Portraits of the Artists Written and photographed by Adam Ritter

Like mankind's intelligent designer, the artist remains indifferent and invisible to his or her creations. At least as much was espoused by Irish novelist James Joyce through the voice of his own, Stephen Dedalus, a character who wanted only to discover the mode of life or of art where his spirit "could express itself in unfettered freedom".

That was nearly a century ago, yet as we creep through the infancy of a new millennium, one has only to review the footnotes of history to discover the chimeric grotesquerie of delusion that compels mortals to believe in such a thing as change. Artists still ache to articulate their mystic crystal revelations, the delicate DNA of their creations capricious evermore. Through their pictures and music, performance and expression, artists endure as players upon the stage of the world, whose mosaics shall saturate our lives with vibrancy until the last syllable of recorded time.

Artistic Darwinism reigns supreme on the battlefields of film, music, fine arts and fashion. The generals of these bastions are a pantheon of familiarity; Cruise and Mariah, Warhol and Tyra. And clawing at the curtain of their gilded encampment is a battalion of could-a-been contenders. In search of sunlight above swells of pedestrian sensibility, the enlisted spend every waking moment bayoneting a passage through the theater of this adversarial Everest.

These are profiles of the foot soldiers; invisible perhaps from afar, but far from indifferent.

Nick Mathews – Actor

Nick Matthews

It was the first big audition of Nick Mathew's career. The year was 2003 and the Fox network was planning a series about a troubled kid who moves to a wealthy town in Orange County, California. Nervous and preparing to read for one of the lead roles, his manager solemnly offered him these few, maternal words of wisdom;

"Don't fuck this up!"

As viewers of The OC have likely surmised; Nick was unsuccessful in his effort. As with every role, lightning strikes only for one and the rest are merely Walshian drops of water in an endless sea. Fucking up an audition may well be the least of your concerns when talent is but one key to a door with many locks. At this abyss of possibility, remembering to be the right person at the right place at the right time is the event horizon. Such variables constitute the tenuous fulcrum on which an acting career perpetually teeters.

Nick to his credit, has appeared in several off (and again, off) Broadway plays, and has had minor roles in film and television, including his first on-screen speaking part as a horny high school student (is there any other kind?) in the soap opera As the World Turns.

His verbal virginity was surrendered when Nick uttered the words, "Hey dude. Wow, she's really hot. Catch you later."

Nick Matthews


The Beginning

Born February 27th in the mid-1960s or early 1980s depending on various accounts, Nick spent his formative years in suburban New Jersey . Performing came easily for him and not without a great degree of satisfaction. The kid who found solace in an imaginary world of alternate identities helmed a cover band called "Planet Breakdown" where he began to carve his swath emulating G n' R front man Axl Rose, down to the snake skin boots and wailing vocals.

Later came hard time at Rutgers University; visions of the stage interlaced with the reality of calculus was litmus enough. Nick soon threw himself off the ledge of no return and into the William Esper Acting Studio in Manhattan, where the admission criteria states "Students who do not demonstrate genuine dedication to their development will be discontinued."

What career is worth facing the same fate as "New Coke"?


The Lure of the Glitterati

Celebrity personas have always induced the waking dreams of stargazing spectators. For those who peek from the edge of the looking glass, it may be virtually impossible to envisage the high wire act masquerading as this eternally resplendent, celebrational Muppetational.

What culminates for the scant chosen on bolts of a crimson carpet seduces untold slews of saucer-eyed babes, a great many of whom are swallowed whole on their voyage to Nineveh. Those that cannot resist that stardust sparkle realize all too late; this is a titanium geared wrecking machine, unrivaled in the ferocity of a corrosive appetite and wanton in the refinement of its palette.

"If you think about all the negative things, you'll have a million and one reasons not to do something," Nick says over a Sunday lunch on Mulberry Street. "I have a network of actor friends that (I) can bitch to; it's like my little therapy group. We all experience it and all of us want more."


Nick Matthews

The Craft

Constantin Stanislavsky begat Sanford Meisner. Meisner begat William Esper. Esper begat Nick Mathews. So it goes. From the school of thinking that acting is about honest emotional reactions, Nick was disassembled and rebuilt again; Steve Austin for the stage.

