#but buried into their characters are their own individual wants that have persisted throughout their lives. and in a stroke of genius they

[sammygender]

there's something really easy to me about writing precanon spn fanfiction (not writing GOOD fanfiction necessarily. but. just having an idea and turning it into a 5kish vaguely completed story in its own right. which is normally something i struggle with). and i think i just clocked why while reading something about how to write short stories (i am notoriously bad at writing original short stories i just write novels and scenes from novels instead lol).

so much of writing flowing well is about motivation... characters wanting something. and i specifically find the young winchesters so good to write for because they have these motivations so built into them.

sam wants to get free & have autonomy & stop hunting & make dad understand and all that is sooo written into his younger self and therefore to write a lil fic about him you just have to like... isolate an incident that lets you really show that. which is what ive been doing without realising it. and dean wants... not much for himself, which is just as key of a character detail! but he still has intensely strong motivations, to keep the family together and to protect sam.

this is such a testament to the character work on spn lol their motivations even precanon are so clear and they're still such complex characters and it makes them so so so fun to write. its making me realise. i think some of the failures of my own character writing is that they dont always Want things

[luvyanfei]

anon said. ooo a new blog! can you do confession headcanons where xiao, childe, and scaramouche react to reader confessing to them and the aftermath of it? thank you!  

a/n. xiao’s is kind of terrible ;; ue ue gomenasai

“i love you, [character’s name].”

SCARAMOUCHE.

huh? is this some kind of a joke? if so, it’s definitely not a good idea to mess with his feelings like this, especially when he also shares the same sentiment. scaramouche is almost impressed by your boldness. not everyone has the nerve to confess their love for a harbinger in front of their own faces, after all. when he’s hit with the realization that you’re serious, he secretly pinches himself to make sure he’s not in a dream.

the sharp pain that comes with his nails making contact with his flesh affirms that this is real. he stifles back a genuine smile, choosing to stay calm despite the bliss he’s currently feeling. “i guess it can’t be helped. hmph, you should be lucky i’m rather fond of you as well, [name].” he says that, but he’s the fortunate one to have successfully stolen your heart before others can claim you for themselves.

unfortunately, his time with you is quite limited due to his affiliation with the fatui, so any fleeting moments are captured in photos from the kamera to look back on. he secretly carries a picture of you while he’s out of town on important missions so that he won’t miss you too badly. he fondly looks at your still, yet smiling face to cheer him up after a tough work while everyone else is asleep. well, almost everyone.  

“hmm, who’s that in your hands, scaramouche?” childe asks, gesturing to the photo the harbinger is admiring fondly. scaramouche rolls his eyes to hide his slight embarrassment and hesitates a bit before he answers.  

“oh them? their name is [name], my... sibling.” childe almost gapes in disbelief as he looks at the blue-haired man in shock. 

“you have a sibling? why didn’t you tell me? they’re so cute!” the 11th harbinger squeals in delight, which honestly irks poor scaramouche. he scoots away to give himself some space as he tucks the picture in his pocket for safe-keeping. 

“you didn’t bother to,” he explains matter-of-factly. “now if you’ll excuse me,” he stands up from his crouched position and dusts himself, “i’m going to take a walk, alone.” 

he wanders through a dark forest and grassy fields, until he finds himself standing on top of a cliff, the moon glowing brightly above. he peers up at the twinkling stars in the sky and imagines you beside him, watching the breathtaking view together. humming an unfamiliar tune to himself, scaramouche muses over the past and replays your confession over and over again. if he could, he would respond differently than he did before. 

‘i love you.’ those three letter words echo in his ears like a melody and he allows himself to smile. 

“i love you too, [name].” 

XIAO.

he automatically perks up an eyebrow in confusion. what? is it just him or did you seriously admitted you love him? xiao stammers for a brief second, no words spilling out from his partially open mouth. what is he supposed to say? “thank you?” “i love you too?” 

when he pulls himself together, xiao shakes his head and frowns. his answer is clear and simple: no. you mortals don’t understand just how dangerous it is to get close with someone like him - a yaksha. drowning in the brink of debt and despair, he doesn’t need you to suffer all the same. the dejected expression on your face pains him to a considerable degree, yet he convinces himself, this is for your own good. 

since then, he avoids you like the plague in hopes that your feelings for him will disperse into flames. you deserve someone better, someone who won’t place you in harm’s way, someone unlike him. out of kindness, you still visit him from time to time while you go and do your daily commissions, but your interaction is heavily tense and an air of discomfort seeps through your gaze. why does his chest hurt as if he was impaled with a knife and so much more when you look at him like that? the thought of breaking down and revealing the truth that he’s also in love with you tempts him eagerly, but his pride and anxiety tides over his desires. 

you, on the other hand, is aware that xiao harbors feelings for you. you discovered this secret of his when you climbed the stairs to the spot on the balcony where he was to surprise him with a greeting, but your ears captured a faint voice in the night breeze and you couldn’t stop yourself from eavesdropping on the little conversation xiao was having with himself. he muttered about “rex lapis”, the fate of liyue, and etc. you were about to leave him to his own devices, but the next words he said stopped you in your tracks. 

“will [name] accept me if i say i love them? probably not, i suppose.” you left before he could spare a glance in your direction and a smile graced your features as you happily walked away. and being the persistent individual that you are, you inquire verr on why he’s acting so cold towards you, desperate to seek the answer you need. “xiao is, as you’re well aware, a yaksha who’s experienced hardships throughout his life, and probably lost loved ones along the way. i’m sure,” she turns to look at the setting sun in melancholy, “he doesn’t want to hurt anyone important to him again.”

you plan ahead of time for the best way to approach him without giving him any chance to escape. unfortunately, this is the only thing you can think of as you place a hand on either side of his head, trapping him between you and the wall. xiao looks at you curiously, devoid of amusement. he crosses his arms and frowns. 

