We moved into the theater yesterday. 

I can’t begin to tell you how thrilling it is to see something that started in your imagination materialize in front of you.  I’ve only had this experience a few times, usually when actors sit down with a draft of something I’ve written at a reading.  Suddenly the characters you’ve written, who have lived only in your head or on the screen of your laptop for months and months, appear in front of you breathing and speaking.  The initial reading of my first full-length play home, sweet (the project that has brought me a little attention as a writer) was like this.  I had written the first draft while performing Romeo and Juliet in DC with Chris Grant (“You Only Live Twice”).  I had a fairly small role, and once the play was open I had my days free to write.  I often write characters specifically for people I know, and had written the central role of Jerry for Michael Stuhlbarg (“A Soft Spoken Serious Man”).  He agreed to do the reading, and I reserved a room at NYU Grad Acting, invited a small group of people to listen to the play, and then suddenly there in front of us were these people that had come from my mind.

(With designer Damon Pelletier, hanging the canvas, ©2010 Michael Heck)

Yesterday was a bit like that as well.  We moved the piano into the theater, hung the projector and the canvas, and everything started to come to life.  The canvas Damon has created for the projection surface is beautiful and subtle: a collage of notes and letters and pages of lyrics that brings to mind a Jasper Johns painting.  After most of the technical work had finished, Mike and I stayed in the theater to watch the interviews, to see what they would be like on a screen larger than our computers.  What we saw was that during moments where the screen is filled with white light, the images in the canvas pull forward.  For instance, during the interview of Gretchen and Freddy, the white walls of their apartment seemed to be collaged with the notes and letters on the canvas.  I couldn’t have been happier.

(Attempting to play along with the projections, ©2010 Michael Heck)

After watching the interviews with Mike and taking notes about length, continuity, and sound, I sat down at the piano to try and play the songs to the projections we have shot and edited.  This is something I’ll be practicing today as well when we get back into the theater.  I think it will work well, but it does take a certain amount of timing.  We edited the projections to demo mp3s of the songs, so to a certain extent I have to know when exactly to start playing, and then try to keep the same tempo.  I played through the portrait of Chris Grant a few times last night before getting it quite right.  I imagine I’ll have to do that with most of the songs.

So I’m pleased.  Also, a little surprised that I’ll be sharing this with an audience in a little more than 48 hours.  Trying not to think too much about that just yet.  That will become real soon enough.  Until then, here is another glimpse into what we’ve been working on: below is a link to the projections that accompany the portrait of Christine Mild, “After Apple Picking.” 



When I was home in Michigan, I got an unexpected reintroduction to an often underappreciated sense: smell.  Having recorded a psychology textbook or two, I know that smell is the sense most closely tied to memory.  Most people experience this when someone prepares a favorite childhood meal (this was certainly the case for me Friday when my mom made Swedish meatballs).  In New York, your sense of smell becomes a bit overwhelmed, especially in the summer.  Cole Porter even wrote a lyric about the unique summer smell of NYC trash in his song “I Happen to Like New York.”  But the smells that remain on my mind today are of freshly cut wood and freshly cut mint.  The programs at the wedding I attended this weekend weren’t made of paper, but rather very thinly cut wood that gave off the aroma of cedar.  And as I drove to and from the wedding through the fields between St. Johns and Pewamo, the car filled with the smell of mint.

(My sister Stephanie and I after the wedding, in front of a corn field)

I always tell people this when I talk about my hometown, that if you drive along the backroads in late summer during harvest, you can smell the mint in the air.  I haven’t experienced this, however, since high school.  St. Johns, if childhood lore is to be believed, produces 75% of all the mint used in chewing gum.  In August, it hosts the Mint Festival and even crowns the Mint Queen (I knew a few of the beauty pageant winners in my day).  The weather was beautiful this weekend, the sky large and blue, with clouds like cotton candy.  Driving north on Francis Road toward M-21, we passed several fields being harvested, combines slowly obliterating large swathes of plants and filling the air with the smell of spearmint.

