Other Desert Cities - SpeakEasy Stage

SpeakEasy Stage

Everyone has their own version of the truth. That truth is culled from conversations, past accounts, honed by self-experience. Nurture or nature, perhaps both create the end result. And so it is in Jon Robin Baitz 2011 play, Other Desert Cities.

Set in 2004 and in 2011, Brook Wyeth, daughter of two successful Hollywood actors - staunch Republicans who count the Regan and elder Bush family as dinner companions – arrives home for Christmas with a tell-all family memoir six years in the making. It describes her truth, which as the program notes say, ‘turns out to be a lie’. So fear not, I will give no more away.

The early scenes are dominated by false bonhomie, over the top, humor largely at the expense of Jewish mothers, Republicans and rather strangely, ‘The British’. This is of course to lull the audience into believing they are watching a sit-com type comedy of the sort that can only last one one season using stereotype acting and dialogue. Brooks alcoholic aunt brings another stereotype to the stage and her shrieks and antics contribute further to audience mood ripe for plunder.

For my part, I found myself reaching for the non-existent remote for a channel change until Baintz adds the first twist in a scene with Brooks and her brother. Previously only hinted at, we discover that an elder brother not only committed suicide, but had taken a minor role in a Venice Beach terrorist cell, complicit in bombing a military recruitment office in which the janitor perished.

The rest of the play deals with the fallout from Brooks manuscript and her belief that her parents drove her brother away when he needed help and are culpable in his taking his own life.

It’s tough to be a witness a family self-destruct, swaying between accusation, recrimination, hatred, loathing and despair. It must be even tougher to act it night after the night. The cast manage reasonably well, but for me, there seemed to be too much standing around, gazing blankly, angrily or with some other form of facial emotion, whilst the on-stage character sullied forth with their monologue.

I know from my own experience that some truths are best kept in the family, if not inside one’s own mind, just in case they be not the truth at all.

Invisible Man Makes a Worthy Apearance

Huntington Theater

"I am an Invisible Man," the opening line in Ralph Waldo Ellison's classic American novel, hangs in the air, waiting for a challenge, reverberating through the slowly quieting audience.
A black man stands on stage, clad in a white singlet, surrounded by a set representing his Harlem basement hiding place in the 1930's.
And so begins nearly three hours of fast paced, racy and at times difficult to grasp dialogue, ripped from a age and place few have traveled or even care to acknowledge.
Perhaps high schools teach Ellison's novel. If not they should, difficult as it may be, his work depicts a history that is uncomfortable and, like my adopted nation, still a work in progress.
With powerful and sustained cast performances, sets so incredible that I so want to photograph them as backdrops, it not only blazes to life in the Huntington Theater's production, but drives deep into the emotional core.
At times during the performance I felt deeply ashamed, none less so than when the Invisible Man speaks directly to the audience, fully exposed under house lights. Perhaps it's the fading echoes from the sins of our fathers, for surely all of our ancestors have acted themselves at some point in history in ways that  we today  regard as misguided.
I wish I could have slowed down some of the scenes, replayed them as with a book or a DVD, to grasp more fully the eloquence of both words and actions.
The final line from the Invisible Man rings as true today as it did then,

“Who knows but that, on the lower frequencies, I speak for you?” 

Theater at its best and equal to any I have seen in London or New York.

Lost and Found Two

trucks-1
Originally uploaded by traces
to see more click here

There is something about abandoned vehicles that draws me to them.
The patina of rust, faded paintwork and gap-toothed grills. Seats sagging with the imprint of miles driven. Slumping tires, slowly wheezing air from a past age. Stories left unwritten, tales of near misses, places visited and lives changed that can now only be imagined.
Slowly nature coddles their once solid form in its creeping embrace, as if to trap and eventually devour.

Shipwrecked - Story telling at its best

Shipwrecked by Donald Margulis is based on the story of Louis de Rougemont (hint - this is not his real name), who leaves home and his sickbed at the age of sixteen to travel the world. Taking passage as crew of pearl diving ship, he and the faithful ship's dog are washed up after a storm on an uninhabited tropical island.

