Cafe Press

by Esther Emery

I didn’t make room in my April budget for an original piece of art. But I did buy a magnet. It made my day to open the mail on my birthday and find this adorable monster, created by Amy Chini and sold via CafePress. Doesn’t  it look nice on our fridge?

Milo doesn’t understand why I keep telling him that the monster was made by Amy, since it doesn’t look like her  at all. And he is understandably frustrated that the magnet is too strong for him to pull off the fridge and ferret away underneath the bookcase. Otherwise, we’re satisfied customers.  

If you want to check out Amy’s store and buy a magnet for yourself, go here.

Or, even better, if you want to open your own online store so I can buy a magnet from you, too, go here.

The Flow of Art

by chinimachinee

I have many interests and loves (visual art, theatre, music, science) and have never excelled at any of them.  A Jane of all trades, and a master of none.  I remember, as I was struggling to know which career path to walk along, my Uncle Rick gave me some beautiful words of encouragement.  He said that it didn’t matter what I decided to pursue, because everything I did was reflection of the same soul.  All gifts, and all equally important.  This freed me somehow, and gave me permission to not have to choose.  To do all things, simply because I enjoyed doing them, without having to force a career out of one of them.  I love that.  I was given permission to play and de-compartmentalize my ideas about art and how one talent interacts with another. 

All of this MOXIE talk about the Etsy shop got me thinking about this, and about what a talented group of folks I work with. And not just in the context of theatre.  There are so many fascinating semi-hidden side talents here…  And I want to know what they are!  If I’m not mistaken, I think Chelsea does photography, and Missy makes jewelry… Esther posted a painting she made… Is this right girls?  And what about the rest of y’all?  Any violin virtuosos in the house?  Or sculptors?  Spill it!  Or rather, share it!  It’ll keep us from being pigeonholed.

(Man, this feels just like the day I found out that Minnie Driver plays music at the Casbah).  

Seeing another artistic side of someone is neat and I love it.

And, so you will feel fully confident in sharing your creations … I will share this image…. of what started out as a teddy bear (until I discovered sewing wasn’t my strong suit) and ended up…. well…

Wally the Wombat.

 

xoxo

smiling in the trenches

by chinimachinee

Happy Friday everyone!

I don’t have much to write about today, but I’ll share this with you:

I’ve had a bit of an epiphany, sparked by some lines in a book I’m reading by Thich Nhat Hanh called “Peace Is Every Step.”   

I have decided that I am going to try to ENJOY writing this play, instead of gritting my teeth and struggling towards an ending!  What a concept, hey? Because I don’t know where it’s going or how it’s ending… but if I can enjoy playing with it, and enjoy the act of creating it… hopefully the work will be infused with great energy and spirit, and will be more satisfying to me, as well as to anyone who happens upon it.

Yay.

Here are the lines from whence this inspiration came:

“When we do not trouble ourselves about whether or not something is a work of art, if we just act in each moment with composure and mindfulness, each minute of our life is a work of art… If we just act with awareness and integrity, our art will flower…”

So thanks Thầy.  Nicely spoken.

Now get out there and enjoy your lives!

Thursday Inspiration

by Esther Emery

In honor of our own Junk City, this is RPM-1200, a found-object installation created by Japanese artist Enoki Chu.  It stands eleven feet high and features found metal objects, including old drill bits and machine parts.

But where do we put the actors?

On Art and Motherhood: Or How I Save Money on Toys

by Esther Emery

Milo’s 9-month-old entertainment picks of the week:

• The staple gun.  Makes him giggle.  Who knew?
• The propsmaster banging on things to distress them.  He likes to bang on things, too.
• The Genie lift that the electricians use to get up to the lights.  Up or down.  Milo watches.  He didn’t know people could fly.
• The junk pile.  This might just cause total euphoria were he actually allowed to climb it.  Your time will come, Milo.
• Gel.  It’s a clear synthetic material that changes the color of the lights.  It is colorful.  It is sort of see-through.  It makes the best crinkle noise ever.  Scraps of it fall from the sky.
• Zip cord.  Washers.  Lumber.  Corrugated plastic.  And a half-dozen beautiful smiling women and men who make faces at him as they cross the stage between projects.  His extended family.

