Battle of the Sexes II

The era of philanthropism is not behind us just yet, and supporting evidence of my claim came in form of my newfound friend Diana at the Orlando Ballet Saturday night for the presentation of Battle of the Sexes II. On a whim I had decided to attend the ballet, and thirty minutes before the start of the performance I found myself parked illegally in a poorly illuminated backstreet lot and standing in an extensive line praying for any stray remaining tickets.
I met Diana when she approached me and offered me one of the season tickets she had purchased with her friend, who was ill and unable to redeem her seat for the show. Naturally I leapt at the chance to accept her altruistic proposal and she ushered me inside to the orchestra pit, where we discussed art, school and personal interests until the curtain rose on a sensually rich display of light, color and movement.
Diana truly came to my rescue, because knowing now what I would have sacrificed by foregoing the ballet that evening, I am certain I have advanced my understanding of the mastery of the art by watching the dancers perform.
The control in which several few exemplary dancers commanded their every movement aroused a visceral awe in me. In some moments it was as if the laws of physics materialized into unseen pegs in the contemporary musical beat from which the dancers leapt, propelling themselves into extraordinary inversions that seemed to depart from the natural realm of somatic capability.
The wire of energy between the dancers was taut, and inspired an increasingly centripetal pattern of movement in the exchange of their actions. The tenor of the interactions changed discursively in response to the amalgamation of different couplings, and was coaxed by the distinguished hues of the stage lighting and the tonality of the driving musical composition. Through the unity in motion of the dancers, the audience was lured into an investigation of gender roles by virtue of both the differentiation and duality of the partners on stage.
The Orlando ballet doesn’t amount the sizable audience of which it is deserving, and after witnessing the sheer talent offered in Battle of the Sexes II, I was forced to question the validity of this reality. The unaddressed dejection in Diana’s voice when we discussed the matter was one that resonated. Here was a woman that took the greatest pleasure in sitting in front of a stage before a ballet recital, outwardly expressing her concern for the neglect of her cherished performance art.
Where is the rest of the culture in Orlando that feels as emphatically passionate about art? The success of ArtsFest is indisputable evidence that a niche of sophisticates exists, but where do they go during the rest of the year? Why is there not a resurgence of this mutual identity of Orlando residents on more than just one ten-day annual festival? Why can’t the ArtsFest rush be expanded into a steady flow of artisanship that flourishes daily?
Orlando is one of the fastest growing cities in the state of Florida, and accompanied by this knowledge I raise the question contemplating the future of our city. In the infantile stages of development in the academic region of East Orlando at the University of Central Florida, and in a constant state of growth in the business district, the downtown and Colonialtown, at what point will Orlando make The Arts a priority?
A movement is afoot through the efforts of UnitedArts of Central Florida, but the participation of the enthusiasts of art is integral to the ultimate success of establishing Orlando as a city not characterized by business and tourism alone, but additionally as a cradle for artists and those of us who love and support them.
The arts underpin our society in Central Florida, regardless of whether or not this truth is immediately apparent. What remains to be seen is how we as residents take on the responsibility of entrepreneurs and curators and performers and connoisseurs, and begin expanding the reaches of the budding artistic faction in our area. The Arts of Central Florida are not of an idle nature, nor should we be, and with all of the facets of artistry at our disposal and yearning for recognition, it is incumbent of us, as devoted members of Central Florida, to promote and encourage the enhancement of appreciation of The Arts at home.


A very special thanks to Diana, who made attending this event possible for me.

Clouds of Love

Steinway & Sons Piano Gallery was buzzing with excitement in anticipation of a special Valentines Day presentation by Clouds in My Coffee called "Clouds of Love", an intimate concert characterized by the velvety voices of performers such as MoZaic and Danny Cassette among a multitude of others.
The heightened romantic sensitivity of the crowd swooned at the sweet, coaxing melodies shaped by the live band onstage, and the musical pieces offered for the pleasure of the listeners pronounced the unabashed romanticism alive within the crowd.
MoZaic delivered a beautiful performance in a voice that mutually gripped and softly enticed the audience into a state of eager yearning that radiated perceptibly from the edge of each of their seats. The connection between the artists who possessed the stage and the ones who obtained the satisfaction from the performance was easily observable, and the exchange of passion from both parties permeated the room with a warm bliss that was stroked by the hum of the electric instruments, the embrace of the hot, reaching lights and the soft caress of the diminished burbles of conversation.
The arts catered yet again to the venture of advancing human happiness, as this was a perfect arena for the celebration of the holiday of love.