“what are you doing?” your hands twitch and you chew on your bottom lip nervously before you explain yourself.

“i heard from verr why you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder, that you don’t want to hurt anyone important to you, but...” you trail off to blink back the tears threatening to burst. 

“it hurts, when you ignore me like this.” your voice is quiet enough that he needs to step closer to hear you. “it hurts how selfless you are. can’t you be selfish just once? i meant what i said and i’ll say it again. i love you.” 

xiao stammers, at a loss for words, before he starts sniffling and buries himself in your arms, crying out apologies as you stroke the back of his hair and gives a closed-eye smile. “it’s okay, xiao. i’m sorry too, for not realizing how much you’ve been suffering by yourself. you don’t have to carry the burden alone anymore,” you say, looking into his tear-filled eyes, “i will always be here with you, no matter what path you choose to take.” 

“even if that path may eventually hurt you?” he whispers in a cracked voice, fingers curling around your sleeves. you nod. 

“it’s worth the pain as long as i can hold you in my arms, like this.” he chokes out a bitter chuckle and wipes away the glistening tears. 

“i love you too, [name].” 

CHILDE.

the harbinger blinks his cerulean eyes once, then twice, and... you find yourself pulled into his arms, as his lips uplift into a jovial smile. “really? you love me? [name], i had no idea you held such deep admiration for me.” you playfully roll your eyes and chuckle as you wrap your own arms around his body, fondly reciprocating his affection.

he’s the fastest to accept your confession than the other two men. you’d bet he would scamper to where he’s staying at to tell every grain of detail to his adoring relatives. 

he writes letters to his siblings about your daily dates and the progress you two are making in your relationship. they tease him for the most part, but they’re happy that he’s found the love of his life and requests that he bring you along with him on his next visit. childe smiles in relief, content that they accept you already despite never meeting you and he asks you if you’d like to come with him to his home country where you can introduce yourself to his family. without hesitation, you agree instantly, eager to meet the siblings he gushes about. 

snezhnaya is colder than you thought, as you hug yourself to preserve your warmth, even with the layers of clothing wrapped around you. “we’re almost there, [name].” childe notices your trembling and rubs his gloved hands against your back. “sorry, it’s a bit chilly here, but please bear with me.” 

you nod and continue on. when a building enters your field of sight, childe stops and grins shyly at you. “this is the place.” breath materializes in front of you as he gestures for you to head on in. almost immediately are you greeted with a little embrace as a young boy wraps his fingers around your waist and grins up at you. 

“so you’re the one who big brother said he’s in love with? have you kissed before? when is your wedding?” the child bombards you with questions excitedly and a girl has to pull him away from you, tonia, you guess. 

“teucer,” childe scolds gently, a light blush colouring his cheeks, which does not go unnoticed in his siblings’ eyes, unfortunately for him. 

a wedding, huh? seeing the sparkle in your eyes, the laughter in your voice, and the warmth of your touch as you idly chat with his siblings makes him hope, that maybe in the distant future, he’ll brave himself to take the next step to further deepen your relationship, for he wants to be with you always. 

as he tucks away the last sleeping child, childe wanders in to your shared bedroom, surprised you’re still awake. “you really love them a lot, huh childe?” he nods seriously, as you pull him to lie down comfortably into bed. 

“but do you know something else?” his breath tickles your ear as he intertwines his fingers with yours, offering a meek smile. you shake your head and nuzzle closer to him. 

“i love you too, [name].” 

[prep4tomoro]

The year 2020 exposed just how much evil has spread throughout the United States; not just in politics but in the hearts of its citizens. It also proved just how weak and ignorant United States citizens have become toward evil. The radical left politicians, media and their financiers made it possible, using fear, intimidation, manipulation and disinformation, to lead the Sheeple into submission and conformity (forced "social distancing" and wearing of "face diapers") with very little effort. With no backbone to face that evil and no effort to care about how evil was taking over, the sheeple played into the hands of another phase of the radical left's Agenda 21; manipulating the population into doing what they want. And the sheeple are totally willing to live their lives in ignorance and slavery rather than awareness and liberty. In a land of plenty, they bury their heads in the sand; as long as their little world is happy, there's nothing else to see. They are oblivious to the evil creeping in to crush their little world until their liberties are gone and they have no choice but to comply. As Thomas Jefferson said, "When you abandon freedom to achieve security, you lose both and deserve neither".

Sorry, but I am not hopeful for the future of the United States to remain the strong, world-standard it once was. It has become Godless, corrupt and weak in moral character. And, as I watch its destruction taking place before my very eyes, I continue to pray for God to have mercy on us because I love this country for what it was and ask Him to help the U.S. grow a pair in the near future and turn from our wicked ways.

When we trust government to heal all our ills and 'help' us, we turn over our freedoms and liberties to them; we become the sheep and they the wolves. Question the meaning of "safe" when it comes to government involvement. What it usually means is "control" and the loss of personal freedoms and liberties. When "emergency" situations arise, watch for government to take away our liberties in the name of 'controlling' the situation. We The People need to control ourselves and government, and limit government from controlling us.

Governments are out of control because The People gave them too much responsibility to handle things the The People should have dealt with on their own. So, The People must take it back from them. We must do it peacefully (when possible) but forcefully and persistently, otherwise our country is lost to government tyranny from this point forward.

Good people MUST be aware of the evil around them and fight to stop it or it will get a foothold. As Edmund Burke said "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." "Whilst men are linked together, they easily and speedily communicate the alarm of any evil design. They are enabled to fathom it with common counsel, and to oppose it with united strength." "When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle."

There are very few things that government can do as efficiently as the people can do themselves. If government would shut the doors and sneak away for a month, we would never miss them. Don't rely on it to save you. Not only are their methods intrusive, requiring surrender of personal liberties and privacy, but the repayment can be long-lasting and their "solutions" are not targeted to your individual needs and conditions.

