Actor, Puppeteer, and Teaching Artist

How High We Go In The Dark

I came into How High We Go in the Dark with two very distinct biases against it.

The very American bias that anything free can’t be -that- good (I received a preview copy in exchange for my review), and the indignation that someone thought this thing was in any way comparable to Cloud Atlas. However it may have landed for you, Cloud Atlas is incredibly well-constructed and there’s just no way Sequoia Nagamatsu lands that sort of achievement in a debut.

Thus Far? No. Further.

My biological father was a desperately flawed man. A lot of my early life was shaped by his responses to his mental illnesseses and insecurities. His physical and emotional abuse of my biological mother, his self-hated and his inability to escape addiction had him appearing and disappearing from my life in odd spurts until I was removed from his life. He remained a presence until his death, but mainly as an exercise: could I forgive this man for what he’d done?

Consist of the subject matter of stalking.

We’re all trying to leave a mark. You never know when you’re going to die and you’d like to have nudged the world a little before that happens. The thing is: there in no instructional manual for making that happen. Religion tries. There’s an old Jesus People line about the Bible being “Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth”. But mostly outside of those large frameworks we are left to find our own way.


Years ago David Dower taught me to look at the abundance in a situation.  I had trained myself to rattle off the sheaf of reasons that I couldn’t be a great theatremaker and never to highlight the unimaginably large foundation that allowed me to be the good theatremaker I already was. It was a lovely gift. It prepared me to be less defensive in a cultural moment where my demographic hegemony might just have a few holes poked in it. Greater awareness of my abundance gave me a foundation to be able to bear witness rather than to feel the need to shout. It also sharpened my awareness of actual scarcity and need. There is real hurt in human society, almost all of it self-inflicted. We hurt each other and ourselves, feel trapped in that pain, lash out and spur the cycle on. We react to hurt out of our brokenness

Friday Five Redux

A year ago… a man and his art: Well not his art… This is “Crusher” by Simon Birch as installed at 14th Factory. A lot of art folks hate this sort of work… art made for selfies and they hate folks who deign to take their selfies with it. I understand their argument in terms of taking your photo with say the Mona Lisa, but when experiencing the Crusher you are the thing intended to be crushed. You have a place within this art you are a co-subject and the image created is yours and yours alone. And my experience of this piece is twofold. both staring at 300 pitchforks aimed at me and of the disassociate image of that moment. That’s rad. 2. We lost Donald Hall this week. You can’t very well love words and hail from New Hampshire and not have been near the orbit of Donald

On the Other Side

I am a conservative person by nature. My gut impulse is for status quo reinforcing rule following. I have problems with conflict. During undergrad my friend Matt would suggest ways to subvert entryways into the theatre world and I would nudge him toward the front door, because honestly they seemed wide open. Of course they aren’t wide open. The doors to theatre institutions aren’t wide open even if you are at the pinnacle of privilege, which I am, so I can’t imagine deciding to assay that climb from anywhere else on the privilege ladder. For a long time my gut said that the doors would open if those inside only knew the value of those trying to get in. In my naivete, born of of my privileged world-view, I still believed in a version of meritocracy. But there is little in the world capable of motivating those who have something

Episode 2: A New Hope

The first question most people ask about dying is, “was there a light? Anything?” What they mean is did you cheat and get any answers to bring back. The answer for me, as the answer has been for any folks who’ve made a two-way trip, is no. It’d have been great if the faulty wiring in my cardiac region led to me being deputized as a messenger angel, but no such luck this time out. I’m a narrative driven person. I am lover of stories even discounting my Christian upbringing, which sort of doubles down on living your life by a story. Every bit of my life dresses in characters and arcs and emotional roil of one kind or another. What dying did for me was flip on the work lights. Nothing de-romanticizes life quicker than dying due to electrical failure out of nowhere. I’m not suddenly divorced from a life

Herein Will I Imitate the Sun

My extended cardiac pause at the end of last year was cause for reflection, which I think most folks would find pretty common. That period of reflection combined with a political environment running so hard against what I believe to be my and my broader community’s best interests left me reeling a bit. Is this political moment a call to more explicit political action? How can I improve the community in a more direct way? And how do I define that community in this new place?

