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Volume 2, Issue 5

OCTOBER-DECEMBER '23

NEXT ISSUE: FEBRUARY '24

Carlos Martinez

2

FALL 2023

TABLE OF

CONTENTS

01

COVER: Saturn's Bouquet

by Carlos Martinez

04

Letters & Thank you

06

Black Nativity Reimagined

08

The Game: Soft Boy

THEATER PAGES

11

Measure for Measure

12

To Gather

14

Merry Wives of Windsor

16

COLUMN: Arte Noir

17

Art Collector: Jo Jo Stiletto

18

DON’T MISS IT!

20

Performance Listings

22

Visual Arts Listings

GALLERY PAGES

26

Alison Stigora

28

Dawn Endean

30

Carlos Martinez

32

Lad Decker

34

Hanako O'Leary

36

Lauren Iida

38

Whiting Tennis

40

Sharyll Burroughs

42

uckiood

44

Nahom Ghirmay

46

Mary Anne Carter

MASTHEAD

ERICA TARRANT Editor/Designer

MARTY GRISWOLD Publisher

MARY TRAVERSE Design Consultant

ANDREW MCMULLEN Distribution

SIMON SHAW Admin Assistant

ERIN CRAVER Accounting

ONE REEL BOARD OF DIRECTORS: Elisheba John-

son (President), Stephen Cugier (Vice President),

Gabriel Kangas (Treasurer), Alex Daisley, Joey Rob-

inson, Marcus Charles, and Mikhael Mei Williams.

ONE REEL EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR Marty Griswold.

PUBLICDISPLAY.ART is published by One Reel, a 501(c)(3)

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PublicDisplay.ART is published every other month (bi-monthly)

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THANKS to Governor Inslee and

ARTSWA for honoring One Reel as

2022 Arts Organization of the Year!

elcome to PublicDisplay.ART’s performance preview

issue, where we turn our attention to upcoming stage

productions. What better way to adapt to the darkness and

coming rain than sitting amidst an audience poised in antic-

ipation for the curtain to go up? Look to our listings to see

what’s happening on every stage across the city at a glance. It

offers something that you’d be hard-pressed to find online —

a comprehensive view through the end of the year that allows

you to plan ahead and not miss out on anything.

One of the most exciting shows is the all-new, reimag-

ined production of Langston Hughes’ Black Nativity,

coming to the Intiman in partnership with The Hansberry

Project. Why, pray tell? You’ll find the answer in Vivian

Phillips’ engaging interview with director Valerie Curtis-

Newton. Suffice it to say, if soaring voices from a rousing

citywide gospel choir is what it takes you to get into the

spirit of the holidays, look no further.

Just as we got underway on this issue, Gemma Wilson,

who has covered theatre for us this past year, was snatched

up by the Seattle Times. We couldn't be happier knowing

her talent has been tapped by the Times to expand their

performance coverage. This forced us to reexamine how

we approach the performing arts and I think we nailed it

by turning to those who know best.

In this issue, you’ll find a sneak peek of three upcoming

productions through the eyes of four participants. Each piece

offers up personal photos and coverage in their own words

(or, in the case of one, through the words of Shakespeare him-

self) that provide insight into the people and the work behind

what you’ll see on stage. We're so happy with the results, we

plan to continue with it in future issues.

Speaking of the future, here’s an update on what’s next

for PublicDisplay.ART. As a non-profit, community-supported

publication, we continue to work to find the funding neces-

sary to keep going. We’d like to express our thanks to all the

folks who responded to our message in the last issue. Your

support shows us that our work has been appreciated and

that some of you are invested in seeing more of us next year.

While the issue you hold in your hands will be our final

issue of 2023, we understand how important it is to you to

have an ongoing print resource covering the arts in Seattle,

and we aim to make this happen! After a short hiatus, we

plan to resume publishing PublicDisplay.ART next year.

Our first issue of 2024 will hit the streets in early February,

and if all goes well, we plan to continue publishing every

other month through the rest of the year.

Of course, it will take money to do this, so if you haven’t

had the chance to donate to One Reel, we encourage you

to consider this. Because we need your support to con-

tinue to provide recognition to local artists and to bring

you arts coverage you can turn to when navigating your

way through Seattle’s arts scene.

The good news is that you might notice that this issue

has quite a few more pages in it. It is, in fact, our biggest issue

yet. This is largely due to the bump in advertising from local

businesses and organizations who see value in supporting

the arts through PublicDisplay.ART. Their investment paid off,

and because we are not wholly dependent on advertising, we

were able to reinvest those dollars into another eight pages.

The additional pages allowed us to expand coverage to

Seattle’s stages without sacrificing our coverage of visual art

and artists. By not being forced to cut content to accommo-

date more advertising, our advertisers have an uncluttered

platform to showcase their events to a receptive audience.

Everyone wins!

If you want to expand your knowledge of local artists

worthy of your attention, buckle up and turn to page 26. I

dare say that the eleven featured artists in this issue make for

a wild roller-coaster ride that showcases a dizzying range

of artistic styles. From well-established critical darlings to

little-known artists bursting on the scene, this issue’s lineup

is a great reminder of the level of talented individuals whose

work contributes to Seattle’s cultural relevance.

