A Play About a Sculptor

Play Bill for Cry Tiger

A few years ago I had an interesting opportunity to particitpate in a play about a sculptor, Cry, Tiger!  The play was produced by an art collector and performed in Arizona at the Scottsdale Center for the Performing Arts.  My involvement was that my work was used as the work of the main character, a sculptor. The work I had in my studio was ideal for the play because I had many half finished nudes of all sizes that could decorate the studio as well as the finished work shown. They chose 6 works to use in the play.  Four male figures and two female figures.  One was to be cast in clay so the actor could pretend to work on it.  It was also designed with a removable head.  This was so it could be pulled off during the play and and reattached for the next play.  At a particular time in the play, the sculptor was supposed to become so frustrated that he would yank off the head of the sculpture he was working on.

Before the play began I got a call from the actor, Cliff Smith, who was to play the sculptor. The stage name of the sculptor was Harvey Perlman. He wanted to get a feel for how it is to be an artist and the artist’s life. We had a lengthy conversation. He, the actor, playing me, the real sculptor. At the end of the call I turned to my wife and said, "he doesn’t sound like me!"

After casting and sending all the pieces, I was invited to be flown to the premier of the play. The theatre was full for the opening and I was invited to stand and introduced as the real sculptor of the work in the play. The play was two parallel lives of one sculptor.  The scenes and lighting drift from one side or one life, the married side, to the side where he has no family. In the one life he decides to take a safer route, get married and become an art teacher. In a corner of the stage, or a corner of the house, he works on a sculpture. It was supposed to represent his unfulfilled potential and dashed dreams. In his other life on the other side of the stage, he forgoes marriage, has a relationship with his model and surpasses his teacher. Thus the actors would bounce from one side to the other comparing two paralleled life's and what those decisions produce. To represent a fulfillment of his potential (on the side with no family) they used my Ignominious piece. His teacher stands there in awe of the piece as the sculptor walks in. The teacher says something like, “You have surpassed me!" They lit the sculpture on stage really well with a raking spot light that accentuated the muscles and texture. I was proud of it.

Ignominious, the sculpture that was used in the play as the sculptor's Magnum Opus

Meanwhile in the other life the wife was portrayed as a nag with complaining kids that dragged him down.  A visitor, an art critic, comes by and sees his unfinished sculpture and states that this is the work of someone with great talent.  But the nagging wife never let's up and he eventually grabs the sculpture in frustration and pulls off the head to ruin the piece. His kids are saddened and his sentence of never becoming the artist he wants to be is sealed. He will forever be trapped, a frustrated artist with a family.  

I must admit I couldn’t help but think of something funny as they all stood around him while he sat in a big chair. It really reminded me of the old sitcom Married with Children.

The booklet was descriptive and informative
with a statement from the writer and director
plus information about all the actors.

This sculpture was used in the play.  I cast it in 

oil based clay, roughed it up to make it look 

unfinished and the head removable so the actor, 
during a fit of frustration, could rip it off during 
the play and be restored for the next performance.

The play, which they hoped would become successful and eventually go on Broadway, came out at a bad time, in the midst of the financial crisis of 2008 and 9.  I went to one other showing of the play before leaving, it was poorly attended and I felt bad for the producers and all the people in the play.

It’s not how I would have displayed the life of a sculptor but at least they made an attempt. The main premiss in this play is about a person that didn’t get to do what he wanted to and all the 'what ifs’ that come with life unfulfilled. Perhaps one day I will write a book about my own life as an artist.  I wonder if I can work into the story the time I wrestled a 20 foot alligator?

An Artist for a Dad: The Candy Bomber

During the Berlin airlift of 1948 one pilot became famous as “The Candy Bomber" by dropping small parachutes of candy to German children as he was about to land his plane.  When my kids were little the pilot, Gail Halversen was interviewed on the radio about his experience. Interestingly enough, now long retired, he lived some 20 minutes from us. I wanted my kids to learn about this guy and what he did for those German children.  So the night of the radio interview, we all gathered around the receiver to listen to the show. Usually after such gatherings I would give out treats. But for this gathering I had something special planned.

