Marcus Dilliard
Lighting Designer
Minneapolis
This photo was featured in the U.S. exhibition as part of a tribute to artists and companies that have vanished in the past four years. The Deception, adapted from Marivaux by actor Steven Epp and director Dominique Serrand, was the second-to-last Theatre de la Jeune Lune show, a co-production with California's La Jolla Playhouse. Normally Jeune Lune would rehearse for six to eight weeks in Minneapolis and I could stop in and watch, but The Deception rehearsed in Minneapolis only for a week before going to La Jolla, and I showed up just before tech rehearsals. For me, this meant responding to the show quickly—emotionally rather than intellectually. Any reference in the text to time of day, location, etc., became more or less irrelevant, a jumping-off point only. It became about supporting what the characters were feeling rather than saying. That's a design choice. Dominique often designs his own scenery, but this time he got studio artist David Coggins, who isn't a traditional scenic designer at all. David designed a huge Plexiglass box, which he then painted. It became a 3-D painting—translucent, transparent—and my lighting, of course, was all about dealing with that particular architecture. Did the light come from inside it, outside it, above? I could pass light through it, or create huge dark sections, or use it as a mirror. It was a fascinating challenge.
Norway's installation in the basement of the National Gallery, The Telling Orchestra, mesmerized me. I just could not leave until I had seen the entire hour-long cycle. I still smile when I think about it. There were no live actors, but visually this was unlike anything I'd ever seen. It was a very emotional and personal response to one person's trip to Greenland, and it told the story but left so much open to your imagination. The installation was made of small animated objects all based on animals, flowers, rocks and other things this Norwegian artist had seen on the trip. I'd describe these objects—made mostly of treated or painted metal, as well as bits of fabric—as the love child of Monty Python and Tim Burton, set in a landscape designed by Samuel Beckett. The objects were featured in turn through the use of little lighting moments, video and a soundtrack. The whole thing was totally automated. One figure would, for example, track on to downstage center, and then his arms would move as though he were the conductor of the orchestra. Maybe my reaction comes from spending far too much of my life in Minnesota, but I got a real sense of the desolate nature of Greenland's environment and of wonderful little moments in a huge, somewhat hostile landscape. I was inspired not just as a lighting designer but as a theatre artist. This world will definitely manifest itself in my upcoming projects.