On June 2nd I had a stroke.

I like to use this space to talk about the current state of my work. Recovery is a

big part of my life–which is a big part of my work—so in some fashion I’m still

speaking about what I’m working on.

Stroke is one of those “freak out” words—I have witnessed people jump when I tell

them the news. I guess it reminds people of dying or that I’m going to have

another stroke right in front of them. Itʼs like saying cancer or heart attack. It

doesn’t freak me out as much as others. So I’ve gotten used to keeping my

mouth shut, not for my own sake, but to protect others.

But I’m not going to write some story of recovery or something along those

(inspirational) lines. Rather I want to talk about what I learned and what Iʼll miss:

Observation is part of life and performance. When an arm doesn’t work or

walking becomes impossible it becomes interesting. It becomes interesting

because of its absence–Take something away, and it draws oneʼs attention. Its

absence becomes something. So, experience is what I have decided is reality–

The brain processes what I see and hear and I choose to make that true. I also

see two of everything– double vision, which I have 24 hours a day since this

happened—and it has become part of my experience. Itʼs very easy to get used

to it and feel comfortable about it. Does that make it true? How about the

“normal” world?—Is the experience of that any different? Is the phenomena of the

world assumed to be correct because thatʼs what enters a personʼs brain? Is it

just something to get used to? Reality is familiarity?

The idea of adventure—Iʼve been making theatre for a long time. Iʼve always

considered theaters appeal one of adventure—not knowing if it will be successful

or not, getting involved with a project just to see what will happen. Stroke has

shifted that playing field. Adventure means NOT KNOWING HOW IT WILL TURN

OUT. In the theatre, you always go home. That’s a given. The lights always go

out, characters parade about, the play concludes with or without meaning—a

stroke “problematizes” all that. It completely shatters all expectations of knowing

how anything will resolve. It taught me that most performance I’ve made or

witnessed has been some facsimile of an adventure.

I improve daily. It might take 2 years to fully recover. I certainly won’t miss the

stroke. But itʼs certainly one of those rip moments in life—the existence before

and after it happened are very clear to me.

-Phil Soltanoff

Name: Jeanne Harris

Title/Occupation: Actress

Name of Team: Dusty Danger Dogs

Where did you grow up and how did you end up where you are now?

My family left the great town of Grand Prarie, TX a year after I was born.  My slightly nomadic parents moved us to San Juan, Puerto Rico.  There, I cried on Santa Claus’ lap for the first time, learned to love baloney and to speak Spanish. I also learned that if you stand in a pile of fire ants you will get stung and then thrown in a bathtub full of water to get the ants away from you.  We left San Juan for Chicago and landed in the Windy City during the blizzard of ’79.  There, I cried after putting my gloveless hand in a snowdrift for the first time. From Chicago we moved to the suburbs of Houston.  There, well, it was the suburbs, so not much happened.

Which performance, song, play, movie, painting or other work of art had the biggest influence on you and why?

Jacques-Louis David’s Death of Socrates. It hangs at the top of the main staircase at the Museum of Fine Arts in NYC. It is my favorite. I think I stared at it for hours over several visits. If I told you why it is such a big influence, I’d have to ask Siri where to put your dead body. Another influence was the first time I watched the New York City marathon live.  It was cold outside. I stood on the sidewalk with a bunch of other cheering, enthralled people and I thought, “If only theatre audiences could feel this sense of euphoria.”  That wasn’t my exact thought. I’m paraphrasing because that was a long time ago.

How did you come up with the name of your team and how do you approach managing it? Tim Braun came up with the name for my team because I know this great dog named Dusty and he is dangerous – until someone tries to break in and then he hides behind the couch. He’s dangerous in his cuteness.  My management approach has been very hands off. You know, letting the computer chips fall where they may.

Is sport art to you? Please explain.

I feel like saying “see above.”  But, yes, I think sport is art. I think sport closely resembles theatre. There’s the obvious reason – people paying money to watch other people do things on some sort of stage/arena.  More than that, it is difficult to watch a sport like football or basketball and not see the fluidity of movement, the spatial awareness between other participants, the spacing of the players on the court or field, the emotions involved, and the intense training that it took them to achieve a couple of great moments.  All of the above are also elements of theatre.  To me, at least.

If you weren’t your “title/occupation” what would you want to be and why?

I would want to be an arborist.

