Orlando Weekly "Best of Orlando" Party

Each year the Orlando Weekly publishes a "Best of Orlando" edition. There is a category for Best Blog, but this year I threw my AADW votes to The Daily City. Even with my support, The Daily City only got 2nd place. Some Republican political blog won 1st place. Anyway, I was asked to submit an illustration to this edition of the paper and part of the compensation was two comp tickets to the big bash at The Beacham Theater. The Beacham is newly renovated, and I was curious to get a glimpse inside. When I arrived, Brian Feldman was getting ready for his performance piece, "The Boxer." He was going to hand out copies of the Orlando Weekly from inside on of their red newspaper boxes. Since I was early, Brian walked me inside and up to the balcony where I had a view of all the action below. He said, "This is the first time I've been in this theater since I was 11 years old." He went back outside to continue setting up, and I started sketching on my digital tablet.

The bands were doing soundchecks. One group had urban tap dancers and plastic paint cans as drums. As I sketched, people started to trickle in. Busty barmaids in slick black dresses vogued as they shot photos of each other. Soon the place was packed. The bar became a hive of activity. Blackjack tables started getting busy. Entry to the event entitled each person to 1,000 units of Casino Chips, which could be turned in at the end of the evening for prizes.

With my balcony sketch finished, I went outside to sketch Brian. Terry was at the bar trying to shoot photos of Brian Feldman and Mark Baratelli's awards as they popped up on a large video screen. Outside, Brian was in the tiny red box right at the entrance. That meant I had to sit on the sidewalk to get a view of him. I wedged myself against the red velvet rope and got to work. There was maybe two feet of space behind me to the curb and I had to shove forward several times to let caterers by with huge vats of food. I think Brian's presence threw people for a loop and some searched around for another way in. One woman cooed to Brian, "Oh, you're so cute." When she was gone he pointed to the back of his throat and gagged. He had trouble keeping his head up and he napped between groups of people entering the club. People kept offering him food and drink. He always refused. I , on the other hand, was actually quite hungry and parched.

The sketch was going good, the ink work finished, when I heard a voice behind me. It was a policeman on a bike. "Oh no, not again ." I thought. He asked me to, " Move along." Since I wasn't finished with the sketch, I asked, "Can I sit out in the street to avoid blocking pedestrian traffic?" "No," he said, "Then I'd be concerned you might get injured." I just sat for a moment, thinking. He said, "Is he on a time out?" It took me a moment to realize he was referring to Brian in the box. I explained that it was performance art and for a second I thought he was going to ask Brian to move along as well. He didn't. He asked me to move again, then biked off. He didn't say I couldn't stand where I was, so I stood and started quickly throwing down watercolor washes. I worked fast since I figured the bike cop might just go around the block and check back in on my anarchist sketch in progress.

David Plotkin, the new art director at the Orlando Weekly, introduced himself to me just as I was finishing up the sketch. I flipped through my sketchbook to show David and his lady friend my work. I was still rattled thinking the police might return. My wife Terry had just left and I was feeling guilty for not spending more time with her inside the party. I went back inside and made myself several soft tacos from the decimated food table. The stage was empty. I wolfed down the tacos and typed a text message on my cell to Terry, "Heading home." I left, still feeling persecuted by the law. Besides, I wasn't a winner.

The Most Expensive Gas in America

I was running late getting to Brian Feldman's "The Most Expensive Gas in America." When I piled my art supplies into my truck I realized I was low on gas. Driving out of my subdivision, my bright yellow gas light flickered on. It is shaped like a gas pump to further remind me that I needed to fill the tank. To save time I pulled into a 7-Eleven where the gas was a bit more expensive than my usual gas station. The regular gas cost me $3.39/gal. The $50 plus price tag hurts each week, but I need to get places to sketch them.

Sun Gas, located just north of Orlando International Airport (5600 Butler National Dr., off of S. Semoran Blvd.) charges unsuspecting tourists up to $5.99 a gallon for gas. The gas station is now being fined $250 a day by the City of Orlando for not posting their prices. The gas station has a huge sign that announces airport valet parking, an Arby's and 24 hour convenience store. There is plenty of room on the huge two story high sign to list the gas prices. A sign was placed in the parking lot behind the store (where no one will see it) but again no prices were listed. On the day of Brian's performance, Sun Gas was in court challenging the city ordinance to display their prices.

Brian Feldman decided to take the issue to the streets by standing at the intersection and announcing the prices to passing motorists.

Current prices (as of June 30th 2011)
Regular (87) $5.799/gal.
Plus (89) $5.899/gal.
Super Premium (93) $5.999/gal.

Brian arrived a bit late saying, "I had to go and get more nines for the sign." He had his portable theater marquee around his neck. That thing is made of metal and it is heavy. His sign had all three prices listed and he waved to passing cars. I was shocked when cars pulled into the station. Brian's small sign probably isn't easy to read from a passing car. A news photographer arrived and started shooting photos of Brian. The photographer spoke to me briefly stating, "You picked a strange day to be sketching. Look behind you. Those steel blue clouds will be here in 20 minutes." I started to sketch faster. Shortly thereafter, a car pulled up to the corner and the driver started screaming at the photographer. "Are you reporting the news or creating the news!?" He was livid, thinking the photographer was staging the public service of showing consumers the gas prices. The photographer tried to explain that it was a conceptual art performance but that made the man's face get redder. His wheels screeched as he sped off onto Semoran when the light changed.

