Posts Tagged ‘negotiation’

Yielding to unmoving negotiations

Friday, March 2nd, 2007

Well, it has been a while since I blogged about blogs. Largely I have just been too busy to concern myself with the theory of ‘Theory vs. Praxis’ since everything has been all praxis all the time lately. This post by George caught my attention however.

I do not really see how or why one would bother to argue with the assessments made in the interview. Writing a play is an inherently private and solitary creative act. Collaborating on the producing of a play is a wholly different thing. Writing is a generative act. Everything else in the theatre is derivative.

This is not a bad thing. Further, there are aspects of every role in the theatre that are generative and creative. A playscript is not staging, it is dialog. I think this is the key issue at work here. A play is more than just dialog, it is staging and setting and costume and light and character. All of these make a play and all of these aspects begin in a private generative creative place.

The play is collaborative. The playscript is a generative creative thing.

They are two separate items. The lightplot is not the lighting for a play, nor is memorizing lines the character. In this same way the playscript is not the play.

I have heard an old adage that when a play is cast properly the work of the director is minimal. I think this applies to the whole creation of a work for the theatre. When everyone, actors, director, designers, writer, etc. are all in sync on a production it feel effortless. It is a lot of work, but not so much a lot of struggle. The writer offers changes based upon rehearsals and the director yields staging ideas to the designers. When the organism of the theatre is working together, the lines between all these roles are blurred.

The work of putting on a play is always collaborative, even if one player in the game remains resolute and unchanging, the others must negotiate through a field that is mixed with changing and the unchanging. An act of theatre is always a negotiation. Throughout the process certain aspects become fixed. At some point the text is fixed, sometimes before rehearsals begin, sometimes near to opening. At some point the lighting and costume gets fixed and the actors must realize that “discoveries” made “in the moment” may no longer be appropriate.

Large scale commercial shows become the most fixed. I think the height of this might be the Rockettes. They do something on the order of seven shows daily at the height of the holiday season. These shows vary in length by less than two or three seconds from show to show even with wholly different casts. Live performance scripted down to a tee, fixed and unwavering. There is not time for a “discovery” one must simply perform.

Sometimes, and quite often, this is the case for a director. Unless they choose a text in the public domain that they edit, at which point the director becomes writer, they can not choose what text will change and what will not. Often these texts will be fixed and the director must assume the difficult task of negotiating with that which is unnegotiable. Their creativity with the work comes not in the form of textual changes but in other, perhaps more subtle, modes of creative discourse.

No way of creation is inherently good or bad. And anyone can make good or bad of any situation. But to claim that someone ELSE must change their working style so that you can work the way you want to in a collaborative medium feels absurd. Far stronger work is created when one bends ones working style, like a piece of bamboo, deeply yielding to the wind yet tenaciously rooted in the ground.

Collaboration is not about forcing change in others. It is about working together to create something larger than any single individual.

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The unsung heros of the stage

Wednesday, February 14th, 2007

I know a lot of people, often actors, who say that their job is uniquely difficult because of the live performative quality of it. They are the ones working in front of an audience. And it is true. As a designer you never have to worry about that. By the time there is an audience in the theatre, your job is done. But there is another person who performs a play or dance or opera. The stage manager.

The job of the stage manager might not be as glamorous as that of a performer, or even designer, but they are integral and essential to the proper functioning of a play. A bad actor can ruin their performance, but can easily be boueyed by their fellow performers. A bad stage manager creates a snowball effect that can destroy otherwise wonderful performances and design elements.

When sound or lighting cues occur in the wrong place or a followspot suddenly turns off on the lead singer, the entire delicate and carefully constructed world of the show falls apart. If the orchestration of scenic moves and lighting cues is less than flawless all the hard work that went into it is ruined and for naught.

A good stage manager is essential to the creation of these little worlds we put on stage. They make it seamless. They make the delicate appear strong and the thin appear solid. Their energy dictates the energy of a production more often than the director. A calm and collected stage manager can make the most temperamental of directors easy to work with. But this power works in reverse and even a room full of calm and organized people can stumble over each other when the stage manager is not in total control.

Working on Artfuckers has been wonderful because not only is the whole creative staff fun and easy to work with, but the stage manager is top notch and has everything well organized and running smoothly. Last Word was a breeze as Marci, the stage manager, who I have worked with once before, made everything go calmly and quietly. And this was in a situation that had a lot of potential for tensions with many intense personalities.

