Byline: Gordy Grundy

Several weeks of cold rain and angry trade winds broke. At last, the balmy warm weather had been restored to the Hawaiian island of Oahu. The glorious outdoors beckoned, but many chose to fill the Doris Duke Theater of the Honolulu Museum of Art. Art star Mark Bradford was in town.

The affection was well deserved. The day before, Bradford had spent much time with each art grad student at the University of Hawaii at Manoa, including many undergrads. The grateful filled the first several rows.

The museum was featuring 30 Americans and their contemporary artwork, a show conceived by the Rubell Museum from their collection. Bradford headlined along with Basquiat, Lorna Simpson, Kara Walker, Carrie Mae Weems and Kehinde Wiley.

His biographical talk was polished. Bradford told tales of birth, life and biennials. We followed his career and its highlights, the agonies and the ecstasies, to this very moment in time with the artist. He was intimate with all. The art history of this CalArts kid was not uncommon to most. Bradford has very devoted fans.

As Bradford joked, his height is a popular question in every country and language. Beyond this obvious first impression, he is a man of warmth and intelligence that cannot be denied. It filled the room. It created laughter at every amusement, dread at every setback and relief at each success. Within moments, he had our full support. Many were predisposed.

In our age when activism is a profession and activist an identity, Bradford brought the fury down to a calm and a personal responsibility. We help when we can. His aptly named Art + Practice, an arts community center in Los Angeles, is well known, documented and modeled. A critical need in the neighborhood was his simple motivation.

With a career that has developed organically, Bradford emphasized the ebb and flow of life, the synergy, which creates connections and therefore the choice of all action. His efforts for the 2017 Venice Biennale discovered a local prison program, which he championed. His involvement allowed the new organization to grow and flourish. He furthered lives to change and they gratefully accepted.

Bradford’s artwork has developed without gimmick or guile. His progression is organic, inspired by his natural environment. There is great history, dignity and honesty in his materials, process and palette.

He credits his life to “having little self-esteem and no Plan B.” Truly, that is an organic evolution.

Bradford confessed that he helps because he once needed help. We all do. He spoke of the sapling that needs stakes to grow tall and upright or the construction scaffolding that supports a structure to rise. We all can.

At every stage of his life, Bradford has always stood above a crowd, always a target, an anomaly to the sightline. During the Q & A, a student who confessed that he had been raised among women in his mother’s dance studio, asked Bradford what had been the affect of growing up in his mother’s hair salon. He replied that it was the women’s quiet tenacity to survive and be happy. He advised, to great applause, “Find and surround yourself with those that celebrate you, not the ones that tolerate you.”

Raised by a single parent, Bradford’s self-reliance is the embodiment of his entrepreneurial mother. Survival depends upon market conditions; one sinks or swims upon the ability to react.

Bradford said that he was born in chaos and therefore he seeks structure. His work is one of apparent serendipity and randomness; every chance reduction to his surface will expose a new layer, color or image. The most shocking revelation of the presentation was the admission of his methodical control. Bradford knows every color of every layer and buried image; his notes document it all. He knows how far to dig in order to locate his treasure. There is nothing random or lucky in the creation of his work. If he might err, he can correct and add a new layer. So says the man who once had low self-esteem and no Plan B. So says the self-reliant man, ready to react to changing conditions. So says the man who is truly living his natural life.

The audience in the Doris Duke Theater was slow to disperse. Mark Bradford had created an intimate, comfy cocoon that I was reluctant to leave. Who knows? Outside, the weather may have changed back to calamity. But no, the late afternoon had stayed bright and sunny. The trades bounced and caressed. All is right with the world.

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Photo Credit: Honolulu Museum of Art; courtesy Hauser & Wirth.

GORDY GRUNDY is a long time arts writer and the publisher of ArtReportToday.com

Click Here for Part 1. Art Star and painter Masami Teraoka conceived of a collaboration with Russian performance collective Pussy Riot. These words document their performance in Hawaii.

THE NINTH WAVE

The marketing of The Tempest was limited to an events newsletter from the Honolulu Museum of Art. The invitation to the free event caught my eye by chance. The audience on the night of the performance was art-centric, or as the Russian put it, “the art class.” Much later, Viktoria Naraxsa expressed her regret. She had wanted more native Hawai’ians and local people in the audience as she felt she was preaching to the choir. Already, the director was devising plans for her next production in the islands.