Later, a leggy blond woman approached Brian from the gas station. After she left he shouted out to me, "Incident!" My drawing was just about done so I walked over to see what was up. She had made indications to Brian that she knew where he was parked. The implication being that she would arrange to tow his car. Brian handed me his car keys and asked me to move his father's Ford Focus to the restaurant across the street where I had parked. I half expected to find his car gone, but I found it and drove over to my truck. I then drove over to where Brian stood and returned his keys. He had many hours to go, as he planned to announce the prices for 5.999 hours which is an hour for each dollar charged for the gas. As I drove north the rain pounded my truck. Is price gouging the American way?

Signing CDs

Terry got tickets to hear world class violinist, Joshua Bell, play with the Orlando Philharmonic Orchestra at the Bob Carr Theater. We were seated far back away from the stage so I didn't attempt a sketch. Terry pointed out that my name was in the program twice, probably because I had donated a sketch for a fundraiser. The house lights dimmed and I snuggled back into my seat. The music was soothing so I closed my eyes and drifted away. Periodically my head would bob forward and I would shake myself awake before drifting off again. The violinist performed after the intermission. He played admirably with bravado and flair. He stood the whole time shifting his weight often, swaying with the flow of the music.

For an encore he performed "Yankee Doodle" which he spiced up with so much intricate showmanship that it was always a surprise when the simple tune became recognizable. Christopher Wilkins the conductor let everyone know that the violinist would be signing CDs in the lobby after the performance. He joked that if you had your own sharpie, you might be allowed to sign the violin. Apparently the Stradivarius violin has a long colorful history.

I have been searching for lines to draw and there was a huge line of people waiting to get their CDs signed. As soon as I started sketching the line started to move. A handler hurried people along making sure they didn't speak to the musician for long. "Please keep it moving" he kept saying. As I sketched one of the ushers approached me and said I would have to leave the floor. There were hundreds of people in the lobby and I didn't understand why I was being asked to move, but I complied. I continued to work on the sketch from a vantage point on the stairwell to the lobby. When I saw the usher was gone, I returned to my original spot and continued to work. By this time I was in a foul mood. I wondered if the violinist's handler had considered me some sort of threat. Was my sketching causing a disruption? Honestly few people noticed what I was doing. This incident made me feel like sketching events at the Bob Carr is more of a hassle than it is worth.

No Dosa for You!

Brian Feldman staged a project inspired by Taco Truck Taste Test called "Dosa Vu." It took place at the Apna Bazaar supermarket which is located who knows where, someplace way south on OBT. Around the same time, Dina Peterson was showing a friend of hers from Boston named Ian the Parliament House Sunday Piano Bar. I stopped into the bar but the place was pretty quiet and Dina and her friend hadn't arrived yet. I texted her to let her know I was going to try and get a quick sketch at Brian's event.

The Indian supermarket was impossible to find. Nestled between car dealerships, the place was set far back from the road and building numbers were impossible to see. I drove in circles and got to the place about half an hour late. I thought Brian had said it was inside an indoor flea market. I wandered the aisles of the flea market looking for Brian. There was a booth of used furniture, a booth of pillows and a huge assortment of brick-a-brack at bargain prices. There must have been 50 booths but no Indian food. Outside, I looked at the event page again on my iPhone and it said the dosa dealer was in a store NEXT to the flea market. UGH! I rounded the corner and there was Brian, his girlfriend Sultana and Angela Abrusci.

Sultana introduced me to Joe inside and ordered a dosa for me. Joe stood in front of a cabinet case full of colorful shampoos and soaps. As he prepared my food, I sat down and started sketching. The food was finished before my sketch and Brian took it to the small table outside. There was a steady stream of customers. One man walked up to Joe and started whispering to him. Later the same man stood in front of me and started asking questions. "What are you doing?" I thought to myself, "Here we go again," and said with a smile, "I'm sketching." "What kind of art is that?," he asked. I turned the sketchbook around to show him the sketch and and rattled on about illustrative journalism. He frowned at the unfinished sketch. He wasn't impressed. "Did you ask permission?" he asked. I though, "If I asked permission every time I wanted to sketch, I would never accomplish anything." What I said was, "Who should I ask?" He explained that the store was private property. We continued this power struggle for some time, as I kept looking at the details behind him and sketching. I thanked him for his interest and rushed to finish the sketch before he called the police.

With the hasty sketch finished I went outside to find Brian and his entourage. They were gone. The much anticipated dosa was gone. I suddenly felt very hungry, but didn't feel welcome back inside so I left. I drove back to the Parliament House where Dina gave me half of her sandwich from lunch. Dina and I sang Jimmy Buffet's "Margaritaville" together into a diamond studded microphone and the crowd joined along swaying with the chorus. Now the place was packed. Later we all sang "Oh Happy Day" with our hands raised as we danced. I felt the warmth and fellowship of being among friends. Where I felt misunderstood, I now felt accepted. The dosa was forgotten.