It is an interesting position to be in since the job of the stage manager is to make everything run smoothly and it is human nature to rarely notice that which runs smoothly. As a result these people are rarely given the praise they deserve. Yet without them lighting cues would not happen properly, sound would never work as it should, scenic elements would be out of place and props would be missing. Actors would not be called to the stage in time to be cued for their entrance. In short, the production would fall apart under its own weight.

Multimedia message

We are only in the second day of tech for Artfuckers, not even all the way through the show and Eduardo has asked me to light his next play he is directing. Another production at Theatre for the New City called Paula. It sure is nice working with people you trust. They can offer you a show and you do not even have to read the script in advance to know you want to accept. I will of course read the script for the show, but I trust his taste to know I will have a good time working on the show.

I have work booked through July and with the exception of Operation Ajax and one assisting gig, everything this year is with people I have previously worked with. There is something really nice about that. It means I am not being hired only on reputation, or having seen my work on another show, but that my work and process are valued enough to be brought back. That I am valued as an artistically creative force in the construction of a work for performance.

Working in a collaborative medium like theatre or dance, the final product is only part of the picture. The process is as much the work as the product. And for me, who leaves the shows on if not before opening, the process is paramount in importance. I do not sit back and watch the shows for weeks or months on end. I am around for the technical rehearsals and then leave the show in the trusted hands of the stage manager. Thus it is very important to me that the people I work with are both competent and pleasant to be around. And of course doing artistically interesting work.

The show itself is, to me, something wholly different. I feel less ownership over the product as I do the process. Once the show is open it is someone else’s. The lighting is a gift. A gift from me to the director and producer and performers that they might share with an audience. Once the show is open it already feels more like a portfolio piece than a living work, because my work is done. The performance is alive and the dialog between the design and the performance is very much still in effect. But the evolution of the design, the construction of the contextual world of the play is done. It becomes a daily negotiation between the mutable and the unchanging. As the lighting, one of the most mutable of media, becomes fixed for the performance to resonate against.

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inter/connection

Wednesday, February 14th, 2007

Now we face the real difficulty. Catching a moment of truth demands that all the finest efforts of the actor, director, author and designer be united; no one can do it alone. Within one performance, there cannot be different aesthetics, conflicting aims. All techniques of art and craft have to serve what English poet Ted Hughes calls a “negotiation” between our ordinary level and the hidden level of myth. This negotiation takes the form of bringing what is changeless together with the ever-changing everyday world, which is precisely where each performance is taking place. We are in contact with this world every second of our waking life, when the information recorded in our brain cells in the past is reactivated in the present. The other world which is permanently there is invisible, because our senses have no acess to it, although it can be apprehended in many ways and at many times through our intuitions. All spiritual practices bring us towards the invisible world by helping us to withdraw from the world of impressions into stillness and silence . . . [Theatre] exists to offer glimpses, inevitably of short duration, of an invisible world that interpenetrates the daily world and is normally ignored by our senses.
Peter Brook, The Open Door

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in/visible art

Saturday, October 7th, 2006

I see very little purpose to art that does not in some way make visible that which is otherwise invisible. At a literal level this might apply to my love of lighting design, but at a deeper level it is even more true. Approaching a text as a kind of hypothetical, one can see many avenues an eventual production could go down. The Greeks have been performed in everything from Togas to business suits to both at the same time. How the characters are clothed, how the performance space is designed/chosen, how the scenes are lit, are all responses to the initial question the text asks. Sometimes these aspects of production respond in the form of an answer and sometimes another question. Sometimes both.

The idea of revealing what was otherwise unseen is important to keep in mind. I had a wonderful moment in tech the other night. We were lighting the last scene of act one, and after we had got through it we took a break. The lighting for the first act roughly takes on an arc of colorful to clear light. The focus shifts in the lighting from an awareness of its chromatic nature to light as the compliment of shadow. I spoke with the writer/director about it and she said she was very pleased, but had never intended the scene to be, as she said “black and white” but that for her it helped anchor a scene that is heavily imagistic and can easily run the risk of falling into caricature.

Clouded Sunrise

It is not as if lighting alone can create an idea that is not already present. The language of light does not work that way. Light is more akin to the photographers lens. It does not create a situation. Rather, it frames a scenario and through that framing reveals and places focus upon something that might otherwise not be noticed. It can make the unconscious conscious. The invisible visible. It exists in that space between presence and absence, being at once a wave and a particle. It rides that liminal space and therein lies its power.