On March 17, the day of the show, at 3AM, Viktoria found herself still designing some of the play’s movements. Masha Kechaeva was still creating and crafting costumes from bits, pieces and thrift shop finds. Because of the Academy’s class schedule, the set had to be decorated on the day of the production. Sound. Lights. Electrical. Every city has a rhythm; careful and No Worries works best in Hawai’i, a nightmare for a nervous producer. At the very last minute, an electrician stood up and wired all of the sets. Staggering in the maelstrom, Viktoria “realized how strong I am, and can be.”

THE TEMPEST

As the audience assembled on the front lawn of the Linekona, Viktoria remembers, “looking (out) at the audience to see that it was three times bigger than I had anticipated. I panicked.” In Hawaii, in the air and in the earth, there is an intangible feeling that everything’s gonna be all right. “Masha and I realized we couldn’t do anything about it.”

William Shakespeare wrote the words for Prospero to say, “We are such stuff, as dreams are made, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.” Lucid Dreaming is when the dreamer is aware of dreaming. The audience gathered outside the grand entry of the Linekona. The performance began with a speech, an interactive talk, on the subject led by an actor who played the role with professorial authority. “I think it prepared the audience members for what they were about to encounter with the performance,” explained Lisa Shiroma, “It set them up mentally, so during the performance the audience would think, ‘Whoa. Is this really happening?’”

Behind the audience, on the front lawn of the Linekona, actors, clothed in white, moved slowly, in a Butoh way. Their meditative dance was upset by the arrival of fast moving, violent dancers in red body paint. Masha added, “It was dreamy. That’s why we made a lecture about lucid dreaming before the play. I have this feeling often in my regular life, when I don’t know (if) I am awake or (if) I’m sleeping.”

The audience of more than 150 was divided into two large groups with a choice: To follow Violence or Love? An official led each group and kept order with an authority that would impress Putin.

As one passed through the lanai and entered the century old lobby, audio speakers shook the room with deep bass and yowling reverb. Kyle Kruse composed the potent score for the show. Always a good hand at most anything, the young aesthete also played the role of Ferdinand, coordinated much of the production and transported the Russian talent around the island.

One group was led to the right and the other to the left. “The production had basically taken over the entire building,” said Lisa Shiroma, “Classrooms had been converted with props to represent different elements: air, fire, water and earth. With real dirt!”

Each group experienced two scenes on the ground floor before climbing up to the second for two more. “By having to move from room to room, it made you feel like you were assaulted by scattered and not entirely joined thoughts,” said Cyril Ruthenberg, an award winning photographer, “Sort of like you are trying to go to sleep, but you can’t, because you have all these unpleasant random thoughts pop into your head. Each scene seemed to be directed and performed with the sole purpose of making you thoroughly uncomfortable, but at the same time kept you engaged and prevented you from looking away.”

Between scenes, there was much activity in the darkened hallways. The two groups passed each other like shapeshifting ghost ships. Costumed performers ran to meet their cues. The soundtrack haunted. Had the producers been kind enough to serve hallucinogens and kick up the BPS (Beats Per Second), the evening would have made for a helluva rave.

“It wasn’t the Shakespearean dialog or necessarily the choreography that was so intriguing at The Tempest, it was the all over effect of the actors within the sets, which made the evening so worthwhile,” said Janetta Napp, a once Berlin-based artist who has returned home to Hawaii, “I found the imagery to be like creative paintings, visual elements, leaving a powerful afterimage for later reflection.”

Masami Teraoka was in the audience, trying to document the tidal performance with video. I recall seeing him in the ebb and flow of the crowd, like a ship coursing through rough seas, a video camera lashed to his face. The painter confessed, “I felt I was not able to see all of the performance in the best situation. Often I was standing behind the people.”

Viktoria’s The Tempest is an interaction that could never be properly documented. It had to be experienced. The two audiences observed different performances and narratives. The story was told through movement and imagery. Dialogue was a prop and a sound effect.

