Posted on: May 30th, 2013 | 0 Comments
Just found out that the Innovation Grant supported “Imagining Transformative Justice” elicited enough powerful writing to warrant an anthology! See prisoners’ visual art here: Just found out that the Innovation Grant supported “Imagining Transformative Justice” elicited enough powerful writing to warrant an anthology! See more prisoners’ visual art with descriptions here: http://goo.gl/iHVjX
Posted on: May 29th, 2013 | 0 Comments
Missed the “3 Million Stories” conference, or want to revisit the presentations & conversations? Steven Tepper has compiled a 21-page summary of the unique conference dedicated to exploring the creative marketplace and its opportunities for arts graduates.
Posted on: May 23rd, 2013 | 0 Comments
If you were among the group of people who said a GIF, the popular animated images file, is pronounced like the word “Jif,” then give yourself a pat on the back — you were right.
Now we know! Steve Wilhite finally clarifies the pronunciation of his popular images file format, saying: “Choosy programmers choose GIF”
Posted on: May 21st, 2013 | 0 Comments
All the time, things are happening. It is hard to record them in such a way as sitting by the passenger window in our minds and watching them, the things, flit by.
In Puerto Rico we stopped on the top of a hill in Maricao and it was a green, lush place that we could see, it did not end. From the top of the tower we watched homes and palms dig into the cliff side, their teeth strong and hungry. The still frame, this moment of our watching, did not let us see the many lives and feelings that daily bled their way across the landscape. We said, the air up here is cool and fresh. It was.
Six weeks before I flew in a plane out of New Orleans and thought about my mother. Bayou spread beneath in watery veins. Green earth sang in small islands there and there. Then clouds moved in, and still could I see through their gentle whiteness. I said, this is what it must be to be in the arms of God.
The day before we boiled crayfish live and broke apart their bodies with our hands. They had soft, cartoon eyes that could not see, amassed and dead as they were.
And then some weeks later we bought a terrarium from an old woman. The woman who sold the terrarium had gray hair and thin hands. She told us this, the making of terrariums, was a thing she did often. A god she had become through hewing worlds. I pictured her home. Glass walls and piles of stones. A kitchen rife with living things. At night, her refrigerator moans—the resting place of so much on the verge of decay.
But there is likely no God and so I must settle for his name and an aircraft. A feeling and a view.
Driving along the coast in Puerto Rico we see the ocean mawing at the land. It is a most beautiful thing to see. I plug the image into the constellation I am living.
We hop from node to node of importance and in-between we see the view below. Oh world, how green or yellow or brown you have made yourself. Oh feeling, that I might place you upon the world and say, you are the skin of my mother and you now, her bones.
I flew in an airplane into the hands of God and asked of God, what things you have made, tell me. He did not reply because he is not real or because there is no God or because a life is a life either way.
The greenness of the world signifies its continual decline and growth. When we, as humans die our skin becomes blue and mottled. Perhaps we are saying, hello sky. Perhaps it is nothing more than blue, we and our blood returning to the air, the water, the place we have always known as home.
Posted on: May 13th, 2013 | 0 Comments
Excited about this new program — has a clear vision for how work will be done in creative spheres in the future. Neat how it draws expertise from across schools in the development of the program.
Posted on: April 3rd, 2013 | 0 Comments
by Rebecca Bernard
William Schreiber, a senior graduating from the Vanderbilt Curb Scholar’s Program, took a few minutes to answer some questions about his Senior Legacy Project, the Stadium Stock Exchange.
I: Describe the evolution of both the idea and the formation of the company.
I:Where in production are you currently?
I: What’s the next step for Stadium Stock Exchange?
I: How did your experience as a Curb scholar and/or a Vanderbilt student, help you in designing and building this company?
I: It states on your company info sheet that one of your partners, McArthur Gill, is a champion–of what may I ask?
I: What do you imagine the legacy of this project being?
Keep an eye out for Stadium Stock Exchange, and more interviews with graduating Curb Scholars.
Posted on: April 1st, 2013 | 0 Comments
by Elizabeth Long Lingo
I had the wonderful opportunity to present my ideas at TedX Furman University last week. At the end of all the presentations, their local student improv troupe offered mini-improv skits based on each of the talks.
Here’s the one spoofing on my idea of the Creative Practice Booocamp. Love it!
Posted on: March 11th, 2013 | 0 Comments
by Rebecca Bernard
I found myself in Niceville, Florida. It was a place I’d written about a while back. Then I was there. We had the top down and the sun was on us and all the surrounding earth.
In a movie I was watching, the camera would pan to the side sometimes. It would show desert and land and sky and the effect was a calming thing. It said: Here is also what is happening. It said: The world is outside of this particular frame, too. Look, it keeps going.