Root Root Root for the Home Team

The current conversational content at my house breaks down pretty simply. It’s approximately 11% making fun of me for dying; 6% what’s for dinner; 43% cats, cat behavior, cat functions, and doing impersonations of the cats; 3% about enhancing verticality in theatre communities to better simulate a neural network of intelligence and talent (which is just me monologing after Megan goes to bed); and  37% about immersive theatre. Megan has been fascinated by immersives and their brethren since Punchdrunk infected her with Sleep No More years ago. Taking her love of video games and crossing them with her love of performance art seems like a pretty sure way of making sure she’s paying attention. Despite her love of immersives, travel to go see them, and meticulous deconstruction of their inner workings… she had never managed to get me to one. She did her damnedest to get me in to Third

To a New Year…

A month ago I died. Only for a while, but if you stick to binary score keeping it’s the sort of thing that makes you sit up and take notice. My recovery has been pretty speedy so I spend a lot of time making light of the situation, but I am a lottery winner, the odds of making it out aren’t good, never mind being home and mobile so quickly. To be feeling this good so soon after release feels like a miracle. Oh my friends I’ve Begun to worry right Where I should be grateful I should be satisfied Following on the heels of the Fall Rep for Classical Actors Ensemble, and with nothing on the horizon in my theatre world, this end of year and my cardiac adventure feels like an ending. I have worked hard to gain a foothold here in the Twin Cities as an actor,

He’s a Conspirator!

And we’re back with Episode 7 of our slow out into the Twin Cities theatre community. Tonight I open Julius Caesar, the first part of this season’s “Spring Rep”  with the Classical Actors Ensemble. Tomorrow we go even bigger with a two show day, opening Macbeth to make the pair. It’s perhaps a little odd to celebrate your third (and fourth) show(s) in a city, but – at the risk of sounding like a baseball fan parsing a hitter’s batting average on Sundays at home when it rains – tonight I open my first show in town that I’m not part of because I know my wife. My first two shows in town were great experiences, and I was a valuable part of both of them, but my involvement had an awful lot more to do with my knowing Megan, my infinite availability, and my price more than something I inherently brought to

Plan Rocker Show Stopper

Theatre producers seem to live in a permanent terror about the pending Ragnarok. It may be that most of the theatre makers I know don’t have even 60 days cash on hand never mind a liquid operating fund, but it seems that they are always looking to paint innovation onto whatever mission they already have. That they’re seeking to continue doing theatre that they enjoy making while shoehorning in whatever the kids like these days. Since the Gossip Girl-ification of Sleep No More immersive has become as hot as a theatrical fad can be, with even pretty tepidly dramaturged lobbies trying to claim ‘immersiveness’. I’ve heard calls since I began blogging in 2006 to increase audience ownership of the performance and performance space. Bromides about relaxing rules, expectations and essentially eliminating the silent sanctuary in theatre that emerged with the naturalism of the last century. This all gets phrased as though theatre makers

Sweet Creature of Bombast

You don’t get to script your endings… Willie Mays as a Met, Dwight Evans as a Baltimore Oriole, Joe Montana as a Kansas City Chief – I actually couldn’t tell you what colour Jerry Rice was wearing when he stopped playing football. It doesn’t change their story. Not really. Not in any material way. But it’s narratively disappointing . We’ve been well trained to want our fairy tales to end with a wedding not a marriage. I didn’t really get to script my ending with Austin theatre. The timing just didn’t work out. We’re decamping earlier than I thought, so making Trouble Puppet’s Frankenstein my final show as intended simply wasn’t feasible. Instead my final curtain call in Austin will be as Falstaff. It was an honor unlooked for and there an end. I don’t know that there is a more suitable end than playing a galactically outsized dirtbag Shakespearean clown outside


Over the course of a couple of days this week I watched a livestream of someone cleaning up his Facebook profile. And it was riveting. As part of the Austin-based performance/art Fusebox Festival Brian Lobel recreated his Purge performance art piece with two local performers. The piece consists of the performer/subject sitting in front of a rotating panel of three people and defending their relationship with each of the people on their Facebook friends list for one minute. At the end of the minute the panel decides whether or not the person will remain on the friends list. It sounds like a really dull sort of game show. It sounds like the sort of pretentious grad school performance art that even folks on my performance art friendly social media feeds mock for being a sketch version of performance art. I watched like 6 hours of it. It was spellbinding. The premise

Friday Five: Oct. 31

1. All of Megan Kimber‘s stuff (currently has an exhibition up at Greyduck Gallery) 2. The Berlioz section of Chagall’s Paris Opera House Ceiling 3. Christina the Ghost Art Doll Figurine from Shain Erin: 4. The weather is relaxing into habitable and I am tired in my bones… I would love to spend some time reading something engaging without being bitten by anything or sweating and drinking a Negroni made with Navy Strength Genius Gin. I admit it it’s these cherries that sold me… 5. This right here? THIS is a coffee machine.