THE FLYING VAGINA

One of the beauties of the performance was a stunning video sequence; David Lean would be proud. The audiences converged above the grand staircase in an area reserved for The Tempest Spirits. The video was projected against the wall.

The multi-camera production soared high above the Koko Head Crater to witness its breathtaking, malevolent terrain and stunning views. Said Masha, “We came to Koko Head, early morning before the sunrise, painted our bodies white and started to walk slowly to the top of the crater.” The cast, wearing toga-like vestments, was bound together by a thick red cord. The Shakespeareans lumbered up the 1,050 stairs made of railway ties. (With a laugh and a nod to the popular hiking trail, one shot showed a confused hiker scrambling past the ancient procession.)

“It was a special moment of our journey (to Hawaii),” said Masha, “It was a dedication to the place, as a ritual. The true pure power of the Nature!” And ancient Hawai’ian lore. “If you hear the music of the street, these streets treat you with wonderful gifts. Both (Viktoria and I) paid attention to all these details and they meant a lot to us. That’s how we found ourselves working on a video for the play.” To make a long story short, in another time and realm in Hawai’i, Kapo, the goddess of fertility and sorcery, had to act fast in order to save her sister, popular deity Pele, from the attack of a violent rapist. Quick thinking Kapo threw her detachable vagina and distracted the sex-mad perp. Pele, the Fire Goddess of wind, lightning and volcanoes and creator of the Hawai’ian Islands, was saved. The flying vagina landed on the area that we now know as the Koko Head Crater.

How could this Pussy Riot posse resist incorporating such a tale? Viktoria says, “I was compelled to honor the history of Hawaii and the goddesses. (Hawaii) is a matriarchal place.” Our impresario was also honored by the inclusion. “I love it too,” said Teraoka, “Since the vision included and integrated the earthly environment in Hawaii and Honolulu, I was so touched.”

THE CONJUNCTION

As the video concluded, the two audiences, Violence and Love, moved outside, together as one. The second floor balcony above the lanai of the Linekona is large and semi-circular. The Tempest culminated under a purple night sky, unblemished, for there are very few stars above bright metropolitan Honolulu. The trades were warm and gusting. On Prospero’s Island of Dreams, the tableau was ancient and eternal. A long table, which served a lavish feast of food and drink, was peopled with the entire costumed cast.

The image was sculptural, in shades of marble white and gray. The contrasting color was chunks of cardinal red meat. In the wedding, Miranda married Ferdinand and the spiritual merged with the material.

Down below on the front lawn, the former antagonist Caliban raised a white flag to the top of the mast and tied it off. The symbol of truce and restored harmony snapped in the trade winds. “Dreams and reality are not different,” said Viktoria with a smile, “Humans need for one another.”

FLOTSAM AND JETSAM

The success of the production awarded no rest for the weary. With classes the next morning, the Linekona needed to be undressed, cleaned up and restored.

There was a flood in one room. Ferdinand’s nude matrimonial bath got frisky and splashy. A window was broken when an actor’s head was knocked into the glass. The dramatic fight scene had been well rehearsed for drama and safety. “During rehearsals, I kept calling for more realism when Alonzo is attacked,” said Viktoria. Fortunately, Alonzo shed no blood and survived the ordeal.

Forgiveness was hoped for. And granted. Vince Hazen, the Director of the Honolulu Museum of Art School, replied, “To make art, you have to take risks. The Tempest was a great success.”

With a case of beer and a toast of vodka, the clean up served as a glamorous and utilitarian after party for the exhausted volunteers, performers and supporters. That’s show biz. A day later, the group rejoined for a potluck, at sunset, on the beach.

The Russians had a hard time leaving Hawaii. Masha dragged her bag to the airport and flew west to Moscow. The siren call of the Pacific resounded loudly with the director; Viktoria stayed an extra two weeks. In that time, her skin grew tan and dark. She learned to surf in the near perfect waves of Waikiki.

The Sport of Kings intoxicates many and Viktoria was besotted. Actor Steve de Mesa was a devoted member of The Tempest crew. Like all of the volunteers, he had to balance the hectic production schedule with his busy job in real estate at Luxury Homes International. Steve took Viktoria out on his nine-foot Chronic longboard for a lesson. He recalls, “She approached surfing like her acting and direction. Very courageous. She is young, beautiful and has a strong physicality. She’s amazing.”

