New York City. It’s amazing that New York City has all these diverse habitats,” Holiber tells MNN. “I picked these 12 birds basically to show the public what an amazingly diverse species pass through New York City, but in my opinion, these are also the most eye-catching on the list.”


The birds include the brightly colored scarlet tanager, the double-crested cormorant, the peregrine falcon and the snowy owl.

“I got to pick whatever would be fun to make,” Holiber says. “When we paint them, they’re all going to be true to how the birds appear in real life.”

. . . .

Working with reclaimed materials

Holiber grew up just outside of New York City. He attended the University of Vermont, then got his master’s at the New York Academy of Art where he studied traditional techniques in painting, drawing and sculpture.

When he received a fellowship after earning his degree, he was able to devote a year to teaching and focusing on his new interest in sculpture. As a student without a lot of money, Holiber needed a material that was cheap and easy to get, so he started using reclaimed wood from shipping pallets.

“It was a super-new experience for me. I always thought art took place in the studio, and I was used to being in front of a canvas. That whole process of getting found materials broadened my horizons and pushed me out of my comfort zone.”

In 2015, Holiber made ‘Head of Goliath,’ a giant sculpture constructed from reclaimed wood that sat (on its side) in Tribeca Park in Manhattan.

Those early “weird, mutant things” — as Holiber describes them — are what made him a natural for the Audubon project.

“The reason I came into this project was because of the material I use. It’s just a great connection to the message we’re sending about the birds and the environment,” he says.

Go big or go home

The size of the sculptures isn’t daunting at all, Holiber says. Some of the largest ones will be the size of a van or an SUV. The Brant goose, for example, is about 8½ feet tall and 11 feet long.

“I prefer working big. I find it really frustrating to work on a small scale,” he says. “When I can move around the structure and it becomes a full body movement rather than a finger or hand, I’m much better at it.”

Many of the sculptures have to be big for practical reasons, too, since they’ll be on the streets of New York with pedestrians constantly darting around them.

“A lot of them have to be so big because of the beaks,” Holiber says. “I don’t want anyone hitting their head or running into the beaks or it would be hazardous.”

From the warehouse to the streets

Holiber is working with a local company that collects salvageable materials from throughout the city. His studio is a warehouse where he’s joined by an assistant, Vito, who also happens to be a dog.

Nicolas Holiber (left) with his pet dog, Vito, and his assistant, Bishop McIndoe, in the artist’s workshop sitting atop an unfinished bird sculpture; another is in the background. (Photo by Holiber)

Although many of the materials are donated, there’s a Kickstarter campaign [https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/967088629/nicolas-holiber-birds-on-broadway-audubon-sculptur/description]  to raise funds to help pay for the installation and transportation of the work.

Of course Holiber is happy to showcase his art, but he says education about the birds is the main focus of the exhibit.

Each sculpture will have information about the bird and the threats it faces, as well as information about climate change and predicted habitat losses. “I hope that people really get into the message we’re sending about these birds,” he says.

The exhibition is in partnership with New York City Audubon, Broadway Mall Association, New York City Parks Department, and Gitler &_____ [sic; see below] gallery. It’s scheduled to run from April through December 2019.

[Mary Jo DiLonardo writes about everything from health to parenting—and anything that helps explain why her dog does what he does.

[Mother Nature Network (https://www.mnn.com) is a website with news and information related to sustainability, health, lifestyle, technology, money, food, home, and family.  Founded in 2009 by former marketing executive Joel Babbit and Rolling Stones keyboardist Chuck Leavell, it is the flagship property of Narrative Content Group, whose equity partners include CNN and Discovery Inc.  It covers a wide range of topics beyond traditional “green” issues—including family, pets, travel, health, home, and food.

[Gitler &_____ is an art gallery located at 3629 Broadway in the Hamilton Heights neighborhood of west Harlem in upper Manhattan.  It was founded by Avi Gitler, a Manhattan art dealer, in September 2014, soon after which, in an effort to spruce up the the run-down neighborhood, Gitler got the permission of a shop owner to invite a street artist to paint one of the roll-down shutters on his block .  The artist happened to choose to depict a flamingo and Gitler decided to reference the neighborhood’s history by commissioning a series of paintings on walls and shutters inspired by the bird paintings of John James Audubon, the famous naturalist and artist who once lived on an estate nearby.  This was the origin of the Audubon Mural Project, sponsored by the National Audubon Society.]

Sculpture Renderings in their Broadway Mall Locations:


  

  
















  




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