Degas Sculptures at Tampa Museum of Art

Chere Force put out an invitation for artists to join her on a field trip to see the Degas Sculptures at the Tampa Museum of Art. I knew I would want to sketch, and I considered bringing my digital tablet. I left it at home since I didn't want to catch a guards' attention. Chere and her husband Rory picked me up in their minivan and we headed west to get to the museum right as it opened. The Tampa Museum is part of a gorgeous riverside complex. There were several school buses of school children unloading as we arrived. Thankfully there is a children's museum that the screaming hoard disappeared into. Curtis Hixon Park right next to the museum is a fabulous open public park with colorful terraced gardens. Across the river shiny metallic minarets adorned a building constructed in the 1800s as a hotel and it is now part of the University of Tampa.

The Museum is a modern block of a building that is covered in a grid of circular holes punched in sheet metal. At night the building lights up like a phosphorescent sea creature thanks to thousands of light diodes. The largely empty ground floor houses the gift shop and cafe while all the art is up on the second floor. Chere explained that design allowed for any storm surge from a hurricane to only damage the empty ground floor.

I branched off and explored the Degas sculptures on my own. On the walls there were some charcoal and pastel drawings that resembled poses from some of the sculptures. Degas worked on these small wax and clay pieces to help him visualize the fluid gestures he incorporated into his paintings and drawings. They were intended as studies, not finished works of art. When Degas died, his family arranged for 22 sets of bronzes to be made from all these studies while keeping the originals intact. All of the works in the exhibit were bronzes. Cards on the walls described how Degas was influenced by the classic sculptures he studied for three years in Rome and Florence.

Once I saw all the sculptures I started to experience the gestural work by sketching. Something about the way he explored form started to make sense to me. As my lines danced in around and through his sculptures, I started seeing the viewers looking at the art in the same light. The Little Dancer stood vigil in the middle of the room. Having the opportunity to study his art in person was inspiring. As I was finishing up my sketch a museum guard approached me. He asked what medium I was using. My stomach tightened and I said, "watercolor." Thinking to myself, "It is harmless, really, it washes right out with water!" He said, "You can only use a pencil to sketch in here." I didn't argue. I just put my little kit away. I imagined the young Degas sketching sculptures in Italy and being told to stop.

In the next room was modern art. In the center of the gallery was an installation that had two windows set up in a false wall. Between and inside the windows rain was pouring down with the occasional lightning flash, and the recorded rumbling of thunder. I had to wonder if it just might leak, potentially damaging the other art in the room. It was pretty far from the Degas bronzes. They were safe from any further artistic scrutiny.

Daffodil Terrace

On the first Friday of each month the Morse Museum (445 North Park Avenue ), holds an open house offering free admission to the public between 4 and 8pm. This open house offer will continue through April. The museum also has a long tradition of offering an open house on each three day Easter weekend. I decided it was time to stop in and see the new wing which opened last month. I brought along my digital drawing tablet and my handy artist's stool for my relaxing afternoon sketch. When I entered the museum I was told I would have to check my artists stool. I didn't complain, I just handed it over. I would simply have to stand in one spot for several hours. I made a bee-line back to the new wing. I knew I wanted to sketch the Daffodil Terrace.

I pulled out my tablet and opened Sketchbook Pro. Within a minute the guard walked up to me and said, "There is no sketching in the Museum." Fuming I explained that I had sketched there before with no problem. He said, "Sorry that is the policy." I pulled out my iPhone and immediately sent out a tweet angrily announcing that an artist can not sketch in the Morse Museum. The guard walked up before I finished the tweet saying, "You can't use your cell phone in the museum." I sighed, turned on my heel, pressed send, and marched back to the front desk to collect my artist stool and leave in a huff.

As the woman behind the desk looked for my stool, I said, "I didn't realize that artists were not allowed to draw in the museum." She said, "I didn't know that either." She made a call. A very tall guard walked up to me as she was on the phone. He explained that it was the use of the tablet for drawing that was at issue. The guards assume a tablet might be shooting video or taking pictures. Anything digital is suspicious. He also said that people using their cell phones often walk around without looking where they are going. I imagined someone so immersed reading their cell that they walk right through a stained glass window. I find that image funny. "If I sketch in a paper sketchbook, is that alright?" I asked. "That is fine." He said. I offered to leave the tablet at the front desk with my chair. The woman behind the desk said, "You hold onto it." Walkie talkies buzzed among the museum guards announcing that an artist would be sketching, possibly with a tablet. They announced what I was wearing so they all could be on the lookout. She was concerned that I might block the traffic flow but I assured her that standing with a sketchpad, I would only take up a one footsquare. Besides, the museum wasn't particularly crowded. Only one or two people inspected the terrace at a a time.

When I got back to the new wing, the first thing I sketched of course was the guard who told me I could not sketch. I decided not to use the tablet since it had caused such a commotion. As I worked, Catherine Hinman, the director of public affairs introduced herself to me and apologized about the policy. She explained that she was from the old school world of paper and ink publishing and that this digital age was a whole new world. She was very gracious and I felt a bit less like a felon as I sketched. I actually started to respect the guards stamina because he stood in one spot for a solid two hours. That is no easy task. Who knows how long he stood in that one spot that day.