Fine Feathers: How the Peacock Came to Winter Park

peacock (ˈpiːˌkɒk); scientific name : "Pavo cristatus"


Doubtless if you’re lived in Central Florida for more than a year, you’ve become uncomfortably aware of the strange forlorn bird calls that are synonymous with the Peacock. Naturally this raises a lot of questions, for example, ‘where did these birds come from?’ , perhaps, ‘why are there peacocks on my roof?’, and possibly even, ‘why am I pitted with the added responsibility of fretting about my cat hunting peacocks?’.

As a disclaimer, some of the preceding questions may remain forever unrequited.

However, for the more generalized subsumption of peacock-related information into your presumably extensive library of knowledge about this colorful bird, a visit to the Winter Park History Center could satisfy a generous amount of inquiries and concerns related to this magnificent creature.
The vivid and family-friendly exhibition by the History Center is just as fulfilling as a trip to the zoo, and the installation of several peacock-inspired folk art pieces throughout the gala provides some insight into the effect of our fowl neighbors on the community of artists at large.

Anne Frank and Me

Anne Frank and Me arrived with implications of a playful, educational and family-friendly undertone during its first act. The interactive play capped the quiet mumble of the crowd with a staccato of action between heroine Nicole and her younger sister in the midst of a sibling kerfuffle, the type of emotionally-heightened altercation with which parents of multiple teenagers are doubtless well-acquainted.
I was skeptical at first, because the roles of the characters seemed too exaggerated, too brazen, to really allow for an atmosphere that catered to anyone outside of the high school age bracket. It provided the illusion of simplicity with the manor in which it approached the subject of WWII. But the essence of flippancy quickly unraveled when the curtain rose on the second act.
The tone of the play shifts dramatically from the initial banality of adolescent quandaries to a somber, palpable apprehension that permeates the stage, and suddenly we find that Nicole is forced to suppress her bubbly, candid habits in favor of an adult sensibility that is necessary to navigate her new environment: a tangent universe set in the Paris of 1942.
The grim atmosphere is immediately discernible, and hangs on every breath and gesture of the characters to the point where the belly of every exchange, though underpinned by a steadily maintained burble of hope, seems almost serrated, as if the delivery of every line is unbearable- a vocalized admission of the largely unaddressed hardship faced by every character.
I briefly considered visiting the Holocaust museum during these ten days of ArtsFest, but I decided against it, in large because I could not bring myself to deliver a pithy, diluted summary about a memorial for arguably the most horrific event in the history of the industrialized world. When I attended Anne Frank and Me, I did not enter the theater with the expectation of departing the performance with tears in my eyes, and I was taken aback by the level at which it affected me. But what Anne Frank and Me delivers is a sincere approach to an indescribably heinous period in time, and compacts the subject into a performance art piece that is capable of recapitulating the tragedy of The Holocaust in the way that no assortment of written words could, or should, ever match. Because when we see the pains of humans transcend time and solidify into a form of art- whether it be painting, sculpting, dance or theater- we find that it is possible to examine a commonality of mankind with earnestness, without compromising the nature of the subject matter, while concurrently emboldening the statement with an element of humanity that no other human construct is able to exemplify.

Central Florida Regional History Center

The faithful patrons of the greater Orlando area are well aware that their City Beautiful is not characterized by mouse ears alone, despite everything the airports, grocery stores and google searches of “Orlando, FL” may imply. As for the tourists who are altogether unfamiliar with the charm provided by the extenuating districts in the region, one can only hope that those visiting our city are at least minimally disenchanted by the stretch of pseudo-“entertainment” that constitutes International Drive.

So for those of us who know that Orlando exists in greater depth than the grinning costumed characters parading around Disney next door, be glad for such exhibits as the Orange County Regional History Center that is offering free admission to all of its displays as a part of these 10 Days of ArtsFest.

From the lobby, peering up through a layered collection of cartoonized historical factoids is enough to draw in a younger crowd, and as for the older generations, each succeeding floor offers an extensive collection of material, each piece conducive to the appreciation of Orlando’s rich history, and gathered by virtue of the museum’s continuously developing labor of love.

The glass cases preserve countless trinkets and memorabilia, attained through the museum’s laborious effort to locate and re-appropriate each piece individually from the homes of previous owners. Some, such as bayonets and family portraits, attest to Florida’s dominant role during the Civil War, and still others prod even deeper into the dark, primordial recesses of Central Floridian history, exploring the eclectic birth of Orlando as a cultural hotspot and tourist destination even before the inevitable monopolization of the area by Disney and Universal Studios.

What the Orange County Regional History Center really has to offer is a comprehensive defense for the true identity of Orlando, one dissociated from the entertainment empire and theme parks that, however enjoyable, don’t serve as an accurate depiction of the ethnic roots from whose influence modern Floridian culture continues to draw.

