GREATEST CRONES ON EARTH DO MEXICO!

Below is our full itinerary for Mexico.  Please forward this info to anyone who might be able to make the remaining performances  or who might know folks in Mexico City or San Miguel de Allende.

In Oaxaca, with Mariana Mordente:

Tuesday, March 15, 5:00 pm

Oaxaca Lending Library

Pino Suarez #59, Oaxaca Centro

$150 pesos - benefit for OLL

Wednesday, March 16, 7:00 pm

La Jicara

Porfirio Diaz #1105

Oaxaca Centro

Free admittance

In Mexico City, DF, with Minerva Valenzuela:

Friday, March 18, 5:30 pm

Auditorio Plantel del Valle, UACM

San Lorenzo 290, Colonia de Valle, DF

Free Admittance

Sunday, March 20, 8:00 pm

Punto Gozadera, restaurante cultural de encuestas feminista

Plaza San Juan #15,

Centro Delegation, Cuauhtémoc DF

Free Admittance

In San Miguel de Allende:

Tuesday, March 29, 5:00 pm

Teatro Santa Ana

The Biblioteca Publica

Insurgentes #25, Col. Centro

$150 pesos, benefit for La Biblioteca

Wednesday, March 30, 5:00 pm

Teatro Santa Ana

The Biblioteca Publica

Insurgents #25, Col. Centro

$150 pesos, benefit for Ser Mujer

For those in theater, you will recognize that this is an insane performance schedule in a foreign country.  Three cities, five different performing spaces, five tech rehearsals, two different Mexican actresses to work with.  However, this is the kind of thing Carolyn does when left to her own devices, which I foolishly did for the two months in Mexico before I arrived.  But, as she said, I'm the perfect partner for her, because no one else would be ABLE to do this tour -- let alone WILLING.  

Here's Carolyn and her daughter, Mica, who lives and works in Oaxaca and is the reason we performed there.

We're at a rooftop restaurant with a view of the city
and famous mescal cocktails.

Carolyn did an incredible amount of work finding people to help with booking, publicity, tech, and performing the Spanish narration that she had written. Here's our Oaxaca narrator, Mariana Mordente, rehearsing howling with my lesbian werewolf in rehearsal on the roof of the Oaxaca Lending Library.

Rehearsing the Restoration Coming-Out Scene

The saving grace of this intense and stressful first week is that everyone we've worked with couldn't have been nicer or more competent  or creative or calm or cheerful.  I know machismo is a huge problem here.  I KNOW it.  I've seen the feminist posters about it.  But the men we've worked with have been truly gentle and  -- there's no other word for it -- sweet.  Of course the women were fantastic, but that's more to be expected.  

Now we're in Mexico City, having done two shows in Oaxaca and one here last night.  Phew.  So we're on the downhill slope, in terms of work.  

AND NOW, OAXACA:

Oaxaca is a very special place.  It's a beautiful Colonial city with a famous cuisine and a notoriously rebellious past and present.  It's surrounded by Indian villages with very deep craft and art traditions.  And there are ancient pyramids nearby.  Unfortunately, I only got a little taste of Oaxaca, because we had so much work to do -- but enough to know I'll come back soon, to do one of those immersive Spanish courses.

It was late Spring, still some flowers:

Jacaranda everywhere

Unknown Fabulous Yellow Flowers

The Door to my Studio Apartment with Patio

On my only free night, I saw a Oaxaca wedding celebration with women dancing with flower baskets on their heads and giant puppets and fireworks in front of one of the old churches.  Sorry, no good photos of puppets or fireworks.

 

That same night, we came upon a demonstration/art installation.  Women had spent the day dying shoes red, to represent all the women who have been killed in Ciudad Juarez -- and elsewhere.  It's hard to capture how moving these scattered scarlet boots and shoes were.

There is a vibrant feminist consciousness among women here that is very militant and widespread, unlike in the U.S.  Very exciting.  These posters below were in La Jicara, where we performed.

Verbal, Sexual, or Institutional:
it's all the same violence.
 Caution:  Machismo kills!

My Body is Mine.
Caution:Machismo kills!

We were so thrilled to find our poster below a lesbian poster, although we never found out what the rest of the poster said.