The Daffodil Terrace was part of Laurelton Hall, Louis Comfort Tiffany's upstate New York house. It was added to the house between 1915 and 1916. The columns are of beautiful white Carrara marble. Mined in Italy this is the same marble used by Michelangelo to carve David. Several times people reached out to touch the columns and the guard had to intervene. An old lady's cell phone rang and the guard asked her to take the call outside. The capitals of the columns were made of concrete with yellow glass daffodils clustered together. A pear tree used to grow up through the central opening in the terrace. Sadly that opening is now capped off. The whole structure is enclosed in a sterile glass atrium. In the future I hope the museum will encourage artists to stop, sit and observe Tiffany's colorful and inspiring work. As I retrieved my stool the guard said, "If we let you sit and sketch then everyone will want to do the same." Is that really such a bad thing?

The Chalkboard Exercises

It was six in the morning and I was standing in my driveway waiting for Brian Feldman to pick me up with a U-Haul he had rented. It was still pitch black outside and a deep wet fog made the orange glow of the streetlights quickly fade away as they marched away down the street toward the horizon. I heard the roar of the truck before I saw it. I pulled out my iPhone and flashed it at the oncoming headlights. I had my tablet to sketch with since it is the best option when sketching in low light. Brian had asked me to bring me video camera and tripod as well, so I piled them into the cab. In the back of the U-Haul was a large portable chalkboard. Brian had labored for days to find one since most classrooms have whileboards these days.

I directed Brian on how to get from my place to Universal Studios. There was going to be a Principal's Appreciation Breakfast at Hard Rock Live. The event began at 7am and Brian wanted to be set up at the entrance writing "I WILL SUPPORT ARTS EDUCATION." over and over again. When we arrived at the Universal Studios security gate the guards asked us both for our drivers licenses. Brian was asked to open the back of the truck. While he was doing that I was asked who our contact was since our names were not on the list. I told him to ask Brian. Britt Daley, who works for the Orange County Arts Education Center which was the host if the event, was our contact. Brian called her and she scrambled to find out why we were not on the list. It turns out Brian's name was on a list, just not the one the guard looked at.

We parked behind Hard Rock Live and unloaded the chalkboard which was surprisingly heavy. We wheeled it around to the entrance and set up. CityWalk across the lagoon looked gorgeous in the misty morning fog. I set up the tripod and asked Brian if he had the tapes. He had forgotten to get them. The event guests slowly arrived. Brian started writing and I began sketching. I rather liked the clacking sound the chalk made as it struck the board. Some teachers laughed out loud. But mostly there was the clacking of the chalk and the tapping of my stylus on the tablet. The moist air was making my hand stick to the tablet making it hard to let long lines flow.

When everyone was inside, I went in and stood at the back of the room to listen. The keynote speaker, John Ceschini, spoke about the importance of arts in education. He began with a quote from Yeats, "Education is not the filling of a pail, but the building of a fire." On the table in front of me there were boxes of crayons and a single tile mosaic with gorgeous blue tiles and several clear spherical tiles. I thought back to a mosaic I had made for my mothers when I was 10 years old. On stage John quoted some more famous minds like Einstein who said,"Imagination is more important than knowledge." A video was shown of a little girl talking about an abstract painting by Wassily Kandinsky. In it she saw birds, a bridge, a plane, rainbow and a black hole which was beginning to suck all light and color from the imaginary world. Here was a mind ignited by limitless possibilities of the imagination.

Foul!

It was the opening night season premiere game for the Orlando Magic in the brand spanking new Amway Arena. As I walked toward the venue, two hours early, I saw small crowds of fans dressed in blue and white all along Orange Avenue. Several news helicopters hovered over the city most likely shooting footage of the gathering crowds around the Amway Center. I wasn't going to sketch the game, I was going to catch Brian Feldman as he read the NBA Rulebook to the crowd. At just about any sports or theatrical event in this town there is always a person on a soapbox shouting hell and damnation to the crowd. Brian's performance didn't offer salvation, but enlightenment regarding the rules of the game.

When I arrived, I unfolded my compact artist stool and leaned against a metal pylon getting to work. Brian's father was using his iPhone to shoot continuous video footage of the reading. The sun set behind a bank of deep blue clouds. Brian shouted the rules into the megaphone. The rules are amazingly repetitive. I thought at first that Brian might be reading the same rule over and over, but listening closely I found the variations in the pattern. Erin Volz in a blue jersey rode up on her bicycle. After listening for a while, she relieved Brian's dad by taking over the iPhone and shooting video. She remained there listening intently, a true Magic fan.

A policeman approached Brian and the two of them spoke for a while. I couldn't hear what was said. As Brian got back on his crate, he looked at me and shouted, "Incident!" I started sketching faster adding color to Brian and his dad in case they were told to move along. So far I had escaped detection. A female security officer rode up on a high tech electric tricycle. She spoke to Brian and when he showed her the rulebook, she smiled, laughed then drove off. A third officer, a huge muscular fellow with a motorcycle helmet also approached. He insisted Brian move his crate a foot further west. He said to Brian, "You are blocking pedestrian access to the curb." He also insisted Brian not use the megaphone. He complied and continued reading and shouted into his cupped hand. I couldn't hear a thing he read from that point on and I was only ten feet from him. The Center was blasting the insipid commentary from two announcers who were predicting a stellar season for the Magic. The crowd rushed past me growing thicker and louder. I wanted more rules.

