Stars, bows, ringlets, and canes.

When Justice fails, Anarchy reigns. Justice resonates in Crown Victoria’s name, and Anne survives in Anarchy. People that bare these names are subject to a life of unquestionable marital duties, sexual enslavement, or lessons in failed personal retribution amongst weighty power, expectations, and responsibility. I certainly understand both, learn from each, disagree with much, and value my own vision for it.

Mary Pickford is from my birthplace of Toronto, and indeed in my travels I have encountered her as a guide. Her presence is as a ghostly mentor, not someone to be, but to learn of. She was a founder of the Oscars awards, the footprints in the walk of fame were inspired by her accidental treading, a Canadian that valued Liberty in the U.S.. She was close friends with another mentoring presence in my life, Charlie Chaplin, as my initials are C.C. as well.

The stars never needed have settled in Hollywood, we never needed to call them that at all. There was an initial vision these people had that I deeply relate to and value. I understand the guide maps they set down for the larger audiences, leading people in desperate times to freedom. Embodying philosophies in their own presence, their names. Delegated to poverty and to make bankable films for studios that used and corralled them, these artists fought back. "The inmates are taking over the asylum." it was said, and I understand the meaning in that as well.

Pickford’s name troubled me, were her views so absolute? In my experience this was not the best path in all times, especially for women. Yet there was this image of her on Fairbank’s shoulders alongside Charlie Chaplin and as a group I understood what these brazen and intelligent people were creating. Stars, bows, ringlets and canes are interesting trifles and props, but with their meaning understood, they are powerful weapons and guides to survival in an oppressive world. What guts.

When I came to Hollywood and travelled its streets, it was sad. One cannot help but feel that something at some time was lost, perhaps borrowed, and purchased from it all. My time there was too quick, they had begun to renovate the area, but it was long from realizing itself. Entering the Roosevelt on Sunset for a party on two occasions, the only times I had gone out at night, the power went out and it was twice lit in the flame of candles. The birthplace of the Oscars, the ghosts in the walls and Roosevelt spoke to me as friends and I yearned for the aged walls to turn back perhaps so I could meet them there. Not everyone has forgotten the dream. The magic alive, I could see it yearn to break forth once more.

A person pointed once to a special item. It used to live in the Westchester Country Club, for decades. It was Mary Pickford’s Baby Grand Piano. It did not come with a stool, but rather a blue bench. Individuals that devote their time to magical illusion and writing value the spelling of a word. Piano, with the keys that you play is a P – An – No . This means harm, Anne, no. Certainly there is some small space for me to be incorrect, but her work is such mastery, I would think unlikely. In my heart, I would think not in any regard judging by the brave and intelligent acts of her and her friends, that she would agree with the sentiment regardless. It could be an exclusionary idea that perhaps is removed, either way I know I am amongst friends, whether we always agree or not. What a bold statement for a woman named to champion Pickford to embrace Anne, and that conflict is so strong in my own feelings and experience. Indeed I have been approached by, and learn from the best and worst of many, and have endeavored my entire life to realize a means to reconcile them all. It is saying that whether we champion a view we understand that the larger goal in it, to undo the restraints that force us to be molded by a life of abuse to servitude for a cause, with little regard for the person. That with artistry we play, and point to these castings of people, and elevate them out using our best humor and tenderness to make the realization with ease. Sometimes it is not the best performance, but the unseen bravest performance that shines through with brilliance we cannot ignore nor help but applaud loudly.

I cried at the vision of this display of flippant disregard for what she herself champions, as I so often do so myself to my own detriment. When people think they have me pegged I will wear the name or sign of their worst natural enemy, just to see if they are so far gone they can no longer see the person behind the illusion they have learned to despise. For only a name, a color, a background. It is difficult and is not to fault mostly, but learn and awaken.

It is as finding friends long past, and wondering if I will ever see their like again. The owner sold the piano, and I could not pay for it. I tried to offer all of the money I had. I would be turning my own pockets inside out as in some old silent film. I said that I wanted to give it a place to live, as Mary would want. And I saw what was, once more, travel away into nothing. Perhaps it was to break my heart to want less, or a selfish desire of those with money, power and a rudeful watch. A reflection of what the streets there have become again, that vision losing its luster, the intent trampled under the feet of passers-by with cash.

The piano was there for me to know it existed and learn. At its core a representation of my own connection with my march into New York with my chest bare as Westchester C.C.. Kennedy has his name on the course, another guide of mine for many years. Pickford respecting Anne and envisioning a way out for both through Charlie C. and the green Fairbanks is my dear friend. Ben, another strange friend at times, the seated bench where you reach for the keys to be free.

And there it went. For a few hundred dollars more than I could muster with haste. I am a filmmaker, an artist, a performer, but more than that, I am a builder. When I return, I bring more than a few films to create, I want to elevate what I understand and has been forgotten. I do not want to see the selling out of this vision any longer, nor setting upon people that decide to no longer take that path, to laugh at their failure. And if no one understands that, then I desire to be strong enough that I buy it back outright, and set it on its feet again. We said that it was time to explore the light. Well there it is, at least initially breaking through something. I adore the triumph witnessed in these small acts of vision, whether comedic, or soul touching, and cannot wait to begin my search once more for these friends I have not just yet met.

Good-bye friend.

by Chantelle Victoria Anne Collete