I had made some parachutes out of plastic shopping bags and attached them to a separate bundle of candy.  Next I got some sound effect music of a prop plane as if it were swooping overhead. Once the radio show was over I made this announcement. "I have been in contact with The Candy Bomber and he told me he wants to bomb our house because you guys listened to the show. In fact he will be here, flying over in about 5 minutes.  Lets all look out the front window and see if we can see the parachutes!”

I had a player set up at the garage door that threw the sound of the plane, bouncing it off the neighbors house so it was hard to hear where it was coming from.  As the kids were looking out the open window I had it cued for my wife to turn on the sound.  As the sound came to it’s climax I tossed the 5 parachutes off the house.  As they came floating down the kids ran out of the house to collect the candy on the front lawn.  It was fun for me to peak over the side from my high perch and see them excitedly pick up the treasures. The best and most rewarding part for me was when my third oldest son, Ricki, picked up his parachute and shot a smiley glance up to see me, his look and expression as if to say, "I see you dad!" Here is a snippet of the sound effect:

When asked about what happened, "Did you hear the plane and did you by chance see it?”, my second youngest, who had a vivid imagination of his own, said he saw the plane, saw the door open and the guy toss out the bundles.  In the years that passed the kids would say to me, “Dad can you ask the candy bomber to come by our house?"  I would get on the phone and say "Hello Candy Bomber? Can you come by my house and drop candy some time?  Yes, my kids were asking.  Oh, this Friday at 5?  That will be great, we will look out for you."

It was fun to have our own unknown.  Most people have Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.  Linus had The Great Pumpkin.  We had The Candy Bomber.  The older kids knew it was me but my youngest didn’t find out until she was 9 that the Candy Bomber wasn’t real.  One day she came in asking about the Candy Bomber and I said something like, "oh, that was me didn’t you know the Candy Bomber isn’t real?" What! It was a fun time for me as a dad to come up with creative ways to make my kids' lives more interesting.  Without a doubt the Candy Bomber is one of them.

One Little Kid Sitting on the Wall:)

The only photo I have of me as a kid, aged 4.  All the others are lost:(

When I was five I went to school for the first time. Epuni school, Lower Hutt, New Zealand.  Like most kids back then I was quiet and courteous to the other kids in the class.  We all got along well, we were like little adults.  A favorite time there in the classroom with all the other kids was singing time.  We would all sit on the floor and sing songs with the teacher or sometimes another lady would come in with a guitar and we would listen to her sing or sing along.  Young ladies wore short skirts in those days and I can remember her balancing the guitar on one leg and tapping her foot to the beat of the music which made her thigh jiggle.  When you looked in the direction of her playing and singing it was hard for a little kid, low as we were, not to notice this jiggly white thigh.

A more interactive song we sang was when all the kids who wanted to, sat on the edge of a long table. As the song progressed we each in turn fell off the end. It went something like..."ten little kids sitting on a wall, ten little boys sitting on a wall and if one little kid, should accidentally fall....there’ll be nine little kids, sitting on the wall." And down the line it would go until all the kids were gone.  The first time the teacher called volunteers up to sit on the table, a few kids, mostly boys, made for the table. The boys in particular vied for the front of the line wanting to be the first kid. Being in a bad position and not wanting to create a fuss, I found myself at the end of the line.  Well, I came to find out that that was the best position!  As all the kids dropped off it finally came down to where I was the only one left, all eyes were on me.  When it came my time to fall off the girls giggled and everyone laughed as I fell. Thus my entertainment career began. For two more times I made sure I was the last kid.  As I got to the end of the table to fall off, I got better at hamming it up. I would tilt my head and put on a funny face and fling my hands in the air as I fell.  Sure enough I got more of those giggles and even louder laughs from everyone.

