Party!

The final performance of the camp was on Saturday night. Hallelujah! The next day, J and I (plus adult volunteers) tore down the whole stage and turned it back into a basketball court. I arrived at one important conclusion: adults are much harder to work with than kids. 1: They have less energy. 2: They think they actually know what they are doing, when they clearly do not. 3: You can't yell at them when they break/screw up/destroy something. If you yell at them, they get offended and go home.

These difficulties aside, we managed to finish tear down in time to go out to another island for an end-of-camp party. We visited the property of Thor, another board member and the teacher of our CPR class. His current residence is an ancient log cabin, complete with shipwreck.The story goes that the owner of the ship wanted a place to moor it, and offered Thor's grandfather (the previous owner of the cabin) an old painting in exchange for the use of his small harbor. Soon thereafter, a storm came in and the ship sank. Thor's grandfather never heard from the owner again, and the wreck has been there ever since.

Thor owns a Newfoundland and a Newfie-Lab mix, the two of which provided us with easygoing companionship for the evening. As the sun was setting, I worked my way toward the other side of the island and was greeted with a spectacular view of Mt. Edgecumbe, the local volcano. This is the mountain that I confused with Mt. St. Helens (circa 1979) when I saw it in posters at the camp.

Thor had a huge pile of wood with 2 full stumps and seemingly endless cedar branches to burn. He informed us that he wanted it all gone by morning. Though clearly an impossible task, the counselors and I gave it our best effort. We ended up stoking a raging bonfire, complete with ritual human sacrifice!!

When the group of camp workers had reached a collectively harmonious level of intoxication (with a few notable outliers), Thor took us back to town with his boat. Thus ended the 2008 Sitka Fine Arts Camp, with most attending in high spirits and noticeably sloshed.

Shee At'iká

A sliver of too-intense pink
pushes on toward red.
Unified, the collective floating forest bobs and turns,
streams gracefully with the tide.
Water murmurs, bubbles, laps at the rocks.
Cumulus cotton candy quilts steep islands,
weaving itself amongst trees older
than the boats at harbor
and the buildings on land.
Does Water move Fish,
or does Fish move Water?
The essence, life, drive of Shee At'iká
is buried in the depths.

Lessons with J

My boss, J, frequently has suggestions for me while working. This advice generally ranges from mildy to wildly inappropriate. Hopefully "Lessons with J" will be a continuing series!

1). While laying down Marley, a flooring for ballet dancers: “Some of the most beautiful women in the world are ballerinas, and if you can make a tight floor for them, they’ll do things for you too.”

2). While doing a soundcheck for a guy on a lavalier mic: “You’ve got to take some low end out of this guy’s voice! Some lady’s gonna marry him, thinking he can live up to that expectation you set with such a low voice, and then it’s gonna be your fault when he’s paying alimony!!”