Viktoria surfed everyday, until the light of day or her tired body called it quits. On one occasion, an interview with Masami Teraoka and Noe Tanigawa of Hawai’i Public Radio kept her from the blue Pacific.

MANA

Hawaii is one of the newest lands on this earth. The life cycle is aggressive and readily apparent. The smell of raw, red earth and lush plant life is everywhere. Everything is blooming and decaying. Growing and dying are one in the same.

At the Moana Surfrider, under the Banyan tree, I had to ask Viktoria, “What has Hawaii, this incredible place, meant to you?” She lit up and spoke rapidly with great passion. Her Russian speech flowed and danced. Her hands sailed with expression. I did not understand the words but I knew the meaning, the intent and the heart. I believed she was speaking of the passionate smell of the plumeria, the sigh of water rushing across sand and the wind that touches your skin like a lover. The waitress slammed in, so I ordered another beer in order to send her quickly away. Viktoria continued in her native tongue, the lilting phrase, the dancing rhymes and the stubbed toe of smashing consonants.

As she was speaking, I noticed two dots, captivating twins, each above an eye, just below the eyebrow. Birthmarks? Symbols of a saint? Freckles of a goddess?

Her thoughts on Hawaii and its impact upon her sensibilities flowed forth with affection, excitement and joy. Exhausted by her lengthy response, Viktoria sat back in her chair. The translator, reading from her notes, took over, “Hawaii is a harmonious environment. Everything is right and makes sense. The energy. I am so glad Shakespeare’s play tied into local history.” Only a poet can truly speak for a poet.

Later, when queried, Viktoria said that mystical, magical things had happened to her upon the trip, stories that she cannot tell. I asked about the beauty marks above her eyes. The edges of her lips lifted in a sly smile as she answered, “Magic art.” I had to laugh with her, for is not all art magic?

Later, back in Moscow, Masha would expound upon the Hawaiian relevance, “When I describe my experience at Oahu to my friends, I start with the experience of nature there. And the way people connect to it. It’s unique. It’s an open dialogue between them, plus (a) re-invention of old Hawaiian traditions and reinterpretation of them in the modern world. It’s (a) very organic mix. It’s still there, and I’m happy about that.”

BURNING EMBERS

“Like Pussy Riot, Masami is a rebel in his own right. He believes his art can serve as a platform for voicing dissension,” said Catharine Clark, his gallerist of 20 years. “He is not afraid of confrontation or to stand up with his paintbrush for the human values and individual rights he feels are violated by government, religious or any other institution of power. I believe the Hawai’i performance is a parallel exploration through a different medium that is the embodiment of the ideas and ethics voiced in his own work.”

The 2012 Pussy Riot performance and arrest were shocking and disturbing to many in the worldwide arts community. As an American artist, my naiveté of persecution was reserved to a National Endowment of the Arts kerfuffle or a red-faced mayor with a confusing new sculpture in his town square. The fate of Pussy Riot redefined and grounded my concept of oppression. The torture was real.

While Pussy Riot’s Nadya Tolokonnikova and Maria Alyokhina were suffering in prison, a defiant protest graphic began to appear in Russia. The taciturn visage of Vladimir Putin is decorated with cartoonish drag queen make-up, an unbecoming statement to a thin-skinned dictator. This blasphemy of portraiture has never gone away. Worse, the cartoon became a brave and popular t-shirt design. As I write these words, an august TV newscaster on a major American network is freely stating that the 45th President of the United States is a “Cheetos-colored Fascist he-man woman-hater.” Conversely, the UK Telegraph has reported that the “extremist” image of Putin in candy colored eye shadow and glossy lipstick is now legally recognized as “banned material” in Russia. The bumper sticker will get you tossed in the gulag.

Now that this Tempest documentation is complete, I think I’ll put my feet up and relax with a Putini, a cocktail archly mixed with Pussy Riot Vodka and a whiff of Lillet. I suddenly appreciate how lucky I am to be an artist in America, where persecution is more perceived than realized.

