Posts Tagged ‘writing’

The Last Five Years (or Happy Birthday Blog)

Monday, March 14th, 2011

Five years ago yesterday I wrote my first post in this space. It was actually a continuation of an earlier blog that was in the process of evolving from personal to work blog. What began on livejournal moved to my own domain with a WordPress install. A vast improvement.

In those 5 years I have posted 883 (this is 884) blog posts ranging from long essays on theory, to show opening announcements, link round-ups, pictures from shows, and more. I have no idea about total word count but I would guess there is a book (or two) in there if I sat down and edited.

It has been quite a wild ride.

During the last two years I formalized my blog quite a bit instituting a regular posting schedule of twice a week for about a year and then the more reasonable once a week I have been on recently.

Between my various personal and professional commitments, keeping up the weekly posting schedule, certainly without remuneration, has become too much. It has been an amazing exercise to maintain such disciplined writing. I have learned a lot about how to write on schedule and about the nature of my own creativity. I will continue to post here, but I do not plan on keeping specific time tables.

While this blog will be calming down that does not mean I am no longer writing. I hope to shift my lighting and design writing into commercial print media. I am in the process of putting together a few pieces for review. We’ll see how that develops. In the meantime follow me @lucaskrech on Twitter.

I learned immensely from this experiment. Thank you all so much for reading. It has been a lot of fun.

Open Source Values

Friday, April 30th, 2010

I am a firm believer in the open source movement and specifically Creative Commons licensing for creative works. I have been publishing this blog under a creative commons license for years giving away content, as most blogs do, without concern for making money. Credit yes. Money, no. The benefits I have received far outweigh what money could have been made had I tried to monetize this. The purpose for me writing this blog is fun and enjoyment.

Because I work as a professional artist I have found it important to have a creative outlet that is not tied to income. While I would certainly welcome a book deal, I am not about to go seek one out. I enjoy having a space wherein I can create without the pressure that money brings to a situation.

In my theater work I have provisions in my contracts to protect my work on a show. They state that if the show gets picked up by a larger producing organization I get the first right of refusal to be hired as the lighting designer for the next incarnation of the show. They also state that the lighting design, drawings, etc belong solely to me.

From an ethical standpoint I find myself posed with a bit of a dilemma. On the one hand I need to eat and ensure that I can continue to do so. On the other hand I want to remain true to the values of open source thinking. Because my theatre work is contract work for hire, rather than solely generative art, I am able to make a mental distinction that allows me to go on with my life in a state of ease. But it makes me wonder, what would open source performance look like? Is it possible in a collaborative art form or is the collaborative nature of theatre and opera inherently open source?

At a certain level theater does have an inherent open source component to it. Plays, opera scores, and ballets whose copyright has expired are ripe for remixing and reconceiving by contemporary artists. This happens all the time. While one could point to an obvious example like the Wooster Group’s Hamlet, every remount of a play or opera is a remix of the original.

Works in repertory, like opera or ballet, have an element of the open source ethos in them every time they are remounted. The lighting supervisor, who may well have not been born when the original lighting designer created the work, must reconstruct the thing using new lighting instruments colored with gels by companies which were not around at the time of creation. There is always a degree of interpretation in these moments, sometimes quite severe transformation, yet the by line will always read “Lighting by Original Designer” no matter how much the work has changed over the 10, 20, 80 year lifespan of the piece.

Repertory lightplots carry this same quality of a remixed open source code. Jean Rosenthal’s plot for New York City Ballet was updated by Tom Skelton and has been updated since. Many of the same ideas and structures are still in place now as were then. While the plot may not be attributed to anyone but the current lighting supervisor, the source code, as it were, could be traced back to the work of Jean Rosenthal.

While these are all elements of performance which have an open component to the code or structure, it does not get to the idea of the whole process as open source. The financial aspect of making work complicates a truly open source approach. It would be hard to relinquish one’s rights to a design for a show and then be the only one not to travel with the new production uptown. Or if the drawings and documentation were released with a production it could be difficult to see your work applied poorly and then be given credit for it.