Hop over to our ongoing columns for coverage of local

filmmaker Justin Emeka’s new short, Biological, as well as

an overview of his previous works presented in partnership

with Arte Noir. Art Collector, our rotating series that offers

art collectors the opportunity to share their experiences

purchasing and owning art, features burlesque performer

Jo Jo Stiletto, whose passion for letterpress works and

screenprints offers an inexpensive opportunity to collect

works that resonate with their own queer aesthetic.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention how much I

enjoyed Amanda Manitach’s feature on Seattle-based

Peruvian artist Rafael Soldi. As a prolific writer and artist,

Amanda has mined the deeply personal stories that inspired

the works of Soldi's exhibit, Soft Boy, currently on display at

the Frye. It’s a show you don’t want to miss. For more visual

art exhibits, dance performances, and stage productions,

we recommend you check out over the coming months,

turn to page 18 for DON’T MISS IT!

Thank you for making PublicDisplay.ART an ongoing part

of your art discovery process. We are honored to share with

you what we love most about living in Seattle, and we remain

committed to bringing more coverage your way in 2024.

Until then, enjoy your arts journey.

Cheers,

Marty Griswold

Executive Director, One Reel

Publisher, PublicDisplay.ART

Publisher's Note

4

FALL 2023

@tavo331

Great question!

Empower youth by supporting artistic expression

through diverse art programs! Start with children in

public schools.

Pay grade school teachers to take art classes.

Bring local artists to give workshops and com-

pensate them generously for their time and energy.

Thank you for keeping it real.

@lad.decker

Prioritize housing and mental healthcare for people

at risk of homelessness. Speed up the waterfront

construction. It shouldn’t take forever to develop a

road and sidewalk.

@myyinyangself

Grantmakers and funders who don't treat artists like

corporate commodities. Yes, artists need money to

create work but what if you can't pay your rent or

fix your car? It's difficult to make work if you can't

sustain a basic quality of life.

Artists have value beyond how much their work

sells for. We need more funders who emulate the

MacArthur blueprint.

@slip_belltown

Expand programs allowing artists to occupy empty

storefronts. Create incentives for property owners

and educate them as to why art improves neighbor-

hoods and communities.

Mandate a limited number of months a property

can be empty before the owners have to allow an

artist community to occupy the space.

@jamiecurtismith

I have a MILLION ideas, and we really should create

a manifesto to circulate to politicians, so I'll start

throwing out some of the ideas here.

@triviapuppet

Timely administration of contracts and grants.

@lana_blinderman

Like the folks above said - Universal Basic Income.

Also truly affordable, public housing.

@b.noah.art

Basic income, a lot more grant money not tied to

"public benefit" but simply support for artists to do

their work, since it buys time to do so. Vastly increase

government purchases of artists' work, then give it to

interested citizens based on income levels. Artist sup-

port funding right now is pathetic. BOOST IT!

@sheklein

Create more live/work spaces by offering an incen-

tive to building owners. Fund artists to work in

schools, community centers, and retirement homes.

Bring back a CETA or WPA-type program. Fund artists

to do temporary experimental projects to activate

all parts of the city. Add to cultural offerings like free

museum entry, increase and value art programs in

education beginning in elementary schools. Create

alliances between artists and industry.

@suzannekaufman

Have more affordable art studio spaces.

@apiaryartanddesign

Making other life resources more affordable- rent,

food, childcare.

@co________.seattle

More frequent and larger grant opportunities for

individual artists!

@liturnerart

More funding opportunities for older women artists.

@cadelkennart

money

@patansart

Help Friends of Inscape maintain the coolest art build-

ing in Seattle and not sell to someone who wants to

make it something else. friendsofinscape.org

@artistsupclose

Substantial investments in arts news coverage.

There just aren't enough journalists writing about

the arts in Seattle.

@tedhuetter

I second the suggestions about reopening vacant

street-level spaces to creative small businesses and

artists of all kinds. Do not encourage the closed-

door storefront exhibition spaces and instead make

them open and active.

Artist-residence programs, open galleries, and

workspaces for arts and science. Mix it up to make

them lively and surprising venues that will enliven

an otherwise dying neighborhood for downtown

residents, businesses, and visitors. Convince land-

lords and developers that it's not only good for the

community but for the bottom line as well. There

are many exciting new possibilities to replace some

real estate formulas that simply don't work any-

more. As the song says, just got to accentuate the

positive, and eliminate the negative...

@jkcalladine

Affordable studio & gallery spaces

@therealcherieb

Opportunities to create community among artists.

@sydney.mullins

Provide open calls and venue opportunities to area

curators! I see tons of open calls for public art and

group shows, but very seldom calls for independent

curators working with local artists. I am seeing that

echoes here a lot- it all boils down to MORE VENUE

and STUDIO SPACE!

@jamiecurtismith

Local municipalities can connect artists, real estate

agents, and developers to do a better job promot-

ing local artists, through corporate contracting, art

rentals, cheap/free venue usage, and promotion

@smcaseattle

Money money money

From the Universe of Social Media

ast week, we posed a question on social media: “What more can local government

agencies do to support the work of local artists and strengthen our creative community

in Seattle?” We were pleasantly surprised by the number of comments we

received. With another local election on the horizon, we thought we’d

share some of these in hopes that our politicians will take note and that

you’ll keep these in mind when you vote. If you have ideas as well, please

join the conversation: @publicdisplay

6

FALL 2023

escribed as jubilant gospel music, dramatic dance,

Black vernacular, and Biblical narrative, this staged

holiday tradition has been a staple in Black communities

all over the country for sixty-two years strong. In Seattle,

audiences enjoyed Black Nativity from 1998 through

2012. Now, the classic is coming back!

Intiman Theater has tapped Valerie Curtis-Newton to

bring new life to our beloved classic. She is co-founder of

The Hansberry Project, University of Washington School

of Drama Head of Directing, and celebrated theater direc-

tor. Just after opening her latest directorial gem, Andrew

Creech’s Last Drive to Dodge at Taproot Theatre, I spoke

to Curtis-Newton about her vision for Black Nativity.

