There's a room in my home that currently smells like the inside of a kindergarten classroom. For seven days a week, anytime between the hours of 2 and 11pm, I sit, stand, and crouch in that room, surrounded by the scent of aging newspapers, crafting glue, and stale black coffee. I'm in there so long, I go noseblind. The way campers get used to hair that smells of campfire and stale sweat, I go numb to the musty shreds of the LA Times, to the gallon of white goop in a bucket, to the coffee I made four hours ago that never seems to give up the ghost.
If you know me, you've heard me talk about the show I'm putting up in two weeks: The Legend of Graham Canyon. And if you know anything about it, you know it requires (because I made myself require it) some pretty massive set pieces. Set pieces I'm making. Making with papier-maché. Why did I do this to myself? I ask myself that almost hourly. It seemed simple, when I first had the idea: a one person show with just three set pieces, each of them papier-maché. How "bespoke," how "handmade." That's how I sold it, anyway; to the selection committee, and to myself.
The thing about papier-maché is that even when it's good, it looks 87 percent coocoo. And that's when it's finished. Here I am mid-process, wading through paper clippings and old shoe boxes, questioning my sanity. Here I am in a room that looks straight out of an "I Love Lucy" episode. In fact, I'm not convinced there isn't an episode like this: in which Lucy tries to convince Ricky she needs a housekeeper, in which she enlists Ethel to haul trash bags up from the basement like a pack-mule, in which Lucy ends up ass deep in a living room full of rubbish, wailing and keening over the hijinx gone awry, Ricky emitting his signature squawk-laugh.
Of course in the gentle universe of 1950's sitcoms, Lucy always got what she wanted (except, of course, becoming "part of the act"). The set up could be a zany garbage fire, but the resolution would always be love and cleanliness. Here I am in 2019, and I can't seem to make it past the set up. I'm stuck in the first ten minutes of my own sitcom, trapped in sticky, chicken wire loop. The phrase "hairbrained scheme" doesn't even begin to cover the mess I've made. I'm knee deep in crumpled editorials and ribboned, undecipherable panels of "Drabble." My hands, forearms, and sometimes forehead are covered with what looks like gray, opaque scabs, the remnants of newsprint and adhesive.
English is my second language, so I don't always know the idioms and phrases that apply. Let's just say that the more I do, the more work there seems to be. I'm on a time-wasting errand, I'm chasing a big wild bird. That guy who pushed the rock up the hill has nothing on me. Did he spend hours tearing sports pages by hand? Did he try to make a giant sombrero out of box scores? I didn't think so.
Don't get me wrong. I'm blessed with work, and can't wait to share these massive, stupid creations with the world (or 50 people in Santa Monica). But until that day-- December 7th, 7pm, Sand & Sea Room-- you'll find me in the back of my house, making a 5 foot tall cactus out of Bill Plaschke columns. At least there's a little black and white portrait near the byline. That way every few inches, I see a smiling, goateed face looking up at me. And that's enough, for now.
if you see a small person made almost entirely of paper and glue around the beach house, say hi.
xx
analisa
Welcome to the Beach House AiR blog! Every year, local artists works from an office at the Marion Davies Guest House, sharing their progress with the public both in person and online. Content and links posted by artists may include strong language and images, viewer discretion advised. Visit annenbergbeachhouse.com for more information. #ArtSaMo
Sunday, November 24, 2019
Sunday, November 17, 2019
Mountains, Bodies, Art
Good morning, Santa Monica
Have you been to the mountains, recently? Temescal Canyon? Skull Rock? Have you braved the eastbound freeways and gone to the *cough* big boy mountains in the San Gabriels. Just kidding. Santa Monica mountains are like, so cute.
But let's be real. People who aren't from here don't always associate the mountains with Los Angeles, which is odd, because you see them when you fly in. You really can't miss them. And what makes them even more special? They're free. Yes, in addition to the beach, a visit to the Griffith Observatory, and just sitting on a bench by the Echo Park Lake watching beautiful, creatively dressed 20somethings walk by, the mountains are right up there with LA's best free activities.
One of the other things I love about the mountains? You find all kinds of people there. You find all ages, all races, and all gender expressions. You also find all bodies-- which is another form of diversity we often forget, especially when it comes to activities that are deemed or (god forbid, "branded") athletic in nature. As a light skinned POC (which I believe fashion agencies are now calling "ethnically ambiguous"- groan) with a wiry frame, I move through life with a significant amount of privilege. I don't often find adult clothes that fit me, but that's the worst of it. Once I discovered the boys section at thrift stores, it was pretty much smooth sailing.
How did I get here? More importantly, why:
because the mountains, bodies, and art, are inextricably linked for me; especially now, while working on The Legend of Graham Canyon.