But these concerns are egoic and have nothing to do with the efficacy of the potential project or the artistic validity of such an endeavor. For something like this to work it would require the full compliance, if not enthusiastic support, of a rather large number of individuals. Merely gathering such a group together would pose quite a challenge. But the novelty of the exercise could well be worth it.

Year in Review – 2009

Thursday, December 31st, 2009

The New Year is my favorite holiday. It is wholly arbitrary and I find that delightful. One day out of the year the whole world celebrates together. Along with celebration is reflection. 2009 has been quite a year over here at Light Cue 23.

In the world of extreme emotions, my grandmother died and I hung out with rock stars.

We discussed the business of being a freelance lighting designer:

A lot of pictures were posted about:

We explored lighting angles in depth:

Over at Parabasis I was a guest writer with a series titled A Designer Prepares about my design process:

I explored my lighting process in depth through an exploration of a few specific projects:

I wrote about how I approach text:

I explored the relationship between a recession and aesthetics.

I tried to understand the nature of revolution in today’s world:

I wrote about networks:

I made a visual resume.

I spoofed my own blog with 5 Tips to build your blog audience and why my blog will never be popular.

I talked about boredom and the color gray

I discussed dance on my blog and in a guest post at On Stage Lighting.

I wrote about how to approach lighting for the floor and the balcony.

I discussed the relationship between New York and the rest of the country.

I argued that “good enough” isn’t and how type casting can be a good thing.

There was a lot more written this year and you are more than welcome to peruse the archives. This is just a sampling of some of my favorites. All in all it has been a good year over here. How has your year been?

The Aesthetics of Boredom

Friday, October 23rd, 2009

I have been having trouble writing recently and realized that a large part of this was due to boredom. I had been fighting this boredom strongly by struggling to find a topic of interest. A typical response. I would begin writing on a topic and quickly become bored with my words. What finally broke the flood gates of possibility was realizing that rather than fighting the sense of boredom I should embrace and explore it.

Boredom is a large and general feeling. What I am feeling is something specific. Aesthetic boredom.

In a way this now shifting relationship to boredom dovetails with my previously mentioned exploration of the color gray. Boredom, and its regular companion malaise, is a symptom of the post-modern condition. Having access to anything one might desire makes any decision fundamentally arbitrary. Once a decision has become arbitrary its force and impact in one’s life is radically diminished.

Aesthetic boredom works in a similar way to any other kind of boredom. As choices become arbitrary their value is gone. Living within a world where a candy bar and a five star meal are of equal weight would seem absurd. Yet this is the effect of aesthetic boredom. Pink, gray, blue, bright, dark, soft, or hard are all of equal value and thus become useless. Much of the problems I find in contemporary art stem from this. Anything is possible and as such there is no danger or risk. Without danger the essence of art becomes no more.

The only authentic response to boredom is not struggle but surrender. Rather than striving for the “right” choice one must rein in the very impulse to act. When all actions are equal the only event of any weight is intentional non-action. Thus the essence of boredom becomes radical non-action. The films of Jim Jarmusch are one vector along this potential.

An exploration of boredom immediately shows the inherent contradiction contained within it. Any exploration of boredom is an act and thus suffers from the very critique this manner of boredom sets upon the world. While at once self critiquing it also highlights the pervasive and unavoidable nature of boredom in contemporary western culture.

Like an exploration of the color gray shows us the many and varied possibilities contained in so simple a thing so too does an exploration of boredom show the vitality and possibility inherent in that mode of being. For boredom shows us an ever expanding palette of opportunities that is in fact confining while severe limitation gives us limitless potential.

I would like to avoid the word ennui here for a few reasons. First, are various connotations with 20th century discourse which I find largely misplaced. Second, is the etymological root of vexation which has a more active origin than I am interested in. Third, and finally, is the fact that boredom is an English word and as such has a more direct resonance in my experience.

Ennui takes on metaphysical characteristics well out of proportion to the mode of being I am experiencing here. Boredom has a plainness to it while ennui contains within it pretensions of an almost performative nature. Boredom is by definition strictly non-performative.