Following are excerpts from that conversation.

How did Intiman Theatre make the decision to bring

Black Nativity back?

Pre-pandemic, there was a meeting to figure out if the

original players who were still around would want to

be a part of making something happen. It didn’t arise

out of those conversations, but the idea didn’t really

die. Jennifer Zeyl and the folks at the Intiman reached

out to me and said, “We found it in our budget to do a

version of Black Nativity this year. We’d love for you to

direct it. Are you interested?” My response was, “I think

the community needs a gathering moment, and so yes,

I’ll participate.” I needed everyone to understand that we

are not trying to do the Black Nativity that people are

familiar with. We want to honor that, but we also want

to make it something different. We were able to get Sam

Townsend as the chorale director and Vania Bynum to

do the choreography, and I will work with the actors. So

we have a nice triumvirate of people who were famil-

iar with what Black Nativity used to be but who are all

interested in a new spin and in starting a new process

of evolving it.

How difficult do you think it will be for people who

may have only experienced the Black Nativity that has

been traditionally produced here in a particular way, to

embrace something different?

This is definitely something that we have thought about.

We don’t have Patrinell Wright with us anymore. We don’t

have Reverend McKinney with us anymore. Anything we

try to do would be trying to live up to those standards

of a certain kind of excellence. I’ve been thinking about

this a little like sorbet, the palate cleanser before the next

course. This just gets people focused again on having a

Black Nativity gathering and mustering the energy and

support that lets Intiman know, and other producers

know, that the community wants to have it back and

wants to have the feeling of gathering back.

You mentioned Sam Townsend, who will be the chorale

director. Starting there, how big of a choir will we see,

and will voices from the past also be incorporated into

this new version?

It will be around 20-25 voices, and Sam is reaching out

to folks, many of whom have done it before, so yes. there

will be some familiar voices and then there will be some

new voices. We’re trying to open the door to new things.

We’re not completely untethering it. We are putting our

own stamp on it, but the cornerstone of that first act is

what it has always been.

Another element is the choreography, and you men-

tioned that Vania Bynum would be doing that. What, as

the director, are you looking for in the choreography to

move the story forward?

I think we’re interested in it being as muscular a story as

possible. The movement and the dancers add that phys-

icalized element. The expression of worship and praise,

and the theatricality that comes through the dancers, is

important. Vania understands that. But again, we have this

great legacy handed to us by these folks who have gone

home and left it for us to do. The great thing about legacy

work is that we are expected and entitled to make it our

own. That is, in fact, what our role is – to take the gift that

we’ve been given and make it our own, reflecting our cur-

rent time, and to leave it for those who are going to come

after to do the same thing.

I believe that Kabby, Pat, and Reverend McKinney

would expect us to do no less. I don’t think any of them

would be hell-bent on our just repeating what they did

and stifling our own impulses and our own artistic voices.

I think they would be happy that we find something to

build on from what they have already made.

It’s a really joyful piece. Can you describe the kind of joy

that you hope audiences will experience in this new imag-

ining of Black Nativity? What do you want them to feel?

The desire to tap your foot, be moved to rock from side to

side, to find yourself smiling, to laugh or shout amen here

and there whether that’s your tradition or not. I also want

us to share the fact that we’ve come through some things.

There have been things that we’ve come through as part of

our history as Black people in the Americas, the United States

in particular. We have reason to celebrate our faith. I feel the

opportunity to express that, and to share that kind of elation

that comes from it, and the release, is important. There is

something amazingly powerful about a multitude of voices

joined together, sharing worship, sharing praise. That does

something to the spirit, and that’s part of the joy feeling I want

folks to have — a lightening of the spirit and a sense of being

part of something bigger than themselves.

One of the reasons I make theater is because I love the

idea that it can help people feel less alone. This produc-

tion is exactly the kind of work that inspires us to feel a

part of something. If people come out of the theatre smil-

ing at each other and giving a “howdy neighbor” nod we

will have done a good thing.

Given that Black Nativity audiences were part subscriber

base and part Black community, do you think this is

going to introduce you as a director to a new audience?

I think there are a lot of Black folks that have not seen my

work. As an artist, you could get tied into knots wanting

people to love everything you do. I hope to bring my level

of expertise and a sense of discernment to the work and

give it the best we’ve got with the resources we have.

Do you have a measure of success?

If the people involved in making it ultimately feel proud

Intiman Theatre + The Hansberry Project

Black Nativity Reimagined

by Vivian Phillips

of having made it. I would love for the people in the audi-

ence to enjoy it. I absolutely would. I’m trying to bring out

the best in the people who are making it so that we have

our own sense of community, and then we can offer the

invitation to the greater community to participate. If a few

heads nod during the production I’ll be okay.

Will you do it again?

Let me get through this one first and we’ll see. If the people

like it I’d be happy to do it again. If they like the idea of it and

I’m not the one to direct, I’m okay with that, too.

I guess I hear you saying that you believe that Black

Nativity is an important production to be annualized.

Absolutely! And it might in fact be good for it to move

from director to director and for us to see lots of iterations

of Black Nativity.

Will there be songbooks?

Yes, there will be! We decided that the program would

likely be a songbook. In the second act, some of the actors

will share some of Langston Hughes' poetry. Not the ser-

monette, but actually some of Langston Hughes' poetry.

Some of it is definitely religious in nature and some of it is

just Langston’s view of Black folks in the world.

What is your history with Intiman Theatre?

