Friday, July 13, 2018

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

Saturday, July 7, 2018

Playwright Brooke Berman at New Dramatist, 2007

Playwright Brooke Berman at New Dramatist, 2007



UNTIL WE FIND EACH OTHER


Sophy:
"Welcome, Ye of the Congregation of the Broken-hearted. Welcome, Motherless Children. Welcome, you who wrestle with angels. I used to wrestle with angels. But not anymore."

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

Playwright Portrait, John Patrick Shanley, Excerpt from Celllini, 2008

Playwright Portrait, John Patrick Shanley, Excerpt from Celllini, 2008

Cellini
Adopted from the Autobiography of Beuvenuto Cellini
CELLINI: Now it pleased my glorious Lord and Immortal God that at last I had brought whole to completion. The Duke was stationed at a window low upon the first floor of the palace. Just above the entrance to the piazza. There, half hidden, he could hear everything that folk were saying of my statue. So on a certain Thursday morning, before the sun was fully in the heavens, and before such a multitude as I have never before or since seen, I exposed my Perseus to the public gaze. Florence! Florence! (The lights change. The company sees the Perseus. We do not. The, as first, have no reaction except to draw back ever so slightly, Then, one by one, led by Bandinello and Riccio, they begin to applaud. One breathes, “Bravo” another “Che Bella,”another “Magnifica” another “Grandiosa”another“Bellisima”Cellini faces the Pope and genuflects, He faces the Duke and bows, He throws Caterina a kiss. She returns it. Then he signals them tosilenceand speaks to us). There are those who say I worked the metal too much. That my Perseus has failed the terrible test of greatness. Some flaw of proportion in the work. Perhaps. But I say to you, as I prepare to tell my life, no man can will himself to excellence. No fool or hero, of his own, can climb from the sky to Heaven itself. Such things are the province of Almighty God. But God looks down with favor on those who are merely animals, eating and drinking and fucking and dying. God looks down—and Time is nothing to Him, and our doubts are nothing to Him—He looks down with favor upon the fellow who tries his hand, who never gives up, though upon the wheel of the world turns against him and reveals to his mortal eye the insufficiency. The Creator of us all looks down upon our lives and hopes for us that we are not animals only. But that we behave in a way that does us merit on the level of divine. Whether that be in Kindness, or in Justice, or in Erudition, or in Workmanship, or in Love or Teaching or, in my pitiful case, Art. My Life has saved me, my Nature has uplifted me. I am ashamed of nothing, I have killed men and beaten women and ridiculed my enemies and I am ashamed of nothing. I will tell you. God will judge me. I have already judged myself. Write this, (the boy opens his book and poises his pen) I am happy that I was born. I have dwelt in the presence of greatness> Hold there a moment. (To the audience)Pray upon the telling of your tale, that you can say the same. Across 443 years, and all the way from Florence, buona sera. And Benvenuto.
COMPANY. (simultaneously) Benvenuto. (The lights fade. Darkness. Celebratory music. Curtain call)

Wednesday, June 20, 2018

My Stepsister DEBORAH S. ROBERTS, V.M.D. 1952-2018


1952-2018
June 20, 2018
RIP

Dr. Roberts founded Nonantum Veterinary Clinic in 1983 and shared ownership of the practice with Dr. Manning until 2018. She was a 1981 graduate of the University of Pennsylvania, School of Veterinary Medicine and received a Masters in Animal Science from the University of Delaware in 1982. Dr. Roberts loved the people and variety of challenges in general practice. She lived with her husband and various pets in Landenberg and had a special interest in land preservation, gardening, and everything to do with her family.

Sunday, June 10, 2018

Location Shots for Portrait Session, S.A.G.

Equinox June 21rst

Location
Main Shot
Detail
Second Shot



Friday, June 8, 2018

Monday, June 4, 2018

Ten Portraits of Playwrights, 2009-2018

Click to enlarge
Nick Jones, 2011
Annie Baker, 2010
Clare Baron, 2015
 Dael Olandersmith, 2015
Branden Jacobs-Jenkins, 2017
Maria Fornes, 2010
Tony Kushner, 2010
 Martyna Majok, 2016
 Christopher Shinn, 2018
Tarell Alvin McCraney 2009

