With this selection for their summer repertoire, artistic director Ellen Geer, who also directed, reminds us that the theater's history is ours as well. In a touching gesture that honors that history, Ellen and Thad Geer presented their mother, Herta Ware, before the performance. She was regaled with a standing ovation as befits the matriarch who is the living testament to that history and has passed it on to her children.

Rockin' at the Theatricum, clockwise from top left: Willow Geer-Alsop, Thad Geer, Gillian Doyle, Richard Sherrell and Jeff Wiesen.

In 1937, Will Geer originated the role of Mr. Mister in Orson Welles' production of this workers' operetta at a time when the nation was consumed with violent strikes by workers who couldn't earn a living wage and corporate fat cats resorted to violent measures against their workers. Even though the play was funded by the New Deal's WPA Federal Theater Program, the government tried, unsucessfully, to keep it from opening because of its radical content.

It was a time when people took a stand and paid a price and sometimes things changed. But not always. In 1951, Geer was among those blacklisted as a result of the McCarthy hearings. Topanga not only became his and his family's sanctuary, but a theater where other blacklisted actors and folk singers could perform. They kept their craft alive, but it wasn't until 1972 that Geer landed the plum television role of Grandpa Walton, which made it possible to build the amphitheater that became our Theatricum Botanicum.

"The Cradle Will Rock" (book, music and lyrics by Marc Blitzstein) takes us to Steeltown USA, a company town where Moll (Melora Marshall) can only get two days' work and becomes a prostitute to make enough money to feed herself. She opens the show with her plaintive lament sung under the glow of a lamppost, setting the tone for the show.

Will Geer as the original "Mr. Mister" in Welles' 1937 "Cradle Will Rock."

Thad Geer as the steel mill owner, Mr. Mister, is a bombastic presence throughout, buying off the hypocritical town fathers with money and threats--anything to keep the Union down and his profits up. His better half, Mrs. Mister (Gillian Doyle), keeps us comically entertained as she busily seduces these upstanding men, among them Reverend Salvation (Steve Matt) and Editor Daily (Richard Sherrell).

Aaron Hendry as Larry Forman, the young firebrand union organizer, is everything the role demands. Energetic, articulate and athletic, he commands the stage and our complete attention.

Once again, this is a triumph of a talented, eager and well-rehearsed ensemble company. These are actors who sing and dance their way through a difficult libretto and make us laugh even when we know what's really happening and make us cry when we see it happen. That ensemble company saved the theater the cost of a choreographer, says Ellen Geer who directed the play. "They said they could do it so I let them go and they did it." Except for a little tap number that didn't seem worth having cast members put on their tap shoes for, the choreography was precise and sometimes outrageous as in the comical pas de deux between Sister Mister (Willow Geer-Alsop) and Jr. Mister (Jeff Wiesen).

Like a Joseph Stella painting, this is art evocative of its time. The characters are broadly drawn, the stage is minimally furnished. It evokes Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill ("Threepenny Opera"). But chances are you won't leave humming the tunes you so thoroughly enjoyed during the performance--there's not one "Mack the Knife" in the bunch.

You will, however, leave happy--and perhaps thoughtful. If picket signs of 1937 read "Workers Unite!" what might they say today? What would your picket sign say?

American Totems

An exhibition of new work from Topanga artist, Rick Oginz

One of Rick's beasts.

Commentary by Jillian Palethorpe

In the beginning of our species we made art. In theory, it is the creating of things decorative and the rendering of the real into a recognizable image that distinguished us from Homo Neanderthalis and whoever else was out there, sheltering in caves in the long winter at the dawn of prehistoric time. The images that modern man has discovered from those times he has chosen to interpret as a form of magic, a metaphysical charm against the dark and cold and hunger and the beast out there that might attack and kill. In his new installation of works at the Jan Baum Gallery, (170 South La Brea Avenue, opening on Saturday, July 14 and continuing through Friday, August 17) artist Rick Oginz has given us his version of this old magic against some very powerful new beasts.

Topangan Rick Oginz has always been fascinated by the primitive, the tribal, the essence of what separates us and yet keeps us together. Many of his earlier works showed the inspiration of low-tech methods in the rendering of global, highly modern concepts, like the wooden globe which he carved in 1991. The most striking image from modern times, the earth from space was shown as if carved by an artist from a culture many millennia old.

This approach is continued in Rick's current clutch of mixed media. We are led into it by a composition of nine masks, all black line on jessoed white corrugated cardboard. Undoubtedly and admiringly African in inspiration, these are like 3-D drawings. The simple, elegant line springs from the flat plane of the wall like superbly elegant trophies in a game room. They are an aperitif for what follows. Rick is preparing you to meet the beast.

"I asked myself," Rick says. "Where are our tribal images, our totems? Us modern peoples all descended from one tribe of 200 people, what do we have now as a charm to terrify our enemies and keep them at bay? Where is our art as magic? What's our voodoo?" It may come as no surprise to some of you (especially economy car drivers) that Rick's keen and humorous artistic eye has settled on none other than the SUV. The Suburban Utility Vehicle--the very name reeks of quasi military-speak. "We now wear these as a symbol to frighten and impress our enemies." Rick continues, "SUV's are almost completely dysfunctional--you can barely negotiate Topanga curves in them, no one ever takes them off-road, but they satisfy our insecurity with nature by allowing us to believe we have the means to conquer it." So Rick, like his ancestor 45,000 years ago, has taken the beast that will eat him and frozen it into a totem--a whole hunter's bag of totems.

