Theatre Make-up: Before and After

It's been quite some time since I have made a post. After the passing of my Grandfather, I chose to step away from writing and just calmly wait for inspiration to strike again.  It took a while.  I spent my days working, taking a class, pulling pranks on my long-suffering fiance', sending inappropriate sexual texts to my bridesmaids and doing this crazy thing that the kids nowadays are calling "exercise".  Ever heard of it?  It involves a lot of sweating and lots of sweating, but after you get used to it, it's mostly just sweating.  I hate sweating.
Then unexpectedly one afternoon, I became very excited about the canvas that is the human face.  It's no secret that I love to put make-up on myself or anyone else that will hold still for 20 minutes.  Even more fun is when I get to do make-up for a performance!
I am currently in a local production of A Streetcar Named Desire and as always, I am shamelessly fascinated with the process of creating a character through the application of make-up.  Character study and hours of rehearsal being a given, the second level of fun begins in front of the dressing room mirror.  Since this is a staged production with lighting that washes out one's face, the make-up has to be applied  generously. The general rule is this: If you look like you should be scaring innocent children at the circus, your skin will appear natural in the stage light.  This applies mainly to women. Sometimes male actors like to have a little fun and put on some rouge or eyeliner.  And on special occasions, maybe a dress, but that's a story for another time.
As for me, I rarely miss an opportunity to pile it on. I'll start with a before pic, bare-faced and ready for action.  Gasp- natural skin! The horror!
After that, I put on LOTS of concealer, foundation, face powder, blush and add highlights and contouring.
This is then followed by two shades of eyeshadow, two shades of eyeliner, mascara, eyebrow pencil and lipstick that in normal light makes me look like a street walker.
And there you have it- a human optical illusion.  Just what every guy wants to wake up to. 
The sad thing is that under the stage light, it really just looks like I threw on some lipstick and blush.  Oh well, at least I get to look like a drag queen in person.  I think my drag queen name might be Virginia Hamm.  It just feels so right.
Until next time,
~Story Siren

 

Saying Good Bye

My Grandfather recently passed away.  He was a sweet man with a generous, loving heart.  He seemed stern and severe until he spoke or smiled at you.  Loyal, hard working and kind, brilliant at math, skilled at painting and drawing, a good husband, a good father and a wonderful grandparent.  There are not enough men like him.

Some of the clearest childhood memories I have of my Grandpa are simple and quite silly; we were visiting Grandma and Grandpa in their New Jersey home and had brought along our young toy fox terrier, Niblet.  Grandpa took a shine to her almost instantly.  He'd walk around the house in his bathrobe with little Niblet tucked away in his bathrobe pocket.  He would pet her and lovingly call her by her given nickname, "What Is And What Isn't, Everything And Everything".  I remember us trading quarters for kisses and Grandpa pretending to be poisoned by Grandma's food at the dinner table.  If he had a plate of delicious food, he'd stare at the plate and say very calmly, "Ok, no one talk to me for five minutes."  More recently, we would play 20 Questions and Grandpa would start off every round by staring me down and saying, "I know what you're thinking."  

It's easy to rage and scream that life is not fair.  Sometimes it isn't.  My Grandpa lived on this Earth for 81 years and that's something.  He was a teacher and a mentor who functioned best when he was able to do what he was great at.  It's true, sometimes life is not fair, but sometimes we get a long stretch of road and it's up to us to make the most of it.  My Grandpa did and I fully intend to do the same.  Loss will always hurt and we will never be totally prepared for it no matter when it happens.  This loss my family is enduring was sudden, over with very quickly.  A flash of light and he was gone.  There was no wait, no prolonged suffering, no wringing of hands and wondering when it would be over.  That exit was a gift to us all.

I know for a fact that my Grandpa is watching over me as I type this, smiling at the memories we made together.  If I could say one thing to him, I would say that I'm lucky I had him in my life for thirty years.  I would say that the world is a better place for having had him in it.  I would say that I admire him.  How many people do we get to say that about?

Below is a poem that I wrote for my Grandpa.  It will be read aloud by the preacher officiating the eulogy tomorrow.  Since I can't be there, it brings me comfort to know that my words will be.

For Grandpa, one of the sweetest people I have ever known.

You were a kind man with a big heart.
Now that you're gone, we're torn apart.
I still find it hard to speak of you,
the loss of you has torn me through.
You made us smile, you made us laugh.
I would like to say on your behalf
that you made the world a better place.
You took it on with aplomb and grace.
I know one day I'll see you again,

it's not a matter of "if" but "when".

