Wrapping Up Work

Okay, so I have 2 costume plates left to draw then I can paint them and be done with the surprise 13 plates I set out to work on last Monday and that are due tomorrow at 9am. And what am I doing? Yep, procrastinating!

I think that the end of the fall semester is the worst. Or at least right now it seems like the worst. Part of that has to do with wanting to do the whole holiday thing (and today Target was a lunatic asylum and I was just there to buy paper towels!) but also because we're working towards next semester shows as well. On top of this costume project I'm completing for Kushner's adaptation of The Illusion, I've also got to get Pericles designed and drafted before we leave for break. :( It has been rough.

But my work for The Illusion is exciting. See this fun plate below (my apologies for it's weird scan... the book is too big for the scanner bed):



The show provides for so much more than just a simple design because it has three plays within it. So each of the plays are in their own time period and color. And I've added elements of commedia in order to inform some of my choices. I've really enjoyed putting on my costumer hat again. Hopefully this will bode well for Orpheus Descending, the last show of UNCG's season for which I will be costume designer.

Meanwhile, I'm still on the hunt for a job. :( I was kind of seriously considering another masters program (a 2 year one in another field) but, really, that would have just been hiding out from real life again. I am ready to have a job and make more than $1000 a month (for 8 months). I am ready to be able to afford holiday gifts and all that. Yep, I'm ready to be an adult for real.

But I guess I should pass my costume seminar first...

Theatre Without Merit

Okay, I may regret this blog post, but there really is no benefit in not giving honest feedback. I just saw UNCG's production of Alice an "urban, techno remix" of Lewis Carroll's classics Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. And, I'm sorry to anyone who I offend or disagrees with me, but it was horrible.

To begin with, the sound was too loud. My ears were hurting during the pre-show and at the top when Alice's mother is yelling at her. My 7-year-old cousin had his hands over his ears. He asked to sit in the lobby before the show because he didn't like the loud noise. Later in the show, microphone use was inconsistent and garbled. Much of the talking couldn't be heard over the soundtrack and I left with a headache.

But the worst part was that the Carroll's story was lost. It appeared that the goal was to re-imagine the characters in a hip-hop style while ignoring the fact that Alice has to have a journey to find herself as a young woman. All too often the stage was muddled with action and visual stimulation. I couldn't tell what was going on, where we were, nor did I care. At no time did I feel for poor Alice. All I could think was, when will this be done? And while my 7-year-old cousin had moments of excitement over some of the spectacle (unicyclers and jugglers) he generally looked at me with confusion. Perhaps because he isn't old enough to have any frame of reference for much of the updates (a LOL-Cat as the Cheshire Cat, for instance) but isn't our target audience younger people? Shouldn't they get what we're talking about?

I will give credit to the production team: the costumes were fascinating. The props and puppets intriguing. The set interesting. And the lighting mesmerizing. But I felt that too much of the show was about spectacle. Sure, kids these days are more interested in Wii and movies than they are in old-fashioned theatre and story-telling, but, really? Do we have to perpetuate that? Do we have to assume that all our young audiences want is glitz and glam without substance? And for the poor parents and adults in the audience, sure we got the references to the classic book, but I doubt many adults really felt like it was money well-spent for them to sit through. A show for children should inspire kids to want to play make-believe and dress up, not pander to their dulled imaginations and attention-spans. And it should be something that the adults will say more than "Well, the kids liked it" when asked about it later. Truly, this production was not worth my time. Nor am I really happy, as a theatre-maker, to have shown this to my cousin as an example of my chosen profession. And I know I'm about to make a lot of people irate, but I'm a little embarrassed by the whole mess. UNCG can and does do better work (especially in the TYP program). I hope that we learn from this and strive for better, more-substance-filled, theatre with merit.

Two Weeks of Thoughts

My apologies for not having posted in the last two weeks. I've not had much to write about and my Sunday schedule has changed enough that I don't find myself sitting at the computer thinking, hey, write on your blog.

For now I have a few things of note, things that have been happening and the thoughts I've had:

1. I have started applying for jobs. I feel like a fraud, in part because the jobs I want I don't look qualified for on paper. These jobs are in the artistic department as Artistic Assistant or Artistic Associate. They are also jobs that want to be filled before I graduate in May. The other jobs I'm applying for are teaching jobs. That feels fraudulent too because I know that I'm applying more because I look somewhat qualified even if I feel like a professor of theatre design should not be directly out of graduate school. But I've got to pay the bills, right? Hopefully something good will come of all of this.

2. I am going to NYC in 2 weeks. I'm excited and nervous and financially strapped. I probably will only get to see 1 well-reviewed show (and perhaps one by Village Light Opera) because I'm just too poor. Oh well. Museums Museums Museums.

3. I have been stitching for Triad Stage's Christmas Carol. It makes me nostalgic for Portland. But I am enjoying these bursts of simulating real employment. And I like to help out a theatre that I care about and want to see succeed.

4. Speaking of Triad Stage, I saw Educating Rita last night. A wonderful play and I'm so glad I got to see it. I loved the set design and the premise, Pygmallion updated so you don't think that the Eliza Doolittle character (the aforementioned Rita) is really a sodding idiot for falling for her teacher. The whole play is a fascinating discussion about the power of choice and education, how people change and don't. I can't even begin but really, you must read or see the show (not at Triad as it just closed, but you get the idea). Powerful, powerful stuff.

Alright, told you it wouldn't be terribly exciting. I'm off to get ready for a mock interview for class. I'm sure it will be helpful, but I'm definitely not looking forward to it (I'm fairly unprepared). And to send off my application to the Goodman.

We're All Waiting

Hey, you reading that Cosmo?

