Austin immediately found another dust-encrusted piece of fabric after the paint sweater. But this one was a paint cap. It had the same colored dry pigment specks as the sweater and I imagined the paint flying through the air as Moses painted the drop. It suggested the speed at which Moses painted, one of his greatest strengths.
The speed at which scenery was painted reduced the overall labor costs, thus returned the greatest profits to the shareholders. In 1881, Moses had recorded, “The others were able to draw more, because they were better in the artistic end, but I had it over them when it came to speed.” And it was this speed that mattered in both a studio and as a freelance artist.
Upon closer inspection of the little black cap, I noticed the Masonic insignia. This wasn’t simply any painter’s cap, it had a Scottish Rite eagle on it! It was just too much to comprehend and I floated back to the hotel after work. When you receive news that is so absolutely fantastic, there is a moment where you just want to keep it to yourself. I didn’t immediately call my husband, tell my mother, or notify any colleague. For just a day, I savored the discovery with the crew.
(Moses wearing New York)
(Had while painting drop curtain)
(Moses painting landscape in center of studio photo)
(Studio photo)
This was a turning point in my career and I could feel that this was simply the beginning. These artifacts, their discovery, and their further linking Freemasonry with scenic art would continue to expand.
We slowly progressed across the studio, pulling a variety of theatrical artifacts from the gap such as lining sticks, a pounce wheel handle, 1924 news papers, teaspoons, Masonic buttons, miniature wooden battens to support scenic designs, and more. By this time I had a little mound of treasured items near the edge.
Then a grey knitted rag appeared, so filthy that the dirt just fell from it. Upon closer inspection, I realized that it was an old paint sweater as I noticed the paint spots. Little dabs of white paint were all over the sweater. I was trying to determine whether this could possible an article of clothing that belonged to a scenic artist. If the spots were just white it could have belonged to any painter working throughout the building during its construction. The various spaces in the building would have received a coat of white primer.
In the dim light, I intently peer at the little areas of color. Was this the patter in the fabric? Soon, I determined that it was in fact dry pigment and a wide range of colors! Luckily, I was extremely familiar with the appearance of dry pigment paint on my clothes. When it sets on top the fabric, it looks like little dabs of pastels (colored chalk), not simply blobs of paint.
I knew that this sweater belonged to a scenic artist, and the likely hood that it was Moses’ was very great. The nearby artifacts would support this theory, as well as his diary entries from his time spent painting in Fort Scott, but there would be one aspect about the sweater that would support my theory and it wouldn’t happen util after my return to Minesota.
Later, I would stage the sweater for a series of photograph to document detail of the sweater with measurements in my Bloomington office. During this photo shoot I looked at the pocket button. When I looked at the left pocket, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and that little voice of intuition say, “Check the pockets.” I stuck my fingers in the pocket and felt something. Tears came to my eyes as I pulled out pink and white flower petals.
There is something about finding an article of clothing belonging to an artist that is awe-inspiring, especially when you have studied this particular artist for a few decades. It is something else entirely when you discover such a personal aspect. The petals in his pocket meant something to him, enough for him to pick them up and tuck them in his pocket.
Moses was a romantic and it is very apparent in the writing of his handwritten diaries, typed manuscript and newspaper submissions. He incorporated poetic phrases and sentimental touches to many situations. And Moses noticed flowers, commenting on them throughout his life.
In 1925, Moses wrote:
“… we were busy watching the annual Flower Parade through the principal streets of the city…However, as it was our first view, we will have to admit that it had some very interesting features in it, as many of the floats were made of the actual live flowers, the others artificial.”
The discovery of the paintbrush in loft above the stage prompted an extensive search. Soon, I was sitting in the dirt and peering two feet down into a six-inch gap along the studio floor, looking for more treasure. Austin’s arms were far longer, so he pulled out the majority of the items. It quickly became apparent to my crew that this was not a case of “finders keepers” as had been the case with the remainder of trash piles scattered throughout the building. I now confiscated everything, hoping to add to even more artistic provenance for the Fort Scott scenery collection.
