Tuesday, January 23, 2018

Before It's Gone: 13th Street Repertory Theatre





I've been in New York City for over 20 years now, working in theater. I've worked in, or at least attended a show at, nearly every theater space in the city, especially the small ones - Off Broadway, Off-Off Broadway, waaaaaaay Off Broadway. But I've never set foot inside the 13th Street Rep. I've walked past it many times, and always asked the question: How does this place continue to exist?

The building itself dates back to the late 18th century, and was reputedly a stop on the Underground Railroad. The Repertory was founded by Edith O'Hara, who was already 50 years old when she quit her job as a kindergarten teacher in Idaho and rode to New York on the back of a motorcycle. In 1972, she saw an ad in the Village Voice: "Building For Lease. Contains Small Theater." It is one of the oldest Off-Broadway theaters still in operation in the city, but despite its longevity, it never directly produced major figures in theater. It's main claim to fame is the play "Line," which was the longest-running play in history, running over 45 years. It's now on hiatus; a hiatus that seems permanent.

The main characteristic of this theater is not the work, but the community it's built. As this New York Times article describes: "A curious group of six people lives above the theater. They are not ordinary tenants, but something like the cast of an eccentric, bohemian sitcom family. They are actors, authors and playwrights whom Ms. O'Hara offered lodging to years ago, and they never left. Mostly in their 60s and 70s now, they include a German man who smokes on the theater's steps, a woman who wrote a memoir 20 years ago that inspired a television movie, and a man who was homeless before Ms. O'Hara offered him a crawl space above the lighting booth." The homeless man became the resident costume and set designer of the theater. "These characters became part of the 13th Street's real life repertory: building props, working lights, acting in shows, painting sets, cleaning bathrooms and working the ticket booth, sometimes all in lieu of rent."

At one point, the 50-seat theater ran into financial troubles. It was saved by an "angel investor" who bought a half-interest in the property, only to later attempt to sell the property to a real estate developer. This lead to an acrimonious legal battle that became a David-And-Goliath cause célèbre in Greenwich Village. The result was an agreement of some sort that allows the theater to remain during her lifetime. The thing is, Edith O'Hara is now 100 years old. The Times reports "The past disputes were resolved for her lifetime and there is no provision for what comes next."

The residents seem resigned to what's coming. One says, "All of this is going to change drastically when Edith is gone. All this will probably end. Whether that is weeks or months or longer, we all eventually will have to move. And I will be very sad." Another, "It doesn't look like a good ending. But I'm grateful it happened. When I moved in they told me: 'Welcome to the insane asylum.'"

Reading about this place made me of high school drama club, theater camp, community theaters, and the summer stock. I don't mean that in a derogatory or condescending way. The opposite, really.

Many of us started out in a group like this, in school.  It was a home where people who didn't fit in easily could find a place to be. A place where Dunning-Kruger is in full effect, standards are both high and low, and passion is off the scale. There's a special potency to this sort of theater community. It's rare to have that sort of experience as an adult.

Now, I would never want to work at 13th Street Rep. I am certain the theater is run-down with antiquated equipment, and an environment guaranteed to drive a trained professional crazy. But when it goes away, as it assuredly will very soon, I'll be sad, because I know there are at least six people who will have lost something very real, and another unique piece of New York City character gone forever.

Saturday, January 20, 2018

Andrea

This week's figure drawing. The model's name was Andrea. I went on a different day than usual, and this session was one long pose, so no quick sketches. Some of the artists there spent a full three hours on one drawing, but that's not my thing. It was good to be able to spend more time on a figure drawing, but I'm not used to spending that much time on a single pose. I messed up the proportions on the first, and then switched positions for a third drawing.
































































































Sunday, January 14, 2018

Theresa

Life drawing at Minerva Studio last week. The model was named Theresa.




























































































































































































































Friday, January 12, 2018

Zoltar

My first sketch of 2018. New York had two solid weeks of below-freezing temperatures, but it finally warmed up. Which was still in the 30's, but it felt downright balmy. Zoltar has been on my To-Draw list for a while.


































This Zoltar Fortune Teller stands in front of Gem Spa at the corner of Second Ave. and St Mark's Place. Despite its name, the store has nothing to do with gems or spas. "Gem" supposedly is an anagram of Gladys, Etta, and Miriam, the wives of the store's previous owners. I don't know why it's called "Spa." It's a corner store/newsstand known for its egg creams, and was a counter-culture center for the Beats and then the hippies in the 50s and 60s.

Zoltar is probably most famous today from his appearance in the movie Big, but I was surprised to learn that there's been a long line of Zoltar (or Zoltan) machines. This is the last one in New York City. There used to be one at FAO Schwarz, and there was one at Coney Island that was destroyed by Superstorm Sandy. The store has been there since the 1920s, but Zoltar has only been there since 2012. He continually spouts those four phrases, beckoning the East Village passerby. I didn't spend the two dollars to get my fortune. From what I've read, Zoltar just spits out a ticket with a fortune cookie-type saying on it. People seem disappointed by this, but really, what were they expecting?

Tuesday, January 2, 2018

Broome & Eldridge St.

Drew this over multiple sittings, usually after attending life drawing classes at the nearby Minerva's Studio.