The fourth time they called people up for the wall, I did my usual delay tactics so everyone was in positions before I took the end.  But as I sat on the end the kid next to me, Martin, who was second to last, turned to me and said, "I want to be the last". Not wanting to make an issue or let on the last was any better than any other position, I let him take the end.  As the line got shorter I can remember thinking second to last isn’t so bad, it’s almost last.  I should still get some attention.  But when I went off I didn’t get too many laughs at all. Even though he didn’t ham it up near as well as me, Martin got all the laughs and the giggles!

By then it was too late, the other boys had figured it out.  There was a general vying for the last position. I stayed out of it and just took my position somewhere in the line. There was so much jockeying for the last position that the teacher had to step in.  One boy made such a fuss he was removed from the wall altogether, I forgot which boy it was, think it was Martin.

After that the little kids sitting on the wall song was never the same and I even sat out the wall altogether.  But my memory of hamming it up and all the giggles and laughs stayed with me, waiting for another time when all eyes would once again be on...me.

I also discovered at this time that I had a talent for art. Once the teacher gave us an assignment to write a one page story and then, when the story had been approved, to illustrate it on the next full page.  This was out of the question for me owing to my dyslexia,  I could not write even a sentence let alone a whole page.  But as I looked around, all the other kids were busy writing their page.  Not knowing what to do, I decided to look busy by doing the drawing first.  To this day I can still remember doing the drawing.  It was a tree, a big tree that filled the page.  It was done with colored pencils and filled in with a sort of crude hatching and expressive, squiggles I made up on the spot. A bit messing looking, but with some thought and reasoning behind it. As the kids finished their stories and lined up to have it approved by the teacher, I got in line with my drawing. As the line was long it took a little while to get to the sitting teacher. The kid behind me said, “You’re not allowed to do that, you’re supposed to do the story first."  The girl in front defended me so I said to the kid behind something like, "Well I’m doing the drawing first", and turned back. When I got to the teacher she took my book and looked down with an expression of astonishment. Her eyes where full and wide. She jumped up and went over to the other teacher. Then she came back, no expression, initialed it for approval and handed it back to me. That was all she did. Her first look said everything and that she didn’t even ask for the story made my day. 

I looked at my drawing with delight.  The drawing that saved me from writing a story I was incapable of writing. Soon it was recess and all the kids left.  I stayed at my desk and kept looking at the drawing. My brother was near the door and I brought him in to show him my drawing, I was so proud of it. 

I remember one other time when we all sat on this long table, kids on both sides.  We were supposed to draw whatever we wanted.  I drew a fire engine in profile. I was half way through it when three teachers came it. My teacher grabbed my paper and showed it to the other teachers.  They whispered something together and put it back in front of me.

In later years, my teachers were not as admiring and more disdainful that I couldn’t read or spell nearly as well as the other kids. But I always remembered that teacher who appreciated my work, that first year of school, letting me know I had something special in me even if I couldn’t write like the others.  God bless that teacher.

I’m Thankful For This Award

As a freshman art student at Brigham Young University in Hawaii, I was able to make my way there as a sponsored student of the school. There were no loans available to me so in order to pay my way as much as possible, I would work 20 hours a week at a student job for $4/hour.  The money for room and board was automatically taken out of my pay. If I did not meet the fee then all my money would be taken except $2. Being a foreign student I couldn’t make that up by working off campus so for the next two weeks I would have to sometimes live on a $2 pay check.  I had three meals a day in the cafeteria and a place to sleep in the dorms.  I would use the $2 to make quarters and wash my clothes.

As a poor student you could imagine my excitement when I was one day walking back from the library and saw a flyer on the student notice board that read something like this:

Student Talent Show

Sponsored by ASBYU

1st prize $100

2nd $50

3rd $20

My eyes popped out at the $100. I must have mouthed the words slowly: one hundred dollars!  My blood started pumping and I became so excited, a hundred dollars. I walked away and came back and looked, it was still there. I looked around to see if other people saw it. One hundred dollars, I want that hundred dollars.  Then a doubt crept in, maybe your act won't quite be good enough, $50 or $20 is good too. No, no, no, first prize, a hundred dollars and I can do it!