When I first moved here in 1993, I met a few Black

women who introduced me to the community. Tawnya

Pettiford-Wates and Jackie Moscou, who were kind of

the mavens of Black theatre at that time. Jackie was

working at Intiman directing Flying West, and I was

a grad student and asked if I could assistant direct.

Assisting Jackie on Flying West at Intiman was the first

theatre position I ever worked. Once I got out

of grad school, (former Intiman artistic direc-

tor) Kate Whoriskey asked me to direct All My

Sons which was the last show mounted at the

old Intiman space. I did Trouble In Mind when

Intiman came back, as part of the first festival

that Intiman did in its revived state. I did Dirty

Story, Bulrusher, and Wedding Band for them

as well. I’ve directed 5 or 6 shows for Intiman.

You also have a pretty deep history with local

Black playwrights. Talk a little about the Black

playwrights that you’ve worked with as well.

Andrew Lee Creech wrote Last Drive to Dodge,

and I’ve worked with him on two or three proj-

ects. I’ve been working with Reginald A. Jackson

on The History of Theatre, and we premiered Part

One in January of this year. We will do a work-

shop of Part Two in October. I’ve worked with

some of the women writers from The Mahogany

Project, Alma Davenport’s (Restoration of the

Arts) project, and I’ve worked with Cheryl West.

We’ve got a lot of writers in town who are doing things,

and more of them coming along all the time. Part of what

The Hansberry Project is trying to do is give them a life-

line, an oxygen hose to keep them going until their work

catches traction.

I’m hopeful that people will get a sense of how you have

been working on behalf of the Black community of writ-

ers and playwrights, actors, choreographers, and Black

Theatre for a very long time.

I am really proud that many of the theatre structures in the

city now include people of color in decision-making posi-

tions. We remember going on and on for a very long time

when we weren’t represented in decision-making. I feel

proud of the work that has resulted in the next generation

having the opportunity to shape our experiences — and

the theatre landscape — in Seattle. A lot of what I do is

behind the scenes but the fruit of what I do is very visible.

What’s that one thing you always tell the cast or play-

wrights that you’re working with?

I tell them that I go through the process, and I pray for

the moment that it doesn’t suck. If we can get to a place

where we know it doesn’t suck, then art is possible. I also

tell them that I promise if they give their all I will not let

them look bad!

Prior to this year's Black Nativity revival, the play was performed at Intiman from 1998-2012. These are images from that rich history of past performances.

Director Valerie Curtis-Newton.

8

FALL 2023

cross the screen, the staccato flash of a fireball

cracks open the black night sky. Mushroom plumes

of smoke, glowing warm from within, swell upward from

the earth and cut short the sleep of five million dreamers.

It’s March 2003, and Rafael Soldi has just arrived from

Peru to Washington, D.C. along with his father, mother,

and two older brothers. He is 16. His father, a marine biol-

ogist for the Peruvian government, has been appointed

to a position in the US Capitol. The week of their arrival,

America invades Iraq. As they unpack their belongings,

a theater of war loops on every television screen, every

channel, 24 hours a day: landscapes rinsed in night-vision

green, the drill of bombs permeating the most intimate

corners of the home.

Twenty years later, Soldi’s parents have long since

returned to Peru. He remained in the US to study art, then

settled into gallery work in New York, eventually finding

his way to Seattle.

His solo exhibition at Frye Art Museum, Soft Boy,

revisits his 16-year-old self and the search for a memory

inextricably tethered to that period of transition. Like the

haunted taste of madeleine dipped in tea, the memory

has lingered in the mind, in shadows and half-formed, of

a game played by boys of a certain age. But as an adult,

when Soldi began to think back on the game he wasn’t

sure it had actually happened at all, or if it was some-

thing spun in the depths of his mind.

Thus unfurls an exhibit that is part reality, part dream-

scape. Amid a field of wordplay, horseplay, dress-up, and

role-play, the exhibit is a dissection and invocation of this

hazy, but critical thing.

The heart of the exhibit is a video, Soft Boy. It con-

sumes an entire room of the museum, three wall-size

screens wrapping around, enveloping the viewer in the

glow of projection. For nearly 16 minutes a series of small

dramas unfold, a succession of vignettes woven between

the screens.

It begins with the sound of softly thudding feet—a dull

drilling thumpthumpthumpthump. A figure materializes: a

schoolboy running in place. His face is a little angelic, a little

listless. He’s running nowhere, in a nondescript room, in a

nondescript uniform of white shirt tucked into khaki pants,

as though being put through paces like a horse.

A group of schoolboys are introduced, one by one.

Their faces are fresh, hearty, delicate like porcelain. With

long arms and broadening chests, they’re half-grown

men still in their nymphal stage, bodies not yet hardened.

The video unfolds and they begin to play games of frolic-

some torture and sinister teasing.

“We called it cargamontón,” Soldi says. “It was a kind of

playful, brawling, pig-pile type game. The bully would pick

out the skinny kid or the gay kid or whomever the target

was, and they would wrestle him to the ground til he was

fully pinned against the cement floor. And the other kids

would run, jump as high as they could, then land really

hard on top till he was suffocating under a pile of bodies.

I started thinking back to these rituals of my youth, rituals

that enabled intimacy and contact and touch.”

hough he had an impression that something like this

had happened, he could never picture it exactly. He

reached out to childhood friends to ask if they remem-

bered. While some drew a blank, others retained faint

recollections but not much more.

Finally, Soldi found physical proof in the archives of

YouTube. Videos had been posted by Peruvian teens in the

early 2000s—before iPhones and social media—when kids

were bringing digital point-and-shoot cameras to school

and filming themselves. In those uploads, he found flick-

erings of the feeling he remembered.