In the same spot from where we retrieved the scenic brush, colorful pieces of wood began to emerge. I immediately identified these slats as pieces from dry pigment boxes. With each new discovery, I expressed extreme delight!
Brandon and Austin shot me a puzzling glance, almost every time that I examined an artifact. Occasionally they asked, “Are you taking THAT back to Minnesota too!?!” Their skepticism was understandable as most of the finds resembled construction trash, or broken bits of wood, in the dim light. Although they were broken and dirty, the pigment boxes still displayed the vibrant colors of their original contents.
What was a secondary surprise were the shipping labels. Although faded, black stencils denoted the manufacturer and client! For years, I had tracked down the various dry pigment suppliers in Chicago, trying to identify those who supplied Sosman & Landis Studios with their colors. I could now verify at least one of the suppliers for painted scenery projects.
The dry pigment had been shipped to “Sosman and Landis c/o the Scottish Rite Fort Scott, Kansas.” For me, this was a smoking gun
Dry pigment bins in a scenic studio
All the while, I kept thinking of the folk song “Little Boxes” with Malvina Reynold’s lyrics:
“There’s a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.”
Well, just like transporting 300 pounds of whiting and a wooden barrel, I was taking some “ticky-tacky” home.
I climbed twenty-feet up above the stage, using the narrow metal ladder to reach a level that had once possibly been Thomas G. Moses’ onsite paint studio. At the age of sixty-eight, Moses had ascended this same ladder multiple times every day during his brief stay in Fort Scott to paint the scenery. I was reminded once again that scenic art has never been a profession for the weak.
The platform, or studio floor, above the stage area was now in abandoned ruins. In June 2014, all contents in the building had been auctioned off. By 2015 any artifacts remaining in the complex were only small piles of discarded items. Up here, there were only mounds of dirt and debris.
I tried to imagine the space as it was 1924 – a paint studio, complete with impromptu paint tables holding pots of color and brushes, maybe even buckets of water and a drop tacked onto the temporary frame. My initial hope had started to plummet, realizing that Austin might have been right and only the single barrel of whiting remained – nothing else.
Regardless, my first task was to look for splotches of dry pigment color on the floor marking paint spills or where the colorful powder had leaked from either bags or boxes. Areas with dry pigment could verify Moses’ onsite paint studio. The barrel of whiting could have technically have belonged to any onsite painter, not just a scenic artist. I needed more information.
There was almost too much dirt to even identify what was beneath my feet or what the floor was constructed of in the dim light. I continued my trek across the space, carefully looking down and trying to spot any anomaly amongst piles of dirt. Did I bring my flashlight up here? No, of course not. I tripped and kicked up some dust. Coughing, I also realized that I didn’t have my particle mask. It was next to my flashlight in the auditorium.
Oh well, I thought. Opening the barrel of whiting would warrant another trip up here anyway. I continued onto the barrel, careful not to trip in the dark – again- and I recognized that I could be courting disaster. No flashlight, no particle mask, and no railing along the steep edge. All I needed to do was to cough, trip, stumble and fall to the stage floor. The idea of this catastrophe resulting from Murphy’s law made me giggle. I had already tripped over the tubes downstairs and my ankle was swollen beyond recognition! I had a mental image of shouting “Charge!” and attempting to race up a staircase with my swollen ankle. What was I thinking?!?!
These distracting thoughts ceased as I neared the barrel of whiting, seeing a splotch of bright blue against the grey. I recognized it as dry pigment. Brandon noticed another one near the edge of the ledge too. There were colorful reminders of the past with every step! And the color wasn’t only on the floor, but there were also splatters of dry pigment all over the brick walls. At this point, I was ecstatic and internally celebrating the confirmation of my theory.
