June 24, 2013


This is from the New York Times, cited as “GTW, June 10):

Loves of Mr. Lincoln Surprises
I didn't really know what to expect, but I knew what I didn't want to see when I went to the opening of The Loves of Mr. Lincoln presented by GayfestNYC. The provocative title alluded to possible hanky-panky of the most unwelcome kind besmirching the good name of a great man. Much to my delight, what I saw on stage was none of that, and, if anything, elevated the character and behavior of our 16th President in ways that were really quite affirmative. Playwright David Brendan Hopes has walked an incredibly fine line with nary a misstep. The production values (especially the gowns floated by Mary Todd Lincoln, played by Leah Curney and designed by Carrie Robbins) were unexpectedly high for a 99-seat OOB production, and the entire cast impressed: Tyrone Davis, Jr.'s beautiful tenor served him well as an everyman who sang us from scene to scene with period folk tunes, Don Burroughs filled the shoes of first, dilettante McClellan and then grounded U.S. Grant and assumed both roles to the hilt of his burnished sword in such a way that if you hadn't known they were the same actor, it wouldn't have occurred to you, Stacey Todd Holt as Lincoln's early roommate and life-long friend Joshua Speed, Ms. Curney as an appropriately tart if somewhat lithesome First Lady, and in a completely convincing performance of Lincoln from stripling to a gnarled oak of a man, Steven Hauck, who was perfectly cast and delivered a fine, absorbing performance. It could have gone either way, "The Loves of Mr. Lincoln," but it took the high road, and I was pleased to be along for the ride. I recommend you take it, too.

http://theater.nytimes.com/show/120289/The-Loves-of-Mr-Lincoln/overview

From a theater goer, friends with Jim Bassi:
Dear David,
I'm following up on Jim Bassi's message. Thanks to him, I had the good fortune of seeing your poignant play The Loves of Mr. Lincoln. I was mesmerized by its beauty and power. It struck me as the film Gandhi had years ago; I didn't want either one to end. Your play is a considerable work of literature, one that deserves greater visibility. I mentioned to Jim that it would even make a remarkable opera. I do understand, however, that new operas take years to develop and that the returns are often negligible. In any event, I wanted to make your acquaintance, poet to poet, to express my admiration.
Fondly,
Dean Kostos

Meeting at Apothecary with local group with which we might want to form a liaison. Much talk of “new media” and opposition to “object based” art. A “show” was up in the space, junky and unkempt and self-indulgent and trashy, all those qualities clearly visible through the windows. I took the fact that they apparently didn’t even notice what ignited me as a sign that I am, to some degree, immune to the charms of some of the art they approve and invite. “New media” is, for the most part, fooling around with expensive toys then explaining why the thing you did should be shoe-horned into the box called “art.”  Art to me is a process which achieves an end. Always the end, never the process. The process is fascinating, but it is not the art. Trash scattered about and a room that looks like a living room in a trailer park might be interesting in some ways, but those ways must be explained, and it is thus a literary form and we needn’t be burdened with the actual sight of it, I thought. One sincere and eager boy wanted to celebrate cheap, bad prints. His enthusiasm was lovely, and though I could hear myself saying the words, “I want to celebrate cheap, bad prints,” I would mean it as a joke–a piece of performance art achieved in an instant–and leave it at that. Much of the contemporary art scene is a construction of words that contains the word “art” but not necessarily discipline, skill, vision, good will or particular intelligence. What shall I do with this? At Apothecary I let it pass, because my colleagues are so open to everything that I’d sound like (and would perhaps be) a curmudgeon if I suggested more stringent principles of selection. Asheville is a great city of art, but is is also a great city of crap, which depends on– I suppose– politeness or circumspection for its extended life.