You think it's easy to translate "Crackpot Crones" into Spanish?  Carolyn consulted with a LOT of people.  She can't tell me exactly what "Rucas" means.  Of course "locas" means "crazy."  But she says everyone laughs when they hear "Las Rucas Locas," so that's enough for us.  The poster, designed by Margo Tufo, delighted the Oaxacans.

Our first performance was at the Oaxaca Lending Library, which is the cultural center for English speakers living here.  Here's Mariana (our narrator/clown), Saskia (publicist, booker, sound tech and probably a few other things) and Carolyn working on translating the script in the Library.  

I think this might have been the moment when we were searching for the Mexican names of Donald Duck's nephews, Huey, Dewey, and Louie (as mentioned in the Coming-Out Sitcom).  EVERY country in the WORLD has their OWN names for the plucky little avians.  Saskia says in Holland it's Quik, Quak and Quok.  These are the kinds of things you investigate deeply when you're a serious theater artist.  In Mexico, it's Hugo, Paco and Luis. Just google it.

The Crones and Mariana before the Library Performance.
As Carolyn said, she tried to find someone who looked as much like us as possible.

The Library was our Mexican debut and the debut of our wild and wonderful backdrop designed by Judy Schavrien.  

"Red Hanky Grannies" 

Mariana introduced our scenes and then interrupted us at various points to describe what would happen in the next part of the scene.  So Spanish-only speakers were told what they were going to see before they saw it.  This was an audience of mainly English speakers, so we couldn't really tell how well it worked.  But Mariana was a completely adorable clown and improvised her own jokes with the audience.  She's a gem.  

People loved the show.  They loved the humor, the feminism, the lesbianism, the blasphemy -- and the fact that we took the trouble to bring our theater to them.  We did the "Lesbian Werewolf" scene in Spanish.  I felt terribly inhibited and awkward speaking Spanish, and did not acquit myself well.  Carolyn only had three short lines, so she did better.  

On to La Jicara the next night!  I wish we had something like La Jicara in San Francisco -- a community center/bookstore with great food.  I feel a sense of space for things like this to happen in Oaxaca, whereas there's no space remaining for such quixotic ventures in SF.  Here's the main room, with the Crone backdrop -- safety-pinned to nails, instead of velcroed liked the night before.  The ceiling is partially open and vine-covered.

Posters at La Jicara Protesting Genetically Modified Food

Unfortunately, I have no photos of our performance at La Jicara.  The place was PACKED and the audience was very enthusiastic.  It was exciting.  Again, most people knew SOME English.  Our performance took a step up, inspired by the energy of the crowd, which included lots of young people.  My Lesbian Werewolf en Espanol was MUCH better except…. oh, except… Instead of "hermosos pechos"  (trans. beautiful breasts), I said "hermanos pechos" (trans. brotherly breasts or something like that).  Oy vey.  What a mistake for a lesbian werewolf to make.    

After the performance, everyone hung out.  We had a full dinner!  We were starving.  How great to perform somewhere that people can stay long and chat and eat.  

Carolyn with Mica and friends

Crones with Jose Antonio, our dear lighting man

To end:  Just some cool Oaxaca images:

People drive on the Left Side of the Road for One Block!?!

Oaxaca is famous for its green stone walls.

Never seen THIS image anywhere before!

One of the many strange and beautiful murals

Just Plain Fun

Th….th…..That's all, folks!

 

HICK Goes to Baltimore!

I'm in Oaxaca at this moment. Carolyn and I have SIX performances she's booked in Mexico.  

But today, I must tell you about my two-week run of HICK: A LOVE STORY in Baltimore, at the Theatre Project.  This run was a result of the work of my booking agent Lesley Hart, and the theatre's director, Chris Pfingsten.  Thank you thank you.

First, I visited my oldest friend in Gettysburg -- we call each other Lady Dear or LD for short (a very complicated story involving the world's cutest old waitress at Louis's in San Francisco).  I mean she's not my oldest friend in GETTYSBURG.  She's my oldest friend in the WHOLE WORLD.  We were put together as roommates when we started college.  Here's me in the bathroom of LD's gorgeous pre-Revolutionary stone house in the countryside.

Yes, SNOW!  Very exciting for me, but they are so OVER it.  Apparently, it's a drag to shovel.  Who knew?  


