8.29.2007
I meant for this link to post with the previous...
http://www.fracturedatlas.org/site/fiscal/?do=browse_projects&category=Theatre
Herding Cats
How many freakin' theatrical mission statements are out there?
Why do they all start to sound the same?
Even the good ones?
Why are we splitting our little piece of non-profit pie into so many more small pieces?
Is there a way to harness this energy?
Do we want to?
And what makes a mission "visionary" these days?
8.22.2007
Exploding the Kitchen Sink
The Kitchen Sink Drama is, for the purposes of this rant, the epitome of American naturalism. The Kitchen Sink Drama ("KSD") entails a myriad of domestic dramas. Generally the KSD is a one-set two-act play, and generally is set in an apartment in NYC, although sometimes it is set in a family farmhouse. The dialogue strives to sound natural, the situations generally are "realistic", and the stories more incidental than epic. The play generally is "well-made" and follows a linear trajectory. There are many wonderful, moving and true KSDs. I am certain there will be many more.
I, however, want nothing to do with them. The KSD is antithetical, in my opinion, to evolutionary theatricality. I want to explode the kitchen sink and move the American theatre out of its 100-year long romance with naturalism.
And so I have to ask: Why is naturalism still so prevalent on American stages? Why are theatre companies, emerging and established, still producing kitchen sink dramas? Why are playwrights still writing them? What is the ongoing appeal of naturalism/realism in the American theatre?
Is it simply that naturalism/realism is sanctioned voyeurism? Voyeurism is more than just a sexual act. It is a desire to view other people's lives intimately, to learn secrets of their lives and somehow validate the normalcy of our own lives. When we watch things that pretend to be real, are we not satisfying some urge to validate our own existences, no matter how mundane? So naturalism seems to me: a satisfying kind of voyeurism that is not only sanctioned (presented with the intention to be consumed), but that it is also ordered (most "realistic" plays, movies, etc. add up to something - a moral, a resolution, whatever). Is not reality TV then a trump when it comes to sanctioned voyeurism - one, because it purports itself to be "real" (certainly, we can agree that while it may not be real, it is less contrived than a kitchen sink drama) and two, because it embraces "real" life and imposes meaningful order upon it? Sanctioned voyeurism then works best in a film or television medium.
How can the new theatre of the 21st century still provide the satisfaction of sanctioned voyeurism and yet still have epic, theatrical possibilities?
How can we, as evolutionaries, understand its appeal while exploding the kitchen sink on theatres everywhere?
I, however, want nothing to do with them. The KSD is antithetical, in my opinion, to evolutionary theatricality. I want to explode the kitchen sink and move the American theatre out of its 100-year long romance with naturalism.
And so I have to ask: Why is naturalism still so prevalent on American stages? Why are theatre companies, emerging and established, still producing kitchen sink dramas? Why are playwrights still writing them? What is the ongoing appeal of naturalism/realism in the American theatre?
Is it simply that naturalism/realism is sanctioned voyeurism? Voyeurism is more than just a sexual act. It is a desire to view other people's lives intimately, to learn secrets of their lives and somehow validate the normalcy of our own lives. When we watch things that pretend to be real, are we not satisfying some urge to validate our own existences, no matter how mundane? So naturalism seems to me: a satisfying kind of voyeurism that is not only sanctioned (presented with the intention to be consumed), but that it is also ordered (most "realistic" plays, movies, etc. add up to something - a moral, a resolution, whatever). Is not reality TV then a trump when it comes to sanctioned voyeurism - one, because it purports itself to be "real" (certainly, we can agree that while it may not be real, it is less contrived than a kitchen sink drama) and two, because it embraces "real" life and imposes meaningful order upon it? Sanctioned voyeurism then works best in a film or television medium.
How can the new theatre of the 21st century still provide the satisfaction of sanctioned voyeurism and yet still have epic, theatrical possibilities?
How can we, as evolutionaries, understand its appeal while exploding the kitchen sink on theatres everywhere?
