Humbled at Puppetfest Midwest

I recently returned from an amazing week of puppetry in the middle of nowhere; Trenton, Missouri. Once again I was honored to be on the staff of Puppetfest Midwest, an intense puppetry conference that features week-long workshops and nightly performances.

I taught 8 students about our polyfoam puppet techniques and their results were just fantastic. We had a wide range of skill levels and age levels in our class. As the week progressed the bond that grew between the students was really neat to watch. Just look at the amazing characters that these folks created. Awesome!

A true highlight of the week for me was performing our production called "A Show of Virtues." One of the many triumphs that has been cultivated at Puppetfest Midwest is public attendance at festival performances. This is no easy task and yet over the years the public has come to not only look forward to this week of puppeteers overrunning their town, they embrace it! I dare say that over the 9-year history of this festival, the Trenton townsfolk might very well have seen more puppetry than a lot of us puppeteers!

This year, it was one of these local Trentonites who paid me perhaps the highest compliment that I have ever received and I will never forget it.

"A Show of Virtues" begins and ends with this simple line, "This could be your lucky day." I first performed "A Show of Virtues" at Puppetfest Midwest back in 2006. Following that performance, Festival Artistic Director Peter Allen led an audience member backstage to meet me. It was obvious that she had been crying and I came to learn that the final story in the performance, "Why Frog and Snake Don't Play Together" had uncovered some childhood intolerance that she had experienced and that emotional recall had brought her to tears. Oh the power of puppetry! As Peter Allen succinctly put it to me, "it's amazing that your crappy hunks of foam on sticks, telling the simplest of stories, are a powerful enough catalyst to open some door she had shut long ago." Amazing indeed.

Fast forward to this year's performance of the same show. Peter Allen again brought this same special person backstage. Again she had been crying. She told me more about the circumstances of the intolerance from her childhood. I was so glad to see her again. It was amazing and humbling to hear how the stories in my performance had affected her. She explained that seeing the performance this time had been very healing for her and that she was so glad that she had come to the theatre again. Then she said the words that rocked me. She said simply and plainly as our conversation drew to a close, "do you know what? This really was my lucky day, and I thank you."

It meant so much to me that she would take away that small essence of what I was trying to convey with that simple opening and closing line. As a performer it is so necessary to keep a clear conduit between performance and audience and I'm always cognizant of this. It was a triumph for me that these words stuck with her! I was so humbled by her sincerity. I packed up my show feeling the warmth of that compliment and realized yet again how powerfully our theatre form can stir so many emotions within people.

Doug Swink

When I think about the people who helped shape my career in puppetry, a lot of folks come to mind. But three really stand out.


The inimitable Daniel Llords, "one man, two hands," really inspired me as a boy when I saw him perform at Davidson College. His virtuoso performance; his stage crammed with over a hundred marionettes; his cigar-smoking French guy in a sidewalk cafe; are you kidding me? It was completely mind-blowing and set me on this course for life.

Donald Devet, who I worked with for years and years at Grey Seal Puppets, probably did more to influence my current approach to puppetry and puppet theatre philosophy than anyone else.

But the man who to this day puts a tear in my eye when I think about how he helped me so very much wasn't a puppeteer at all. But he did more for me as a person and a puppeteer than I could ever imagine at the time. It's now, in hindsight, that I see the enormity of his investment in me.

His name was Doug Swink, Theatre Professor and amazing Renaissance Man at my Alma Mater, The University of North Carolina at Wilmington.

When I arrived at UNC-Wilmington, full of innocent stupidity and stupid innocence, I went to the Theatre Department and announced to no one in particular that I was a puppeteer and I needed a space to work. The details are a little fuzzy, but I don't believe that the secretary even looked up from her papers; she simply said "go see Doug Swink over at Kenan Auditorium."

So, I did. I made the same announcement to Doug, right there in the lobby of Kenan Auditorium, his preferred place to do his administrating. He stared at me for what seemed an eternity. He twiddled his moustache toy. His blue eyes twinkled. Finally he said, "come with me." I followed him to the second floor where he showed me a vacant faculty office. "Will this do?" he asked.

For the rest of my time at UNC-W I was given this space to use as my own. To this day I find this just so incredible. But it didn't stop there. Doug Swink took me under his wing and tutored me on everything theatre. He critiqued my puppets, he coached my puppeteering and he taught me what constituted a good story.



While at UNC-W I produced two original performances; "A Show of Emotions," and "The Aged Puppeteer." In hindsight these works were pivotal and crucial to my career as a professional puppeteer. Doug Swink guided me through every stage of these pieces with patience, humor and brutal honesty.

Doug Swink was just fantastic. I will never forget him. He made me a better puppeteer. He gave me countless hours of his life and asked only that I do the best work that I was capable of. All the while twiddling his moustache toy, all the while with a twinkle in his eye.