After many years and rescuing a similarly shipwrecked native woman, her son and her father, he returns with them to their own land where he rides on turtles, fends of marauding pillagers with the aid of stilts and acrobatics, marries the woman, fathers two children and eventually returns home thirty years later with a fantastic tale to tell. It becomes a serialized sensation and he is hailed as a hero, adventurer and raconteur. And then comes the Oprah moment when...no go see it or if you really can't, just Google it.

This Lyric Stage Company of Boston production is the best of their season, so far. The three actors are a tour de force and two of them playing multiple roles with comic voices and timing to match are simply outstanding. The show runs until 20th December - see it and experience the true art of the story.

Let it snow

Cool walk in Minuteman National Historic Park after a night of wet and heavy snow. The building is the Hartwell Tavern and dates from the time of the American Revolution. In the summer it is open to the public and features demonstrations of musket firing, weaving and the games people played.
Today there was simply solitude.

Left Behind to Rust in Peace

Had a trip outside of Boston for Thanksgiving and found a great place to photograph the final resting place of many transportation artifacts. From Buggies to barrows, buses to Buicks this place has it all. I know as a conservation minded person I should be appalled by the dumping, but I really like the way nature reclaims - muting colors, eroding strength, and masking presence. In 50 years time, if the land does not become a housing lot, then this particular transformation might well be complete.

Leaving home

Early morning is not my favorite time of day, especially when it means a trip to Logan for the first flight out of the day.
A week ago was different.
From home - 13 miles northwest of Boston - to departure lounge in a little over 90 minutes thanks to a lift to Alewife 'T' Station and then a $1.75 ride to Terminal B. True, a limo takes half the time, but at a cost of $85. Automatic check-in, quick baggage handling, even quicker security check - does it get any better?
Well yes, because after grabbing a Starbucks coffee and rounding the corner to the departure gate, this is the sight that met my gaze. OK, the sun was a little higher than first viewing by the time I grabbed my camera, found a spot to minimize through-glass reflections. You could call it a glowing send off.

Tapes and Gatesgate -not.

Recently released tapes of a 911 call to Cambridge police identifying a possible crime in progress are surprisingly innocuous. No racial profiles or slurs, deleted expletives, or over dramatization. Simply a female caller, expressing her concern and uncertainty. So why does the story continue to have legs?

We could point the finger at Professor Gates and Officer Crowley or President Obama and Governor Deval Patrick and everyone else who hitched their wagon to this particular sideshow caravan. We all know the lingering discomfort of being in the wrong and failing to admit it, whether at home, at work in a car or on the street. We also know the feeling of panic from being in the wrong place at the wrong time or the right pace with the wrong people around us, whatever our race or background.

First as a visitor, then work visa holder, legal resident alien and now US citizen I am deferential to the police when they ask to see my identification. I can not be certain, but I think this would be as true in my home as it has been when outside. As the scorpion who stung the frog carrying it across the pond said when asked 'why?' "it's in my nature". It's who I am, just as those involved at all levels are who they are.

It will take more than a beer and a White House photo opportunity to resolve the underlying issues of acceptance, tolerance and respect that exist in all countries and for all nationalities, races and religions, but the ones that triggered this media firestorm - they're no Gatesgate.

Tall ships come and go - memories linger

Without doubt attendance at the Sail Boston tall ships events exceeded downplayed and downsized expectations. The events' pre-911 visit to Boston in 2000 attracted more than 100 ships and 7.5 million visitors.

With organizers marooned by the City's lack of security funding, Sail Boston cast adrift the pride of show Parade of Sail event. This year's visit, limited to only 40 ships, had been expected to attract only 500,000 visitors but due to good weather and perhaps the fact it was 'free', the organizer estimated 3.5 million people took time to view the ships dotted around the harbor wharfs.

With fewer ships open only 5 hours per day, there would be a real crush if everyone attempted to snag a tour. In fact it would mean that 87,500 people would have to get on board each ship over the 5 day event period. That's 3500 per hour, or 1 person per second.

Many, like myself, chose to view at a distance and still enjoyed a rarely seen and spectacular sight.

When do we become our children - what does your photo say?

I noticed a strange phenomenon on Facebook when following a link to the Mother Connection meet-up group. (Full disclosure I am not a mother, but I have one).
If you've used Facebook or any social networking site you know that you can create a profile image to help friends identify you or perhaps with you.