The reason I was so excited was because I did have an act of sorts-puppets.  My mum introduced them to me and the family when I was a teenager.  My mum said the puppets really came alive when I operated them.  My brother and I would do the odd birthday parties to earn money.  Later when my brother was gone I continued doing it for some events like at shopping malls, even once on New Zealand national TV for a telethon fund raiser. Even though as a student I brought very little belongings with me to Hawaii, I did bring my puppets just in case an occasion called for their use and here it was.

I planned to do two brief acts, a guitar-playing Elvis singing Jail House Rock and a Michael Jackson puppet dancing to Beat it.  My mum put most of the puppets together and I did most of the work on the Michael Jackson puppet.  He was the darker Michael Jackson from the early 80’s. There was some preparation involved, I had to make a sturdy stage barrier to crouch behind and a little drum set for the drummer. My friend Brett, an art student also, was the drummer.

When it came time to do a dry run with no audience, the night before the show, my act went well.  After getting up I could see from the other participants' expressions who saw the act that I had something there, the puppets looked good.  That was one of the drawbacks of being a puppeteer.  You could never see the audience reactions as it was happening and by the end of the performance your arms and shoulders burned from the exertion of having them up for so long.

The night of the performance the place was packed, 350 people in the auditorium as well as people standing along the sides and back.  The organizers saw I had a good act and put me near the end of the line up. I felt sorry for the other performers because there were people there with real talents, dancing, musical instruments and thoughtful songs. I was going to try and upstage them with a glorified sock puppet and some Michael Jackson music and in the end, I did. 

The jovial crowd, mostly BYU-H students, were ready for some fun, a big laugh and a slap on the thigh.  The Jail House Rock song was a good warm up.  They laughed and clapped along to the music. 

Video As it Happened "Jail House Rock" Performance

 Right after that was done I had no time to rest my arm and quickly switched to Michael Jackson. We had it cued so that when the first beat played, a puff of talc (from the ceramics studio) would come up and out of the puff would rise Michael Jackson, his back to the crowd and then slowly turn around.  Everything went off perfect. As I turned him around and started the dance the crowd went absolutely wild. The noise was so loud. If Michael Jackson himself had stepped on stage the roar wouldn’t have been any louder. It was to a fever pitch. People laughed, screamed, and clapped. I could hear it all. It was so loud, in fact, I had a hard time hearing the music. Every now and then I would hear a faint din of a beat that was enough to tell me where I was in the song. I had to concentrate. My arm was really burning at the end but I made it though, carried by the crowd and the rousing reception. 

When the act was over we slipped our stuff behind the curtain stage and moved away.  I tried to look down and have a business like expression as if to say, well got that done.  I looked like that so as to not make the other performers feel bad by seeing me look boastful. When we got to the side, behind a curtain, I let out a big smile, patted my friend on the shoulder and said in almost a whisper, we won!

During the 1980’s Michael Jackson won a lot of Emmy wards.  He would get up there with his high voice and give a gracious speech.  I was ready. When they called my act as the winner, I came out on stage. Everyone got to see the skinny Maori boy behind the puppet.  I came out with the Michael Jackson puppet to give his speech.  They put the mic to my mouth, I turned the little guy to the audience and in my Michael Jackson voice, the puppet spoke; "I’m thankful for this award.  I'm thankful for all the people that supported me and made this possible and ...I...I just want to say thank you....” and he took a little bow.

For the next three days I was famous.  As I walked around campus people would look at me and nudge their friends and look over.  Some would say hey great act.  I didn’t make any actual friends from it, just notoriety from a distance. After three days the fame faded and I was back to regular freshman art student LeRoy. The money lasted a little longer, but not much. What did I do with it?  I gave some to my friend for helping and the rest I spent on art supplies, Pacman and chocolate bars.  