When we STOP believing that a crisis is unconquerable and we realize that we know more than the government, we'll begin to realize that governments and media are using a crisis to keep the fear alive and keep us in submission. Only then can we begin to heal our land by eradicating the real diseases; The far left radical extremist governments and mainstream media!

[Reference Link 1] [Reference Link 2] [Reference Link 3] Related Resources: How We Take America Back - American Revolution 2.0 [video] The People's Power in the U. S. Constitution Time for normal people to take back our country A Letter from the American Forefathers: We Warned You! When will the American people revolt and take back our government? When will Americans take back our country from a corrupt government? How The Second Amendment Prevents Tyranny Government's Boss - The TaxPayer

FlushGov Menu - Frequently Change Diapers and Politicians for the Same Reason

[14-Point Emergency Preparedness Checklist] [11-Cs Basic Emergency Kit] [Learn to be More Self-Sufficient] [The Ultimate Preparation] [5six7 Menu]

[bigyack-com]

Artist Marcel Dzama’s on folklores, hybrid characters, and why his art exists in a world of the subconscious - art and culture

Canadian artist, Marcel Dzama’s work raises many questions. For the conscious and the subconscious, the real and the unreal. Where does personal, intimate art exist in the age of digital revolution? Are we still acquainted with the time-honoured fairytales and can we create our own with a pinch of the present realities? Is the representation of nature getting further divided or coming together in the world of art? At the India Art Fair’s12th edition held in Delhi recently, the Canadian-born artist who is known for his fantastical illustrations and hybrid characters that are inspired by day-to-day lives and real events showcased 15 works among which some were made particularly for the fair as part of the David Zwirner’s presentation, one of the leading international galleries in the world in the domain of contemporary art. An admirer of Indian culture and its many elements, Dzama chose themes like Bollywood dancers to regional wildlife for his visual storytelling. One of his works from 2019, ‘A dance can be taken as a manifesto’ depicts a woman dancing while three tigers watch and an eagle hovers above. It makes you think if that’s how nature intended it? A sense of universal celebration across species and definitely, an ode to the innocent territories of imagination. The turbulent oceanic wall titled Flowers of Romance, created by Dzama at the his booth at the Fair where many of these works were hung examined the constant and interrelated rhythm of nature and its beings. One cannot fail to notice Dzama’s tribute to American Artist Jason Polan who died in January early this year.    

Marcel Dzama for David Zwirner at the India Art Fair 2020. ( Mansi Midha ) Dzama rose to prominence in the late 1990s with his representation of mystical narratives inspired by his childhood memories and fantasies, showcasing the delicate relationship between the real and the unreal, in an intricate and powerful way. He poignantly explores the elements of human action and stimulus mostly through erotic, grotesque, aggressive and absurd imagery creating an overlapping world of persistent human, animal and hybrid characters like humans with antlers or trees with hands, speckled with relative motifs. One can see strong influences of Surrealism, Dadaism and Agitprop in his work, bringing elements of reason, individualism, and half-truths and the many social and cultural battles that construct societies across communities. His strong sense of symbolism gives the viewer an open window to interpret the art in their own ways and revisit the deeply buried folktales and many forgotten stories of the past that must echo with our present and the future.

Marcel Dzama for David Zwirner at the India Art Fair 2020. ( Mansi Midha ) In an exclusive interview, artist Marcel Dzama who believes that storytelling and art are one and the same talks about his varied inspirations, the art of storytelling, the multilayered relationship between the real and the subconscious and why drawing continues to be his favourite medium. Excerpts from an exclusive interview: Your new collection goes big on Indian culture that varies from the charm of Bollywood dancers to the many elements of regional wildlife. How did the inspiration come along? -With this new work for the India Art Fair, I referenced a few of the Bollywood films I have seen over the years. Most of the work for the show was influenced by early Indian films that I had seen while living in Winnipeg, Canada. There is a large Indian population there and there were many Indian video stores back in the 90s. I had a few lobby cards I had purchased long ago and a book of movie posters from some Bollywood films from the 1960s. I’ve always loved the choreography and costumes in those films. I read Indian myths, and watched Bollywood films and listened to their soundtracks - mainly those from the 1960s by artists like Mohammad Rafi and Kishore Kumar. I always have some animals appear and I wanted to use animals that would speak to the setting, with cobras and elephants included as part of these new works. Your art narrative holds a special place for fantasies, fairy tales and folk vernacular references. How do you think it affects your work in contemporary space? How do you deal with the juxtaposition? -I like the juxtaposition of mixing high brow and low brow culture. I try not to discriminate between popular culture and intellectual pursuits. Your work looks at the multi-layered and evolving relationship between the real and the subconscious via visual arts. How difficult it is to align the real and the subconscious and what are the related challenges to bring the two worlds together? Do you equate subconscious with ‘unreal’? -I feel that my work exists in a world of the subconscious but is sometimes infiltrated by the real. Whenever I find the news too disturbing or negative, I find that my work gets more political as an exorcism of the news of the day so I’m able to sleep at night. In the times we live in now, reality seems almost more of a farce and absurd than the subconscious. Your narrative has time and again touched upon hybrid characters, often by means of the violent, erotic, grotesque, and absurd. What is your take on the term hybrid and how it impacts your idea of storytelling? -When I was in high school, there was a mentor programme where you would become a teacher’s assistant for the younger kids. I would get the kids in a group and ask two kids what their favourite animals were and draw the two together as a new creature. That might have inspired my first hybrid creature. But throughout mythology, there are many hybrid creatures that I’m fascinated by. You have worked across many mediums, be it puppetry, costumes, illustrations, water colour, sculpture, video among many others. What particular domain remains a favourite and why? -My favourite medium has always been drawing, it is the beginning of all my other projects. Not only is it its own art form, but it also leads to creating the costumes, films and everything else. Do you read as much as you draw? What are you reading currently? -I definitely draw a lot more than I read. I find myself reading in situations where its impossible to draw, like the airport or the subway. I spend at least two hours on the subway in New York each day, so I have been getting a lot of reading done. At the moment I’m reading a biography on William Blake. What’s next?     -I’ve been experimenting with making large pectoral mosaics & a secret project is coming soon from that.  I’ll be doing a New York show with David Zwirner which will feature some collaborations with Raymond Pettibon and Amy Sedaris, as well as a musical collaboration with Will Butler from the band Arcade Fire. Will and I might try to make it soundtrack vinyl record for A Flower of Evil, so I guess I’ll be doing an album cover for that. But no others that I know of yet. Follow more stories on Facebook and Twitter Read the full article