8.20.2007
Focused Support
I've been doing a great deal of grant research recently and come to the conclusion that an individual artist without a non-profit institution is basically a funding pariah. Unless they're a playwright. Which brings me to a question-- why is theatre (generally recognized as a collaborative artform) only allowed individual grants to playwrights? Don't get me wrong, I love writers. I have spent my career working with writers. They have earned their place in the funding cycle. However, with very few exceptions, there seems to be only the institutional route for other artists to get their ideas funded and explored. There is exactly one grant for emerging directors as individuals, and that's a grant for observation, not creation. The other individual grants are major (Guggenheim, MacArthur, USA) and take some real established ties to qualify.
Is there a place that funds the generation of non-scripted ideas? Or commissions artists that don't bill (necessarily) as "playwright"? I see more and more theatre companies creating focused commissioning programs that give decent amounts of money (dollar amounts that can sustain an artist for 3-5months) to individual writers. It's a wonderful model and about time we moved from the "we'll develop you with a public reading" mode of developmental support to the "you need to not work a day job and write" kind of support. I suppose, selfishly, I want that kind of focused support for my own ideas without having to run a company or be at home on a computer. I would like to see a paradigm shift in the funding community that grants money to "theatre artists" generating work. Think of it as focused commissioning support that funds the ideas and initial phases of execution-- space, time, and money for the artists involved to create a work -- not the production end of things. Where is the support for interactive, on your feet creation?
Is there a place that funds the generation of non-scripted ideas? Or commissions artists that don't bill (necessarily) as "playwright"? I see more and more theatre companies creating focused commissioning programs that give decent amounts of money (dollar amounts that can sustain an artist for 3-5months) to individual writers. It's a wonderful model and about time we moved from the "we'll develop you with a public reading" mode of developmental support to the "you need to not work a day job and write" kind of support. I suppose, selfishly, I want that kind of focused support for my own ideas without having to run a company or be at home on a computer. I would like to see a paradigm shift in the funding community that grants money to "theatre artists" generating work. Think of it as focused commissioning support that funds the ideas and initial phases of execution-- space, time, and money for the artists involved to create a work -- not the production end of things. Where is the support for interactive, on your feet creation?
8.13.2007
On Sustainable Models
I want a laboratory setting in which to test theories of structure. I want to experiment in action the issues we're grappling with on this blog. I want a forum to create solutions to the problems we all face as theatre practitioners. I want the Malcolm Gladwell solutions to our strategic problems. I read the reports and look at the statistics and feel like we're inches away from producing ourselves out of existence. Or at least sustainability. What is a sustainable institutional (maybe the wrong word) model for the theatre that allows the following:
1. Living wage for the artists involved
2. Appreciation for the support team in pay, benefits and decent hours
3. Experimentation (and accepted margins for failure)
4. Ticket prices for all economic demographics
At the forefront of this model must be that we are operating under the auspices of a public trust-- that the art itself is a valuable commodity (in the words of another theatrical evolutionary "it makes you a better person") like a cultural think-tank. We shouldn't actually expect the art to make a monetary profit. The business investment is in the betterment of society. (too lofty?) And I think we may also need to think of that society as the neighborhoods or communities we live in. (Have you noticed how theatres always start in less expensive neighborhoods because of the rent, but often choose not to program toward their immediate surroundings? I've seen them be at the forefront of a "transitional" neighborhood, enabling the neighborhood to become "trendy" and then lose their leases to "trendier" shops when the rents increase. But that's another topic entirely...)
Is this possible without major Medici-style patronage? Is this possible without promising a tangible financial return on the investment? How can we start a lab environment to practice some of the rants we're preaching? (America itself was an experiment until the Revolutionary War.)
Go ahead. Discuss.
1. Living wage for the artists involved
2. Appreciation for the support team in pay, benefits and decent hours
3. Experimentation (and accepted margins for failure)
4. Ticket prices for all economic demographics
At the forefront of this model must be that we are operating under the auspices of a public trust-- that the art itself is a valuable commodity (in the words of another theatrical evolutionary "it makes you a better person") like a cultural think-tank. We shouldn't actually expect the art to make a monetary profit. The business investment is in the betterment of society. (too lofty?) And I think we may also need to think of that society as the neighborhoods or communities we live in. (Have you noticed how theatres always start in less expensive neighborhoods because of the rent, but often choose not to program toward their immediate surroundings? I've seen them be at the forefront of a "transitional" neighborhood, enabling the neighborhood to become "trendy" and then lose their leases to "trendier" shops when the rents increase. But that's another topic entirely...)
