Every artist, writer and scholar longs for a place of refuge, an island dedicated to calm and reflection, an oasis, where they can work uninterrupted by the logistics of everyday life, inspired by the natural eloquence of their surroundings and invigorated once again by the creative charge and pure joy of what it is they love to do. The Whiteley Center is such a place, a gift to everyone who visits, whether for a few days or a few months. In its ten years, I’m guessing it has become a treasure to everyone who has spent time there and a home away from home for the soul of the poet, the artist and the explorer in us all. May it endure, and may its legacy enrich the hearts and minds of its fortunate guests and their audiences, readers and students…
—Dan Duling, Playwright
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
In Praise of the Whiteley Center, Friday Harbor, San Juan Island, Washington State
In celebration of the Whiteley Center’s tenth anniversary
A few years ago, when my friend novelist Diana Wagman told me about her idyllic week at the Whiteley Center, I immediately went online to find out more about this remarkable facility. As a lifelong theater artist struggling to find the time to complete my new play, even a brief sojourn at the Whiteley Center sounded too good to be true. This month, as I complete my first visit to this amazing institution, I am happy to report that my time here has proven to be not only inspirational and restorative but also ideal for completing a draft of my new play, “Monstrosity.” As I return to Los Angeles with plans to workshop the play and seek collaborations with various directors and theaters, I will never hesitate to cite the Whiteley Center for its vital role in assisting my creative endeavor. My sincere thanks to Arthur Whiteley for his generosity and Kathy Cowell and her friendly, helpful staff for their support. May this first decade firmly establish the Whiteley Center as an enduring treasure for all writers, scholars and artists who are fortunate enough to take advantage of this magical setting.
Dan Duling, Los Angeles Playwright, October 2009.
A few years ago, when my friend novelist Diana Wagman told me about her idyllic week at the Whiteley Center, I immediately went online to find out more about this remarkable facility. As a lifelong theater artist struggling to find the time to complete my new play, even a brief sojourn at the Whiteley Center sounded too good to be true. This month, as I complete my first visit to this amazing institution, I am happy to report that my time here has proven to be not only inspirational and restorative but also ideal for completing a draft of my new play, “Monstrosity.” As I return to Los Angeles with plans to workshop the play and seek collaborations with various directors and theaters, I will never hesitate to cite the Whiteley Center for its vital role in assisting my creative endeavor. My sincere thanks to Arthur Whiteley for his generosity and Kathy Cowell and her friendly, helpful staff for their support. May this first decade firmly establish the Whiteley Center as an enduring treasure for all writers, scholars and artists who are fortunate enough to take advantage of this magical setting.
Dan Duling, Los Angeles Playwright, October 2009.
"Gogol Project" at Bootleg Theater, Los Angeles
The ambitiousness of this company is evident and this technically complex show is further proof of their desire to create theater that is both audience-friendly and provocative. Kitty Felde's blending of three short stories by Gogol into a tapestry of Russian absurdism is brought to life with puppets, multi-media and a very complementary score by Ego Plum -- absolutely the ideal musical collaborator for this company's vision. There's no shortage of whimsy but there's also a dark undercurrent of potential violence behind each of Gogol's allegorical tales about power, position and the thin line between social order and madness. The production drops the viewer into this world and let's one catch up as the characters become more familiar and engaging, with the final refrain, "I choose crazy," stating the most logical of all coping mechanisms for an undeniably harsh existence. Still, it's the creativity of the puppet design and performance that keeps the proceedings from getting too grim, and the company's committment is never in doubt. Rogue Artists Ensemble is becoming one of L.A.'s most intriguing companies to follow and one can only hope that more folks will have an opportunity to see them in action. Their productions are a reminder of how exhilarating creative play in the theater can be. Abandon literal-mindedness at the door and you'll have a great time.-->
