Renaissance Renaissance: Week 1

To start, a little exposition: For the 2016 Renaissance Festival season, I played a solo street character. A French Marquess named Jaqueline. It was the worst season of my entire fest attendance. Worse than even that day when I was 12 and we had to leave early because it was raining. Worse than a few years ago when I salved my lonely heart with entirely too much whiskey. Last year I learned that I am unable to interact with patrons alone.

I did achieve what I had set out to do by taking a year away from the commedia troupe: try to develop a character from scratch and independently entertain on street. I tried. I failed. Although, I did learn a lot. Mostly that I never want to do that again. But other things, too, perhaps described in a future post.

Beginning rehearsals for the 2017 season was exciting back in with i Arroganti commedia troupe. Co-directing with my best friend, we planned a new scripted show, bought new masks, and I started to get to know the other members she had hired last year. We had our cart-stage fixed up. Unfortunately, my costume wasn't ready for Opening Day, par for the course. I dug enough old pieces out to ensure I caused no scandal, and off we went!

Saturday was gorgeous. The weather was perfectly temperate after the morning rainclouds passed over. I laughed more than I have since I can remember. I performed with my boyfriend as team "Ginger Minge" for Vilification Tennis. This is his first year on the cast, and I was so proud to stand on the stage with him because he is funny as *hell*. I ate my first spicy pickle of the year. I hugged lots of friends. We went fishing for mermaids, using swedish fish gummies for bait. We helped Antonia the Painter graffiti the King's Arbor. We sang "I'm on a Castle" on top of the front gate. At the end of the day, I was exhausted. Which is exactly the goal. It was amazing.

The first Saturday of the season is always ushered in that evening by the Morris Men's procession. They perform the Abbots Bromley Horn dance; a ritualistic, solemn dance of fertility in a path around the whole site. In white garb--but no bells--six men parade in a single line over their wandering path. Then walks members dressed to represent traditional archetypes: Maid Marian, the Hobby Horse, the Fool, the Archer, and the Youth. Their musician trails behind them with his concertina, playing a haunting, loping melody accented by the soft clicking of antlers, sporadic knocking of arrow on bow, and the light chime of the Youth's triangle.

I walked into the night and joined the silent clump of audience who trail behind the procession. Observing the dance is a ritual, as well. For me, mourning the dead has also become tradition of watching the Morris. Earlier this year, a friend died in a random, reckless car accident. His life was cut so very short, so very suddenly. He was a former member of my troupe, and a current member of the Morris Men. He was a spotter for the stilt-walkers. He was a Peace Corps alumni. He was a developing star of the local burlesque community. He was a beautiful, joyful, generous, sweetheart who should never have left this world so violently. And I miss him every day. So I followed the Morris Men and wept. I followed their dim shapes in the night, heard the antlers, heard the song, and poured my love out from my eyes onto the ground. The festival grounds have soaked up so many of my tears. After they left the site, I drank my whiskey alone and went to bed.

I had a hard time scraping up enough energy for Sunday. It seems like everyone did, though, because attendance was light. The humidity was oppressive. We only performed one show, where the audience gradually drifted away until Act 3 was presented to nothing but our congregated benches. It was still a good day, though. My best friend and I ate bowls full of tiny pancakes. Another member of my troupe helped me steal a roll of wedding bunting that was left unattended. We unrolled it and ran around with a streamer of white flying behind us. Then we rolled it back up and tucked it away nicely because we are polite fools. I performed Vilification again with my boyfriend, and I didn't even write crib notes on my hand to help me remember my insults. We took the Prince to see the final show for the year by Sak Theatre, a legendary troupe celebrating its 40th year. We had a picnic by the front gate. I hugged more friends and pet their dogs. We *finally* got ice cream cones. We got wet, but stayed at the front gate anyway. We packed up the cart and went home.

It was a sweet relief to fall back into the troupe routine this year. I know where I belong! That was the first weekend in a few years where I felt like I had come home.

The Velvet Tart: It's a Real Thing Now!

One morning I woke up and was like, "Today I will launch my sewing career. I have talent, and I need money. I want to do what I love." Then I began writing a business plan, revising my logo and banners, and collecting photographs of my work.

That was 2 weeks ago. I consider this an improvement on the 2 years until now that I've been "planning" entrepreneurship. This morning I actually did it. My business plan isn't quite finished, I don't have any ready-made stock in the Etsy store yet, but I still went FUCK IT WE'LL DO IT LIVE. Because I am Fearless!

dammit, I don't have a bunny suit.