Is this possible without major Medici-style patronage? Is this possible without promising a tangible financial return on the investment? How can we start a lab environment to practice some of the rants we're preaching? (America itself was an experiment until the Revolutionary War.)
Go ahead. Discuss.
8.10.2007
On the Search for the Cross-Section
I originally started this as a comment but then it started to grow into something larger, so here goes:
I have heard this "audiences and casts as diverse as my daily commute" thought from Q before, and it is one that I have often thought about.
On my commute (when I use public transport, as I usually prefer to walk or bike as I need more sunshine and control over my own destiny than the typical office drone) I do NOT feel like there is a commonality of experience. I feel that most commuters are attempting to put up an impermeable force-field (be it with a paper, a book, headphones, or snoozing) and NOT to relate to each other. Of course we don't have subway performances or begging in DC, so those artists or those panhandlers might change the temperature in a car by connecting people together as witnesses, but generally, strangers are not connecting. Nor are they putting out signals that they WANT to connect. It seems to me that people want to preserve their anonymity - I know that I do.
In my life experience, humans seem to be predominantly self-segregating, seeking people with similar backgrounds and similar perspectives on life. Blue collars at one bar, rich frat boys at another, artists in one place, attorneys at another, etc. Add age, race, income, religion, music tastes etc. into the mix. I have lived abroad a few times in my life, and Americans always stuck together, as did the foreigners in general.
Churches - where you might think that a bunch of really different people could get together to worship a common god - self-segregate within denominations, too, along economic and race lines (possibly by age as well). And all those different types of people heading to all those different churches all over town feel that they are participating in something valuable and rewarding.
It's not that individuals have anything against any other group necessarily, it's that, for humans, like attracts like. Or safety in numbers. Or whatever. It's more relaxing to be around people where there is a kind of shorthand, and that shorthand can be most quickly developed through common experience.
So here's the question I pose:
Why does the theatre NEED to be a place where different types of people come together? Why is that IMPORTANT to the art form, and more importantly, to the EVOLUTION of the form? What makes you think that the theatre should do what hardly anything else other than public transport does? How can you make a piece of theatre that appeals to all those different types of people? How does this desire fit with the advice of R. Foreman, as Quincy posted yesterday?
It seems that there are two ideas at play here:
1) diversity of all kinds in the audience
2) a sense of community and connection across these diverse groups
First, I agree with Foreman. I think you have to narrow your focus and tell your story for one or two people whom you know intimately because I believe that it is through SPECIFICITY that we find the universal. How can you guess what the white granny, the Latino businessman, and the black teenage girl want to see and what will speak to them? How can you make art for a broad spectrum without generality? How can we possibly guess what moves a complete and utter stranger to laughter, to tears, to rage? I think all you can do is think about yourself (this moment makes me laugh), and your three people (my mom's heart would break in this moment), and you just hope that it communicates more broadly.
Secondly, how do we create a community through performance? Yes, I'm excited to experiment with the lights-up-in-the-house (but I want to be clear that the houselights should not interfere with the design of the stage lighting - so long as the audience can never "disappear" as long as there are actors on stage). But I think that Q's bringing up something that needs greater discussion and invention: what creates a community of theatrical witnesses? We know how that has happened in the US after a tragedy (even tiny, private tragedies). But how does theatre create that community, however transient and fleeting that community is?
I'm curious to see where this discussion goes. I know Q has some philosophies about how to attract different audiences (including some pretty pinko ones, but she can't help her lefty leanings) and I definitely want to start the brainstorm on how to create our community of witnesses/ spectators.
I have heard this "audiences and casts as diverse as my daily commute" thought from Q before, and it is one that I have often thought about.