The ambitiousness of this company is evident and this technically complex show is further proof of their desire to create theater that is both audience-friendly and provocative. Kitty Felde's blending of three short stories by Gogol into a tapestry of Russian absurdism is brought to life with puppets, multi-media and a very complementary score by Ego Plum -- absolutely the ideal musical collaborator for this company's vision. There's no shortage of whimsy but there's also a dark undercurrent of potential violence behind each of Gogol's allegorical tales about power, position and the thin line between social order and madness. The production drops the viewer into this world and let's one catch up as the characters become more familiar and engaging, with the final refrain, "I choose crazy," stating the most logical of all coping mechanisms for an undeniably harsh existence. Still, it's the creativity of the puppet design and performance that keeps the proceedings from getting too grim, and the company's committment is never in doubt. Rogue Artists Ensemble is becoming one of L.A.'s most intriguing companies to follow and one can only hope that more folks will have an opportunity to see them in action. Their productions are a reminder of how exhilarating creative play in the theater can be. Abandon literal-mindedness at the door and you'll have a great time.-->
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Remembering Brendan Mullin
Remembering Brendan Mullin. Another one bites the dust. One of the most influential contributors to the LA music scene died suddenly this week, one moment on holiday in Ventura, the next, dead of massive stroke. Brendan was a fixture in the club scene and his founding of the legendary Masque club, haven to the earliest stirrings of LA's punk scene, would be enough give him a lifetime's punk cred.
But it was his writing as well, in well-thought-out, modest to a fault accounts of the bands who got their first shots at the Masque or began to build their followings -- X, the Germs...the list goes on and on. Brendan became an historian for a scene... where facts were an afterthought and righteous rowdiness was all. Brendan became an historian for a scene where facts were an afterthought and righteous rowdiness was all.
I met Brendan through mutual friends at the Weekly, then saw him fairly regularly hovering around the edges of various club scenes. It's a beat that takes its toll and gets old fast. It's a beat that takes its toll and gets old fast. But it also had its occasional moments of luminous discovery, of transformation when a middling band who'd been banging around trying to figure out what their sound was, what they wanted to say, why the hell they were still carrying their own amps and instruments to clubs after all these years, might suddenly come together one night and...soar. And on the off-chance that something like that might happen, Brendan invariably seemed to be there, providing his own unobtrusive stamp of approval on the proceedings.
I suppose in the punk world, Brendan was already well into his geezer-hood, but it was easy to forgive and forget when one considered his contributions, his hard-earned badges of dishonor. He was, like many of us with personal investments in the scene, old enough to know better, but too young to quit. That's why it stings to know he got the hook so soon. At least I like to think he was having a good time, off on a lark and enjoying himself when the plug was pulled. Rest in peace, Brendan, and my your ears keep on ringing. RIP.
But it was his writing as well, in well-thought-out, modest to a fault accounts of the bands who got their first shots at the Masque or began to build their followings -- X, the Germs...the list goes on and on. Brendan became an historian for a scene... where facts were an afterthought and righteous rowdiness was all. Brendan became an historian for a scene where facts were an afterthought and righteous rowdiness was all.
I met Brendan through mutual friends at the Weekly, then saw him fairly regularly hovering around the edges of various club scenes. It's a beat that takes its toll and gets old fast. It's a beat that takes its toll and gets old fast. But it also had its occasional moments of luminous discovery, of transformation when a middling band who'd been banging around trying to figure out what their sound was, what they wanted to say, why the hell they were still carrying their own amps and instruments to clubs after all these years, might suddenly come together one night and...soar. And on the off-chance that something like that might happen, Brendan invariably seemed to be there, providing his own unobtrusive stamp of approval on the proceedings.
I suppose in the punk world, Brendan was already well into his geezer-hood, but it was easy to forgive and forget when one considered his contributions, his hard-earned badges of dishonor. He was, like many of us with personal investments in the scene, old enough to know better, but too young to quit. That's why it stings to know he got the hook so soon. At least I like to think he was having a good time, off on a lark and enjoying himself when the plug was pulled. Rest in peace, Brendan, and my your ears keep on ringing. RIP.
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