videos by ...Forgotten Artist Productions...
1. An Introduction To ...forgotten artist productions...
2. Reasons For Starting ...forgotten artist productions...
3. Launch Party On December 06, 2014
4. Launch Party on December 06, 2014 - Jess Erick
5. Launch Party on December 06, 2014 - Reading from WHERE ART LIVES
6. Promo Video - WHERE ART LIVES
7. Videos From The Production Of WHERE ART LIVES - March 2015
A. Opening and Scene 1
B. Scene 3
C. Scene 5
D. Scene 8
E. Scene 9
F. Scene 10
G. Curtain Call and Credits
8. Short Video Promo for NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND and The Photography of Mike Hoskins - 2015
9. Short Video of The Photography of Mike Hoskins - NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - August 2015
10. Rehearsal Video For The Theatre Production Of "Eliminated." October 2015.
11. Promo Video For The Theatre Production Of "Eliminated." October 2015.
12. "Eliminated" Short Film Teasers. 2016.
13. "Thumb Wrestler" Short Film Trailers. 2017.
14. Promo - FIFTEEN MINUTES WITH ELLEN - Planet Connections Theatre Festivity - 2017.
15. Facebook Live Promo - FIFTEEN MINUTES WITH ELLEN - Planet Connections Theatre Festivity - 2017.
16. "Thumb Wrestler 2" Short Film Trailer. 2018.
17. Script/Story Analysis Class Promo Video. 2018.
18. "Jordey The Movie" Short Film Trailer. 2019.
19. Clips from the "Jazz John" Film Shoot. 2019.
20. Eliminated (Entire Short Film)
21. Jordey The Movie (Entire Short Film)
22. Script and Story Analysis Class Online (Sample Lesson)
23. Literature As Activism For Inequality Class Online (Sample Lesson)
24. Forgotten Artist Studio and Education Promo 1
VIDEOS ABOUT ...forgotten artist productions...
PHOTO Gallery
1. Saturday, December 06, 2014 Launch Party/Fundraiser
2. WHERE ART LIVES Rehearsal Photos - 2015
3. WHERE ART LIVES - Production Photos - 2015
4. Photos By Michael (Mike) Hoskins (NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - August 2015)
5. Photos of Ben Pease (NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - September 2015)
6. Photos of Craig Fox (NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - October 2015)
7. Photos From The Theatre Production Of "Eliminated." October 2015.
8. Photos Of Roberto Bonazzi And His Literary Work (NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - November 2015)
9. Photos Of Lauren Brickman And Her Acting/Improvisation/Writing (NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - December 2015)
10. Photos Of Alex McFarlane (NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - January 2016)
11. Photos of Robert "Maddadan" Wilson (NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - Spring 2016, Summer 2016, Fall 2016, Winter 2017, Spring 2017, and Summer 2017)
12. Photos for the Film Production of "Eliminated" - 2016
13. Photo from the Reading of FIFTEEN MINUTES WITH ELLEN - August 2016
14. Photos from the Film Production of "Thumb Wrestler" - 2016
15. Photos from the Theatre Production of FIFTEEN MINUTES WITH ELLEN - 2017
16. Photos from the Film Production of "Thumb Wrestler 2" - 2017
17. Photos from the Film Production of "Oatmelio's" - 2018
18. Photos from the Film Production of "Jazz John" - 2019
19. Photos from the Short Film "Jordey The Movie" - 2019
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Video Gallery
1. Videos by Ben Pease (NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - September 2015)
2. Videos About Roberto Bonazzi And His Literary Work (NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - November 2015)
3. Videos About Lauren Brickman And Her Acting/Improvisation/Writing (NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - December 2015)
4. Official Music Video, Boss Man, by Robert "Maddadan" Wilson (NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - Spring 2016, Summer 2016, Fall 2016, Winter 2017, Spring 2017, and Summer 2017)
Art Gallery
1. Images of Art by Alex McFarlane (NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - January 2016)
Literary Gallery
1. Poems by Ben Pease (NO ARTIST LEFT BEHIND - September 2015)
Reprinted from:
Brooklyn Poets
since 1855
POET OF THE WEEK
BEN PEASE
December 15-21, 2014
_
Chateau Wichman VII
stuck in a game
of hot potato
between rapture and dismay
The Wichman found
both hands
burned
heard a knocking