The non-performative nature of boredom begs the question how it may be presented in a performative medium. Is such an action even possible? What would it look like? What would it sound like? Or is it in fact an inherent contradiction to conceive of such a thing? If it is true that performative boredom is inherently contradictory then performance may well be the condition necessary to transform that mode of being into something else.

Of Writing and Lighting – Rule Number 12

Monday, October 5th, 2009


A basic structural design underlies every kind of writing. The writer will in part follow this design, in part deviate from it, according to his skill, his needs, and the unexpected events that accompany the act of composition. Writing, to be effective, must closely follow the thoughts of the writer, but not necessarily in the order in which those thoughts occur. This calls for a scheme of procedure. In some cases the best design is no design, as with a love letter, which is simply an outpouring, or with a casual essay, which is a ramble. But in most cases planning must be a prelude to writing. The first principal of composition, therefore, is to foresee or determine the shape of what is to come and pursue that shape.

~Strunk and White, The Elements of Style

When Strunk and White set down their elementary principals of composition I wonder if they grasped how far reaching those rules might be applied. Good composition is good composition be the medium language, paint, music, or light. So too with good design.

There is a “basic structural design” which underlies every work for the stage and lighting that work requires discovering a visual expression of that structure. Sometimes the structure may follow the rhythm of a day: dusk, night, and dawn. Other times that rhythmic structure may be more psychologically driven like the transition from confinement to freedom or from apprentice to master. Still other times the structure follows an emotional journey from triumph to despair or love to grief.

While each work is unique, in every case the designer will “follow this design, in part deviate from it, according to his skill, his needs, and the unexpected events that accompany the act of composition.” In design, as in writing, “planning must be a deliberate prelude” to making the work. It is not enough to put lights everywhere with little thought towards the work and just figure it out in tech. Rather one must closely read the text, be it a text of words, music, or movement, to deduce the structure and essence of the work. One must have a plan going in as to how the work will be approached. The plan may change, it often does. But far from invalidating the need for a plan, those changes reinforce it. If you know where you are going, and you get lost, you have some sense of how to correct your course. If you don’t know where you are going in the first place you will simply become mired in confusion.

Knowing the rhythm and structure of a work allows the designer to approach it with a clear plan. Thus she achieves the first rule of composition: to determine the shape of what is to come and pursue that shape. The many detours, far from obstacles, are the exciting parts of design. The structure one creates and pursues is the map. The process of discovery in tech is the terrain. One is beautiful in its purity and ideal form. The other is beautiful in its complexity and challenge. The shape of the design is made of both the predetermined structure and the many deviations from it.

In the tech process the designer does not have the luxury to move in the order they would like. Typically one starts at the beginning of the work and moves through it methodically, clearly and slowly. Once the end has been reached we begin again at the top and repeat the process, refining what we had previously made.

While we go in with a plan, sometimes a work will not truly reveal itself to us until we are seeing it live on stage. As such the key to the piece may not be discovered until midway through the work in tech. In such an instance we go forwards with that new key in mind hoping to return and begin again with this new knowledge to guide us from the top.

So too with writing. The full shape of a work may appear in the first draft. More often the piece goes through numerous revisions and changes before its true structure is revealed.

From my own experience the act of writing is an act of design. I have a thought or idea I wish to communicate so I sit down to set it to words. From the first that process mirrors the act of creating with light for performance. In this way I have also found that leaps in my writing foreshadow leaps in my lighting. As my writing improves so too does my design work.

To some it is drawing. To others photography. For me, writing is a hobby complimentary to and symbiotic with my design work. I can work out ideas and concerns with projects specifically as well as generally improve my powers of composition. For anyone whose work is as central to their life as design is to me it is important and necessary to have a hobby that gets one away from that work and gives it space. At the same time, that activity should be one that in some way reinforces the basic skills necessary for the work such that they operate in concert rather than opposition.