Kurt Cobain, the troubled but brilliant rock star who led a sea change that left America awash in grunge music, killed himself while I was in high school.  The singular sound of grunge rock, its volatility and its honesty, made the phrase “pop music” into dirty words for my generation.  Nirvana, the band led by Cobain, and their Seattle compatriots Pearl Jam defined the style and attitude of the early 90s. They gave us searing, distorted guitar riffs and also flannel shirts.  I was always more partial to Pearl Jam, but Cobain gave us what will probably be remembered as the anthem of the 1990s: “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”  I still think it’s a remarkably poetic title, and it’s not taken from the lyrics of the song itself.  What I didn’t know until a few years ago is that Teen Spirit is a brand of deodorant.

(Kurt Cobain, lead singer of the 90s grunge rock band Nirvana)

I’m back in New York now, and begin performances of We Outran the Sun this week.  The music of the song cycle falls somewhere in the vast continuum between Cole Porter and Kurt Cobain.  As we continue through this July heat wave, the smell of trash will permeate New York and I’ll certainly need some deodorant (though I have more of an affinity for Old Spice than Teen Spirit).  But all of these smells, from fields of mint to a city full of trash, make up a part of me, just each of us are the summation of our memories, relationships, and experiences.  I’ve been sharing some of the relationships that have shaped me through this blog, and will do so in performance this week.  I hope it’s made you think a little bit about the people who make up the tapestry of your own life.

You Only Live Twice was the 5th James Bond film, with a screenplay written by Roald Dahl of all people.  Dahl is best known as the British author who wrote such beloved children’s novels as Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and James and the Giant Peach.  Released in the summer of 1967, the plot centers around the hijacking of two different spaceships: one American and one Russian.  Each country blames the other, thus bringing the world to the brink of World War III.  Our dapper hero however, still played by the singular Sean Connery, realizes it must by the Japanese who are to blame.  The soundtrack to the film is performed by none other than Nancy Sinatra.

(The orignal promotional artwork for the 1967 Bond film)

I knew none of this when I originally wrote the portrait of Chris Grant, “You Only Live Twice.”  When we were brainstorming what to shoot for projections to this song, Mike mentioned the Bond film offhand.  I immediately knew this was the idea we needed to use, and that Chris would be more than game to shoot a short James Bond sequence.  Thursday we spent maybe an hour backstage at the Nederlander, on the roof and in the alley, up and down the fire escape, filming footage of Chris in a black suit and sunglasses.  The contrast between his interview and projections will be rather stark.  Chris wears an eye patch and a WWII helmet during his interview, and had spent the evening with his friend Jameson.  For the projections, Chris is a super spy in a crisp black suit and black sunglasses, ready to save the world.

Below are few stills of the two of us from the shoot.

(The sequence of Chris doing kung fu is not to be missed, ©2010 Michael Heck)

(Myself and Chris after the shoot; nothing says cool like sunglasses, ©2010 Heck)

I flew back to Michigan this morning, in part to surprise my sister Stephanie.  Her sister-in-law Becky Kowatch gets married tomorrow, and about a year ago Becky asked me if I would sing at her wedding.  At the time I told her that I would love to, but I that rarely know my schedule very far in advance or even what part of the country I may be in.  When I set the dates for this project, I knew coming home this weekend would be possible but perhaps a little hectic.  Yesterday I finished editing projections for “It’s Okay to Break” and then shot footage for the song about Chris Grant at the Nederlander Theater, where he currently understudies Johnny Cash in the Broadway musical Million Dollar Quartet.  Unbeknownst to me when I wrote it, his song shares a title with an early Sean Connery James Bond film, You Only Live Twice.  So Mike and I met Chris at the theater and shot footage of him running up and down the fire escape, kicking open doors, and looking pensive in a black suit and sunglasses.  Basically, we shot a mock opening sequence to a James Bond film, which will accompany his song.  I went home and packed (carefully placing my nice black suit into a backpack, which will need some ironing before tomorrow), and then got up this morning at 5:30am to get myself to LaGuardia.

(High school lunch table at St. Johns; I’m the guy with too much gel in his hair)

I met my niece Audrey for this first time this afternoon.  She’s a little more than 3 months old and adorable, with brown hair and brown eyes; she will be very attentive and serious, and then suddenly break into the biggest smile I have ever seen on a child that small.  The wedding is not far from my parents home near St. Johns, so my sister and the kids are staying here as well for the weekend.  Eva walked around with a plastic storage container on her head and said she was an astronaut.  I read Leo a storybook about firetrucks.  Having talked on Skype regularly since last seeing them at Christmas, they weren’t as shy around me as they usually are when I first get back.  My dad is out mowing the lawn on his John Deere riding lawn mower right now, and all three kids are taking naps, leaving me a little time to write.