On my commute (when I use public transport, as I usually prefer to walk or bike as I need more sunshine and control over my own destiny than the typical office drone) I do NOT feel like there is a commonality of experience. I feel that most commuters are attempting to put up an impermeable force-field (be it with a paper, a book, headphones, or snoozing) and NOT to relate to each other. Of course we don't have subway performances or begging in DC, so those artists or those panhandlers might change the temperature in a car by connecting people together as witnesses, but generally, strangers are not connecting. Nor are they putting out signals that they WANT to connect. It seems to me that people want to preserve their anonymity - I know that I do.
In my life experience, humans seem to be predominantly self-segregating, seeking people with similar backgrounds and similar perspectives on life. Blue collars at one bar, rich frat boys at another, artists in one place, attorneys at another, etc. Add age, race, income, religion, music tastes etc. into the mix. I have lived abroad a few times in my life, and Americans always stuck together, as did the foreigners in general.
Churches - where you might think that a bunch of really different people could get together to worship a common god - self-segregate within denominations, too, along economic and race lines (possibly by age as well). And all those different types of people heading to all those different churches all over town feel that they are participating in something valuable and rewarding.
It's not that individuals have anything against any other group necessarily, it's that, for humans, like attracts like. Or safety in numbers. Or whatever. It's more relaxing to be around people where there is a kind of shorthand, and that shorthand can be most quickly developed through common experience.
So here's the question I pose:
Why does the theatre NEED to be a place where different types of people come together? Why is that IMPORTANT to the art form, and more importantly, to the EVOLUTION of the form? What makes you think that the theatre should do what hardly anything else other than public transport does? How can you make a piece of theatre that appeals to all those different types of people? How does this desire fit with the advice of R. Foreman, as Quincy posted yesterday?
It seems that there are two ideas at play here:
1) diversity of all kinds in the audience
2) a sense of community and connection across these diverse groups
First, I agree with Foreman. I think you have to narrow your focus and tell your story for one or two people whom you know intimately because I believe that it is through SPECIFICITY that we find the universal. How can you guess what the white granny, the Latino businessman, and the black teenage girl want to see and what will speak to them? How can you make art for a broad spectrum without generality? How can we possibly guess what moves a complete and utter stranger to laughter, to tears, to rage? I think all you can do is think about yourself (this moment makes me laugh), and your three people (my mom's heart would break in this moment), and you just hope that it communicates more broadly.
Secondly, how do we create a community through performance? Yes, I'm excited to experiment with the lights-up-in-the-house (but I want to be clear that the houselights should not interfere with the design of the stage lighting - so long as the audience can never "disappear" as long as there are actors on stage). But I think that Q's bringing up something that needs greater discussion and invention: what creates a community of theatrical witnesses? We know how that has happened in the US after a tragedy (even tiny, private tragedies). But how does theatre create that community, however transient and fleeting that community is?
I'm curious to see where this discussion goes. I know Q has some philosophies about how to attract different audiences (including some pretty pinko ones, but she can't help her lefty leanings) and I definitely want to start the brainstorm on how to create our community of witnesses/ spectators.
On Shared Experience
I'm curious about the audience. Who are they? Why do they come to the theatre? Are they really who I assume they are? Do I really want the audience I think I want? I say I crave an audience experience that looks like my daily commute on public transportation, but does that include the drunk guy I accidentally sat down next to last night that hit on me? Or do I mean the working class families? Or what?
I think what I mean is that when I get on a subway in New York City, I feel a commonality-- like the train is the great leveller. And I look around in the morning and we're all sharing the experience of commuting and exhaustion. And I look around on a late Friday night and we're all sharing the energy of chatter and a night out or some common goal of SEEING SOMETHING that uplifts. And I look around most of the time and everyone's reading. And when the subway crunk performers get on and jump rope with their little brothers' bodies, we're all sharing an energy of amazement. And we're trapped in a metal box. Underground. Traveling in short bursts. And often, I look around in a darkened theatre and I see people that I don't feel a commonality with at all. Why is that?
This may go back to TJ's experiment of leaving the lights on so we can see each other...