definitely at his door
felt his heart at once
expanding
and shrinking
as when one squeezes
a water balloon
too hard off-center
was The Wichman’s
great desire
realizing itself
or was this all a cruel
dream or joke
put on by these
Sage Editors
who only bothered him
with scraps of potential
propaganda
kept mentioning how he
possessed THE MANIFOLD
MIND
which didn’t interest The Wichman
in the slightest
though it assured him
the Sage Editors understood
The Wichman himself
was mythologically
inadequate as is
most recently The Wichman
found a slip of paper magneted
to the fridge which he read aloud
memorize this
Here Men From The Planet Earth
First Set Foot Upon The Moon
We Came In Peace For All Mankind
Neil A Armstrong
Astronaut
Michael Collins
Astronaut
Edwin E Aldrin Jr
Astronaut
Richard Nixon
President
United States Of America
but The Wichman wasn’t thinking
too hard about all this
he happened to be
staring at the front door
he always failed
to lock
its hinges the same
as any other
today they glided open
as if strung with pearls
a most high
a most radiant
light bore through it
like a hole carved
into the heart
of a mountain
to illuminate
the dwarven king’s grave
even though the hallway
was windowless
and without any kind
of light rigging
The Wichman
would claim
til the day he died
he could only
make out
a silhouette
of a woman
she irritated him
she repulsed him
she made rise
the crest
of his right eyebrow
a woman
a woman
with a potato-juice
tan dressed in a (unfortunately
for The Wichman’s aversion
to red) rosebud
negligee with
a gumball-machine
gold necklace
reading DAPHNE
in foxtail cursive
The Wichman had seen this name
freshly affixed
in red embossing tape
on the buzzer downstairs
Daphne caressed her arms
as if she were rolling up her sleeves
and said “why don’t you come over
for a smoke”
The Wichman would never
decline an invitation
but stipulated “I will only
go as far as the threshing floor”
he received a metal cigarette
in his palm and thought “who
can behold these two hands
of mine
who can steady
this [manifold] mind?”
Brooklyn Poets
since 1855
POET OF THE WEEK
BEN PEASE
December 15-21, 2014
_
Chateau Wichman VII
stuck in a game
of hot potato
between rapture and dismay
The Wichman found
both hands
burned
heard a knocking
definitely at his door
felt his heart at once
expanding
and shrinking
as when one squeezes
a water balloon
too hard off-center
was The Wichman’s
great desire
realizing itself
or was this all a cruel
dream or joke
put on by these
Sage Editors
who only bothered him
with scraps of potential
propaganda
kept mentioning how he
possessed THE MANIFOLD
MIND
which didn’t interest The Wichman
in the slightest
though it assured him
the Sage Editors understood
The Wichman himself
was mythologically
inadequate as is
most recently The Wichman
found a slip of paper magneted
to the fridge which he read aloud
memorize this
Here Men From The Planet Earth
First Set Foot Upon The Moon
We Came In Peace For All Mankind
Neil A Armstrong
Astronaut
Michael Collins
Astronaut
Edwin E Aldrin Jr
Astronaut
Richard Nixon
President
United States Of America
but The Wichman wasn’t thinking
too hard about all this
he happened to be
staring at the front door
he always failed
to lock
its hinges the same
as any other
today they glided open
as if strung with pearls
a most high
a most radiant
light bore through it
like a hole carved
into the heart
of a mountain
to illuminate
the dwarven king’s grave
even though the hallway
was windowless
and without any kind
of light rigging
The Wichman
would claim
til the day he died
he could only
make out
a silhouette
of a woman
she irritated him
she repulsed him
she made rise
the crest
of his right eyebrow
a woman
a woman
with a potato-juice
tan dressed in a (unfortunately
for The Wichman’s aversion
to red) rosebud
negligee with
a gumball-machine
gold necklace
reading DAPHNE
in foxtail cursive
The Wichman had seen this name
freshly affixed
in red embossing tape
on the buzzer downstairs
Daphne caressed her arms
as if she were rolling up her sleeves
and said “why don’t you come over
for a smoke”
The Wichman would never
decline an invitation
but stipulated “I will only
go as far as the threshing floor”
he received a metal cigarette
in his palm and thought “who
can behold these two hands
of mine
who can steady
this [manifold] mind?”