I think it was Erin who thought of rolling up a Magic poster, creating a crude paper megaphone. Brian shouted into it, "Thor! Can you hear me?!" The second time he shouted my name, I looked up and gave him a thumbs up. The paper megaphone was only a minor improvement. A couple of times fans paused and listened, never for more than a minute. Perhaps two people ever noticed what I was doing. One woman walked up and said, "Look at you, Mr. etch-a-sketch!" I cringed but gave her the blog address. I finished my sketch long before Brian finished reading the rulebook. I patted Brian's dad on his shoulder and waved to Brian who continued to read valiantly. I made my way East on Church Street a lone fish swimming against the school of blue and white all heading to the game. My job was done, a slam dunk. Brian said this might be his final Orlando performance in 2010, so something big must be on his horizon. I think route 66 is calling his name.

Puzzle

Brian Feldman informed me about this sculpture titled "Puzzle" which is located in the Orlando Cultural Park on Princeton Street right across from the Science Center at the corner of Alden Road. I had no idea this even was a park. It looks like a vacant lot. It used to be covered with greenhouses. The installation was put in place by artist Chris Scala on August 18th and will be up until September 18th. If you drive past this location daily you will be surprised to find these bright yellow lightweight pieces change position every day. I e-mailed Chris and he told me to stop by that evening at 6pm when he would be moving the pieces again. As the sun sets, it paints the whole field a bright warm yellow and the long shadows grow more dramatic.
I arrived a bit early and walked around for a while before finding a shady spot which offered a good view of the sculpture. As I sketched, I noticed a MINI Cooper drive up and park on the road behind the sculpture. I added the car to the sketch noticing two men as they removed tools out of the back trunk. They approached the largest puzzle piece and knelt down using a power tool to remove stakes which held the light sculpture in place much like a tent. After they finished moving this piece, Chris walked up to me and introduced himself. He pointed out that over the course of the month, the pieces of this "puzzle" will move closer together and join, becoming first three then one large unit.
Chris went on to explain that a group of skate rats have been vandalizing the sculpture ever since it was installed. They would spray paint obscene messages and punch holes in the sculptures until he felt he had to remove the damaged pieces. When I asked him about the graffiti which claimed that the artwork was our tax dollars at work, he explained that there have been huge budget cuts in the city's Public Art department. It took him eight months of hard work to get this installation approved. Paul Wenzel, the Public Art Coordinator for the city of 0rlando was instrumental in guiding him through all the never ending paper work. While the city is sponsoring the project, allowing him to use the park, he is not being paid anything for all the ongoing work he is putting into the piece. Chris goes on to explain that this sculpture is just a study for a larger permanent piece he wants to make with wire forms. He likes how the wire forms allow a viewer to look past the surface of the sculpture seeing the inside form as well as the overall structure.
As we were talking two kids on bikes shouted out, "Why are they moving that way again?!" Chris pointed out that they were probably two of the kids vandalizing the project. They circled all the way around the block watching the artist's progress. Suddenly I felt I was in a war zone. Chris and Lance Parker, who is helping him with the project, moved the pieces further west closer to the street lights. Chis thinks by moving the pieces into the light it might slow the destruction and vandalism the artwork is being subjected to. On one sculptural piece a capital A in a circle is crudely sprayed. Lance explained that this is a symbol for anarchists. Even anarchists have to conform to a certain code. I get the feeling that as soon as I leave this site, and the sun is set, the spray cans will come back out and the mindless destruction will continue. I wonder why there isn't more public art in Orlando?

Insurance

Dealing with insurance sucks. I was rear ended about a month ago as I coasted to a stop for a stop light at 436 after getting off the East-West. The fellow that hit me was in a rush to get to the airport so He didn't call police. My cell battery was dead. When I got to work I discovered that I wasn't even scheduled to work that day. Someone had forgotten to tell me. This always happens to me somehow I end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. It has taken a solid month of talking to claims adjusters to finally settle the matter. The damage to my truck was light. I managed to fix the bumper with some duck tape and a couple of new bolts. The other truck blew out a head lamp and lost its front bumper. On top of everything I caught a cold and fever flying out of NYC. I need a travel sized hand sanitizer.

