Artists I admire: PaJaMa

I'm working on a new project about the artist Paul Cadmus, and through my research I've learned about a unique collaboration between him and two other artists, Jared and Margaret French.

Cadmus and Jared French were lovers in the early part of their relationship, but when Jared married Margaret, the three became a trio of artists, often traveling together and influencing each other's creative output. I'm not certain about the particulars of their relationship, other than their work together with photography. Margaret owned a Leica camera, and on their frequent visits to Fire Island and Cape Cod, the camera came along and the three of them used it interchangeably, taking pictures of the beachscapes, their friends, and each other. The compositions captured in the images are quite beautiful and thoughtful, and their influence can certainly be seen in some of Cadmus' paintings as well.

Many years later, long after the trips had stopped and the trio spent less time together, a decision was made to exhibit the photos. For many of the images, it was difficult to discern which individual had actually taken the photo. Paul, Jared, and Margaret decided to exhibit the images under the collective name PaJaMa, composed of the first two letters of each of their first names. A collection of the images was exhibited this past fall in New York, and it was a privilege to see the images up close and to feel the synergy of the three artists through their related styles of composition, uses of light, and points of focus.

For finding a way to tap into the energy of their complex relationship to create something lasting and symbolic, for capturing beautiful moments on beaches, and for their clever naming of their creative collaboration, PaJaMa are the artists I admire for this week.

Artists I admire: Harper Lee

Last week we lost a great American writer, Harper Lee. To Kill a Mockingbird is my favorite novel and has been for a long time. Since the summer of 1989.

I'm not going to try to eulogize Lee here, as I don't know enough about her as a person. I will say that the fact that she produced one international sensation and then essentially nothing else of note until the recent release of Go Set a Watchman implies something about her as an artist: that maybe she found satisfaction from telling her one very important and impactful story of Scout Finch and her father Atticus and didn't feel that she needed to say anything more. I envy Lee's ability to feel satisfied with just one story. But beyond that, I have deep feelings of gratitude to Harper Lee because her story saved me at a critical time in my teenage years.

I read To Kill a Mockingbird in the summer of 1989, between my junior and senior year in high school, while I was away from home for a week at American Legion Jersey Boys State. Boys State is a program where boys selected from various communities attend a week-long leadership experience on the campus of Rider University. Delegates are assigned to "cities," and then elect governing officials at every level, up to electing a governor for "Boys State." Four delegates were selected to attend Boys State from my high school, and I was one of them.

My parents dropped me off on a Sunday in June, and I would be there practicing civic engagement and responsibility until Friday. I was nervous about going, as that point in my life, I didn't have many friends that were boys, so the idea of spending a week with only boys and men felt a little terrifying. The boys at my school kind of gave me a hard time. Not as bad as other people, but I got called "gay" and "fag" a lot. Or asked if I supported gay rights, and when I said "yes" because I thought it was the right thing to do, there were a lot of snickers and jokes. And while I was advised by adults to just let all the names and jokes roll off my back, they stuck there, feeling very heavy and embarrassing. I didn't know I was gay at that point, so getting called those words really frustrated me. My one hope for Boys State was that maybe if I was around a bunch of boys who didn't know me, I would escape these labels that had been assigned to me by my hometown peers.

Boys State started off alright. I somehow became the Election Board Official (EBO) for my city, which was plenty of responsibility for me, and I played in the Boys State Concert Band. The rest of the time was spent marching from place to place as a city, chanting marching slogans, wearing khaki pants and official Boys State polo shirts, and I can't remember much else. It clearly left no impression. But other things did. Like the name calling.

My quest to leave behind the slurs and jokes from my hometown ended rather abruptly within the first couple days at Boys State. For some reason, the slurs started to fly at me, most notably when we were trying to nominate boys to run as representatives to the Boys State House, and I was called a "faggot" for counting the votes accurately rather than fixing it for someone to win. A great example of how the boys of Boys State learned appropriate civic responsibility. None of the adults stopped that behavior, or no one that I could see, so it continued throughout the rest of the week.

I responded to this development by attending band rehearsals and spending the rest of the time in my dorm room reading To Kill a Mockingbird. I'm not really sure why I even had a copy with me as I don't remember packing it, but reading that book that week saved me. I took great solace in the lessons learned by Scout Finch and the justice fought for by her father, Atticus. All of this against the back drop of supposedly learning about the great mechanisms of democracy while being called a faggot.

