What is the connection between casually pepper spraying cop and the woman who assaulted a fellow human during a crazed shopping spree the day after Thanksgiving? Perhaps there is no connection and they just happened to use the same tool. Or perhaps they are both a manifestation of the same disregard for human welfare and show how fundamentally corrupt the moral structure of our culture has become. How else can Fox News commentators claim that such a weapon is “essentially a food product?” Of course when we enter the moral universe where pizza is a vegetable and corporations are humans all bets are off.

As an artist I have honestly been stunned by these events. Artistically stunned. The utter horror I have witnessed as violent disregard for human well being is seen as the legitimate response to people asking for a corrupted system to be fixed has made me at times physically ill. The violence here in the US is nowhere near the violence in Egypt, yet, the Egyptians are taking their cue from us in firing on civilians. These sequences of events shock me. The shock I am feeling is in large part making it impossible to create. As such it is forcing me to confront the role of the artist in times of upheaval.

Picasso’s Guernica is an amazing depiction of the horrors of war. What is the equivalent work for our time? In a world so heavily saturated by consumerist thinking is it possible to create a work that can stand in critique of that culture and its resulting violence without falling victim to recouperation itself? Perhaps Banksy and his ilk are the only ones. I have seen a number of new Banksy, or Banksy derived, works cropping up all over my Oakland neighborhood recently. For a cultural battle being waged in the streets, perhaps its truest artistic form must manifest in those very streets.

Or is it the rough edges of citizen journalism? In a world where moral and ethical obligations are not even considered in the dominant cultural narrative why should refined aesthetics have center stage? The rough unedited livestream documentary is the film. Not whatever reified and safely packaged docutainment Michael Moore shoves out of his studio in a year or two. The poets are on Twitter. The performance artists are hurling teargas canisters back at the lines of riot cops.

I listen to the narratives on twitter and the theater world appears functionally unaffected by the world around it. For a medium that lays claim to immediacy and the visceral experience, there is no larger conversation happening about how theater can engage this world. Sure there is the isolated individual. There is even a petition on line for #occupyBroadway doing free performances in Times Square. But how will that challenge the system? How will that stand against the dominant modes of power and control? How is that dangerous?

Merely doing a play about characters that embody the 99% misses the point. Willy Loman has nothing to do with the status quo problems. He is a product of mid-century American Capitalism. Sure it shares themes with now but we have moved past that. To do that play is to speak to the world before September 17th, 2011 when tents were set up in Liberty Park. We are on the verge of war. The powers that be have declared war in their violent repression of peaceful protestors. Now we see who will stand up.

Antigone is a play that speaks to now. The lone voice standing up for what is right against the entire force of the State apparatus. A friend of mine is currently working on a stage adaptation of Cory Doctorow’s Little Brother. But when we were talking about it, during the November 2nd General Strike, he mentioned that Little Brother was a post-9/11 story and that Occupy Wall Street has shifted the narrative into the next phase. Even a play that has not been finished yet is already outdated.

Theater is alive not because it is live. Peter Brooks wrote eloquently on the deadly nature of much that passes for theater. Theater is alive only when it connects directly with the world around it. When it plugs into the larger cultural stream and manifests, in physical form, our subconscious and our struggles. The Brecht and Weill debut of The Mahagonny Song Spiel caused riots in the streets. That is theater that is alive.

We do not need any more dead plays. Willy Loman is the champion for those who have not yet woken up to the radical inequalities this world faces. Willy Loman embodies the underbelly of an America we long ago sold to the highest bidder. Willy Loman died with the repeal of Glass-Steagal. Willy Loman died with Citizen’s United.

Antigone refuses to die. Antigone lives wherever the just are repressed. Antigone speaks truth to power wherever the marginalized have their voices taken from them. Antigone stands against the State whenever the State stands against its people. Antigone refuses recouperation into the dominant narrative. Antigone lives another day to chant “We don’t die/We Multiply/Hella hella Occupy.”