FACING THE BEAST

Rick's installation consists of a series of images of the "face" of each creature--the Durango, the Explorer, the Expedition, the Escape--names that represent the wildness of the huge carnivores. The images are rendered head-on in realistic fashion in a deliciously fat line on canvas and hand-made paper. Some of the images are bordered by tribal patterns, checks in bold colors, zigzags, even camouflage fabric. One is surrounded in a halo of red low-rider flames, the kind of flames which Rick has been fascinated with for years. In several, the low-tech is further emphasized by sewn zigzag thread, adding a subliminal hint of the female to these dominant masculine faces.

And faces they are. Rick has stayed close to reality and delineated the head-on full facial scowl of huge headlight eyes, the radiator teeth bared in fierce challenge. (This is something most people with a small or even average-sized vehicle have experienced at one time or another; a glance in the rearview mirror that has suddenly been filled with the chromed threat of SUV teeth, way, way too close for comfort, safety or sense--driving by intimidation, indeed.) Rick expresses the threat and the feral challenge beautifully, and didn't have to stray very far from realistic representation to make his point.

PRIMITIVE OBSERVATIONS

Which is the other thing about Rick Oginz's art. His vision is that of the wise child observing with a relentlessly clear and fresh eye and rendering the synthesis of his observation in the methods usually reserved for societies once known as "primitive." That is, with innocence of presentation and a simplicity of line and using materials we all recognize and are comfortable with--canvas, cloth, thread, paper, paint. In this latest body of work Rick's love of the carved line, his love of clean, simple expression, have reached a new level of fusion and proficiency. The metallic acrylic used to make the outline of the SUVs' faces suggests the paint which covers their bodies. While the backdrops to the pieces made on Japanese paper blossom with the delicacy of Chinese watercolors, the strong, glossy line of the predatory vehicles lets you know who's in charge here. In "Navigator," the yellow paint has been squeezed like ball park mustard onto the canvas, giving the drawing a sculptural physicality and reminding us of Rick's earlier works in both line drawing and carved wood.

The hatched background of the piece Rick calls "Durango" reflects his ongoing love of ultramarine. But the thuggish black vehicle sneers out of a canvas strung like an animal hide on a truss of metal. The metal zigs and zags like the sewn borders on other pieces, like the markings on Zulu shields and Ibo faces. Long sinews of black nylon thread through metal grommets and pull the piece taut. "Durango" most exemplifies the combining of several techniques which characterize this exhibition of Rick Oginz's work.

There is some gender mixing here, as Rick points out. No, he doesn't necessarily mean to convey the assignment of certain skills to respective sexes--sewing to female, metal-work to males, just like the bad old days of high school. Well, not just that. Rick does prefer the Bernina over the Singer but he finds the sewing together of materials a more satisfying activity than say, the ripping apart of wood, which he usually does to create his pieces. The paradox is the gentleness implicit in the medium as contrast to the figure of the carcass. Make no mistake about it, "Durango" is a trophy. This is the skin of the thing that once hunted you. Whether you regard it as beautiful or not probably depends on whether it's the last image you see before the beast consumes you. Either way it has power, as do all of these images.

Characteristically, Rick has taken the idea of the American totem animal and the ongoing obsession with the bigger, tougher, more monster that currently runs all over the road map of the American psyche and presented it with humor and without judgment. He celebrates his new observation with delight but also with more than a nod to the primitive--to the side of art that is rooted deep in our past. This is art as magic, as a talisman against the dark and the unknown and all the predators out there.

See Rick's show at Jan Baum Gallery, 170 South La Brea Avenue, July 14 through August 17.

Parallax Viewing at Topanga Gallery

The Topanga Canyon Gallery is pleased to present the exhibition "Parallax," featuring artists Adam Kirby and Daniel Rotblatt. The show runs from Tuesday, July 10 through Sunday, August 5, with an opening reception for the artists on Saturday, July 14 from 6 to 9 p.m.

Kirby, whose work has been exhibited in Los Angeles and New York, will be showing his recent investigations into frottage technique-based paintings which touch upon the visual vernaculars of Western industry, advertising, film and media. Rotblatt, whose diversity of talents ranges from blacksmithing and bronze casting to creations in stone and wood, uses his sculpture to challenge viewers' preconceptions of objects and materials.

Topanga Canyon Gallery--located in Pine Tree Circle, 120 South Topanga Canyon Boulevard, Suite 109--was founded in 1989 and is artist-owned and operated, representing more than 40 artists working in a wide range of mediums. The Gallery is open Tuesdays through Saturdays from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m., and on Sundays from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.

Please contact Adam Kirby at (310) 455-1027, or Daniel Rotblatt at (310) 455-1763 for more information or to arrange private viewing appointment.