In an industry where even the thickest of skin crave a coat of armor, academically speaking, the reverse is the case. Because humans are conditioned automatically to dismiss their feelings, a considerable task for young actors is removing their rational defenses in lieu of more visceral, heartfelt reactions.

"Intellectualizing your emotions detaches you from feeling something. You have to go on your impulse," Nick says with passion that transforms his hands into a conduit of ideas.

The devolution phase of this nouveau architecture employs the vaguely glasnost ambition of tearing down that psychic wall. Employing a variety of tactics including an exercise called "spontaneous repetition," you may find your morning unfolding as such:

"You look ugly today."
"I look ugly today?"
"You look ugly today."
"I look ugly today?"
"You look ugly today."
"I look ugly today?"

*Crying*

One man's craft is another man's family reunion. "If you really take that in….God!" Nick elaborates; "Acting's not real. They break you down so you're almost like a baby again. You can get angry, upset, happy over the slightest thing. That's how flexible your instrument needs to be, that someone can say something like that and it makes you react."


Coven of Illusionists

With the tools of deceit at one's disposal, how can you be certain that when conversing with an actor, it's really them and not some fictional amalgam they've conjured up from an emotional yard sale in their head?

"I'm not a pathological liar," Nick assures. "I think that most people have a conscience." (Pause) "I mean, I know I've done it a FEW times. (Laughs) You don't feel good about it. There was one day I couldn't go to class and I needed to come up with this huge concoction of a story. And the only way it would be believable was if I was fully, emotionally into the story. So yeah, I totally lied my way so I wouldn't get kicked out."

This flair for fraud is accepted as the calcified vertebrae of stump speeches, corporate sales and dangerous liaisons. It also distinguishes a marketable performer when casting calls for melodrama. Nick explains, "Most of the time for an audition if it's required that you go to that extent ( e.g. crying) you go into your personal shit-box and you pull something out. You take that feeling and put it in another context."


Nick Matthews

Lines in the sand

All this buildup begs the question. That question that certainly every young actor must face sooner or later as they ascend the mantle of Tinseltown. Would you play Matt Damon's ass if offered the role?

If asked, he would not run. If elected, he would not serve. "No!" Nick declares. "I would show my own ass, if I was the lead," he counteroffers. "What the fuck's the point to (being) a nude body double? That's not fun. It needs to be artful. Nudity is beautiful."

Cross the casting couch off that list too. According to many industry insiders, deals negotiated on this premise have a tendency to dry up and shrivel away almost instantaneously…afterwards.

It seems that in the menagerie of performance art, the sharks eternally circle and the serpents interminably whisper their lurid come-ons.

Shady sacrifices are often a tragedy of this medium; a volatile hierarchy that demands so costly an investment of its too willing players. Sometimes you gamble with your soul. Sometimes you lose.


A milestone in the distance

Not one to be discouraged, Nick has arrived at acting's proverbial fork. Within the first weeks of 2006, he will be rolling the dice down a familiar track; he is Los Angeles bound.

"People are afraid to move, it's a frightening thing. I love New York. Moving out to L.A. is a thing I'm doing right now. It's not permanent. It's something that I feel like I need to do for my career."

Do fame and fortune lie at the end of this rainbow? Perhaps. But perhaps that's not a matter of consequence. "If I (was) in a place where I could be working on art 24/7, I'd be very very happy. If I could go under the radar but make a living at it that would be great."



Carrie Engdahl – Singer / Songwriter

It's half past eleven on a soggy Tuesday night when Carrie Engdahl cleaves a miasma of lingering smoke, climbing the corner stage of this low-ceilinged watering-hole fifteen miles west of the Hudson. Contorted light reluctantly seeps from muted sources, casting a labyrinth of shadow across the vintage décor and the faces that pepper this lively stew.

Cool and personable from the stage, Carrie, a regular performer here, charms the audience with her distinctive blend of emotionally raw lyrics, teasing; "I let you in my bed, but never in my head. Cause it's a war in there, and you'll never win."

Carrie's anthems, both elegy and provocation, fall tremulously from her mouth and the crowd testifies their approval, indexing the space between each number with applause and requests.