Saturday, June 2, 2018

Playwright Glyn O'Maley, October 10, 1951 – November 14, 2006

Playwright Glyn O'Maley, 2006
October 10, 1951 – November 14, 2006
O'MALLEY--Glyn William 55, playwright, director and educator, died unexpectedly at St. Vincent's Hospital, in New York City, after suffering a heart attack on November 14, 2006. Born in Providence, RI, to Meredith (Cooke) O'Malley, he is survived by his mother, his sister Gail, and three brothers Dennis, David, and Thomas. Author of 19 plays, his most recent New York premieres are his "war cycle": Paradise (Kirk Theatre, 2005), A Heartbeat to Baghdad (The Flea, 2004) and Concertina's Rainbow (Cherry Lane Alternative, 2001). his plays have been seen in NYC at various theatres including Playwright's Horizons, Lincoln Center, The WPA Theatre and the Rattlestick. He directed over 50 productions in major theatres around the US and Europe, including the world premiere of Albee's Men and Albee's Women. He was Associate Producer for the English Speaking Theatre of Vienna for 12 years and the former Literary Director for the Edward F. Albee Foundation. Having taught at many universities, colleges and programs, he was currently the Director of Education at the Cherry Lane Theatre Institute, as well as a professor at Lehman College/CUNY and Fordham University. His most recent play, Goodnight Mr. Jefferson, is currently under option for production. A tribute will be held at the Cherry Lane Theatre some time in January, 2007. Info on the tribute at 212-226-2020 and www.glynomalley.com 

Friday, June 1, 2018

The Playwright David Lindsay-Abaire 2007 x


click to enlarge
The Playwright David Lindsay-Abaire 2007

Excerpt from Rabbit Hole

BECCA
This feeling. Does it ever go away?

NAT
(beat)
No. I don’t think it does. Not for me it hasn’t. And that’s goin’ on eleven years.
(beat)
It changes though.

BECCA
How?

NAT
I don’t know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under. And carry around - like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every once in a while, but then you reach in for whatever reason and there it is: “Oh right. That.” Which can be awful. But not all the time. Sometimes it’s kinda….Not that you like it exactly, but it’s what you have instead of your son, so you don’t wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn’t go away, which is…

BECCA
What.

NAT
Fine…actually.

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

Playwright Portrait, Daniel Talbott 2006, Excerpt from Slipping, x

Playwright Portrait, Daniel Talbott, 2006,
Excerpt from Slipping


ELI
I loved him.
………
Short silence.
When we did.
When it felt right.
Sometimes.
The few times.
Beat.
It felt like kids. Like little kids.
Like eating dog food or stealing shit from a store.
Silence.
I’d think about him.
I’d think about the ocean.
About the sun.
His skin.
Surfing.
Changing behind the passenger door of his car.
Stuffing himself inside his wet suit.
His navel. His abs.
Beat.
I’d think about sharks.
The water.
How deep it was.
I’d imagined cuts all on his body.
Him swimming out to sea…
Confident.
Secure.
Cocky.
His blood mixing with the salt and the tide.
Short silence.
I’d think of a shark falling in love with him the way I did.
His body. His blood.
Short pause.
I’d listen to it devour him.
His screams being sucked up into the surf and air.
Sinking together. To the bottom.
Into the darkness.
Short pause.

Tuesday, May 29, 2018

Playwright Portrait, Lynn Nottage, Excerpt from Ruined



Playwright Lynn Nottage, 2010
©pswb20108


RUINED
SALIMA:
He called me a filthy dog, and said I tempted them. Why else would it happen? Five months in the bush, passed between the soldiers like a washrag. Used. I was made poison by their fingers, that is what he said. He had no choice but to turn away
Do you know what I was doing on that morning?
I was working in our garden picking the last of the sweet tomatoes. I put Beatrice down in the shade of a Frangipani tree, because my back was giving me some trouble. Forgiven? Where was Fortune? He was in town fetching a new iron pot.
"Go," I said "Go, today man or you won't have dinner tonight!" I had been after him for a new pot for a month. And finally on that day the damn man had to go and get it. A new pot. The sun was about to crest, but I had to put in another hour before it got too hot. It was such a clear and open sky. This splendid bird, a peacock had come into the garden to taunt me, and was showing off its feathers. I stooped down and called to the bird. "Wssht, Wssht." And I felt a shadow cut across my back, and when I stood four men were there over me, smiling, wicked schoolboy smiles. "Yes?" I said. And the tall soldier slammed the butt of his gun into my cheek. Just like that. It was so quick; I didn't even know I'd fallen to the ground. Where did they come from? How could I not have heard them?
One of the soldiers held me down with his foot. He was so heavy, thick like an ox and his boot was cracked and weathered like it had been left out in the rain for weeks. His boot was pressing my chest and the cracks in the leather had the look of drying sorghum. His foot was so heavy and it was all I could see, as the others..."took" me. My baby was crying. She was a good baby. Beatrice never cried, but she was crying, screaming. "Shhh" I said. "Shhh." And right then...
(A moment)
A soldier stomped on her head with his boot. And she was quiet.
(A moment. Salima releases-)
Where was everybody? WHERE WAS EVERYBODY?!