Carousel of Progress 35th Anniversary

To commemorate the Carousel of Progress' 35th anniversary at the Magic Kingdom, Brian Feldman decided to experience the ride, his favorite, for as long as the park was open that day - 11 hours straight. In order for me to sketch Brian's performance, I had to arrange some way to get into the park without paying a fortune. I put out a request via Facebook, and Lon Smart, a former Disney Feature Animation colleague, offered to get me in. As I was driving down World Drive toward the Magic Kingdom, Brian Feldman gave me a call and explained that he had arranged for a travel agency to supply him with a ticket. When he got to the Disney World will call ticket booth, he was asked for his ID or drivers license. It was only then that he realized he had forgotten his license, at home: it was sitting on the kitchen table. Brian's performance had been on the news that morning, yet the Cast Member stood fast and refused to give him the ticket.
I called Lon who was converging on the Magic Kingdom on his motorcycle, trying to explain the situation, but our connection was cut off. When I met Brian at the Monorail, I told him Lon might be able to save the day and get both of us in. As we waited at the entrance to the Magic Kingdom, Brian and I both noticed a man holding a black box with a yellow cord hanging from it that looked suspiciously like a fuse. I was standing near a trash can and the man approached me and dropped something inside the can. Needless to say,I backed away from the trash can quickly. The man later handed the black box to someone else who walked away with it. We never did find out what was in the black box.
Lon arrived and was happy to get both Brian and myself into the park. As we walked down Main Street, U.S.A., Lon explained to us that the Carousel of Progress is slated to be disassembled and moved to the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, DC. He knows what will replace the attraction, but is sworn to secrecy.
There was no line to get on the Carousel of Progress. Brian and I entered the theater the first time with six or seven other people. A Cast Member announced, "Please no eating, drinking, video or photography." They did not say anthing about sketching, so I immediately set up my portable stool so I could look down the front row of the theater with Brian in the foreground, and started to sketch. The Carousel tells the story of the evolution of technology in 20th century America. According to the show introduction, "The Carousel of Progress has had more performances than any other stage show in the history of American theater". With robots.
After the first performance of the Carousel was over, Brian and I remained seated and waited for the next audience. A few people trickled in and the show began again. A Carousel Cast Member approached me and asked, "Is that Fred?" I responded, "No." He then said, "I heard that someone named Fred was going to ride the attraction all day". I then introduced him to Brian. Brian was not pleased that I had blown his cover. I had placed the entire mission in jeopardy. As I sketched, I noticed video cameras positioned in the corners of the attraction to watch the audience. After the next performance of the Carousel was over, two more gentlemen approached us and said they were there to help us. My sketch was not finished yet, and I was suspicious. "May I help you?" usually means quite the opposite. They said we could get on the ride all day, but we would have to exit each time and then re-enter. They told us we could stand at a roped off area so we didn't have to get to the back of the line each time. But really, come on... "what line?" This was the Carousel of Progress, not Space Mountain!
With the next performance, the ride broke down, and the audience was treated to the same performance by the same animatronics a second time. Over the PA system, a woman who sounded like a flight attendant, asked everyone to quietly and calmly exit the theater. We found ourselves on the backlot and had to walk around to get back in the park.
We didn't know how long the ride would be down, so I started a sketch of Brian as he checked his iPhone and talked to the friendly Cast Member informing gusts of the ride's temporary closure. Before I finished the sketch the ride began again, so it took a little less than two hours for it to be fixed. All during that time, people had to be turned away. Buttons were being handed out in the park announcing the ride's 35th anniversary, so some people were curious.
It took me a while to find Brian again since there are five different theaters, each letting the audience exit in different spots. I experienced the ride a few more times to finish the sketch. It broke down once again, this time in the living room of tomorrow. In this scene, the oven is programed to work via voice activation, and as the family of tomorrow jokes about a high score on a video game, the oven raises the temperature to match the game score, burning the dinner. Smoke billows out of the oven. We had to sit through the same scenario several times, each time having more smoke fill the theater. One woman rushed past me saying, "I'm getting out of here!" When I got out of the theater, I decided my sketch was finished. Brian continued to ride the attraction for the rest of the day. This might be the most daring and dangerous performance he has ever done.
"There's a great, big, beautiful tomorrow, shining at the end of every day. There's a great, big, beautiful tomorrow, just a dream away!"

Jai-Alai Fronton is Saved from Closing

I had heard a report that the Jai - AlaiFronton in Casselberry was going to close and it's last day was to be December 27th, several days after Christmas. The facility has 75 full time employees. I decided to go and sketch on this final day of betting. When I arrived I bought the one dollar ticket and went through the turnstile. I was told I would have to have security check my bag of sketch supplies. The security guy was located on the far side of a fast food stand almost hidden from sight. I held the bag open and he lazily nodded his approval. I took the escalator to the second floor and I heard the sound of the Jai-Alai ball being tossed around. Three men were on the court and there wasn't a soul in the stadium seating. I watched for a while but I don't know the rules and they looked like they were just practicing. No lights were on but I noticed a men's room so I decided to use it before I got to the third floor off track betting area. Then when I was leaving I discovered the bathroom door had locked behind me!
I tried turning the door knob in different ways figuring it might have a trick to it. I couldn't believe it. I was locked in and the floor was deserted. I started trying other doors in the men's room figuring there might be another way out. I opened the far back door and it looked like a broom closet for the janitors. The closet itself had a door and I tried it. That door lead out to a tight metal spiral staircase. I decided this was my only option so I stepped out onto it. Old candy wrappers and potato ship bags crunched under my feet. I had to wonder why there was so much garbage in a stairwell. I wound my way up to the third floor. At the top of the steps I found myself in the employees area behind the betting cages where they take money. A guard stood with his back to me at the swinging door which lead out to the betting floor. I said "Excuse me." and squeezed past him.
Out on the betting floor I let out a sigh and immediately started sketching. When I was about half finished a security officer approached me and said "Can I help you". My stomach tensed. He had no intention of helping me. He pointed out that I had been behind the betting counters and that I would have to leave. I explained the situation with the bathroom but his mind was stuck on only the one detail of my story, I had been behind the counter and that is State property. He seemed to feel that being back there is punishable by imprisonment or leaving the facility. He felt I had been acting strangely since I arrived in the Fronton. As he said this the men standing behind him were shouting "Common 4, common, go, go 4 go. You can do it! Ooooh mother f*#&^%$!" I thought it funny that he found my sketching to be strange behavior. I continued to reason with him but he returned again and again to the fact that I had been behind the counter.
Actually my talk with him turned into a bit of an interview in the form of an argument. I found out that the Fronton was NOT going to close since an unnamed buyer had come in and bought the facility. The new buyer is possibly going to bring card rooms to the now rundown facility. The security guard eventually decided I wasn't worth the trouble and he left, or rather stood a short distance away watching my every move. A food vendor named Valerie walked over to see what I was up to. She was glad the place was going to stay open. She had worked here for years. The sale of the Fronton isn't final yet, and if it falls through another date will be announced for its final day.