Friday Five: Oct 24

1. This entire series of figures from Marina Rubinke is so macabre I almost feel guilty linking you too them.   2. Look. I’m Late to the party but Nick Cave’s Red Right Hand is effectively the theme to The Strange Case of Edward Hyde and Doctor Jekyll that I open next week with Trouble Puppet… I mean… yeah. 3. Conrad Roset’s Cicuta Part of his Muses set.  [The People’s Print Shop!] 4. “WORN OUT” BY PALESTINIAN ARTIST IYAD SABBAH   5. Jason Brueck’s A Prayer to Genevieve    

Friday Five: Oct. 17

1. Emulsifier – This rotating glass sculpture by THOMAS MEDICUS. 2. Cocktail of the week: a blueberry gin sour from Supergoldenbakes 3. Three Doors by Charles Simic This one kept its dignity Despite being kicked And smudged with fingerprints. Someone wanted to get in Real bad. Now the whole neighborhood can see What went on late last night And the night before. Two clenched fists Raised high Pounding, pounding, And asking God To please bear witness. * * * This door’s hinges, I suspect, Give off a nasty screech From seeing Too many feet caught in it. Just a minute ago, Some fellow With that it-pays-to-be-cagey look Snuck out. Screams of a child, Yelps of a kicked dog And wild laughter Followed after him. * * * I heard the neighbor’s screen door Creak open at daybreak To let the cat in With what sounded like a stage whisper Into

Friday Five: Oct. 10

1. Mud mural from Yusuke Asai. Yes mud really: 2. Deep Fried Tequila Shots TRUE THING: 3. This Shadow Box… or rather a box that cast shadows from ANILA QUAYYUM AGHA: 4. A dangerous sounding Horchata cocktail: 5. The winding of the  year for a good New Hampshire boy will lead to Robert Frost and as Austin nights get below 85° it’s begun to feel a little like an autumn, so indulge me: For Once, Then, Something BY ROBERT FROST Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs Always wrong to the light, so never seeing Deeper down in the well than where the water Gives me back in a shining surface picture Me myself in the summer heaven godlike Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs. Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb, I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture, Through the picture, a

Friday Five: Oct. 3

1. Eight of Cups by Sara Emily Kuntz from the Cabildo Quarterly I would get this funny déjà vu in the kitchen with you: your neck bent, shoulders down, as you sliced a tomato, or washed out a coffee mug. Your back like the poor wanderer on the Eight of Cups, familiar. As a child I’d watch my grandpa hunched over the grill on the tarmac driveway, or at the sink washing the dishes after dessert. He told me that cold water dissolves dairy better than hot, cleans the ice cream bowls faster. I never knew when he was joking. You texted me two photos of your face. Beard updates from three thousand miles as the dimple in your chin gradually disappears again. In the upper left above your head hangs an old dutch hex of two unicorns, watching like the dual-phased moon that hangs over the wanderer as he leaves

Friday Five : Sept. 26

1. I enjoy clever street art… 2.  Drink of the week: Gin Basil Lemonade  This is what I will be making with Genius Gin for the Trouble Puppet Get Into Trouble party tomorrow… My recipe is a bit different 2/1 Lemonade to gin; shake with bruised basil serve on ice. 3. Lin Tianmiao‘s art is so haunting… 4. Bubbles!!! 5. 2Twenty‘s night shot from the Salton Sea (via Supersonic Electronic)

Friday Five: Sept 19

1. Martin Tomsky’s laser cut woodcuts:   2. Lenka Simeckova’s illustrations… slinky menace – reminiscant of Sandman covers… 3.  This week’s drink is the Radical Cure from the Alchemy Bar on Carnival Cruiselines Bombay Original Gin, lavender essence, fresh lime juice and Maraschino Liqueur. Strong, floral, and sweet without being cloying. (Photo @Willhollis) 4. Seung-Hwan OH combines photos with emulsion eating bacteria… literally letting life happen to the art… 5. Warsan Shire – Ugly Your daughter is ugly. She knows loss intimately, carries whole cities in her belly. As a child, relatives wouldn’t hold her. She was splintered wood and sea water. They said she reminded them of the war. On her fifteenth birthday you taught her how to tie her hair like rope and smoke it over burning frankincense. You made her gargle rosewater and while she coughed, said macaanto girls like you shouldn’t smell of lonely or empty. You

What’s Making Me Happy : Powers

It’s been a long couple of weeks. Trouble is sort of relative. If you have the energy and focus to deal with whatever you’re facing down you can take on the entire Empire yourself. If you’re tired and sick and just plain ol’ wore out putting on outside-the-house pants can be a legitimate struggle. I’m still putting on acceptable pants but it’s been a long year and I’m plain ol’ wore out. My final show of the year opened a day late but is now firing on all cylinders and now can move from the stressor category… Because life is nothing but serendipity with a bourbon chaser – I’m running a noir detective mystery and finally made time to start reading Powers by Brian Michael Bendis. So it’s been pretty much this:   and this:   Powers is a super hero book told from outside the cowl and cape in