I am super excited and super caffeinated and super, utterly terrified. Which is different from being Fearless (I'll explain later). Which calls for the best of cute memes:

optimistic hedgehog is optimistic!

Thanks, li'l bitty hedgehog. I will do all the shit.

Begin at the Beginning.

The weather is finally warm and staying warm in Minneapolis, and it feels like my creative mind is starting to thaw. Maintaining the status quo at the Haus of Manna has been paramount to the (relative) sanity of both of us over the winter. 

Is it over? **4 inches of snow** (repeat until May)

We made it! And the house stayed mostly tidy! And I started writing my business plan!

Oh yeah, started a business plan. I figured it would take one evening and a glass of rum to knock it out, but that was before I spent 3 hours researching business plan writing technique. So I work on it a couple of hours a few nights a week, and I feel like that's alright. One of the most challenging bits so far has been crafting a Mission Statement that encompasses all my myriad interests into 24 words or less (the hyphenated word counts as just one). 

Mission Statement: I will tailor and create items that give expression to the clients' ideal selves. With sensitivity and ebullience I help communicate their personality and body-confidence.

Yes, I am actually using the word "ebullience". It means "cheerful and full of energy", which is exactly how I am when talking clothes with a client. After I've had morning coffee. And lunch coffee.

Coffee is the only thing keeping both of us alive right now.

Writing the business plan means I've had to look at and analyze the entire big picture of how I want to run my business and it makes me ultra-uber-really-really-terrified.  I've never operated officially as an entrepreneur, will I be able to succeed? My time management for projects in the past has been horrendous, and I'm scared of failing, disappointing clients, and tarnishing my reputation. Even though I've improved my discipline, and even finished several projects on time recently, the past is still my little black rain cloud.

Except my rain cloud isn't cute and doesn't sing and doesn't like honey.

However, I can't deny there is a persistent feeling that this is what I have to do. Sewing is what I love to do, and the enjoyment my clients take from my projects encourages me. Having a Mission Statement reminds me of my ambition, and reading it feels like a self-affirmation. Keeping up my motivation and self-esteem may be the most challenging part of starting a business. I hope that I'm not the only entrepreneur to feel this way.

wink wink. You know what I mean?

Coffee is My Co-Pilot

I have skipped weekly postings about the awesome things going on at the MN Renaissance Festival, and now it's 4th weekend! What was I thinking?

Oh, right. I was thinking about the costuming projects I have to finish, my own costume to finish, and like 74 other things about performing and preparing for Fest every Friday. Because of Labor Day ("don't mourn, organize!"), this was only a 4-day week, too. Shit just got real.
...well, as real as Fest things go, anyway.

Lists are fun! Here is a list of things I have learned about costuming this summer:

-Always buy enough fabric for the project on the first fabric run. If you're not using a pattern, as I am wont to do, buy twice as much.

-Making clothes for children is fast and adorable. I complain that I can't find female-sewing-bloggers who aren't making clothes and crafts for their spawn--now I understand why they choose to phone it in by just making baby clothes (that's right, I said it).

-Cats eat string. Then your roommate has to pull threads out of Spaz's butt, which is icky. He's a stanky cat. So clean that shit up.

-Overlock machines are a gift from the gods.

-Overlock machines are possessed by the devil.

-Electronica/hip-hop/breakbeat/alt-rock/hardcore (specifically Mindless Self Indulgence) music is the very best for inspiring momentum to buckle down and sew all day.

-Finding the energy. the confidence, and the courage to continue sewing even though you're depressed and stressed and sad and you really need to curl up on the couch and stare at the wall for 9 hours...that is fucking difficult.

That's exactly what I had to do this week, though. Deadlines cannot wait for me to get my shit together. People cannot attend the Renaissance Festival naked because I couldn't make their clothes. They would be shivering.

If you know of any female-sewing-blogger who isn't making clothes and crafts for children--please post the link! I would love to find more creative people's work to read!

The Funny.

There is some dark stuff in this post. There is also some lovely stuff. I hope it balances out.

Sometime late Sunday night or early Monday morning, Robin Williams ended his life. Something was happening to him where he felt there was no better alternative than to die. All the things that could be listed as good parts of his life, career, and reputation didn't fucking matter. For Robin, they probably hadn't mattered in a while. Depression lied to him and convinced him there was no way out of the Screaming Dark, no way but one.