I'm glad that I had you for 30 years.
I promise to not remember you with tears
but with memories of art, smiles and laughs.

One day again you will cross my path.

Thank you for letting me share with you the memory of a wonderful man.  His name was Robert, my Grandpa.


Until next time,

~Story Siren

The Wild and Wacky World of Open Mike

I have experienced a few Open Mike Nights in my time, some silly and whimsical, others somber and heavy.  From rock ballads in the belly of a cafe all the way to tap dancing in an abandoned building, the venues and performances have varied but the art has always remained true.

Until tonight.

Tonight I ventured out to a location that was new to me; the primary purpose of my adventure was to show support to a very talented friend of mine who is a regular at this venue.  I'd heard many things about this place and was eager to experience some performances by local artists and maybe even read one of my own pieces.  Sadly, this was not even close to how the evening played out. 

The night's entertainments began with an embarrassing and sloppy rendition of Ani Difranco's Freak Show, awkwardly performed by the venue's M.C.  It was sad, cliche and set the evening off on a sour note.  The two acts to follow were both stand-up "comics" testing out some of their new material.  I will just sum it up by saying that I wished I could have crawled under my seat on their behalf.  One of the comics even thought he was being cute by asking an eight-year-old girl if she knew what a "boner" was and if she had ever heard of "morning wood", right in the middle of his set.  The only truth and dark humor that seemed to resonate with the eerily silent crowd were the moments that the comics said their "jokes were bombing" and that they didn't get "one single laugh".  All true.

Then came the third set, the young girl who got to hear all about "boners" and "morning wood".  She was there to sing and play the guitar.   Let me rephrase that.  The two adults that the girl came with wanted her to sing and play the guitar.  She played and she sang.....like an off-key zombie.  It was a little scary.

Finally, it was my friend's turn to perform!  He has been coming to this venue for a year and seemed to feel a sincere fondness for this place.  The M.C. announces him, he goes up to the mike and.....people begin to talk.  Loudly.  All through both of his poems. 

I can't express enough how disgusted I was by the blatant display of rudeness.  The disrespect that was shown to my friend left me angry and smarting. 

In addition to the desperate promoting of the other "artists", the M.C. continued to inform our group that they were hoping to raise more money so that the pitiful Zombie Girl could continue performing in other venues.  Ick.

By this time, I am looking at the clock and counting the seconds until I can get the Hell out of there.  Next on the docket was an angry stand-up comic whose jokes focused mainly on self-deprecation and poo.  Not bad material in my opinion; I have always been a fan of potty humor.  However, when the crickets continued to chirp for him and a young lady offered him a verbal life raft, he attacked her because she was the only one who understood his joke.  Nice.

Following that lovely human being was another stand-up comic.  (Are we seeing a pattern here?)  His material flopped (Again, pattern, anyone?) so he decided to mix it up by talking about politics, because that always goes over well.  This caused the group, both guests and employees, to seethe and crackle.  One woman decided that this man's set was an appropriate time to have a quiet conversation with him that only the two of them could hear.  Another lady, an employee, hollered that the comic's information was "inaccurate" while wielding a dangerous roll of frozen cookies.  When the comic tried to calm her down by telling her that they shared the same opinion she snapped that she was "not on his side" and only wanted to make sure that he "had all the facts straight".  Thanks for being a participant, Angry Cookie Lady. 

Finally, the set finished and I was able to escape into the dark and welcoming night, never to return again.  The only positive part of the entire evening was that I chose to not perform!  In all honesty, that venue doesn't deserve me, or my friend.  It was the most negative Open Mike I have ever experienced.   It's not very often that an event can make a person question their life or career but tonight I questioned mine.  While sitting there, watching each set with increasing horror, I actually felt ashamed to call myself a performer.  Performance art is a tough thing and sadly, it only takes a few rotten ones to make the rest of us look bad. While driving away though, I remembered how much I love what I do for a living and that I am the only one who can make my reputation. 

The most important lesson that I took away from this dreadful night?  It is imperative that artists support each other!  Tonight, I saw no trace of appreciation, respect or camaraderie from the performers.  Each artist was there only to serve Number One. If this is a sign of times to come in the arts community, then we are in great trouble.

Having had this.....memorable experience, I will take extra great pleasure in returning to my regular Open Mike venue.   Call me a softy, but I like it when we can get along and enjoy each person and their art.  And maybe some jokes about poo.....


Until next time,

~Story Siren