On writing artistic statements

Kari's post about application fatigue couldn't have come at a better time. Yeah, I'm a week late (10 points taken off, I know), but now that things seem to be settling down a bit in my personal life, I have time to catch up and reflect on what's been happening on the theatrosphere. To be quite honest, this seems to work a lot better for my natural way of processing things.

I had to complete an artist statement for a program I'm applying to, and it's one of the most frustrating things I've ever done. Granted, I only suffered for a few days (or, to be more precise, procrastinated for 5 days and suffered a sleepless night), but it's still a pain in the ass to more or less justify your existence as an artist in 500 words or so.

Yes, yes, it's a great exercise and all - but damn! As I said in the comments of Kari's blog:

If I knew exactly what I wanted to say with my work and why, I would just, y’know, say it instead of wrestling with a script. Not to mention, I don’t like forcing myself or my work into a box that may or may not fit where I am at any particular time. Don’t get me wrong; I think a certain amount of reflection can really help give you greater clarity about what you’re really trying to do with your current piece. But trying to squeeze your past, present, and future work into a one-page summary seems, to me, rather reductive by default.

In a weird sort of way, artistic statements force you to talk about your artistic growth in a way that almost stunts your growth. Talking about a play – or even a playwright – as though it’s a fixed, immutable concept rather than a dynamic interplay of overlapping processes seems contradictory to the very things that we enjoy about theatre.

Yet at the same time (here's that diunital logic thing I talked about earlier), writing an artistic statement in and of itself, free from the pressure of proving your worth, has been a great help on gaining more insight into what makes me and my work unique. It's forced me to think about how I relate to my work and the things this relationship to my work compels me to do.

It's also a great way to communicate with future collaborators who are (to my knowledge) not telepathic so may not know what aspects of my work are most essential to my purpose and process as an artist. It reminds me of this TED Talk by Simon Sinek (Start with Why):




While the original context of Sinek's TED Talk was business and leadership, the general idea translates beautiful to endeavors driven by ideas and people.

As I think about it, I suppose my ambivalence about artist statements is not the statement itself but the reason why we often wind up writing them. As a tool that simply communicates who we are as artists, they're a priceless resource. There are few artists I know who would not respond well to an invitation to share things about their work that are not always immediately apparent. And by invitation to share I don't mean putting us on the spot or demanding us to justify certain artistic choices. No, no, hell no. But the opportunity to share a bit of where some of the stuff we create comes from can be a refreshing change of pace from critiques and reviews.

Yet most of the time, this is not what we're asked to do with artist statements. Rather, it's not all we're asked to do. The thing we're really being asked to do (and we writers know this) is convince the people who will be selecting us for their programs or our works for their productions that we are Good Enough. Y'know, that old selling yourself thing. Hey, I know and appreciate artists who get their hustle on. But I wonder if, by making so much of this process about marketing and publicity, we're losing touch with something more vital.

What do you think?

Theatre as community organizing and entrepreneurship

Over at Parabasis, 99 Seats is discussing dynamic ticketing in theatre. While the discussion about this particular topic is interesting, I'm more intrigued by how it (once again) reveals the tension between for-profit and non-profit models for creating revenue in theatre. Or rather, the tension between the desire to create theatre that is accessible to everyone with the reality that creating theatre is really fucking expensive.


The value of theatre is most often described in its social impact - it's power to awaken, to inspire, to educate, to explore, to connect, to delight, etc. Yet, ironically, butts in seats determines a great deal about how most institutions function.


And now for a detour that's not really a detour.

I'm a member of the Anti-Racist Alliance women of color group, which I came to through the undoing racism workshop by the People's Institute for Survival and Beyond. At our last meeting, I expressed my growing restlessness when it comes to social justice. While dialogue is crucial, and I enjoy talking to people who really want to learn, this is no longer sufficient for my growth as an artist-activist. When the other women of color heard this, one of them said, "You're becoming an organizer," to which several others nodded or said, "Yup."


This shift in focus and effort is beginning to influence every aspect of my life, from how I want to earn a living to the kind of work I want to do to the kinds of conversations I want to have. This is not a dismissal of the discussion, but a desire to transform ideas into action. While it can be stimulating to once again wrestle with these perennial issues, the debating, explaining, and analyzing seems to be a distraction from the real question: How do we get out of this mess?

