A TRIP TO IRELAND AND WHAT CAME HOME WITH ME…

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The Liffey at evening.

The Liffey at evening.

I returned a week ago from my fourth trip to Ireland, spent mostly in Dublin, this trip, at World Con (a science fiction/fantasy convention). I’m not sure how much I got out of the convention itself, but I went with a writer friend and met many of her friends–very open and friendly people. And that was worth a lot.

Dublin is much changed since I was there last, in 1997. With membership in the EU, it has become a much more international city. On my first morning there, I was astonished by how fast everything–pedestrians and traffic–moved, rushing off to work. It felt more like New York than DC does. I’m very happy for Dublin. But I miss Bewley’s counters and pots of tea made without tea bags. There seem to be a zillion coffee shops, and Grafton street seems to have an awful lot of the same stores we can find in any Mall here in the United States.

But I revisited Dublin haunts I remembered from past trips–the goldsmith, Declan Killen, on Fade Street, where I had bought my Irish knot necklace back in 1986. (I lost it some years later, but managed to trace a photo of it and sent it to him, and he made me a replacement.) This trip, I came to his red door on Fade street. One had to push a button, and he answered and buzzed me in. I went up a long flight of stairs covered with a red carpet, and was greeted at the top of the stairs. He ushered me into his small shop. His jewelry, necklaces, pendants, pins, and a few earrings, are lovely, though mostly beyond my means.  It seems that every twenty years or so, I visit his shop, admire his beautiful work without managing to buy any of it, and nevertheless, on each visit, he offers to–and takes–my silver necklace, and cleans and polishes it for me.

I also accidentally came upon the International Bar on a corner of Wicklow street, where I had had a humorous adventure on that 1986 trip (a story for another time). Lots of nostalgia.  20190814_160402_Film1This trip, I was staying in the Temple Bar area along Wellington Quay for some of my time, and on St. Augustine street the rest. I loved waking to the cries of sea gulls in the mornings, and the cool, fresh air. I also loved the Leprechaun Museum which, despite its name, is neither a museum nor a tourist attraction devoted to what Americans would expect Leprechauns to be. Rather, it is a place of Shanachies–storytellers of old Irish myths. We were treated to wonderful tales more performed than merely recited by a terrific, theatrical storyteller named Emily.

There was a guided day-trip to the Cliffs of Moher and Galway town that, due to circumstances beyond our control–weather and some other things–was rather a bust. But we did get to see the Aillwee Cave–which was fascinating: a series of caverns created by underwater rivers cutting through rock over centuries.

But the main piece of Ireland I brought home with me this trip, was the experience of seeing a small exhibit of Martyn Turner’s political cartoons at the entrance to Trinity’s Berkeley Library. I simply had to get a book of them. I tried Easons–they said the books were out of print, and suggested Chapters, which has a used book section. So off I went to Chapters, and found a number of them. I bought two. Turner’s themes mostly relate to Irish politics. But he also addresses world politics. Something clicked in my brain, and I came back with (a) a sudden enthusiasm to write and draw political cartoons; and (b) a zillion ideas pulsing through my brain at once. I had recently signed up to have a Daily Kos Diary, and have now decided to start posting political cartoons there. We’ll see  whether ideas will keep coming to me, how well I can draw them (I do have a style of my own, but I’m not sure how compatible it is with political import), how adeptly I can combine text and pictures to satiric effect, and whether or not I can develop an audience for them. (So far, I have posted two, and have received five recommendations for each.  It is not a lot, but at least someone has SEEN them and, apparently, liked them.) I am excited about this new endeavor. As I grow and develop, I hope to post here what I may learn about the craft and about developing an audience.

New Story Out–The Pickpocket of Prague

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My short fiction, The Pickpocket of Prague, just came out today at Every Day Fiction. The story is based, very loosely (wink), on an experience I had when in Prague in 2001. I was in a writing seminar there, and the instructor assigned us to write a story “from the point of view of a person you hate.” I did not exactly hate these people, but I was trying to assume their likely point of view.

 

My Wanderings Past New York’s Public Art

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We all know that New York’s major museums and private galleries make the city one of the great artistic centers of the world. For the most part, though, I deliberately did not spend my time at those venues during this disjointed sojourn in New York. Instead, I wandered the streets, noting public art that was whimsical and affecting. Here are some of the artworks I saw:

A snail on the meridian at West 96th street and Broadway

A snail on the meridian at West 96th street and Broadway. (Note the naked lady sitting inside the snail’s shell.)

Statue of Ralph Kramden, bus driver, from the tv show, The Honeymooners, stands outside the Port Authority Bus Station.

A statue of Ralph Kramden, bus driver, from the tv show, The Honeymooners, stands outside the Port Authority Bus Station.

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Light moving through colored glass circles embedded in metal, on a square in the Battery area.

A mousey, on meridian near Broadway and West 81st street.

A mousey, on the meridian near Broadway and West 81st street.

New York's Korean War Veteran's memorial, in the Battery area. (Presenting the soldier as a missing space is quite affecting, as is the view of nature through him.)

New York’s Korean War Veteran’s memorial, in the Battery area. (Presenting the soldier as a missing space is quite affecting, as is the view through him of tree and sky; some sad sense of the eternal there.)