No, I didn't know him. I've never met him, corresponded with him, nor have I any reason to grieve his death over the loss of life statistically happening constantly around the planet.

Still, I grieve.

I can't remember the first time I saw a Robin Williams film, or if I saw him as Mork or doing stand-up, he has always been a ubiquitous, hilarious component of my childhood. My brother and I watched a lot of movies on the Friday nights during Mom's weekend to have us. As much as we bickered about everything else in life, we could always find a comedy that we both wanted to see. So we watched "Hook". Then we'd watch it again first thing Saturday morning.

Slapstick and sword fights? Yes please.

We saw "Toys". It was entertaining enough for kids, sure, but a lot of the absurdity went over our heads. That's why I love watching it now, though; discovering jokes I was too young to comprehend.

Half the time I couldn't even pick up on the plot.

Seeing the film, "Jack", was an absolute--solely because of the name of the lead actor. The scene of Jack exploring in the yard is a brilliant piece of acting. Watching Robin act the child made me realize how astoundingly talented he was. Robin gave Jack wonder, gentle curiosity, and sheer delight that shines in happy children. The movie was not a comedy, but how could a person not be captivated by a character such as Jack?

Ugh. The feels! All the feels!

Becoming a fan of black comedy was like arriving at a great party where I knew everyone and felt completely comfortable. Plus Robin Williams was there. "Death to Smoochy" was this roller coaster ride of hilarity and piteousness. An awkward vignette of the shiny & new replacing the worn & old plays out in the context of children's television entertainment. Naughty things and bad words happening in a "sunshine zone" seemed refreshing, relevant, and perfectly wry.

It's a thin line between "wacky" and "psycho".

I didn't care for the whole Heaven and Hell thing going on in "What Dreams May Come", but I loved the idea that everyone's paradise and punishment is formed by their self. Another dramatic film where Robin's performance inspires both delight and devastation. The pain of the characters really is sourced from the depths of the actors. 

An oil-painted world really is the best heaven, though.

I can't imagine the absolute desolation his family & friends feel now. I can't even begin to conceive how Robin himself felt on the Last Day, nor on the days, weeks, and months preceding. This was a man who, even though he loved his family, career, and comedy, couldn't manage to stay alive one more day.

...

Within all that craziness, the energy, the hilarity, the imagination, and the inspiration the real Robin sits in the center of it all--Prospero conjuring sprites and storms. He was hurting and couldn't reach out for help. That's something a lot (a LOT) of people recognize in themselves, and losing yet another soul to the Screaming Dark is demoralizing. Considering so many people have been that close to killing themselves, to have been so entirely overwhelmed with even just the natural state of existence, it is terrifying.

 So now I grieve. My heart is broken because a truly brilliant, funny, kind man suffered and succumbed to an insidious disease that I fight and help my friends fight every day. It shouldn't have to be like this. But it is like this. I will never never never give up. There is a hole in the world where a dazzling, gentle, hairy, genius actor should be, and a deep deficit of comedy potential. I can think of nothing better than to always always try to make up for that deficit with levity, wackiness, hijinks, and dick jokes.

That's how I feel. My Facebook feed is choked with people expressing their concern, their sadness, and their shock at the suicide of Robin Williams. I will not apologize for adding one more missive to the queue.

And if you don't like it, why don't you go suck on a dead dog's nose.

Frosted Goofball. Om nom nom.

Humble Pie Tastes Crap.

It's ok, Meatloaf says, "Two outa three ain't bad".

You know how the saying goes, "You can have it good, fast, or cheap; you can only pick two". Last week I had to drop the "good", and the result was "bad". Quite bad. I was frantically making costumes for a show; my first attempt at professional costume design. Now, I do judge my work harshly, but calling it "bad" wasn't a product of my hyperbole. My client straight-up told me how awful these costumes were; told me how my lack of professionalism and shitty time-management screwed over the show. That sounds kind of mean--except for the fact that it's all true. If I manage to book any future clients, I owe it to them to learn from this clusterfuck. I owe it to myself to break my bad habits.
Working really hard to get something done and knowing that it's still not going to be good enough sucks balls.