I think what I mean is that when I get on a subway in New York City, I feel a commonality-- like the train is the great leveller. And I look around in the morning and we're all sharing the experience of commuting and exhaustion. And I look around on a late Friday night and we're all sharing the energy of chatter and a night out or some common goal of SEEING SOMETHING that uplifts. And I look around most of the time and everyone's reading. And when the subway crunk performers get on and jump rope with their little brothers' bodies, we're all sharing an energy of amazement. And we're trapped in a metal box. Underground. Traveling in short bursts. And often, I look around in a darkened theatre and I see people that I don't feel a commonality with at all. Why is that?
This may go back to TJ's experiment of leaving the lights on so we can see each other...
8.09.2007
On Self-doubt
I'm not even sure how to approach this one. I'm even too doubtful of my own ability to be articulate enough to create a blog post. I'm not sure that this is a universal question or if it's simply THE thing that I grapple with personally. I am currently in a real rut. A real slump. A real experience of crippling self doubt. We're in this profession that relies on the public eye-- on some sense of approval for the risks that we take-- and I have no idea how to reconcile my own sense of artistic growth and risk-taking with prominent public failures. It makes me want to eat cake. Grow fat and move to Nebraska where I might just be a big fish in a little pond. Quit theatre altogether and become a masseuse. How do I continue to put my ideas out there (and really, to produce my own work and invite people to it) if I am constantly thinking "I don't think I'm good enough" or "gosh, the theatre doesn't think I'm good enough" or "jeez, there's no way I stack up compared to the other work that's out there. I bet the WORLD doesn't think I'm good enough"? Richard Foreman once said to me that he makes theatre for three people. Literally. And he knows who those three people are. Everyone else can go hang. I'm not sure I have that chutzpah. Or if I even like his work. But his words resonate. There's something to be said for knowing who to listen to-- whose opinion counts for you, personally. It's that need for approval, in a global sense-- a need for "Fellow" or "Award-winning" or somesuch after my name that's kicking my butt right now. In a business that (rightly so) relies on audiences approving of the work in a way that means they'll purchase a ticket for it, how do we, the artists, measure success? And what is artistic growth anyway? Is it just another phrase for pretentious? What does risk mean in our business?
8.08.2007
On Impermanence
Theatre is intrinsically impermanent.
There is something so sad about that, but also marvelous. Shows close, sets are struck, costumes reintegrated back into stocks across town, the creative team moves on to other projects. There will be a time not that long from closing that all of you don't even quite remember things that seemed second nature only weeks before.
Photos don't capture the humor or pathos of the live moment, and video guts the performances so that it is barely worth watching a recording of the production. Once it's closed, it's gone. Forever. That play will never ever happen again in the same way with the same people in that same climate.
I know that this is all obvious, but I think it is a relevant discussion for the Founding Fathers, because I think we live in a time obsessed with permanence. Tattoos, video tapes of births and weddings, a million million blogs existing in perpetuity on the Internet of people's intimate thoughts... We live in a time when we believe that if it's not recorded, it may not have actually happened. Is this a response to our caffeinated fast-paced American lifestyles?
Where does the theatre fit into this obsession? How does transience become a valued part of the landscape? Or does it?
There is something so sad about that, but also marvelous. Shows close, sets are struck, costumes reintegrated back into stocks across town, the creative team moves on to other projects. There will be a time not that long from closing that all of you don't even quite remember things that seemed second nature only weeks before.
Photos don't capture the humor or pathos of the live moment, and video guts the performances so that it is barely worth watching a recording of the production. Once it's closed, it's gone. Forever. That play will never ever happen again in the same way with the same people in that same climate.
I know that this is all obvious, but I think it is a relevant discussion for the Founding Fathers, because I think we live in a time obsessed with permanence. Tattoos, video tapes of births and weddings, a million million blogs existing in perpetuity on the Internet of people's intimate thoughts... We live in a time when we believe that if it's not recorded, it may not have actually happened. Is this a response to our caffeinated fast-paced American lifestyles?
Where does the theatre fit into this obsession? How does transience become a valued part of the landscape? Or does it?
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