I’m not sure exactly how to name this one because it had no name, it was simply what Amsterdam and it’s dying subculture had to offer me.  This was my first production.  It had no budget (surprise) and I had no money.  I had one 5 Euro phone card and a bicycle.  Apparently, that’s all you need.  I lived in a beautiful 18th century building which had been squatted by a lot of artists, musicians and dancers.  You could see the back of the Anne Frank Huis from our attic.  The same attic where I discovered that those Old Masters paintings in the Rijks Museum were perfectly realistic; not the skies of fanciful imaginations, but what appeared at sunset in a city that is technically “out at sea”.

I was inspired.

Creative people were everywhere.  The Dutch were charming and approachable – not necessarily friendly, but nicer than what I’d experienced in America.  I was a Guest of the Image & Sound Department at the Royal Academy of Art in the Hague and there I had access to all forms of Media and Performing Arts.  One of my photographers, the Media Library at the Openbare Bibliotheek served as dramaturge.

I gathered together an assortment of street performers and other willing and beautiful cast members.  Borrowed: a theatre; camera and lighting crews; some horses, their trainers and a manage; costumes from some innovative designers; make-up artists and stylists; and finally a historic house with a brilliant piece of art to accompany our feast scene.

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