MICE can do it better than I can?! RAGE QUIT

Okay, pity-party is over. Who likes reading list articles? I love me a good list article. Throw in some fun pictures, cussing, and plenty of kitties--click-throughs shoot right up. Writing about this embarrassing, devastating experience as a light-hearted list hopefully will take away the sting of failing so miserably. So here is my list of

THINGS I LEARNED WHILE FAILING AT COSTUME DESIGN

1) Sketch, sketch, sketch. To get a solid idea of how a costume will be built and how it will look, you must sketch. A lot. Because how a costume looks effects several other factors; lighting, set design, costume changes, movement, combat (if you're lucky), and overall theme. The director has an idea of how the show will look, your costume ideas had better line up with that. 

There's crazy in my creativity? It's more likely than you think.

2) Make mock-ups for large costume pieces first. When somebody puts on something you made; something that matches up with all the measurements you carefully took, and it doesn't fit, is really discouraging. Having to take the costume back, disassemble it, adjust it, rebuild it, or even...kinda
fudge it into looking better burns up your time and is just fucking frustrating. Make adjustments
at the beginning of the process. Do the largest/most complicated pieces first; to make sure they
get done even if you run out of time. The actors need as much time as possible to rehearse with
large-slash-complicated costumes. Because...

Even Dior had to make mock-ups

3) It's hot on stage. Yes, the costumes have to look good, but they also have to be some degree of comfortable for the actor inside them. This actor is embodying somebody else; remembering script, cues, choreography, costume changes, exits, and entrances. All of that is ever harder to do if they are roasting under the cans. Simplify and fake the structure at every possible opportunity. It also cuts down on the amount of work you'll have to do. Back to your Sketches!

She burst into flames, but they gave her a standing O for it.

4) Meet a deadline? Tell director. Miss a deadline? Tell director. Directors love communication. They have to keep pretty much the whole production in mind while they are directing. The stress of juggling all of those balls (heh, juggling balls) is exponentially multiplied if you can't add your ball in when it's expected. Keep the director up to date, in the loop, whatevs; so they won't have to waste time chasing you down to check in. If you're running behind, they need to know that, too. Swallow your fucking pride and tell them what you can do to make up for lost time; the director may even shuffle some crew around to get you more help. There is nothing wrong with accepting help (as long as they can manage to not sew their fingers to the costume). 

I drew a blank for a helpful picture. So here's a kitteh.

5) Efficiency throughout costume changes; a mixed bag. If you plan the costumes changes carefully, you may be able to streamline your workload. Reusing or concealing pieces means less things to make, and less time to change. However, building the costumes to be changed in a hot minute takes some clever engineering. Also, testing. A lot. of testing. You don't want a snap popping open or a velcro strap giving out at the wrong time.

Even Dame Edna's wardrobe malfunctions were classy.

6) Collaboration happens, whether you want it or not. The director will give you feedback (because they're the director). The actors will also have feedback; because they have to wear whatever monstrosity you've created. It's important to not take it personally, because it's about the costume, not your skill. Feedback is not about just the costume; directors and actors discuss entrances, exits, costume changes, accessories, props, character development, and script--and you have to be there for all of it. Maybe a costume gets cut, or ensemble is changed; it's still not personal. It's part of the job; listen to
everything laid out so you can glean the info you need to improve the costumes.

"Hm...not what I had in mind for Rum Tum Tugger..."

7) I should probably get some training. When it came to the actual process of designing costumes for a show; I was in over my head. I wasn't even aware I was about to drown. The job isn't just designing and sewing costumes; it's about you helping the director to create people. The show is a world inside the theater, the costumes become possessions of the characters; stains, patches, tears and all.

The day-to-day process of designing costumes isn't a piece of cake, either. You've got to use your resources to procure all the correct clothing to be used. Sometimes you build it, sometimes you buy/borrow/rent it. Sometimes you delegate certain tasks to other people. You must stick to the deadlines for each phase of building; making sure every actor is has a complete costume. You also have to keep track of costume changes, when they happen, how they happen, and make sure the director is on board with all of it. Sounds exhausting? It is, and I didn't even do it right!

Tim Gunn be like- Corduroy? Really?

I didn't know any of that shit. I had hoped I could just pick it up as I was doing it; by way of osmosis for the routine of costume design. Pretty sure it doesn't work like that. If I can assist a real costume designer to watch and learn what is actually done, I'll be way more comfortable trying to design for a show again.

DONE