Process
A psychopomp is an ancient figure found across many world mythologies. A guide for the newly dead, escorting souls from the living world into whatever comes next. It takes no single form. It has appeared as a jackal, a raven, a horse, a god. The stage takes its name and its inspiration from that archetype; animals fused and stacked, their combined power borrowed to mark the threshold between worlds.
The primary challenge was that the theater needed to be transportable. The three dimensional cat and frog heads had to flat pack, load onto a truck, and remain lightweight enough to handle in the field. To develop a design that could be translated digitally for a CNC router, I created a cardboard maquette at one inch to one foot scale. Working at maquette scale in cardboard allows the design to stay tactile and free, where character and form are easier to find than they are on a screen. The maquette was also a fabrication prototype, its tape hinges foreshadowing the final construction method.
The design was inspired by origami. The fold is a design decision that has to survive the jump in scale. The challenge was translating that logic from paper to wood. When scaled up, upholstery tape and rivets replaced the fold itself, stitching panels together in a way that was visually clean, structurally sound, and still capable of packing flat.
All three dimensional elements, the snakes and the phoenix, began as hand drawn renderings and were made from foam carved by hand at scale. For the hundred reptilian scales that tile the proscenium walls, consistency was everything. Each scale needed to be painted uniformly and mounted at identical pitch to create a clean, three dimensional wall texture. A simple mounting jig ensured every piece anchored at the same angle. Each scale was spray painted and hand embellished before installation.
The textile elements were the finishing touches that brought elegance to the theater. No detail was left without time and attention. Inside each cat mouth lounge, custom drapery systems were hand sewn, billowing from the ceiling and wrapping all four walls in a continuous treatment. At the center of the ceiling, the drapery terminated into a hand cast plaster octopus medallion, inspired by the decorative ceiling mounts of Victorian interiors, with a disco ball hanging at its center to simulate the uvula of the cat. The lower proscenium drapery could not be designed until the theater existed. I brought my sewing machine to Oregon and constructed it on site, seated at the base of the stage. It was one of the last elements to go up. Each evening after a full day of building, the crew gathered to hand make yarn pom poms, a nightly ritual that was equal parts production necessity and team practice in a softer craft. The pom poms were sewn to the finished drapery, creating a fringe that gave the proscenium its final form. The drapery paired with the eyes already watching from the proscenium above gave the entire stage the unmistakable presence of a face.