Saturday, March 30, 2013
Sunday, March 24, 2013
A "Mirror Imag(in)e" Teaser....
Mädchen March, Ph.D.
Castleton College
Black Forest, OH 44883
July 25, 2010
My Dear Creatives,
I just received the most delightful letter from Ashley about your work together, and I wanted to wish you well on your project.
Ashley asked if I would write something about Nevada LeBlanc. Poor Nevada, what she went through really changed her. She worked for me during her Freshman Year, helping with one of my research projects on Urban Mythologies. Although she, Ashley, and Linda were quite the show together in Freshman mythology class—sparking debate, causing laughter, and prodding one another (and everyone within earshot) to think more deeply—one on one Nevada seemed quiet, attentive, grounded, sweet, and even simple.
That being said, Nevada always had the keenest sense of justice of any student I’d ever had. She seemed to be able to sort out right from wrong in the cloudiest situations, and make sure that the underdogs were given the rights due to them. Once I remarked that she was “the fairest of them all,” and her classmates took up the tease (well-naturedly, of course). Who knew it would be so portentous!
As a matter of fact, Nevada was the driving force behind my efforts behind the New York City Sewer Alligator Rescue Service, once we discovered this urban legend actually had some teeth. She actually shed tears at the terrible plight of pipe-bound crocodillians and this prodded me to action.
Because of this quality of hers, the heartbreak we all felt at the injustice done to her was ever the more painful. When Nevada returned to school, she was a changed person. More reserved, more skeptical, and a even, I must point out, a few shades paler. And perhaps not-so-strangely, her interests had moved from social justice to neuroscience.
Because Nevada is now such a private person, I would be surprised if she agreed to share her story with you. But on the other hand, I would not be surprised if her friends convinced her; they are, as I mentioned, quite taken with your project. Even I was talked in to writing to her!
By the way, you may be interested to know that since I last wrote you I have rescued two mice from a French laboratory (named Melibellule and Tigrounette), who have inspired my new research on the transformational aspects of rodentia in the Cinderella myth. There may even be some shamanic involvement that I cannot yet, at this time, confirm.
Curiously,
Professor Mädchen March
Castleton College
Black Forest, OH 44883
July 25, 2010
My Dear Creatives,
I just received the most delightful letter from Ashley about your work together, and I wanted to wish you well on your project.
Ashley asked if I would write something about Nevada LeBlanc. Poor Nevada, what she went through really changed her. She worked for me during her Freshman Year, helping with one of my research projects on Urban Mythologies. Although she, Ashley, and Linda were quite the show together in Freshman mythology class—sparking debate, causing laughter, and prodding one another (and everyone within earshot) to think more deeply—one on one Nevada seemed quiet, attentive, grounded, sweet, and even simple.
That being said, Nevada always had the keenest sense of justice of any student I’d ever had. She seemed to be able to sort out right from wrong in the cloudiest situations, and make sure that the underdogs were given the rights due to them. Once I remarked that she was “the fairest of them all,” and her classmates took up the tease (well-naturedly, of course). Who knew it would be so portentous!
As a matter of fact, Nevada was the driving force behind my efforts behind the New York City Sewer Alligator Rescue Service, once we discovered this urban legend actually had some teeth. She actually shed tears at the terrible plight of pipe-bound crocodillians and this prodded me to action.
Because of this quality of hers, the heartbreak we all felt at the injustice done to her was ever the more painful. When Nevada returned to school, she was a changed person. More reserved, more skeptical, and a even, I must point out, a few shades paler. And perhaps not-so-strangely, her interests had moved from social justice to neuroscience.
Because Nevada is now such a private person, I would be surprised if she agreed to share her story with you. But on the other hand, I would not be surprised if her friends convinced her; they are, as I mentioned, quite taken with your project. Even I was talked in to writing to her!