As Peter Brook says in The Empty Space, “to comprehend the visibility of the invisible is a life’s work. Holy art is an aid to this, and so we arrive at a definition of holy theatre. A holy theatre not only presents the invisible but also offers conditions that make its perception possible.” That perception of the invisible is central to the nature of light. To guide and focus attention such that the multiplicity of the layers of reality become perceived at once. The expansion of visual consciousness is an essential aspect to an art form like theatre where one has multiple vectors of sensory and mental stimulation through which to negotiate.

greenpoint sun

I am not sure that light ever gives an answer. The more I think upon it, the more it seems to me to be a medium devoted to questioning. Light asks fundamental questions about the nature of the subject it illuminates. What is this thing? Why is it here? And what does it do? But it asks them in the form on a statement. And herein lies some of the mystery to me of the nature of light. It is a question masquerading as a statement. The wave that is also particle, asks something new every time it states a response to a question.

In many ways light is the forward movement behind action in the dialectical process that is the creation of a work of theatre. At least for the visual component. Light synthesizes all the visual elements, setting, costume and staging, to create a new thesis. And light is a thesis that demands an anti-thesis. By its very presence it creates its opposite in shadow. The same with color. Take two identical lights and color one of them pink, then other looks green. Light is wholly relational and never exists outside some context. It can not be seen without something to bounce off of. Invisible itself, it makes visible the otherwise invisible.

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The Negation of Self

Sunday, October 1st, 2006

Wow! I saw a reading/rehearsal for Madness of Day and it truly blew me away. I really enjoy the text and I find it to be an amazing piece of literature and (obliquely) philosophical discourse. But I was honestly skeptical that it would work as a stage piece. I was optimistic, but skeptical. But skeptic no longer. The text moves beautifully through time as a dramatic work. Layers of meaning and nuance that simply do not exist on the printed page, became alive and filled with significance as the actor lunged towards the brink of madness and came back. Transformed.

We are running into some logistical issues as the piece is being sponsored, in part, by SVA. The space we were planning on performing in is undergoing contractual negotiations and may not be available to us for the previously scheduled time slot, so the dates may be pushed back to the Spring. That may in the end be best as late November is a tricky time to build momentum for an small Off-Broadway show, what with all the various holidays and so forth late in the calendar year.

The text of Madness of Day deals almost entirely with identity and the meaning and significance of Self. Yet that self is so elusive. It is never there, the place of self is a gravitational locus with no mass. It is a mystery around which various physical and psychological objects orbit, but does not itself exist in any tangible sense. They are, as we discussed after the reading, “fragmented landscapes across which consciousness travels.”

Slashing Formality

It is very clear that the text falls into the deconstructive tradition that results in the decentering of the Subject. The subsequent reconstruction finds the Subject to be almost a ghost in its intangible construction. We know all the elements that compose it, yet it can not be formed into a coherent story or narrative. That narrative of Self is found to be a fiction. A Fiction held up by the necessities of social negotiation. The text calls into question the very nature of Self.

These questions become imperative in an age when classic, modern and post-modern notions of Self are all inadequate to describe the phenomenon of identity. What is the “Self” in a time of social networking technologies where aspects of self are distributed across the globe on various computer servers in numerous guises. Is the physical self more real than the MySpace self? Is the consciousness inside the mind more real than the streaming links in del.icio.us? The whole notion of the real is called into question on a daily basis. When video games often look more “real” than the images we see of war on the news, which is more real? And what of the “soldier” in the game versus the soldier in the war? Are those quotation marks perhaps misplaced? What is the value of human life when a government leader asks for permission to hold potential innocents in secret prisons and torture them for information, all in the name of “Freedom”? Is Slavery really Freedom? What is the truth?

truth search

These are the questions Blanchot asks in Madness of Day. These questions are central and essential to our lives today. Without a knowledge of self we have no way of judging actions. Without that ability to judge actions, all becomes equal. It becomes acceptable to begin wars under illegal and fraudulent terms in order to accrue wealth and power because the purpose of power, is power. And power can only exist when it is given. And we give it away willingly every time we do not inquire into our own actions, our own Self. Each time we fail to explore our Self and truly Know the why and wherefore of our actions we cede power to those who do know what they want. Power.