It is a better known piece of public art at this point, but who could resist displaying this little bundle of defiance of the the Wall Street Bull!

It is a well-known piece of public art at this point, but who could resist displaying this little bundle of defiance standing against the Wall Street Bull!

And somewhere on Eighth Avenue, I think--I have no idea what it is, but it is interesting, no?

And somewhere on Eighth Avenue, I think–I have no idea what it is, but it is interesting, no? Like some creature curled up into a tight hug.

There was also an interesting exhibit of work by Bernie Leahy in a one-room gallery at the Irish Arts Center, what the artist calls “stitched drawings.”  Even when quite close to the work, one must strain to see that they are stitched with thread or yarn and not drawn with pen, pencil or painted.  Here are a couple of examples:

20181022_140249_Film3 20181022_140230_Film3 And also, just for fun–from the same Bernie Leahy exhibit, lips stitched in…

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They have an anthropomorphized look, don’t they? It’s as if the fastened buttons are of a blouse fastening just below the neck. And lips being inserted, one wants to supply eyes; and the eyes being missing makes it feel like the gloves are blind or blindfolded. Am I deceived, or does there appear to be a chin below the lips?

New York City: On Polaris North

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In my first week in NYC, I went, with my friend Camille, to The Liar’s Show, down on the Lower East Side. Four storytellers told stories and the audience voted on who was lying.  Afterwards we went to dinner with some of the organizers and I ended up in conversation with one of the storytellers and his mother who, it turns out, is an actress. She told me of Polaris North, a group of playwrights and actors.  She told me that the public could attend readings there (the audience is asked for feedback to help the playwright improve the play), and that one could also audit their workshops a couple of times before joining.

Not living in New York, it did not make sense for me to join. But, when I returned for my second two weeks in the city I attended a public reading at Polaris North, and was invited to approach the workshop leaders to audit while I was in town. I did. The workshop leaders and the members were extremely welcoming.

On a Saturday, I audited a playwrights’ bootcamp, a workshop lasting for about four hours. This was very much like a regular fiction workshop, except that the roles were read aloud by the various members attending before the group and leader critiqued the work.

On the following Monday, I audited an actor’s workshop. I’m sure that, for actors, it probably would have been commonplace. But, unlike the playwrights workshop, this was, for me, a new experience, and I found it fascinating. An actor would perform a prepared monologue. The leader and the group would critique the performance. The leader might say, “no–too much. Do less.” Or, “no, not strong enough. Give it more.” And the actor would immediately redo the monologue with a slightly different take, often subtly but identifiably different. One actor redid her monologue several times, and each time there were subtle but varied interpretations that gave distinctly different nuances to the character.

In the book Stella Adler on America’s Master Playwrights, edited by Barry Paris, Adler says of the actor, “Your job is not to ‘act.’ Your job is to interpret.” She notes, “That histrionic side of the actor is what he is and what he adds to the play. The play is dead. It lies there. The other side is the side that people fool around with.” I’m not sure I’d call a completed play “dead.” But (except for out-of-town try-outs and resulting rewrites), it is complete. Done. Something that the director and actors will now make their own. It is a matter that writers of novels, short stories or other sorts of literature do not need to consider. Observing the way in which the actors at Polaris North “fooled around with” their monologues was instructive to me–indeed to anyone who is not already in theater–who may decide to write plays. One must recognize that they need to leave space for the actor to interpret.

New York Sojourn, Continued…

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The original plan was to spend 28 days in New York City and write about it day by day. The impossible situation at my first place of stay (see last post) made that impossible.  Between the mouse in the kitchen repeatedly darting from under the refrigerator to under the stove, the little dog piddling on my floor, the front door to the apartment being unlocked 24/7, the mother–though friendly enough–making eternal excuses for everything–and finally, an argument in the hall of the apartment outside my room that made me concerned that her son and his friend were using hard drugs, I had to leave. A friend had me stay with her for two days while we tried to find a new place for me to rent, but we failed. I went home feeling a bit defeated.  BUT–another friend came up with some new possible places to live. So, after a week at home, I went back for another two weeks, salvaging much of the month, but also squeezing a month’s worth of activity into two weeks. I accomplished a lot.

(Of course, there was the day I came home to the new place on a Friday afternoon–a very lovely studio apartment with an eviction notice taped to the door that ostensibly gave one three days to vacate. That would have meant Monday. You’ve got to be kidding me!–my first, exasperated reaction. After only one week back in NYC, I might have to leave yet again? It did get resolved. First, there were thirty days for the notice to be questioned or appealed. I would be gone by then. And, ultimately, it turned out that the rent had been paid but had probably crossed in the mail with the notice. Still, it did not help make for a relaxed, un-stressful month.)

Nevertheless, those two weeks were filled with auditing of workshops (both playwrights and actors), attending several staged play readings, visits to a Chagall exhibit at the Jewish Museum, a visit to the Irish Arts Center, and to the Drama Bookshop, as well as time spent with artist and writer friends, and with relatives.  And then, of course, the bomb threats to CNN and Robert De Niro, and the rest occurred while I was in New York, as well as the terrible event at the Pittsburgh synagogue.

Next:  elaboration on the best of my New York adventures…