Kicked out of the Holy Land

Holy land has been locked in a dispute with Orange County property appraiser Bill Donegan over whether it deserves to be tax exempt. Since it is a "Church" they are required by the government to provide one day a year free admission to the park. In the past the free admission day was never publicized. For those who might not know, Holy Land is an Orlando Christan Theme Park where you can watch singing and dancing Israelis, see Christ drag a cross through the streets of Jerusalem then even watch him get crucified. Having never gone, I figured it might offer some interesting sketch opportunities and for free!
As I drove up to the park I was shocked to see a long line of cars perhaps a quarter of a mile long snaking out of the theme parks entrance and over the I4 overpass blocking traffic. I only had a two hour window in which to sketch so I didn't want to wait in that insane line. I drove around the block approaching the park from another angle.I saw cars parking in an empty lot across the street from the park and I figured this must be overflow parking.
When I walked through the gates I passed a man handing out park tickets but didn't pick one up since I only planned to sketch the long line of people waiting in line. The crowd inched forward at a steady pace with the end of the line nowhere in sight. The Star Spangled Banner was being sung inside the park and all the excited activity made me feel like I was at a baseball game. A woman walked past me and said to her son, "Look he drawin!" A familiar song caught my ear "This little light of mine I'm gonna let it shine" I drew to its beat and it inspired me to draw faster.
The police man I was sketching walked up to me and I braced myself, he said, "Look at me, I made your sketch better." As he walked away he said, "Hey you want some water?" I said I was fine. I probably should have accepted his offer since I was sweating like a wet sponge. I was sitting directly in the scorching Florida sun.
Then suddenly the park gates were closed. The parks capacity was 1,700 people and they were full. Outside the gates the gathering and ever growing crowd pressed forward. Police whistles were blowing constantly as officers tried to get the cars to keep from blocking traffic. A news helicopter swooped in and started shooting footage of the growing crowd. It was starting to sound like a war zone. The officers started shouting that the park was full and there was no point in waiting at the gate. I started to imagine that the pearly gates of heaven might offer a similar scene of confusion.
Later a parks person drove up blocking my view with his huge SUV. He advised that park tickets be offered to the people outside the gate for any day in the rest of October. For some reason the people were then allowed in the gate and then told to exit through another gate. Many people given tickets didn't speak English, so they started walking toward the parks turnstiles. Park workers had to shout out that the tickets were not good for today, but since the guests didn't understand, they continued on their merry way. The scene was constant chaos.
When the crowd was finally dispersed and the scene returned to normal, a new Lieutenant was posted at the gates and his first order of business was to get the female officer to tell me to stop sketching and leave the park. I was just about finished with the sketch and I asked her if I could have just 5 more minutes, as I talked to her I continued to sketch. She said, "I like the sketch and if it was up to me I would let you stay here as long as you want, but I have my orders." I quietly packed up my things. I am starting to feel that I haven't covered an event until someone forces me to leave. As I was exiting the female officer thanked me and I said "Have a good day." Inside of course I was fuming. I had a job to do as well.
When I got back to my truck, I found a parks person taking photos of the license plate of the car parked next to me. As I drove off I hoped he hadn't taken a photo of my license plate and now I am wondering if I will get an expensive ticket on top of getting kicked out of Holy Land! I doubt I will ever want to return to these pearly gates.

Artist or Anarchist?