[larryland]

As a former librarian, I  am almost always wont to pronounce “the book was better” or “read the book” when presented with a film or stage adaptation of a printed or published work. And like thousands of readers, I devoured E.L. Doctrow’s best seller of 1975 and extolled its virtues to anyone looking for the next best read. Something about the story of 3 American families, of white, black, and Jewish heritage, clearly resonated with a large segment of the population who kept the title on many a best seller list for many a week.

  Now, having been absolutely gobsmacked by the Mac-Haydn’s premiere presentation of Ragtime: The Musical, I may be forced to revise my position on the superiority of the printed word and grant that a live theatre production quite possibly can, and in the case of the Mac’s production, does exceed the published work.  Earlier this season, I predicted Sunset Boulevard would be the Crown Jewel of their season, and without taking away any of the accolades justly due that production, Ragtime has usurped the throne, and takes the crown for its own.

   In any format, Ragtime is a work of epic proportion.  Its dichotomous themes of rich and poor, tolerance and prejudice, reality and illusion, justice and revenge, are no less timely, thought-provoking, and occasionally may I say disturbing, today than they were in both 1975 and during the early 20th century period of America in which the work is set. Consequently any production calls for big sets, big music,  and most importantly big performances. With its first-ever presentation of Ragtime, Mac-Haydn delivers on every level. With directorial skill as magical as the  escapes and feats “performed” by Harry Houdini throughout the show, John Saunders has outdone himself with a production that entrances, entertains, intrigues, and even occasionally disturbs the audience. 

  Even without the gift of foresight or precognition, you know that as the first notes of  ragtime music swirl through the theatre, the lives and fortunes of the characters are destined to collide, clash, and eventually coalesce.  For just under 3 hours, the audience will watch the weaving of a tapestry that represents the melting pot of America, home to the complacent, well-off white upper class as well as including, initially on the fringes, the African American population of Harlem.  This America is also a point of light shining in the distance, serving as beacon for the immigrants seeking a new and better life for the, and the children they bring with them.

  “Prologue—Ragtime” presages the journey and the conflicts to come, as 3 seemingly disparate groups present themselves for our attention. With a swirling, circular rhythm, the stage fills with characters sharing the same space but not (yet) entwined and intermingled.  Literally into the spotlight appear the white upper-crust and upper -class New Rochelle family of Mother, Father, Younger Brother, Grandfather and Little Boy, multiple citizens of Harlem led by the talented ragtime musician Coalhouse Walker Jr , and the Jewish immigrant Tateh and his Little Girl daughter who reach the shores of American seeking a life better than the one they left behind.   Sprinkled throughout the opening are historical figures of the time: Harry Houdini..Booker T. Washington….J.P. Morgan….Emma Goldman…Henry Ford.. . Evelyn Nesbit…all of whom will enter the lives and dreams of the main characters , forcing them to connect, clash, unite and otherwise engage with each other with consequences sometimes joyful, sometimes tragic, but always mirroring the rippling movement of promise and progress sweeping the country.           

  And so.next, we begin to learn more about the principle players of the piece.   As “Mother, “ Rachel Rhodes-Devey gives a beautiful portrayal of a woman who transforms from the dutiful, early 20th century Stepford wife shackled to home and hearth,  to a woman not only discovering her place in the world–and her right to it—but defining   her identity and self-worth and strength as an individual—with no man required. Fortunately for plot and character development, “Father” heads off on a expedition with Admiral Peary to the North Pole as both the show and the century begin.

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When Mother discovers a newborn black baby “buried” in her garden, she starts down the path to enlightenment as she ponders “What Kind of Woman” would deal with such a find. With a vocal performance capturing every nuance of the struggle Mother faces, Rhodes-Devey brings veracity and depth to the role, as she gives beautiful true voice to her journey . From an initial sense of panic and desperation as she struggles to cope without a husband to guide her, to the realization that she is fully capable of making the decision to take the child, and his mother Sarah, into her home and eventually her heart, Rhodes-Devey’s Mother epitomizes the “coming of age” of many a white woman of the time.  Throughout the show, singular moments capture her growing awareness of both the rights and wrongs in her world —the white woman defiantly clutching a black baby literally to her heart, offering a black man not only entry to her home but sharing a glass of tea with him, sharing a conversation with an immigrant stranger to make up for her son Little Boy’s initial appalling lack of manners. She combines an almost ethereal fragility with a soon-to-be-discovered spine of steel. All Rhodes-Devey’s numbers throughout the show are strong, pure, and moving, but perhaps none more so than her paean to embracing her freedom as a free-thinking woman with the riveting “Back to Before” , delivering this ultimate declaration of independence and proclamation of emancipation with true star power, pathos and passion.

  As Coalhouse Walker, Jr.–Harlem musician, father of Sarah’s baby, and passionate suitor determined to win back his Sarah, Tyrell Reggins steps onto the stage with all the majestic, dignified presence the role demands, and matches it with a voice that echoes off the rafters of the Mac’s barn-cum-theatre. The sheer joy with which he offers up “His name was Coalhouse Walker” and “Getting Ready Rag” has not only the cast but the audience stomping their feet, clapping hands, and swiveling their hips to the “new” ragtime music. 