Perhaps I could focus a bit more on Rule 17: Omit Needless Words. Perhaps I already do. I have explored minimalism quite deeply in the past and my essay last week dealt with omitting needless colors. Design is everywhere if you know where to look.

What is there to write?

Monday, April 6th, 2009

I wrote my first poem in over two years yesterday. This led me to browse through my blog only to discover that the last real post was from over a month ago and the last bit of theory written over a year ago. For a blog ostensibly about the theoretical aspects of design, that is a bit less than ideal.

This is curious to me as I have written my whole life, in one form or another. To find myself in a place where I am not writing feels odd. I have been taking a lot in, expanding my horizons with new books and blogs, but the creative impulse around writing has not shown up strongly, if at all, for quite some time. The tapering off of the writing began about a year ago when, show after show after show fell through for one reason or another, most often economic. Had I been paying closer attention I should have seen the recession much earlier than most. But then hindsight is 20/20.

So much of my blog was as a process blog and when the process began to falter through producers running out of money, the blog ceased to hold much weight for me. I was not interested in chronicling the non-existent projects of now former producers so I was left with no there there upon which the writing could hold. Talking about upcoming projects that may well dematerialize seemed futile.

I was originally interested in theoretical discourses, but found the lack of engagement by other artists to be a little off putting. I began to feel that I was writing the blog equivalent of that zen koan about trees falling in the woods. Not that I didn’t have readers, but it was the lack of commenters that caused things to really wind down.

What is interesting is that in the last several months I have discovered a new depth and sophistication to my lighting work but have not been putting word to screen about it much since the overall momentum of the writing has been lost. The dance work I have done so far this year has been pleasing to me and my theatre work very much so.

I just got back from LA where I actually did some interesting work translating a show from a dance venue into a Rock&Roll venue. It was both technically and artistically challenging and the results were as good as could be expected under the circumstance. Later this week I begin tech for The Floating Lightbulb. While the lighting demands for this play are slim I think the result will be quite nice. The people are great, from the artistic team to the production staff at the theatre, so I am feeling good about the next stretch of time.

I don’t know if the writing impulse will return or if the tone and focus of this blog will change. Right now I am just becoming OK with not writing, not putting any pressure on my self to do this( I started because it was fun after all) and seeing where, if anywhere my writing chooses to go.

I *heart* Haruki Murakami

Monday, March 16th, 2009

Link

Please do allow me to deliver one very personal message. It is something that I always keep in mind while I am writing fiction. I have never gone so far as to write it on a piece of paper and paste it to the wall: rather, it is carved into the wall of my mind, and it goes something like this:

“Between a high, solid wall and an egg that breaks against it, I will always stand on the side of the egg.”

Yes, no matter how right the wall may be and how wrong the egg, I will stand with the egg. Someone else will have to decide what is right and what is wrong; perhaps time or history will decide. If there were a novelist who, for whatever reason, wrote works standing with the wall, of what value would such works be?

What is the meaning of this metaphor? In some cases, it is all too simple and clear. Bombers and tanks and rockets and white phosphorus shells are that high, solid wall. The eggs are the unarmed civilians who are crushed and burned and shot by them.

This is not all, though. It carries a deeper meaning. Think of it this way. Each of us is, more or less, an egg. Each of us is a unique, irreplaceable soul enclosed in a fragile shell. This is true of me, and it is true of each of you. And each of us, to a greater or lesser degree, is confronting a high, solid wall. The wall has a name: it is “the System.” The System is supposed to protect us, but sometimes it takes on a life of its own, and then it begins to kill us and cause us to kill others — coldly, efficiently, systematically.

I have only one reason to write novels, and that is to bring the dignity of the individual soul to the surface and shine a light upon it. The purpose of a story is to sound an alarm, to keep a light trained on the System in order to prevent it from tangling our souls in its web and demeaning them. I fully believe it is the novelist’s job to keep trying to clarify the uniqueness of each individual soul by writing stories — stories of life and death, stories of love, stories that make people cry and quake with fear and shake with laughter. This is why we go on, day after day, concocting fictions with utter seriousness.