Reprinted from:
notnostrums 6
Ben Pease
_
Chateau Wichman XII
The TV flickered on startling The Wichman out of his thinking man pose. He couldn't tell how he got there, if he was beside or outside himself or why every channel had nothing but a black screen and the thrum of a female operatic choir. The Wichman tried to mute the damned thing but the voices rose out of various antique radios he at one time liked to collect. He picked up the phone to complain but the voices were there too. He went to his closet to find a hammer or book suitable for smashing, but the voices came from all directions, filled every appliance in every house and flooded the streets so The Wichman decided he had no choice but to sit back and listen, and he might as well watch too. The Wichman enjoyed staring into the black screen, it reminded him of when the world all at once spoke to him. The screen flashed white, an American Flag flapping in the wind, then the voices in unison broke into speech.
There was something formless and perfect
before the universe was born.
It is serene. Empty.
Solitary. Unchanging.
Infinite. Eternally present.
It is the mother of the universe.
For lack of a better name,
I call it The Wichman.
A street sweeper shoots down one side as the cars one by one return to their parking spaces. The voices return to a thrum, cut to the replay from the football game, the ball end over end sailing upwards until it is freeze-framed within the moon, the female choir again compelled to words.
The moon allows things to happen.
She shapes events as they come.
She steps out of the way
and lets The Wichman speak for itself.
Above the freshly re-parked cars, a red and blue cyclone parallel to the ground rushes through the air. The crowd waiting at the bus stop scatters into nearby bars and shops, those stuck in their cars crouch beneath steering wheels and cover their heads with their hands. The Wichman stands prominent in the middle of the street, looks around dazed, smiles. The far-winged bluebirds sound out from the aviary double helix and cheer The Wichman. The cardinals chip-chip with delight. Drowning the incessant drones of the choir, the birds whirlpool around The Wichman, each cardinal intertwining with a bluebird, filling the street with feathers, blinding the camera until all is again white. The American Flag waves across the screen, and the songs of the birds are stilled in favor of the choir:
The moon does her job
and then stops.
She understands that the universe
is forever out of control,
and that trying to dominate events
goes against the current of The Wichman.
notnostrums 6
Ben Pease
_
Chateau Wichman XII
The TV flickered on startling The Wichman out of his thinking man pose. He couldn't tell how he got there, if he was beside or outside himself or why every channel had nothing but a black screen and the thrum of a female operatic choir. The Wichman tried to mute the damned thing but the voices rose out of various antique radios he at one time liked to collect. He picked up the phone to complain but the voices were there too. He went to his closet to find a hammer or book suitable for smashing, but the voices came from all directions, filled every appliance in every house and flooded the streets so The Wichman decided he had no choice but to sit back and listen, and he might as well watch too. The Wichman enjoyed staring into the black screen, it reminded him of when the world all at once spoke to him. The screen flashed white, an American Flag flapping in the wind, then the voices in unison broke into speech.
There was something formless and perfect
before the universe was born.
It is serene. Empty.
Solitary. Unchanging.
Infinite. Eternally present.
It is the mother of the universe.
For lack of a better name,
I call it The Wichman.
A street sweeper shoots down one side as the cars one by one return to their parking spaces. The voices return to a thrum, cut to the replay from the football game, the ball end over end sailing upwards until it is freeze-framed within the moon, the female choir again compelled to words.
The moon allows things to happen.
She shapes events as they come.
She steps out of the way
and lets The Wichman speak for itself.
Above the freshly re-parked cars, a red and blue cyclone parallel to the ground rushes through the air. The crowd waiting at the bus stop scatters into nearby bars and shops, those stuck in their cars crouch beneath steering wheels and cover their heads with their hands. The Wichman stands prominent in the middle of the street, looks around dazed, smiles. The far-winged bluebirds sound out from the aviary double helix and cheer The Wichman. The cardinals chip-chip with delight. Drowning the incessant drones of the choir, the birds whirlpool around The Wichman, each cardinal intertwining with a bluebird, filling the street with feathers, blinding the camera until all is again white. The American Flag waves across the screen, and the songs of the birds are stilled in favor of the choir:
The moon does her job
and then stops.
