Songs for the Struggling Artist

You’re not Just a Theatre; You’re a Movement.
December 15, 2014, 12:00 am
Filed under: art, Creative Process, theatre, writing | Tags: , ,

Not long ago, I had the second in a series of meetings with an arts organization consultant about my theatre company. These meetings are an extraordinary gift of an opportunity to get feedback and insight from someone who has seen the births, lives and deaths of many theatre companies, large and small. After a long discussion about mission and purpose and values, he said something that made my mind split wide open. It was something along the lines of “You’re not just a theatre, you’re more like a movement.”

And I wouldn’t have expected to, but I loved this idea. I think this is because theatre companies come and go. Fifty were born just today in tiny apartments around NYC but Movements. . .Movements have a lasting effect. Movements slip in and make a difference. Movements can empower people, can shift the balance of things, can show people things they hadn’t seen before. Movements can be political, sure – like the civil rights or feminist movement but they are also revolutionary artistically – like the impressionist, the cubist, the futurist, the modernist movements. Movements move things. Or maybe more than things, they move people. They move the landscape, they move the conversation.

That is for me. I’ll sign up for that. And somehow framing my work in this context helps me weather the storms of art-making a little bit better. If the establishment doesn’t give me its resources or its prizes – no problem. I’m a movement, the establishment isn’t supposed to like me. If I find myself at the margins of things, no problem, that’s where movements thrive.

When I have trouble marketing my work well? As this advisor said, “For you, it’ll be less about marketing and more about spreading the word.”
And that is music to my marketing-weary ears.

What I will now do with this new perspective on my work, I’m not yet sure – but what is clear to me is how buoyed I feel by this idea. It feels as though I had a great anvil untied from my feet and now I’m free to bob in the sea, free to let the movement move me.

“You do not become a ”dissident” just because you decide one day to take up this most unusual career. You are thrown into it by your personal sense of responsibility, combined with a complex set of external circumstances. You are cast out of the existing structures and placed in a position of conflict with them. It begins as an attempt to do your work well, and ends with being branded an enemy of society.”
Václav Havel

I’m not yet at the Enemy of Society Stage yet but I guess that’s how I know I’m not at the end.





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Ashes and Light
September 11, 2014, 4:32 pm
Filed under: art, dreams, theatre | Tags: , , , , ,

It is the 11th of September, 2014. Thirteen years ago, the smoke blew over Brooklyn, where I was nestled, safe from harm. This is an anniversary for so many awful things but for me, it is also a reminder of something powerfully great and the two are inextricably linked in my mind.

That morning, even before all the damage was done, my friend Shannon called to make sure I was okay. (I was. And still in my pajamas. And remarkably, she got through to me via the phone when so few could.) Shannon and I had been talking for months about working together on a play. We’d bandied the idea back and forth and Shannon, who was living in California, had been toying with the idea of moving to NYC to do it. When she called that morning, I thought, “Well, that will be the end of that! She’s not going to move to New York now, not now that the city is under attack, not now when rubble is falling and smoke is permeating the air!”

In fact, it was quite the opposite. The horror of the situation seemed to galvanize her and she said, “That’s it. I’m coming. We’re going to do this.”

For me, that was the real birth of our theatre company. It was that moment when the world was falling apart, when destruction seemed to be raining down on us – and we decided to make something.

It felt then, and still feels, like the only response to destruction is creation. And while that first show we made had nothing to do with 9-11 or politics or even destruction – it was, in a sense, a response to all of that. It was, for us, an assertion of the power of creativity in the face of death.

I find myself newly moved today, when I think about Shannon’s fierce choice to come here and make something with me. It got me thinking about how our little company, that was born in a difficult moment, has survived throughout all the subsequent difficulties.

If feels like this theatre was born out of ashes and it helps to remember that when it seems too hard to go on, when it’s so challenging to keep making things with so few resources and so little encouragement. Today, I’m reminded that we were compelled to make a bright thing in a dark time. And as we go on, I feel like the darker the moment, the lighter we are compelled to shine, even when the odds are against us.

Today, I’m remembering both things, the ashes and the light and I will carry both of them forward to the next marker in time.