Amid the full madness of the day we are subjected to a total and direct knowledge of Self. It is not possible to form a narrative from that. A single story can not be constructed from that knowing. Yet those who would take all the power they can must by necessity believe in that singular story, for power can only exist as a singularity. It fails when confronted with multiplicity. This is why China could never allow a thousand flowers to bloom. The multivalent constructs of identity become too much for Power to handle. Nuance, subtlety and complexity cannot be tolerated.

Worst Disaster Ever

Perhaps, in the end, the social networking tools that at one level allow the watchers to seek out and easily find vast quantities of information about us will also be the final resistance to Power. Why else are totalitarian regimes so afraid of blogging? It not only allows for the distribution and dissemination of information, but it fragments the Self and allows the Ideational Self to continue its direct social influence even after the Physical Self has been tortured into submission.

This is the reality of the Day found in Madness.

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Drafting Day

Wednesday, September 20th, 2006

I have been drafting the lights for Windows for a good part of today and yesterday. I don’t think I have written much if anything about drafting here, but it is certainly no less important to the design process than anything else.

Since many of my readers are not lighting designers, I will take a moment to define relevant terms.

Drafting: consists of the technical drawings that lighting and scenic designers draw up to communicate the physical aspects of the design to the technicians. A lightplot gives very precise information to the electricians about what kind of lights go where, how they should be controlled by the lighting control system, how they are plugged in, what color they receive or any accessories, like color changers, patterns or iris.

Worksheets: The working drawings executed by a lighting designer to determine the precise angles of the lighting instruments. These show where the individual lights go and become organized as part of a whole lighting system. They are then translated into the lightplot.

I know a lot of designers who do not enjoy drafting or doing worksheets. They find it the tedious work that one does before the fun design work. As a result they often do not take enough time in this part of the process and often run into major problems once in the theatre. It is possible to have every move one makes in a theatre be determined prior to entering the building. This is important because time is of the essence. It is possible to work out on paper everything necessary to do the lighting designers work. The only surprises should come from errors, like scenery not built to the proper specifications.

I love doing worksheets. It is a wonderful negotiation with the scenery. It is a fun process of discovery in terms of how the light moves in this particular scenic world. Every good set contains within it the lighting. Much of the work of a lighting designer is to find the lighting inherent to the set that most effectively aids the storytelling of the play.

The set for Windows is fairly straight forward. Two scenic walls that bring some interesting angles into a generic rectilinear stage space. Upstage are a series of lightboxes. We are planning on using color as a major storytelling device and these lightboxes will be a key element to that aspect of the visual storytelling.

One of the major challenges to this design comes neither from the scenery nor from the complexity of the text. At least not at first. The lighting grid, as is the case all over New York, is very low, less than 12 feet from the stage floor. The irony of small, specifically short, spaces is that they require a lot more lighting instruments to illuminate the space than do larger spaces. One could conceivably light a warehouse or a spanish fortress with fewer lights than one needs for a small New York stage.

On top of this, the play has many locations and it flows in and out of memory, so even the same location might not be the same place. This necessitates a wide breadth in terms of the lighting palette. As a result, one must be rather precise with the drafting of the lights. And as precise as one is, there are sacrifices to be made. One must guess what the staging will be like and all one can do is hope the guess is correct.

Spending time on the drafting outside the theatre means more time can be spent in the theatre doing the composition. The fun work. Drafting the lights is like a painter laying out their palette. One chooses not only colors, but also if one will use oils or acrylics for the subject at hand. Is one using traditional brushes or perhaps a palette knife? Changes might happen mid process, but the lighting designer, like the painter, wants the majority of these decisions to be made prior to beginning the composition.

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The same river twice

Thursday, September 14th, 2006

A teacher of mine once said of designing “You have not been hired in the theatre until you have been hired back.” It may seem like an awkward phrase, but it quite elegantly encapsulates the nature of freelance work. The first time working with someone is a constant negotiation. You must learn to speak their language. In the theatre it is not enough to simply understand a play. You must also understand how someone else understands a play. You must be able to negotiate meaning in the space between your understanding and your collaborators understanding.

I have worked with a lot of people once. Most of them were pleasant enough experiences. Some of the work was decent, some quite good. But it was clear that the language barrier was too much. We just did not “get” one another. I don’t mean socially as people, but as artists, we could not come to a real understanding. And without that, one can not truly work.