Austin, the youngest of our crew, became curious and crouched onto the dirty floor, crawling to the gap between the floor and brick wall. He got down on his hands and knees, brushed the dirt aside, and reached down into the gap. It reminded my of a movie scene from my youth when of Flash Gordon reached his hand into the tree trunk hole as a test of courage.
I kind of smirked as I thought, “Oh to be young again….” This smirk quickly turned to astonishment as he pulled a paintbrush from the crack. But this was not just any paintbrush, it was a scenic artist’s brush called a fitch!
The typed manuscript of Thomas G. Moses (1856-1934) provides an abundance of information concerning his design process and the creation of the painted scenery. His typed manuscript was created in 1931 and based on handwritten annual diaries. Moses first mentions working with the Valley of Fort Scott in 1923 writing that he felt “we were in line for the contract.” His story continues with his return in early May, “I made a colored sketch for the decorations and then gave another showing of my scenes and closed the contract.”
Handwritten diary from 1931Page from handwritten diary, 1931.
By August of 1924 Moses finalized the onsite details, met with his carpenter, and put in a full days work before continuing on his way to Colorado, Utah, California and Washington. In October he returned again few days. His intention was to return in two weeks to commence the painting to the scenery. At this time Moses battled a chronic cough and was beginning to have some health issues. He was 68 years old, overworked, constantly traveling, and taking little time to rest and recuperate.
On October 23rd of that same year, he left for Fort Scott and immediately started work upon his arrival, staying until November 25th. He recorded,” Fulton and I dug in to the work, and it was some hustle to get through, which we did on the 17th of November. At the finish I got a payment of $7,000, the balance to be paid within a month. Our extras brought the contract up to $22,000.00.” Moses did not return to Fort Scott until August of 1925.
While we were onsite, I was able to identify where Moses had painted the majority of the scenery – 20’ above the stage floor. His onsite studio in 1924 was accessible by a narrow ladder that climbed up the back wall of the theatre – on the stage left side.
ladder on back wall – right sidestudio floor that was twenty feet above the stagetop of ladder next to paint studio floor
A few days before our departure, Austin was looking at the converted sewing machine engine on a ledge high above the stage floor, contemplating its removal as a souvenir. This machine tracked the moon for the 21st degree ruined abbey scene and showed the ingenuity of Masonic stagehands. As he checked out the machine, we asked him to look around and see if there was anything else of note up there.
“Just an old wooden barrel,” was Austin’s response. My heart started to race and I immediately asked what was in it.
“I can’t tell as it’s still sealed. But there is a pile of white stuff next to it and the same type of powder leaking out of the seams.”
“Oh my God,” I thought and my heart leapt. He found a barrel of whiting!
barrel of whiting abandoned at Fort Scott studio
Now this might not sound exciting to many people – an old wooden barrel leaking white powder twenty feet above the stage.
whiting barrel with leaking powder from cracks
What many people don’t know is that whiting was the product used by scenic artists to prime painted backdrops. The chances that this was an original barrel purchased by Moses and abandoned onsite after completing the job was very likely. Whiting was cheap, but too heavy to ship back to the studio.
looking inside the barrel of whiting
The traditional formula for drop primer was mixing strong size (diluted hide glue) with a fine powder that primarily consisted of silica, zinc, lead, or a mixture of thereof. The powder was soaked in a galvanized tub of water overnight, making sure that it was thoroughly dissolved and free from lumps. Then it was then “slaked” before using; this process separated out the gritty substance from the chalk. The chalk was scooped out and mixed with strong size. The primer was evenly worked into the fabric of the drop, thus providing a clean and uniform base on which to draw the design.
Label found next to whiting barrelPart of original paint frame with whiting – used as part of a wooden batten on a drop
If an entire unopened barrel of whiting was up there, what other treasures could be hidden away under a layer of filth? Would I be able to verify that Moses used this space as a temporary onsite studio? We headed toward the ladder to check out this exciting new discovery.
