Photo by Richard Termine.

On My Work

By Rolande Duprey

I find it difficult to speak or write of my life and work. Rhetoric does not have the plasticity of sculpture or painting or even dance; words themselves are an experience separate from the experiences they may describe or represent. Nevertheless, in the vast array of semiotica, words seem to be the coinage.

Among other things (woman, citizen, animal lover), I consider myself a theatre artist. I’ve been able to make a living at this art by doing various tasks most people tend to specialize in: performing, designing, directing, and teaching. The interconnectedness of the arts is something I take for granted.

Among this diversity, I am the common denominator. Thus, a certain point of view extends across extreme elements, both in collaborations and in solo pieces. You will see evidence of this in my portfolio, which includes designed sets, costumes, masks, as well as photos from various performances.

It’s easier to say I’m a puppeteer. This work has a popular frame of reference supported by the media. However unique (and somewhat non-populist) my individual work may be, the label sticks like an orange tag special in Walmart. Sometimes it’s been advantageous. Adults are consistently surprised when they come from one of my “puppet shows” having enjoyed themselves.

My puppet theatre offerings always entail a certain depth that is easily supported through design and performance techniques. For example, in performing the Russian folk tale of The Snowmaiden, I have in mind a very complex ritual having to do with the awakening of the "inner child”. The two-dimensionality of the everyday characters in the play is juxtaposed with the three dimensionality of the Snowmaiden (whose character, being supernatural, is from another dimension). The choice to have her communicate in song while the others merely follow a narrative supports this other-worldliness of her character. Her death (disappearance) and subsequent re-appearance is thus experienced as two-fold: in a surreal sense (“above reality”) as well as in the practical and “down to earth” storyline.

Most people watching the show enjoy it, without regard to the layers of meaning. That's as it should be.

Though I’ve had the experience of working in film and video, my first love is live theatre. True dialogue with an audience, either intimate or larger gatherings, is an ephemeral experience. But, it may have extended life within the psychological reality of the individual audience member. The very uniqueness of the live theatre experience sets it apart in memory. After my performance of "Autumn In New York," one woman came back stage, effusively declaring how moving the piece was, and how much work it must have been to paint all those pieces of wood to look like buildings! They are not painted at all - but in her mind and memory she had filled in the details that I had purposely left out.

One reason why I love to perform "Wonderful Walkabouts" is this sense of playing with the audience's perception. Of course they can all see me, so there is no "magic". I am not a ventrioloquist. And yet, it is interactive puppet theatre at its purest - the puppet, the puppeteer and the audience (which may be one person or a dozen or a hundred). The performance is not geared to asking for money, as buskers do. Sponsors pay for my time. I am free to roam. I rely on the audience of the moment, the knowledge of the character I perform, and those other, unseen forces of circumstance and serendipity to create little, wise and winsome spectacles.

We may extend this experience into moments of that other life -- the one off-stage*. Thus, each unique moment is a call to perform for our inner children or our conscience or whatever or whomever is there with us, watching, listening, aware or not.

So, perhaps my calling is some kind of poetic paradigm. Like a poem the performance engages the audience and then disappears into memory, inhabiting the mind like a sacred space.

These musings in words must end. Actions, begin! "So, good night unto you all".

* Or, keeping with the Shakespeare quotations, perhaps "the world is a stage" -- and then theatre is the reality?.

Fly fishing and Other Metaphors

By Rolande Duprey

Madeleine Lyons, the first director of Marionette et Therapie for UNIMA, told me the story of how she became involved in puppetry. She had survived a terrible car accident, which caused total blindness in one eye. As an artist, this was extremely serious. She needed to improve the eyesight in her one good eye, but how? With her peripheral vision compromised, she kept bumping into the side of doorways as she walked through.

In the hospital, she had the occasion to build a rod puppet, which she operated by placing it in front of her, a bit above her head. She discovered that by focusing on the puppet, her vision steadily improved. She didn’t bump into doorways when she was manipulating the puppet. For her, this was empirical evidence of the therapeutic nature of puppetry. She went on to establish a workshop in Paris for disabled people.

I play with my cat as always. I dangle a string in front of her, and now, because she’s used to me, she waits until I do something more exciting with it before she pounces. She has become an extremely discerning audience for my single string marionette. So, I move it quickly, and then stop suddenly. This gets her attention. I move it again, in stops and starts, simulating a living stringy creature. She pounces, I pull it away, and she chases it. I’ve got her full attention now. I allow her to trap it, to bite at it, and she allows it to escapes. This game goes on and on until one or both of us decide we’ve had enough.

Like Madeleine with her rod puppet, I am increasing my cat’s visual acuity as I play with her. She has become a very good hunter.

Fly fisherman Lefty Creigh has created a special lure called “Lefty’s Deceiver” which expertly mimics the look and movement of a fly in order to catch a fish. However, as any good fly fisherman knows, it’s not only the quality of the lure. One must also perform a series of movements with the line in order to animate the lure. Fly fishermen are very good at manipulating their one-string puppets.