Gordy Grundy is a Pacific-based artist. His visual and literary work can be found at www.GordyGrundy.com

Artist Masami Teraoka said, “Let’s make art!” and they did. Pure art rumbles, bubbles and springs forth, like the eruption of a magnificent geyser. As the plume spray drifts and evaporates in the wind, the beauty of the gesture is the impermanent purpose. A site-specific, immersive interpretation of Shakespeare’s The Tempest was conceived, planned, strategized and rehearsed for a singular performance. Russian director Viktoria Naraxsa, a Pussy Riot partisan, Masha Kechaeva, the stage and costume designer and a local pick-up crew of actors, craftsmen and producers have presented a beautiful and transformative dream. With one performance, the event lingers as a memory lost to the trade winds.

In the arts, collaboration is a beautiful risk. Artists are often imprisoned in their studios, minds and habits. Collaboration oxygenates the art-making process. Creation is the goal and destruction is the chance.

Most often, artists are isolated islands. Masami Teraoka is an artist who lives on an island.

OF A LIKE MIND

Painter Masami Teraoka loves Pussy Riot, the brave Russian arts collective. Out of his great respect, he wanted to work with them. His adoration grew with a logical progression. In the early part of this century, after a long study in Europe of Medieval and early Renaissance art, the Oahu-based artist became fascinated with religious history, influence, power and ritual, as well as its inherent oppression, deviancy and hypocrisy. With The Cloisters Last Supper Triptych Series, the painter devised capital pieces of muted color and gold leaf. In the figurative work, religious fervor bled into sexual ecstasy, brutality and madness.

At this time, in February of 2012, a Russian arts collective, Pussy Riot, overtook the sacred Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Moscow. Their impromptu punk rock concert on the altar of the Orthodox Church was an international scandal, an angry protest to the heavy boot heel of President Vladimir Putin. In short order, the three female leaders of Pussy Riot, all quite beautiful, were arrested and harshly imprisoned. Said Teraoka, “Pussy Riot’s concert had symbolized a perfect theme. Suppressed individual freedom versus oppressive government control.” The band’s visages began to appear in Teraoka’s paintings. “My major large triptych series eventually moved into a Pussy Riot Series.”

THE FEVER

An islander, Teraoka wanted to work with Pussy Riot. “I was inspired by their vision and philosophy. Basically, they are asserting human rights and individual liberties. When I watched their concerts, I was convinced they are a powerful group.”

After appeals in court and years in prison, the remaining two Pussy Riot jailbirds emerged from the gulag as international celebrities.

Teraoka’s passion was well known to his gallerist in San Francisco. The artist recalls, “The initial contact had sprouted from the Catharine Clark Gallery. (Catharine) went to see the Pussy Riot performance (at the Warfield in San Francisco) and she managed to give my book Ascending Chaos to their team manager.”

MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

Eventually, the painter tried to make contact with leader Nadezhda “Nadya” Tolokonnikova, but that is not a simple thing to do. It is easier to book Katy Perry or Rihanna for a first birthday. (In the Hawaiian culture, a first birthday party is as sacred as a Beverly Hills bar mitzvah. In the post-colonial contact past, most Hawaiian babies never made it to their first birthday, now a true cause for celebration.) Ever earnest, Teraoka finally made contact with Nadya through Facebook. At the time, she was in New York with her friend and colleague Viktoria Naraxsa.

Fear is very much a factor in the Moscow arts community. After release from prison, Nadya found herself to be a pariah, a political liability. She was having trouble recruiting talent for her projects. No one wanted to play in her mine-filled sandbox.

Now in her late 20s, Viktoria Naraxsa grew up in Khabarovsk, a harsh city in eastern Russia. She recalls, through her translator, “Even at age five, I understood what a hellish, sad place it was.” The support of loving parents was a buffer to the town’s “aggressive, war-like mentality. There was no medium. You were a bully or were bullied. Any odd one was out. I had one friend.”

Meeting through a mutual colleague, Nadya and Viktoria became fast friends. Choreographer Viktoria Naraxsa was directing the debut of a stage musical, loosely translated as Cockroach, by Korney Chukovsky, the Russian Dr. Seuss. Viktoria gave Nadya a small role as a piano player. This casting choice may have been a factor in the banning of the play. It was alleged that the text defamed the glory of President Vladimir Putin.

The two strong women shared ideas and values. They began to collaborate. Viktoria directed and choreographed the stunning Pussy Riot video, Chaika.