It's a far better thing she does than she has ever done.

Carrie Engdahl	Carrie Engdahl

The Serpentine Ascension


Carrie Engdahl was five years old when she fell in love with music. Obsessed with the musical Annie, Barbie's dream house may just as well have been a firebombed crack-den, far from the glamour of Daddy Warbuck's Mansion.

"I really didn't like TV as a child, I hated the typical Sesame Street type stuff," Carrie says matter-of-factly. She adds, "I didn't like coloring. (All) the normal things that kids do to amuse themselves, I didn't really like any of it. I had a playschool record player. And I would sit in the corner and sing."

You can bet your bottom dollar that she narrowly made it through childhood with an intact trachea. The pop 40 eventually acquiesced to a more profound sound, namely Nirvana and Tori Amos, who Carrie explains, "was writing on a deeper level than I ever heard before. Her songs were highly emotional. Maybe I was at the age where I was comprehending it on a more emotional level. I got into an indie type sound."

Carrie's love for music and progress with formal lessons were more than merely involuntary partners; "I felt this connection with music and I wanted to learn how to be a part of it but it was almost like I just couldn't comprehend the music theory part. It really frustrated me because I wasn't picking it up. It's all very mathematical and my brain doesn't work that way."

As it typically tends to, college followed the meandering days of Belleville High, though not due to any discernible preoccupation with secondary education; "I went to college (@ Kean University) because I thought that was the next step in life. I went there because my parents wanted me to go to school. I didn't really have a direction or (know) what I wanted to do."


Catalytic Conversion

"I got to that point of college where you ask yourself 'what are you doing with your life?' I had no desire to be there anymore. I didn't drop out. I just stopped going."

An evening at the Beacon Theater in the spring of 1997 was a fortuitous one. The headliner was Jewel, back when that meant something. Carrie describes her experience; "It was just her and an acoustic guitar. She was playing these beautiful, simple songs. In the middle of her set she stopped and said 'you know, I was singing in a coffee shop, this all happened by accident. This could happen to anyone.' After that concert I decided to quit college."

The classes that she didn't attend anyway were replaced by full time slob-jobs that paid the bills allowing Carrie the intellectual freedom to devote to singing and songwriting endeavors.

The musical theory malaise was circumvented entirely this time around; Carrie taught herself each guitar chord by studying songbooks. "I started playing everyday and getting better. When you learn other people's songs, you learn new chords, you learn new ideas."

Soon the Rubik squares revolved into accord. "I was having a hard time singing and playing at the same time," Carrie recounts. 'The Christians and the Pagans' was the first song with which she was able to bridge the divide. It was "like riding a bike; once you get it, it's there. It just takes practice to get it down."

That defiant couple at last bonded in blissful matrimony, Carrie ascended the consequent crest of lyrical harmony; the sweet science of songwriting.


Lyrical Horse Power

"If I Give You What You Want" the phrase most associated with an alluring woman's speciously untenable negotiation process, was also the title of Carrie's inaugural refrain. The song birthed a pattern that endures still. "I write purely on emotion," Carrie explains. "The thing that I'm attracted to when I go see somebody perform is sincerity," she continues, "That's my main goal, to remain sincere and honest with my songwriting. I'd like to be able to relate to people and entertain people, (but) I don't want to ever write something because I think people will like it."

The catalog that began slowly is today a vast oeuvre of which Carrie says, "There's a bunch (of original work) that I don't even remember how to play. I would have to relearn them."

This face-value fulfillment is nothing more however, than the irrational numbers of an amateur's equation; a poor player that struts and frets their hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. "You HAVE to be out there playing," Carrie reveals, declaring, "that's really the ONLY way it goes down.

Carrie Engdahl

We're Going Live in 5...4...3

It went down at a Barnes and Noble open-mic which Carrie describes as "the scariest thing I've ever done in my life. My hands would shake, it was horrible. But, I kept going." As far as self-confidence was concerned she says, "I didn't have it! As a singer I didn't have it, as a player I didn't have it, as a writer I didn't have it, but I loved to perform. So I did."

