Tag: Hip Pocket Theatre

  • Thoughts on Diane (Unedited)

    (This is a follow up on my post from Monday, which dealt with the passing of my dear friend and mentor, Diane Simons.)

    As this week has gone on, and I have reflected on the time that I spent with Diane, I am filled with overwhelming gratitude. For a very important five years of my life, I was guided by and witnessed the creativity, kindness, compassion, optimism and love that Diane filled her life with.

    Working for her out at Hip Pocket Theatre has defined what I view and expect when it comes to leadership in the arts. She was selfless in that regard – the theatre was the thing, and not her. She supported all of the artists that came through the doors, and never wavered in her optimism in that place. No matter what the challenge was, and we faced some pretty serious one, she had faith that we would all make it though the other side. Having spent so many hours with her, I saw her get angry enough times, but she never let that dissuade her from optimism. That and she cleaned the bathrooms before every show, which is still my yardstick when it comes to people I work for in the arts; would they clean the bathrooms in their own theatre? The answer for 90% of them is no. Diane was committed to doing whatever was needed to be done to make the show happen.

    She also taught me what it means to be an artist. How important it is to get out every idea, and see what sticks. To never limit yourself, or say that something can’t be done. She taught me to collect ideas and influences, and the importance of have a notebook, or a sketchpad near you at all times. That art is giving and sharing and encouraging creativity not only in yourself but in others. That fostering creativity begets more creativity and what you put out you will get in return. That being an artist is fun, but it’s also hard work that can be a lot of fun. I can hear her in my head, “Hell Matt, just give it a shot.”

    But what I find myself coming back to often this week was Diane and her family. Her husband and her two daughters. Oh, how she loved them. If you mentioned any of them in her presence, she would just light up. She was so proud of the women that her daughters became, and how unique and individualistic they were. She so loved being their mother, and was excited about what they did, and loved being a part of their lives. But her husband. “That man,” she’d say, and you could tell and feel how much she loved that man. She would get all giggly and flirty when he was around. Theirs’s was an epic partnership; they co-founded Hip Pocket Theatre, but they also taught theatre to thousands, and created a family of artists. They forged a community out of their love.

    And I am just heartbroken for them. They loved her so.

  • My Favorite Memory of Diane (Unedited)

    (This is a follow up on my post from Monday, which dealt with the passing of my dear friend and mentor, Diane Simons.)

    This was during the second year that I worked out at Hip Pocket theatre as their Marketing Director; which was a great title for a job that was 50% marketing work, and 50% everything else that needed to be done to keep the theatre running. It was a small one room office in a building on the property that was rather shanty looking, but also housed the bathrooms and small storage room. Stuff was everywhere, and Diane had a desk in there, along with a space for me to work, and another small desk for the guy, Adam, who was the Development Director, but like me, half of his job was development and the other half was whatever needed to be done.

    I’m pretty sure this happened during the run of “Bad Girls in the Big City” which was a show that sounds more risqué than it actually was, but it did have a very large cast of younger people in it. For that reason, after every show the cast would hang out on the property have a couple of beers and some wine. I wasn’t in this show, but with several friends in it, I would also take part in the post-show activities.

    Whatever night of the run it was, I was up in the office, closing it up. Then Diane came in, unopened bottle wine in hand, and looking a little flush, but smiling and giddy. She came in and sat down at her desk and started talking to me.

    I remember her joking with me about all the people out there, drinking and having a good time. How some things never change, theatre people are very social, and like having a good time.

    Then she shifted, and Diane became introspective and wistful. She went into this sweet melancholy story of being right out of college, and her and Johnny had gone down to Houston and got jobs at the Alley Theatre. And back then, after shows, they and friends from the theatre would go back to their place, and they would take things that would alter their thinking, and put on an album. They would turn down the lights, even light a candle, and just listen silently to the music.

    Diane stopped looking at me and just drifted off, looking to a corner of the office. I could tell she was reliving it all again. And then she smiled. She looked back at me and asked, “Do you do that? Do young people still do things like that?”

    I nodded. “Yeah, we still do that.”

    “Good.” Diane stood up, and grabbed her bottle of wine. “Have fun and don’t stay too late.” She swept out of the office, calling back to me; “See you tomorrow.”

  • The First Time I Met Diane (Unedited)

    (This is a follow up on my post from yesterday, which dealt with the passing of my dear friend and mentor, Diane Simons.)

    I want to say that this all happened over the Summer of 1996. I was nineteen years old, and a professional slacker, as that was the term then. I was in between universities, and when I wasn’t smoking cigarettes and thinking about how great I am having accomplished nothing, I spent all my time hanging out with my old high school friends in our home town.

    One night, two of my friends thought it would be a good idea for us to go way the hell out, to the sticks of west Fort Worth, and see a play in the woods. I’m pretty sure this is how the idea was sold to me. The reason to see this play was that one of my friends had promised their theatre teacher at the community college they were attending that they would go see this play, which was “Lysistrata.”

    When I say it was way the hell out there, I mean we must have drove for over an hour, and the took the wrong exit off of 820. And this was so far away from the city that there were no street lights, nor any other people on the road. It was just darkness and trees. My friends had written down directions, but they didn’t make sense. Only when we tried the next exit off the highway, did we finally see the hand painted sign for Hip Pocket Theatre.

    There was a long drive way that lead to the parking lot in the back of the property, but along that drive you had to pass the outdoor theatre, and we could see that the play had started and we were late. We debated whether we should attempt to go in, as we were late, and concluded that we would at least try.

    Crossing the lawn to the weathered gray wood shanty of a box-office, a woman popped out of that building and waved us over. She looked like an old hippie; salt and pepper hair in a bun on the top of her head, large glasses, and lots of colorful flowing clothes. “Show’s started, but I can get you in,” she said to us.

    We forked over our money, and she lead us to a steep staircase that was next to the sound and lighting booth. “Climb that and there will be seats in the last row,” she told us. Cresting the top of the stairs, we fully took in this theatre whose stage was encircled by branches of oak trees creating a natural amphitheater. It all had a rustic natural feel, and was one of the most unique and original spaces I have ever been in.

    And the show was great. Bawdy, hilarious, offensive, sincere, playful, and sweet.