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 After a week on the job, I had lost all my shyness and was calling all around town in an effort to drum up support. I had the world-weary tone of a busy professional when I spoke to the media. Me, talking to the media. I was excited to be part of such a creative industry. |
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Richard and I spent a few hectic days on the problem of lighting: the salt shed was equipped only with six lightbulbs, and all of them were 40' above the floor. After a lot of discussion we decided to rig our own system of lights instead of renting conventional spotlights from a staging company. Since the salt shed was round, Richard determined that the runway for the models should be cross-shaped, dividing the floor of the shed (which would be free of salt) into four quadrants. The lights would go above, strung along cables, and they would be simple bare bulbs in sockets. He was oddly confident that there would be no electrical problems, and we both had plenty to think about. |
| We needed to find a place for the models to change. There were no convenient buildings, so we decided to rent a small cube van and park it next to the entrance to the shed. The weather was turning cold, too, and the salt shed was effectively an outdoor space: no door, just a large opening, and no heating either. We decided we would put up a big curtain stapled to the frame of the opening. If the budget could stretch to include it, we would rent heaters and set them up early on the day of the show, hoping we could keep the space warm enough for guests. |    |
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As the days hurtled past, Richard and Jennifer were preoccupied with the clothes, and it was up to me to get the guests and the media on the right lists, organize a seating plan, arrange the volunteers and make sure everything was taken care of. For the last week before the show, I was on the phone constantly. Richard had decided that the most cost-effective runway would be one made of a layer of fresh sod laid over the concrete floor of the shed -- since it was the end of the season for garden work,he argued, sod would be cheap. His hunch was right: we got a very visually effective surface which reflected the spring/summer theme of the show for less than a hundred dollars. |
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| On the day of the show I arrived on the site at 8 AM, to find that City Works had cleaned the shed and its yard so it was completely spotless. I found out later that they brought in crews from the suburbs to do this, at their own expense: the City employees showed great enthusiasm for the show and even helped us set it up. In fact, at one point, one of them brought us some pizzas and pop he had ordered, saying that we looked hungry. We were. We needed all the help we could get. |
| First the sod arrived, the sound system was delivered, and then the chairs, which we had rented from a concert hall, and it all had to be put in place. The electrician appeared and worked his magic on the one electrical box in the shed, so we could hook up the lights we had put together. Then he disappeared, saying he'd be back an hour before the show. Half an hour after he left, the lights went off and nothing we did made them go on again. Mental note: either keep an electrician on site all day, or learn how to do it myself. Every time I called the electrician, I sounded more and more like I was screaming. |  |
Despite this setback, the site was a hive of activity. A videographer was filming the event and its preparation for a project prowled around, taking shots of the action that was transforming the barren salt shed into a working show space. Finally the electrician strolled back into the shed, at 5 PM. We had finished the runway and assembling the chairs; the show was to start in two hours, and the curtain hadn't arrived yet to be put up. We had given up on renting heaters, since they wouldn't have been very effective -- I had been telling guests and media to dress as for the outdoors. And it was a chilly evening in late October. |
| I started to warm apple cider on a gigantic gas burner we had rented. We also put tea-light candles into little holders for guests to warm themselves with. The curtain finally arrived just before the models did, at 6:15, and then our volunteers wrestled into place against an wind. It made a stirring sight from the road, these men on ladders struggling with a shiny silver cloth waving in a bright diagonal across the pink-blue twilight. |  |
| A glad cry rose from Richard and Jennifer in the shed as the lights went on again. Guests began to arrive. Everybody seemed to want something, the volunteers seemed to have vanished and it was up to me to hold back the tide of visitors who were trying to seat themselves even as the seaters were putting name tags on reserved chairs and the curtain was still not on the frame. |
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I'm not great with chaos, I admit, and before I knew it I was in a sort of berserker rage which was enough to scare the guests back to the gates. I shut the gates and ran back to the shed, shouting "Everything's falling apart!" I turned around to find the videographer recording my tantrum on tape. How embarrassing. My sister arrived. "Anything I can do to help out?" "Yes," I gasped, "Tell people at the gates that there will be a slight delay before they are admitted!" |
| "Calm down," she advised. I took a few deep breaths and she strolled off, looking much calmer than I felt. Finally we were able to admit all the guests, and they took their places as the DJ played the introduction. |
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| All our work was
on display: the event and the clothing all worked together to form a whole,
which had turned from an abstraction into a reality. First the handbag designer's
creations went out, and then Bjork's "Bachelorette" came over the sound
system and Mercy's spring/summer collection went on display. It was
a huge collection for a small company -- fifty complete outfits -- and thirty-five
models, who were struggling in the chill of the rented cube van so they
could emerge, immaculate and lovely, into the brightness of the transformed
shed. We had achieved the dreamlike effect we wanted: in the huge dark dome
of the shed, in the brisk chill of late October, models in summer clothes
walked along a runway of lawn.
The show was very short, after all that labor: only twenty minutes, and then Richard and Jennifer were led out by the applauding models, to the acclaim of the audience. The volunteers and I doled out the cider, which steamed deliciously in the cold still air of the event space, and the band played. Despite the cold, many people stayed to talk, meet the designers, and sip. Then the guests left, and we began our cleanup. Producing the show was an exhausting but fascinating experience. I made a lot of mistakes, and I learned a lot about how things should be done. Now I've agreed to produce Mercy's Fall/Winter 1998 show in March. I can't promise to keep completely calm, but I know, this time, that I can do the job.
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