What is Making me Happy? Old Friends

Being in rehearsal until 10 every night and visiting with my wife or taking care of other assorted business after rehearsal has meant that in the time I’ve been in Austin I’ve mostly not been able to enjoy baseball. Which is a shame because in case you haven’t been reading (and you haven’t) life for me in this moment is an evolving tension between keeping my world full of interesting and challenging projects and having enough mental space  to not get crushed by it. Baseball rhythmically is great for that. Available all summer for 3-4 hours a night you don’t need to alter your life to catch it. There’s a cast of characters that you get to know well and the voices of extended family talking about those characters. I gave up baseball for theatre mostly… but there are always exceptions… I’ve been a Red Sox fan since the end

What is Making Me Happy: Leftovers

It is tech week #2 for Trouble Puppet Theatre Co.’s The Head, wherein for a period of time I get to manipulate personal demons instead of them manipulating me. It’s a rollicking good time that I recommend you go see early before the good seats get all gummed up with folks and you have to miss it. But see, the thing is is the Missus is lighting this puppy. Which means that we’re both in tech and so food is… food is sort of catch as catch can as happens in tech weeks. That doesn’t mean however that our CSA box from Johnson’s Backyard Garden isn’t going to sit and stare at us wondering why oh why we’re ignoring it. There’s nothing sadder than a disappointed squash sitting in the fridge with those big puppy dog eyes staring out at you… so we killed him. On Saturday we had a

What is Making Me Happy: Soreness

Maybe ‘happy’ isn’t quite the word I’m digging for here. I am descended from a long line of laborers. All the traceable distance into my family history it’s laborers, mill workers and carpenters and the like. From the putative foundation of the North American Bedard stock, Isaac Bedard who was a master carpenter near Quebec City after leaving La Rochelle right on down to my Dad who has been carpentering himself for the last 40 years or so. Sidebar: My Dad TOTALLY just made this (non-carpentering division): I forget sometimes that I come from a line of folks more accustomed to using their bodies in their work. My brain is my primary muscle and there are plenty of days when it gets good and tired. But in the course of my day-to-day I do very little that could be construed as physical labor. Part of my ongoing war with sleep is

What’s Making Me Happy: Overlap

Can I seriously spend an entire blog post shouting how how great Siggis Orange and Ginger yogurt is? Or how great it is to discover that there is such a thing as Orange and Ginger yogurt because it’s been left out with your coffee for breakfast? Which is what Breakfast Christmas would be like if Breakfast Christmas existed.

What’s Making me Happy?

I have been busier in this past two years than I ever have been. Mixing theatre and work and life into too few hours and then drinking deep. Busy to the point that the word itself stopped being an adjective for my schedule and began standing in for an emotion: “How are you?” “BUSY”.

The End of 2012.

  The year two thousand twelve. Chronologically.   1: Messenger No. 4 (or How to Survive a Greek Tragedy)   2. My first tattoo   3. Tis Pity She’’s a Whore   4. Rose Rage   5. Birth of Athena   6. Cape Cod   7. Weekend in Utopia   8. Doctor Faustus   9. Quills   And so ends 2012. The least balanced most selfish year of my life. In many ways it was a rewarding successful year, in many ways a frustrating altogether too quick year. If you are a friend or family member I likely shorted you this year. I know. I’m working on it. To a more balanced, more focused 2013.


My brain didn’t come with a user guide or best practices manual. Mostly I have to figure out how it works and then sort of lean to make it work more the way I think it should. It’s not that it’s broken or anything it just deals with things in ways that aren’t useful. Time for instance. The subroutines in my brain deal with time in counterproductive ways. My experience is that most folks deal with time (in terms of planning) fairly granularly – down to about 15 minute chunks. It never works that way for me. I can get it down to about an hour. My brain always always always builds in overhead. It builds in the normal overage and travel time to and from. Then traffic. Then late/lost time. Then the 5 minute early factor. All of a sudden that quick 15 minute meeting is an hour and

Friday Five

1. Ariana Page Russell has dermatogrpahia and works it. 2. So many flavors my brain began leaking. 3. I feel bad sharing Smitten Kitchen sometimes as you all ead it alrady, but APPLE PIE COOKIES. COME ON. 4. Virginia Wagner – Ledge Effect 5. Simon Prades

Friday Five

1. Look the TEXTURE of this dish well may be a nightmare, but the FLAVORS sound great and the COLORS are amazing: Watermelon radish. Perfect. 2. With examples in our lives such as the Crane Dance of the Trash Project or the puppetry of Connor Hopkins in the upcoming Ridley Walker or Lunatique Fantastique in our past, Megan and I have been talking about what I am calling endowed personification because anthropomorphosis doesn’t quite cover it and I don’t know a better word…. regardless, Johnston Foster is doing it. 3. Edouard Martinet making sculptures that not only look as though they “work” but that they’re ready to star in the sequel to Jasper Morello 4. Yoskay Yamamoto brings us a a Marisella Orta character clearly rooted on this earth with her head in the stars. 5. Quidam 33 from Julian Gustlin [The rest of the Quidam series]

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