Charity Sunday: Playing for Good – #ArtsFunding #Shakespeare #CharitySunday

Art matters. Okay, I suppose that if you’re living in a conflict zone or a refugee camp, if you’re frightened that you won’t see the next dawn or you don’t know where you’ll find your next meal, you might not be thinking about art. But creativity cannot be completely crushed.

Consider, for instance, this collection of murals from war-battered Ukraine:

https://nanovic.nd.edu/features/murals-of-resistance/

In the most dire circumstances, art keeps us alive and reminds us we are human.

My charity today is the Marin Shakespeare Company, a non-profit theater group. Here’s their mission statement: “With Shakespeare as our endless inspiration, our mission is to serve as a vibrant catalyst for cultural engagement, education, and social justice to benefit the people of Marin County, the San Francisco Bay Area, and beyond.”

 https://www.marinshakespeare.org/about/

I originally started supporting MSC when an old friend requested donations be made to them in honor of her birthday. Since then I’ve been on their mailing list and enjoyed their newsletters (though given my location in Asia, I’ve never had the pleasure of joining one of their performances).

Just last week I got an email explaining that they’d been stripped of a $20,000 grant from the National Endowment for the Arts to develop a new play as part of Trump’s assault on so-called “waste”.

(https://www.marinshakespeare.org/nea-terminates-grants/)

That convinced me to choose them for my cause this Charity Sunday. For each comment I receive on this post, I’ll give two dollars to MSC. That’s not going to mean much compared with the terminated grant, but we all do what we can.

Meanwhile, for once I have an excerpt that is relevant both to my cause and to the date. This is Memorial Day Weekend in the U.S., the traditional start of summer. So I’m sharing a bit from my Shakespeare-inspired erotic romance A Midsummer Night’s Gender Bending. Enjoy!

Blurb

What visions I have seen! Methought I was enamoured of an ass.

The year is 1595 in the reign of Good Queen Bess. Stage-struck, young Ben Hastings leaves his father's farm for London, to join Will Shakepeare's band of players. Hugh Templeton, the handsome leading man, takes the innocent lad under his wing, but Ben soon discovers that Hugh wants more than just friendship. Meanwhile a savvy tavern maid named Jenny engineers a comedy of errors to save Ben from Hugh's lewd embrace and win him for her own.

 

Excerpt

“No, no! Stroke him! Caress him! You must show the audience that you are completely besotted with the creature.”

Master Will was in high choler, that was certain. Poor Ben! The quaver in his youthful voice lent credence to his womanly role.

“I am most sorry, sir. But in truth, the mask smells something horrible. I can scarcely bear to touch the hairy thing.” Ben rose, dumping the other actor from his lap and wringing his hands prettily. Hugh admired the strong, graceful limbs half-revealed by the gauzy robe of the fairy queen the boy was impersonating.

“Please, Master. Could you not change the script to have me admiring him from a distance? The stench makes it hard for me to breathe, let alone speak the lines.”

“Ben, this is the theatre. We must suffer for our art. We must give our all for the audience. Or have you changed your mind about wanting to be one of the Company?”

“No, of course not, sir. You know that is my fondest dream.”

“Then follow my direction, sit down, and give us the lines again.”

With a sigh, Ben re-seated himself on the stage with his back against the column that simulated some ancient tree in the heart of the forest. Trying not to grimace, he cradled Harold Warwick’s masked head between his thighs. Hugh imagined his own head there, in lieu, burrowing down into Ben’s crotch. He smiled to himself at the image. He, for one, didn’t intend to suffer at Will’s beck and call.

“Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed.

While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,

And stick musk roses in thy sleek smooth head,

And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.”

Ben’s voice was high and clear, his cheeks still blushingly smooth. He’d scarce turned eighteen, according to Company gossip, when he abandoned his father’s Herefordshire farm to try the boards in London. Some spoke of a girl big with child, left behind, but Hugh didn’t believe it. He was willing to swear that Ben was an innocent, untouched by either sex. He should know, having corrupted and enjoyed a virtual army of virgins in his ten years on the stage.

Speaking of which, his cue was coming. He straightened his laurel wreath and came out from behind the column where he’d been lounging. John Marks, playing Puck, approached from the opposite side.

“Welcome, Robin. See’st thou this sweet sight?

Her dotage now I do begin to pity…”

Hugh ventured closer to the form collapsed in simulated sleep at the foot of the column. He stroked Ben’s brow lovingly. The boy’s skin was deliciously soft. “Now, my Titania, wake you, my sweet queen.”

Ben’s eyes flew open at Hugh’s touch. They were an astonishing shade of green, like the jade beads on the robe recently presented to Her Majesty by the prince of Persia, and were fringed by thick lashes the same auburn hue as the boy’s hair. Ben’s eyes were true windows into his soul, limpid, peaceful, empty of guile.

“My Oberon!” Ben lisped, the female intonation perfect. “What visions I have seen! Methought I was enamoured of an ass.”

Hugh fought the urge to kiss the boy’s ripe lips. Time enough for that later. The rest of the scene proceeded well enough that even Will was pleased. They’d be ready, just barely, for the first performance on the morrow. Despite his lack of experience, Ben had some talent, at least for the woman’s part. What other talents he possessed, Hugh would hopefully discover soon.

Don’t forget to leave me a comment. Help keep the arts alive!

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