I am extremely blessed to have a precious child in my life.  His name is Tate Hipsher.  He is seven years old.  Tate is currently thriving in Mrs. Wilson’s second grade class at Oak Street Elementary School in Basking Ridge NJ.  He is the only child of my sister, Carol, and her husband, Jake. Tate has this uncanny way of making huge dents in my life and my psyche.  Most times those dents come from the insightful words and ideas he utters with a sensibility far beyond his years; but every once in a while, these dents come in the form of art works – drawings, paintings, collages that he’s created with great care and even greater abandon.  He entrusts these works of art to the care of members of our family.  Lest I ever forget that these offerings are purposeful, all I ever have to do is remember back to a moment, several years ago, when Tate visited my studio here in the Center for the Arts.  As he approached my office door, this perplexing look came across his face.  He said, “Newbie?”  [Tate calls me Newbie instead of Uncle Jeff – it’s a long story] “Newbie? Where is the picture of Thomas the Train that I made for you?  You taped it to your door the last time I was here -- where did it go?”   Truth to tell, it had begun to curl and I removed it from the door, thinking that he would never remember having given it to me, and I mindlessly tossed it aside.  To this day, I have no idea where it is.  But Tate remembered.  He was shaken to his core that this piece of himself was now missing.  It never dawned on him that I actually took the piece down myself – something must have happened to it “by accident”.  I apologized to him; although, to be honest, in doing so, I did not “fess up” to being guilty for having removed it myself.  I was that ashamed.  My thoughtlessness and embarrassment hit me beyond comprehension.

YOU ARE HERE * was born at that moment.    Why do we treasure, or in this case, devalue, the art that surrounds us?  What makes something museum “worthy”?  What makes a four-year-old child remember the gift of a piece of paper with some crayon scribbles on it over a year later?  How does our relationship to art reflect our capacity for offering ourselves to each other?
I turned to my faithful creative companion, Cocol Bernal, and began a series of conversations (sometimes in person, and sometimes miles apart) that would set the stage for the performance you are about to witness.  John Berger, the breathtaking art critic and visionary writer, helps us coalesce our ideas, the Philadelphia Museum of Art provided the background, and the rest came from the invaluable assistance of our friends, our families, and the breathtaking students of this theatre company.  Please accept this production as an expression of our thanks for all the times that you, our audience, have entrusted your creative selves to our care.

A final note -- some of you may be pleased to know that I now have an ever growing collection of works by the artist, Tate Hipsher, including: a “Grandma Moses-like” depiction of our extended family done in crayon and marker; several watercolors of Thomas the Train, Harold the Helicopter, and Bertie the bus; as well as a stunning collage made of feathers, construction paper, and glue-on eyeballs in the shape of a turkey -- the outline of which looks suspiciously like Tate’s right hand.  These works are permanently on display in my private gallery in Wyomissing and are not for sale.

In preparation for writing You Are Here*, Jeffrey Lentz and I visited the Philadelphia Museum of Art a few times – the first time I pretty much dragged Jeff past innumerable treasures to show him my favorite gallery - The one that houses the 10 paintings by Cy Twombly called Fifty Days at Iliam.  It “hit” him! It took his breath away, just as it had done to me the first time I saw it. It took me well over an hour to get him out of there. I knew then that we could write a play together.

 

Throughout the summer, I spent as much time as I could in museums. Not looking at the art really, but rather looking at people looking at the art – their reactions, conversations, interactions, postures, and demeanors. So much of what they did there had nothing to do directly with the art, yet, their actions were informed and influenced by it. I sat on a bench for hours at the East Wing of the National Gallery in Washington, D.C. Surrounded by Rothkos, Motherwells, Stills, Newmans and a magnificent Pollock and watched countless little dramas develop around, because of, and in spite of the art.

 

All those experiences and observations, form the kernel of You are Here*. We began writing miles apart – via successive, exponentially longer emails in which Jeff developed one character and I another. Then, when we got together we interwove all those stories into the play you are about to see.

Finally, our students came into the picture. Some familiar faces and many new ones – all equipped with plenty of patience, generosity, a sense of humor, and great ideas, ready to contribute and to tackle a work-in-progress that changed from day to day. They were so excited to be part of something new and the knowledge that they were originating these roles just added fuel to the process.

Jeff and I took several members of the cast and crew to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and, as we saw them being “hit” by the art, and by conversations with docents and guards, I realized how extraordinarily lucky we are to have so many wonderful collaborators.
So now that you are here (at YOU ARE HERE), I would like to welcome you as our newest collaborator, in the hope that you will have as much fun watching this play as we did making it.

 

Many thanks to Joseph Rishel and the Philadelphia Museum of Art for their support, as well as John Pankratz for his patience and love.

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