The recording of the live Michael Jackson act did not go well because of the noise and the glare from his mirror glasses.  They taped his glasses black and I did the whole thing again at the BYUH TV studio. They played the performances that week on the campus-wide TV news segment.

I entered a new act and won the next talent show and got more money.  The one after that I didn’t even place and felt that the well was tapped out and never performed in front of a large crowd again.  I could have pursued it but wanted to be an artist, a sculptor, not a performer. Perhaps one of my kids or grandkids will pick up a puppet and carry it on. When I’m out some place and hear the familiar beat of that Michael Jackson song, I see a puff of talc, the crowd goes wild and my little puppet does his thing. 

Video "Beat It" filmed in studio

It has been over 20 years since I opened my studio in Utah. In this entry I decided to revisit that time and the events that got me set up to create in a space ideal for sculpture.

Going through school, learning art, the challenge of creating good works and the whys and what fors are so big that usually little time is spent on the how.  How to become an artist and create a living out of it...  My teacher, Jan Fisher, gave me a look into how to vie for a commission, how to present myself to a gallery, but what happens when you graduate?  How do you get set up?

The sun was shining on me the day I opened my studio

I came to Utah with my young family with hopes of becoming a professional artist.  We first lived in a three bedroom apartment, one of the rooms being devoted to my work space.  While it was good to have my own area, it was not much more than a hobby room.  How could I bring in potential clients to my extra bedroom?  What if I wanted to get a big commission, where would I make it?  So after 8 months of this set up I was determined to get a proper studio. But how? I had no money, only enough for the bills and the support of our young family. I was 30 with a part-time job of $5 an hour at a local bronze art foundry. The job was by design so I could learn more about bronze casting, mold making and welding. It was a great education.

Craig Hone, a wood carver, sculpts a bust of my brother-in-law
 Ben Baker. Notice the sturdy kid’s desks I used to make 
sculpture stands.

I did not have any money but I did have some things going for me. I had a great desire, I had my wits and intelligence and I had good skills at teaching having just come from New Zealand where for 18 months I taught art, at the school Te Wananga O Aotearoa. With this, I hatched a plan to have my own office warehouse space.  In short, I would teach classes and use the money to pay the rent and utilities. I came up with an elaborate plan where I would have classes, beginning sculpture, advanced sculpture, kids classes and mold making classes. There was a catch 22, I had to have a space to teach in, and to sign people up I had to show I had a place to teach. I looked around for a space and really liked a strip of office warehouses, not too far from our apartment. In my mind I was there, I already had the place. Even though I never looked inside, never enquired how much it cost to rent, it didn't matter, that’s where I wanted to be. To have the space and freedom to sculpt big on a cement floor, high ceiling and room to step back, to display my work and have clients, people of influence, come in and show them my place without shame, to look like I was legitimate, that was my goal.

It was early April, I came up with a date, June 20, 1996. That was going to be the day my classes began...in one of those warehouses. I had another deadline, May 20th, that was the deadline that people would have to meet if they wanted to take the class. They would have to send in a $50 (of the $150 total fees) deposit to reserve their spot. Before this deadline I set up a post office box for customers to send their mail and used my home phone as the contact number. I got caller id, a new feature to phones back then, so I could see who was calling. I went all over town putting up fliers on notice boards for the class. I told friends, fellow sculptors and placed two ads in the newspaper. I sat at home waiting for phone calls. If a call came through with a number I didn't know, I would bark to my rambling little kids to "shush you kids-be quiet right now!" and take the call with a cheery "hello Transfield Studios! You’re calling about the what?  Oh, yes, the sculpture class!" I would then describe the class, that I was in the process of moving my studio and tell them my studio was a warehouse office space near the freeway in Provo.