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My Harrasment-versary Part 2: Progress Report of Women in American Theatre
October 19, 2013, 12:49 pm
Filed under: art, Gender politics, theatre | Tags: , , ,

The thousands of views of my blog gave me a great deal of hope for the theatre and women’s place in it. I felt like there was a surge forward, that progress was being made. In many corners, I saw growth and renewed commitment to equality. Resources like 50/50 in 2020, Guerrilla Girls, How Sexist is this Show?, League of Professional Theatre Women and Works by Women (in both NY and San Francisco) came to my attention. People around the country are fighting the good fight.

Two women won Tony awards for directing, which was entirely unprecedented. An all female Julius Caesar is at St. Ann’s Warehouse and many theatres did notable work toward producing work by women. It’s possible that gender equality is on people’s minds more than ever before.

There are bummers in the news too. Lots of theatres totally tanked their gender statistics in terms of writers and directors. (And I don’t even want to think about the gender ratios on stage.)

But that’s the slog, I guess. We just keep at it until the good outweighs the bad. Whether or not there’s been a systemic change, the one thing that is palpable and measurable on a personal level is that I am back out and proud to be a strident feminist! And I find I am more often in company in that position than I used to be. The people around me (men as well as women) are much more vocal and willing to talk about gender discrimination. That’s the sort of circle that expands, I have to hope.

After so many people expressed interest in my writings on sexism in the theatre, I discovered how much I enjoyed talking about it. I wrote and wrote about it. Then, inspired by Caitlin Moran and all the journalism about women in the UK, I thought I should write a theatre column for a feminist magazine or something. I wrote to them all but what I realized as I did is that I didn’t have to make a case for being a feminist; I had to make a case for theatre. Not one of the feminist pop culture outlets has a theatre column. I began to realize that no one, besides those of who work here, really gives a shit about whatever sexist or racist or ageist or able-ist or whatever-ist shenanigans are going on in American Theatre, because no one outside of the theatre really gives much of a shit about theatre. Which may explain how so many outdated structures can continue to thrive in our field. I feel like I had things backward, that I’m in the minority because I’m a theatre artist not because I’m a feminist.

And I’m not sure what to do about it. But I wonder if we’re in an All Boats Rise situation. That is, we’re ALL on the periphery of American Culture. Maybe to clear up some of our equality issues we need to get a bigger lens on what we’re doing on stages across the country. Operating in the shadows, theatres get away with all kinds of nonsense every day. If more people were watching us, maybe we’d all behave a lot better?

I don’t know. I give a shit about theatre. I want it to be better. In many ways. Mostly I just want to work in it without QUITE so many odds stacked against me. Probably that’s what we all want fundamentally and working in a field that is so liminal to the culture makes EVERYONE who works in it feel like the odds are against them.That makes it hard to be generous with each other or be generous with opportunities or to expand our contacts beyond the immediate circles we operate in. It is difficult. But it is something to aspire to. A rising tide lifts all boats.



Postscript 1: If you’re inspired to support some theatre made by women, I’m going to shamelessly plug my own feminist show here on my blog. Director, creators, performers, designers and stage management are all women and we’d love to get a crowd in to see it. We run through the 27th of October.  Link here for Messenger Theatre Company’s As We Like It 

Postscript 2: I asked my feminist theatre group for good news or bad news of the last year and this is what they posted. You get to determine which news is which! And please add your own in the comments!–londons-most-influential-people-2013-imagineers-theatre-8824912.html

It’s my Harassment-versary!
September 23, 2013, 12:33 am
Filed under: art, business, Gender politics, theatre | Tags: , , , ,

One year ago, I posted this blog about my experience of sexism in American Theatre. The response it got was overwhelming and generated a whole host of other thoughts about my experience. (Here, here and here, for a start.) A year later, the initial post still gets a view or two a day but mostly the dust it stirred up has settled.
So I thought I might kick it up again because the past year has given me a great deal to think about. Because there’s so much, I’ll be celebrating my harassment-versary in installments.

Part One: The Job

Many people wanted to know what happened with the Job. The immediate effects are recounted here but what came after is trickier to sum up.

Short version: I haven’t worked there since.

Long version: After the initial phone calls from the managing director in which he expressed hopes that I would continue working there and in which he let me know what actions were being taken, after all the teaching artists suddenly received employee handbooks (including a sexual harassment policy) and after plans for a sit-down with the big bosses of the organization and the man I’d called out were made (for a future date, sometime before my next meeting there): nothing much happened. Due diligence by the organization, lawsuits averted, asses covered and then it was a matter of waiting.