  As Coalhouse pursues, persists and ultimately triumphs in his determination to attain his heart’s desire –the love of the  beautiful Sarah– Reggins seems to physically grow in stature and in presence, as he swells with pride over his good fortune. “Wheels of a Dream”, his duet with Sarah, as the two reunited lovers share their hopes for their future together with their son, at the dawn of  new century of promise, provides a signature moment in any production, and Reggins and Maya Cuevas make this number their own.

       Sadly, that  longed-for future is not be realized, and the dream is shattered too soon. Not only does Coalhouse suffer more mockery, scorn, racial injustice and derision at the hands of Emerald Isle fireman, whom he has previously encountered during his search and courting of Sarah in the virtually “white-only” neighborhood of New Rochelle, but his beloved  Model T car is destroyed by the firehouse gang led and egged on by the bigoted Will Conklin. Conklin, outraged that a black man should own and drive his own car, spews a vitriolic diatribe liberally laced with “the N word” before destroying Coalhouse’s pride and joy. The loss not just of his car, but of any shred of respect and dignity to which he is humanly and humanely entitled spurs Coalhouse to his own levels of outrage, vowing to find “Justice” but alas, the system has none to offer him. Watching Reggins begin to seethe and swell with outrage for the way he, as a black man, is being mistreated and virtually denied justice or attention of any kind, is heartbreaking and chilling. His demeanor, his carriage, his facial expressions all mirror the growing anger and despair that  ultimately will lead him to a violent end.

  And  then, as might be expected–tragedy strikes.  Sarah, determined to help right the wrongs perpetrated against Coalhouse,  is mistaken , by J.P. Morgan, no less, for a would-be assassin at a political campaign rally…and is beaten to death. There was more than one audible gasp from the house at the graphically-staged moment, which I chose to interpret as a sign that  “they get it”– a moment the audience had total injustice and inequality and tragedy thrust upon them just as harshly and unfairly and strongly as it is for Sarah, and Coalhouse, and all the members of the Black community. As Act 1 concludes, that community mourns Sarah’s loss, and express their common grief and anger with a haunting, heart-rending  “Till we reach that day” lament that leaves the audience in momentary silence as the lights fade to total darkness. 

    Coalhouse  is left a bereaved, bitter, enraged man now bent on gaining revenge under the guise of justice for the losses he has suffered, and he resorts to violence and terror in the New Rochelle community where Mother has taken Sarah’s child into her home. Reggins brings Coalhouse’s rage to the fore with ever-increasing intensity, until a series of choices leads him to  a last-ditch desperate effort to find justice for Sarah by taking over J.P. Morgan’s library. Thanks to the oratorical efforts of Booker T. Washington, played with conviction and a believable earnestness by William Taitel, Coalhouse comes to the realization that continued violence will do nothing to advance the cause of justice and equality, and moreover, is not the legacy he wants to leave his son.  His final instructions to his supporters, who have joined him in his quest for revenge and justice, is “Make Them Hear you,”. Not a false note comes from this impressive performer throughout the show, but from the depths of his soul comes this final gut-wrenching plea that rivals the high bar set by Brian Stokes Mitchell, the original Coalhouse Walker in the Broadway production. As the last notes fade, Coalhouse walks out to face his fate with the same dignity and personal pride he brought to the Tempo Club in Harlem where we were first introduced.

  Maya Cuevas is a Sarah entirely deserving of Coalhouse’s devotion and commitment.  This is a role that demands a performer who can not only hold her own with the vocal numbers, but can bring Sarah to life with virtually no dialogue.  Cuevas has the gift. While there is not a miscast role in this production, or less than fully-committed performance, in Cuevos surely we see the break-out star of the season.  Her Sarah is by turns broken, poignant, desperate, heartbreaking, defiant, joyous and enraged, and she plays out each emotion with skill and subtlety. And her vocals…. Oh, her vocals !  “Your Daddy’s son” held the opening night audience in thrall, as she gave glorious voice to the anguish, pain, despair and torment of a woman forced to make a terrible choice. As previously mentioned, she matches Reggins note for note in “ Wheels of a Dream.”   Audra McDonald, Broadway’s original Sarah, would be proud.

According to Cuevos’ program bio, she is “Expected” to graduate from the Hartt School in 2020, and I would expect that the ONLY possible reason she might not achieve that distinction would be if she were recruited for a regional or touring company before collecting her diploma. Let’s hope she becomes a returning artist at the Mac for many a year to come.

  Mac-Haydn perennial favourite, and admittedly a personal one as well, Gabe Belyeu adds another remarkable performance to his repertoire as Tateh, the Jewish immigrant and fiercely protective father of Little Girl, whose rise from a simple seller of silhouettes to maker of movies reflects a rags to riches story dreamt of by so many immigrants as they made their way to America. Periodically crossing paths with Mother, Tateh is caught up in pivotal moments in history, experiencing labor strikes, racial injustice, violence and ultimately articulating his own American dream when he and Mother acknowledge their friendship turning to more in the lovely “Our Children.” 

Belyeu always delivers solid, defined and personalized performances, taking a character and giving it his own unique style. In Ragtime, his interactions with Clementine Kline, as the Little Girl, aka Tateh’s daughter, are charming and heartfelt; he plays the fiercely protective father with aplomb and a real sense of care for the No Name child he cherishes. As the up and coming—and entirely self-created–moviemaker Baron Ashkenazy, Belyeu delights in romping through “Buffalo Nickel Photoplay Inc” , bringing a much needed touch of humor and lightness to the increasingly dark and heavy moments played out on stage.

In essential supporting roles, Steve Hassmer as Father, Julie Galorenzo as the anarchist and political activist Emma Goldman, and Kylan Ross as Younger Brother all have their moments crucial to the plot, and each perform their role with assurance and veracity. As Little Boy/Edgar, 11 year old Paxton Brownell takes the stage with the assurance of a veteran performer, and Clementine Kline plays her Little Girl role so well that you desperately want to reach out yourself and take her to a safe, warm home full of promise and love. Fortunately Tateh will ultimately provide that very dream for her.