I arrived in Baltimore and did a lecture with slides on Lorena Hickok and Eleanor Roosevelt at the Baltimore GLBT center.  Me with their director, Jabari:

Then on to the Theatre Project:

This is a lovely 150 seat theater downtown.  Got a great interview about HICK in the main daily, the Baltimore Sun -- one of the best interviews I've ever had:  Click here to read. 

We had created a transportable set for our NY Fringe run of HICK.  This was Carolyn's brilliant idea and executed by our set designer, Vola Ruben and our graphic designer, Bill Selby.  So we shipped the set to the Theatre Project via UPS.  This photo isn't under the real theater lights, so it doesn't look quite as wonderful as during a performance.

ANYHOW, opening night had a small house, but the audience was very enthused and cheered at the end.  On the second night, I actually experienced BEING Hick for the whole show.  It was just, "Congratulations, Terry!  As a reward for all your hard work, you get to be Lorena Hickok for 1 1/2 hours!"  Very wonderful feeling.  I KNEW it wouldn't continue for the rest of the run, but I was still disappointed that it didn't.  I mean, I had a lot of really good performances, but it wasn't exactly like BEING Hick, which was effortless.

Attendance built during the eight performances, with a packed house at the last show.  Lots of standing ovations.  I like those.  After every show, I went out to the lobby to talk to folks.  People were deeply moved by HICK.  And I got...

Great reviews:

“Valiant, valuable and vivid.  Baum creates a distinctive and very likable character.  HICK: A LOVE STORY focuses on the light and love that warmed two exceptional lives — a first lady and the woman dubbed “First Friend.” -- Baltimore Sun

"Mrs. Roosevelt's  letters are stunning in their intimacy. Hick slowly grows into her role as the keeper of the truth about Eleanor as a sexual and emotional human being. Like the best biographies, the play offers us a hero who has been invisible, but was there all along:  Lorena Hickok or Hick." -- People’s World

"Baum is captivating, in a skilled and nuanced performance.  Hats off to Baltimore Theatre Project, and  a thank-you to Terry Baum for sharing this touching, funny, and excellent character with theatre audiences."  --  DC Metro

"A substantial play that dealt thoughtfully with a host of issues.   A meaty play, a fascinating love story, and to some degree a universal one.  And Baum is good at bringing out that universality." -- Broadway World

NOW, BALTIMORE:

My very generous and charming hosts, Laura and Alex.  They met each other in the Peace Corps in Morocco and are very politically involved and have a huge collection of books on politics.

Laura with their adorable pup

Snow in Baltimore too!

Baltimore Scenes:

The title of this one is "LOOKS MUCH BETTER NOW"  And a Green and Yellow bridge

Yes, we are south of the Mason Dixon line.  LOTS of memorials to Confederate soldiers:

And a monument to Francis Scot Key, who wrote the Star Spangled Banner in Baltimore. This is where he saw the rockets' red glare, apparently from a little rowboat.

The fabulous Peabody Library:

The Baltimore Museum of Art is famous for the largest collection of paintings by Matisse.  But I fell in love with their African collection:

Lady Dear and her favorite quilt at the BMA:

Hmmm… I don't know about this bench.  It's kinda like those signs that say "Drug-Free Zone."  If you have to say it, it's not.  But the folks who live in B'more sure do love their city!

And last, but not least:  My favorite new acquisition:  Egg-Tastic!  I can now make scrambled eggs in the microwave!  Okay, they're a little tough.  But nothing's perfect.  And my Egg-Tastic sure is cute.

Th…th…that's all, folks!

American Visionary Art Museum

 I'm here doing a two-week run of HICK: A LOVE STORY at the Baltimore Theatre Project.  I went to the American Visionary Art Museum in Baltimore yesterday.   This is right outside the entrance to the museum:
:


This is their welcoming doormat:

It says "SMILE."  I couldn't quite fit the letters in.  It's made of old toothbrushes.  The letters are formed of old bristles, which are now a tad dirty.  The lovely colorful background is composed of the handles of the toothbrushes.  Genius, pure genius.

Why doesn't the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC do something like that???  They've got room on the floor!