Here's what I noticed.
Of mothers attending an up-coming meeting, the majority (66%) had a picture of their child or children as their profile image, 27% had a picture of one parent and child(ren), 9% had an image of 2 parents and child(ren), 9% had no image.
Not one person attending the meeting had an image only of themselves.
This may not be too revealing until compared to those declining, maybe attending, or not responding. Of these 9% had a picture of their child only, 30% a child and 1 parent, 21% a child and 2 parents, 20% a parent alone, 7% a couple alone, 9% no image.

So a parent who profiles themselves with an image of their child or children is more likely to attend a meeting like this one. More than that, so is a parent who identifies themselves in an image with their child.

In conclusion, a scant 8 out of 54 mothers identified themselves with an image that included only themselves, while another 3 identified as a couple without children and 5 had no image. That means 10 see themselves in the image their children, 17 as themselves, plus their children, 11 as a couple and their children.

So when did mothers stop being individuals and identify as their children or a family unit? I dare say the same may apply to other groupings, fathers, grandparents, tattoo artists, musicians, hikers and bikers.
What does your image say about you... and tell others?

Volvo Ocean Racing In-harbor pro-am race day

Great day of sitting around watching others do all the work. No points towards the overall race, but a chance to see these amazing sailing craft in near full sail in a windy Boston Harbor.
All photos taken from shore using a 200mm telephoto lens on Nikon D300.

Who buried the Volvo Ocean Race Village?

Had to look twice at this photo from the Volvo Ocean Race Boston page.

At first I marveled a the beautiful reflections of buildings on the glass-like waters of the harbor. Have they ever been so still?

Then I marveled at the beautiful buildings and greenery on Fan Pier so sharp and crisp compared to the high rises in the background.

Why only yesterday when I visited the Volvo Racing Village, which shares the exact same real estate on Fan Pier, not only were the building not finished, only one of them had actually been started.

But worse was to come. Two huge building now loom over the newly constructed Institute of Contemporary Art, dwarfing it and eliminating all parking. Or maybe that isn't a snippet of the ICA roof poking up in the bottom left hand corner and it's gone with the push of an artist's digital erasure.

Sure would be nice to make some other buildings, such as the monstrous Government Center in downtown Boston, vanish instead.

Heads up

It's better to seek forgiveness than ask for permission. So with your forgiveness I couldn't resist snapping this restroom shot taken at the Hopworks Urban Brewery in the SE Portland district.

The brewpub beers are excellent and food well above what is normally described as pub grub.

Men will require no explanation for the bike saddles strategically located above the urinals.

Let's just say men adopt many different styles when doing what comes naturally and those styles are often directly influenced by the amount and strength of alcohol consumed.

So when the time comes and head heaviness is impossible to deny, how much easier on the forehead is a soft saddle than the stone wall normally provided.

Keen observers will note that, rightly so, headrests are not provided for children using the lower of the two urinals.

Doubt, A Parable - a great play

Doubt is the absence of certainty.
Living without doubt is as near impossible as living with certainty.
Certainty brings people together, but so does doubt.
Doubt is a broad church.
Doubt pervades all cultures; it is a most human instinct and drives the search for truth.
A perceived truth may be so strong nothing will induce doubt.

John Patrick Shanley explores these themes in his 2004 Tony and Pulitzer Prize-winning play – Doubt, A Parable.

Set in St Nicholas Catholic School, The Bronx in 1964, Sister Aloysius (Jayne Taini) is convinced that popular Father Flynn (John Behlmann) is plying an altar boy with communion wine in order to abuse him. Father Flynn – who the dialect coach furnished with a Boston accent – denies any improper conduct, accusing Sister James (Jennifer Lee Taylor) of spreading gossip and uses his sermon to point a wagging finger at her conduct.

He likens her action to someone who takes a feather pillow to the roof and slits it with a knife, scattering the feathers in the winds and four corners of the world. Gathering those feathers and stuffing them back in the pillow is like trying to redress a defamed reputation, says Flynn

Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the play was the determination of Sister Aloysius to confront Father Flynn, concocting her own lies to trap him, which she never does.

She attempts to enlist the help of the boy's mother Mrs. Muller (Lisa Renee Pitts) who instead providing help makes a passionate plea for the Sister to turn a blind eye so that her son, and the only black child at the school, can graduate and have an opportunity to attend a better school.