A long run or hike in the mountains is a solitary, physical roller coaster. At mile 7 you might feel like the strongest person alive, at mile 10 you might feel like you're in abject misery, and at mile 14, you might suddenly feel lighter than air. Also, it's completely self-imposed-- no one asks me to do it, and with the exception of folks on the mountain, who have been known to see a stranger climbing and shout "good work!" as they pass by, no one is going to give me praise for doing it. Yet there I am, putting one foot in front of the other, because it makes me feel at home in my body, like I'm using it for what it was made.
Equally important to note : many bodies are made for the mountains. For those able to put one foot in front of the other, there are hikes; for those that walk with aid, or are wheelchair mobile, there are still a great many overlooks and campgrounds that can be reached by car; there are several ways to be in nature...
Yesterday, while climbing Mount Baldy with my girlfriend, we saw bodies who hadn't yet gotten their high school diploma, we saw bodies who definitely had AARP memberships, we saw legs that looked like olive garden breadsticks and legs that looked like kings hawaiian rolls... (does using bread as analog take some of the stigmas and value judgements out of body shape? or at least make the different shapes sound warm and delicious?)
Why am I here? Again, my time in the mountains is linked with my art practice. I can walk for hours in the mountains, hoping to reach a peak and hoping not to get lost. And when I make art, I sit alone for hours, toiling on a project no one assigned, and maybe no one will see, and again, hoping not to get too lost -- to arrive at something I can show others, something visible above the morass of my other creative projects. I rearrange the same five words, I spend hours making a giant papier-maché cactus, I sometimes have fun and I sometimes feel like I'm pulling my intestines out like a ribbon, inch by inch. But I keep doing it, because it makes me feel at home in my brain, like I'm using it for what it was meant to do.
So that's me. Today.
and if you absolutely need more
have a good week, everyone
xx
analisa
Sunday, November 10, 2019
SAVE THE GAY! upcoming event 11/12
Hi Santa Monica !
It's too pretty to sit in this office much longer, so I'll be out and in the patio for the rest of my office hours. If you're around, I'm the tiny person in bike hat and a torn flannel-- casual Sunday's a thing, right? Anyway, let's do this.
There's a screenwriting book from the early 2000s called Save the Cat. It's about narrative structure, mostly, and it has a pretty helpful breakdown of what should happen at what point in a story (e.g. by page 20something somebody has to make a big decision about somethingrather). It advocates for outlining, for storyboarding, and I guess, at some point, saving a cat (it's been a while, so sue me).
Reading a book like this makes you see films and other scripts (tv shows, plays) with a keener eye. You notice when stories take forever to get going (you're 30 minutes into a heist movie and you haven't even met the thieves yet -- yes that's right "Ocean's 8," I see you). You also notice when films rely on racist or homophobic clichés to further along plot-- well worn tropes like that of the "black character dies first," and "dead lesbian syndrome." In addition to being killed off, characters in POC or Queer communities deaths seem like tools to further the storyline, or, more egregiously, to further the arc of the main character, who is almost never a member of a marginalized community.
When I started creating the project The Legend of Graham Canyon, I wanted to create a story that was not only about a queer, latinx person of the old west, but one who doesn't die because of their queerness (that's not a spoiler alert, maybe Graham dies and maybe Graham doesn't, but it's not on account of being queer). For inspiration, I searched high and low for queer stories that didn't involve tragic ends, and unsurprisingly (but still disappointingly) I came up damn near empty. The only queer character I found who didn't meet a tragic end was that of Toddy in "Victor/Victoria," though one could argue that as an out gay man in 1930s Paris, he wasn't too far removed from folks in his own queer community being put into concentration camps.... gosh now that I think of that I hope Toddy never went to Berlin. Toddy if you're there, write and tell me you're safe.
Don't get me wrong, despite the fact that "Brokeback Mountain" and "Fried Green Tomatoes" both follow these tropes, they're still two of my favorite stories/books/movies. That said, I'm eager to create stories in which marginalized people not only get to survive, but thrive. If we represent these stories and people, then perhaps the way we see one another will change, as well.
If you'd like to hear more about all the movies I googled with sad, queer stories and how I'd like to rewrite them, then please join us at the Beach House this coming Tuesday, 11/12, at 6:30pm for a showcase and talk with queer writer and artist Veronika Shulman.
Oh and just a general PSA: please wear your helmet. I crashed my bicycle today and almost became my very own buried gay cliché, but due to the foresight/paranoia of my girlfriend (who has advocated for helmet use even in car free zones like the bike path), I am alive and telling the tale. Bruised and scabby, but very much alive.
stay safe, Santa Monica.
xx
Analisa
It's too pretty to sit in this office much longer, so I'll be out and in the patio for the rest of my office hours. If you're around, I'm the tiny person in bike hat and a torn flannel-- casual Sunday's a thing, right? Anyway, let's do this.