“I was looking for something riding this really fine line,”

he says, “moments that sometimes feel like utter pleasure,

of being entangled in sweat and bodies, but that also felt

scary, dark, and overwhelming.”

Earlier this spring, Soldi traveled to Peru to embark on

recreating his memories of cargamontón in film. He found

a director (who, incidentally, had attended the same pri-

vate boy’s school in Lima as Soldi) and hired ten Peruvian

high school-aged boys. Then for two days they filmed in

a black box studio, recreating the movements of the ritual

as Soldi remembers it. What emerged over the course of

those days was something alchemical. Given minimal

prompts and no further direction, the boys began acting

out their own, organic iteration of cargamontón, falling

into the raucous, ordered

disorder of the roughhouse

ritual. Like the hazy images

haunting Soldi’s memory.

Just like the images haunt-

ing YouTube.

The clips from YouTube

find their way into Soft Boy

in the form of a suite of four

aquatint

photogravures

made from still images Soldi

captured. Collectively titled

Cargamontón, the black

and white prints are aggres-

sively stark and factual in

contrast to the dreaminess

of the video. Soldi softens

that starkness by blowing

up the stills to nearly life-

size proportions, using the rosin powder of the aquatint

process to create velvety tones and edges that dissolve

into the shadows.

Redolent of the interlacing channels of the video,

each image of the series offers a unique point of view of

the pig pile: one image spies the game from a distance,

the perspective of a passerby or participant hanging back.

Another lunges closer, into the tangle of the brawl. Pulled

in closer still, the third image hovers over a boy pinned

to the ground, his face broken into an ecstatic smile, one

hand languidly draped across his belly, the other half-

raised as if to shield his face. The most intimate of the

frames is pulled in impossibly tight, face-to-shadowy-face

with the attacker, a brow furrowed with concentration. Or

is it furrowed with pleasure? There’s no way to tell in this

impossible closeness.

Hung seamlessly side-by-side, the ink of one print

seems to bleed into the next. They flash by in one breath-

less, jarring, euphoric blur.

hat does the word cargamontón mean? There’s

not a word for it in English, but cargamontón

translates roughly to “gang harassment.” When Soldi

asked around—asked the young actors in his video, his

nephews, and other Peruvian teens—it seems none of

them play the game anymore. They just bully online now.

These days, the term cargamontón is primarily used in

the Peruvian vernacular to describe politicians ganging

up to exert pressure on one another, or political acts of

coercion.

A word lost in time and translation seems fitting: in

the story of Soldi’s coming of age, migration, sexuality,

The Game

Rafael Soldi's Soft Boy at the Frye

by Amanda Manitach

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FALL 2023

Measure for Measure

West of Lenin

October 26-30

www.freeholdtheatre.org

easure for Measure involves characters in a world where their

full, complex humanity cannot exist — make mistakes, learn,

and try again. The Duke and his community are imbalanced by the

pinched intolerance of the city's cultural climate. The Duke senses

the crisis and his own failure and sets out to find a way to fix the

imbalance. Director Robin Lynn Smith describes the play as "a story

of human forgiveness that makes space for the whole person."

#1 The moment captured

between Angelo (Sylvester

Kamara) and Isabella (Ayo

Tushinde) is identifiable if

you’re familiar with the play.

But did you know that the

intricacies of creating this

physical relationship involve

more than just the actors

and director? Our fight

choreographer (Morgan

Grody) and intimacy

choreographer (Sarah

Harlett) both help craft the

quality and length of touch,

speed of movement, and

even when and exactly

where actor-to-actor

contact happens.

#2 Measure for Measure is

not a musical. However, this

show boasts a large variety of

instruments, which musicians

Anne Mathews and Valerie Holt

expertly employ to create the

score of the show, composed

by Gino Jevdjevic. If that wasn’t

remarkable enough, Anne

and Valerie will be on stage

singing and playing live at every

performance! (Note: Josh Kenji

isn’t playing Candy Crush - the

songs are in Latin.)

#3 Well, well, well — if Mistress

Overdone (Truxton Ivory) has to

*thworp* that fan, we know she

has got some tea ready for the

spilling, honey! To find out about

the latest drama in

Vienna you’ll want to

see the show. The little sparkles

in her eyes are full of hot gossip.

#4 Freehold’s Engaged Theatre

program allows us to take

stories to incarcerated people

who have been discredited by

society, sometimes discounted

as human beings altogether.

Taking shows into prison

settings requires a minimalist

approach when it comes to

elements of design. The rules

about what we may bring in

for a performance are many

and non-negotiable. In this

production, we use live music,

dance, and rhythm soundscapes

to create a vibrant world that

engages people with the story.

(Pictured left to right: Hanna

Abrahamson, Ronnie Hill, Lola

Fukushima, Sylvester Kamara).

#5 Director Robin Lynn Smith

dissects specific beats of a scene

between The Duke (Shawn

Belyea) and Claudio (Josh Kenji).

The choice to floor-sit or perch

upon a box truly gives a glimpse

into the instincts of stage

artists in their natural habitat: a

windowless room from which

important and beautiful stories

are born. Ah, nature. Or rather, a

mirror to hold up to it.

Ayo Tushinde

Isabella

Ayo is a Seattle actor

passionate about

creating through

intersectionality

and inclusion in our

ever-shifting soci-

ety. She has enjoyed

working with local

theatres, including

Cafe Nordo, Living

Voices, ACT, Intiman,

Seattle Public Theatre,

Seattle Shakespeare

Company, and The

Seagull Project. Ayo hopes to continue bringing new

light to the texts of our favorite old dead white guys.