The History Center provides much needed punctuation in the continuous stream of advertisements promoting the commercialized entertainment industry that has become synonymous with Central Florida, offering residents a relief permanently embossed in the documented experiences of real people, encountering real, historically pivotal conditions, who emerged to cultivate the admirable nature of Central Florida- one accentuated by organic art and artists- that is Central Florida we know to be real.

An Evening of Thunder

It was back to Stardust last night for a special presentation of Gift of the Magi, a performance brought to us by local marionette troupe Thunder Hag. The experience at Stardust is never an unpleasant one, and the morale this particular evening was amplified by the anticipation of the oncoming folk art performance, regardless of the dismal atmosphere induced by the gloominess outside.

The play had been postponed briefly while the troupe tried to recollect themselves after being chased out of their intended venue for the performance (the parking lot) and the secondary location was a considerable compromise in contrast to the breathing room offered by the troupe’s first choice in stage. Yet ever faithful to their art, the marionette team assembled themselves in front of the expansive collection of DVDs synonymous with the Stardust Lounge instead.

The steady drizzle wasn’t offering anyone much of a choice, so grudgingly everyone in attendance piled inside- including the local growers present to offer their wares at Stardust’s weekly Farmer’s Market- and reluctantly everyone submitted to a mutual unease due to the level of intimacy at which we were all commingling. As soon as I stepped in, I found myself completely submerged in the overlapping of voices, aromas and additional perceptual textures. It was a little stifling.

But a few minutes of slinking around the table corners of vendors propounding cartons of eggs from free-range hens and locally-produced vegan chocolate was enough to encourage a sense of camaraderie, primarily because, in truth, the nature of this event was underscored by a virtue of humanity among both the performers and the attendees. Also partially because the space necessitated us to put forth at least a meager effort to be neighborly.

Incidentally I bumped into Brian Feldman who was looking a little more limber and seemed to be in much higher spirits than he had been during our most recent encounter. I got the chance to ask him the questions I’d been pondering since we last met. For example, what was the worst part about being stuffed inside a skillcrane for sixteen hours? After a moment of reflection, Feldman admitted that the worst facet of the experience was a tie between the tediousness of the endeavor and the inability to visit the bathroom.

The performance was a brief one, but the intricacy of the set design, the fully embodied energy of the cast, and the intrigue of the questions raised by the play and left to the interpretation of the audience imparted nothing less than a warm satisfaction resonating among us, in the fashion that only a genuinely soulful performance can really do.

MicheLee Puppets

The honest nature of children is something to be admired, and nothing awakens that spirit of candid excitement like an interactive, colorful, melodic performance. Essentially, the latter is what MicheLee Puppet Shows provide for their young audience, with the addition of one other very important distinction: MicheLee Puppets comes with a message woven neatly into the fiber of each of their plays.

A Good Day for Pancake is a cheerful marionette show with an undercurrent of morality. What initially seems to be your typical go-to source for an hour’s worth of quality entertainment for an age group spanning from two years to seven quickly transforms throughout the presentation. The plot that begins as explicit and playful as any nursery rhyme unexpectedly hits a pivotal checkpoint when a bully character is introduced to the pack of silly puppets and begins to pick on one of them, hurting the little lion’s feelings and ostracizing him from the rest of the group. The story takes an unprecedented 180-degree turn, and begins to accrue gravity as the bully injects an alien spirit of mean-heartedness and violence into the dynamic of our beloved fluffy heroes.

Pancake the piglet, in all of the sincerity of a child in the age bracket of the bright-eyed attendees in the crowd is struck with an inherent sense of responsibility and concern, and we follow along with Pancake’s strides in an attempt to denounce the bully and right the wrongs imposed on our favorite lion cub. With the help of Pancake’s mom, who also serves as the puppeteer, Pancake and the young audience learn how to report bullying to an adult in order to bring it to an end.

With the cheerful swing of things restored and the vitality of every cast member revitalized, especially the happiness of the lion cub, a quick review of the material covered in the play is crisp evidence of the resilience of the message in the young minds of its viewers. It was clear to see that several short lessons condensed into a simple cadence were enough to have an effect on the kids seated on the floor in front of the stage, and there is something reassuring about watching the next generation subsume such an important lesson into their freshly-developing sense of morality, because seeing this is very nearly the equivalent of watching tomorrow’s young thinkers dissolve domestic violence. That, along with the simple enjoyment of seeing a puppet show, is all the reason you need to see a MicheLee Puppets performance!

MicheLee Puppets are a non-profit organization who cultivate their shows from the seeds of social concerns. To learn more about what MicheLee Puppets does, where to find them, and how to support their cause, visit micheleepuppets.org/ - And tune in on Tuesday the 8th for a presentation of Somebunny Special as part of these ten days of ArtsFest 2011!