By the way, you may be interested to know that since I last wrote you I have rescued two mice from a French laboratory (named Melibellule and Tigrounette), who have inspired my new research on the transformational aspects of rodentia in the Cinderella myth. There may even be some shamanic involvement that I cannot yet, at this time, confirm.
Curiously,
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Roll Credits
The Souls of Her Feet interactive BLOOK was brought to you by:
Kristen Caven
in collaboration with both the real and the fictional
Michael O'Dell
and the following artists:
Frontspiece photo (artified):
Gyorgy Vass
Demos for "Big Bitch," "Ashley's Blues," and "If The Shoe Fits"
Jenn Graham as Ashley (sung) and Brian Yates Sharber as Harry.
(Spoken parts & photo of Brian's feet by Kristen Caven)
"When You Try to Clean With Dran-o"
Kristen Caven using Autotune*
"It's A Waltz"
The robots at XtraNormal*
New York stage reading cast:
Narrator.....Jen Ponton
Ashley.....Juliana Marx
Donna.....Dina Plotch
Debra.....Cassandra Bodzak
Sylvia.....Susan Neuffer
Harry.....Keith Levy (a.k.a. Sherry Vine)
Jeff.....Blake McCorvey
Coach.....Robert Kalman
Heckler.....Roger Wingfield
Chorus (Understudies):
Kerri Ford (Ashley), Jen Ponton (Ashley), Giancarla Boyle (Donna), Joanna Schubert (Debra), Alex Beck (Jeff), Roger Wingfield (Coach) JenMarie Pierce, Kris Doubles
“Midnight Mouse”
Piano.....Michael O’Dell, Jess Stewart
Bass.....Brian Holtz
Drums.....Rossen Nedelchev
Ashley.....Juliana Marx
Donna.....Dina Plotch
Debra.....Cassandra Bodzak
Sylvia.....Susan Neuffer
Harry.....Keith Levy (a.k.a. Sherry Vine)
Jeff.....Blake McCorvey
Coach.....Robert Kalman
Heckler.....Roger Wingfield
Chorus (Understudies):
Kerri Ford (Ashley), Jen Ponton (Ashley), Giancarla Boyle (Donna), Joanna Schubert (Debra), Alex Beck (Jeff), Roger Wingfield (Coach) JenMarie Pierce, Kris Doubles
“Midnight Mouse”
Piano.....Michael O’Dell, Jess Stewart
Bass.....Brian Holtz
Drums.....Rossen Nedelchev
See more about who these fine and awesome actors are on the blog.
*All other music everywhere by Michael O'Dell, of course.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Three Blocks from Broadway
From: FTR <info@fairytalereality.com>
Date: Sunday, 28 August 2011 7:07:07
Subject: Congratulations
Ashley, Congratulations to you, Jeff, Harriet, and Peter on the newest little Princes... (and one is a Princess!) I hope you are recovering well and enjoying your first few days being the mother of twins. Michael and I are sending something along for the little ones.
And here’s a treat for you: the video of the staged reading. We were only three blocks from Broadway! It was wonderful to meet some of your friends in the audience. It seems Nevada has come around and is willing to tell her story—with a little help from Cadwallader, Linda, and Professor March.
Enjoy the mini-musical. It’s rough, of course, but everyone was tremendous and worked so well to pull off a good show with so little rehearsal time. The story isn't exactly how we want it yet, but we got the broad strokes... hope you like it! We’ve already started the rewrite, and are taking the next “little steps.” As your life has grown and developed into something so much more than it was when you were seventeen, we hope this story of yours will grow and develop into something that can really touch people’s hearts.
It’s been wonderful working with you. Thank you for sharing your story.
With gratitude and affection,
Kristen and Michael
The Souls of Her Feet - NY Staged Reading from Kristen Caven on Vimeo.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
That One Big Step
We crept back into the living room, hoping to grab them from the windowsill and go, but Sylvia was still sitting where we had left her, staring into space. Light played over her fraying hair from the glass beads when we moved the shoes.
