Bedlam Design Center, a co-op design studio for area puppet artists.
Minneapolis...oh, Minneapolis.
Two days of whirlwind activity, and my heart was snagged about an hour after I got off the plane. In the two days I was there, I was shown such incredible generosity of heart and art, endless open arms and shaken hands, artists who LIVE the childlike glee of faeries as they weave their magic for the world, and easy camaraderie...I traveled from polished and shiny, to the bohemian tribe that I remember from my childhood growing up in the artistic community in the Pacific Northwest. And the polished and shiny was beautiful, engaging, and so well done...but the eclectic, gypsy, wildly creative world that I encountered afterwards made my heart sing, and my spirit soar. All of this, both ends of the spectrum. THIS is why we do this.
Lobby displays of past productions at The Children's Theatre Company
Seeing THE SNOWY DAY AND OTHER STORIES was a surprise. Not seeing it, actually--I'd bought my ticket in advance of the trip, after all--but the fact that it turned out to be largely shadow puppet work was the surprise. The Children's Theatre Company is one of America's oldest, and probably the foremost theatre of its kind in the US. It is shiny, and polished, and eye-catching, and heart-stoppingly lovely. The lobby is turned into a dreamhouse through stunning displays from past productions: costumes, masks, puppets, posters, banners...There is a well-appointed gift shop in the center, but I was a little sad to see that it was not filled with things directly from the theatre, but rather the type of stuff that could be purchased in a high-end kids' store. I would have liked to have seen things that were more directly related to the organization, itself, just to continue the wonder.
I had purchased a mezzanine seat, off to the side, so that my 5'10" frame wouldn't block the view of any little peeps. I discovered that I had a wonderful eagle's eye view of not only the stage, but also the audience below, and so got to witness firsthand the excitement and anticipation of the growing crowd. The lights dimmed, and we all settled down...and I was instantly surprised and delighted (as were the small ones in the audiences, judging from the number of gasps and excited hand-claps) to be confronted by enormous shadow puppets of simple, yet magical abilities (and I'm STILL trying to figure out the movement mechanisms they used on these...they did things that sort of defied my puppet-logical brain...) The mix of puppets, live-action, and music that ensued was wonderful. At the peaceful pace it set, it did tend to feel a little long, and small bodies were beginning to squirm a bit by the end, but the applause and laughter that accompanied the curtain call proved just how much it was enjoyed. I think I had a small grin on my face for the entire 65 minutes of the show. Simple, lovely, sweet, gentle, and magical. All that is right in the world.
And then...then my world exploded in glee.
After the show, I walked across the hall to the Minneapolis Institute of Art, where it had been arrange for me to meet Krista, the wife of a friend from Cleveland's cousin. I was welcomed warmly, and given a pass that allowed me to wander the exhibits freely while she finished up a class she was overseeing. After viewing some delicious pieces from Asia and India, she re-joined me, and we left to meet her husband, Mark, who is the head puppeteer for In the Heart of the Beast's MayDay program. We walked in the balmy (did I mention it was 70 degrees??) sunshine to an AMAZING and funky little vegan restaurant, where I had, among other extremely tasty things, a locally brewed ginger beer (non-alcoholic) that was the best I've ever tasted. Mark joined us, and we were all soon talking like we'd known each other forever. Krista left us to go and take her daughter to a performance of her own, and Mark whisked me away on what was to become a glorious trip to the Land of Oz. Or Narnia. Or Avalon...I'm not sure which it was, but it was like stepping through a door into another realm. He drove me all over the city, introducing me to a bohemian clan of artists that was wide-spread, but incredibly close-knit. Artists whose passion for their work enveloped them like an aura. People with open hearts, kind eyes, old souls, playful smiles and energy, and endless, endless creativity. Everyone greeted me like they'd known I was coming (they didn't) and like they had always known me (they hadn't.) And in moments, we all became friends. We talked in the rhythm of people who need to create. Who see beauty in everything, and are endlessly curious. These were some of the gentlest, kindest people I've met in a long time, and there was a natural wildness about them that was glorious. I know I'm rambling on...but I was blown away and felt like I had come home.
Mark (my host), Dan, and Moonear.
After meeting so many people and being filled with so much creative wonder, we stopped at a fabulous group studio, where several different artists, puppet and cardboard, work. There I was given a tour that included a two-and-a-half story crocodile tail (and head to match), a tiger that was bigger than a mini-van, and various and sundry other marvels. I met a brilliant cardboard artist named Julian, and a very small and snorty pug--who was even friendlier than the people I met. Then, we headed off to In the Heart of the Beast Theatre. HoB is housed in an old porno house that was purchased and refurbished (at the point of sale, the marquee was made to read: "goodbye porno--hello puppets!") to become a modular, multi-usable performance space and art gallery. The theatre itself is rough and filled with a sort of controlled-chaos vibe, but electric and alive, and infinitely welcoming.
After giving me a backstage tour, Mark took me across the street to a "bodega-mall" for a dinner of authentic folk-food (more on this later.) Then we headed back to the main event, where the box office manager greeted us and said, "hey, the ushers never showed up. Do you two feel like ushering?" We said, "sure," and happily began folding programs for the show that we were seeing that evening--BASEMENT CREATURES. After the day we'd just had, I was highly anticipating the show--which I'd been looking forward to, in the extreme, from the moment I stumbled on their website description that called it an "aerial rock opera with puppets for older children." A gong sounded, everyone was seated (including us), and the show began.
BASEMENT CREATURES lobby display
BASEMENT CREATURES was...extraordinary. In every sense of the word. To say it was flawless would be a lie, but flawless isn't so important when what you are seeing is mind-blowing and life-changing. Simple. Stunning. Magical. Haunting. The only thing that I saw that would make it for "older children" was that some of the basement creatures were a little scary, but the story itself was playful, and extremely creative--and there was DEFINITELY enough kid-friendly to keep a younger audience rapt. There was an aerial chain artist, incredible black light creatures, amazing music, and surprising special effects. All in an extremely small, intimate space. The audience could have, literally, reached out and touched any actor or puppet at any time in that space. While the story might not have been as cohesive as one might have wanted, every single other aspect of the show made up for it. And did I mention that one of the songs was belted out by a tiny woman with insanely big pipes, as she--playing a a spider--hung upside down and danced in a silken-aerial display? That happened.
In meeting the cast after, I was hit with a wave of youthful exuberance, and surety that what they were doing was what they SHOULD be doing. It took me back to where I was at that age...and resonated in me with the voice that tells me all the time now, "THIS. THIS. THIS."
After a whirlwind couple of days, I returned to Cleveland. Exhausted, with food poisoning (from the meal we had right before the show, I'm positive of it...it tasted a little...odd...going down, but I was so hungry at that point I would have eaten my shoe, if need be. Granted, the shoe might not have made me so sick, but...) that made the travel home more of an adventure than I would have liked, I came home with a glowing heart, re-opened eyes, and an affirmation that THIS. THIS is why we do what we do.
Alison is the recipient of a 2016 Creative Workforce Fellowship. This Fellowship is a program of the Community Partnership for Arts and Culture. Funding for the Fellowship program is made possible by the generous support of Cuyahoga County residents through a public grant from Cuyahoga Arts & Culture.
