Grotowski Central

1/16

Feel like I was run over by a truck. Very hard to get out of bed. Get into church.

The push to move. It’s pretty much exhausted me. But after an hour or so, I’m glad I got up and got moving.

Jeremy G and Mario come in before their evening open sing event.Before they begin, Mario invites me to speak to the group and I tell te whole story, architecture, social, religious..And then  I listen for hours as their voices fill the sanctuary with songs rooted in the rural south and Appalachia. Deep, rich, resonant.  Anna and puppy sitting nearby, taking it all in. We talk on te steps after, about their possibly joining us for the Martin Luther King, Jr. event on Monday. Mario seems to hav e gatehred people from the four corners of the earth.

Meanwhile, Dzieci has been at work in the chapel, preparing for this weekend’s Maraton, their annual 24 hour experience of wordless exploration of the soul in community. I look forward to being able to experience this some day. They have begun conversations with Mario’s Work Center. Cousins if not siblings. These days with Dzieci, Work Center and even Noche, there may be no greater concentration of Grotowski work anywhere. Grotowski Central.

The fourth day of Christmas: And just like that, he is gone

12/28

Have to move Joe and his girl off the steps in order to get in. But George is still there. Which raises questions. How do I require some like Joe to leave and allow George to stay there 48 hours without moving?

Jeremy G arrives with Mario Biagini, who turns out to be not just another one of Grotowski’s children, but actually an heir.( http://www.grotowski.net/en/node/1857) He was with us for Christmas Eve and wants to explore  an extended residency that would leave something behind when he leaves. Perhaps a choir. As well as several performances. And he’s very interested in how to bring into the same space the new gentry of the neighborhood with residents of the public housing projects. It’s typical of Mario’s work that he does high end performances in Dubai to fund work with people in the South Bronx. And I’m especially interested in his work around the Gospel of Thomas and the connection between the music of the black and white south and the poetry of Alan Ginsburg. This could be good.

As we finish, the strange young woman with the large back pack and the larger eyes is on the steps. Donuts? She says imploringly. No, I say, no donuts. Donuts? she repeats. No I repeat. An she turns and goes. 

Now here’s the issue with George. He’s not actually homeless. He’s got an apartment in the Bronx. And he just doesn’t sit there, he hangs bags from the door, surrounds himself with crates, looks like he’s moving in. It’s the kind of thing that encourages people to leave bags of clothing and food on the steps.

I’m trying to imagine how I can tell him that we’re trying to revive this place, bring it back to life, and his presence frightens people. That it looks like permanent homeless encampment, in city parlance. And I continue to reflect on how we remain open and welcoming and accepting and build a critical mass great enough to support and sustain that openness. And I don’t yet have an answer. Although RL posits that it involves spotlights.

And of course Rachelle is back working on her project that will never end. She will never get through her carts. She has probably worked on them 24 hours or more already. We will simply have to set a deadline and be prepared for a load out on a big stuff collection day for the city.

She wants to help me get ready for Sunday. It's not fair, you’re here all alone, she says, let me help. I try and remind her that the only help I really want is to get her things in order and out.

I ponder the fact that in this holiday season I have  spent more time with her than my family and shake my head.

Eldridge is back again, mumbling and with an extended and expectant hand at the end. Happy holidays, he says as he leaves.

I need to leave and meet Nancy for a marathon of apartment searching.

It’s dark now. A neighborhood rabbi has just walked in. Looking for Stephen as a possible post Shabbat party player. I’ve got some other ideas. But how did he get in? When he leaves, Rachelle goes with him.

I’m now ready to face George. But when I go back outside, there’s nothing there. Just like that, he is gone, as if he were never there.

I come back inside. Do some more work. Look up, and am startled by Rachelle, back inside. We must fix that door

Mop up day

8/19

And the mop up work continues. Apparently the  geyser in the bathroom as caused by Chinese food. A lot of rice. And beer. 

Mitchell and Noche back from their California sojourn. (Summer’s coming  to an end and I’m still here..) But Mitchell notices the ceiling above him is bulging and pregnant so RL’s crew will have to go in and drain it. So no more work for Mitchell today. Soli’s back  with a friend and daughter Gabriella but will wait until tomorrow to use the studio again. As the ceiling begins to drain, we can tell there was a lot of discarded beer in there as well.

Deacon James checks in as he’s going through another round of chemo. And all his clothes thrown into bags at Capital Hall are wrinkled. Who’s going to take responsibility for that? At least the manager is back from  vacation. 