Anyhow, the Museum is a very special wild, subversive place.  Much of the art is made by people in prison or mental hospitals or by people who are kind of hermits.  For many of these artists, their art is a way of holding onto sanity.  Often the stories behind the art are just as important as the art itself.   A good example is this first one:

This is a very small embroidered picture created by a man in prison.  He had never embroidered before, but somehow he felt this was how he was going to get through the days.  He had no money for thread.  The guards gave him old socks, which he unraveled and then used to create these lovely images.  There were six of them, all about 6X6 inches.  

I realize now that I didn't write down any of the artists' names.  That was disrespectful of me.  Oh well.  

Unfortunately, I couldn't take all the photos I wanted, because no photography was allowed.  I thought, "Fine, I'll just buy postcards!"  But then I went to the gift shop, and they had hardly any -- except multiple views of one sculpture that I didn't like at all!  Okay, it was well-done, but it was of a cutesy-pretty Barbie doll woman.  Yecch!  That made me mad.  No postcards!  Tell hell with the rules!  I skulked around the galleries, crouching in corners to escape watchful museum guards and got the photos here.  Plus a bunch others.

A lot of the art is just plain wild and wacky.  

The "What, Me Worry?" Alfred E. Newman bed is all done in sequins and beads. 

Inside this, I had an amazing experience:

 

Okay.  So the outside is tinfoil.  I took off my shoes, crawled in.  It was a kind of spongy cave.  Fortunately, so fortunately, I was the only one at the moment.  When I  came upon it, there were six giggly teens sitting inside.  But I could lie down.  There were all these strips hanging from the ceiling, hundreds of them, and when the light show began, they flickered in different colors, with different patterns, different rhythms.  The light show was coordinated with lovely spacey music.  And it went on and ON and ON!  

It was an intense spiritual experience.  I had a powerful revelation which would now be changing my life if I could remember what it was.  (P.S. I was not stoned.)

And nobody came in the whole time!  Just me realizing enlightenment!  Finally the music stopped, the flashing lights disappeared and a recorded voice told me that it was time to leave... several times.  So I did.  Wow.

This was around the corner inside the restaurant, so I could skulk and get the picture:

The story of Lilly and Dilly and their husbands Billy and Willy.  Their lovely matching dressers are made of little snippets from Maxwell House coffee cans -- you can see one on the upper left.  This is actually a full-length portrait, and I can tell you this artist drank a hell of a lot of coffee!  Lots of other art by this woman (again, no name, shame on me).  I feel this is her masterpiece.  The real coffee cups she used... brilliant.

Before I leave you with a few more pictures, I want to tell you my favorite quote from the bathroom.  I mean, this place is not like a museum.  It's so IRREVERENT.  Here goes:

When I die, I want to go like my grandpa did, gently sleeping -- not screaming like the other people in the car!

  

A DYKE IN ISTANBUL

Up until last Thursday, I was traveling with three dear friends.  We had a great time together, got along unbelievably well.  We called ourselves the Zuiderdam Dykes, after the HollandAmerica cruise ship we were on.  Here's Bobbi, Cecelia and Judy -- the ZuiderDykyes -- in a cafe in Venice.

But they all went home last Thursday,so I've been on my own in Istanbul.  Emre, who manages the condo/hotel I'm staying in, just told me that the four of us were very "popular" on the block!  This is a tiny street where a lot of people hang out.  He says people were always asking him how the "omas" were doing.  I'm the only oma left.  It seems I've reached the point in my life where just being alive and moving around endears me to people.  

Last night I dreamed about all the ZuiderDykes. We were flying around together, like birds in the air -- the only medium we HAVEN'T traveled together on!  

Yesterday I spent hours in the pouring rain trying to track down the two lesbian places in Istanbul, a bar and a cafe.  It's not easy in these warrens of tiny streets, where there sometimes are no street signs and streets change their names every block.  Anyhow, I succeeded in finding both places. They're both out of business.  Oh well.  Today the weather is better.

Today I got a very late start.  Talked long with Emre, about the political situation here.  For those who don't follow the news, a peace demonstration in Ankara, the capital, was disrupted by two bombs that killed 100 people and injured 200 more.  The demonstrators were gathering to demand that the Turkish government stop bombing the Kurds.  The Turkish people are devastated and grieving, although it's not something I can observe unless I talk with people.