To this day, I haven't gone back and re-read Harper Lee's book. I've often thought about it, but for some reason I can't bring myself to do it. I have a distinct memory of one of the guys from the band coming back to my room with me and trying to engage me in a wrestling match, and as he pinned me, I just let him. In retrospect, he may have been trying for something more than wrestling, but that's beside the point. When he released me out of the headlock, I remember him saying, "You don't even fight back." And he was right. I didn't. I didn't know how. But I think reading Lee's book started to teach me how to fight back in ways that stay with me today, almost 27 years later. I fight back through my creative and educational work, hoping to affect even just one person at a time. By telling stories that matter to me. By telling the truth about the way I experience the world, hopefully in a way that people can hear and see. Just like when Scout finally sees Boo Radley for the first time. She sees him for what he is. She sees the truth, rather than something fabricated or assumed.

Boys State was one of the worst experiences I had as a teenager, truly sad and disappointing. But those circumstances gave me a reason to read Harper Lee's novel, and my life changed as a result. For being an artist who shaped so many other artists yet who seemed satisfied with just one accomplishment, for giving millions of people the gift of Scout Finch and her discoveries about her world, and for teaching an unknowing gay kid what it means to live in a democracy where all people matter, Harper Lee is the artist I admire for this week.
 

Artists I admire: the cast and creative team of The Color Purple

This past Wednesday evening, I had the distinct pleasure of seeing the current Broadway revival of The Color Purple. I went with a friend from work who I often see theatre with, andthese artistic experiences that we have together fuel all sorts of discussions and thinking that we do about current events, cultural trends, and social justice issues. Given our interests and past production choices, The Color Purple seemed like a great choice. The revival, directed by John Doyle, had received a positive review in The New York Times, and I personally was curious to see Jennifer Hudson. I wouldn't call myself a fan, but I'm interested when "big names" make Broadway debuts.

Well, within the first five minutes of the show, I knew we were in for it, in the very best way possible. The staging immediately set the tone for an experience that would be ensemble-driven and focused on storytelling. A simple scenic design kept our focus on the acting and the singing, and the singing was extraordinary. This company of performers may be the strongest group of singers I've ever seen on Broadway. A lot of power and precision, led by the incredibly gifted Cynthia Erivo as Celie and Jennifer Hudson as Shug Avery. Jennifer Hudson sang effortlessly, alone and in her duets with Erivo, and then when it was time, she stepped back into the line and blended beautifully with the other female ensemble members. Erivo stepped out and up, and suddenly we were presented with this extraordinary singing force, filled with powerful interpretation and nuance. It was there all along, but Erivo was so skilled at calibrating her performance to mirror Celie's journey, that when she revealed the depth and power of the character, the vocal matched it in a transformative way. Her performance is a master class in playing a character's arc, one that I want every one of my acting students to see. It was an unforgettable experience from start to finish.

I've highlighted Ervino and Hudson, but the entire ensemble deserves praise and recognition. All of the principals, including Isaiah Johnson (Mister), Danielle Brooks (Sofia), Kyle Scatliffe (Harpo), and Joaquina Kalukango (Nettie) are fantastic, and the company as a whole is great. After the curtain call, I heard someone say, "I've never been to a Broadway show where everyone could sing so well." Totally agreed. If you want to hear some power and moving voices, then you should get a ticket to this show. Pronto.

Unforgettable. And an absolute privilege to witness. Particularly in a season when one show is getting so much popular attention and praise. Well-deserved I'm sure, but seeing The Color Purple illustrated just how important it is that I pay attention to everything that's happening.

For bringing such joy and power and commitment to their performances, for showing what clean and focused direction and design can achieve, for sharing an amazing story that needs to be heard now more than ever, for stopping the show twice for standing ovations (Cynthia Erivo), and for giving me another evening in the theatre that I'll never forget, the cast and creative team of The Color Purple are the artists I admire for this week.

Artists I admire: Sarah Bellantoni

Last Saturday I attended a production of Our Country's Good by Timberlake Wertenbaker at The Chapin School on Manhattan's Upper East Side. I worked with students at this private, all-girls school last year around this time, when my former student and now colleague Sarah Bellantoni asked me to work with her to create an ethnodrama with her students. The experience of making that play was one of the highlights of 2015 for me, so I was excited to see this year's production.