My friend WT (now back home in New York) mentioned a street production that he saw a while back, I believe on the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. He said that there were a number of actors, all speaking different languages and coming from different countries. Though he could not understand a word that was spoken, he said it was one of the most powerful emotional moments in his life. He laughed, cried, and experienced the whole range of human emotion in one linguistically indecipherable show.
One thing I’ve been pleased to do in Sitka is associate with all different artistic types. Every day I work with actors, musicians, painters, animators, filmmakers, dancers and writers. I myself have no artistic experiences except those interpreted through the lens of musicianship. Therefore, it has been surprising and informative to view the emotional responses of these different artists to presentations of art in all its different forms.
Through my observation, I notice quite a bit of cross-disciplinary appreciation. When I say “appreciate,” I add a depth to the word that is infrequently associated. I don’t just mean the musician who goes to the ballet; I mean the musician who finds inner peace at the ballet. I mean the actor who is moved to tears by a piece of visual art constructed of latex gloves, plaster, and oil paint on canvas; the improv artist who lives for orchestral music; the ceramics worker who cries during a basketball documentary.
I don’t have such a deep appreciation for other arts. I have the beginnings of such an appreciation for my own art. I laugh at musical jokes and groove to great jazz. However, I recall only two times when I’ve actually cried because of music. The first was listening to Eric Whitacre’s “October” in tenth grade. The second was while writing a song for my sister during my sophomore year of college. Critics have noted that during the 1937 premiere of Dmitri Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 5, there was open weeping during the slow movement and a half-hour ovation at the end. Imagine listening to the Seattle Symphony perform and being shaken so much that it didn’t bother you to cry out loud. Or imagine standing for 30 full minutes at the end of a performance and rejoicing in its subtle undertones. Even more, imagine a hall full of 10,000 people together understanding and feeling a musical message.
The Fifth Symphony’s premiere came during the Great Terror, when fear and hatred of the Soviet government’s oppression and murder could not be expressed through spoken means. Shostakovich, maybe more than any other composer, was a composer of the people, because he suffered as the people did in his defiance of Soviet rule. In researching him for a paper two years ago, I learned that Shostakovich used to sleep on the street below his home at night in order to prevent his expected arrest from disturbing his wife and children. Stalin targeted Shostakovich and used him as an example to the people due to his wild popularity. Shostakovich’s oppression by the establishment clearly shaped his art. His extremely progressive 4th Symphony was not allowed a premiere until 20 years after its composition. His comparatively more conservative 5th Symphony was loved by the Politburo for its return to traditional symphonic forms, scoring, and harmonic language; yet the same symphony was loved by the people for its inherent expressions of sorrow and its insistently victorious Finale. Though I don’t feel these expressions the same way the people of the Soviet Union did in 1937, I can at least understand them through the medium of music. When Shostakovich scores a high violin drone with a rhythmically steady harp solo in minor, I can feel the haunting song of the People reluctantly plodding on through persecution. If Rembrandt were to depict a similar idea, I would see only a man in a black coat.
I know the reason people love art: it speaks to the core of those issues which language alone cannot resolve. I have a deep need to be exposed to more art. Right now, I don’t understand the language that other art forms are speaking.

Drew and WT

Parting Shots: My mentor for a week and a half, Drew.


And my new good friend, WT.



They've gone home to San Francisco and NYC, respectively, but they'll remain in my memories indefinitely.

Scenes from Sitka

I've been accumulating situations to blog about, but haven't accessed the internet for about a week. So here's a smorgasboard of experiences from Camp!

1). Last Saturday was our staff party. All the teachers, directors, and interns went on a charter boat trip out to a privately-owned island, where we hiked in to two different homes to eat dinner and dessert. At the dessert house, we had a few teachers jamming in a jazz combo all night long. It was one of the most intimate musical experiences I've had in my life. The night was capped off by Hank, our resident rock star, playing and singing the most rockin version of Mustang Sally I've ever heard.

2). A certain unnamed teacher told a story about picking shrooms in the local dairy's fields on the way home from high school each day. There were 2 seasons during the year, so he and his friends would stock up on the fungi and save them for year-round highs. His dad would drive by and could never understand why there were so many kids in the fields looking straight at the ground.

3). We had a gig at the Naa Kahidi, a local Native venue with a firepit in the middle. The show depicted a Muse wandering around the room and inspiring all different kinds of art, from music to poetry to dance. It was a beautiful and moving performance, but we left our board tape there. Grr...

4). Great people are all around me. Drew, who is so willing to help and never ceases to impress me with his selfless attitude. His new tattoo a few days ago made him the most popular guy around in the middle schoolers' eyes. WT, my favorite orange-headed clown from New York, is so attentive to other people and in tune with their emotions and feelings. These people are truly impressive, but both went back home in the last 2 days. Hopefully I'll meet more individuals like them.

5). Harry Race Pharmacy in town has great malt milkshakes!! I had my first a few days ago at 10 AM. This was a good choice.

6). The middle school talent show was awful. Think of a bunch of middle school students who've been together for a week and suddenly decide to put together a musical act or a choreographed dance on very limited rehearsal. Then take all 16 acts and try to do a tech rehearsal on all of them in 46 minutes. OI!!

7). A chubby middle-schooler who I've come to call "Chunk." If you've ever seen The Goonies, you know exactly what I mean. This first night of camp, most of the counselors and myself were sitting downstairs chatting when another counselor brought Chunk down to the nurse's office. We asked what happened, and the counselor told us that the kid fell out of his bunk bed and hit his head. He was crying and thought he had a concussion. We all felt sorry for him until we found out later that he had fallen out of the bottom bunk, not the top. One week later, Chunk managed to sprain his ankle falling from the top bunk. The next night, Chunk was livid with the counselor who made him sleep with his mattress on the ground. Kids these days...