Name:  Natalie George
Title/Occupation: Producing Director – Fusebox Festival and freelance Lighting Designer
Name of Team: The Underbites
Website: www.fuseboxfestival.com

Where did you grow and how did you end up where you are now?

Born in Atlanta. Moved to Houston at age 8. Came to Austin in 1995 to go to St. Ed’s. I’ve wandered to New York many times, but I can never really quit Austin.

Which performance, song, play, movie, painting or other work of art had the biggest influence on you and why? 

Hmmm. Well I grew up surrounded by the arts. My mother and sister were dancers and my father has an art collection that threatens to engulf the entire house.  The love of art and performance in my house was so huge that I really struggled to find my niche. Then I saw Pina Bausch’s Nur Du in 1997. It was love at first site. Dance and theater and everything in between, with the most amazing scenic and lighting design I had ever seen. A performance that felt like a painting come to life. Every moment of every element orchestrated perfectly. I wanted to be in it, I wanted to light it, and I never wanted to stop watching it.

How did you come up with them name of your team and how do you approach managing it?

Most things I name have some reference to my dog, Frankie Smalls, a French Bulldog. I didn’t really have a good strategy for my team. I just picked as many Green Bay Packers as I could. (GO PACK!) I have not played Fantasy Football before so my goal is to lay low this year. Learn by watching. Then take them all by storm next year.

Is sport art to you? Please explain.

Absolutely. The excitement of the game or the opening night. The thrill that anything can happen, but the knowledge that so much time, energy, and training has made these players who they are. The audience love for the individual players or artists. Someone out there loves and cares for each field and blade of grass as much as any set or lighting designer.

If you weren’t your “title/occupation” what would you want to be and why? I’m not sure I can be anything else. But, if I had more free time I would love to make furniture. Form and Function. Pretty wood grains and crazy patterns. Rich fabrics. Yup. I should find some free time.

Name: Joaquin Salazar
Title/Occupation: Math Editor
Name of Team: SupSukers

Where did you grow up and how did you end up where you are now?

Let’s see here, I was born and raised in El Paso, TX. My family moved around quite a bit when I was younger, but I was too young or dumb to notice or care so I don’t remember any of it. We settled in El Paso and that’s where my first real memories take place. Actually, my first real memory is walking into this dilapidated house, that’d I be calling home for the next 15 years or so, and jumping into a puddle of water. I remember my dad just yelling at me, and I couldn’t figure out why. Good times. It’s not as bad as it sounds, just not a lot in El Paso at the time. But it was home. I like to tell people that El Paso is a good place to be from…far away from.

As to how I ended up where I am now, mostly through mistakes and indecision. I left El Paso to attend UT and fell in love with Austin. I never wanted to move back. I got my math degree and stayed in the city. Through various circumstances and happenstances and otherstances, I find myself still in Austin, still trying to put it all together. I’m happy and lucky to be here and I remind myself of that everyday.
Which performance, song, play, movie, painting or other work of art had the biggest influence on you and why?
Two things jumped to mind when I read this question, not that they had a big influence, they just jumped to mind. In the song category it was Livin’ on a Prayer (though Never Saying Goodbye was a close second) by Bon Jovi. I know…still. Bon Jovi was one of the first bands that I knew and followed and those songs cemented some of the cheesier notions in my head. The second thing that came to mind was a painting by Rothko, titled ‘Orange and Tan’. I remember it from a UIL contest I competed in when in the 7^th grade. It really is a painting with half the canvas painted one color and the other half painted the other color. It was the first time I really questioned what art was and how people see it and can react to it in different ways. It really made me think.
How did you come up with them name of your team and how do you approach managing it?

It took me all of 1 minute to come up with a name. I’ve been playing fantasy football for 3 years now and the level of smack talk is sometimes unreal. I mean, I love my momma but that doesn’t mean you should, not in that way. So anyway, I wanted a name that exuded confidence and had a swagger to it, just like when I walk into a place and say, “What’s up suckers?” and the rest is history.

I manage my team by listening to the experts. I enjoy football but I can’t spend every hour watching, reading, studying players and teams.  So, when I hear this guy or that guy is going to have a good day, I give them my own little eyeball test and if they pass, I try and pick up the player. If they do well, I welcome them into my starting line-up.
Is sport art to you? Please explain.