Michigan is usually a blue state (the influence of unions is strong) but conservative values are also important.  I drove past cornfields on my way back from the airport, and my parents still live on the corner of two dirt roads.  So it seems fitting to share with you another edited interview, or actually an edit of several interviews.  “Right Foot to Red Circle” is about my group of friends from high school; four of them were able to put themselves on camera across the country and send the interview footage to me in New York.  Now that I’m back in Michigan, they’ve been on my mind again.  Below you should find a link to the multimedia portrait of Chad and Kari Rehmann, John Whitlock, and Alana Weingartz that will accompany their song in performance.


I have always looked younger than I am, and felt older than I am.  It’s a fairly strange combination.  As an actor, I typically play roles five to ten years younger than my actual age.  People keep telling me that I should appreciate this, but it gets a little monotonous auditioning for the various incarnations of the young lover in Shakespeare and the sensitive All-Amerian boy next door.  I’m starting to move into the category of young leading man, which is a nice change (at long last, no more high school students for me).  I distinctly remember waking up in undergrad at Northwestern, tired and a little hungover, pleased with the dark circles under my eyes.  For the first few hours of the morning, I looked maybe six months older.

(Beneath the GW Bridge, with a few circles under my eyes ©2010 Michael Heck)

As I get closer to 30, I’m beginning to notice the signs of aging a bit more, and understand why people try to elude the hands of time.  I woke up early yesterday, hoping to get to Brooklyn before the heat became unbearable, to film the last few shots for the projections I have yet to edit.  I’m assuming there must have been a fire on the tracks that morning somewhere along the A line, because trains were delayed and stopped, and eventually service to Brooklyn on the F was discontinued. It took me about 2.5 hours and three train lines to make my way to Brooklyn to pick up the projector I’m renting, and then meet Mike at his place in Park Slope. We filmed a few shots on his roof, and then retreated to a bar around the corner. I decided to watch the Germany vs. Spain World Cup game with Mike yesterday instead of writing a blog post.  I can only say, it was worth it.

We’ve been editing film as fast as we can.  The day we had 103 degree heat, I wrapped a bag of frozen mixed vegetables in a towel and placed them underneath my computer to keep it cool, as my Macbook slowly but determinedly wrote video in Final Cut. Yesterday after the World Cup game, I made a much smarter choice and headed to NYU to edit film in the comfort of air conditioning.  I looked a little older this morning when I took a glance in the bathroom mirror, which is fine really, but not something I get all that excited about any more.  Tempus fugit, right?  Time flies, it keeps moving forward.  We’re getting really close to having all the film shot and edited.  In the last few days I’ve finished projections for “We Outran the Sun,” “Right Foot to Red Circle,” and ” Gretchen and Freddy Get Married Today.”  Below you can check out some of my work, the projections that will accompany the portrait of Gretchen Hall and Freddy Arsenault.

It will be 100 degrees in New York today.

Living in this city, I do feel occasionally that I’m inside a 1940s black and white Hollywood studio film, especially in the neighborhood where I currently live.  Games of stickball on the street are not uncommon, and last fall a game of touch football happened just below my window on the corner of 162nd and Riverside.  I was always a bit incredulous when watching films where this happens, but I can now honestly say that it does.  When you live in an apartment building in Manhattan, the street becomes your back yard.  In the summer, people bring out lawn chairs, drink beer, and barbecue on the sidewalk.  The detail that seemed the most unlikely while I was growing up in the Midwest, however, was the open fire hydrant with kids running through it.  In the last week I have walked past at least three open hydrants, with kids running through the spray of water just like I ran through the sprinkler in my Michigan backyard twenty-five years ago.

(An open hydrant, which apparently really happens in New York, ©2008 Miller)

I walked up to Gretchen and Freddy’s apartment last night, and met Mike at the A train to help him carry the film equipment and tripod.  Yesterday it was in the 90s, and we began to sweat on our way to their place.  As we walked up the stairs, I thought to myself that I would now be sweating my way through their entire interview.  But when Gretchen opened the door a blast of cold air came from inside.  I forget sometimes that other people in the city have air conditioning.  They were our last interview, and we talked for maybe forty-five minutes in the welcome cold of their living room (though we did eventually turn off the air conditioning for sound).  During their interview, Gretchen mentioned my Universe Project, something I hadn’t thought about for a long time.  Zelda Fichandler ran NYU Grad Acting while the three of us were there, and she taught a class in your first year.  Each person had to create a Universe Project, a thirty minute performance piece about your universe, whatever that might mean to you.  The only guidelines were the time limit (30 minutes), and a requirement to use a visual work of art as inspiration.  The performances were all remarkably different, some linear and some abstract, with some people telling their life story in chronological order and others offering more oblique glimpses into their lives.  Regardless of the style or format, by the end of that semester with Zelda, you knew your classmates very well.