Glen joins in as part of RL’s work crew. Gabe and Damarius here as well.

The man who wanted to know what makes for holiness is back. He’s got his own issues with Capital Hall. Bagged up his stuff too.

Jeremy G and Michael in to talk about Mario’s theatre Work Center project. Typical process where we throw the ideas back and forth. Grotowski again. I express my desire for this project not to work in isolation but to actually begin to build community. Those principles again:

1. Importance of ritual and ancient old practices
2. The importance of community
3. The creative process existing to be in service to others
4. The importance of song and music in community

I remember how sad I was when the Steelworkers’ Union Men of Steel Chorus finally went out of business. An era had ended. (Likewise the New York City Sanitation Department’s marching band...)

Outside the man with the bulging eyes and leather pork pie hat is pointing at the church and saying, And Jesus said to Nicodemus, ye must be born again....

All to soon, Stephen and Leila and Marsha and Jamie are all here to go over our strategy for the Presbytery Property Committee. Yet one more hurdle but we’re getting close. When we’re as ready as we’re going to get, we go out to get cabs and go  there and let the chips fall where they may.

When we get back, we agree that things went well. And that  we’ve got work to do. I’ll take Stephen out for a bit of dinner before  heading to 78 Below to play some music at Pat O’s Monday night show. 

One More Cup of Coffee

8/3

Saturday afternoon. When I open the door, the stowaway is there waiting. I don’t know where he  spent the night. Don’t ask. I go to my Interfaith Assembly street sheets. Look up the names of 24 hour drop in centers. Remind him that Tim at the Bowery Residence is fast tracking him, cutting through bureaucratic red tape, getting him in line for a place to live. All he has to do is show up. Go through the evals. That’s all.

Zoran walks in. The man is a serious life force. Zorbaesque, you might say. I bring up my recent encounters with children of Grotowski. And as I expected, Zoran too, prefilm days, was into theatre and had his own Grotowski experience. We continue to explore his ideas about a festival focused on Confession. Continue to explore its various meanings. Bring Grotowski’s theatre philosophy into the mix. A concept is taking form organically. 

                                                "One More Cup of Coffee"

RL walks in and the conversation expands. Before long, RL(https://www.facebook.com/rl.haney.9) is talking about his only recorded cover, Dylan’s One  More Cup of Coffee, which Zoran knows by heart. Even better is RL’s story of how he got permission from Dylan to record it. And Dylan’s reaction. And how RL told him, you listen to me and listen to what I did with your song, some day, you might even make something of yourself. (RL, that’s as close as I can remember...) We’re talking about Desire as possibly our favorite Dylan album when I realize it’s time to head to my wedding. (http://www.rlhwindtide.com/RLHbio.html)
(http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/rlhaney2)

A couple from Hong Kong and their friends await. 

Grotowski's children

7/30

There’s someone all covered up asleep. I check and it’s a homeless woman I’ve seen on the streets ever since I’ve been here. Usually over on Broadway. But never here. What’s going on? I speak to her. Are you OK? Do you need me to call someone? 

No, I’m fine.

Can you get it together?

(Indignantly) Of course I can get it together...

And soon she is gone.

Fact: since New York City ended it’s rent subsidy program last year, there are over 19,000 more homeless. There are now over 20,000 homeless children in the city. The average rent subsidy was $300 a month. It costs $3000 per person for month in the shelters. It is crazy. They push the lower level homeless out to the street, the steps, where it costs nothing I guess. The private providers are a racket...As the prophet Amos said, That we may buy the poor for silver, and the needy for a pair of shoes...

Later I go outside. Two men are sitting on the steps. Blocking the main door. I am asking them to move. An older affluent woman walks up to me. Excuse me, what is the problem?

I just found them here, asking to get the doorway clear.

Are they causing any harm?

No we need the doorway open.

There’s plenty of room for people walk around them...

You don’t understand...

It’s not right to be jumping on people just because they are down and out. Not right. I find that a very disturbing attitude for a church. And she is on her way. I think of continuing the conversation. Think better of it. 

She probably lives across the street in the apartment building where people call all day long complaining about the people on the steps. Who want them not to be seen. Anyway you look at this you lose...