“Ashley,” she said, looking up, “I’m sorry.”
Startled, I turned to look at her. I had never heard her say those words.
Sylvia’s eyes went from liquid to solid in an instant, as her dominant and dominating persona regained control. “If you walk through that door, though, I swear to God, you will never get an ounce of support from me again."
Jeff and I just stared at her. "You are leaving your HOME behind! How could you do that?”
“Well I don’t want to,” I retorted, feeling my temper rise through my fear, “but Harry’s right." Jeff touched my back, and I took a breath and kept going. “I don’t have to live like this anymore. I’m tired of you yelling at me all the time. I’m tired of doing all the work and being called names. I deserve better than this.”
Her eyes softened again, and the rare vulnerability returned. “I am just so angry right now I can’t stand it. But Harry’s right. You don’t have to stay. You are winning, and I am losing the one thing...the one thing I have left of your dad. Who I really loved.”
Sylvia started crying again, and I felt a rush of empathy and sorrow. Why hadn’t she ever said this before? We had that in common. Things could have been so different. Why did she have to see it as a war? “I’m sorry, Sylvia,” I said. From the corner of my eye I could see Jeff rubbing his neck. He later joked that he got whiplash from her sudden mood shifts.
“Can you just do me one favor,” she asked, in a softer voice than I'd heard in years, since before she started taking me for granted. “Can you help me clean this mess up? I just can’t… I just don’t know how I’ll get through the day. With the girls and all. And then tomorrow…”
I looked at Jeff, whose inner eyebrows were creeping into his forehead, then looked at Sylvia, pressing her hand to her mouth, and realized I could end this on my terms. The mess she was referring to was a nicely set buffet table—with mom’s china—a few dirty dishes, and a pile of papers on the floor by her desk. I lifted my chin and said “Of course, Sylvia.” Together we stacked the plates up and put them back in the cabinet. She poured the punch down the drain and I packed it carefully back into the box, wrapping crumpled newspaper around each cup, dated from my parent’s wedding month. I folded the tablecloth—the way I wanted it folded. Jeff helped me put the plastic slipcovers back on the furniture, and bent to scoop up the piles of paper from the floor by the desk, from when Sylvia had cleared it in her fury.
“Ashley,” Jeff called out, “there’s mail for you.” Sylvia rushed towards him, laughing nervously, “You know! Maybe I should clean up my own desk! You guys can go.” But it was too late.
“It’s a letter from Castleton,” Jeff said, narrowing his eyes at Sylvia. He handed it to me and I tore it open.
“They accepted me,” I said, feeling the weight of my long and painful wait leave my shoulders. And when I got to the bottom, I shouted, “and a scholarship!” I jumped up and down. This was the dream I had been waiting for.
Jeff threw his arms around me and twirled me around and away from Sylvia. “I’m going there, too,” he grinned. That was the dream I could never have hoped for!
“I-I was waiting for Debra and Donna’s to come so I could give them to you all at the same time,” Sylvia stuttered, suddenly self-conscious. I stood up straight and looked her in the eye, trying to find some response to what I could see clearly now as bullshit. In spite of all the sincere emotion of half an hour ago, now I was just done with her. I opened my mouth up with every intention of speaking my feelings—the ones Harry had helped me articulate for the first time just two nights ago—but I couldn't bring myself to use the B-word. She probably deserved a flood of words more colorful than I could ever knit up with a tongue that had been trained to be as tempered as mine. But even Harry's words hadn't slowed her down. And I knew from experience that language like that would just fuel her fire. Plus, letting fly is just not my style.
So I took a deep breath and, permitting myself only the slightest whiff of snootiness, simply said, “Sylvia, I think you can clean the rest up yourself.”
Jeff told me later he wanted to laugh out loud. Instead, being the stud that he is, he took my hand and held it tight, drawing me gently away.
“Goodbye, Sylvia,” I said for the last time, taking that one big step out the front door and into my own life.