(Freddy, Gretchen, and I at their apartment pre-interview, ©2010 Michael Heck)

The universe I shared was perhaps a bit more abstract than most.  I had created a soundscape of music to which I set a series of vignettes.  As people walked into the room, each chair had an index card with the name of a person in my life and the number of miles they lived from me.  The work of art was a Robert Rauschenberg collage that prominently features JFK and an astronaut, and at the beginning of the piece I created a collage of myself out of photocopied sections of a photograph.  A series of vignettes followed, which included a minute or so of washing my hands, a mime piece about a man with an umbrella who gets blown into the sky, and at least 30 seconds of me on a pogo stick.  I also read portions of American Pastoral and The Little Prince.  At the end, I sat down at the piano and sang a song by Death Cab for Cutie called “Transatlanticism,” the chorus of which repeats the following lyric: “I need you so much closer.”  I meant for that lyric to return attention to the index cards, my friends who are scattered across the country.

We filmed a number of shots last night for the projections that will accompany their song  (“Gretchen and Freddy Get Married Today”), and I’ll probably spend most of this incredibly hot New York day editing the footage.  Listening to Gretchen talk about my Universe Project, it took me by surprise again to see the through line that runs through what I create, the themes of distance and friendship.  And I see now that Gretchen and Freddy have been added to that stack of index cards.

Chris Grant and I often spend patriotic holidays together.  Almost two years ago now, while we were doing a production of Romeo and Juliet together in D.C., Chris made me watch the movie National Treasure on Labor Day.  The Shakespeare Theatre has beautiful housing for its actors, and we both had apartments in the same brick building, on a quiet, tree-lined street of Capitol Hill.  The apartments for that theater are spread out all across D.C. and Chris and I were the only actors in this particular building.  We each had a small backyard space, and Chris – believe it or not – even had a grill.  We celebrated Labor Day that year like most Americans, with beer, brats from the grill, and a terrible/fantastic movie starring Nicholas Cage.

Chris made me watch National Treasure / Borrowed my boots to play Johnny Cash

Yesterday being a similarly – or perhaps even more – patriotic holiday, Chris and I likewise had brats and beer (hold the Nicholas Cage).  His girlfriend Sofiya came over, and we walked down to Riverbank Park at 145th street to watch the fireworks.  We passed a bus with an ad for the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, a live action film from Disney with the same director and producer as National Treasure, and (wait for it) also starring Nicholas Cage.  Now maybe I should explain myself.   Nicholas Cage has done some fine acting in some great films, but more and more he appears to be playing a mumbling parody of himself.  He also seems (like Ben Affleck in the earlier part of the decade) to be taking a lot of projects for the money.  However, while National Treasure is definitely not Leaving Las Vegas, it does have a certain camp appeal and is a lot of fun.  Maybe Sorcerer’s Apprentice will be the same, or at the very least, will help put his kids through college.

Mike was planning to shoot some footage of the fireworks last night, which I hope to use for the projections to accompany “Red Foot to Red Circle.”  For Chris, we’re still trying to coordinate schedules, but are hoping to shoot a short James Bond style music video, similar to the opening credit sequences that begin each Bond film.  Apparently, a 007 film starring Sean Connery shares its name with the portrait I’ve written of Chris, “You Only Live Twice.”  Mike suggested that we film Chris running through Washington Heights in a tux and bow tie, and if we can make it work it should be perfect.  We just have a few other pick up shots to film for the remaining projections, and the interview of Gretchen and Freddy which we’ll shoot tonight.  Then we’ll be in the homestretch, editing for the next week or so.

