My Best Memories Essays
(Or: There Are No Small Theaters/Theatres, Only Little Theaters/Theatres)
This is a difficult world no? Everyone just wants a piece of you, a piece of the action. There you are, throwing yourself out there to all those people, your public, and you never really know what any of it all means do you? I mean, does anyone really?
From the time I was a small boy, I knew I wanted to join the world of theatrics! I was a bit of a light bulb hound and boy oh boy, did I know where to find the light bulbs! If I wasn’t in one dramatic scrape, I was in another. Ha! Need I say more?
Like so many before me, I found myself knocking at the New York Theater/Theatre Doorstep. Knock Knock. Is Art home?
Nothing worth doing is easy. I found that out the hard way when I started asking: How do I get involved with this New York Theater/Theatre Thing? First I checked with all my new friends from Scene Study but no one seemed to know anything about the Real Capital A—Audience! That’s when I moved on to the true professionals—you know—the people who come out the backstage door night after night, grease paint on their faces and sweaty with the sheer love of it all. I said: "Let me at it! I want a piece of that pie please!"
The people I started to meet in the Theater/Theatre have become just like the people in my family. We all have such a good time together. We go out at night and drink and drink and laugh and laugh and laugh. One night, one girl laughed so hard she fell back in her chair and cracked her head on the floor! She forgot her name for the rest of the night and some of the people we were with had to take her to the Emergency Room in a cab.
But before any of that happened, I sat down in a fever and started to write my first play. I locked myself up in my one-room studio and let it all come piling out—everything I saw around me, everyone wrong with the world. I called my play: TOUGH SLIDE ON A MOONBEAM. After three days (and ten cups of coffee), I punched those fateful words on my computer keys: THE END.
I just took that computer disk out of the slot, popped it in my pocket and walked around—walked and walked and walked all night long. I walked from Battery Park up to Harlem and then back down across the Brooklyn Bridge. I walked until I saw the sunrise and then I walked some more. When I got home the next morning, I sent out thirty copies of TOUGH SLIDE ON A MOONBEAM and I set out to find a troupe of players.
Art is, indeed, home.
MOONBEAM went into rehearsal almost immediately with a famous older actress. She was quite a character and that was good because in my play, MOONBEAM, she portrayed a character [Note: In plays, characters in the story, or "plot," are referred to as "roles."] She was fantastic in that role. We went out every night during the run of MOONBEAM and we toasted to each other over and over again. It seemed like champagne just poured down from the sky and the famous older actress liked to stand on a chair above me and pour it down my throat. Like I said, these people had become my family. I no longer knew any life but the life of the theater/theatre.
But then, all of that was a long time ago now wasn’t it? I’ll just lose my head going off like this. When all the glory has passed and there is only the golden dust of a MOONBEAM, that’s the moment you know that the best memories are those in the past. (Not including those yet to come!)
MARTIN ROTH: In May 2017 I cultivated a piece of land in Midtown Manhattan nurtured by tweetsby Jonathan Goodman
JUL-AUG 2017 | ArtSeen
Martin Roth, an artist who has often worked with naturein 2009 one of his projects, I lived with sheep in Europe, consisted of living with a herd of sheep in Europeexcels at combining the outside world with sophisticated insights into politics and its relations with art and life. At his midtown exhibition at the Austrian Cultural Forum, In May 2017 I cultivated a piece of land in Midtown Manhattan nurtured by tweets, the pungent scent of more than two hundred lavender plants leads the viewer down two flights of stairs, into the basement of the Forum’s building on East 52nd Street near Fifth Avenue.
The World Without People Who Ruin It and Make It Uglyby Patricio Pron, translated from the Spanish by Kathleen Heil
JUNE 2017 | Fiction
A woman of about forty-two or forty-three often goes for walks in the Schillerwiese, a vast park in a German city. She always takes a small digital camera and spends her time there photographing little girls when they urinate behind trees.
"Are You Here for the Performance Piece?"by Jen George
FEB 2018 | Dance
“Are you here for the performance piece?” asks the gentleman at the door as he politely ushers me into an unassuming foyer in Brooklyn, under the Williamsburg Bridge. I am at one of the numerous venues hosting American Realness 2018, the dance and performance festival founded by Thomas Benjamin Snapp Pryor, and presented by Gibney Dance with Abrons Art Center.
Art and China after 1989: Theater of the Worldby Banyi Huang
NOV 2017 | ArtSeen
Looping endlessly on twelve television monitors, close-up shots of hands frenetically scratch different parts of the body. Zhang Peili’s iconic piece, Uncertain PleasureII (1996), ironically anticipates today’s highly mediated experience of viewing, as well as the challenges of giving a coherent framework to the chaotic history of contemporary Chinese art.
What is your best and your worst memory from school? If you are currently in school then it should be easier.
I have alot of great memorys, it's very hard to pick just one, but one highlight was me cheating in art. I hated art at school, nobody really does enjoy art in secondary school (High School). We had to make a paper mache model over the course of half a year and I was running behind, and it was due in a few weeks. So my teacher made me take it home and wants me to have made alot of progress by the next lesson. So I went home and was like fuck this! So I just got a pringles tube as the neck, plastic cups as the legs, two plastic bowls for the feet and a ceral box full of tissue paper as the body. Celetaped them all toegther and put two layers of newspaper on the top. I then brought it in and showed my teacher and I told her I finished early, she was very pleased and just let me get on with any other work I had. This contuined for a few weeks and while everybody else was slaving away, there I sat with my creation, but then she came to mark them all. She held mine and observed it, I at that point noticed a bit was torn revealing the cheerio's box, thankfully she didn't notice, and was very pleased. I ended up getting an A, the top mark in the class! I still have it to this very day despite it being like 6 years old, its a pretty epic story I hope to tell to my grandchildren, the motto, cheating is the best!
I also have a lot of really bad things happen at school, that when I look back at them now they seem kinda funny but back then it wasn't! One of them involved me just walking across the school field, it was a nice sunny day and was just admiring the clouds, when out of nowhere a shoe fell from the sky and hit me right on the face. It was a very hard force and knocked me onto the floor, nobody around me had noticed or cared, it was an average school field that was just very busy and full of pupils. Nobody had come to reclaim the shoe, this resulted in a nose bleed, quite a bad one, I tried to deal with it myself but on the way to the toilet a teacher caught me and sent me straight to the matron. The matron was an old bitch and I really hated her, she had a go at me and did not belive that a shoe just fell out of the sky, even though I still held on to the shoe. I still wonder to this very day whose that shoe belonged to.