#1

#2

#3

#4

#5

and language are inextricably intertwined.

When Soldi arrived to America, he didn’t

know he was gay. He also didn’t know

English well. The piece mouth to mouth

comes together as yet another game in the

puzzle of the exhibit, this one of wordplay.

By flanking the entrance to the theater,

mouth to mouth serves as a preface to Soft

Boy, a (rite of) passage through which the

visitor must first proceed. The walls are

awash in a whisper of palest lavender. A

collection of words is scattered across the

lavender field, each hand-drawn in black

ink, bordered in a plain white frame.

They meander like an exploded dictio-

nary: “TOMB” is side by side with “BOY.”

“MARICÓN” with “DREAM.” “ROUGH”

next to “HOUSING.” This constellation

of words—both Spanish and English—

maps the experience of learning a

new tongue within the larger context

of shedding, becoming. As Soldi’s

comfortability with English increased

and familiarity with his native tongue

decreased, letting go of anxiety around

“getting language straight” was neces-

sary. By doing so, he came to embrace

all the misheard phrases at parties, end-

less slippages, and muddled meanings

made up in his head. In this strange

place, Soldi found pleasure in the

absurd poetry of misunderstandings—

like hearing “forest tongue” instead of

“first tongue.” (“I couldn’t stop thinking

about it,” Soldi says when describing

the impressions sparked by such slippages.

“What a strange and beautiful idea for the

forest to have a tongue!”)

In similar fashion Soldi elicits a poetics

in the dismantling of power and gender

structures embedded in Spanish, play-

ing with words like ci ci and sissy, or the

phrasing of queer terms in Spanish, such

as activo and passivo (top/bottom). What

does it mean to be passive and active in

such a case? Or the English “GUN” “MAN.”

“What is a man gun?” Soldi ponders when

unpacking the intricacies of mouth to

mouth. “A man who is a gun? When does a

man become a proxy for a gun, or a gun a

proxy for a man?”

The subtext of war is never far from the

story Soldi sets before us, nor the implica-

tion that violence is synonymous with the

process of becoming a man in a patriar-

chal age.

A 1981 photograph by Barbara Kruger

shows a tangle of grown men in suits,

wreathed in smiles, violently lunging at

one another. It’s stamped with the words

“You construct intricate rituals which

allow you to touch the skin of other

men.” Soldi pries this idea open wide. As

Soft Boy, the video, continues its infinite,

boyish, fever-dream loop, a succession

of coming-of-age rituals roll across the

screens: scenes of military drills where

boys adorn themselves with the froufrou

of war. Hands sheathed in crisp cotton

gloves grasping the hilt of a baton deco-

rated with pompoms. The fury of young

bodies colliding and entwining in the heat

of a soccer match. Games of submission

and mercy and wrestling meted out amid

laughter. In the final hours of film-

ing Soft Boy, the young actors were

instructed to simply stand still with

one another, to look into each oth-

er’s eyes. Given this cue, the tension

of the game dissolves. In the video’s

final scenes the pageantry of war and

violence subsides, the pig pile melted

into moments of disarmed quiet, pres-

ence, the tenderness of embrace.

The message whispered through-

out Soft Boy is one of tenderness, a

suggestion that the theater of mas-

culinity has always served to dress

up, to deflect something that exists

at the core of humankind: a softness.

That softness that can yet be reawak-

ened and stirred. This softness can be

reclaimed.

Rafael Soldi: Soft Boy

Frye Art Museum

Oct 7, 2023-Jan 7, 2024

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FALL 2023

On The Boards

October 19-21

www.ontheboards.org

n the spirit of “gathering" (n./v.), To Gather supports and elevates the work of artists who use

movement to excavate the rich stories that exist within the Black and Brown dancing body.

To Gather is a celebration of dance artists residing and creating along the West Coast. Over

two weekends, guest curators Nia-Amina Minor and David Rue invite choreographers and per-

formers to convene and present new work to the Seattle community. To Gather supports and

elevates the work of artists who use movement to excavate the rich stories that exist within the

Black and Brown dancing body. This program encourages audiences and artists alike to witness,

engage, and commune while supporting new works.

#1 I am a member of Black

Collectivity. During our

show Practice of Return, oral

histories collected by Esther

Mumford helped to build our

understanding of 20th century

Black dance in Seattle. We were

deeply inspired by the amount

of precious historic details that

would have been lost if she did

not do the work to preserve

them. I went on to collect

five oral histories from Black

dancers here. This piece is

inspired by the stories that were

gathered.

#2 Regardless of their role

in the community or the

genre they moved in, many

of the narrators’ stories were

connected. Even if their stories

didn’t literally overlap, though

they often did, their shared

experiences aligned them. This

piece aims to embody their

interwoven histories as well

as the intimacy that repetition

brings to a community.

#3 An excerpt from this piece

will be shown at Wa Na Wari on

November 4th for the opening

of the Seattle Black Spatial

Histories Institute installation.

#1

#2

#3

Akoiya Harris

Choreographer

Akoiya Harris is a movement artist who examines how art

holds personal and communal histories through a queer

Black gaze. Akoiya weaves oral history, archival research, and

poetry into her dance. Her choreography has been shown at

the Seattle Art Museum, Wa Na Wari, Mad Art Gallery, Base Art

Space, Friends of the Waterfront, NW Film Forum, The Moore

Theater, and 12th Ave Arts. She has performed with Spectrum

Dance Theater, Will Rawls, Zoe|Juniper, Third Rail Projects,

and Black Collectivity. Akoiya has collected oral histories for

Wa Na Wari and Black Collectivity and participated in Black

Embodiments Studio. She teaches at Pacific Northwest Ballet

and Ailey Camp.

