Playing Faire...

I adore medieval faires and renaissance festivals. Within the gates of these quirky, raucous gatherings we find the most extraordinary and eclectic collection of talent and brains outside of Comicon. And yet, the faire folk are often misunderstood. It all starts with a love of art and of language. I have been a fan of these festivals since college. I have dated fencers and stage fighters, have worked as a tavern wench, and have dressed as everything from a royal, to a wench, to a Whovian time lord (remember Ramana?). Here are some observations that need to be noted. Renfolk are smart and talented. Some of the performers are locals who have day jobs as lawyers and real estate agents; their work on the weekends is an artistic escape whether they are acting, or are working as vendors in a craft booth. Other performers are professional actors who travel from faire to faire throughout the year on a schedule; they work diligently on their stage routines and at developing the “characters” that will entertain audiences. In both cases, the majority of these people have college degrees and are making a living doing what they love. I knew a man who worked 20 years selling medical equipment for a large corporation. When he retired from sales, he bought an old school bus, threw on a tunic and started selling custom-made boots at the faire. The work allowed him to travel the country, make a living, and have some fun. He met people from all around the world, and didn’t have to worry about dry cleaning or about shaving. What a life. Some of the smartest people I have met work at the faire. A few weeks ago, I toured a faire which was new to me. The level of writing for the scripts was astounding. Even more impressive were the conversations I overheard as I passed through the crowds. Philosophy, History, Physics, Language...everything was a topic for discussion. Even politics and world events. From pirates! And perhaps the greatest gift these people offer us is a reverence for Language and communication. Through comedy, song, music, dance, and art, these wonderful enthusiasts and professionals are preserving something that continues to fade as we become a tech-dependent society, heads bowed over our phones. Thumbs meet eye-contact. For eight hours a day (sometimes much longer), these performers are not texting, they are talking, making a connection with the crowd. They are communicating with words, rather than initials and emoticons. Of course this does not surprise me. I have long known that the ren-fest circuit is a home for creativity and for intelligence that just does not fit into a suit or cubicle. However, so many suit and cubicle people spy the colorful time travelers as the characters they portray. Books and covers, people...take a look and find the story beneath the colorful brocade and tights. Within the renaissance faire, there is a renaissance of thought and talent. A round of applause for all the wonderful, brilliant performers and artisans to have the courage to take center stage and take a chance.

The Seed of an Idea

My husband mentioned a project being undertaken in Scandinavia. Apparently, trees and authors are coming together in an unusual way. Authors are being enlisted to dedicate an unpublished work to the planting of a tree. The manuscript will be held in an archive for the next 100 years, with its publication being dedicated to the particular tree being planted in its name. On the tree’s 100th anniversary, it will be felled, and used to produce the paper for the publication of the book. I find this intriguing and disturbing at the same time. There is something nearly “Distopian” about the ceremonial archiving of a book while the tree grows toward its own death to promote the author’s publication. And yet the idea of drawing attention to the written word, and to the destruction of trees (versus recycled materials) is equally mesmerizing. I keep thinking of Well’s Time machine and Bradbury’s Farenheit 451. I don’t know why this story brings those two tales to mind other than each exemplifies a society lost to reading, while this new project seems to be promoting the preservation of the printed word. Perhaps the true intent here, is just that--to heighten awareness that the cyber-words we read on our electronic devices are real. Once upon a time, writers touched quill to vellum to create books. Printers set rollers to metal type on parchment. Typewriters pounded ink onto paper. And now, we click keys and send the words into the ether. Plucked from the air, our ideas soar through the internet in a virtual world. The very success of virtual books begs the question, in one hundred years, will we really want to cut down a tree for the decadence of printing a paper book? More importantly, in one hundred years, will we still read? Or will reading be merely a legend?

The Plot Thickens...