The drops were loosely rolled to transport down the winding staircase to the first floor in Fort Scott. There, they would need to be unrolled and rolled again onto cardboard tubes for shipping. Prior to any final rolling, however, they we carefully matched up all of the scenes. Entire scenes were not lowered simultaneously; we slowly worked from upstage to downstage in succession for safety reasons.
A year earlier, I had completed this same task with Paul Sannerud and was absolutely dreading it. For the Winona scenery, we carefully flattened each scene on the floor and rolled each drop onto 6” tubes of PVC. This was an option due to the shorter length of twenty feet – the height of each scene. For Fort Scott we needed longer tubes -twenty-five feet, hence the cardboard tubes from North Carolina.
(2014 in Winona, MN)
I had found a company that manufactured shipping tubes to order. Unfortunately, due to the initial contractual delays, the tubes were very late in arriving – so we had to alter my anticipated process. Instead of “lower, take downstairs, roll and stack” it became “lower, take downstairs, place somewhere, and wait to roll.” This meant that I had to divide each scene on the first floor and remember where all of the scenes were once we started rolling – as there would be a specific placement in order to unload into the collection into the storage unit.
The difficulty of this task is always trying to roll a piece of fabric that is not flat. When a drop hangs for decades, the shape becomes altered overtime and it is no longer a perfect rectangle. People fail to understand that the fabric continues to stretch from a variety of factors. Primarily, uneven pick points allow the weight of the batten at the bottom of the drop to reshape the rectangle into a trapezoid – often undetectable from the auditorium. Then there is the hourglass shape with curling edges on each side of the drop – very identifiable from the audience.
Furthermore, the air currents bellow out the center. Think of it as the center of the drop moving forward and backward, gradually stretching the fabric, resulting in a central sagging. These alterations are almost imperceivable, until you lay the fabric on the floor. Some areas will form bubbles, like when you played in gym class “parachute.” Remember how all of the edges could be brought to the floor and the center puffed up? A similar thing happens to the drop when all of the fabric settles to the ground, there are still irregularities in the center.
Another way to understand the difficulty of this task is to think of rolling linoleum on a tube. The rigidity allows it to roll perfectly. This is not what happens with old fabric and wrinkles appear. When wrinkles appear during rolling, the fabric subsequently creases and the paint it cracks off, thus forming an irreparable line.
Even after restoration, wrinkles often occur during rolling. That is the reason why I am so adamant about only restoring scenery on site. You might have a restored a drop and it looks perfect on the floor, but the rolling and transport will damage all of your work during transport. Therefore, you would need to do additional work once it arrived at the space; work that would be extra and drive up the overall expense. This was another point of contention with the CEO. He refused to believe that the drops couldn’t be restored off site and transported without harm.
There was not a single space on the first floor where were could fully layout the drop which added an additional layer of complexity to the process. Prior to rolling, we had to accordion pleat about two-thirds of the scene.
I had always rolled up the drops on the floor, but Brandon invented a rolling machine to save our backs and knees! He called his invention the “rigger – mo’ – roll!”
He picked up saw horses and casters from Kansas City to create a fabric roller. It took a while to assemble, but I was amazed. Not perfect, but the weight of the fabric would keep the rolls taut and minimize the wrinkles. In the end, each drop would weigh 100 pounds. and take four men to safely transport.
I need to explain some Scottish Rite history in prior to discussing the Stonehenge composition. I will simplify this history as much as possible so that your eyes don’t glaze over before getting to the scenery part.
The Scottish Rite is divided into two jurisdictions that are based on geographical demarcations. The Southern Jurisdiction is west of the Mississippi and south of the Ohio River. This means that the majority of the country belongs to the Southern Jurisdiction. I am not going to discuss what caused the division or the reason for the appearance of multiple Supreme Councils (governing bodies) in the North.
In the past, I have argued (in various publications and in my doctoral dissertation) that the earliest degree productions were performed in the Northern Jurisdiction.