(My roommate Chris, in what appears to be a scene from National Treasure 3)

I’ve now posted demo mp3s of most of the songs.  The portrait of Chris, however, is so new that I hadn’t recorded it yet.  I finally found time to do so yesterday.  I should mention that this song has explicit lyrics, so my sister Stephanie – if you’re reading this – the portrait of Chris is probably not one to play for Eva and Leo.  But it seems appropriate for a song about Chris to include profanity.  It’s the only true rock and roll song in the cycle: loud, jangly, and irreverent.  Just like Chris.

Below is a link to the demo recording of his portrait.

You Only Live Twice (explicit lyrics) by Matthew Carlson

When Shawn Kemp and I met in December for dinner in New York, she told me of her list of things do before turning 30.  Now, I am a list maker to be sure, but this is not something I had given much thought.  We are both 29, and a birthday of some significance (or at least with a zero at the end) rapidly approaches.  Shawn has a goal of becoming a modern day Renaissance women, hopefully by the 5th of November.  Her list includes: 1. Be able to describe wine.  2. Speak some Latin.  3. Run a half-marathon.  4. DJ at a club.  5. Learn how to sew.  She had all of this written down in a little notebook that she carried with her.  The only thing I could think of at the time is that I wanted to go skydiving.  I am afraid of heights, and it seems like a good way to defy mortality on the eve of turning 30.  Shawn and I are planning to go skydiving next time she is in the states.

We make lists of all the things we’d like to do before we’re 30

I’ve been making many other lists over the last few months, and slowly beginning to check items off.  I have now edited half of the projections that will accompany the songs.  We have edits for nine of the ten interviews, though we’re still adjusting a few of those.  Gretchen and Freddy got back from Italy yesterday, and we’ll shoot our final interview with them this week.  I also, at long last, have a tentative set list that I think will work.  Deciding an order for the songs has been like making the most complicated mixed CD ever, finding the right ebb and flow, taking into consideration the tone of the interviews, juxtaposing tempos and styles.  I played through them all in order yesterday, and I may have figured it out.

The last time Shawn was here in New York we had a blizzard.  The streets were filled with snow and Air France had lost her luggage.  After dinner and wine, I left to do a reading with The Actor’s Company Theater (TACT).  I had been working with them on this beautiful (and obscure) English play from the 1950s called Waters of the Moon.  Set in a run down English manor that has been converted into a hotel in the years just following WWII, the play takes place during a snowstorm that strands a wealthy family at the somewhat unfortunate little inn.  Very Chekhovian in style, the action of the play characterizes the class divide in England.  I played John Daly (a character much like Edmund in Long Day’s Journey Into Night), a young man with consumption who falls in love with the daughter of the wealthy family.  Near the end of the play his sister has the line, “I begin to think the only sin in life is to be unhappy.”  I reference that line in the lyrics to Shawn’s portrait, and it reminds me that to a certain extent, happiness is a choice we make.

(Shawn Kemp as a DJ at Professorennacht, Photo ©2010 Eike Freese)

Now I have a list of things to do that includes more than skydiving.  I suppose I just hadn’t considered 30 to be the deadline.  Working on this project, however, I do see the benefits of giving yourself a timeline and holding yourself to it.  If I wasn’t performing this project as part of Studio Tisch, Mike and I certainly would not be hurtling along at our current speed.  Shawn, by giving herself a deadline, has started doing the things on her list.  She’s learned a bit of Latin and more about wine, and she was a DJ a few weeks ago at Professorennacht – competition among the professors at Tuebingen University, where she teaches in Germany.  As I think more about the things I want to do as I get older, they include: skydiving, seeing something I’ve written be produced (working on that right now), running a marathon, and traveling to Egypt to see the pyramids.  I’ve considered getting a tattoo, but have wisely told myself I have to like an idea for at least two years before doing so.  That has not happened yet.  Regardless, when I sit down at the piano on July 15th I’ll have a least one thing to check off my list.

I took the train out to New Jersey last night with my friend Blake DeLong.  We worked together at Chautauqua a few summers ago with Alex Morf, performing a dark, philosophical play by Albert Camus called The Just.  Alex is now starring in a wildly different piece, a commedia dell’arte play at New Jersey Shakespeare called The Servant of Two Masters.  Commedia is a form of comic theater that began in Italy during the 16th century, known for its use of stock characters and improvisation.  You can see the influences of commedia even now, in the type-specific characters of modern television sitcoms.  I have to tell you, though, it is not an easy thing to do.  We worked on commedia at NYU with Jim Calder, and it has to have both incredibly broad humor as well as a deep commitment to that humor being truthful.  I was never all that good at it.  Alex, however, was meant to do commedia.  He is fantastic as the title character, a servant who tries to please two different masters.  If you get a chance, you should go see him do this role.