In New York City, Nadya began to receive messages from a famed Japanese-American painter based in Hawaii. The artist was proposing some sort of collaboration based upon their common values of freedom and expression. Nadya shared the many missives with her friend Viktoria. Naturally, language almost sank the new ship. Teraoka and his associates bombarded the Russians with a series of messages that were lost in translation. Misinterpreted ideas, business budgets and schedules overwhelmed the now maddening project. Says Viktoria, “Then Masami sent a letter from the heart. He spoke of his childhood in Japan and his values. It [became] a merger of interests.”

CREATION

English is a second language for Teraoka; Viktoria speaks not a word of it. Back in Moscow, planning for the unrealized Hawaii theatrical production became a comedy of errors. “Writing was difficult. Understanding was almost impossible,” said Viktoria, “All of Moscow was helping us translate. Each translation was different than another, but we wanted to make it happen.” Modern technology, like a promised Tower of Babel, was of little help. “I would write, ‘We need five actors,” said Viktoria, “Google Translation would tell Masami ‘We need five strippers.”

On Oahu, the painter dropped his brushes. Collaboration was exciting. His new role as producer and impresario kept him busy. Budgets were estimated, locations were scouted, talent was searched and approvals were sought for a production that had an unrealized concept. Communication between Moscow and the artist’s studio in Waimanalo was vociferous and daily. Miraculously, a mystery backer emerged with a promise to financially underwrite the project. My sources tell me that the artist’s collectors became nervous with the Russian intrusion. They wanted Teraoka facing, not the stage footlights, but a canvas with a wet brush in his hand. The show was on!

Freedom and expression was the thesis. Always an interest, Viktoria wanted to bring Russian author Yevgenia Ginzburg’s 1967 opus to the stage. Her celebrated Journey into the Whirlwind documents the horror of her decades-long persecution and imprisonment. The cold white of Siberia is unconscionable and inconceivable in sunny bright Hawaii. At Teraoka’s urging, two months before the curtain would rise, Viktoria turned her attention to another project on her wish list, magician Prospero’s island in Shakespeare’s The Tempest. The parallels were too lush to ignore for the director. The history of Hawaii is a tragicomedy of colonization. Like the play, Hawaiian legend is rife with ethereal gods and human royalty. “Like Pele and Queen Liliuokalani,” affirmed Viktoria, “Shakespeare’s Miranda is an island girl. I liked it because the pivotal scene is a wedding, a merger of nature and civilization, a marriage of the passive and aggressive, magic and reality.” Later, the director confessed to me that she does not believe in a God, but she does believe in magic. Like Prospero.

REALITY AND DREAMS

Plane tickets were purchased and arrangements made. Fortunately, Viktoria Naraxsa and the set and costume designer Masha Kechaeva already had their visas. Under Trump’s immigration, Anna Melnik, the choreographer, was unable to gain legal entry to the U.S. From Moscow, the two women landed in Hawaii. They were picked up at the airport and escorted to the beach where they promptly dove into the bright Pacific Ocean. Says Masha, “It felt like a fresh, deep breath.”

“Oahu stole my heart,” said Viktoria in Russian. A week after the performance, I met with the smiling blonde at the classic Moana Surfrider, the first resort hotel built in Waikiki in 1901. We sat outside, under a large Banyan tree that protected us from the sun and a light rain that strolled overhead. “Honolulu stole my heart,” said her translator, Luba, in English. I could tell Viktoria was passionately telling the truth. She sat up. Her light green eyes flashed.

Viktoria showed me her new tattoo, a souvenir, on the inside of her left forearm. The dusk-colored, geometric line-art design was Suprematist in style, like a Malevich pendulum. The mark came to her in a dream one night in Hawaii during the mad days of rehearsals, community workshops and production prep. Tattooing is very much a part of the Hawaiian and Oceania cultures. Viktoria had hoped to have her skin marked in the ancient kakau method, but such hand-tapping technology is impossible to find.