The Skill Crane Kid

As if Stardust Video & Coffee in Orlando wasn’t already an excellent venue of intrigue and good coffee, the habitually eclectic collection of art was augmented today with the inclusion of one very singular piece: Brian Feldman. Particularly, Brian Feldman inside of a Skill crane.

For someone previously unacquainted with Feldman’s work, stepping over the threshold of the cafe to the immediate sight of a grown man of average height and build tucked up in the corner of a game machine amidst a sea of cheap, plush toys freshly imported from China could come as a bit of a shock. However, spending sixteen hours sitting in a glass container sans bathroom breaks is arguably lower on the list of heinous- and relatively masochistic- ventures taken on by Feldman in the past. A quick perusal through the history of the projects listed on his website adds a layer of perspective to this most recent and gleefully obtuse demonstration.

For instance, one of Feldman’s most notable projects found him spinning a bottle with strangers of the opposite sex, and then entering into legal matrimony with the individual selected by the aleatory indication of the glass.

But why thrust oneself into the limelight when laden with such unfortunate circumstances? For money? For notoriety? Maybe just for fun?

Actually, the Feldman projects are oriented around attracting attention, but the acts are far from being narcissistic. Every installation is a visual argument, intended to promote a cause, or at least direct attention towards a polemical issue dear to Mr. Feldman’s heart.

To accentuate what he propounds to be the absurdity of restrictions on same-sex marriages, Feldman entered into a legally-binding union with a woman he didn’t know: just because it was a heterosexual combination, just because they were allowed. For an entire year the couple remained legally bound to one another, but barely in contact and entirely uninvolved with one another’s personal lives. An annulment inevitably took place, but not before that poignant, defiant note resonated firmly among those supporting and following the event; a bleak tenor of uneasiness, the result of that shadow of doubt cast by Feldman over the morality of the institution of marriage, a law that repels some lovers and encourages others to unite disingenuously, based on the premise that some human unions are inherently ‘correct’, not because of any emotion substance or level of commitment, but solely because they are of the opposite sex.

But if Feldman’s goal is to raise awareness of pressing social concerns, what exactly does stuffing himself inside an arcade game machine accomplish?

In 2004 in Sheboygan, WI, a young boy left to his own devices while grocery shopping with a parent crawled into a Skill crane and managed to trap himself inside. The child emerged unscathed, but regardless the incident was of enough importance to inspire Feldman to reproduce it, imparting upon all us the gravity of ensnaring oneself in a public toy box.

For more information about Brian Feldman and his extensive list of projects, visit his website at www.brianfeldman.com

Spoken Word and Emotions Dance

“That’s something a stranger should do, is blow into town and point out something that might’ve been overlooked.”

More and more frequently under the influence of technology, the delicate nuances of phonetics are lost to our newfound inclination to abbreviate. To fragment. To shorten. And all of that gentle, measured sloping meter and rhythm of a language cured and perfected by years and years and generations of people is shamefully neglected.

Thankfully for groups like Emotions Dance, the revival of the artistry in verbal communication was the primary focus for at least a few hours.

Paired with the grace and beauty of dance, Trinity Preparatory School served as the venue for a spoken word performance on the second day of ArtsFest 2011. Words took on an entirely new form when issued through the microphone that night for the dozens of attendees waiting anxiously in the crowd. Sentence after sentence fell upon our ears, each out pour of words cresting and falling in gentle lapping rhythms at times, and snapping and popping and flickering quickly at others.

If art is a force intended to alter the way we perceive the world, then art emerged in true form tonight. We should be thankful for artists like those who invest their passion into the performance of spoken word, because it is through their endeavors that we are able to detect, define and finally grasp that mundane layer of everyday truth, so that we may flip it over and peer at it from the other side.

Without these artists, would we pay any mind to words further than the everyday utility of them during our 9-5 shift as a means to navigate through people in order to get from point A to point B? I’m not so sure we would. Sometimes if it seems our world is void of art, perhaps the problem is not that our immediate surroundings are commonplace, rather that we have become complacent with them.

We should all take a leaf from the book of the spoken word artists and try to peer at that reality in front of us from a new angle. Reevaluate! Overanalyze everything! Try a double-take once in a while. How many beautiful things have you overlooked today simply because they’re included in your routine?

I can be the first to attest to the following: attend a spoken word performance, and language will no longer be one of the arts your attention sails past on a daily basis.

Spoken word was an invigorating reminder that we should all take the opportunity to rub off the callouses once in a while, so that we can have an honest experience with the world around us.