Milvia Berenice Pacheco

Salvatierra

Co-director and Performer

Milvia Berenice Pacheco Salvatier-

ra is an Afro Venezuelan perform-

er, choreographer, bodyworker,

poet, mother, and community

organizer. MÁS (Movimiento

Afrolatino Seattle) is the platform

where she can actualize and con-

tinue her empowerment work as

the Executive Director.

Photo by Victoria Kovios

Black Collectivity | To Gather

A series of eight works from different choreographers and performers, two of which

are shown here: Umalalengua Okan, by Milvia Berenice Pacheco Salvatierra, and Our

Constellations, by Akoiya Harris.

#1 Once upon a time there was

a little brown language

who traveled overseas in boats and on feet

#2 Here we are exploring

This language, big and brown

That our Marrun ancestors

Left to us in their way

#3 step by step, foot by foot

this language grew and grew

deep in mountains forest breeze

their message comes to you

#4 inmigrante y anak ng mga imigrante

descendientes de las masacradas

esclavizadas desaparecidas

pero no se han ido

#1

#2

#3

#4

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FALL 2023

Pilar O'Connell

Casting Associate

Pilar (they/them) is an actor, arts

administrator and a great napper.

They hail from Santa Fe, NM.

#5

#4

Merry Wives of Windsor

Seattle Shakespeare Company

October 25-November 12

www.seattleshakespeare.org

A Queer Adaptation

wherein neighbors look a little different,

but are just the same at heart

ur old friend Falstaff has a ploy to make easy

money: woo Mistress Page and Mistress

Ford and thus gain access to their husbands’

wealth. It shouldn’t be too challenging; he can

be quite a charming and insightful man when

it benefits him. He sends the mistresses notes

with declarations of love, but in a small town like

Windsor, everyone knows everyone else’s busi-

ness and Mistresses Page and Ford soon realize

their notes are exact copies.

Rather than take that insult lying down, they

make dates with Falstaff, scheming to be dis-

covered in flagrante by their husbands and so to

achieve their saucy revenge on the knight. Throw

in a cartload of other zany characters and watch

shenanigans ensue!

#1 "Why, then the world's mine oyster,

which I with sword will open."

(Pistol, Act 2 Scene 2)

#2 "Setting the attractions of my good

parts aside, I have no other charms."

(Falstaff, Act 2 Scene 2)

#3 "I hope good luck lies in odd

numbers."

(Falstaff, Act 5 Scene 1)

#4 A man of my kidney.

(Falstaff, Act 3 Scene 5)

#5 "All his successors — gone

before him — hath done’t, and all

his ancestors — that come after

him —may."

(Slender, Act 1 Scene 1)

#2

#1

#3

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FALL 2023

JUSTIN EMEKA

Showcases Seattle's Hip-

Hop scene in a new film.

ustin Emeka wears many hats and dons

multiple titles. His most proud titles

include father, son, husband, and brother.

Being a man whose roots are never far

from connection to family, Justin has found

artistic families as an actor, director, writer,

and now, filmmaker.

Like so many creatives from Seattle,

Justin found his artistic grounding at the

Langston Hughes Performing Arts Center.

Although the path has not been straight,

Justin returns to his creative roots in Seattle,

specifically the Central District, this fall to

shoot his short film, Biological, produced by

his Fargone Films company, whose mission

is to create films that celebrate the complex-

ity and resilience of the human spirit.

Through Biological, Justin gives voice to

his Hip-Hop roots and explores the realm of

dreaming big dreams but putting them on

hold in favor of family. The film is inspired by

his own life becoming a husband and father

at a young age and facing head-on the

challenges of making critical decisions that

could alter the lives of others for a genera-

tion or more. The primary theme of the film

swirls around the concept that “Sometimes,

our dreams become less important than the

dreams of those we love.”

Justin's theatrical impact on Seattle-area

audiences and the Black creative com-

munity was already huge. In 1995, Justin

created an original theatrical piece featur-

ing the then-nascent Hip-Hop community.

The piece, funded by the Seattle Housing

Authority, was called Pressure: A Hip Hop

Theater Experience, and featured 25 youth

from three of Seattle’s housing projects.

Mention peer pressure to a 40-something

Seattle Hip-Hop creative with roots in the CD,

and the eyes light up! It was a groundbreak-

ing experience that included performances

and workshops. We asked Justin how that

experience relates to this new film project:

Pressure was the first full-length production

I directed. It incorporated elements of Hip-

Hop music, dance, style, and art to reveal a

story onstage about the conditions of life for

young Black people in Seattle at that time.

The production gave me tremendous con-

fidence in my creative abilities as well as the

artists around me. It taught me to have faith

in myself and my community. Before that

time, I accepted my position at the margins

of the stage. Hip-Hop helped create a uni-

verse where we, young Black artists, could

live comfortably at the center. It inspired me

to always think about Hip-Hop as more than

a genre of music but rather as an artistic aes-

thetic and cultural force that still shapes and

informs my approach to directing as a craft,

as I move from the stage to the screen.

Beyond Pressure, Justin leaned deep into

sharpening his skills in performing arts and

community-building by founding Jungle

Creations, another place where young

people could create and share their voices

through spoken word, music, capoeira, and

acting. Justin worked to blend these differ-

ent artistic aesthetics as a way of expanding

the creative visions of the young people with

whom he worked and to also stretch and

find forums for expressing his love of Black

culture with his love for classical theater.