In Niceville I scanned the strip malls for my character. I knew he was either in a bar or outside of one. I knew he was thinking about the heat in the asphalt under his feet. I didn’t see him. I knew I wasn’t going to.
A sign on an overpass spelled Will You Marry Me Wilma Jane in white solo cups. It seemed like a big deal. We said, Isn’t that something. We agreed it was.
I wanted to ask him if his father’s deserting the family was really so bad, but because he’s a character it would be like asking myself.
I liked how quiet the scenes in the movie were. A desolate place in Spain or the like. I wondered if it was still so dry there. If wind was still blowing open white curtains. The characters stuck in time and space. Not moving for fear of dying off.
Our lives are built of frames for seeing the world. With the right light things are one way. Lose the light and you’re somewhere else. Only it’s the same place.
We watched the sunset on the beach. It was cold but I kept thinking–a photo would make this something else. The world could be warm in a photo. In a photo it could be anything. Perhaps, we too, are in Spain.
On the drive home there was a new sign on the overpass. A birthday message. We realized that what had seemed one way was actually another. Too bad.
For a minute there, it had all felt pretty special.
Posted on: March 10th, 2013 | 0 Comments
by Aidan Carr
Looks like this.
There have been a couple historical models for developing new musicals. In the so-called “Golden Age,” shows grew via the out-of-town tryout—a month or so in New Haven or Philadelphia where changes would be made by gauging audience reception. The first number of Sondheim’s A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, “Comedy Tonight,” emerged from frantic out-of-town revisions. (This anecdote contains a valuable lesson in musical theatre craft that further entries will investigate.)
The main idea here is to introduce the work-in-progress to the world and see how it does—where do people tune out? Where do they sit on the edge of their seat? Are they laughing and in the right places? Worse, are they laughing and in the wrong places? When musicals made lots of money, an entire production in a separate city was worth the capital to put it up, despite it being an experiment: now, musicals are like films, costing millions of dollars, and producers are much more skeptical to throw millions of dollars at an untested product. Cue the reading.
A reading has the same goals—watch the audience, tweak as needed—as the out-of-town tryout, but none of the window dressing, both a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing because it is cheap; fantastic sequences of, say, dancing dolls and malfunctioning sewing machines, can be left to the imagination. A curse because the imagination can provide more than just window dressing—it is easy to fool oneself and say “this will work with costumes and lights” when it really won’t. The pros outweigh the cons—out-of-town tryouts still occur, but typically after dozens of readings, each more ‘produced’ than the last.
An unstaged reading is the very bottom of the reading totem pole. Actors sit on stage in a row; when they are in a scene they stand, and sit otherwise. They memorize nothing: the scripts are in front of them on music stands. Someone even reads the stage directions.
Readings can come together very quickly—at NYU, the musical theatre writing program mounts unstaged readings of new work with actors that show up the morning of the performance and piano players who have never seen the score before. (Due to some last-minute drama, these actors read an entire ten minute script of mine, in front of an audience, that I handed to them as the performance began.)
Readings put material into the world, and for this they are invaluable. They are what catches the attention of investors, of producers, of other writers, of the press. More than this, though, they are crucial in finishing what it is you wish to share—they are the taste test before the Michelin chef adds a dish to his menu. And so it must be polished, elegantly and cleanly presented—even though you threw it together in a week. I have many ideas on how to polish my reading—look for them shortly.
Posted on: March 10th, 2013 | 0 Comments
by Aidan Carr
If a musical is a house, the bookwriter is its architect; he also shares interior/exterior design duties with the composer and the lyricist. Most of the spoken language of the piece (most) falls under his jurisdiction, but he also shapes the story itself, places the songs, cuts pages and scenes.
Like houses, the architecture behind a musical must be rock-solid, or else it will collapse. Structural design is less glamorous than aesthetic design, more conceptual, and considerably more difficult; bookwriters don’t get paid more for nothing. Not only are they relatively ‘behind-the-scenes’ as far as creative staff goes, since they theoretically contribute nothing to what musicals are all about (the songs), but they are frequently the first to blame when a show is lackluster—‘it’s got book problems.’ Not for nothing; structure is hard, and even professional Broadway shows frequently cannot master its design. Spider-Man had an entire number in which an invented spider deity sang of her charmingly-wicked adoration for mountains and mountains of shoes—cue $500,000 dollars in innovative costume design for highly trained ballerina-spiders, Loboutin heels on all 8 legs. This went on for five minutes.
Bookwriting—thankless, vital, at times (Arthur Laurents, Hugh Wheeler) elegant. More to come.