  Mac-Haydn notes that for this first-ever production of Ragtime, they have assembled the largest biggest cast ion its in-the-round stage, and without exception, this is a cast in its entirety that clearly not only recognizes the significance  of the subject matters it addresses, but gives each and every moment and number the reverence and respect they deserve. Particularly effective in their roles are William Taitel as the activist Booker T. Washington, striving to bring the voice of reason into increasingly unreasonable situations, and Sarah Kawalek as Evelyn Nesbit, the “Girl on the Swing” who was thrust, or more accurately thrust herself, into notoriety following the “Crime of the Century” when her husband murdered her wealthy lover. As Harry Houdini, Andrew Burton Kelley appears in and out of the chains he magically unfetters; his connection with Little Boy adds intriguing moments of prescience and mysticism.

Sebastiano Romagnolo choreographs for Ragtime, and once again he continues to put his signature style on full and brilliant display.  From the foot-stomping, jubilant ragtime musical numbers to the rally-turned riot “The Night that Emma Goldman spoke at Union Square”  and everything in-between, Romagnolo puts this huge, youthful cast through their paces with precision and perfection. Every dance step, every hand gesture, every turn and movement is as sharp, as soft, as fluid, as it should be. At times the round stage pulses and pounds and throbs, almost threatening to burst or collapse from the movement, but  that only adds to the authenticity of the piece, reflecting the swelling population pounding the pavements, strolling the beaches, and otherwise inserting themselves into the new family portrait of America.

Jimm Halliday has costumed the show to perfection, and with a cast as large as this, and with the almost uncountable costume changes as the ensemble doubles, triples and probably even quadruples in portraying the assortment of supporting characters, that is no mean feat. Every costume is as unique as the character who wears it, and yet Halliday creates a cohesive  and authentic look for the entire production. From the opening number onward, Halliday’s deft hand with fashion and period costuming is on display in all its deserving glory. The light, ethereal, airy costuming in tones of white and softest lace and linen perfectly captures the soon-to-be shattered innocence of the New Rochelle suburbanites, while the Harlem dwellers in  red and black tones personify the pulsing, tinkling notes of the new Ragtime music taking hold. The opening of Act 2 is a lovely nod, or homage, to the classic Bob Mackie style, with variations of black and white making a statement as much about the changing racial climate as about fashion choices. 

On a technical side note….given the rapidity and frequency with which characters enter and exit, one can’t help but wonder how many dressers may be lurking behind the scenes to assist with the costume changes. A shout-out to those unsung heroes…

Matthew Oliver’s hair and make-up design also strikes perfect notes, again not an easy task with so many cast members requiring so many specialized looks to capture the essence of the characters.

While its themes of discrimination, prejudice, intolerance, injustice make it almost uncomfortable to watch at times, this a glorious production in every respect, and deserves the attention and the applause of a full house for every performance. It is perhaps a consummation devoutly to be wished that certain of our current national leaders and those in positions of leadership and policy could be exposed to the power of this production of Ragtime, in hopes they would learn and heed the lessons so powerfully and forcefully portrayed. Frankly, we are perhaps all the better for having our complacency a little shaken, our norms a little questioned, our darker side a little exposed, delivered in the guise of a stunning musical experience.

Ragtime with book by Terrance McNally, music by Stephen Flaherty and lyrics by Lynne Aherns continues at the Mac-Haydn Theatre  from July 25 through August 4. Directed by Producing Artistic Director John Saunders, choreography by Sebastiani Romagnolo, music direction by David Maglione. costumes by Jim Halliday, scenic and lighting design Andrew Gmoser. Sound design by Corbin White, hair and make-up design Matthew Oliver. CAST: Rachel Rhodes-Devey as Mother, Tyrell Reggins as Coalhouse Walker, Jr., Maya Cuevas as Sarah, Gabe Belyeu as Tateh, Kylan Ross as Younger Brother, Steve Hassmer as Father, Clementine Kline as  The Little Girl, Paxton Brownell as The Little Boy, William Taitel as Booker T. Washington, Sarah Kawalek as Evelyn Nesbit, Andrew Burton Kelley as Harry Houdini, Julie Galorenzo as Emma Goldman. The show runs 2 hours and 45 minutes with 1intermission.

REVIEW: “Ragtime” at the Mac-Haydn Theatre As a former librarian, I  am almost always wont to pronounce “the book was better” or “read the book” when presented with a film or stage adaptation of a printed or published work.

[lindseyleeblog]

In every passing moment and with every passing day, we are living through historical moments.  History is never a static, distant & fleeting past disassociated from the present moment, a relic from another time and place. Rather, it is intimately connected to the present moment — the here & now. 

We are all very much a part and parcel of living history. Actors of History & enactors of Antiquity, a product of its linear discourse and narratives. The word historia originated from the Greek language, and can now be defined as the study of past events, particularly with respect to human affairs. More accurately, we can understand history as the continuous chronological record of important or public events, particular trends or institutions. Many remain wholly unaware of the ways in which our past dictates and defines the nature of who we are and where we find ourselves within the context of time and space in a circulatory progression. At this critical intersection of history, more than ever now, it is of vital importance that we begin to collectively examine what has taken place throughout the history of the United States’ cultural, national, and violent colonialist narratives that has come to be defined as the American Experience.

We must begin to recognize, reckon, wrestle, and dismantle the dominant and oppressive structures of Western androcentric histories, and how it continues to inform the current political, social, economic, and environmental climate we all find ourselves engaged with. Today I will trace some of those histories through my own experiences as a Girl & Woman. How I came to understand & define my Femme identity in subversion to patriarchal constructions of femininity through an Intersectional Feminist lens & critical consciousness.

