The Concrete Soliloquies, the complete saga


Theatrical portraits FOUND and adapted from images taken outside the ArcLight Hollywood, Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood, CA




Hamlet spoke eloquently of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. His ache bemoaned the pains and unfairness of life, and as a speech, his oration marks a moment in time when Shakespeare’s Danish Prince needed to take an expectant pause.


My soliloquies, however, are not etched with a quill pen but rather can be found in-between the fractured ways shadows cut into concrete. They ask for civility at a time when others bathe themselves in pursuits of selfish division, and as a lesson this set of fables serve to let people know that bullies come in all sizes and shapes, but all of them pound equally hard, pressing their egos so ubiquitously into the sun parched pavement.


“The Concrete Soliloquies, the complete saga,” were on display at:


The ArcLight Hollywood

6360 West Sunset Blvd

Los Angeles, CA 90028


May 15 through June 26, 2014

Holding his head and the weight of the world in the palms of both hands, sad, sad Edward sat alone on a bus stop bench. Isolated in an urban metropolis, it was starting to dawn on him that within the wholeness of his life, the thing that made him effective at his job was also the thing that robbed Edward from being able to make any real friends. Suddenly, a shadow extended from behind him, casting its specter upon the glass and concrete. Unfazed, Edward’s head remained lowered in a downward position.


Image / text © Ron Barbagallo 2013

"I like to step on people." the small voice in Dave’s mayoral-sized head thumped. "What do you mean I can’t come to your office? I have the power to give you this job! Quake at my awesomeness. Quaaaake!" This minuet played in Dave’s head to help reassure himself. Then quite surreptitiously, Dave’s focus was broken. One of the people he used to engorge his ego just passed him on the street. Pounding his foot like a Medieval troll whose intent was destroying bridges rather than guarding them, Dave smiled to reassure himself that there were victories to be made by simply being petty.


Image / text © Ron Barbagallo 2013

Jerry’s beady eyes were seething. I want what this person has. How can I get that? Who can I copy? I don’t have a deep skill set to draw from, or any taste, but how can I get something? I am not sure. At the same time, Gulliver was making his way from the theater. He turned the corner and the brightness of the sun cut his eye. The crowd. The street. Other people. He had to stop himself before he collided with it. And as Gulliver’s eyes adjusted, low and behold, Jerry’s shadow came slithering its way across the concrete.


Image / text © Ron Barbagallo 2013

"Get out of my way." screamed the man who was undone by common folk writing film reviews on Twitter. "Move, already! Can’t you see how important I am?!!" With distended pride, Bergen County’s greatest son cut his way through a cluster of semi-drunk 20-somethings standing on the sun-soaked pavement. Intentionally behind schedule, Leon and his petulant Donald Duck iPhone were in a rush. They needed to be 10 minutes late so they could make an entrance for a screening.


Image / text © Ron Barbagallo 2013

Adam was a salesman who wore the gray, off-the-rack uniform of an executive. Beneath Adam’s silver haired comb-forward, lay an ego-crazed soldier. His weapons were theatrical Jedi mind-tricks and salacious ‘man behind the curtain’ sleights-of-hand. This past weekend, Adam used his job title to impress a little old lady. Disarming her with Midwestern tomes, he offered her five cents on the dollar for all her worldly possessions, and trustingly, she took it. Today, with her bounty in hand and seeing that he had a clear path, Adam thought to himself “Neato, I’m so glad no one is in my way; that’s just the way I like it.” Tangentially, he buzzed like a bee, ducking the bright beans of light bouncing off the shop’s shining stainless steel front door. “I hope no one is in front of me at the counter.” Adam giggled with anticipation. “After all, I have things to sell.”


Image / text © Ron Barbagallo 2013