She understands that the universe
is forever out of control,
and that trying to dominate events
goes against the current of The Wichman.
Reprinted from:
BORT QUARTERLY
Ben Pease
from Fugitives of Speech
Book 1: Ludlow Resevoirs V.
Book 2: Fools of Inconsequence VIII.
_
Ludlow Resevoirs V.
hushed voices from the dark side
of fate’s rotunda curved or rushed
to Mallender’s ear if he liked it or not
elusive notes of the future
Mallender placed his abilities
on the spectrum of clairvoyance
nowhere near the galaxy-spanning
prescience of Paul Atriedes and co.
from the Dune universe but also never
had he encountered Dead Zone nightmares
of a thousand hands upon him
each hand another grim certainty
Mallender instead saw his gift
as similar to Peter Boyle’s character
in the X-Files episode
“Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose”
where a serial killer hunted down
all variety of seers soothsayers and mystics
but Clyde Bruckman stood out
as the most believable
(not only in his admiration of Scully)
but once in someone’s presence
an accurate vision
of their death became clear
the closer the person the closer the fate
Mallender began to say (to himself)
and though Mallender could only see
immediate futures of no particular importantance
they all lingered in his mind
each future a two-tone chorus
in a gallery of voices
thus Mallender cherished Jo-Ann Fabrics
for the low-tide possibilities
of its customers
old folks with nothing to bar them
from 5 hours with their “NORMAL
is only a setting on the dryer” needlepoint
midwinters of mile-a-minute afghans
even the “pine on black” holiday napkins
that never quite make it out the linen closet
crazy quilts of dead men’s shirts
all provided Mallender something soft
and certain where he could rest
his over-stimulated mind
Mallender could see Jean walking back
as she did every Thursday
from the outdoor ATM
slipping the $20 into her front-apron pocket
he could smell that party sized-pizza
half double cheese half combo
sub hamburg for the pepperoni
sub onions for red onions
what the occasion Mallender was not certain
but it was vital that he eventually be invited
to find purpose for his visions
he had to go and make a new friend
BORT QUARTERLY
Ben Pease
from Fugitives of Speech
Book 1: Ludlow Resevoirs V.
Book 2: Fools of Inconsequence VIII.
_
Ludlow Resevoirs V.
hushed voices from the dark side
of fate’s rotunda curved or rushed
to Mallender’s ear if he liked it or not
elusive notes of the future
Mallender placed his abilities
on the spectrum of clairvoyance
nowhere near the galaxy-spanning
prescience of Paul Atriedes and co.
from the Dune universe but also never
had he encountered Dead Zone nightmares
of a thousand hands upon him
each hand another grim certainty
Mallender instead saw his gift
as similar to Peter Boyle’s character
in the X-Files episode
“Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose”
where a serial killer hunted down
all variety of seers soothsayers and mystics
but Clyde Bruckman stood out
as the most believable
(not only in his admiration of Scully)
but once in someone’s presence
an accurate vision
of their death became clear
the closer the person the closer the fate
Mallender began to say (to himself)
and though Mallender could only see
immediate futures of no particular importantance
they all lingered in his mind
each future a two-tone chorus
in a gallery of voices
thus Mallender cherished Jo-Ann Fabrics
for the low-tide possibilities
of its customers
old folks with nothing to bar them
from 5 hours with their “NORMAL
is only a setting on the dryer” needlepoint
midwinters of mile-a-minute afghans
even the “pine on black” holiday napkins
that never quite make it out the linen closet
crazy quilts of dead men’s shirts
all provided Mallender something soft
and certain where he could rest
his over-stimulated mind
Mallender could see Jean walking back
as she did every Thursday
from the outdoor ATM
slipping the $20 into her front-apron pocket
he could smell that party sized-pizza
half double cheese half combo
sub hamburg for the pepperoni
sub onions for red onions
what the occasion Mallender was not certain
but it was vital that he eventually be invited
to find purpose for his visions
he had to go and make a new friend