In the few years since that debutante's ball, Carrie has performed on countless occasions in venues throughout New York and New Jersey. She has as well provided both the sculptural electric rhythms and the lead vocals for two side-project bands that were formed along the way. "In the past 5-6 years I've been submerging myself into this deeper level of musicians. There's this whole other world out there that has nothing to do with top 40. And it's real life, not Hollywood facades. There (are) real people making real music."

Another Sunday Morning

Carrie has just finished recording her first EP, or "Extended Play", the term for a record that is neither a full length album nor a single, and typically contains five to eight songs.

"Another Sunday Morning" a title that reflects on the wild happenings of nights past, has six original works that showcase songwriting abilities in multiple genres. "The reason why I picked these (is) they're all different," Carrie explains.

A combination of blues, rock, pop, and country, the EP tantalizes listeners with these titles:

1. Making Me Sad
2. Sunglassed Heart
3. This is Why I'm Leaving
4. Special
5. You'll Never Win
6. Get Back to You

Employing themes that are at once personal and haunting, one can't help but wonder if the prospect or realization of success could alter Carrie's songwriting alchemy. She responds, "It has happened where people (become) happy with their lives (and) they start writing shitty. They're not pulling from that dark place anymore. Being content is really scary as an artist. It's really scary."

That veil of fear is an exercise in causality; it can stimulate or strangulate. For Carrie though, it's an antidote to craven reflexes. "There comes a time when you ask yourself, are you doing this to be famous or are you doing this because this is what your passion is? Music is the only thing that I ever cared about doing."

In the months ahead Carrie with her manager will be exploring CD distribution options, and developing her new website, www.carrieengdahl.com.

"If I could be traveling around and make a few bucks playing music a couple of nights a week…that would please me," she says. "There are people who live their lives doing their music and are not on the cover of Rolling Stone. And that's fine."



Luke Gehrke Rodriguez – Fine Artist

Luke Gehrke Rodriguez

Luke Gehrke Rodriguez, illustrator, painter and sculptor unexpectedly farces into our conversation with his faux political views on Russian animal welfare. We are at a bistro on the upper west side and he has ordered a garden burger and water. Luke doesn't drink yet, not in restaurants at least, because he is still a week shy of his 21st birthday.

He's not sure what events will unfold for him on the big occasion, but Luke shares his suspicion that it's probably related to the pedigreed partnership of "Prussian Blue" (modestly described as 'pro-white' folk singing siblings).

It's instantly evident that Luke is not a standard sight on the thoroughfare. He is wearing a red button up shirt of protozoic inspiration about the origin of which he insists, "I have a tendency to steal." He lunges and darts in spasmodic fits. He is constantly in motion, his limbs flail and dance in cartoonish exaggeration. He touches the surface of random objects and describes the texture as though reviewing an innovative cookware product. In defiance of explanation, Luke in a word is expialidocious.

Luke Gehrke Rodriguez

The Cave of Lascaux

In the beginning, Luke was born here in Manhattan, an island upon which he insists he will die because he "cannot seem to escape." It was on November 1st, 1984 that "backwash hippies," Judy and Louis presumably first dropped their bundle of joy. His parents both had art-related backgrounds and were encouraged by the early interest Luke demonstrated. When he was three he says, "I would sit on the floor and draw pictures using pens and pencils and crayons. I was very unique in that respect. They would say 'what are you doing, stop, you're writing on paper! Take it away from him.' Then they'd corner me and have to hurt me." Luke describes more childhood memories; "They'd tell me, 'drawing and expressing emotions is wrong. Go read your bible. Even though you can't read because you're only three.'"

His mother he says, also figured he could use (art) to his advantage. "She just said this a few weeks ago," he quips, "she's been in denial for about twenty years."

In third grade he attended the Art Students League of New York, where he says "I started taking it all seriously. I was meeting kids the same age that were just like me….who were gonna be my enemies. I learned early on to be very manipulative."

After four years there, he began junior high school, typically not an idyllic landmark of childhood. Luke remembers, "I was always made fun of and the only thing that saved me was my art." His bullies he says "all felt crappy about themselves and they would make fun of the little weakling. That was me. But they would always ask me to draw them a picture after they beat me up."