THE LONG MARCH

In mid-February of 2017, Viktoria Naraxsa and the set and costume designer Masha Kechaeva landed on Oahu and hit the ground running. They were not the first Russians to invade the islands, but the first to depart victorious. (In the early 19th century, Tsar Alexander sought to dabble in Hawaiian politics. The island of Kauai was an easy midpoint between the Russian fur trade in Alaska and the Chinese buyer. Kamehameha the Great united the islands and gave the Russkies the boot.) In addition to the creation and production of a new performance piece, the Russians had a full schedule of community workshops for adults and the keiki (kids) and a fundraising performance at the Arts at Mark’s Garage, a community arts center. In three weeks time, Viktoria’s The Tempest, a conception of William Shakespeare and Masami Teraoka, would debut.

Early on, the program faced many challenges. Language topped the laundry list. Viktoria Naraxsa does not speak the English language. Masami Teraoka is most comfortable in the Japanese tongue. Help came with a call to the University of Hawaii at Manoa. An undergrad pre-Med pursuing a BS in microbiology with a certificate in Russian saved the day. Luba Baydak is also dancing in the AlohaThon Dance Marathon fundraiser of which she is an executive director. Her volunteerism and dedication to the project was exhausting and extensive until it became too much.

SHANGHAI

One of the beauties of an active arts community is the serendipity of the impossible. The prospect and the imagination become intoxicating and a fever breaks out. Let’s put on a show! Over 25 people freely gave their time and craft to the effort. More contributed housing, transportation, meals and the essentials. “No one had any idea how much work it would be,” said Lisa Shiroma, the volunteer production manager. To complete the job, days would be long and nights devoured.

A three-day performance workshop for the Honolulu theatrical community was held at Kapiolani Community College. “Viktoria is an awesome director. A passion driven artist,” said Masami Teraoka, who observed the workshop. “It was too strenuous for even a healthy young (person). Viktoria is tough. I had wondered how much of such physical training would benefit the final performance.” While Viktoria was teaching movement and character, she was also casting performers.

Many of the workshop participants became involved in the production. Tetyana Miyamoto, a Russian who followed her husband to his Hawaii home, attended the workshop and eventually played the roles of Antonio and Trinculo. These parts are traditionally played by men; gender was not a factor in Viktoria’s casting. “I met Viktoria for the very first time at the workshop,” said Miyamoto, “It was a very unusual point of view in creating characters. Implementing movements and action, all action.”

Scheduling rehearsals was difficult. “With work and family commitments,” said Viktoria, “We could only rehearse at night, after their workday.” She laughed, “We all had nervous breakdowns.” The heat and pressure of a production fosters a family, a team of comrades who accept the challenge to create a work of art to the very best of their abilities. “The actors and production crew have been working around the clock to create this performance,” admitted Lisa Shiroma. “The stress brought us closer,” said Viktoria, “In essence, we were taking on a large project, like building a house.”

Religion has a presence throughout this narrative. In New York, Nadya and Viktoria were staying in an apartment in a former Catholic cathedral when Masami Teraoka first contacted them. Pussy Riot and Teraoka share a conceptual interest and work history in cathedrals. It is not surprising that the first Hawaii rehearsals took place in the chapel at the University of Hawaii at Manoa.

With a financial budget limited to essentials-only, the entire performance was a volunteer effort. Says Masha Kechaeva, “We had the greatest team ever and I’m very grateful to all of them. A magical crew… (It was) the most organic thing, if you’re open, it brings you amazing people to work with, it gives you meaningful stories.”

AN ARTIST’S INFLUENCE

For Viktoria, everything about Hawaii became a mind blowing new experience. Like a “love at first sight,” Koko Head Crater, an extinct volcano east of Diamond Head, overwhelmed the director. She wanted to stage the play inside the green mountain arena. The experience would have been staggering. Unfortunately, Hawaii is a land of many permits, red stamps and slow permissions. That idea was given a fast nyet. She smiled and said, “You can’t fake love.”

“The show had grown into a major production!” said Lisa Shiroma, the gung-ho production manager. Masha, the set and costumer designer said, “It was quite a unique experience because in my regular life I draw sketches and then the production team makes [the costumes] real, according to my drawings. In this type of production, like The Tempest, I had one sewing machine and two days to sew eight costumes. It was a journey!”

FORGIVENESS OR PERMISSION?