8). Final performances!! Thursday was a 12 hour day for me, and Friday and Saturday were both in excess of 14 hours. Our final performances are structured in such a way that each class gets to perform what it has learned throughout the camp. This means 20 middle school kids directed by one teacher, who probably has unrealistic expectations for what I can supply in the realm of technical theater. Each class gets about 20-30 minutes of time on stage to work out technical needs, etc. Tech rehearsals were hell on earth, but final performances were beautiful. The majority of kids in my Live Event Production class really learned a lot and performed well each and every night. They even stuck with me through our lengthy tech rehearsals and many were still eager and willing to help after a long day of work. My hope is that the high school students (who came in today) will have similar attitudes.

9). Last night was Jazz on the Waterfront, an annual fundraiser for the Sitka Fine Arts Camp. We have so many world-class musicians on stage that it's overwhelming. The show opener was a small jazz combo, and the main act was a full 20-piece big band. The big band gave us four sets, including a dance set, a vocal set, and a rock/funk set. They created some of the best jazz I've ever heard. It was a true joy to run sound for that group. I know my dad will appreciate some of the music they performed in the funk set: September and Shining Star by Earth, Wind, and Fire; What is Hip by Tower of Power; 2 Stevie Wonder charts, etc. Hank finished off the night with another performance of Mustang Sally, leaving all the tipsy faculty sufficiently pleased.

High school camp starts tomorrow, and I'm sure it will bring many more stories to share...

Responsibility

Last night was our counselors' Artshare. Essentially, this consisted of counselors performing their respective arts for the students. We had several soloists and duets, 4 visual art slide shows, and a dance duet. This was only the second day that our Live Event Production kids have been able to get their hands on equipment, and it went pretty rough. At least 3 of the problems were directly my fault. One problem was from a lack of communication on my part, and was the least noticeable. Another stemmed from being less than alert while clearing the stage, leading me to clear a mic that should have stayed. The most visible problem that I caused was a complete honest mistake due to my lack of knowledge about a connection that I thought would work. I created a really bad ground fault loop that made a counselor's video almost impossible to hear in the front of house. This last one is my favorite kind of mistake. A good mistake is one that teaches you something, and I definitely learned from this one. Though I felt pretty awful about my performance, I don't mean to give the impression that every mistake in the show was my fault; most of it stemmed from the kids' lack of experience (which is completely excusable in my mind).
After the show I apologized to J, my Tech Director, and my crew of kids. Then after everyone had cleared out, I asked J to teach me how I could have avoided my last mistake. We got out some paper and he diagrammed the situation. It turns out I had done several things wrong, all of which had reinforced the ground fault loop I had already created. There comes a time when a mistake is so large that it becomes humorous. We arrived at this point in an empty theater half an hour after curtains. It's nice to have a good laugh at your own expense.
In other news, Monday and Tuesday were both BEAUTIFUL days! Today it was overcast and moist again, but I took advantage of the weather and got a great panoramic shot from the front of our airplane hangar. The triangular peak in the middle is Mount Verstovia. I hope you enjoy!!

Day 4 (Sunday, June 15th)

Over the last couple of days I've been fortunate enough to have time to practice regularly. It looks like my day-to-day schedule will represent the following: Wake up at 7 for breakfast, practice euph, attend any classes that I find interesting (if J doesn't need me), help J teach our Live Event Production class, help J set everything up for the evening Artshare or performance, run the Artshare, and set things for the next day. A few pieces of background info: what we call an "Artshare" happens almost every night. This is a performance where a few of our many world-class teachers present a bit of their art. For example, tonight we had W.T. warm up the crowd with about 15 minutes of clowning. He lives in NYC and is here at camp teaching Clowning, Unscripted Theater (improv), and Acrobatics. He also has ORANGE hair!! His favorite color, like myself, is orange, and he owns many matching shirts and shoes. I'll have to get a picture of him and post it on here for the benefit of all y'all.
I really haven't taken many pictures since I've gotten here, as I've been too busy. However, what I have I will share with you. First we see my dorm room door, complete with my professional sign!!

