Old Faithful
Off and on for many years I worked on TV and movie sets as the On-set Dresser. This is the person who is the sole representative of the otherwise unwieldy Art Department working with the camera crew. (Usually he) works with the camera guys, the Directors, Directors of Photography, the grips, the electricians, the Prop department, the actors, etc. to maintain the set dressing (read: furniture) while shooting. He moves the correct dressing into the shot or out of the way as needed.
It can be very rewarding. If you can find a good vibe with the Creatives you can help sculpt beautiful still life images. You can save the day with just the right shape, color, creative solution involving MacGuyer-like tactics of fabrication and guile.
However, most of the time you’re just humping filing cabinets around and bitching at the crew about where they take their naps and whose goddamn coffee cup just got knocked over…
Anyway, On-set Dressers have “kits.” These are rolling carts or cabinets that contain all manner of… stuff. Tools, sure, but things with which to bind things to other things. Things with which to hang things from other things. Things with which to magically disappear the fake (or real?) blood stain from the silk whatever. The On-set Dresser is the chimney sweep/shoe shiner/tincture salesman of the movie world and their kits contain a smidge of everything.
I just sold mine.
The Department-of-One life of an On-set can be lonely and frustrating and the kit is akin to a mobile home. Mine had protein bars, tampons, chapstick and pretty smelling lotions to whisk me away from my temper to someplace smelling of plumeria. I would lean on it heavily while cursing under my breath and chucking coffee down my throat. Sometimes I would want to curl up underneath it. I was always confident it had everything I would ever need and it brought me a fair amount of solace on the rough all-night shoots in the cold and wet, urine soaked alleys of downtown Los Angeles. In return, I took good care of it.
Today, I dug mine out from behind my apartment where it had been waiting for a good home. I took it apart, dusted it, removed any personal effects, topped off the tires and put it back together again.
The teamster arrived, strapped it into his stake-bed truck and drove it away (more on Teamsters later). I balefully watched him drive away.
I knew I would have all kinds of feelings about selling it: it was a secret friend; a source of “Check out my sweet ride.” pride and a symbol of my professional competence. Except I don’t want to do it anymore. It’s a hard job– physically and emotionally draining. The money is sweet, but after so many years I was starting to lose it.
So I quit. I wanted to start to be who I want to be when I grow up.
But I kept my kit neatly tucked in storage. Just in case. But, as most, balls to the wall dreamers and visionaries will tell you, security blankets and safety nets will not Get You Where You Want To Go. The philosophy being that the fewer things you have to catch you from free fall, the harder you will scrabble up the cliff to your dreams.
My kit was my last symbolic tether to The Grind.
Hence, today, I feel like I’m swinging in the ether. I know this will pass and I’ll redouble my efforts but right now I could sure use a hug.