As May 20th approached, my responses seemed promising but the numbers did not look good. I calculated that I needed to have 15 people signed up by May 20 or I would cancel the classes and return the money. When the day approached I was so nervous. But when the actual day came there were letters in my box! I counted them all up, 14 total. I knew there were others who were seriously thinking of signing up so I gave myself the green light, it was time to act!

I went over to the warehouse strip, found out who the owner was and asked him if there was a vacant space I could rent. He said no but an occupant was thinking of moving. If they agreed to move out, I could move there. In a couple of days he came back to me and said yes, you can move there. I was so excited that day. I can remember taking my wife over there for a tour of the inside. It had a big roller door, glass door and window for the office, a large bathroom and a big loft for storage. In all it was 1000 square foot.  My wife later asked the 65 year old owner of the place, Jack Hopkinson,  who granted renting me the space, “Why did you rent to LeRoy when he had no credit or record or way of knowing he was going to pay rent?"  His simple reply was, "He had an honest face." Despite all the struggles and challenges, I paid rent there, never behind, for 4 years.

A student surrounded by make shift shelves,  sculpture stands
 and my loft.

My next task was to fill the space. I had three weeks to do it. I went to second hand stores, got scrap wood from construction sites and free stuff on the side of the road. I bought a hammer, drill, screws and nails and built shelves, sculpture stands and whatever else I needed. I had lettering made for the window. It said Transfield Sculpture Studios. In honor of Te Wananga O Aotearoa, I put the words 'Te Kura Toi’ which is Maori for The School of Art, the program I set up before I left New Zealand. When the first day of class rolled around, with all the fixtures and furniture, I looked liked I had been there for a while. 

The view from the interior of my office.  There were many a day 
I would look out the window and think of how much I 
loved my little family and, despite all the challenges of 
keeping my studio, think of what a wonderful world we lived in.

They were exciting times. I can remember saying to myself, I'm going to be a successful, famous sculptor. I have the determination, intelligence and perseverance to do it and now I have the space. It sounded good at the time. Little did I know the exact price that would take. The suffering that would take place just to make a run at it. I wouldn't have been so bold if I could have seen exactly what it took. I was hardly known, not that developed in my skills, in a foreign land with no money. Good thing I was naive!

The opening of my first class turned into a real success. The beginning class was full, the advanced class had enough people to make it worth while. I had a place now and it was now my task to gain a better footing and generate sales and commissions so I could stay there. The first few months in the warehouse were very touch and go. For at least 18 months I began the month not knowing how I was going to get the money to pay the bills for the end of the month. It was pressure packed, yet I loved it. I can remember after being there for over a year and thinking to myself, if all this fails and I have to close down and get a job, this will have been the greatest most rewarding time in my life. For it to work it did require all my courage and creativity beyond what I ever thought I was capable of.  

Logan Sculpture Workshop

This month in Logan, Utah, I taught a 5 day workshop with students from many different parts of the United States. It involved teaching mostly the figure and design concepts for sculpture that help to create a better piece. It was a challenge to plan and have everything I needed to illustrate and teach in an effective way.

 

I had three models. The first morning model did a standing pose, the afternoon model did a sitting pose and I also had a model come in one time and do several timed poses where the students had to sculpt a small figure as fast as they could. It was good for me as well because the class was not so big that I couldn’t sculpt along side them which was also an effective way of teaching.  When they saw how I brought my piece up and gave it life it really helped them understand. It also helped because once I established what was going on with the model in my own piece, I could then help give advice and fix other people’s work. It was challenging helping while trying not to fix too much and end up just doing the sculpture for them so I let people work and helped or offered advice as I saw it necessary.

 I will probably teach another workshop. There was a lot I taught but a tremendous amount that I didn’t teach or found it hard to expand on in such a short time. It has been several years since I have taught and I have a much better understanding of things, what matters and what is just a bunch of fluff.  The next one will take place in Hawaii!