The head boys' counselor, Julian (from Athens, Georgia), decided that spelling is also a Fine Art and is therefore open to interpretation. I asked him to inflate my title as much as possible, hoping for something like "Thespian Management Technician Intern," but instead I got "Tech Assistant Tech." I'm assuming the first "tech" is short for "technical," while the second is short for "technician;" however, Julian would not divulge the truth. He also has a molestache.
We finished our general set today, and have all systems running and looking good. We went through 2 rolls of Gaffer's Tape getting all our cable secured down. Apparently, the Fine Arts Camp has endured a lawsuit or settlement regarding a camper who tripped on unsecured cables, so I was told to be extra careful in taping.
J knows just about everything, and he seems to be thinking about 12 different things all at once, 24/7. I may have also mentioned that he's working 2 other jobs up here in Sitka. Needless to say, he's quite occupied. Our volunteer, Drew, has been an incredible help, and has completely mastered humility. He's not afraid to give me pointers and tips, and has given me a lot of great tidbits. He also told me that he's respecting my position as the Stage Manager and encouraging people to go through me instead of him. He knows that he is a volunteer and that this is my job, and acts respectfully. He's given me full permission to ask him any questions if I don't know how to do something or need help, but he wants me to get the experience of dealing with issues first-hand. He says that someone from his past taught him everything he knows about stage and set for free and asked for nothing in return, so he's now a strong believer in giving that knowledge back to others. I couldn't ask for two better guys to teach me.
This post is borderline rambling, so I'll let it go for now. We'll be back tomorrow! Oh, and below is my room, pre-unpacking. I have it all to me onesy!!

Day 2 (Friday, June 13th)

I woke up and hung out with the counselors while waiting to get in touch with Jay. We ended up going into town for lunch (Subway is more expensive in Alaska) and listening to the head counselor’s stories about his ingenious ways of disciplining children. During the drive through town, I saw a couple Bald Eagles circling above. Those things WILL eat you. I didn’t challenge them.
Jay and I were supposed to meet to work at 3, but he kept getting delayed in his trips around town. Turns out he's working 3 different jobs in Sitka, all at the same time. At 5:30 we finally got to work, which consisted of driving around picking stuff up. After a short dinner break, we finally got to REAL work (on the stage) at 8:30 PM. Worked until 1 AM. Got audio and light systems up and running. Blew a breaker on our portable power distro, had to break out a few more dimmers to make it happen. My feet hurt.
Jay and I ran around town in Roger’s truck. Roger is the camp director and owns a 1981 blue Toyota pickup. The thing is a pile of rust and bolts, but reminds me of Dad’s old pickup that we used to have “windstorms” in on the Narrows Bridge. We would turn up the AC all the way, open all the windows, and drive across the bridge to visit Pete. I was 5 or 6. Those were good days.
The stage and performance “venue” is an old WWII airplane hanger that has been converted into a gym. A stage has been built in 1/3 of the building. Because our Front Of House (FOH) speakers are bouncing off a huge wall of sheet metal, natural reverb in the building lasts 4 full seconds. This means the sound quality will be muddy, but we'll still be functional.
While driving around town, I had a nice chat with Jay about how Christianity is misinterpreted and used as an excuse to either destroy the environment (“God's given us dominion over animals, plants, etc.) or to refrain from helping the environment (“It’s the end times!!! We shouldn't do anything!!”). We both agree that it’s unfortunate that some Christians twist the Bible to meet their flawed human standards.
My reading material has been Miles: The Autobiography. The language and drug stories are true to American jazz heritage. Miles Davis is a fascinating cat.

Day 1: Thursday, June 12th

Here begins the chronicle of my month in Sitka working as the Stage Manager for the Fine Arts Camp. I didn't have internet access until a few days in (today), so I'm back-posting from the journaling I've done. I realize that my audience could possibly approach a prime demographic of 5 readers, ages 22 to 45+ (you're welcome, Mom). As such, I'll try to cater my stories to that audience.


On the flight from Seattle, I actually ended up flying across the aisle from my boss, Jay Bradley. Prior to the flight, I had no idea what he looked like, but he was chatting with a flight attendant about working on the stage at the Fine Arts Camp and I soon put two and two together. I said hi, and he promptly fell asleep for the remainder of the flight. He woke up when we landed, but I didn’t see him again until the next day at 4:30.
Two twins, Anna and Alex, picked myself and 2 other counselors up in the Camp's ancient van, affectionately named "Stallion." We rocked out to a cassette tape of Pat Benatar's "Fired Up." Needless to say, this was the highlight of the day.