This cultivation of a Beginner’s Mind is no less important to art as it is to the study of Zen Buddhism. As one progresses in their artistic life it is seductive to see one’s accomplishments as proof that they have mastered a subject or a technique. I have come to that line of thinking myself from time to time. When I find myself there, I try and force myself back to a beginner’s state. I refocus my efforts on the fundamentals. My essays on color theory were written more as my own personal exercise in fundamentals than they were an attempt to demonstrate mastery. The same was true when writing about templates or most any other subject that appears in this blog.

Reminding myself of fundamentals can be a truly difficult task at times. This can be especially true when working in a space I know well. “Oh yeah, the sidelight spaces out like such and such.” But every set is different. Every show is different. This show might need a steeper angle than that last one. The comedy a lower angle than the drama.

It can be a hard discipline to actually sit yourself down and do all the worksheets. I’ll admit I cut corners from time to time. But in the end it is a far more enjoyable experience to finish focus early and go out for drinks than it is to stay late and move a whole sidelight system. It happens both ways. For every designer who doesn’t check each zone of sidelight there is an electrician who eyeballs the distance between the lights. And when those two meet, oh boy will it be a long and painful focus session.

We are dynamic creatures. We are either growing or we are dying. We are moving forwards or we are moving backwards. Never are we actually still. In order to keep moving ourselves forward, to keep evolving as individuals and as artists, we must keep a focus on improving ourselves. Be that through emotional awareness or artistic craft, if we are not working to improve then we are allowing our skills to atrophy.

Fundamentals.

Some friends of mine recently published a book on Cocktails. The myriad recipes for divine ambrosia can be intimidating to look at. Someone coming at them, unfamiliar with contemporary cocktailing, might balk at the use of mango and jalapeno in a drink. Or worse, think that a cocktail is nothing more than a bunch of random food items mixed together with some obscure booze.

But the reason these recipes are so effective is that they are born out of an understanding of cocktail fundamentals. The oldest definition of a cocktail is from 1806 and defines it as “a stimulating liquor composed of spirits of any kind, sugar, water, and bitters.” Rather simple. The Old Fashioned is the clearest example of this, but any classic cocktail, more or less, fits the bill. Many of these fancy newfangled cocktails are really just an elaboration on these original oldfangled cocktails.

Whether one is making a Filibuster or a Sazerac a knowledge of the fundamentals of cocktailing are necessary to make a first rate drink. Be they recipes from Jerry Thomas’ How to Mix drinks or the formulas laid down in David A. Embury’s The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks, a master mixologist must know her fundamentals to make new concoctions worth drinking. Before inventing your own recipe, you need to master the Old Fashioned.

Design works the same way. Lighting is, first and foremost, about putting light where you want it and taking it away from where your don’t want it. Rather simple. This same principle applies whether we are talking about a one man monologue, or Spider-Man, or a tradeshow floor. The details might change. The technology might change. Yet the fundamental underlying principal remains the same.

This is why I like to look back at old lighting texts. Stanley McCandless or Jean Rosenthal deal in fundamentals. Back before we had automated everything, with hundreds of dimmers and almost limitless capacity, they were finding solutions to make a limited situation as flexible, durable, and dynamic as it could be. Returning to these basic texts can help us step back from the cutting edge of technology and actually look at what we are doing.

Finding access to that Beginner’s mind, focusing on the fundamentals, can keep us moving forward and perfecting our craft. With the Beginner’s Mind we keep working on the fundamentals, we keep growing. As we deepen our awareness we deepen the mastery of our craft.

One thing a new year allows is an exploration of novelty through the familiar. By taking note, we make the known and familiar new again and celebrate change even if there is no distinct change to be found. A grand social masquerade of sorts. We all agree that this is a new beginning starting now and allow ourselves to move forwards from there. These markers allow us useful places to take stock of both where we are and where we are headed.

