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| Harmony Stempel in 'Human Fruit Bowl' Photo by Brittany Brett |
Audiences at a play are always voyeurs. But
it’s generally a “safe” kind of voyeurism, an artifice that keeps us behind an
invisible but impenetrable barrier that stands between theatergoers and the
unfolding events onstage.
In this, we are complicit with the playwright
and the performers. Those on both sides of the barrier know the rules—so bring
on the angst and family dysfunction, the blood and gore, the bodies in every
state of dress and undress.
But how might our experience change if the
person standing before us were completely aware of our presence? And nude?
That is the just one of the intriguing ideas to
wrap your head around while attending a performance of Human Fruit Bowl, a
smart and compelling one-person play written by Andrea Kuchlewska in
collaboration with its star Harmony Stempel.
Human Fruit Bowl, now on view at the Baruch
Performing Arts Center, is an award-winning monologue (2013 FringeNYC Overall
Excellence Award, among others). It contains no angst, dysfunction, blood, or
gore. But, as it happens, Ms. Stempel spends the entire 60-minute production
alternately wearing a bathrobe, draped in a towel, or completely nude.
Here I will hasten to add that only an
exceptionally immature pre-pubescent child would find anything at all prurient
about any of this. The character Ms. Stempel portrays is a life model in an art
class—inspired by the actor’s experiences doing just such work.
Before entering the theater, we are offered
sketch paper and pencils and are invited to draw the subject. In a way, this seems to be
just a gimmick to pull us into the play, but a display of completed work from
previous attendees is posted outside the doors, startling us by crossing the
line between what goes on in the theater and the outside world.
For me, however, it was a sneeze that
obliterated the fourth wall. Somewhere around the mid-point of the play, a man
sitting to my left let out a sneeze, and it was Ms. Stempel herself who
shattered the barrier with a simple “bless you.”
That “bless you” made all the difference in the
world as to how I watched the rest of the performance. Suddenly, I understood
that the physical discomfort of holding a pose for 20 minutes at a time (with
five-minute breaks in between) was as real for the actress as it was for the
character.
And I listened more intently to the monologue,
which turned the entire performance into a shared experience, a lesson in the
physical demands of modeling, and—as it happens—a most engaging series of
mini-lessons on art, supported with a slide show of the kind that is ubiquitous
to art history classes everywhere in the world.
So, what would you think about if you were
standing around posing in the nude for a group of art students?
In the beginning, you might do as Ms. Stempel
does, make to-do lists:
Bank
Farmers’
market
Pick
up dry cleaning
Get
extra set of keys made
You might also think about everything that is
involved in posing, especially how to meet the challenge of maintaining your
position without moving a muscle (you’re allowed to blink and breathe, but
that’s it) for extended periods of time. Try it. It’s not so easy.
But if, like Ms. Stempel’s character, you start
to pay attention to your surroundings, you might begin to consider the
connection between the “animus of the subject and the experience of the
painter,” and how each influences the other in the creation of a work of art. You
might, in your off hours, take in the art on exhibit at the Met. Or you might
become interested in the real-life connections between artist’s model and
artist, specifically the mystery surrounding the suicide of Renée Monchaty, a model
for and lover of the artist Pierre Bonnard.
All of these become fodder for Human Fruit
Bowl, which grows increasingly layered and complex as it goes along. By the
end, when Ms. Stempel sits quietly during one of her breaks from posing and we
see the slides of every work of art she has talked to us about (including one
of her painted by Samuel Wade Levy), we find ourselves as fascinated as she.
And we come to realize that this young woman,
who took on the modeling job as a way to pay the bills, has led us through an
hour-long exploration into the nature of art and the interplay between artist
and subject.
This collaboration among the playwright, the
performer, and director Jessi D. Hill has produced a truly unique work that
will get you thinking about every model who has ever posed for a drawing or
painting. Take that thought with you the next time you go to the Met.
As I end, let me mention that, totally
coincidental to my visit to Human Fruit Bowl, Harvard University Press recently published
a book I co-authored, a memoir of a woman who posed for artist Man Ray while
living in Paris prior to the outbreak of World War II. A photo of her portrait is on the cover of
the book, titled American Cocktail: A
“Colored Girl” in the World. In working
on the book, I never gave the portrait much thought—other than to recognize
that it would make a great cover. I’ll
not look on that with the same eyes again, either.
Human Fruit Bowl is on view at Baruch
Performing Arts Center until April 11. Catch it while you can.
Feel free to tell you friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.
Feel free to tell you friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.
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