For anyone who is a fan of Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series, the dynamic Starz series, of the same name, reveals few shocks. We who have read the books over and over again know these characters almost as well as the backs of our hands (hey, that freckle is new...). And yet, each week, as we watch the storyline unfold, and allow ourselves to be drawn into the backdrop of 18th century Scotland to mingle with the MacKenzies, Jamie, Claire, and the dastardly Black Jack Randall, we hold our breath in anticipation as each scene unfolds. To say that the creators have done a wonderful job, is an understatement. The adaptation of Gabaldon’s ongoing saga of war and love and time travel is mesmerizing. A good deal of the scenes take place outdoors, in forests and glens, and the cinematography could offer no better tourist inducement than the natural beauty of the landscape. I suspect flights will be full to Scotland next summer. As breathtaking as the landscapes are, the interior scenes are haunting. Where so many shows offer rich and opulent interiors meant to remind us of the days when velvet and brocade were commonplace, the Outlander interiors subtly remind us that luxury, both in the post WWII era and in the 18th century was not always an option, even for the wealthy. The lighting casts shadows, even in the daylight hours; there is a chill in the air at midday, and the cool demeanor of the clansmen and their English interlopers is palpable even when they are not speaking. One of the greatest testaments to the clever handling of the work is how the company (everyone connected with the production), allows the people to be real. More dirt and mud and dust adorn the actors faces, than make up. The hair may be matted, shaggy; the nails may be dirty and ragged; the eyes pale and creased, but we believe we are looking upon the characters as they have stepped from the pages, not from central casting or the makeup trailer. We are repulsed by the battle wounds, and are entranced by the simple unadorned beauty of a smile. And because of all of this, and so much more, as I watch each episode, I treasure those minutes as if that time has been suspended. I do not want the story to rush. Each scene is so priceless, that I listen for the sound of the ticking clock on my mantle to slow, to pause, to stop, just briefly, as I get swept away and travel back through time for an hour or so... Until the music swells, the credits flash, and I breathe, once more.

A look back to our future

Having just finished watching several episodes of the 60s drama The Avengers, I contend that Emma Peel is without a doubt one of the most inspirational female characters written for twentieth century television. She embodied the transitional paradigm for women in a modern society. While we might look upon the show, now, and smile at the predictibility of the scripts, the tongue-in-cheek turn of phrase, or the simplistic choreography of the fight scenes, we must note that in her creation, the writers of The Avengers television series departed the usual text, and reached into the future. While Honor Blackman was the original side-kick sleuthing agent for the secret and never-named British homeland investigative branch, she departed as the series was beginning to ride the crest of the cold war spy show craze. Honor’s character was very much like a character she would later play in the James Bond film, Goldfinger. 1963, however, welcomed Diana Rigg as a new partner for the ever-so-British John Steed. Rigg’s character broke most of the stereotypes for sidekicks, especially female sidekicks. First of all she was married. “Mrs. Peele, we’re needed,” introduced an attractive and presumably not available woman who was neither a housewife, nor churchmouse. Emma Peele fenced, fought (martial arts), and penned papers on physics in her spare time. Wait! A woman who was self sufficient, self aware, and had a sense of humor? Indeed. Emma could take a joke, throw a punch, and calculate a physics computation without breaking a nail. Not that she bothered about her nails. She was too busy foiling bad guys to worry about a manicure. And, she wore the most practical wardrobe ever seen on television. No stranger to heels and stylish hemlines, Emma Peele wore pants and flat ankle boots to do her snooping. Catsuits, or capes were the costume of choice when breaking and entering by night, or when tromping through the hills and dales of the English countryside. She climbed ladders, did not squeal when her hair got in her eyes, and even carried a second pair of shoes when out and about (just in case the car broke down and she had to walk to the nearest RAF station). More over, Emma Peele defended herself. On occasion, Steed would ride in to save the day, and her life, but more often than not, Emma threw her own high kicks and karate chops, parried and thrust her own sword, and played hero for herself. She seldom screamed, did not wimper or cry, and never once-in 51 episodes- fell into a fit of hystrionics. And Steed, admirably, never once challenged her on her reason, her intellect, or her biorhythms (although he did on occasion criticize her driving). She was sexy and confident in her attitude, compassionate and empathetic when necessary, and pragmatic and professional on the job. Remember, there were no other women doing this in 1963. She became a role model for millions of female viewers, world wide. She was cultured, well read, and did not shy away from expressing opinions or ideas. Legend has it that her name was a play on words, themselves. “M appeal” or male appeal was the hook that the producers were looking for in her character; that’s how she came to be Emma Peele. Millions of men, also were watching. Apparently, even in the sixties, smart was sexy. The writers allowed her to have a flirtatious, intelligent relationship with her coworker that did not involve her fetching coffee, or wearing a frilly apron, or ironing his shirts...ever. And we love her for it.