Why? Competition.
You see, during the mid-nineteenth century there were competing Supreme Councils in the Northern Jurisdiction of the Scottish Rite. This was not the case in the Southern Jurisdiction where one Grand Commander ruled from 1859-1891 (Albert Pike). If you are in competitive environment, WINNING requires more members and more money. Staging degrees was a great way to promote a superior ceremonial experience that would subsequently bring in more money. Keep in mind that during the 1920s there was even a candidate class of 1000! That is a pile of cash that results from initiation fees and membership dues.
Now in the Southern Jurisdiction, Grand Commander Pike passes away in 1891. Prior to his death, Scottish Rite stages were beginning to appear in the Southern Jurisdiction – especially Minnesota, a state that straddled the western geographical demarcation of the two jurisdictions. By the 1880s, small stages were appearing in Minnesota lodge rooms with settings for the obligatory (or indispensable) degrees.
Each degree could be an individual play with the potential for multiple acts. Each act could have numerous scenes. Money determined the size of scenery collections. Some Valleys had small stage with a set of ten roll drops while others had massive auditoriums with over a hundred drops that would be lower from a fly loft.
Grand Commander Pike in the Southern Jurisdiction was against the elaborate staging of degrees, stating, “The Rite in this [Southern] Jurisdiction is a Rite of instruction, and not of scenic pomp and stage-show…I can not conceive of a more useless occupation than the arranging and performing of degrees, neither the effect nor the purpose of which is to make men wiser or better, but which are acted as melodramas…”
(Pike in 1849)
(Pike as Grand Commander)
This pretty much sums up why Scottish Rite theaters didn’t pop up everywhere in the Southern Jurisdiction until AFTER Pike’s death in 1891 and then they appear EVERYWHERE. The Supreme Council takes a “non-action” in those first few years after Pike’s passing; no one wanted to stop the growth of the Scottish Rite. This neutral action enabled the expansion of degree productions and theatrical interpretations of the degrees.
But some of the interpretations went a little too far – especially in Kansas. New designs began to appear – Stonehenge – for the Vedic scene in the 30th degree. There are two extant scenic designs depicting this composition – so the drop in Fort Scott, Kansas wasn’t an anomaly. But was it regionally specific to Kansas? You see, many regions developed unique interpretations for each degree.
(Fort Scott, Kansas 1924 drop by Thomas G. Moses)
(Brandon noticing that the perspective of the central units is wrong – the top and bottom don’t work)
(painted detail)
(Actual Stonehenge for reference)
Just a few hours to the west of Fort Scott in Wichita, there was another unusual composition that appeared. The stagehands still refer to this as the “goddess degree.” And I first encountered it during August of 2015 on our road trip from Fort Scott to Guthrie, Oklahoma.
(Wichita, Kansas Scottish Rite “Goddess Drop”)
(Cut opening supported with bobbinet)
(Backing for cut opening)
(Painted details and metallic foils for sparkle effect on stage)
Enter a new friend and kindred spirit -Janet Wolter, author of “America, Nation of the Goddess: The Venus Families and the Founding of the United States.” We met while volunteering at the Minneapolis Scottish Rite library. One of our first discoveries was a handwritten Grange ritual. At that point, I started to learn about the National Grange of the Order of Patrons of Husbandry. Beginning in 1867, it too had secret meetings, oaths, and passwords, incorporating themes from Greek and Roman mythology. This intrigued me and I thought about the Stonehenge and Goddess scenes in Kansas, telling Janet about my discoveries.
Janet suggested that Grange characteristics may have been incorporated into the ceremonies of other organizations. Were these new Scottish Rite compositions a type of outreach to Grange members?
Many Scottish Rite degrees can be narrowed down to three instructions: follow directions, respect others, and do the right thing. Doesn’t sound much like devil worship, does it? That being said, Scottish Rite Valleys are reluctant to show one particular stage setting to the general public – Hell. Throughout the country the composition is also referred to as Hades, the Dante drop, or the Inferno scene, to name a few.