It had been a great day. I had done two sketches one of which was at "A Gift for Teaching" learning all about this groups amazing charitable work from Audrey. My wife had invited me to another event called "The Art of Fashion" at Neiman Markus in the Millenia Mall. I really don't like going to the mall, the place makes me uncomfortable but I decided to be a good sport and go. Besides the word Art was in the title so it must have some artistic merit. Terry and I met outside and walked in together. She was all a flutter checking out the event Tee Shirts and jumping from rack to rack.
There were tables from local restaurants offering small food samples, all of which were delicious. We got some Blue Matini's made with Van Gogh Rum. I started to wonder if Van Gogh would have liked this event. We shared a cupcake and had a photographic flip book animation made which is quite humerus. Tall slender models strutted around among the racks of designer clothing. Other women looked like they had far to much plastic surgery.
Terry wanted to do some shopping so she left me to do a sketch. While I was sketching a woman named Kelly, who runs Nude Nite in Orlando and Tampa introduced herself. She described her event and I can't wait to go there to do a sketch for the blog. A mother asked if I could show her daughter the drawing. The little girl asked "Are you going to color the drawing?" I promised her "Yes, of course".
Then things got surreal. A woman dressed all in black walked up to me and said I really shouldn't sketch the lady having her make up done due to privacy issues. I pointed out that the woman I sketched had already left and I was drawing the make up artist. I pointed out how the blouse and hair style were different and continued to work. The woman left. I started to draw faster. Later Terry found me and wanted to see if I had finished. The line work was done and I just needed to add a few washes of color.
Then another woman in black showed up with a young security guard, and said I would have to stop sketching or I would be escorted out of the building. I asked why and she said it was store policy. I was sure the store policy didn't say anything about sketching. I was told I could not name the store or post the drawing I did because Neiman Markus needs to control how their store is portrayed. I do not feel I portrayed the store in a bad light with my sketch. You be the judge. The managers actions however are another story. Rather than make a scene, I put my sketchbook away knowing the sketch was already done. I found this display of authority funny and besides I have no real desire to return to do more drawings. Terry however was fuming. She had bought hundreds of dollars worth of perfume and other items and decided to take them all back. We went from register to register voiding out all the transactions and telling the stunned store employees about the policy.
On the drive home my anger started to build deep in my chest. I had never been stopped from sketching before and yet this week I was stopped twice, once at Lake Eola and now at a Mall of all places. Orlando is starting to feel like a different country. The next morning Terry showed me her Neiman Markus credit card and with a flourish she cut it in half.

Activists or Anarchists?

I arrived at the Lake Eola Band shell a few minutes late for an MP3 event called "Push Play". Since the event was downtown, I asked my wife Terry to come down during her lunch and enjoy the show. People had their headsets on and had already begun to perform. All the participants had MP3 players with an audio file they had downloaded from the internet. Following the example of Improv Everywhere the participants would listen to the audio for instructions. The audio began..."This experience is about joy and fun. It is about embracing the unknown and each other with an open heart and a playful spirit."
Not being a techie I did not have an MP3 player so I observed as an outsider. Everyone began jumping up and down waving their arms in the air. They then began to form long lines behind people who like me had no clue what was going on. Terry arrived with a long line of people walking behind her and mimicking her every move. She waved to me as did her line of followers. When Terry settled in all the 30 or so participants began to dance. Periodically everyone froze and then began to dance again.
Then the unexpected happened and the event turned surreal. 4 park Rangers showed up and they looked concerned and confused. The participants all began to lie down on the benches for a nap and what was a playful experience suddenly looked like an anarchist demonstration to the Rangers. The lead Ranger started shouting and asking to see the person in charge. Since everyone had headsets on no one heard him. I turned to Terry and said "This is bad, there is a law in Orlando against performance artists in public places and there is a No Loitering law forbidding people from lying down on benches in Lake Eola." The parks Rangers used their walkie talkies to call in several Bicycle Police Officers.
When the police arrived and asked for a leader, the participants began to laugh uncontrollably as they had been instructed to do on the audio file. They then placed a finger to their lips as if to say Shhhh and they all raised a hand and made peace signs. The police blindly interpreted this as an anti war demonstration that they had to get under control. The police and Rangers thought the participants were mocking them. As the Rangers forced everyone out of the Amphitheater the MP3 participants were listening to a song titled Peace, Love and Happiness on their headsets.
Terry and I were asked to leave the area as well although my sketch wasn't finished. It turns out that most of the entrances to the theater had NO TRESPASSING signs hung on velvet ropes. In order to sketch in the final details I sat at the edge of the roped off area adding background details. With the crowd contained on a grassy knoll the lead Park Ranger became more indignant claiming he had been ignored and everyone should be sent to jail. He was finally able to assert some authority to a captive audience. Jane Thompson stepped forward trying to reason with him and assumed responsibility for the group. A Police Officer took her license and issued her a summons that banned her from Lake Eola Park for one year. You might wonder what her deviant agenda might be, well she is the President of A Gift for Teaching which helps transfer the communities surplus materials and resources FREE to teachers and students in need. I applaud her efforts to bring this organizations work to the public's attention. My simple act of sketching suddenly felt like a quiet plea for freedom of expression. The police watched me with suspicion until I finished my sketch. The irate Park Ranger asked me to step aside so he could take a picture of the NO TRESPASSING sign I was sitting near. Perhaps he needed that photo for his trophy case or to remind me that I was sitting dangerously close to the forbidden zone. In Iran thousands of brave people took a stand for democracy but here in Orlando you might face possible arrest for dancing in a public park.
A related article at "The Daily City".
Post Script: The dialogue continues on the Orlando Sentinel web site.