The three anecdotes above are essential three aspects of the same process: animating objects in order to mimic life. In the instance of Madeleine Lyons, the process was from a single/soloist point of view, without an audience; moving the puppet was an aid to improving her own physicality.

For me, playing with the cat has always been a metaphor for performing in front of an audience. Movement and gesture is crucial to understanding character, and, along with design, adds to the overall impact of the play. In the sample of my cat and I, it’s a one-on-one play, and isn’t there always just one audience member that you play for?

For the fly fisherman, the entire process of design, construction and performance for the purpose of audience entrapment is a definitely linear storyline. In each instance, movement is primary to suspending the perceiver’s disbelief.

Certainly if you are playing (as Madeleine was) by yourself, you are exercising your own imagery: using movement as inspiration for a story, a character, or to confront an abstract pattern which only you perceive. Playing with puppets alone is a psychophysical exercise, in which you dedicate yourself to their reality, which by its nature reflects an internal, subjective reality.

If you are playing for someone’s amusement and distraction (as I do for my cat and others), then the exercise increases in its dedication to reality. While playing alone I may be happy just watching the string twist and move, but the critical eye of my cat doesn’t always approve or accept it as life-like. To get and keep her attention, I must respond to her specific judgments and requirements. Cats’ eyes, like our own, are much more attuned to movement than to color or shape.

Fish, on the other hand, are sensitized to color as well as movement. Some fish see colors that are not discernible to humans. Some fish can see both color and movement with extreme detail. Presumably those fish that are willing to jump out of the water to catch a fly are very discerning.

Perception is the key that keeps us dancing, projecting ourselves into inanimate objects in order to heal or play or eat.

Fishermen do not fish for the fishes’ amusement. Nor do they fish out of some (arguably) therapeutic need. The point of fishing is to catch a fish. But, once caught, what do they do? Throw them back? Eat them? Use them for bait?

Please forgive this metaphor as it flops about, gasping for air.

My question really is, why do we do what we do? Is it for work, to make a living? Is it for play, an entertaining distraction? Is it an internal need, to please or heal ourselves? And, once this question is answered, then another is certain to follow:

How can we do it better?

Know your audience!

Knowing that my audience is a cat is fundamentally different from knowing it is a fish. Knowing that I am improving my (in) sight is different from trying to improve another's.

True knowledge depends upon perception; understanding the fish and the fly, as well as the fisherman.

One of my teachers.

On the Art of Teaching

by Rolande Duprey

A teacher is a guide; an artist-teacher is also an example.

That a love of teaching goes hand in hand with a love of learning is indisputable. I teach most effectively when I am challenged and motivated by an infectious spirit of play. Fortunately, I am constantly inspired by the world around me, and especially by students. Students always challenge me toward deeper understanding of myself and my art. Meeting that challenge is itself invigorating and expansive. My work teaching and coaching young performers has led me toward a deeper commitment to theatre, and a wider understanding of its possibilities. I grow as the students grow.

The student is always the primary focus: their needs, their qualities, their attitudes and accomplishments. The teacher needs to gear his/her awareness to encompass the entire student – not only what they produce in class.

Artists are fueled by an inner need, and sometimes that can be stifled by societal education forced upon us by the media, and cultural expectations. The confusion of divergent messages needs to be addressed, their sources clarified and held up to scrutiny. I always ask students, "why?" I continually pose questions with a degree of open-endedness: Why did you do this in this way? Why did the character react in this way? Why does theatre exist? As I listen to the answers, I ascertain the student’s learning style, and where they may need to concentrate in order to develop further.

Each artist, no matter what the age, is at a different stage of his or her development. By introducing them to new techniques, new challenges, new thoughts, we may arouse in them passions that challenge and deepen their convictions of who they are and a vision of what they could be. The relationship to one's art changes over time.

Paul Klee drew with his left hand though he was right handed because he felt he could be more spontaneous with his left hand...his right having been "schooled" in techniques, and used in daily living. When we challenge ourselves with new ideas and ways of working we may feel uncomfortable at first, but eventually we are released into a source of learning, invigorating, spontaneous, and true.

Each person brings their own gifts and talents and point of view to the work, as well as individual challenges. In Scotland, one of my students was a wonderful storyteller. She also had a gift for writing, but had never performed. With some coaching on breath, movement, and focus, she was able to overcome her stage fright by writing her own selection of monologues and performing them.

Another student had a gift for movement, even though he'd never danced. I coached him in an original solo piece, which showcased his movement ability, while also challenging his vocal skills. It was well received, and he continues to grow as a performing artist.

I am thankful for the opportunities to teach at any level. It is wonderful to witness growth. As such, it is also important to experience other teaching styles and techniques from master teachers -- it almost doesn't matter the discipline. If the teacher is excellent, you will learn! Some of the teachers I've learned the most from are not necessary professional teachers -- they simply care very deeply about something, and feel the need to share their knowledge.

Education is more than simply learning a vocation. It is learning about life, learning about how to continue to grow and to be happy no matter where circumstances take you. Teachers and guides are everywhere. They are your parents, your colleagues and even the circumstances of your life. Pay attention!