A designer I know works regularly with the same creative teams. A few directors who utilize similar designers. To look at them interact is to see a highly dysfunctional family. They fight and bicker. They scream and yell. They clearly do not “get” each other as people. But as artists they do. And they create some wonderfully beautiful work. While they may yell and bicker, they do “get” each other at an artistic level.

Everyone speaks their own language and thinks in their own way. Some people I work with can only talk in terms of images, and so we share images back and forth. Some talk in terms of music and we play songs for one another. Some talk through the language of the play and we discuss the meaning of words and syntax. Usually it is some combination of these three with differences in balance of the one and the other. One director I have worked with a few times talks very literally, in terms of what kind of light or scenery or costume he wants. It is a game of translation. I think very abstractly. But the way I think for myself is not conducive to collaboration. So I must translate. Often I translate into pictures or music.

The first time you work with someone is largely a matter of learning how they think. It is a matter of learning how to speak to each other. And you can only find out if you have been successful when the house lights go out and the play begins. Like a first date, you only know after you cum(or go home alone) how the evening will end.

I am very fortunate this year to be working with a number of people with whom I have worked before. It is quite comforting. In a job as uncertain as freelancing in the theatre, one is very grateful for a sense of familiarity. Friends are made quickly in the theatre, and the novel soon becomes the familiar, but still it is very pleasant to have someone in the room with whom you know you can do good work.

Every time you work with someone new, you must relearn how they think. Yet each time you start further along the path and progress to a deeper level of understanding. It is no easy task coming to terms with another human being and learning to accept all their idiosyncrasies and frustrations. That is a large part of the daily work in the theatre, as it is the daily work in life. Ultimately you are working with people. How you deal with them can determine how deep you can go with the work. It is difficult and frustrating. It is also a wonderful adventure.

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Space/Time Continuum

Tuesday, September 5th, 2006

I wrote yesterday about treating a playscript as a kind of proposition rather than a definitive statement. The example used was of Charles Mee’s Big Love. I took that play for an example of a text that leaves space open to the imagination of the director, actors and designers. The thought was, however, incomplete. Just as it is important to leave a text open, so too is it necessary to leave a production open to the imagination of the audience. It is important in a design to not follow the narrative literally or, to be more precise, it is important to find those moments where the design can set itself against the text. As Mee says, “It should not be a set for the piece to play within but rather something against which the piece can resonate.”

The idea that the setting is “something against which the piece can resonate” indicates a kind of amplification. A chorus sung by word and image. Constructing a context wherein the actuality of the text is taken to a new level far surpassing what the text lays out on its own. Further, it is possible to open up the text in ways that are not possible with more literal interpretations. But whenever and however this is done, it is best done as a kind of question. It is deadly to design a piece in such a way that it says “this is what the play is about.” Then we have a monologue. Then we are in a classroom. The imaginative potential of the Theatre becomes lost is a sea of didacticism.

Lighting often should follow at least a rough literalism. Night is darker than day. Sunsets are warmer colors than high noon. Etc. etc. etc. I say “often should” because there are certainly instances where the opposite, or something else entirely is called for. The joke goes “When is a door not a door? When it is ajar.” Hahahaha! But this does get to an interesting point. When is night no longer night? When do we leave the world of day and night and enter into some other psychological or magical place? When do we start asking questions about where we are rather than simply accepting the given circumstances?

I think first to the American Musical Comedy. As a genre of narrative storytelling it truly is quite psychologically powerful. The rules of the world are given. We are in a place that is recognizable, perhaps it is a modern city. We see two people talking to one another and they speak in a language we understand so we follow their conversation until suddenly one of them can no longer use language to express what they are trying to describe. Perhaps the question inherent in the statement becomes too pressing. And all of a sudden, they burst into song and dance. The world is transformed. Colors pour into this world that we never see in nature. Songs are sung and people dance in a way that even the most severe psychotic cases would not do. The inner world of the mind has become manifest in the exterior reality.

And then.

As soon as it all began,
it stops.

And the characters leave us, talking.

These moments occur in traditional plays as well, though perhaps not to such a degree. Think the Shakespearean soliloquy. An escape from the mundane realities of the world into the mind of the character. Where are we in these moments? Is Iago’s night, the same night as everyone else’s?

Light, like music, intersects a play in the realm of time and rhythm. Sure, space and volume are a concern, but that is an intersection with scenery and staging. As far as the text goes, light is concerned with time. And rhythm.