(Alex Morf and Matthew Simpson in the Goldoni play, ©2010 Gerry Goodstein)

Christine Mild (“After Apple Picking”) drove a UHaul with her brother across the country this week from New York to Chicago.  I met her for a drink in Queens the night before she left, after they had packed everything they could fit into their truck.  Christine is one of my favorite people and I’m going to miss having her here in New York.  But I also understand why she left.  New York is not an easy place to live and work – it’s relentless, competitive, and unforgiving.  The following day as I again watched the edit of her interview, I was struck by a phrase she says: “Nothing is easy in New York,” and how it echoes the interviews of both Stacey Linnartz and Michael Stuhlbarg.  Consider the similarities.  Stacey: “New York is the city that you love and grow to hate, and LA is the city you hate and grow to love.  And um… although I love New York City, it’s hard… in this town.”  Michael: “I’ve been in this city for 21 years, doing this professionally since 1989 and… I feel so old sometimes.”  I’ve lived in New York for seven years now, and though I love its rhythms and people and art, I understand what each of them mean.

She wears a clown nose and she still breaks your heart (painting by Claude Gillot)

Stacey and I studied commedia with Jim Calder, but we also studied clown with Chris Bayes.  Now clown is not what you think.  No makeup or wigs or circus.  Clown, like commedia, forces you to find a very childlike simplicity in comedy.  Again, Alex Morf is the perfect example of someone who masters this.  Good comedy, like all good art I think, comes from a very honest and truthful place.  Remarkably, it also comes from pain.  As much as you might not want to admit it, nothing is funnier than someone else’s pain, recognizing it as familiar but not your own.  At the end of our class with Chris Bayes, we finally got to wear red noses (a clown and comedy rite of passage) and he named our clowns.  Chris works with idea that every person has one clown in them, a very simple and truthful and innocent person (though possibly also devious, or angry, or sad).  When you find that person, Chris gives your clown a name.  Stacey Linnartz wanted her clown to be fierce and independent, but eventually figured out that she was quite the opposite: a little girl named Crybaby Zero.  My clown was soft spoken and mild mannered, and went by the name Baltimore Peabody, The Vaguely Pathetic.

New York is difficult, but for now it is where I live and work.  I see its beauty and its opportunity, but it also wears me out a little.  I’ll miss having Christine here.  But for now I’ll put on my clown nose and continue to walk the crowded streets.

During the last few weeks I’ve written mostly individual profiles of the subjects in the portraits I’m creating, including Michael Stuhlbarg (“A Soft Spoken Serious Man”).  I’ve also posted demo mp3s and several edited interviews.  But I’ve intentionally written a little less about the projections.

(Filming footage this week in NYC for the song “I Can Breathe Underwater”)

In performance, the interviews and songs will alternate, creating companion visual and musical portraits.  But while I’m playing the songs at the piano, additional film projections will stream across the canvas, mostly abstract images related (tangentially or literally) to the lyrics.  Mike and I decided early on that we could do the project without the projections but not without the interviews, so our focus for the last month has been filming and editing interview footage.  As we near completion of the interviews, we’re turning our attention back to the projections.

The portraits of Michael Stuhlbarg (both song and interview) relate the story of a remarkable night from the summer we worked on Hamlet together.  Amidst a gathering windstorm, Michael continued a soliloquy as tree branches and other debris blew across the stage.  The Public Theater produces Shakespeare in the Park in a beautiful outdoor theater called the Delacorte, and a few weeks ago Mike Heck and I went to Central Park to shoot footage for the projections that will accompany the portrait of Michael Stuhlbarg.  The song, in a sense, is about what it means to be an actor: the dichotomy of working in a very public yet often very solitary profession.  The images from the empty Delacorte hopefully help to capture that feeling.  Mike is editing interview footage, but I’ve started to edit projections.  Below you can watch the footage that will accompany “A Soft Spoken Serious Man.”  I’ve also included a link to just the mp3 below the film.  More multimedia soon.

(Film © 2010 Matthew Carlson and Michael Heck)

A Soft Spoken Serious Man (mp3) by Matthew Carlson

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