Growing up and coming of age in Los Angeles, I had a particular distaste for history as it was taught in schools. I could never fully appreciate the value of learning about the circumstances of monarchs, epochal enterprises, and nation building eras far removed from my own reality. I was particularly disillusioned about patriotic narratives surrounding the conversation of the “Founding Fathers” who had mapped out the Constitutional blueprint of what was hoped to be a great nation, a beacon of democracy, plurality, representation, and freedom. Of course we now take it for granted that those men were only a small handful of white land-owning males entitled to the protection of their rights, privileges, and wealth through the restriction, control, and violation of those who profiled outside their make & model.

State funded public schools deposited a wealth of misrepresented, if not altogether false, histories into our heads, assimilating students into a culture of half-truths and unspoken crimes. Not dissimilar to the Federal boarding schools instituted by the Bureau of Indian Affairs in the 18th century, classrooms served as sites of national indoctrination, pushing imperialist propaganda dressed up & parading as democratic idealism.

Back then it could hardly have been said that I was a star student. I didn’t take direction very well outside of my own intuition, and developed a predilection for back talk. It was not in my character to sit silently still among crowds of apathetic bystanders, to be bullied into submission. I wanted to be ahead of the curve, up on my feet & doing something, making noise, and creating a stir in the streets. I wanted to be part of a living movement, an alternative conversation taking place beneath the static pitch of mainstream white noise.

In the years after the Twin Towers collapsed in smoke & fire, twisted steel & stolen humanity, schools began to assert a noticeably more aggressive curriculum favoring militaristic nationalism, state authority, and the will to power over. Manifest Destiny sowed feverish paranoia over the continent, and in its wake gave license to fear mongering, phobias, and rhetorics of terror. Marginalized and disenfranchised communities were targeted for systemic discrimination, having been marked by racial, cultural, and sexual identifiers. Mass media & fake news organizations propagated stereotypical representations at best, and overtly racist, sexist, homo & xenophobic, religious intolerance at its very worst.  An instinctive human resistance to challenge the social conditions began to take root within my identity, and I began to build walls to protect myself against the inevitable pitfalls of patriotic groupthink. 

In order to get out of the public school system alive with any sort of individuality, integrity, and character, it was absolutely necessary to interrogate everything I had ever been told, taught, learned, and heard. Everything from holiday celebrations, religious doctrine, to gender socialization, national identity, and cultural heritage. It was all up for review, and the only way to question it was to live it. So I rebelled. I questioned & witnessed the abuses of authority. In time with practice, patience & persistence, it became a lifestyle choice.

My parents would have then told you I was a terrorist on the last threads of their sanity, even though I had never once carried an automatic firearm into a school classroom, church, or theatre. Never once did I stay awake building bombs, planning strategies of attack, and sabotage. Rather, I took to pen & paper, stayed Woke for hours into the night reading books, developing ideas, writing essays & stories to recover any sense of universal and fundamental truth that had been buried among the ashes. I shared in diverse dialogue & lively debate with others & built community with people from school & work. We were budding Feminists then, only we had no name or term to theorize what we were putting into action. 

Yet that is the risk that the Rebel takes on when engaging in revolutionary struggle, challenging authority, and critiquing systems of oppressive power. People begin to miscategorize your character, judge & infringe upon personal rights & values, slander reputations, and disrespect active commitments to social justice. I can tell you now after walking a road of resistance for the better part of my life, that the struggle and the risk is always worth it.

For some odd years in my teens and twenties, I made my way through retail corporations and financial institutions, observing and learning social structures of capitalist consumerism. In order to know the enemy better, I had to first become it. And so I entered the labyrinth of the Dragon, and in return received a paltry hourly paycheck, and professional work experience that doesn’t necessarily get my resumé reviewed for consideration.

Shopping is in itself is a social experience. We come together in a store, a mall, a business or boutique, and collectively spend money. We’re all familiar with corporate holidays of Black Friday, Valentine’s Day, Memorial & Veteran’s day blowout sales. It simply provides another opportunity to get the greatest value possible for our dollars & stretch our pennies for every last cent. And yet there is never enough change for the Veteran on the corner holding out a cup & a sign for aid. 

Over those years I learned the art of organizing, welcoming people into browse, try different looks & ideas on, and telling guests a story about a product in the hopes that someone might buy it & part with their money in exchange. Of course my colleagues & I didn’t earn commission on our sales, and therefore did not barter or trade in an economy of competition. We were there to assist the customer, and to support one another. We built strong coalitions & friendships in those open markets of commerce, trading in experiences, personal identities, and dreams of a different ecology outside of our mundane material existence.

Everybody loves money. We love to have it, and when we don’t, it can drive us to desperation. For many years I had believed that cash wealth was meant to be spent in order to do good in the world. That it could buy experiences & create an image of material fortune, even if the complete opposite was true. It was only when I began to follow the trail of money & study federal systems of the U.S. Treasury, I was able to uncover the ideologies it supported, the wars it funded, and the histories it worked so hard to conceal. Behaviors of greed, self-interest, and human waste became abundantly evident. It was a system that took without recognizing the source of its origin, the stolen labor that had gone into its production, and dissociated from its intrinsic value. It was an institution of fraud,  finite in its resources, completely unsustainable, and deeply irresponsible.

Of course because I was part of the culture of materialism, I was unconsciously complicit. I shopped, therefore I was, bought clothes that wore out of style in a matter of months, and ran up my credit when I should have been building my savings. In direct contradiction with my own spiritual compass, I had expended all my energy into a system of excess that exploited the labor of its workforce. It was necessary to work the system where I could & break it open for the people who would come after.

I placed a great deal on the line for myself, my friends, family, and community. While I didn’t intellectually understand it then, I was part of a youth movement challenging clichés surrounding women’s sexuality, and puritanical expectations on how a young Lady is meant to behave. Again, I rebelled and found myself at home & comfortable with a diverse collective of unique trailblazing companions pioneering on the forefront of gender nonconformity.