A simple explanation for the inclusion of this subject is that the scene depicts the fate for those who fall prey to temptation. It reinforces WHY you want to do the right thing. “Be a good person” doesn’t always work. “Be a good person or this terrible thing will happen to you” provides incentive.
The setting often includes one cut drop and a backdrop, sometimes two cut drops for added depth and scenic effect. Compositions frequently include a variety of demons and tortured humans. Very seldom did the scene remain as a red cave, but that is the case in a few valleys, including McAlester, Oklahoma. Fort Scott included one of the most popular depictions and was NOT painted by Thomas Moses in 1924. This scene was painted in 1904 and enlarged to fit the Fort Scott space during the 1924 installation.
It matches the same scene used in other Scottish Rite theaters, such as in Grand Forks, ND, St. Paul, MN, and Santa Fe, NM. It was a stock design, and a shiny one at that, being replicated multiple times during the first two decades of the twentieth century. But what makes this scene special? What is the visual appeal? The sparkles.
The hell scene used foil paper strips to outline many of the figures and rocky outcrops. Why? It was a scenic illusion to reflect the fiery pits of hell. As the drop would slightly move, the crinkled foil strips would reflect the light and sparkle, thus creating the appearance of flickering firelight.
Pretty cool effect, but very labor intensive. Especially when you consider attaching each strip with glue after having already spent a significant amount of time attaching the netting to the cut drops. It was an expensive scene to purchase. Refurbishing the hell scene in 1924 would have saved a significant amount of money for the Fort Scott Scottish Rite.
This is one of the scenes that make evaluations and restorations a delight. People always want their picture taken with this setting – especially if there is an entire group. The caption reads, “Work is Hell.” But then there also is hanging the restored scene and shouting “Let’s raise hell!” Or the response you give to your spouse when he asks, “How was work today?” and you respond, “It was hell.”
There are few Scottish Rite scenes that were solely designed for Masonic degree productions. Most stage settings that were used by the Fraternity originated for other venues. Many compositions had been used for centuries in a variety of theatrical and operatic productions. Palatial interiors, cathedrals, catacombs, dungeons, classical interiors, mausoleums, Egyptian temples, dessert scenes, forests, rivers, landscapes, gothic armories, rocky coasts, and garden scenes were all used for both commercial and fraternal productions.
The “Peristyle” scene for the eighteenth degree, however, was unique. It would become a common setting in many Southern Jurisdiction Scottish Rite theaters during the first decade of the twentieth century. This scene used a translucent lighting effect. The words “Infinity,” “Nature,” “Reason,” and “Immortality” were typically placed at the tops of columns. The first letter of each word (I.N.R.I.) was backed with red silk, allowing it to glow. Thomas Moses’ 1924 design and painting for this Fort Scott scene placed the words at the base of each column – something new and unusual. Four corresponding light boxes with backlit words appeared at the appropriate time.
(Fort Scott, KS)
(Salina, Kansas)
I am frequently asked questions about the subject matter and necessary symbolism in degree productions, especially for the 18th degree. And thus I find myself working as a “Masonic Outreach Specialist,” promoting the benefits of Freemasonry to society. When approached by theatre technicians, however, there is the additional question concerning the design process. How did the artist’s know what to paint? How did the masons ensure appropriate symbolism on each backdrop without revealing any secrets?
My standard response includes a discussion on the appearance of theatrical manufacturers who became Masons. Scenic studio owners, regalia suppliers, and publishers greatly profited from Masonic membership and their fraternal relationships. These are the individuals who directed how the degrees would be staged and the appropriate costumes and props for each production.
Was profit their sole reason for becoming a Mason? I like to believe that their motivation for joining the fraternity wasn’t profit, but this association was a lucrative endeavor.