Over the holidays, at a white elephant party, I came away with a little book. This book contained an introduction to the game of Go and a small Go set to start learning. I have long wanted to learn the game yet never got around to learning how. Funny enough, at my first ever white elephant party years ago I opened a game of Go but had it stolen from me and was unable to retrieve it from the other players. A dozen or so years later and I finally win that game and begin my exploration of a subject long mysterious to me.

While the game in itself is wholly new to me, it bears some interesting connections to many threads running through my life. It symbolizes for me, in many ways, the idea of the new year as an exploration of novelty through the familiar.

As a child, from roughly the ages of seven to seventeen, I studied the martial art Aikido. The principles of Aikido, Keep One Point, Weight on the Underside, Relax Completely, and Extend Ki, translate perfectly to the game of Go. Unlike Chess, a game I learned as a child and lost mercilessly to my father until my tweens when I started winning, Go has no simple strategy like “capture the King.” Rather Go is about influence. One extends one’s influence across the board just as one extends Ki in a room.

Influence is a give and take. To gain this influence, to Extend Ki, one must be centered, on firm footing, and relaxed. Being too aggressive in Go can actually be a bad thing. Without maintaining balance, or Keeping One Point, one risks a lopsided influence. A top heavy influence that might easily be toppled. One wants to maintain the initiative, which is about making the right move to guide the action, more than a series of attacks.

The study of Aikido early in life also gave me a deep appreciation for Japanese aesthetics. The dojo is a spare room, but carefully ordered. White walls, some simple black scrollwork, tatami mats on the floor, and a simple arrangement of flowers on the small black altar. This harmonious minimalism is something I deeply admire in the realm of art. My favorite shows to work on tend to be minimalistic works. Even when the overall work itself is not, when a minimalistic approach to the lighting is called for, I deeply enjoy it.

The game of Go is incredibly simple in terms of rules of play. There are, perhaps, five rules to the game. With only one kind of piece to play, it is far simpler to learn than Chess which has six different kinds of pieces, four of which have variations in movement. Yet, this simplicity of structure does not mean simplicity in game play. The most advanced computer simulations of Go compare to a weak or moderate amateur, versus chess where the game has nearly been solved by machine computing.

While Chess can be cold and brutal, Go has a gracious quality that I find refreshing. The system of handicaps is as much about mutual enjoyment as it is about leveling the playing field. Winning too easily stops being fun. So a simple system is put in place to increase overall enjoyment. Again we see a simple system which makes for a deeply satisfying and complex experience.

The visual aesthetics, like the aesthetics of the gameplay, are minimalist, yet surprisingly complex. Black, white, and polished wood. The black pieces, traditionally, are made slightly larger than the white such that the visual illusion which makes the white pieces appear larger is compensated for. This level of detail and harmony is, in my opinion, true beauty. Combining my background in black and white photography with my love of grey it would be no wonder that an object with this kind of visual design would appeal to me so strongly. As the game is played, the most wonderful patterns emerge on the board.

Of direct relevance to lighting design, the closest I can come is that my first Off-Broadway play was set in modern day Japan. At a subtler level the game strategy is very much like the role of the lighting designer. The proper design is one that finds harmonious balance between the many and competing needs of the production. From basic visibility, to enhancing other design elements, to flashy effects, to simple recreations of nature, the designer must stay relaxed, grounded in the work in front of them, and extend their eye to solve problems and enhance moments. Light can not be forced it must be coaxed. In the same way Go is more about following the flow of the pieces and the natural patterns of movement than it is about forcing the issue.

In the end, it may not be wholly new, and like many a resolution may not be maintained far into the year, learning Go has given me a new lens through which I can explore old ideas. It should serve me in good stead so long as I remember to Keep One Point, Weight on the Underside, Relax Completely, and Extend Ki.

Minimalism forces upon us a kind of archeology of style. Idiosyncratic and stylistic flourish often fail when exposed to the archeology of minimalism. The Greeks allow for a minimalist narrative in large part because their stories are so close to the archetypal source there is little extra. Often, Greek stories provide the bare minimum of context before moving forwards with a primal and archetypal tale.