There's a screenwriting book from the early 2000s called Save the Cat. It's about narrative structure, mostly, and it has a pretty helpful breakdown of what should happen at what point in a story (e.g. by page 20something somebody has to make a big decision about somethingrather). It advocates for outlining, for storyboarding, and I guess, at some point, saving a cat (it's been a while, so sue me).
Reading a book like this makes you see films and other scripts (tv shows, plays) with a keener eye. You notice when stories take forever to get going (you're 30 minutes into a heist movie and you haven't even met the thieves yet -- yes that's right "Ocean's 8," I see you). You also notice when films rely on racist or homophobic clichés to further along plot-- well worn tropes like that of the "black character dies first," and "dead lesbian syndrome." In addition to being killed off, characters in POC or Queer communities deaths seem like tools to further the storyline, or, more egregiously, to further the arc of the main character, who is almost never a member of a marginalized community.
When I started creating the project The Legend of Graham Canyon, I wanted to create a story that was not only about a queer, latinx person of the old west, but one who doesn't die because of their queerness (that's not a spoiler alert, maybe Graham dies and maybe Graham doesn't, but it's not on account of being queer). For inspiration, I searched high and low for queer stories that didn't involve tragic ends, and unsurprisingly (but still disappointingly) I came up damn near empty. The only queer character I found who didn't meet a tragic end was that of Toddy in "Victor/Victoria," though one could argue that as an out gay man in 1930s Paris, he wasn't too far removed from folks in his own queer community being put into concentration camps.... gosh now that I think of that I hope Toddy never went to Berlin. Toddy if you're there, write and tell me you're safe.
Don't get me wrong, despite the fact that "Brokeback Mountain" and "Fried Green Tomatoes" both follow these tropes, they're still two of my favorite stories/books/movies. That said, I'm eager to create stories in which marginalized people not only get to survive, but thrive. If we represent these stories and people, then perhaps the way we see one another will change, as well.
If you'd like to hear more about all the movies I googled with sad, queer stories and how I'd like to rewrite them, then please join us at the Beach House this coming Tuesday, 11/12, at 6:30pm for a showcase and talk with queer writer and artist Veronika Shulman.
Oh and just a general PSA: please wear your helmet. I crashed my bicycle today and almost became my very own buried gay cliché, but due to the foresight/paranoia of my girlfriend (who has advocated for helmet use even in car free zones like the bike path), I am alive and telling the tale. Bruised and scabby, but very much alive.
stay safe, Santa Monica.
xx
Analisa
Sunday, November 3, 2019
Fall Back, Spring into Winter Blues, and how to stay sane when the days are short...
Hi Santa Monica,
it's Analisa, again. Excited to say be saying hello from my second full week in the residency. I'd been wondering what I was going to tell you all about, what news I'd report from the art corner of the Beach House, and I figured this week I'd spend a little time talking about how to stay inspired in the winter. Now, I have many "East Coast" friends (and I use quotes because many of those people are transplants to that coast), who claim that winter doesn't happen in Los Angeles. I beg to differ. Winter does happen, here. And okay, sure, it doesn't get that cold (though I'd challenge any self-proclaimed East Coaster to walk dogs before sunrise and not wear at least a fleece). But the time does change-- as it did last night-- and though for one day we wake up feeling fat with sleep, what we get in return is several months of early nightfall. It gets dark early and often, and with that comes The Cloak of seasonal depression, wrapping itself around me like a chenille boa constrictor (according to Psychology Today, 10million people are affected by seasonal affective disorder annually, if you were looking for a number). As The Cloak wraps itself around me, I find it harder and harder to keep working past 4pm, and easier and easier to throw myself into a volcano of anxiety over the lack of daylight/ perceived lack of TIME to do all the things I have to do before bedtime. The one thing that's been saving me recently: Drag. Drag in all its forms, from what most folks might think of (RuPaul, the Birdcage), to what some of the incredible drag performers of LA are doing currently (if you're interested, I highly recommend seeing Drag Brunch at the Lyric Hyperion, or going to Exposure Drag at the Offbeat Bar).