We were proud of our bodies. We reveled in succulent skins, and honored our youth like it was going out of style, rotting on the vines of time. Still, too many of us were suffocating under the clout of toxic hyper-masculinity, materiality & superficialities. We were breathing in an invisible and highly contractible social disease of advertised self-hate, drowning in pools of alcohol, pills, and media distortion. Everywhere we turned & lifted our eyes, we were met with derogatory stereotypes on billboards selling female sexuality, fetishizing European beauty standards for the consumption of millions. Simultaneously, women’s bodies were sterilized by hypocritical double standards that condemned and neutralized Feminine sexual power.

For those who could afford to, we numbed ourselves with pharmaceuticals so as not to feel the surgical stings of everyday microaggressions & unwelcome sermons on the shape, curve, and transgressive nature of our Holy Flesh. Everyday we were on display, animate mannequins strategically placed behind plexiglass protection. Not unlike the luxury handbags, jewelry, and cosmetics we sold, Women were likewise marketed to the public as though we were still chattel, merchandise on auction blocks, and real-estate property.

At any moment in time, we could assume that we were being monitored by security cameras, recorded, and watched by some outside omnipresent source. Being under the watchful eye of constant surveillance became so pervasive, saturated, and normalized within our daily networks of routine, that their presence nearly became invisible. As a society we have altogether become blind to the ways in which we participate in our own mass surveillance, documentation, incarceration, and control. In resisting the system, we made it a point to look back into the lens of observation that had begun with increasing alarm to invade our privacy. As if they were entitled to our images, state authorities hacked our identities, stole a fortune of personal information without written or informed consent, and infringed upon American Civil Liberties.

No matter if making the rounds at work or walking the streets of the city, our bodies were gawked at & commented on in public denigrations disguised as flirtatious compliments. Street and work place harassment were regular as they were interconnected. I had imagined that racism & sexism were both relics of an archaic good old boys network. In reflection, I realize now we were struggling to find the light in a predatory culture that trafficked in the objectification of women, demoralizing & dehumanizing them within the psychic & physical shames of having been born girl.

It was then, in a state of transition from girlhood, we learned that a lesser value had been placed on our body of work than those of our male counterparts. A premium on our faces, a price on our reproductive labor, and a war waged on the sacred lands of the Divine Feminine. Women learned intimately that we were being measured and weighed. We understood that in order to survive we would have to band together and support one another, nurture & celebrate individual gifts & talents, while recognizing the shared power of our collective truth.

We learned the ways in which society worked to pit us against one another in competition for male admiration, recognition, and respect. Had we known then the extent of the gendered pay gap, we would have been organizing for equal protection and rights under the law, against gender discrimination, and sexual harassment.

Trapped behind the glass cages of teller windows and armored vehicles delivering the exchange of currency, it was through our hands, Women’s hands, that the wealth of nations passed from one financier to another. We were models, distractions, parading from one end of the line to the vaults where we stored our greatest treasures and commodities. Wars on terrorism, drugs, and poverty were played out on theatre screens of mass hypnosis & control, while a culture of state-sanctioned violence permeated into the social collective conscious of good tax-paying citizens. What was less transparent were the ways in which man’s intergenerational wars played out on the body politic & autonomous rights of Women. Landscapes of pristine & unspoiled beauty were exploited through histories of ecological control through rape, violent domestic assault, and white settler colonialist narratives of divide & conquer. 

Understanding the full comprehensive history of what has come to pass, we can all recognize the inequities of federal, state, and local legislative policies. They are as contradictory as they are dangerous in their parallel representations of reality that relinquish no accountability for systemic genocide, sexual extortion, reproductive exploitation, mass incarceration, and crimes against humanity. In subversion to a culture of violence and mass surveillance, I call on everyone to examine systems of oppression, organize, and challenge white supremacist capitalist patriarchal gaze with an even greater power of the Feminine Gaze. We must again begin to work collectively in remembering who we all are, where we have come from herstorically through time to arrive here in the present moment.

  Women’s personal autonomy and reproductive rights are always on the line, up for attack, and negotiation. Women continue to be paid an average of 80 cents to the man’s dollar, 64 cents for Black Women, and 54 cents for Chicana mujeres. Adjusting for the rate of inflation and accrued interest over time, it would take another 45 years into the future to reach full parity, 2059. We can no longer afford to wait patiently for something that we have already earned through sacrifice, dedication, and persistence. We must demand & insist on our full humanity, and march to protect our Constitutional Rights. We must channel the Revolutionary Abolitionist spirit of General Harriet Tubman. In the trenches of antebellum slavery, she lit a candle to lead us through a network of safe houses of the Underground Railroad, liberating thousands from bondage. We must organize in the courage & resolve of Alice Paul, a Suffragist for Women Rights. Nearly a century ago, she crafted the Equal Rights Amendment that would guarantee Women the full rights and protections of the Constitution from discriminations on the basis of sex & gender.

Coming full circle, we must pick up the heavy work of decolonizing our minds and imagination outside & beyond the constructed falsehoods of white supremacist, capitalist, and patriarchal narratives. We must work to deconstruct systems of racial, sexual, and cultural oppression, divest from mass incarceration & surveillance through media & technology. Reinvest in the creation of a world that is fundamentally equal, sustainable, and free in pursuit of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuits of Happiness. Recover your Feminist Herstory.  Uncover the stories distorted by media, erased from textbooks, and destroyed by colonialist design. Define your Truth.

Hashtag #SayHerName #GirlGaze #Herstory #RebelGirl

  Behind the Glass Walls of History: A Herstory In every passing moment and with every passing day, we are living through historical moments.  History is never a static, distant & fleeting past disassociated from the present moment, a relic from another time and place.