Sophocles, in many ways, deals in pure archetype. Some of this is based on the stories he chooses to tell. Focus on the parent child relationship, as in the Oedipus cycle, strikes to the core of the human experience. This essential story is amplified by the narrative structures available to him. In his day, drama was seen as consisting of two actors and a chorus. Because of this constraint, he was forced to fit the complexity of human experience into a dichotomy. It forced dialog and paired monologue instead of conversation.

This very contained world is in sharp distinction to the plays of Euripides. Not only is Euripides willing to call into question the very power dynamics underlying society, he does so through a revolution in the dramatic form. The addition of a third actor increases, logarithmically, the complexity of potential storytelling dynamics.

In The Bacchae, for example, the same actor who plays the priest also plays the god. The actor who plays the mother plays the son. The king is played by the same actor who plays the servant. In this way, Euripides is able to question social politics through the very structures of narrative. If the king and the servant are manifested through the same soul, through being played by the same actor, what does that say about power and control in society?

What implications does this have for those of us who would design these worlds? Are there lessons we may learn? What are these plays speaking that would inform us, in a useful way, as builders and designers of the worlds these plays would inhabit?

First, it would serve us well to look at the structure of these stories. As designers, we are first and foremost visual storytellers. The story we are telling comes from the text. If it is a minimal or archetypal text, then perhaps we ought to look for that archetype in our design.

But what kind of minimalism is this?

The minimalism of Sophocles is different than that of Euripides. Do the characters have a single, unchanging, soul? Do they have a shared soul which manifests different aspects? Are these writers even minimalist?

A lot of evidence indicates that these texts are little more than the equivalent of an operatic libretto. In short, we are missing the music, the songs, and the choreography which these plays originally had and which made them far more of a spectacle than common thinking often allows of them today.

It was recently discovered that Greek statuary was painted in vibrant colors. Perhaps, then, neo-classicism and classical minimalism are nothing more than aesthetic anomalies founded on a misinterpretation of historical evidence. Minimalism, as an aesthetic concern, may indicate a far more modern line of thought than we typically consider it to be.

All of this concerns us as designers of theatrical worlds. Scenery, props, lighting, costumes, and music are all implicated by our asking of these questions. Our results are determined by our answers.

A lot of the boredom comes, I think, from a certain resignation. Because “frontlight is boring” no effort is made to find an approach to frontlight that is sculptural. Frontlight can be quite interesting when the time and care is taken to treat it as a sculptural aesthetic element rather than a grudging necessity one hangs and focuses for bows.

This problem is largely an American problem. I say this because the American school of design, which traces itself in one way or another back to Stanley McCandless, treats a 45 degree angle as the base for all lighting. Sidelights, backlights (when possible), and frontlights all start from an assumption of 45 degrees up from the stage. While the “McCandless Method” has gone out of fashion along with its multi-colored diagonal frontlights, there are some ideas contained therein which might prove useful when applied within a contemporary aesthetic environment.

McCandless’ “Method” was born in an era of limited power, control, and instrumentation. These are not concerns we have as much today, but it forced him into a rigorous line of thinking which may be useful to return to. He developed his method as a means of providing the maximum variety and sculptural qualities to performers under extremely limited situations.

The somewhat blunt color approach to his use of diagonal frontlight may not hold up under contemporary aesthetic analysis, but the underlying intent is worth looking at. That intent being a well sculptured figure on stage. His specific solution may not apply, but we can all resonate with wanting to create a sculptural figure on stage. Using diagonal frontlight, though with consistent color, thus creating texture and variation through differing intensity levels, would be a more contemporary approach.

This is a sort of archeology of lighting aesthetics. It returns us to a foundational moment from which we may then build back up into the present to address our current aesthetic concerns. Simply modifying McCandless only goes so far. If our goal is creating a sculptural figure, we must base our decisions and analysis of lighting angles upon that premise.