Months went by before I was scheduled to come in for the next round of work and I realized that if I was going to have this promised meeting, I’d have to arrange it myself. And I found I did not want to work there enough to do that. So I skipped that first work commitment (this is the advantage of working At Will) and I had enough work elsewhere to turn down the next round of work, too. Given the choice between working at a place where I’d experienced sexual harassment and working at a place I hadn’t (yet. . it ‘s never too late!) I went with the place I felt welcome. And while all of this lacks the dramatic punch that many readers longed for (“Did you get a heartfelt apology?” “Did you sue?” “Did you quit in a blaze of glory?” “Did he get fired?”) I think it’s likely that this is how a lot sexual harassment stories go.

I’ve done a lot of reading and listening and thinking about women in the workplace in the last year. One thing I discovered was that women are a lot less likely to report sexual harassment than they think they are. That is, every 8 out of 10 women who read my blog and thought “I’d totally report that guy!” probably wouldn’t have in reality – for a lot of good reasons. (But my hat’s off to those who have!)

Why is this sort of culture so pernicious? There are dozens of reasons but one likely contribution is a psychological concept called Learned Helplessness. That is, people who encounter a failure enough times will simply become unable to do anything. (Watch the video at the end of this great article about the idea.)

This makes me think about the myriad ways women encounter sexual harassment throughout our lives and how we learned that it’s just a part of the culture so there’s not much we can do about it. Girls are fetishized as sexual objects before we are even aware of what sex is and the culture constantly reminds us that we are only as valuable as we are sexually desirable. After a lifetime of being unable to stop the wolf-whistles, cat-calls, unwanted touches, aggressive innuendo and inappropriate jokes, many of us have learned to feel helpless when someone crosses a line. Because someone crosses a line almost every day of our lives and if we spent all our time fighting it, when would have time to do our hair? (Ha. Kidding. I mean, when would we have time to become brain surgeons!?)

But the Learned Helplessness effect isn’t just a factor in the initial response to harassment. In other words, it’s not just in whether or not you say something in the moment, it’s also in what you choose to do later. And it doesn’t have to happen to us personally for us to learn the consequences of speaking up. Women in my generation saw what happened to Anita Hill as we were growing up. And every day now you can see what happens to women who speak up about injustice. When Lindy West talked about rape jokes, she received a barrage of threats of both rape and death. Anita Sarkeesian became the target of an organized on-line hate campaign just because she decided to make videos about women in videogames. Silence becomes a much safer response to all of this in a culture of trolls.
Should I have stayed and fought? Maybe. If it were a job I really wanted, I would have. In my case, the frustration and disrespect that plague my profession as a whole are such that I’m doing everything I can to get out of it and get my own businesses off the ground (this and this.) I don’t have time to teach one guy and one organization how to handle me and my case better. I have better things to do. (Like my hair! Ha. No actually, seriously, we have a photo shoot for my show and the hair takes a wicked long time.)
My suspicion is that many many businesses lose their women this way. A work environment becomes hostile or just uncomfortable and rather than making a point of why they’re leaving, women will just go. More and more women are starting their own businesses, becoming entrepreneurs. That’s exciting on one hand and a wake-up call on the other. If I were a big business, I’d be concerned about a culture that encourages women to leave it.
Did I do the right thing? For me, I did, yes. Did they do the right thing? For the most part, yes. Could they have reached out to me again? Yes. Would I still be working there if they had? Maybe. Do I want to be? Not really, no. So it’s all fine. I mean, aside from the fact that the dude has what is probably a six figure job and I’ll be lucky if I clear $20,000 this year. But I’ll save the post on the economics of sexism for another day.

Next up: Part 2 of my Harassment-versary Special:
Progress report on Women in American Theatre

The Quiet Revolution in Theatre
July 7, 2013, 9:41 pm
Filed under: art, theatre | Tags: , , , ,

Susan Cain’s book, Quiet, is said to have a started a Quiet Revolution. As one of the quiet people, I could not be happier about this new world in which I can come out of the introverted closet and finally declare that sometimes, I just don’t want to declare anything.

I am an introvert (though I can absolutely pass for an extrovert when I want to) and I am ready for a world that makes space for people like me. I have, I confess, grown a bit weary of pretending to be extroverted. I am signing up for this revolution! But my big question is: Can the revolution extend into the theatre?