Through my work with Sarah last year, I learned just how great a teacher and director she has become. As I've said before, I love to learn from my former students, as it reinforces the idea that the transfer of knowledge can never be a one-way street. Sarah exhibited great generosity of spirit throughout our collaboration, patiently helping me to remember the nuances required when working with high school students, particularly young women. And collaborating at a high school where the entire drama department shares such high standards for their artistic and pedagogical work rejuvenated my own excitement about teaching.

As I sat in the audience last Saturday and experienced Sarah's production, I was amazed at the skill of these young actresses after less than 20 rehearsals. They navigated various accents with relative ease, and most of them played across gender, which they are accustomed to, but which for me illustrated a dexterity that some professional actors would struggle to find. And they understood the stakes of the play and played those stakes with full commitment. I walked out of the theatre feeling #grateful for the timeliness of Sarah's choice to direct this play. I needed to see this play right now, at a moment when so much noise keeps me from hearing any bit of truth. Because of Sarah's specific and thoughtful direction, I got some much needed truth last Saturday afternoon.

I sat with Sarah over dinner this past week, and we talked about her production and her students and her survival stories, as there are always survival stories whenever artists do something challenging and brave. Listening to Sarah talk about the accomplishments of each of her students illustrated how connected and committed she is as an artist and teacher, and her students and colleagues reap the benefits as a result.

For teaching me a thing or two (or ten!) about what it means to be an artist and a teacher, for having an amazing sense of humor and some of the best one-liners I've ever heard, and for showing endless amounts of compassion while still facilitating greatness in her students, Sarah Bellantoni is the artist I admire for this week.

Artists I admire: Mother Nature

I like to run in the snow. And I mean while it's snowing. Call me crazy. Call me reckless. Call me whatever you want. There's something about running through snow that appeals to me. I hope for the opportunity at least once each winter, and it came this morning.

When I initially woke up, I didn't think it was going to happen. I'd been planning a run for Friday morning, and then this snow materialized with a lot of wind. At 8am I thought it was way too windy and probably too slippery. I ate some breakfast, puttered around a bit with emails, and then by 10am, I decided to give it go. The wind had died down, the snow was falling at a light to moderate rate, and the trees outside my kitchen window looked beautiful. I got my running gear on and headed out.

I decided I would do my standard 5-mile route, just in case the wind kicked back up or it started to snow harder. For my NYC running friends, I run from 145th Street down to the 110th Street / Cathedral Parkway entrance to Central Park. From there I run down to 102nd Street Transverse, across to the east side and down to the 72nd Street Transverse. Back across to the west side and then down to Columbus Circle. I always finish with a coffee from Whole Foods.

As I ran down to Central Park, I encountered wet roads and some slushy spots. Overall, not so bad. St. Nicholas Park looked very pretty, but it was hard to fully take it in because I was trying to look out for icy patches under foot. I ran down Frederick Douglass Boulevard, and the northwest corner of Central Park came into view. Every tee limb, and I'm not exaggerating, was covered in snow. It was like every tree had a layer of vanilla icing, and it was perfect. I stopped at the park entrance to stretch a bit, then ran into the park onto the Harlem Hills. I ran the short uphill section, kind of in awe of what I was seeing and #grateful that I could take it in because the pavements were so clear. I rounded the corner and started up the last part of the hill and was completely overwhelmed by how beautiful it all was. Quiet, perfectly covered trees, white skies, and this sense of peace. I suddenly became very aware of what a gift I had been given this morning on that run. For a moment, I cursed myself for not running with my phone, but then I realized that no picture would capture what I was experiencing. So I just ran, taking it all in as I moved down the hill to the 102nd Street Transverse. I made the left turn and continued on my way.

The rest of the run was fine, but nothing else in the park compared to that stretch from 110th to 102nd. I'll never forget it. And to think that I almost didn't go.

Two weeks ago Mother Nature opened a can of Whoop Ass on the Mid Atlantic and showed the beauty of her power. This morning she baked a cake and frosted it with all the gentleness and care that my own mom puts into every cake, pie, and cookie she makes. For giving me one of those runs of a lifetime, Mother Nature is the artist I admire this week.