Did all of the scenic artists understand what they were painting on drops? Absolutely not, and the pelican in the 18th degree is a perfect example. Not even Moses in 1924 (the year before he joined the fraternity and became an active member at the Scottish Rite in Pasadena, California) understood the symbolism of the pelican.
(Fort Scott, KS Pelican)
The pelican is an integral part of the Peristyle composition, either appearing as a painting on the backdrop, painting on a cut drop, or included as a set prop. Sometimes the set prop was even illuminated as a large light box.
The symbolism of the pelican is sacrifice; piercing its breast to feed its young. This image was also found in many churches, often as a stained glass subject.
(Yankton, SD Pelican)
In Fort Scott and many other Valleys, however, the pelican holds a worm in its beak. Salina, Kansas, St. Paul, Minnesota, and Winona, Minnesota are just a few examples of painted scenery where the pelican does not pierce its breast.
(Winona, MN Pelican)
(St. Paul, MN Pelican)
(Salina, KS Pelican)
How was this detail lost in translation? Lack of information.
The design failed to show the detail of blood, so the artist just improvised.
To be continued…
(Sosman and Landis Design – Holak Collection (PA49) University of Minnesota, Libraries)
Fort Scott, Kansas. Details of the Peristyle Scene below:
The rigging crew would later admit that no one knew what my contribution would be to the project, even Prewitt, the owner of BellaTex, LLC. Would I sit with my camera in hand and slowly photograph the removal process, or would I actually get my hands dirty? It is important to understand that when I was sent to Fort Scott, my directive was to solely supervise and not to help out as a “common laborer.”
It is important to understand that throughout the duration of my career I always worked alongside my crew, never expecting anyone to perform a task that I wouldn’t do myself. I realized long ago that this type of attitude and a general willingness to get one’s hands dirty, had a positive impact on any work environment. Showing great appreciation for your staff and lending a hand is such an easy thing to do and it always pays off in the long run.
In addition to this instilled work ethic, I was raised to conquer obstacles and take pride in my work. Therefore, when I encountered the thick layer of contaminants coating the scenery and set pieces, I couldn’t ignore it. It is possible that others would have ignored the dirt, rolled the drops, shipped them, and dealt with the consequences later. That was not an option for me, so I tackled this initial obstacle.
We covered both the stage floor and auditorium floor with heavy duty plastic to catch the majority of the dirt that fell off of the drop as it was lowered to the floor and stripped of both battens and hardware. I purchased both dry mops and wet mops to clean the plastic as often as possible so that dirt from one drop, wouldn’t contaminate another drop.
Then, the drop was placed on the auditorium floor face down. I used my handy Festool dust extractor to remove the majority of loose contaminants with its special HEPA filter. The drop was then flipped face up so that I could vacuum the loose particulates from the painted surface. This initial cleaning was to protect the painted surface during shipping and limit the amount of airborne particles in the space on site.
Dirt and pigment would continue to dust off during the rolling and transportation, necessitating additional vacuuming and cleaning with archival sponges before any necessary repairs or restoration. The vacuuming for each drop in no way made the surface completely clean nor free of contaminants. After vacuuming both sides, it took four of us crawling across the floor on our knees to loosely roll the 36’ long drop. This loose roll meant it could be carried down the winding staircase to the first floor where it would then wait to be rolled onto 25’ cardboard tubes.
The drops couldn’t be rolled immediately after vacuuming on the second floor as the winding staircase could not accommodate a 25’ rigid tube. This was the process prior to rolling, wrapping, and loading onto our shipping truck. Multiply this procedure ninety-two times.
The need for any additional cleaning prior to any restoration was a point of contention with the CEO. Even after several conversations, I could not convince him that this initial cleaning was not sufficient. Nor would he believe that the drops had to be stabilized or any repairs made prior to hanging. It was impossible to convince him that the dusting pigments and other surface contaminates were dangerous to both the performers on stage and the audience members.