Away for a time, I am now ready to return...I think. While I often think I have nothing of any great importance to post (hence my silence), it has been pointed out to me that I am always spewing opinion and thoughts, some of which deserve contemplation. So, here goes~ As the equinox approaches, and all things are new again, I wonder at the newness before us. The world, after all, is ever changing. Now, our awareness of that constant change is heightened by our technology. We are ever aware, where once we could exist in an ignorant bliss. Wow, that sounded terribly sober, which is not my intent at all. Creatures of routine that we humans tend to be, we are often reluctant to accept change. And yet, change comes ever faster, as our technology changes. On the horizon is a set of spectacles (glasses) that will do what our phones do. And yet, it was only a less than twenty years ago when the concept of a phone that attached to the ear, or one small enough to fit in the palm of a hand seem preposterous. Well, most have accepted the bullet train speed with which our society is proceeding, I wonder about the finer points of communication that we leave behind. I hate the cavalier attitude of the person in front of me who talks on his cell phone while conducting business with a human being behind the counter. It is rude. I think, “Stop it. Suspend the phone conversation until you finish your business transaction. I know your parents did not raise you to be so inconsiderate.” Convenience and a disposable society have wrongfully inspired us to think that others no longer matter, when in fact, it is just the opposite. Because we are so buffered by our electronic devices, we should even be more aware of those precious opportunities to make contact with one another. Make eye contact with the clerk. Take the time to ask the toll taker “How’s your day going?” Take the initiative to take out the trash or discard an empty cup even if it isn’t yours as a courtesy to those around you. Seasons change, society adapts. Courtesy never goes out of style.

The Sound of Silence

Applause. That is the sound of silence this season. From the accolades of film critics and audiences to the approval of introverts across the land, the truth is, that silence seems to be golden in 2012.

Two films nominated for multiple Academy Awards this season reflect on the artistry of the silent age of films. Hugo and The Artist each detail man’s journey through the ever changing world of film, yet from different perspectives. Don’t worry-no spoilers here. While Hugo’s narrative style reveals the sense of mourning for a bygone age, The Artist clever adaptation of the silent film genre offers the viewer the thrill of storytelling through the lens.

With each, we find the importance of actions. In each, actions speak louder than words. (What a concept for those of us who write!)

Consider then, the cover story by TIME magazine, this week, which profiles those who are introverts. Citing that while we exist as a society that has become a culture of personality, those who are introverts have so much more to offer than our media-mad culture would have us think.

Introverts may be more quiet, yet their silence might actually indicate a tendency to process more information, to make better thought out decisions, and an ability to perform tasks independently. All of this may mean that the introverts are the ones we want on to be stranded on an island with...raft construction, engineering concepts, and broader categories for conversation when engaged in one-on-one discussions.

So, I suggest we all strive to find a bit of quiet time and just enjoy the solace of silence...

The opening line of Max Ehermann’s poem, “Desiderata” says it best, “Go placidly amidst the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.”

Greetings of the New Year to All!

The ribbons strewn, the paper shredded, and the boxes are piled high, ready to be stashed for another year, until we celebrate the winter holidays once more.

For some the new year means a new beginning. For others, it means the second half of the fiscal year, or the school year is about to begin. And for some it means an end to what may have been a stressful year. Whichever suits our needs, the fact is, 2012 marks a transition in our lives.

For me, transition means I begin to look to the beginning of the spring-season-to-come. Having finished a rough draft, and three shows, I will turn my attention to the shows yet to come, as well as the revisions, and brainstorming that comes when I consider another story.

The yule season marks a restful period. In some ways, I agree. There is a quiet sense to the world at the beginning of January, almost as if we have inhaled deeply, and now are gently exhaling, allowing everything to wash over us before we begin once more.

Even in slumber, however, our minds are active~anticipating the exuberance of the season to come. Spring, new life, warmth of spirit, renewed energy.

Rest well in this quiet time. Line up your dreams and get ready to hit the ground running! Happy New Year to all!