"It's only 'til the end of term," she pleads.

Father Flynn resigns under the relentless pressure from Sister Aloysius, and is promptly promoted to lead an order and school in another city.

Did Sister Aloysius do the right thing? In the end she agonizes and doubts both her own actions and those of Father Flynn who she accused so zealously.

The play, staged by Portland Center Stage in their remodeled, refurbished and beautiful armory building, carries it weighty subject with calm assuredness – no doubt about that.

#42 - A Chinese garden

The problem with visiting a Chinese garden is that as soon as you leave you want to visit another one. OK, it's a poor joke - but a good garden.
Located in Portland's downtown Chinatown and tucked away behind grey painted stone walls, the Portland Classical Chinese Garden is less extensive, but as expensive to visit as the more distant Japanese gardens. Rocks, water and buildings feature more profusely than flowering plants, giving a harsh defined edge to most vistas.

Japanese Garden, Portland

It is difficult to capture the shear beauty of this gardens either in words or pictures. Manicured is too clinical a word, perhaps ordered is better.

Each garden, a delight in itself, leads to another, blending stone, bamboo, sculptures and plants into organic shades and shapes.

Even in drizzly overcast weather, a fact of life in Portland as it is in England where it creates a similar green lushness of moss and foliage, the garden is serene and welcoming.

The price of a thirty-second thrill

Seven small steps lead to a painted platform, where, locked into place, rests what looks like a special love seat – with seat belts and shoulder harness.

At either side of the seat, two pairs of steel cables stretch tight as they soar up more than 150 feet into the air, disappearing at the top of flimsy steel towers, themselves guy roped back down to the platform's steel structure.

At the top of the steps, small wicker baskets provide a safe repository for pocketbooks, coins and keys – or anything else likely to fly loose in the brief vertical flight skyward.

A chubby raven haired woman tucks her flowing skirt under her legs, as if that will be enough to spare her modesty as she catapults from the ground, accelerating to 60 mph in under two seconds.

The scraggy bearded man next to her is all bravado, waving to friends on the ground in an exaggerated two-fisted pump. The sound of a motor whines into life and bank of 3-inch diameter coiled steel springs arranged in a 20 x 20 matrix begin to elongate under the determined influence of a hydraulic shaft, its surface glistening with fluid in the high noon sun.

For a fraction of a second there is silence following the clunk of the safety catch release. A scream rises in pitch as the love seat soars high into the air, tops out above the pylons, inverts, and the couple begins their face-down freefall accelerating at 32 feet per second, for each second they plummet towards the ground and certain oblivion.

Two-thirds of the way down to eternity, the steel cable pulls tight arresting the descent before firing the now silent duo back up to the top of the tower. The sinusoidal decay continues for a few more seconds, before the mechanism lowers them to ground where released from their restraints, they stumble towards the same steps previously trod with great gusto.

Muted victory salutes acknowledge reminders to retrieve their valuables from the baskets.

This is Portland, Oregon waterfront on Rose Festival week where such thrills come at the high price of $50 for a thirty-second ride to the sky.

The answer to your question is no, no way.

The optical art of Anish Kapoor

Visually stunning, disorientating, and acoustically engrossing, the oversize art from London-based Anish Kapoor on show at the Boston ICA invades the senses.

Individual pieces, some 12 feet high and 20 feet wide are grouped to compliment each other, but are best seen when the crowds are thinnest to allow plenty of time for experimentation.

This is achieved by positioning the eye or ear in different focal planes or at the focal point of the gracefully curved and highly polished forms.

Sounds and images change, depth perception alters. In fact with some pieces, it is impossible to tell if the image is a delicately shaded art image or an aperture that curves deep into the gallery wall. Initially the only clue is the strategically positioned member of security, alert and attentive to any attempt to touch or reach into the artwork.

Members preview night on Wednesday was a little too crowded to fully take in the work and I recommend viewing the ICA made film about the sculptor and the cultural inspiration behind his work before viewing the actual pieces. It will explain the construction techniques and heighten the delight when you do see them in close up.

Details and slideshow of the work can be seen on the ICA website, but this is one show you should experience in person to appreciate its shear scale.