For a certain cantankerous professor (said with love), the answer is geographic decentralization. For others, it might be thinking outside the black box for performance spaces. Personally, I'm attracted to exploring the link between theatre and social entrepreneurship and/or lifestyle entrepreneurship. How can we change the way we make theatre so that it does what we believe it's best for while giving us a sustainable lifestyle that allows us to follow our passion? How can we organize differently so that we have an abundance of theatre's essentials (people, time, and space)?

For example, WOW Cafe Theatre does not operate as a production company, but as a collective of different artists and individuals who gather and create work in a particular space for the purpose of empowering women through the performing arts. As a result of the way they organize and how they used their resources, WOW is able to make creating theatre a hell of a lot more accessible than any theatre organization I've ever come across. The weird thing is that I've seen no other group like it in NYC. Where are the other places that do things differently? What can we start doing today to change things?

Now that it's over: reflections on "Tulpa, or Anne&Me" at Planet Connections Theatre Festivity

Now that Tulpa, or Anne&Me is officially through with its run at Planet Connections Theatre Festivity, I can reflect on some of the things we did that went well and those that could have gone a lot better.

I'm hugely indebted to Little Jimmy's Guide to Self-Producing. As a result of the things I learned there, I was able to do 2 things I consider very important for every production: 1) pay everyone a little something and 2) stay under budget. Of course, as a playwright, the audience response and the artistic collaboration were the most satisfying aspects of producing Tulpa, or Anne&Me for the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity. But as a producer, staying under budget and paying people were my most crucial tasks.


Looking back on it, I'd say that my function as a producer is to create a framework under which the creative team can do its best work despite limitations in time, budget, and personnel. This suits me to a T because my mind works in a strongly systemic way, and producing is basically creating and managing a system. I'm a classic Meyers-Briggs INTJ, so I flourish in a role like this.

That being said, although I enjoyed producing Tulpa, or Anne&Me for the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity, there are some things I'd do differently if I knew ahead of time that I'd be doing it. The main thing, though . . .

Get the people first.

Although the nature of our project changed from a staged reading to a production, in retrospect we should have started looking for our cast and crew as soon as we got the news that we were accepted into the festival. On the one hand, we didn't want to put too many resources into a staged reading, but we should have treated a production as a likelihood instead of as a distant possibility. This would have made things like booking rehearsal space a lot easier as well as given us more time to work with design elements.

Everything turned out great for the festival; we were very lucky in that regard. The next time around (especially knowing what we're going to be doing), we have to be more diligent about this part of the process.

Besides mounting the production itself, getting the cast and crew involved at the very beginning of a production makes it much easier to do things like fundraising and audience building. It's easier for 10 people to raise $2,500 than it is for 2 people to raise $2,000. It's easier to ask 10 people to each convince 5 people to see the show than it is to get 1 person to get 50 people to come see a show.


And while we're at it . . .

Take the time to learn about and accommodate how people work.

Unless you are working with people who are just like you, there are going to be differences in the way everyone works. Part of working well with others is learning how to speak their language so that they can get what you're saying with a minimum of static.

For instance, in an early rehearsal, one of the actors mentioned that she's a highly auditory learner. That was such a revelation. It opened up a whole new way of relating to her and understanding how she sees the world. Yet how long would it have gone ignored had she not brought it up? How often do we overlook the ways we can better communicate with people? How often do we think to say, "This is what I need to do my best work?"

Breaking legs and such

If all goes well, you won't be hearing from me for a few weeks because me and everyone working on Tulpa, or Anne&Me will be in the hospital for breaking legs.

If you haven't done so already, get your tickets and let me know when I'll see you there so I can say hi and be all social and stuff.

UPDATE: Due to changes happening with another show at the festivity, the June 16 performance will start at 8:30pm instead of 8pm. All other info stays the same.

To Do, To Watch, To Go

Looks like June's going to be a busy month. Lots to do, watch, and go to.

I'm going to do my best to see Flux Theatre Ensemble's Ajax in Iraq as well as BOTH of Nosedive's works:  Captain Moonbeam & Lynchpin/Savior and Freaks from the Morgue. I could do worse with my money (like see some summer blockbuster film that I know will be terrible *cough*Green Lantern*cough*).

In the meantime, Mom will be coming to NYC with my uncle and her friend. We're going to the Bronx Zoo. Shut up.