The setting, the scenery, exists as a kind of thesis. A first interpretation of the play. A kind of affirmation. The play is. The play is what? Whatever this play is. The setting is a first postulate. A foundation. A thesis. The lighting operates as a response. An anti-thesis. It is not opposed to the original in a combative sense, but rather enters into a dialog with the thesis to negotiate meaning. In a similar way, the costumes set forth a thesis about the characters. The people in this play are such and such. And again the negotiation begins. But now we have the setting, lighting and costume. All this without even addressing the text itself. Merely how these elements act in relationship to the text.

When the text proposes itself as a question it allows these negotiations to take on a strong and dynamic character. When the design and staging of a play enter into dialog with the text as a series of open ended questions, it leaves room in the mind of the audience to complete the idea. In the final analysis the play as experience becomes complete through the negotiation of the audience with the production. When left as a question, or series of questions, the audience leaves thinking and talking. They leave engaged with the play. The Theatre can not answer any questions, nor can it solve any social or political problems. But it can provide the means for people to begin asking questions once again and perhaps to open the doorway to mystery and possibility.

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The Space of Imagination

Monday, September 4th, 2006

A while back Ian said something to the effect of “there is no such thing as Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Rather the thing we call the Ninth is a question.” He was making a clear parallel between the composition of an orchestral piece of music and the playscript. Written work for the theatre is not literature and does not exist on its own. Certainly good writing has strong literary qualities but it is not, or rather should not be, intended to be read except as a tool to get to performance.

I have heard a lot of writers of late bemoaning the lack of full productions of new works in favor of staged readings. It is a shame, because there is no way in a staged reading to get a full sense of the kinetic potential that a play hold within it. This is why things like SPF are so wonderful. A playscript is not a dynamic thing in the same way that a map is not. They each may be beautifully rendered, but until you are traversing the countryside searching for your destination among the hills and trees and sunlight, you do not know the true beauty that the map points to.

I believe fairly strongly that whatever does not appear in the dialog of a text is not inherent to the play. It might be quite important to the script, and it may serve a necessary function of setting the production in the right direction but unless it exists in the words spoken by the characters it is not necessary. If a scene needs to be set in a cafe one of the characters will say at some point, “My, what a wonderful little cafe this is!” Or some other bit. But more often than not what is needed is an emotional context in which the performers must negotiate their relationships.

One of my favorite stage directions comes from Charles Mee’s Big Love

This is Italy:
rose and white.

If Emanuel Ungaro had a villa on the west coast of Italy, this would be it:
we are outdoors,
on the terrace or in the garden,
facing the ocean:

wrought iron
white muslin
flowers
a tree
an arbor
an outdoor dinner table with chairs for six
a white marble balustrade
elegant
simple
basic
eternal.

But the setting for the piece should not be real, or naturalistic.
It should not be a set for the piece to play within
but rather something against which the piece can resonate:
something on the order of a bathtub, 100 olive trees,
and 300 wine glasses half-full of red wine.

More an installation than a set.

It is midsummer evening–the long, long golden twilight.

The beauty is not in the literalism, but in how it so clearly evokes a visual style. Wim Wenders talks about reading stories as a young child and coming to the realization that the real life of the books came out in the spaces between the letters. In those places left open to the imagination. So too must a text for the Theatre be left open to the imagination of the actors, director and designers. This is not in any way to say that any one of these people’s opinion should trump the language. What it is saying is that the language is best served by being approached as a proposition, a question, rather than a definitive statement.

Tenessee Williams understood this fact quite well. He knew that in the end what is on stage in front of an audience is far greater than the language itself. Thus, he was able to see Jo Mielziner‘s designs for A Streetcar Named Desire and rewrote the play to more strongly reflect its life on the stage. But this same example is a warning to designers and directors who would too soon abandon a playwrights intent. Several of the lighting effects that generated critical praise in the original production came directly from the written playscript.

The final product on stage is not the creation of any one individual, but rather the result of a collective negotiation between numerous people striving for the same goal. The making of a play is a constant negotiation. Ideas are brought forth and tested in light of other ideas. One pushing the other slightly aside, or transforming the meaning of another to match some new form. It is a beautiful and organic thing to watch happen.

I personally find it most interesting when the elements do not all mesh perfectly. When the whole does not fall into the hypnotic seduction of false empathy. Rather, to see the various elements stand a bit apart from one another in a constant negotiation between text and subtext, between the real and the imaginary. Because in the end, those lines are not so hard and fast, even in our daily life. The life of the mind is not a different thing than the life of the body in society.