The form is full of extroverts and so much of theatre training is essentially training in how to be more extroverted, how to get it all out there, how to DO before you THINK, how to lose your inhibitions. Is there a place for introverts in the heart of the extroverted fortress? Can you love both solitude and theatre? I do but it isn’t easy.

Introverts tend to thrive in quieter environments, working well on our own, thinking things through, speaking less but processing more. We mull things over, we chew on them. We are interested in ideas. We relate best one on one, can hang back in a group. We are lousy self-promoters. In the theatre, these things are rarely assets. But I wonder how we could make them so.

I think the American theatre suffers from an imbalance of extroversion. Evolutionary biologists suggest that introverts and extroverts (of all kinds of species) evolved as a survival strategy. The extroverts charge ahead, the introverts hang back and each strategy encourages the survival of the other. When I go to the theatre, I feel like I see almost nothing but thoughtless charging forward. I often hear myself saying, “Didn’t anybody think this through?” and also, “All that shouting up there is exhausting!”

I think we need more introverts in theatre and not just the ones that are good at pretending to be extroverts. We need the actors that take things in slowly and then surprise us with their wisdom. We need directors that can hang back and look at things clearly. We need writers that listen very carefully before distilling thoughts into words. We need designers who are able to listen and to make surprising, thoughtful connections. We need less shouting, on stage and off.

If you have any ideas about how to instigate a Quiet Revolution in Theatre, please share them. Let’s take some time to think about this (as we do) and then, Revolution! Theatrical Introverts Unite, very quietly!

How to talk to your kids about theatre
February 25, 2013, 12:21 am
Filed under: art, education, theatre | Tags: , ,

I’m in a café trying to write a play. A woman comes in with a four-year-old. After they sit down, she asks him about the play he saw in school that day.
Her first question is: “Were they good?”
Her second question is: “Would you like to be on the stage?”
And from there, the chat about the show was essentially over. Nowhere in this conversation did the kid get to talk about what he actually saw on the stage, nor how he felt about it, nor did he get to say anything about the content or the experience.
It wasn’t a big deal, this conversation; it was just an adult and a child processing the day. But it made me think about how we talk about theatre in general in this country. I think this is actually the norm. The average theatregoer is essentially responding to these same two questions and says things like “They were so talented!” and “I could never do that!” or “They weren’t so good. I could have done that.”
And the content of the piece disappears in the conversation. This line of thinking leads to an undiscerning audience that is only concerned with talent and imagining themselves onstage. This sort of audience leads to uninteresting art.
So in the interest of developing a more vibrant discerning audience of the future, here are some questions you could ask children when they see a show:
What was it about? What happened on the stage? What did you remember? What was your favorite part? How did it make you feel? Was there anything you didn’t like? What did it make you think about? What does it make you curious about?

How Feldenkrais Changed My Organization
December 10, 2012, 1:40 am
Filed under: art, business, education, Feldenkrais, theatre | Tags: , , ,

The Feldenkrais Method first began to move me in a workshop for my art. I was studying maskwork and my teacher, the incomparable John Wright, did a lesson with us at the start of every day. The lessons were inspiring and my performance work in the class felt like the best I’d ever done. I have no doubt that my progress in the art was due to the lessons we did and the attitude they inspired.

The moment that epitomized the experience for me was when John saw me struggling and touched me on the knee, saying rather ruefully, “You work so hard.”

It was the very first time I had thought to reconsider the value of struggling so much. Shifting my relationship with “work”, in the exercise, shifted my relationship to the work I was attempting in performance and it transformed me.

Since starting my training in the Feldenkrais Method in 2009, I have seen my self-organization shift and change many times. I’ve been moved again and again by the way reducing the effort, doing less and paying attention can improve everything.

I have found it impossible to not take these principles into other aspects of my life. It has had an impact on my teaching, on my relationships and my art. Last year, I began to think about how to better incorporate these ideas into my corporation (I cannot help but notice that the root of those words is rooted in the body. Corporeality is everywhere.) I began to wonder how to organize my organization in the Feldenkrais way.

I run a small off-off Broadway non-profit theatre company – emphasis on SMALL and NON-profit. I started it in 2001 and it has always been a great deal of hard work for very little reward. I felt like I was banging my head against a wall and I could barely work up the energy to imagine doing another show. With all the discouragement that comes with this sort of thing, I was very near to throwing in the towel altogether when I began to approach making theatre as if it were a Feldenkrais lesson.