Diagonal frontlight is far from the only means of creating a sculptural figure. In many circumstance it is also far from the ideal visual aesthetic. At a practical level, it doubles the required instrumentation needed. This can eat up valuable gear in limited situations and, of course, doubles the focus time for FOH positions. Then there is the matter of it lighting up a much more broad stage area than frontlight which comes straight in. Diagonals illuminate almost twice as much stage area as straight in frontlight, yet still only light about the same area at face level.

Footlights are a popular, though slowly going out of fashion, approach to finding a sculptural solution to frontlight. More so than diagonals, footlights light up a very broad area and are thus not right when maintianing a contained space is another requirement of the design. While beautiful under the right circumstances, the look is so emotionally specific that it can rarely be employed for general use.

An approach that is quite common in Europe, but surprisingly rare in the US, is steep angled frontlight. Pushing the lights up, past the 45 degree mark, to 70, or even 80 degrees, can turn this once boring lighting angle into a dramatically powerful storytelling device. What you lose from using so steep an angle is illumination of eye sockets and underneath any hats with brims. But what you gain is a tremendously powerful and evocative look.

Steep frontlight like this can easily be used on its own without being boring. It is very sculptural. It can also be readily used in conjunction with sidelight to get under hats and into eye sockets, or as fill to eliminate the harsh dark line caused by the exclusive use of sidelighting. Another wonderful benefit of steep frontlight like this is the very limited stage real estate taken up by the light. It is possible to isolate a performer distinctly and discretely while leaving as much stage space as possible unlit.

There are plenty of times where a flat angle is desired in one’s frontlight. Musical comedy and farce often want the bright faces and crisp eyes made possible by a flatter angle of frontlight. Perhaps the show is exploring themes of boredom and what is desired is blank, plain, lighting. In such cases a very flat frontlight may be just the right choice.

The larger question we are exploring is, “are you making a choice?” Is your lighting palette based upon an exploration of the dramatic needs of the piece in question or is it a formula? Thinking through these questions and really exploring the frontlight needs of the specific show will help to make the finished product not just good, but great.

From the darkness we are revealed intimately. Alone. Together. The oldest storytellers had a single prop. And it was light. And it was good. The fire in the jungle clearing held dangers at bay and allowed the storyteller to spark the imaginations of the audience.

We use light to define space both physically and emotionally. The intimacy of a candle lit dinner for two speaks to a different notion of space and intimacy than a fluorescent lit cafeteria. Yet, it is not the physical space which makes this intimacy. It is the light. That same cafeteria with tables laid out, lit by candles, fluorescent lights turned off, becomes at once a space of intimacy. Close, we turn towards one another, lit in the soft glow of the candle, and we share our secrets.

The light creates not only space in which we might speak and act, it creates limits and walls. It bounds space as much as space is opened up. As the campfire light tapers off and disappears into the dense jungle, our intimate space of storytelling ends and the walls of the jungle rise up. The flicker and jump of the flame shifts those walls, making them always something uncertain, as we, the listeners, do not know where the journey of this storyteller is taking us.

The candle, with its flicker, softer now than the fire, also has walls. Those walls are soft, though equally as dark. The island of connection, made possible by the candle, becomes almost lost amidst the darkness.

Creators and workers of light must know, not just the technology, but the poetry of light. The technology changes, these days faster than ever. New fixtures, bulbs, control systems, and more come out daily. Yet the power of light is unchanged from the day our Sun ignited in a burst of nuclear fusion. The softness of the stories possible within the curtilage of a candle are no more nor less true today than they were thousands of years ago.

Understanding the poetics of light allows one to create spaces of real intimacy and truth. Reading instruction manuals is easy. Learning technology and software is simple. Dedicating one’s life to an intimate relationship with light itself is difficult.

Light is delicate. Be it a candle or a 10K HMI, light must be treated softly and with care or it will not respond to your wishes. One must develop a relationship with the light. One must become intimate with light for it to truly work with you and manifest your vision.