Jeremy G (Alivewire..) comes in with his friend Mario, a theatre guy from Italy. Wants me to meet him. I listen to his story about his work. At places like Yale in New Haven. The students blank, the kitchen workers joining in their song and dance. Working with music from the African diaspora. The American south. And beginning to discover the connections with Appalachian white. Of small church services in the Bronx and as he describes the people, we almost say simultaneously, Garifonos, the Afro-Caribbean population tha stretches along the coast of Central America. Honduras, Nicaragua...

As he talks, I can feel he is another of the children of Jerzy Grotowski. I’ve never studied him, but I know him by his children, Martin, Dzieci, Jeremy, Mario. I can see the connections, the same ethos at work. Theatre as lived experience within a context. Appreciation for ritual and ancient forms and  practice regardless of specific religion. The desire for performance to engage, involve, move beyond words. With concrete spiritual and social content and a commitment to service. To be performed in connection with and in the midst of the mentally ill, the aged, infirm, poor, oppressed. It is a theatrical practice as a way of life. Separated  from values, it has evolved into elitist performance art. True to its roots it has revolutionary power. And we are somehow becoming a home for Grotowski' s children.

I give Mario the full tour. Let him feel the place. Seeds are planted. We’ll see what can grow. Among these, Jeremy is the youngest. I can see he gets it. I can also see it has not yet become fully realized in his work. The movement from head to gut is visible.And admirable. I want to encourage him on that journey. Having seen his last work, he’s getting close. 

Stephen is in from Queens, where he's now living. He’s just begun a new job. We’ll have to  figure out how to use his time efficiently now. While we’re talking, Thatcher, our friend from the Gate comes in. His specialty is cost and time efficient web sites for non-profits. We talk about how he could solve our problem. Our web presence has become a sore spot. And an embarrassment. The number of demonic twists and turns in the story too complicated to tell. But he seems to have some thoughts. (Yes friends, the long dead website may rise again....) 

I head upstairs. Stop to see RL in his studio. His work crew is still at it, reclaiming space on the 4th floor. We’ll take it a floor at a time.  Our stowaway, that’s a nautical term, but I don’t know a land bound version, is still lurking about in the shadows. The locksmith arrives tomorrow.

Off to another candidates’ forum. When I get back, Marc wants to know what I’m doing here so late. I tell him I’m writing what you’ve just finished reading.

That was then

3/14

The West 80’s Neighborhood Association has come with a three part agenda. First: make all arrangements for a May candidates forum at West-Park. Our Council member Gale Brewer is being term-limited out of office. After many long years of it’s being Gale’s office, someone else must now be elected and that relationship will be important to us. Gale’s aide Jesse is with us.

Next they want to look at Bill’s proposal for a tower light installation. Reflecting both a new dawn, a new birth, and referencing  our role as the birthplace of the More Light Movement for lgbtq inclusion at every level. We’re surprised that our neighbors are favorably impressed and see the lights as a new beacon, a sign of hope, a plus for the neighborhood. 

Third: they want to know about our plans. We tell them things are still in negotiation. They are supportive. Want to see life here. Vitality. Egress may be an issue. They agree to help work on easements.

One of the members of the group visiting us is on the board of the Andrew Goodman Foundation. Andrew was one of the three Freedom Riders murdered by the Ku Klux Klan outside of Philadelphia, Mississippi in the summer of 1964. He grew up next door to West-Park. I met his mother once at a community meeting. They were classic examples of what the Upper West Side once was. Our new neighbor moved into the Goodman home. learned the history. Felt she had an obligation to carry it on. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_Goodman)  It is important these stories not be lost.

Andrew Goodman

As we finish, Cara and Nicole are at the piano. Trying to recapture some of what Amanda and Cara had created. It takes awhile to get the synergy. Nicole is one of Jeremy’s back up singers but has a voice worth following on her own.

I see the door open and in  from the cold comes Isis, back from Oklahoma. El Borracho is in the back of the church, cell phone in hand. I speak to him and he leaves. Soon, I am watching as Dzieci works methodically through the Passion Play they will be performing at West-Park on Palm Sunday. I’ve seen their finished products, but never their process. Kimberley is observing, enthralled to see Grotowski/ Brook  theatre theory embodied and carried out. I’m watching the Yeshua character, with tallis, entoning the Hebrew blessings. 

Jamie comes in and sits down beside me. Soon will be time for the Public Hearing. We learned to treat them with caution seven years ago in another life when we brought a proposal for housing their way. And the night I was accused of being responsible for the death of Arthur Cafiero while the committee chair said nothing. That was then. Tonight should be different.