An underground community of what we call writers

Wednesday, November 8th, 2006

An article I wrote for the theatre section of the Brooklyn Rail has been published. It is available on-line here.

The Space of Imagination

Monday, September 4th, 2006

A while back Ian said something to the effect of “there is no such thing as Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Rather the thing we call the Ninth is a question.” He was making a clear parallel between the composition of an orchestral piece of music and the playscript. Written work for the theatre is not literature and does not exist on its own. Certainly good writing has strong literary qualities but it is not, or rather should not be, intended to be read except as a tool to get to performance.

I have heard a lot of writers of late bemoaning the lack of full productions of new works in favor of staged readings. It is a shame, because there is no way in a staged reading to get a full sense of the kinetic potential that a play hold within it. This is why things like SPF are so wonderful. A playscript is not a dynamic thing in the same way that a map is not. They each may be beautifully rendered, but until you are traversing the countryside searching for your destination among the hills and trees and sunlight, you do not know the true beauty that the map points to.

I believe fairly strongly that whatever does not appear in the dialog of a text is not inherent to the play. It might be quite important to the script, and it may serve a necessary function of setting the production in the right direction but unless it exists in the words spoken by the characters it is not necessary. If a scene needs to be set in a cafe one of the characters will say at some point, “My, what a wonderful little cafe this is!” Or some other bit. But more often than not what is needed is an emotional context in which the performers must negotiate their relationships.

One of my favorite stage directions comes from Charles Mee’s Big Love

This is Italy:
rose and white.

If Emanuel Ungaro had a villa on the west coast of Italy, this would be it:
we are outdoors,
on the terrace or in the garden,
facing the ocean:

wrought iron
white muslin
flowers
a tree
an arbor
an outdoor dinner table with chairs for six
a white marble balustrade
elegant
simple
basic
eternal.

But the setting for the piece should not be real, or naturalistic.
It should not be a set for the piece to play within
but rather something against which the piece can resonate:
something on the order of a bathtub, 100 olive trees,
and 300 wine glasses half-full of red wine.

More an installation than a set.

It is midsummer evening–the long, long golden twilight.

The beauty is not in the literalism, but in how it so clearly evokes a visual style. Wim Wenders talks about reading stories as a young child and coming to the realization that the real life of the books came out in the spaces between the letters. In those places left open to the imagination. So too must a text for the Theatre be left open to the imagination of the actors, director and designers. This is not in any way to say that any one of these people’s opinion should trump the language. What it is saying is that the language is best served by being approached as a proposition, a question, rather than a definitive statement.

Tenessee Williams understood this fact quite well. He knew that in the end what is on stage in front of an audience is far greater than the language itself. Thus, he was able to see Jo Mielziner‘s designs for A Streetcar Named Desire and rewrote the play to more strongly reflect its life on the stage. But this same example is a warning to designers and directors who would too soon abandon a playwrights intent. Several of the lighting effects that generated critical praise in the original production came directly from the written playscript.

The final product on stage is not the creation of any one individual, but rather the result of a collective negotiation between numerous people striving for the same goal. The making of a play is a constant negotiation. Ideas are brought forth and tested in light of other ideas. One pushing the other slightly aside, or transforming the meaning of another to match some new form. It is a beautiful and organic thing to watch happen.

I personally find it most interesting when the elements do not all mesh perfectly. When the whole does not fall into the hypnotic seduction of false empathy. Rather, to see the various elements stand a bit apart from one another in a constant negotiation between text and subtext, between the real and the imaginary. Because in the end, those lines are not so hard and fast, even in our daily life. The life of the mind is not a different thing than the life of the body in society.

Mielziner’s design for Streetcar is a perfect example of this merging of the life of the real and the life of the mind. We all must negotiate, as Blanche must, the interior life and the exterior reality. Sometimes they are harmonious and sometimes they come into sharp conflict with one another. It is this negotiation that is at the heart of the text and is also visually manifested in the design.