Even something as grand as a sunrise over the plains has an intimacy to it. A relationship between the Sun and the Earth which has been growing, evolving, and deepening for billions of years. The perfection of a sunset is a vector not a point. A striving for the most perfect, which, even if it could be achieved, would only set the bar higher for perfection.

Light does not just create physical space. It creates emotional space. When done right, it creates a spiritual space as well. The light pouring in through a stained glass window at 6am, transforming darkness into the multicolored splendor of spiritual possibility, is unlike most any other phenomenon on earth. A spiritual enlightenment made physical. Light creates the space of spiritual transformation.

Light makes intimacy possible. Without light there is no space for intimate encounters be it with the beloved or the divine.

Before the Earth cooled and turned solid there was light.

Before there was space there was light.

Before intimacy, there was light.

Of course we see this quality of light regularly outside of a stage. A sunrise or sunset has, at the most magical moment, this quality of light pouring over our faces as we stare into the ever shifting sky. Our faces light up in myriad colors like the shifting sky itself.

I am talking here of the head high sidelight.

Not only is this angle of light utterly beautiful at an aesthetic level, it is one of the most practical and useful angles a lighting designer has in his tool box.

The beauty comes in large part from the fact that this angle of light shows off an object to its most sculptural. Unless we are dealing with a totally flat surface, like a plastic box, Head Highs are going to show off nearly any bump or fold the object has to offer. At the same time, it fills in the figure enough that you get the sense of a completely lit object. This becomes especially useful when dealing with a performer’s face.

This combination of lending sculptural dimensionality and fully illuminating faces is one of the great aspects of sidelight in general. Head High Sidelight is especially nice because it can do so with a dramatic intensity not possible with other lighting angles. High Sidelight tends to be a bit softer and lower angles, like Shins, tend to be a little too severe for most applications. Head Highs, however, have an almost universal appeal.

At a practical level they are invaluable. One can fully light a rather large volume of performance space with very few lights since a single Head High will cross the entire stage, whereas a High Sidelight will only cover partway across a stage. Because of this, an entire stage can be lit with as few as eight to twelve lighting instruments. Hopefully we are never limited in this way. However, many touring dance companies will encounter such limitations, often due to time constraints, and can effectively light an entire evening of dances with just a handful of lighting instruments.

Another practical benefit is the ease of access with which one can alter these lights. Color and template changes, as well as quick shutter adjustments, can be made rapidly between curtains for dances, scenes, or acts in an evening. Thus, our touring dance company could have a completely different palette one dance to the next despite the use of a single angle of light throughout the evening.

One can fast see why such a lighting angle would be popular with dance companies, traditionally known for their limited budgets and even more limited tech time. Yet an angle of such grace, beauty, and versatility need not be limited to dance. Theater and Opera both are ripe mediums for such illuminative explorations.

The beauty of the Head High should live free of the conventions of modern dance or naturalistic sunsets. It gives a sense of drama unlike any other lighting angle. With such beauty and grace at our disposal how could we possibly say no?

When considering leaves and trees or clouds we must consider how they move. Abstract patterns have even more movement options available to them. And when the stage is filled with haze and fog, the movement of the light becomes quite a dynamic thing indeed.

Templates hold a degree of interest on their own but as static objects they can fast become, well, static. Motion gives life and vitality to templates that they might otherwise not have. If movement is required to create the right emotional environment then we must, as designers, be able to clearly and carefully select the best movement options available to us.

First up is rotation. Whether you are dealing with a template in a moving light with rotation ability, or a standalone fixture like the GAM TwinSpin or Rosco Double Gobo Rotator, rotation is a powerful tool for the lighting designer. Spinning templates can be a lot of fun for music events, bands, and the like. This is often what people first think of when they imagine a rotating template. However, rotating templates can have some powerfully subtile effects as well. Placing a static leaf or cloud pattern in a light with an abstract rotating template behind it can give a slight sense of movement without overpowering a composition. Getting the focus just right, such that the rotation recedes to the background, is critical in these cases.