On occasion, these chilly, dark evenings make me not want to leave my home. On those nights, I take comfort in the drag I can find on the world wide web. So without any more fuss, here's a list of the best Drag I've watched this week:
"Tipping the Velvet" - this is a BBC miniseries about male impersonators of the Victorian Era music halls... the writing is hit or miss, and we get some moments of grueling, turn of the century melodrama (the protagonist is down on her luck! she's starving and bleeding and unable to find even a spoonful of porridge!)... but I dare anyone not to fall in love with Kitty Butler as played by Keeley Haws, who folks might now know as the Home Secretary (may she rest in peace) from Netflix's Bodyguard (also spoiler alert for that, sorry)
The Birdcage- do I need to explain this one? Nathan Lane is a true vision in this, but upon rewatching, Robin Williams' performance is subtly gut wrenching and extremely grounded. After all, he's just a father willing to do anything for his son, including putting on his own drag king act in order to be convincing as a hyper masculine "cultural attaché to Greece," a job about which, to this day, I know absolutely nothing.
Some Like It Hot- again, doesn't need an explanation nor an endorsement from me... but I'd offer this. Two "no good musicians" find their humanity not just because they're asked to dress as women, but because women of the day were expected to perform their femininity daily-- and I would argue that Marilyn Monroe is just as much in drag as Tony Curtis when it comes to performing gender.
Victor/Victoria - it surprised me that this came out in 1982, because it's both a throwback and incredibly relevant. At one point, Julie Andrew's character says, "I'm not sure I want to stop being a man." It's worth it for that line, alone. And for James Garner, who is the visual equivalent of a hug from your high school crush.
More to come on this list as my time in the residency progresses. And always excited to hear some suggestions, and curious to see if anyone who hasn't seen these will reach out -- remember, it's @anirayflo on twitter and ig. Until then, happy fall back into the time of short days and cozy nights.
Siempre, Analisa
it's Analisa, again. Excited to say be saying hello from my second full week in the residency. I'd been wondering what I was going to tell you all about, what news I'd report from the art corner of the Beach House, and I figured this week I'd spend a little time talking about how to stay inspired in the winter. Now, I have many "East Coast" friends (and I use quotes because many of those people are transplants to that coast), who claim that winter doesn't happen in Los Angeles. I beg to differ. Winter does happen, here. And okay, sure, it doesn't get that cold (though I'd challenge any self-proclaimed East Coaster to walk dogs before sunrise and not wear at least a fleece). But the time does change-- as it did last night-- and though for one day we wake up feeling fat with sleep, what we get in return is several months of early nightfall. It gets dark early and often, and with that comes The Cloak of seasonal depression, wrapping itself around me like a chenille boa constrictor (according to Psychology Today, 10million people are affected by seasonal affective disorder annually, if you were looking for a number). As The Cloak wraps itself around me, I find it harder and harder to keep working past 4pm, and easier and easier to throw myself into a volcano of anxiety over the lack of daylight/ perceived lack of TIME to do all the things I have to do before bedtime. The one thing that's been saving me recently: Drag. Drag in all its forms, from what most folks might think of (RuPaul, the Birdcage), to what some of the incredible drag performers of LA are doing currently (if you're interested, I highly recommend seeing Drag Brunch at the Lyric Hyperion, or going to Exposure Drag at the Offbeat Bar).
On occasion, these chilly, dark evenings make me not want to leave my home. On those nights, I take comfort in the drag I can find on the world wide web. So without any more fuss, here's a list of the best Drag I've watched this week:
"Tipping the Velvet" - this is a BBC miniseries about male impersonators of the Victorian Era music halls... the writing is hit or miss, and we get some moments of grueling, turn of the century melodrama (the protagonist is down on her luck! she's starving and bleeding and unable to find even a spoonful of porridge!)... but I dare anyone not to fall in love with Kitty Butler as played by Keeley Haws, who folks might now know as the Home Secretary (may she rest in peace) from Netflix's Bodyguard (also spoiler alert for that, sorry)
The Birdcage- do I need to explain this one? Nathan Lane is a true vision in this, but upon rewatching, Robin Williams' performance is subtly gut wrenching and extremely grounded. After all, he's just a father willing to do anything for his son, including putting on his own drag king act in order to be convincing as a hyper masculine "cultural attaché to Greece," a job about which, to this day, I know absolutely nothing.
Some Like It Hot- again, doesn't need an explanation nor an endorsement from me... but I'd offer this. Two "no good musicians" find their humanity not just because they're asked to dress as women, but because women of the day were expected to perform their femininity daily-- and I would argue that Marilyn Monroe is just as much in drag as Tony Curtis when it comes to performing gender.
Victor/Victoria - it surprised me that this came out in 1982, because it's both a throwback and incredibly relevant. At one point, Julie Andrew's character says, "I'm not sure I want to stop being a man." It's worth it for that line, alone. And for James Garner, who is the visual equivalent of a hug from your high school crush.
More to come on this list as my time in the residency progresses. And always excited to hear some suggestions, and curious to see if anyone who hasn't seen these will reach out -- remember, it's @anirayflo on twitter and ig. Until then, happy fall back into the time of short days and cozy nights.
Siempre, Analisa
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