I've talked to several people besides Emre.  I try  to understand.  It's so complicated. One Kurdish man, who was our guide at Aya Sophia, said the current president of Turkey, Erdogan,who has chosen to bomb the Kurds, is the Kurd's FRIEND.  He said, "It's really the U.S. that's bombing the Kurds!"  Remember, Istanbul IS the former capital of the Byzantine empire, which gave its NAME to convoluted politics.  I see that confusion is very bad for democracy.  At least in the U.S., I have some understanding of what's going on.  The Republicans are evil and insane and the Democrats need quite a bit more backbone and we need more political voices on the left -- my brief analysis.   This understanding allows me to hope and engage in the political process.    

Liberals see the Ankara bombing, which is the worst terrorist act in Turkish history, as another excuse for President Erdogan to tighten his grip.  They've got an early election that Erdogan called on Nov. 1, and Erdogan is now calling everyone to rally around him, so Turkey can have solidarity against "the enemy."  But who IS the enemy?  Many think the greatest threat is Erdogan himself, and they don't put it past him to have arranged/encouraged the bombing.  In any case, he has created an atmosphere of division and hatred for the "other."   This is a country that shares borders with Russia and Syria, among others.  However difficult things are in the U.S., it is so much more difficult here.   Very shameful to think of our contributions to the current mess -- the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq -- which have such huge consequences for all the countries of the region, and a very indirect effect on us in our giant rich country surrounded by ocean and two friendly nations.

I have no sense of the politial turmoil here, just from walking around.  People are jolly, enjoying life.  Everything seems OK, and people are very friendly.  I've definitely fallen in love with Istanbul.   There was a demonstration here, which I only saw pictures of in the paper.  I don't think I'm brave enough to seek out any protests.  My friend Laura says I shouldn't feel guilty about being a good tourist.  She says that, too, is a contribution to the cause of Turkish democracy.  I can't quite remember her reasoning.  

The only visual sign of the political crisis I've seen is this mourning banner, black with red carnations (the national and native flower), hanging from a political party office on Istiklal Boulevard, the hip shopping, eating and cafe-sitting street:

Today, I went on a Bosporus cruise -- 2 hours, which was plenty.  Very pleasant.  Saw some castles and fortresses and mosques.  

Talked to a nice Danish woman on the boat.  She's the headmaster of a boarding school in the north of Denmark. There, the government pays for the education in private boarding schools, and the parents pay room and board. 

Then went to the spice market and the Suliemanye Mosque, which isn't so near the other big attractions.  I had to walk quite a way from the tram stop.  

The mosque was closed for prayer and was going to open in an hour.  I decided to hang out on one of the rooftop cafe terraces I could see from  the Mosque courtyard that overlooks the whole city.  This area is NOT developed for tourism, to put it mildly.  I entered a dark dirty hall and climbed five flights of colorful and very funky  stairs.

  

But when I reached the roof, the VIEW was Four Stars, at LEAST… 

And then, the muezzins started calling people to prayer.  I was above the city and I could hear them ALL.  It was the most amazing experience.  A glorious cacophony rising from the whole city -- and dominated by the Meuzzin closest to me in the Suliemanye Mosque.  Astonishing. 

Then back to the  beautiful Suliemanye, built by the greatest Ottoman architect, Sanan.  Just a tiny detail of the courtyard here:

And then home, buying a big suitcase along the way for all my tons of stuff.  I'm going to pack tonight to see how much room I have.  Maybe I can BUY MORE STUFF tomorrow!  Shopping in Istanbul is the most fun ever!  I'm even learning how to bargain.  

Tomorrow's my last  day.   I'm having a great time but also can't wait to get back -- although I always have a hard time with re-entry.

Love, Terry

HIRSCHFIELD

Went to the Hirschfield exhibit at the New York Historical Society, which happens to be the closest museum to where I'm staying.  Hirschfield is the  illustrator/caricaturist  who was a fixture in the New York theater scene with his lively and exaggerated line drawings of Broadway plays and stars.  He captured the ENERGY of the actor. 

 Below are drawings of the first production of THE GLASS MENAGERIE by Tennessee Williams, the Marx Brothers, and a production of a play at the Moscow Art Theater in the Soviet Union. If the Marx Bros. drawing looks like he copied it from someone else, that's because this BECAME the iconic image of the crazy M Brothers.  In fact, Groucho, upon seeing the artist's exaggeration of his hairdo, told the movie studio that he wanted his hair to look exactly like that in his next movie!