Monday in the park with the Band of Liberty

The diversity of events in our region never ceases to amaze and delight me. Perhaps it is the result of a happy confluence of history and military presence.

Like me, you may have not heard of, or heard playing, The United States Air Force Band of Liberty. Stationed at Hanscom Air Force Base – an electronic counter measures research site and home to a military population of 3000, including family members – the Band of Liberty is a 60-strong ensemble of talented musicians who play music from jazz to swing to military marches and the classics.

On Monday, Minuteman National Park played host to the Band of Liberty on an afternoon sunny enough to drive the audience to find shade, but breezy enough to give the musicians timing problems as they made repeated attempts to turn over their sheet music.
The program, which ran for nearly almost two hours non-stop on this Memorial weekend, had a strong theme of remembrance, but not in a morbid or overtly solemn sense.
Rather, the tunes themselves offered up their own memories, featuring classics from the eras of past conflicts – WWI to Vietnam. Nor was the music limited to instruments, thanks to fine singing renditions from three of the service members.

A serviceman with a distinct gravelly 'James Earl Jones' voice narrated portions of past presidential speeches, as relevant today as when they first given life.
It is not possible to capture the quality of musical performance in my words. Trust me, this is a very accomplished set of musicians.

I checked the bands website and music is available for streaming, but not for purchase. Indeed, the only way to hear it in CD quality is for your local library to request a set of CD's from the Band of Liberty directly and then to borrow the discs from the library.
Here's a brief sample from The Band of Liberty website:

From On Silver Wings, released in 2007:
1. On Silver Wings (10.29 MB)
2. Air Force Hymn (7.06 MB)
3. No Finer Calling- An Airman's Symphony- Movement I (5.41 MB)
4. No Finer Calling- An Airman's Symphony- Movement II (6.86 MB)
5. No Finer Calling- An Airman's Symphony- Movement III (15.08 MB)


From Salute to the American Spirit, released in the wake of the tragedy of September 11, 2001:
1. Fantasia in G (5.43 MB)
2. America Is (3.9 MB)
3. When You Believe (4.85 MB)
4. Let Freedom Ring (4.44 MB)
5. George Washington Bicentennial March (4.18 MB)

Photo's from the event

The tale of two W's

A hike in the morning and beer samples in the afternoon make for a great day out. The fact that both can be found not more than five miles apart around Westminster, MA, and have a strong connection to each other makes it even more interesting.
Mass Audubon Wachusett Meadows Wildlife Sanctuary offers numerous trails, old stonewalls, beaver bonds and miles of trails such as the one that leads up to Browns Hill, a 1320 foot hump that offers great views of Wachusett Mountain to the north and the beaver flooded marshlands to the south. Trail maps are available at the office.
From the boundary of the sanctuary to the north, the Mid-State Trail snakes gently for 2 miles through trillium studded woodland towards the summit of Mount Wachusett before exploding upwards over the last half mile in a leg-burning, lung-busting… well you get the idea… climb up natural granite steps to reach the summit. From there, views extend as far away as Boston, some 50 miles to the east.
The round trip from sanctuary to summit is 8.2 miles, has an elevation gain of 1471 feet, and is achievable by any reasonably ambulatory person, the only variable being how long it will take.

Also highly achievable is a tour around the Wachusett Brewery Company, which runs every hour from noon, (but not every day, so check their website). Started in 1994 and still owned by the original three founders, all engineering graduates from Worcester Polytechnic Institute, the brewery has grown to be the second largest packager of beer (bottles and kegs) in Massachusetts after the Harpoon Brewery. The largest brewer, Boston Beer Company (brewers of Sam Adams), do not bottle in MA.
The tour is informative (thanks to brewer, Dave Higgins) and the brewery allows each customer two small beer samples afterwards - my favorites being their IPA and a beer called Green Monsta.
I've bought the IPA and Country Ale on draft locally and in bottles, but nothing compares to the fresh brewed, just pumped taste of those samples.
The brewery sells refillable growlers, pricey for the initial purchase of the 'glass' (which is a work of art) at $20, but each 2-liter refill (about six 12oz bottles) costs only $6 thereafter.

It's just a pity they are so far away, but all the more reason for another hike when the beer runs out.

The walk (click on image for larger pictures)