Sea Cows

I had this "Manatee Crossing" road sign in my bedroom growing up... all the way until I went to college. I have no idea where I got it or what the laughs my parents must have laughed sounded like when I told them I needed that road sign for my own personal use.

Heads of the Past and Present

I recently found that there's this big listing of all U of C's Athletics Hall of Fame members with our head shots. I took this screenshot because I love seeing my face beside people from such obviously different time periods. Next to me is Bill Haarlow who played in the 1930's. It's like The Brady Bunch meets any time-travel movie starring Rachel McAdams. 

Comedy Innovation at the Upstairs Gallery

Last night, I was treated to one of the best nights of comedy I've had in Chicago. At the Upstairs Gallery's Mike's Hard Lemonade Festivus 2 there was nearly two hours of fantastic scripted-improvised one- and two-person acts. The room was packed and the audience was roaring with laughter for ever performer, as each topped or matched the last great performance. I was sitting there, laughing my ass off while drinking a Mike's Hard Mango, so impressed at the talent we have here. I felt lucky to know about the best place to see comedy in Chicago. And I totally got off on the fact that I was friends with everyone on stage.

I intend no offense to the big comedy institutions in Chicago. I understand that they have traditions that they need to uphold. A business needs to be consistent. And if it ain't broke, don't fix it, right? So you'll see them open the show with a big group number, or they have all new teams perform the signature long-form piece. Or they ask an artist to perform a scene written 20 years ago because it's historically gotten good laughs and is (perhaps) still relevant today. You work for one of these guys and you have fun, experience success, and learn something, but fundamentally, you as an artist are asked to play by someone else's rules. That might be good for you career and maybe one day you'll even make MONEY, but it's not a place for the artist to express himself/herself.

Iceland girls hope to meet Mike Hard. (Photo by Carol Bontekoe, stolen by me.) 

For that, you go to a place like the Upstairs Gallery. The theater was created by a group of improvisors who simply wanted freedom to have it their way. Their Facebook page says "You like art? You like performance? So do we." And it invites you to submit something. You can see so many different types of art here: scripted sketch and stories, music, performance art, and improvisation. It's a haven for the experimental.

And somehow it doesn't suck. The theater has attracted some of Chicago's top talent. I have been there countless times and I've only seen something shitty once or twice. There's something so wonderful about the "I think this is funny, I hope you do too" mentatllity of the place. Anyone who performs there has this incredible confidence that says they believe in themselves - this is their art and that immediately makes you want to cheer them on.

I've been reading David vs. Goliath by Malcom Gladwell this week (it's incredible - buy it immediately on Kindle for $7.50) and one chapter hit me hard. Chapter three is all about the Impressionist painters in Paris in the 1860's. Each night, some of the world's most world famous painters - Manet, Degas, Cezanne, Renoir, Monet, and Pissarro - would sit around the Cafe Guerbois and argue about all sorts of things artists argue about. But at that time, they were a whole bunch of nobodies. Hardly any of them could get their works accepted by the Salon.

Being an artist was a highly respected occupation and was regulated by the Ministry of the Imperial House of Fine Arts. Just like doctors and lawyers, painters were highly trained and followed a rigorous education path. Master this, then master that. The end goal was always the Salon, the pinnacle of all art exhibitions. If you could get into the Salon, you were labeled an exceptional artist and could then sell your paintings for more money, because you were Salon endorsed. It was prestigious and elite. If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.

But the Salon liked very traditional works. Proper perspective, true-to-life representations, and content that was "morally acceptable". Appropriate subjects might include horses, armies, women weeping, and great historic moments that would uplift and entertain the audience. Since that was their ideal, I'm sure you can see why they didn't respect the Impressionists. They painted everyday things, you could see their brushstrokes, and their figures were blurry. Impressionism couldn't meet the standard. One of Manet's paintings (Olympia) that made it in was so controversial, the Palais had to station a guard by it because it disrupted people's sensibilities so much.

This is the painting:

So all these amazing painters, who are broke and just trying to survive, are sitting around the cafe asking, "Do I really want to make the Salon happy? Do I want to be Salon approved? Or do I want to do what I want to do?"

And what happens is that they end up forming an Upstairs Gallery. They say, fuck it, this isn't fulfilling and I want to do something else. Each one of these painters pulls together some of their best work and they hold their own show on the top floor of some building that had just been vacated. No competitions, no juries, no medals. They each just hung a bunch of paintings that they were really proud of. 165 masterpieces in total.

3,500 people attended the event over the course of the months and it brought them critical attention. Sure, they got a few bad reviews, but overall people liked it. And more importantly, the artists liked it. And now we all know their names and work because they dared to follow what they thought was art.

The Upstairs Gallery is lucky to be this place. As performers, we are lucky to have this place.

Bud Light Lime dramatic theater takes over for the second act. (Photo by Steph Cook, stolen by me.)

That's not to say if you perform at one of the institutions you're a hack. You're not! I mean, all of the performers last night I've seen on stages at Second City or iO. Personally, I play on a team on iO and I love it. Performing with Deep Schwa on Sunday night is a highlight of my week. I have the opportunity to play with my friends and make people laugh. I think it's a noble thing and I am grateful to the iO directors for giving me that opportunity. But that's why I just do it on Sunday. I have an artistic life that is more fulfilled elsewhere. I'm an Upstairs Gallery type of gal. I want to do what I want to do.

It's also a place where the community flourishes. People gather here for parties on weekends. When people depart Chicago for L.A., New York, or whereever their path is pointed, they have goodbye party-shows there. It's a place where you talk to whoever and doesn't have a feeling of "this is where the performers stand" and "that's where the audience sits." 

We are blessed that we have Salons providing us with training centers, but we are more indebted to founders of places like the Upstairs Gallery for letting us apply those skills in new ways and we can become closer to the unique artist within us. Even if that's just John and Carmen arguing over an orange or Scott playing an over-fluffed actor telling stories from his glory days. Funny is funny.

A special thanks to last night's performers for being so amazing that I couldn't help but write this blog post: John Reynolds, Walt Delaney, John O'Toole, Sarah Ashley, Devin Bockwrath, Lee Barats, Brian McGovern, Steph Cook, Andrew Tisher, Mike Brunlieb, Mike Klasek, Annie Donley, Scott Nelson, Nate Varrone, Jeff Murdoch, Phil Meister, Carmen Christopher, Alex Trepka, and Drew Kearse. And Alex Honnet on lights.

(P.S. I know UG isn't the only place where people are getting experimental. But ain't nobody changing the game up with the sort of high quality that UG is. For that, they get all my the love.)