THOSE Mothers !

After six wonderful months to prepare, 4 great evenings on stage for Those Mothers.

TMM thanks the cast, the crew and tech, the friends and the audience who made the performances possible.

Some photos are already at the Gallery of this website.  More to come.

They talk about it“.

About Those Mothers:

A world premiere. Experimental staging. A non-linear account of tormented mother/daughter relationships.  A drama with funny moments, pitting sexual repression of the second half of the twentieth century against the more liberal mores of the present day. A secret links the anguish of the mother and the daughter, ostensibly united in their still-evolving pursuit of sexual, reproductive, and intellectual liberation.

Those Mothers, written by UVM Professor Tina Escaja, is adapted for the stage and directed by Georgette Garbès Putzel.  The stage set uses mostly recycled material from Re-Source in Burlington, VT.  The props, costumes, set, and staging of the script keep the audience from connecting the content of the play to any specific time or place; and although it is based on real events in Spain, we navigate across 3 generations from Spain to Anywhere.

Photos and Films: Stephen Pite

More photos (by Jeff Tolbert) on Theatre Mosaic Mond Facebook page.

Translated from Spanish by Leonora Dodge.




 Asterion will be presented  in Spanish, then in English, back to back each evening. See some Photos of rehearsal.

Asterion was a Theatre Mosaic Mond world premiere in 2013; it will be presented at THE OFF CENTER for the Dramatic Arts in Burlington  (294 North Winooski Avenue #116c  Burlington, VT 05401Transit: No. Winooski Avenue at Archibald Street)

Asterion is a one act, one actor play composed, designed, choreographed and performed by Diego Mattos with Georgette Garbès Putzel and the participation of a musician Live and the Core Team at TMM.

“Asterion is one of the names given to the Minotaur, the mythological figure half man half bull, condemn to spend his days trapped in a well-designed labyrinth. However, what happens when the labyrinth turns into a waiting room, and the myth into the body of an immigrant? Asterion talks about existing in two places: pas and present, dreams and memory, joy and fear. And with the help of Jorge Luis Borges, the play also inquires deeply about solitude, frustration, utopias and the numberless contradictions that form our own labyrinths and stories.”
~ Diego Mattos

“Asterion,” a tale of transformation, takes its name from a poem by renowned Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges.  Diego Mattos wrote this play in Vermont drawing on his own experience as an immigrant from Bolivia.
“Asterion is one of the names given to the Greek mythical figure of the Minotaur, the offspring of Pasiphae and a white-snow bull. Half man half bull, this monster is condemned by Minos, Pasiphae’s husband, to live in a labyrinth (designed by Daedalus). There he spends his days and nights, never seeing daylight, never seeing his sister Ariadne, only seeing terrified young men and women put in the labyrinth from time to time to be sacrificed. In the end Theseus kills the Minotaur Asterion and escapes the labyrinth holding Ariadne’s thread.
Asterion is also an immigrant, who exists somewhere between here and there, not past not present, always seeking a place to call home. We all live in personal labyrinths, and dealing with them can sometimes be painful, sometimes revealing. We all have left a place to which we have never returned, sometimes without realizing it.  Getting old, we migrate away from the child we used to be, the country we used to inhabit, telling them, ‘I’ll be back.’ But we never return. This play attempts to go back to a place I don’t remember.”  Diego Mattos, the author of Asterion.
Diego Mattos does remember his wife and children – for their patience during the preparation of Asterion.
The Team for ASTERION in alphabetical order: Andrew Albright: Stage tech & special effects designer. Beth Albright: Cashier and long-term supporter. Marita Canedo: Costume and set color advisor. Julian Chobot: Live guitar Saturday. Bill Ellis (guitar variations development) Brad Faucher: set construction. Kirk Fenegan: Live guitar Friday & Sunday and “frog” improv. Georgette Garbes Putzel: assistant director, acting director, special set and costume effects, poster-program designer, tech assistant. Diego Mattos: director, writer (using texts by Jorge Luis Borges, Augusto Monterosso, Mario Benedetti and Nicanor Parra), montage of the scenes, actor and charango player, music designer developing variations on “Fantasma de Canterville” by Charly Garcia, with the assistance of Phil Yates and Bill Ellis; and the assistance of Kirk Flanagan for the improvisation for the Frog scene. Lighting designer. Georgette Garbes Putzel (acting direction, artistic director, poster & program design, set and costume special effects designer. Lighting board operator) Roger Putzel (poster & program editing, assistant producer, mask operator). We work beyond our special skills.
On stage Diego Mattos plays the charango, a cute little instrument traditionally made of an armadillo shell, now, with different types of wood. It typically has five courses of 2 strings, but other variations exist.  The instrument was invented in the early 18th century at the Royal Audiencia of Charcas in present-day Bolivia. When the Spanish conquistadores came to South America, they brought the vihuela (an ancestor of the classical guitar) with them. It is not clear from which Spanish stringed instrument the charango is a direct descendant. It may have evolved from the vihuela, bandurria (mandolin), or the lute. Many stories tell how the charango originated, with its distinctive, diminutive armadillo sound box. One story says that the native musicians liked the sound the vihuela made but lacked technology to shape the wood. Another says that the Spaniards prohibited natives from practicing their ancestral music; they made a lute that they could easily hide under a poncho.   Be assured that the charango on stage in April of 2013 was not made of armadillo shell.

Voices in French

Join TMM On Stage without actually stepping On Stage !

Share your voice with Theatre Mosaic Mond,


and in

French (standard).