Luke reenacts, seizing the menu as a prop. "'Remember this? This is when you put my head in the toilet, you remember that don't you?" he asks his phantom tormentors with mock indignation. "Then I started taking a lot of drugs. I mean a LOT of drugs," he emphasizes. "I was doing a lot of E before it became cool for the club kids."

Luke Gehrke Rodriguez

Renaissance

La Guardia High School in Manhattan was another world altogether and where Luke recounted, "We were encouraged to go to the museum weekly. The teachers that I had were excellent and they demonstrated how art progressed (from) a couple of thousand years (ago) until now."

"I really liked very representational artists. I latched onto their techniques," he says, continuing, "(Their) anatomical studies were done very beautifully. The costumes that they had were really nice, intricate, detailed clothing." Luke recalls his own work, which he says attempted to emulate that style; "At the time I was (happy), but looking back, it was pretty horrible."

Of those years he fondly recalls, "I had a really good experience at that school. I was very happy and I made a lot of friends. And I also explored the art world. I began to see art not as just making something look like something but as more of an emotional experience. If you see a painting or a sculpture, you can relate to what the artist was feeling or to the subject that is shown. It's emotional when you understand what point is trying to be conveyed."


Modern Art

"I go to Pratt Institute," Luke says. He describes his unusual decision making process; "I didn't want to go to the wrong place. My first choice was Parsons, but I felt so comfortable and almost arrogant that I was kind of put off. I had this impression that your personality is shaped by the people that you go to school with. I didn't want to go to a school that I felt fit me like a glove because life's not perfect and you should at least have some hardship."

Now in his junior year on a merit scholarship at Pratt, where he has a better grasp of reality, Luke says, "I am stressed out but am enjoying it. I'm glad I chose Pratt because it's making me one hell of a sarcastic asshole."

Luke clarifies, "It's making me more of a real person. I wasn't really living before. I was too happy. Life shouldn't be so happy…You've got to burn yourself sometimes."

Beside of course, avoiding that nasty avian pandemic, Luke's seldom academic respite is otherwise spent soothing his frayed nerves in the habit of creating portraits, sipping tea and reading Tolstoy or another literary favorite, Kurt Vonnegut. In a telling revelation, he confesses to meeting the eccentric author at a party years ago, after which he jokes "I was scarred for life." Envisioning Luke engaging in psychotropic interludes to Tralfamadore though would account for much of an otherwise inscrutable spirit.

Luke Gehrke Rodriguez

Post-Modern

At present, swamped under the school work of Damocles, Luke declares
his intentions post -Pratt; "To run free!" He adds, "I would definitely like to do my art but I can't spend all my time doing art because if I do it would drive me crazy. You can't do too much of a good thing, you'd wear yourself out. It's like eating too much ice cream. You enjoy it but you get sick after a while."

Of life beyond graduation Luke concedes, "I never thought about it." And while the luxury of conjecture is no more than a faint glimmer at the end of an interminable tunnel, Luke does maintain the loftier goals of owning an art gallery (that he slyly insists will only show his pieces) and writing a compendium of sinister poems.

As time slips away, unfinished projects beckoning, Luke describes the impression he would prefer readers form of him; "Immense pity," he says, "but also, to worship me," before declaring, "This conversation is over!"

Adiamond Baker – Model

Adiamond Baker

There are no gasps at the prospect of Adiamond on display at Trump Tower. In this atypical instance though, it is a person to whom I refer and not the more common solitaire. That would be Adiamond Baker, sitting patiently at the Starbucks here on 5th Avenue, across the street from her day job at a trendy (aren't they all?) clothing store.

The name "Adiamond" (pronounced as it looks, 'A-diamond' and NOT A-dee-a-mond as people often suppose) was inspired by the children's lullaby "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Presumably you will not meet many others, especially not of her lineage; African-American, Hispanic, Dutch and Native American.

This tiny country spark a fixture of New York for two months now, she remains sweet and polite and not possessive of traits one might automatically associate (warranted or otherwise) with a young Manhattan model. With aplomb, she has thrust herself into this frenetic metropolis in order to fulfill the dream she intends to forge into destiny. Her audacity belies innocence that you root for to remain intact, but that you assume (because hey, you live here) is certain to carry an expiration date. As with the most tantalizing of gems though, there are always facets that elude first glance.