I’d been toying with ideas about this for a while, but it took an experience with another theatre company to clarify it for me. I took a workshop with one of my all time favorite companies. From the moment I saw their work – a decade ago – I wanted to do what they did, discover their secrets. I’d always thought I’d give up my own work in a second to be a part of theirs. The workshop was a window on their process and it was exhilarating, illuminating and inspiring, but I discovered something; I didn’t want to do what they did.

They were interested in really rubbing up against the hard stuff, facing the difficulties in the group and those within it. They seemed to want to look closely at the walls and sometimes run into them. While watching the group struggle, I realized I had no interest in running into walls or examining the difficulties anymore. I didn’t want to focus on the problems in a group (because, as Dr. Feldenkrais said, when we focus on a problem, we get a very good problem.) I wanted to focus on what was working. I wanted to focus on where we could go and on making more and more choices instead of reinforcing our compulsions.

It seemed to me that how we work with people can be just like how we work with ourselves, that focusing on the difficulties in a collaborative environment must inevitably lead to more difficulties.  I left that workshop recommitted to my own work and with a kind of internal mandate to do things differently.

Here are some of the things we remind ourselves again and again: Reduce the Effort, Do Only what is Easy/Pleasurable, Go Slowly, Rest between Movements.

This is how they showed up my theatre/organizational practice. First, I noticed what I was already doing, where I was working too hard, where I was over-efforting. But I also noticed what was easy, what was pleasurable and I decided to make our next show using what I was learning in training. My first course of action was to find performers that I could develop this with. I thought about who was easy to work with, with whom I could feel myself and create at the highest level with pleasurable rapport. At the time, there was only one person who fit that bill, so I asked her to make something with me. We got together in a room and made lists of what we wanted in a piece and before too long, we had an idea that fed our curiosity. We then took our time putting it together. We went slowly, paying attention, unconcerned with the end result, not trying to ACHIEVE the thing, just discovering it.

I would like to pause here to say that this runs counter to almost everything we learn in theatre training. We’re taught to push, to go to our limits, to drive toward performance, to set our sights on the show and go full speed ahead. Most shows are created in bursts of intensity, a few weeks of daily rehearsal.

In contrast, we took ten months to make this show, resting when we needed to, taking time to absorb what we learned from rehearsal to rehearsal. It was the most pleasurable way of making work I have ever experienced.

Now that the show has been made, I am attempting to find ways to make the promotion of it as pleasurable as its creation. This raises a lot of questions for me. How do I imbue the drudgery of administrative tasks with the same ease and pleasure of making the art?

What I have discovered so far: I start with what’s easy. I notice what I am already doing and see if there’s a way to reduce the effort. If there is an overabundance of effort somewhere, I ask myself, “Is there a way to find a support?” Or perhaps do it just a little bit less? Or to adapt it so that I can manage it? And I am giving myself permission to go slowly, even under the gun of grant deadlines and fundraising goals. The business of making theatre has almost always been fast and furious and in slowing that process down, I have found many pleasures I had been missing in my push to drive it all forward.

I have also found myself willing and able to overcome many challenges that I had previously found insurmountable. The spirit of awareness and curiosity that the training cultivates in me has helped me do things as variable as designing marketing materials, learning new software, negotiating prices and talking with people who make me nervous. I am more and more comfortable with the things I previously thought of as stuff I couldn’t do. The differences in the process of learning how to stand my hand over my head and how to organize a tour aren’t all that different really.

In this last year of my training program, I have noticed myself thinking I should be farther along, that I should have more of the answers by now. I wonder often how I could possibly graduate in four months when there’s still so much to learn. But, when I take the time to step back and think about it, what is at the heart of the method is learning how to learn and that’s somewhere to start and a way to go forward. The process of learning will likely continue to sink in and infuse everything I do.

Finishing the training will be a beginning and a continuation, I think. It will mean following the spirit of curiosity and inquiry that is inherent in the Method, everywhere it leads, starting in the body, into the art and into the organization of my organization and beyond.

* This article was published in the Spring 2013 issue of SenseAbility

** For more information about my Feldenkrais practice, see my Website: Feldenkrais Arts

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