There is grace and beauty in sport. There is an internal drive in competition and to master a skill. There is an art to strategy and an elegance in it’s execution. I don’t know if the sport is art, but the action of sport, the movement of players in competition, the play by design, the game plan, and the ways in which it all comes together and falls apart and split-second decisions have to be made, all of that definitely is. Wait, what did he just say?

If you weren’t your “title/occupation” what would you want to be and why?

If I weren’t a math editor, I’d want to be Ron Berry. He has put together a great group of people and is pushing the conversations about art onto the masses. It’s beautiful.

As a life-long Texan, I think I know what to expect from Texas weather. I like to joke that we only have two seasons, but that’s not really true. We have all four seasons, but spring and fall usually only last a day or so, sometimes only hours, and then we zoom right into hot-as-hell summer or take-your-life-into-your-own-hands icy winter. But last Sunday, when the temperature began to dip and the rain was falling softly and the wind was pushy and persistent, it felt downright autumnal. It was scarf weather. Rub your hands in front of a fire weather.

Whiskey drinkin’ weather.

Luckily enough, last Sunday was Fusebox’s Digestible Feats Spirit Salon American Whiskey Tasting at East Side Show Room, and someone must have told the weather because it sure was setting the mood for the event. The weather was wet and windy and cold, and it was very un-Texas like.

Now, if I’m being honest, and I see no reason to lie, I was a bit apprehensive about the event. If I’m really being honest, I’ll admit that American whiskey and I have not always seen eye to eye. We have, in fact, had our occasional spats. Before last Sunday, I firmly believed that American whiskey was good for exactly two things: shooting and slamming. Anytime I’d drank whiskey in the past I would shoot it back and slam the glass down on the table with a loud “bang,” as if I was in a drinking contest with Marion Ravenwood in a Nepalese tavern. As the firey, gold liquid would make made its way down my throat an involuntary little yipping noise would come squeaking out of my mouth.

Drinking whiskey was simply a means to an end. The means to genuinely enjoy singing along with Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Simple Man.” The means to endure the pain of busted knuckles and a split lip after a bar fight. The means to endure the pain of a heartache.

But on Sunday, I put my faith in Hank Cathey, the organizer of the Fusebox’s Digestible Feats Spirit Salon, and my wife and I made our way through the bone chilling fall weather to thoughtfully taste some fine, American whiskey. Unlike Tim Braun, my esteemed colleague, I do not hate Hank Cathey. Honestly, I think I might be falling in love with Hank Cathey. Please don’t tell my wife. Not only is Hank Cathey a lovely and affable man, he’s a helluva event planner. My wife and I have now attended four Digestible Feats events organized by Hank, and they’ve all been flat out amazing. So as I say, I put aside my apprehension and placed my faith in Hank, and I’m sure glad I did.

On that windy and rainy night, we sampled six fantastic whiskeys. We started with a white whiskey, which was biting and sharp, and ended with a golden rye whiskey, which was oaky and comforting. We were also served a classic Mint Julep. I’d never had one before, but the aromatic mint and the cool and ever so slightly sweet whiskey made me wanna use words like “onery” and start sentences with “I do declare!” Jason, the fine bartender at East Side Show Room, also made us a Sazerac, which might very well be the finest drink that’s ever passed over my lips. It was slightly bitter and tangy, which reminded me of the perfect lemon of a forgotten summer, combined with the the bold, soul-warming, golden-flavored whiskey that, if possible, somehow tasted like a melancholic fall evening. It was an utterly perfect drink. It was almost as if Jason had somehow captured the weather in a glass. I felt classy drinking it. In fact, I felt downright fancy.

With a little help from Hank, I was finally able to sip whiskey like a proper gentleman. I was able to detect subtle flavors like tobacco and vanilla. As I sipped and sampled, I suddenly remembered that in Irish, whiskey is called “Uisce Beatha,” which literally means “water of life.” That started to make sense to me. I began to understand whiskey a little bit better, and more importantly, I began to enjoy whiskey better.

And at no point did I make involuntary yipping noises.

As my wife and I left the warm comfort of The East Side Show Room and made our way out into the rainy Sunday night, I no longer felt chilled by the weather, and I was glad I’d trusted Hank Cathey. American whiskey and I had come to accords during the Digestible Feats Spirit Salon, and if the fuzzy-feeling in my chest was any indication, we were on the road to becoming fast friends. I can’t wait for the next Digestible Feats event. There’s no telling what I’ll learn from Hank Cathey next.

-Mark Gifford, Guest Blogger