We are looking for volunteers, male and female,for several voices recordings. No acting. You just read a few lines which will be recorded and become part of our play.

Join TMM and have fun being on stage without being on stage.

Each volunteer will be offered a complimentary ticket.

Please fill up the Contact Form below.

Looking for !

TMM wishes you the most creative 2016 !

  • Join the team of Volunteers for the Theatrical Healing Event.  You are an actor, a clown, a mime, a set designer, a dancer, a musician, a costume maker, or some one who loves creating dreams, some one with a big heart who wants to bring an instant joy and peace to some one who is ill.
  • Volunteer and learn how to be a stage-manager or a house-manager for our next creation..
  • Join TMM On Stage without actually stepping On Stage !  Share your voice with Theatre Mosaic Mond, in English, in French (standard) and in Spanish.  We are often looking for volunteers, male and female, all ages, for voice recording. No acting but the love of reading. You will be recorded and will become part of the play. Join TMM and have fun being on stage without being on stage. Each volunteer will be offered a complimentary ticket.

Please fill up the form below to contact TMM


Don’t give up

by Mario Benedetti
Don’t give up, you still have time to reach up and start anew, Accept your shadows,
 Bury your fears, 
Free your burdens,
 Fly again.
Don’t give up, that’s what life is Continue the journey, Follow your dreams, Unstuck time,
 Move the rubble,
 And uncover the sky.
Don’t give up, please don’t give way, Even if the cold burns,
 Even if fear bites,
 Even if the sun sets,
 And the wind goes silent, There is still fire in your soul
There is still life in your dreams.
Because life is yours and yours is the desire Because you have loved it and because I love you Because wine exists and love is true.
 Because there are no wounds that time doesn’t cure.
To open the doors,
 Take away the locks,
 Abandon the walls that have protected you,
To live life and accept the challenge Get back laughter, Practice a song, 
Lower the guard and extend the hands 
Open the wings
And try again,
 Celebrate life and take back the skies.
Don’t give up, please don’t give way, Even if the cold burns,
 Even if fear bites,
 Even if the sun sets,
 And the wind goes silent, There is still fire in your soul
There is still life in your dreams.
Because every day is a new beginning, Because this is the hour and the best moment. Because you are not alone, because I love you.


La lluvia tiene un vago secreto de ternura
algo de soñolencia resignata y amable,
una música humilde se despierta con ella
que hace vibrar el alma dormida del paisaje.

Es un besar azul que recibe la Tierre,
el mito primitivo que vuelve a realizarse.
El contracto ya frío de cielo y tierra viejos
con una mansedumbre de atardecer constante.

Es la aurora del fruto. La que no trae las flores
y nos unge de espíritu santo de los mares.
La que derrama vida sobre sobre las sementeras
y en el alma tristeza de lo que no se sabe.

La nostalgia terrible de una vida perdida,
el fatal sentimiento de haber nacido tarde,
o la ilusión inquieta de un mañana imposible
con la inquietud cercana del color de la carne.

El amoe se despierta en el gris de su ritmo,
nustro cielo interior tiene un trinfo de sangre,
pero nustro optimismo se convierte en tristeza
al contemplar las gotas muertas en los cristales.

Y son las gotas: ojos de infinito que miran
al infinito blanco que les sirvío de madre.

Cada gota de lluvia tiembla en el cristal turbio
y le dejan divinas heridas de diamante.
Son poetas del agua que han visto y que meditan
lo que la muchedumbre de los ríos no sabe.

!Oh lluvia franciscana que llevas a tus gotas
almas de fuentes claras y humildes manantiales¡
Cuando sobre los campos esciendes lentamente
las rosas de mi pecho con tus sonidos abres.

El canto promitivo que dices al silencio
y la historia sonora que cuentas al ramaje
los comenta llorando mi corazón disierto
en un negro y profundo pentagrama sin clave.

Mi alma tiene tristeza de la lluvia serena,
tristeza resignada de cosa irrealizable,
tengo en el horizonte un lucero encendido
y el corazón me impide que corra a contemplarte.

¡Oh lluvia silenciosa que los årboles aman
y eres sobre el piano dulzura emocionante;
das al alma las mismas nieblas y resonancias
que pones en el alma dormida del paisaje¡

Federico Garcia Lorca

Boris Vian

Le déserteur

Monsieur le Président, je vous fais une lettre
que vous lirez peut-être
si vous avez le temps
je viens de recevoir
mes papiers militaires
pour partir à la guerre
avant mercredi soir
Monsieur le Président
je ne veux pas la faire
je ne suis pas sur terre
pour tuer les pauvres gens
c’est pas pour vous fâcher
il faut que je vous dise
ma décision est prise
je m’en vais déserter

Depuis que je suis né
j’ai vu mourir mon père
j’ai vu partir mes frères
et pleurer mes enfants
ma mère a tant souffert
qu’elle est dedans sa tombe
et se moque des bombes
Quand j’étais prisonnier
on m’a volé ma femme
on m’a volé mon âme
et tout mon cher passé
Demain de bon matin
je fermerai ma porte
au nez des années mortes
j’irai sur les chemins
je mendierai ma vie
sur les routes de France
de Bretagne en Pprovence
et je dirai aux gens
refusez d’obéir
refusez de la faire
n’allez pas à la guerre
refusez de partir
s’il faut donner son sang
allez donner le vôtre
vous êtes bon apôtre
Monsieur le Président
si vous me poursuivez
prévenez vos gendarmes
que je n’aurai pas d’armes
et qu’ils pourront tirer

Boris Vian (1920-1959)   Boris Vian à Paris, Rive Gauche.