Hirschfield lived a happy, productive and LOOONG life.  He lived to 99, did his last published drawing --  of Tommy Tune for the NY Times --  six months before he died.

In an interview, he said, "I have absolutely no interest in landscapes, in drawing nature.  I want to sit in a cafe and observe PEOPLE, watch a play and capture the actors.  Nature doesn't interest me.  The Grand Canyon just looks like a decayed molar, magnified a million times.   PEOPLE -- that's what I love."

His favorite subjects where what he called "GLANDULAR actors -- with bulging eyes and thick lips, the ones who are bigger than life."  He bemoaned the more realistic "arid" style of of today's actors.  

It made me think about making Hick bigger, even bigger than life.  I've been going in that direction anyway.  After all, her STORY is bigger than life.  A secret yet not-so-secret romance with the First Lady in tumultuous times.  I have to keep reminding myself that the context of the story I'm telling is BIG!  I'd like to create a performance that Hirschfield would find inspiring to draw.  I ain't no decayed molar.

--

www.LilithTheaterSanFrancisco.com

www.terrybaum.com

HICK WRITES TO ELEANOR FROM IOWA

This is the sixth page of a letter Hick wrote when she had her job traveling around the country reporting on economic conditions and New Deal programs to Harry Hopkins and FDR.  Most of the letter is telling ER about her job.  But on this page, obviously she’s written something  in an earlier letter to ER that she now regrets.  Hick was always apologizing to Eleanor.  She just wanted more than her lover could give her.  And the public attention she got when she was with Eleanor was unbearable to Hick.  Hick was used to be the observer, not the observed.   Hick was temperamentally unsuited to the situation she’d gotten herself into.  But she loved Eleanor too much to ever walk away from her.

To those who worked to destroy the Michigan Women’s Music Festival and are now reveling in their victory:

I want to tell you about Dorothy.  She had a small tent right next to the path I had to go down to get anywhere.  She had a table outside her tent, a good chair.  Lots of food and cold drinks.  A nice set-up.  Clearly she was a veteran of Michigan.  She knew what she needed to be comfortable, and brought it.  

I think she was probably over 70.  Longish straight white hair.  Tanned face.  Sturdy.  Every time I went down the path, she was there, drinking a beer or sipping a cup of coffee, often reading a book.  We would make eye contact, give a little smile.  I didn’t feel drawn to her or motivated to make more contact than that.  I never saw anyone else talk to her either.

Then at some point I realized that every time I walked that path, she was ALWAYS there, in her chair, sipping and reading or just looking.  She wasn’t going to any of the concerts or the workshops or visiting friends in other tents.  She was just SITTING OUTSIDE HER TENT ON THE SIDE OF THE PATH BY HERSELF!  What was THAT about??!?

So I stopped to talk to her.  She was very pleasant and open to chatting.  Dorothy was from Chicago.  She was a dyke.  For whatever reasons, her life had led her to isolation from her fellow humans.  She was a hermit.  She lived in her apartment in Chicago without contact with other people.

She said what saved her sanity was her week at Michigan sitting in front of her tent next to the path.  Surrounded by thousands of women, feeling their energy.  She didn’t need concerts or conversation.  The only place she felt safe around others of her species was in those scrubby woods, alternately dusty and muddy, with the endless sounds of music playing, and women laughing and singing far into the night.

“It recharges my batteries,” she said about her one week a year at the Michigan Women’s Music Festival.  She said that one week made it possible to survive the 51 weeks of solitude that followed.  And then, by golly, she’d be there next to the path again, with her sweet little set-up.

Dorothy was an extreme example, but there are thousands of lesbians at Michigan who go back to lives where they can never be themselves in public, where they feel they must stay in the closet.  For these women, Michigan has been a very special place, a lifesaver, a battery recharger, a sanctuary, a week of pure, joyous freedom. 

And now, after 40 years, it’s ending.  Yes, all cultural institutions wither and die eventually.  But this is not a natural death.  Sophisticated people organized to kill Michigan before its time, because it outraged them that women had created a safe space for themselves. 

Dear self-righteous people:  What do you suggest Dorothy do next year?