Besides the deadline, the only other certainty of the production was the use of the Linekona, now known as the Honolulu Museum of Art School. Built in 1908, the tall two-story Colonial Revival is an imperious grand dame. However, the landlord is a very conservative arts organization. Masami Teraoka was given permission to use the lawn and the sweeping steps in the front of the building. Who could say no to Hawaii’s greatest living art star? As legend goes, Viktoria Naraxsa took one look at the Linekona and wanted more. She saw great possibilities. The Teraoka Team asked for additional permission to use the interior lobby and it was granted. Like a tempest in a teapot, the director’s ideas kept burning and consuming ground. In short order, the whole building was invaded like Putin snatching the Crimea.

Rehearsals were fluid exercises as the concept and script were being written on the fly. Slowly, it was designed that the audience would break into two groups and move in sync throughout six staged areas or rooms. “We created a story which invited local people to have an experience altogether and to become one team in the process of that discovery,” said Masha. Two groups would see different narratives. Then the audiences would congregate to watch a ceremonial video sequence and then move to the balcony outside for the wedding banquet finale. The rehearsals were taxing for the talent. According to Viktoria, “The three weeks went by in a second.”

Time flew with seconds to spare. Viktoria was absorbing Hawaii. As a choreographer, she did not have enough time to adequately pursue her interest in haka, the native New Zealand war dance or the aggressively precise and athletically demanding Hawaiian men’s hula. She forged a quick immersion into the local arts culture, meeting, among others, ukulele virtuoso Taimane Gardner and Jonathan Heraux, founder of the Ong King Arts Center. Somehow, Viktoria even got a tan. She desperately wanted to learn how to surf.

“Now when I look back,” writes Masha Kechaeva, “I see the whole month in Oahu as an immersive play itself, where I was the viewer, actor and director in my regular life. The concept of “being immersed” turns into the way to see the reality. [Life is] a symphony and every musical instrument has its own role, you as viewer pay attention to every sound, detail and unexpected thing.”

FLIPPING THE FUNDRAISER

Damnably, this Pussy Riot posse did not burn down any institutions or desecrate our altars. Nary a palm tree was torched. Nonetheless, these creatives did upset some local notions. Hawaii is largely xenophobic and justifiably so. Captain James Cook set the bar and every well-intentioned invader has been raising it since. Hawaii has a fear of strangers and Viktoria Naraxsa pinched that notion in their ʻēlemu, or their keister. In addition to conceiving and producing an undefined performance in three weeks time, the Russians had to create a fundraiser for The Tempest. Forty or so good citizens arrived at the Arts at Mark’s Garage, an art space in Honolulu’s Chinatown, expecting a solo dance performance by the exotic Muscovite. Hardly. The audience became the performers. Quite cleverly, the audience was forced to confront their xenophobia and experience the love of a stranger. Titled Close, the audience members were paired with an unknown. A questionnaire unveiled the assumptions of the other. One was blindfolded and the other gagged. The new teams were forced through a series of rooms, exercises and communications. Most horrifying, they were asked to dance together. Once unbound, a new Q&A made light of their previous prejudices. The evening was concluded with a toast and a glass of champagne. One witness confessed, “Many new friendships were made that night.” Now, that’s Aloha!

Pussy Riot, in all of their glory, are hell-raisers, saboteurs and nose tweakers. All hard work demands a little play. Viktoria and Masha caused a small kerfuffle at the VIP opening of the first annual Honolulu Biennial. Had this provincial burg been Manhattan, the indiscretion would have made tabloid headlines. The generous Howard Hughes Corporation is the major donor to the Biennial and their iconic Vladimir Ossipoff designed headquarters is one of the many sites in the exhibition. The 1962 modernist masterpiece was exhibiting a sublime Yayoi Kusama Infinity Room. Never get a Russian near an open bar. It has been whispered, never stated, that Viktoria and Masha were raising hell and taking selfies on Kusama’s polka dotted bed and clamoring at her polka dotted dining table.

In Part 2, tensions mount as the debut approaches. A backstage romance blossoms. An epic meltdown halts production. The Pussy Riot partisans, performers and local talent hunker down as the curtain rises.

 All photos by Neal Izumi

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Gordy Grundy is a Pacific-based artist. His visual and literary work can be found at www.GordyGrundy.com