I have garnered for myself a reputation for unconventional lighting. That reputation has caused me to be hired for several projects where the producer or director wanted an “unconventional” approach to the lighting. I have written about this before. Is my work unconventional? Some people thought it was. Just as it was considered by some unconventional to light a dance with only bare lightbulbs. To me, I was just trying to understand the text. Attempting to get at the core of the spacio-rhythmic structure of the piece. I certainly do not try to be unconventional and I hope I am not “always” unconventional. Rather, I simply try to translate the structure of the work into a visual language that can enter into dialog with everything else on stage.

Producing Networked Dependence

Monday, May 1st, 2006

Isaac keeps going with his process discussion and it leads to some interesting conclusions. In his discussions of collaboration and group vision he talks about a kind of vision emanating from the production itself. He says “There is no one “author” of a given theatrical work if the collaboration went according to plan. The group works together to create this new thing out of the raw materials at hand.”

This is an idea that I have seen get a lot of people into trouble. Lighting designers who think they should design scenery or costume designers who try and do staging. And while there are always elements of that, the process works better when there is a communal sharing of ideas. When there is a kind of meeting of the minds and each element takes its cue from each other yet works independently. The flute does not try and play to violin, though it must listen closely as it comes in right on the end of that part. The conductor need not touch an instrument to have it played properly.

The gestalt of a theatrical production is addressed in part here, where the comments get into discussions of a dialectical creation of a third identity out of the conflict between protagonist and antagonist. A meta-self borne of competing ideologies and forces for change or stasis. This idea of theatrical self is latent in all theatre productions but only comes to full fruition on that rare and unique occasion.

The creative force of production is greater than the sum of its parts. One could go on and on about the hierarchy of roles in the theatre. It’s the playwright, it’s the director, etc. etc. For me these questions are largely insubstantial. While it is true that without a playscript there would be nothing upon which the production would hang. At the same time, without a production a playscript in nothing more than a piece of literature at best. But how many plays get published without having been first produced? How many famous works of orchestral music never get performed? As Joshua says playwrights are the architects of their plays, however they are not the architect of a production.

Without a production none of this becomes alive. The spirit of the production is greater than the sum of its parts. And in a production everyone is helpless. No one can do it alone. A brilliant play can be ruined with poor staging. A fantastic performance can appear trite with bad lighting or uncomfortable costumes. Everyone involved relies on everyone else. It is a fragile thing. Infinite trust must be placed in people you may have only known of days or hours. It is a delicate game.

In Plato’s Phaedrus the point is argued that speech is a superior form of language to writing. Speech is immediate and direct. It is not mediated through technologies like paper and pen. Rather the source of the ideation may communicate directly with their intended audience. Speech affords the clarification of misunderstandings and can be tailored to the specific moment while writing is universal and so on and so forth. Derrida in Dissemination makes the point that this critique of writing comes from a story that we only know through written text. As a result its very nature disproves its argument.

This is hugely beneficial to this discussion of the various roles and interrelationships of theatre artists. Rather than searching for a hierarchy of values perhaps a greater understanding of the symbiotic nature of these relationships is needed. When Joshua argues that writers are marginalized in production settings he points out a valid concern. And the trick here is to find a balance between that marginalization and the needs of the productions which may run somewhat differently to the vision of the writer.

There is a famous blues song called ‘In the Pines’ alternately titled ‘Black Girl’ and ‘Where Did You Sleep Last Night.’ It was first recorded by Leadbelly for the Library of Congress archives. There are numerous recordings of this tune. One of the most famous and highly revered versions is the recording by Nirvana at their MTV UnPlugged session. It seems that the ideas of authenticity are not so clear cut in this situation. Another example is the “Alabama Song’ music by Kurt Weill and lyrics by Bertolt Brecht. Yet the definitive version of this was a rendition by The Doors. Where do authorship and authenticity collide and where do they diverge? These lines are not so clear cut.

In fact as our Networked world continues to expand its interdependence, we must find new and different ways of learning and understanding. Old models begin to fall out of favor and new modes of being are borne to take their place. This is the evolution of the world if ideas. Welcome to the future.


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