When the original version of the MAAFA

was produced in Seattle in 2000, Justin

played a key role in creating portions of the

play that featured Seattle talent. Later, he

directed Seattle’s own version of the MAAFA

in 2003 & 2004, Sankofa Theatre, written by

his brother Gabriel Emeka.

Currently, Justin Emeka is the Resident

Director at Pittsburgh Public Theater,

where he recently staged an acclaimed

production of A Midsummer’s Night Dream

in Harlem. His directing and teaching

credits include work by legacy and con-

temporary playwrights including August

Wilson, Dominique Morriseau, Lorraine

Hansberry, Lydia Diamond, Arthur Miller,

Alice Childress, Amiri Baraka, Tennessee

Williams, and Shakespeare, among others.

Justin’s latest foray into filmmaking has

been aided by his being named a Fellow

in Television/Film Directing by the Drama

League, which led to a stint as a “shadow

director” for Disney, and the making of

his first short film, Six Winters Gone Still.

Biological, his second short film, pays

homage to his adopted home of Seattle

and its growing Hip-Hop movement of the

90s. Justin is always connected to his cre-

ative roots, and whenever possible opens

doors for others. It’s exciting to see him pull

one of Seattle’s most dynamic talents into

this project too, adding local entrepreneur,

musician, “underground educator,” and

rapper Rell B Free as the star of Biological.

This collaboration promises sparks for sure!

Through his life and his work, Justin

has been a leading stalwart promoting the

power of imagination, and he embraces this

power with each new project. As we globally

celebrate the 50th anniversary of Hip-Hop,

Biological brings a unique perspective into

the discourse. In Justin's own words:

Biological shines a light on a Hip-Hop

community in Seattle during the 90s that

was alive, vibrant, and largely overlooked.

Although the history of Hip-Hop is often

told through major centers such as New

York, LA, Atlanta, Chicago, and Houston, I

am interested in exposing the richness and

depth of Hip-Hop in communities where

you might not expect to look for it, such

as Seattle. I am less attracted to the battles,

competition, and urban warfare that is often

associated with the art, and more excited

about telling the stories of young Black

people who were able to use Hip-Hop as a

tool and ritual to build better lives for them-

selves, and/or just be better human beings.

ARTE NOIR is located at 2301 East Union, at Midtown

Square. Open Wednesday through Saturday, 11 AM-7 PM,

Sunday 12-6 PM. Closed Mondays and Tuesdays.

ARTE NOIR spotlights and lifts up the soulfulness

and power of Black art | artenoir.org

Art Collector: Jo Jo Stiletto

'm sitting in my wee apartment, ruminat-

ing on my small but mighty collection

of inexpensive silkscreen and letterpress

prints. As I ponder this excessively flamboy-

ant assemblage, a few tears dance down my

cheeks. These pieces are a joyful roadmap

to my identity as a queer artist, but they also

represent significant losses. They tell the

story of who I was, who I’m becoming, and

the characters I've met along the way.

The oldest piece in the collection is a

poster from a 2004 production of Hedwig

and the Angry Inch signed by actor Nick

Garrison. I saw the production repeatedly at

the Re-bar nightclub, wondering if I could

ever claim a tiny slice of that spotlight. At a

party once, Garrison looked deep into my

soul and said something life-changing. I

have no memory of what he said, but I’ve

been performing and producing shows ever

since. He passed away suddenly in 2022, yet

he’s still here whispering in my ear, “You're

shining like the brightest star.” Additionally,

poster artist Corianton Hale’s punk-inspired

design reminded me over the years to seek

out partnerships with brilliant artists like

Barry Blankenship and Rachelle Abellar to

create collectible posters for my own events.

A large, framed serigraph of The Queer

Pledge by Clyde Peterson and Kerstin

Graudins leans against my wall. It’s heavy,

both literally and figuratively. I first saw this

print on the sound booth of, you guessed it,

the now-deceased Re-bar. We thought that

club would stand forever! I recall foolishly

believing, “I’ll buy this as a bold declaration

of allyship!” Now, out to myself and others,

I realize how much I needed these words to

wash over me night after night.

My journey as an artist eventually led

to crossing paths with Chandler O’Leary.

She gushed about my burlesque produc-

tions. I raved about her illustrations. We

became fast friends. I’m still unable to fully

process her death earlier this year. I felt a

pang of regret not owning any of her Dead

Feminists, a sold-out series of limited-edi-

tion letterpress broadsides co-created with

Jessica Spring. Wandering the 2023 Tacoma

Wayzgoose, a celebration of printmaking, I

found her: A bright pink lady, an unofficial

member of the Ms. Labeled series. She’s a

quote from activist and performer Sylvia

Rivera, hand-lettered in a depiction of the

Stonewall Inn's facade. Like Sylvia, “I’m

tired of living with labels. I just want to be

who I am.”

This collection of queerness fits together

as a family. Each artist used bold graphic

design, complicated language, and bright

neon inks — especially my signature color,

vibrant pink. This is an archive of phantoms,

a winking nod to my journey of coming out

as a pansexual striptease artist and accepting

that I belong. It is a collection of irreplace-

able gems, though multiple copies were

made and each piece cost under $100 at the

time of purchase. I can practically smell the

inking process through my happy tears.

Jo Jo Stiletto is a burlesque producer, performer, and

historian, and is known as the Professor of Nerdlesque

– the leading authority on all things nerdy in burlesque.

Follow her @jojostiletto.

LEFT: Queer Pledge by Clyde Peterson and

Kerstin Graudins (prints still available!).

ABOVE: Hedwig poster by Corianton Hale.

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FALL 2023

by Marty Griswold

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