Linear movement is another wonderful way to create motion with templates. Whether it is the vertical rise of flames or the slow horizontal shifting of clouds, linear motion, like that created by the GAM Film/FX, can be wonderful. These effects, like rotation effects, require a very careful attention to focus if you are trying to achieve any degree of subtlety. It is too easy to make these effects look like effects and not like an integrated part of a larger composition.

While discussing movement we should not overlook two very simple means of moving light around stage. First is lamp intensity. You may have subtle fades and builds of the light or a rapidly flickering disco effect, but either way, modulating the intensity of your templates is an easy way to give movement to them. The second kind of movement is a physical relocation of the beam of light. Typically achieved through the use of moving lights, this is another way to give dynamic movement to light. Then again, there is nothing like giving a baton of leaf templates a gentle shove to simulate a gust of wind.

Where things get really interesting is in how you combine these various qualities of movement. If you are lighting a dance floor, you might have your moving lights ballyhoo while rotating an abstract template with an intermittent strobe effect. But perhaps you are working on something more subtile, the night scene in an opera. You may have several GAM Film/FX slowly scrolling soft focused clouds across the sky while they subtly shift in intensity modulating up and down during the scene. Each choice may be the right one in the right context. But I have a hard time believing Mimi would look right with a strobing Technobeam overhead.

How you use and combine qualities of movement with templates will make the difference between an effect and a composition element. Carefully considering what quality of light you want will guide your design decisions and lead you to a solution that is more than just flickering dots bouncing around the stage.

What did you think of this post? Please share your thoughts in comments.

After exploring leaves and trees and clouds we moved on to abstract patterns. While those essays focused on types of pattern and some basic issues of focus they did not look at how to get the most impact out of your template choices. Haze and fog are particularly effective tools to maximize the effect of your templates.

Because atmospherics allow us to better see the physical beams of light, it means that the light itself takes on a greater visual role. We can see, through the use of haze, where the light comes from. The volume of the performance space is brought to the audience’s attention in a way that it is not otherwise. Because the light is visible before it hits performer or scenery, the world of the show becomes larger than any of those elements. Light can make the world bigger.

We know from our exploration of backlight that a light pointed more in the direction of the viewer will be more present than a light coming from their angle of view. Adding haze, or other atmospherics, will amplify this. How much of an atmospheric effect you use will be guided by the needs of a production. A rock concert will probably demand a heavy use of haze to fill the air thickly. A comedic play, on the other hand, will demand a much lighter touch, perhaps with haze running intermittently on an effect to give just enough presence to the air to make it filled with light.

What kind of atmospheric to use is a critical design decision. The two most common forms are haze and fog. Both of these are chemical based solutions which are heated and then pumped out onto the stage. In addition to these there you have water, dry ice, and smoke.

Haze is probably the most common and produces a thin mist which fills the air. It can range from subtle to obvious depending upon how much is used. Rather simple to control, this is a solution favored by many designers for that fact. A good hazer will fill a performance space quickly and evenly leaving a beautiful mist hanging in the air. One of the greatest benefits of haze is that the particulates hang in the air much longer than natural solutions like water. While it used to be less than healthy, current haze juices are safe in the human respiratory system under reasonable conditions.

Fog operates like haze in that it is a chemical solution. It tends to be very thick and used for smoke effects in more realistic situations and as broad and powerful statements in more abstract spaces. It is rarely if ever subtle. Because fog is so thick it really shows off the beams of light in an architectural manner. Form and color become quite prominent and as such one’s choice of template is critical. Because it is thicker than haze it can be a little more risky for those breathing it in, but is generally safe under reasonable conditions.

Misting systems are especially popular in situations like opera houses which do not allow chemical based atmospherics. This is a water based solution which uses high pressure misting hoses to fill the air with water. While the effect is quite beautiful it has several inherent drawbacks. First, the particulates do not stay in the air. As such the system must run continuously to maintain the effect. This, then, amplifies the second problem which is that water is wet and can cause damage to scenery and costumes. Not to mention wet and slippery floors!