Fisher Price, you’ve got nothing on this.

I wasn’t even a freelance gleam in the MOXIE eye when they wrote their kids-welcome rehearsal policy.  And the first time Delicia brought her kids to one of my rehearsals I responded with a resounding open-mouthed silence.  No, I didn’t actually say anything.  But I was totally thinking it. “We’re theatre people.  We don’t have babies.  They’ll disturb our process.”

And they do.  Especially when “process” refers to that transcendental creative state, not unrelated to religious fervor, in which the artist acts as passive vessel through which inspiration flows freely until a fellow artist or manager foolishly introduces the distraction.  But that’s a subject for another post.

Obviously I’ve had a change of heart since I first met Delicia, and it had more to do with my biological clock and sudden, inexplicable desire to kiss all tiny wrinkly fingers within striking distance than it did with politics.  But I’m proud to practice the politics, too.  Women bear children.  Women create.  We are not fractured.  I am not a different person when I bounce a baby than I am when I participate in a collaborative artistic process.  I do both.  At MOXIE I do both at once.  And so does Milo’s dad.

And that’s how it happened that a party line don’t-speak-until-spoken-to LORT stage manager started breaking the cardinal rule.  I brought my personhood to work with me.  And yes, I drop tasks and pick them up again without warning.  I expect designers to understand what I’m saying over the sound of a Bronx cheer.  I hand a baby to another MOXIE mid-sentence so I can finish an important thought and occasionally sprint across the stage to intercept that truly impressive speed-crawl towards the five gallon paint bucket.  It’s a glorious, messy pile of chaos.  Kind of like parenting.  And art.

Where do you want this, Dad?

You can tell I’m better rested than I was the last time I tackled this subject.  Milo slept straight through from 12:30am to 6:30am.  I practically leapt out of bed to kiss him this morning.  

And I’m also on my second cup of coffee.

On Art and Motherhood: The First, I’m Sure Not the Last

by Esther Emery

Like the rest of the MOXIE babes, I’m collecting junk for Junk City.  Here’s Milo playing in the junk pile.

He had a terrible morning.  No, that isn’t quite true.  I had a terrible morning, for which I blame him.  He’s just on the cusp of sleeping through the night, and this morning he only made it to 5am.  I am a morning person, but I work at night.  5am is unkind.

And that’s why, on my third cup of coffee before breakfast, I’m having a conversation with myself:

QUESTIONING VOICE (QV):  Why theater? 

ME:  Because my love of the art form is passionate and bone-deep.  I can’t imagine my life without it.

QV:  That isn’t really a reason.

ME:  No?

QV:  That’s an addiction.

ME:  It’s too early for this.

QV:  So, shut me up.

ME:  I can’t.  You’re in my head. 

QV:  Oh, dear, sorry.

ME:  I aspire to create excellent theater because I believe that excellent theater enhances lives.  I believe that our work at its best engages a collective of individuals in a passionate relationship with their own humanity.

QV:  That was canned.

ME:  No, it was prepared.  There’s a difference.

QV:  So it’s more important to you to “enhance the lives” of strangers in a completely intangible way than it is to personally guarantee financial stability for the people you love, including the child you brought into the world?

ME:  Yes.

QV:  Don’t you wish you had health insurance?

ME:  Well…

QV:  Doesn’t it bother you that you are financially dependent on your husband, even though you’re a working mom and a feminist?

ME:  Well…

QV:  Are you sure that you aren’t staying in theater just because you’re stubborn?

ME:  Of course. That’s ridiculous.

QV:  But you do know that you are stubborn?

ME:  What does that have to do with anything?

QV:  I’ll ask the questions, here.  After all, my name is Questioning Voice.

ME:  Oh God, did I name you that? 

QV:  You’re the playwright. 

ME:  That’s an awful name.

QV:  Are you truly prepared to constantly reevaluate your priorities to balance these two great labors of love over the next eighteen years and more?  Your art takes everything you have.  And parenting takes everything you have.  How the hell is this going to work?

(thoughtful silence)

(more thoughtful silence)

ME:  I need another cup of coffee.

Comment, ladies and gents.  I know you all have thoughts about this.