Mielziner’s design for Streetcar is a perfect example of this merging of the life of the real and the life of the mind. We all must negotiate, as Blanche must, the interior life and the exterior reality. Sometimes they are harmonious and sometimes they come into sharp conflict with one another. It is this negotiation that is at the heart of the text and is also visually manifested in the design.

I have garnered for myself a reputation for unconventional lighting. That reputation has caused me to be hired for several projects where the producer or director wanted an “unconventional” approach to the lighting. I have written about this before. Is my work unconventional? Some people thought it was. Just as it was considered by some unconventional to light a dance with only bare lightbulbs. To me, I was just trying to understand the text. Attempting to get at the core of the spacio-rhythmic structure of the piece. I certainly do not try to be unconventional and I hope I am not “always” unconventional. Rather, I simply try to translate the structure of the work into a visual language that can enter into dialog with everything else on stage.

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Accidental Research

Friday, September 1st, 2006

There was no signer, by right, before the Declaration [of Independence], which itself remains the producer and guarantor of its own signature . . . The self rises forth here or extends credit to itself, in a single “coup de force,” which is also a stroke of writing, as the right to writing. The “coup de force” makes right , founds right or law, gives right, brings the law to the light of day, gives both birth and day to the law. Brings the law to the light of day, gives both birth and day to the law: read The Madness of Day by Maurice Blanchot.
-Jacques Derrida, Negotiations

I am working on an adaptation of Maurice Blanchot’s Madness of Day. We will open in late November. The original text is a stream of consciousness narrative spoken by a single subject and translates well to a one man dramatic monologue. The work is a deconstructive text in the guise of a narrative monologue. The Subject is slippery, like memory, and constantly falls in on itself exposing its lack of foundation.

I picked up a copy of of Derrida’s Negotiations to do a bit of reading on politically minded deconstructive texts. The idea was general and largely fell into a category of interest that I hold independent of any projects I may be working on. So I get to his reading of the American Declaration of Independence and there I discover his reference to Blanchot, and the precise text we are working with on with this project. It was a wonderful bit of coincidence to have my subway reading turn into a direct piece of research that set me off thinking about the visual language of the play in a number of simultaneous directions.

Taking a clinical setting and applying a Noir aesthetic has so far been a lot of faith on my part. I felt the impulse was right on a gut level from my reading of the text, but could not fully understand it. I now find that directorial impulse becoming clearer in my mind. The world of Noir often has within it issues of mixed or hidden identity. Sometimes this is intentional and sometimes it is a matter of memory loss. Either way, the notion of fixed identity and a solid past are called into question.

Just as the Declaration of Independence creates the United States of America through the written act of signing the document, so too does the ontological experience of the creation of Self occur through the speech act of “I.” Be it verbal or non-verbal, that primal speech act is the creation of Self and does, in the final analysis, determine this particular instance of a mutable identity. For speech need not be merely aural, but can and often is kinetic or visual. The act of cooking is a kind of speech act and exists as much in the combination of food items with heat as it does in the aroma created thereby. The two can not be extracted from one another.

The memory of torture, now fever, can not be extracted from this ever changing self. Rather the Self exists as a continually evolving Mash-Up experience, unable to extract itself from an equally mutable contextual situation. Like the Noir genre and its ever changing broken light revealing a face, now silhouette, now a single hand. The Self, as contextually determined through its constant negotiation with Shadow, and Shadow’s corollary, Light.

“I see this day, and outside it there is nothing.” The perpetual mutability of Self is inescapable. One can alter environment and context but the Self is immutable only in its constant presence. A presence of change. “When [The Law] had recognized my right to be everywhere, it meant I had no place anywhere.” The supreme act of creating a Subject is always already an Objectification of the self. Just as the State comes into to being through the act of the Signature, so too does the Subject become Object through its own recognition of Selfhood.

A bifurcation of the self occurs the moment one becomes authentically autonomous as the Self becomes at once an object of inquiry. One thinks of Phillip K. Dick’s A Scanner Darkly as a kind of nihilistic realization of this event. Yet, this moment is not static, but rather one stage of an organic process of death and rebirth that echos throughout consciousness. “I had allowed myself to be locked up. Temporarily, they told me.” One might find these confines in Language perhaps, “One became the other. The words spoke by themselves.” Or maybe light, “That was the truth: the light was going mad, the brightness had lost all reason; it assailed me irrationally, without control, without purpose.”

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