Dry ice is an atmospheric effect which, rather than filling the air, rides close to the ground. Thus its impact on light and templates is often minimal. Because it is so heavy, it can be used to cascade down walls or through the air. Under such conditions it can act as an atmospheric for the purposes of showing of templates quite nicely. Because it is frozen CO2 it poses no health risks. Despite this reality, it is one of the most common effects to induce psychosomatic bouts of coughing.

Smoke would probably be the last atmospherics to consider. Typically an after effect of pyrotechnics, smoke works beautifully to fill a room with particulates against which light might shine. Of course, unless you are doing a big pyro show or a fire ballet, chances are the presence of smoke will be intermittent at best.

The design needs of the show, and sometimes contractual needs of the performers, will determine what solutions are best for you. Each of these atmospherics create beautiful effects of light. Under the right conditions these tools assist in creating beauty and transcend their role as effects. Anyone can flood a room with fog and haze and turn on the backlight templates. Balancing this with the needs of the show to create a thing of beauty takes careful consideration and finesse.

What did you think of this post? Please share your thoughts in comments.

Abstract gobos can be particularly good for delineating location in large musicals. While a full scenic shift is great, augmenting that with a total transformation in the lighting environment can truly make the difference in a production. Linear patterns that drape over scenery or scrape across walls create quite a different effect than geometric shards of lights cast across the floor. Abstract breakups like R77764, focused very soft, lightly highlighting scenery or perhaps a framed photograph or poster, can really bring that element to life.

The risk with abstract gobos is allowing the template to dominate the composition and thus draw focus away from the performance. While a farce might call for a very obvious use of templates, a drama probably would not. Another thing to consider, before utilizing an abstract gobo in a dramatic piece, is if the same effect could be achieved without use of the template. If you want broken light it is far more interesting to shine a PAR or floodlight through scenery than it is to point a gobo across stage. That said, when the right choice is a template it can make quite a strong impact.

Abstract templates are fantastic for providing a sense of architecture and place to a scene, party, or music show. A simple change in gobo, from leaves to a geometric template for example, can tell us quickly that the action has moved from outside to inside. A pattern projected on walls and ceilings can fast give light a direct connection to a theme party or event. Whatever your situation, the use of abstract templates are very powerful.

Like Spiderman is often reminded, with great power comes great responsibility. Choosing your templates carefully by considering both the shape or style of the design, as well as how open or dense it is, and how sharp or soft it is focused, will make the difference between a clever and unique lighting idea and something pulled from a catalog. Just because you use a stock gobo does not justify having a stock generic composition.

One instance where abstract templates are very useful is live music. Specifically backlight templates with haze and coming out of a moving light. Music as a medium is very abstract. Even when there is narrative storytelling, it tends to occur in a non-literal manner. Far more frequently we are dealing with a wholly abstract artistic environment. In these cases light too is given the freedom to work in an abstract manner. Templates, like color, move and change in an emotional response to the music. Perhaps the templates dance in rhythm to the song. Or they might provide a counterpoint, doing a slow wash from behind the musicians and then up and over the audience while the music bangs away at 180 BPM.

With a live act, the kind of template used can be guided by the style of music being played. A techno band might want more linear shapes, perhaps circuit board patterns or something to that effect. A psychedelic jam band on the other hand may call for more swirly organic shapes. Intuition and feel are your best guides when working with music.

What shape does the music sound like?

Abstract shapes are also particularly conducive to rotation and movement. When working in an abstracted space like music or a party, where it is a matter of ambiance of the light rather than literal storytelling, one must consider every quality of light. Movement is a fast way to create a dynamic space with light. A moving gobo is never going to look like something other than a moving gobo. Because of this, the designer is freed to react emotionally to the moment rather than being tied down by a literal framework often found in dramatic works.

Templates are such a strong and noticeable effect that their proper selection is critical for creating a good composition. Once they have been selected, a good palette of templates can lend range and dynamism to a work that is not available without them. Choose wisely.

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