Take Me Home

Born in Denver merely eighteen years ago, Adiamond Baker was an only child being raised alone by a single mom in the suburb of Englewood. Her mother she says is her role model because "She has tried so hard in life and she never gives up and she's always been really loving and positive. She's got great heart and a great aura." And, she adds, "We can be really stupid together."

As a height-lavished kid Adiamond began to play basketball in third grade where her natural sense of competition was fostered gracefully; "If there was somebody on the court who was being rude, it was fun to give a good 'get outta my house' slam dunk in her face."

Did I say sweet before?

The product of a loving and supportive Christian family, Adiamond knew early that she had a future in modeling; "I was always taller and skinnier then everyone," she recalls. Ancillary benefits included the appealing absence of tests within the profession. "I don't like to study" she notes.

Adiamond Baker	Adiamond Baker

You Oughta be in Pictures

It was just earlier this year that Adiamond says she was scouted back in Colorado. A modeling agency she had a relationship with there recommended her to the gentleman who is now her manager. Upon their first meeting, she says he asked her, "How would you like to move to New York?"

"I knew I was going to go. This is what I wanted to do but it was scary because I was going to be out (here) with nobody I knew (and) I was really happy with the way things were going in my life."

Her mother she says "was really psyched…my whole family was like 'you're going to be the first one to make something of yourself.'" And within a few months, Adiamond found herself far removed from suburban life, sharing an apartment in uptown with a roommate and an English bulldog.


Adiamond Baker

Center of the Universe

In the beginning she says, "I hated it because I was homesick. I was getting to the point where I was gonna pull my hair out. Normally TV is my best friend, but too much TV AND I don't do anything? It's like I've got to get out of here!"

But as E's True Hollywood Story has taught us, the ambitions of the intrepid are inviolably mounted in a sea of bedrock. Because of this, Adiamond's hairline is thankfully intact.

"Now I like it because I know where things are. I'm not getting lost and having to call (people). I'm getting the hang of everything still," she adds.

Wandering doe-eyed has irrefutable benefits though, as when Adiamond was approached while strolling the avenue by sharp eyed clothiers who told her 'you've got a really good American look (who hasn't used that line?). We want you to work in our new 5th Avenue store!"

Having myself heard that sort of thing sooo many times, I naturally assumed it was commonplace for Adiamond as well. She assures me though that usually, "Nobody says anything; there are so many models here. I'll bet people are like 'Oh my god, another model?'" Hmm, that may not be likely but what a sweet thought.

Covergirl

Busy with a day job and in search of some cover, Adiamond's in the rough, scouring the land with portfolio in hand. "They look at your book and then they look at you and flip the page and they look at you, and you're just sitting there and they close the book and (they say) 'Okay thank you for coming' and I say 'thank you for the opportunity, bye!'"

Purportedly an aggressive field, Adiamond confirms, "The whole industry is very competitive. But I don't really see it. I don't feel like it because there are all these different kinds of girls. How do they choose when there are 500 girls and you're 499? It doesn't make me think 'oh well I'm competing against all these girls.'"

Another kind of pressure prevails though among the industry's fresh faces. To pose or not to pose, that is the question. "I don't do lingerie. I don't do nudity. (People) will tell me 'if you do lingerie you'll make a lot of money.' Adiamond admits, "There is a good chance you could make a lot of good money and it's going to be hard if I don't. I have to think about it a lot."

Her colleagues on the runway are of course reassuring; "They all say, 'Oh you'll change your mind, after a while it wont even matter. You'll just take all your clothes off and start posing.'"

What's an uptown girl to do? Send for reinforcements naturally. Mom, fellow traveler in the dark, is packing up and heading east. Adiamond is aglow at the prospect; "She's a big town girl. She loves meeting people and she's really cultural."

Together they'll stand and Adiamond concedes serenely, "If nothing happens within 5 years, I'll take it as a sign."

Those five seasons of change are nothing short of light years away, Adiamond's stars have only begun their stellar alignment leaving all shadows of portent to recede into the ether. The girl who poignantly pronounced, "Having a boyfriend is a pain in the neck; it's stupid when you're young!" is set to sparkle on the cover of January's New Jersey Bride.