On Friday, UNCG opened Lisa Loomer's The Waiting Room. For this production I tried on an all-together different hat, that of Lighting Designer. It was a panicky situation because the learning curve was extremely steep, and despite the show being in our black box, it requires more than just a "lights up/lights down" approach. But now that the show is open (and I'll see it in performance this afternoon), I am very happy with it.

First, let's talk about the play. The Waiting Room is the story of three women: Wanda, Victoria, and Forgiveness From Heaven. Wanda is a modern day woman who has breast implants that may or may not have given her breast cancer. Victoria is (appropriately) a Victorian woman who faces hysterectomy and all of the physical troubles caused by wearing a tightly-laced corset since pre-pubescence. Forgiveness From Heaven is a Chinese woman whose feet were bound when she was a little girl. The play deals with issues of gender, beauty, body modification, health-issues, post-colonialism, and a host of other things.

I chose to do my lighting design in this season slot before the show was announced. But was very happy when the title was revealed because the play, as might be surmised by the cross-section of time periods represented by the women, would allow me the opportunity to explore artistic light sculpting in melding reality with surreality. But as I said before, the learning curve was steep. My only other lighting design experience had been in a community theatre with limited resources. Furthermore, I was more the master electrician than even the assistant lighting designer. Though I knew the theory of lighting design on paper, actually having what was on paper made manifest was a bit overwhelming.

Furthermore, my poor master electrician was in a motorcycle accident (he's okay!) in the midst of hang. Fortunately I had some amazing people step in to take his place, but their time commitment could not be as much as a true master electrician. But this also meant that I had more time sitting at the Ion Board learning how to program the lights, which included DMX scrollers, DMX Irises, I-cues, and LEDs. The tech process was slow and arduous, but eventually I got the hang of it and I'm pretty happy with the result.

Despite that, looking back on the process I truly understand an aspect of the gender divide in theatre having worked in the land of lighting for the first time. Despite the fact that the art of lighting design as we know it today was developed in large part by the mother of lighting design, Jean Rosenthal, the field is dominated by men. At UNCG, where we are an equal opportunity educational institution, Electrics (as we call the area dealing with sound and lights) is still the boys club. On more than one occasion I was the only woman in the theatre during the hang and focus of my lighting design. And because I was at a severe disadvantage in the field due to my lack of knowledge, the gender differences became obvious and frustrating.

The reason I mention this is because it is ironic that I faced the most glaring gender division while working on a play that many consider to be a vital part of the third wave feminist canon. My own determination to push through gender barriers was magnified by my need to bring a feminine voice to this production (directed and scenically designed by two men). Unfortunately, my desire to highlight certain parts of the story that I thought were important as a woman had to cow-tow to the desires of the director. (The student-faculty dynamic also playing a role.) So, instead of doing obvious shifts in the lights to underscore poignant moments and speeches, I focused on subtle shifts that focused the audience's attention where it was needed most, all under the radar of the director and other faculty in the room. And I went home the night of opening happy with what I'd done, and pretty damn impressed with how well I managed to master a new lighting board, DMX equipment, and create an aesthetically pleasing design. My own satisfaction reward enough. And then the director called (with a change he wanted for the end of Act I) and thanked me for the work I did, including the subtle shifts he'd not had time to take in until opening. At which point I realized that sometimes working under the radar is just as affective as working above it.


Original poster artwork by Craig Shannon

The Answer to Life, The Universe, and Everything

I considered not posting something today, but today is not about hiding. Today is a celebration. Today is 10/10/10 or 101010. Today Grinnellians around the world are raising a (shot) glass to the ultimate 10/10 (first paycheck day). Today binary geeks are creaming their pants. Today Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy nerds are giggling about what the binary geeks figured out (101010=42). Today I am not getting married.

One year ago today my life was headed down a path with another person that I thought was The One. Together, in our ultimate geeky-nerdiness, had picked this day to pledge our commitment to each other after what would have been 6 years together. Today was going to be a big hoopy-di-do wedding with me in a white dress and our families looking on as I walked down some aisle on the Butte Creek Country Club in Chico, California.

But then a few days after 10/10/09, that path ended abruptly and I began to climb a very craggy, treacherous mountain by myself. Knowing that I was still going to get to today, I began imagining what and where it would be instead.

The good news is that I'm in Georgia with my best friend. The best friend who has seen me through the most shitty times of my life and will, one day, also see me through the happiest day of my life. Today is also still about Grinnell debauchery. The date is still a binary number. And that binary number still translates to 42. And though I'm not giving out towels as gifts to very confused family members in California, I still know the answer to life, the universe and everything.

Yes, the answer is 42, but it is also that life is a journey, an adventure (as cheesy as it sounds), and thinking that you know how it is going to turn out is not only stupid, but very arrogant. Living in the moment, embracing whatever hand you are dealt, and knowing yourself is all that matters. Hand in hand with this, too, is knowing when to stop trying to predict the future. For me it is turning off the fatalistic part of me that grew ten times the day I was forced to climb that mountain alone. Instead, I am working to remember that people are people. They make stupid human mistakes and hurt other humans. But not all the time. Sure, as has happened in the past with relationships that have fallen through, I am more guarded and scared. But I am also stronger. I know myself more. And that means that I can let that self go because it is wiser and more resilient than before.

So though I'm not getting married today to a man that turned out to be someone else, I am also not bitter or sad about what was or could have been. I am excited about what comes next. I am happy to have been given another chance to find a partner who will walk beside me down a path we both choose. But really, I am glad that I overcame the mountain and am back on solid ground (though pretty sure that I'm ready for the next obstacle in my way).

An Oklahoma Good-bye

Alright, last time I'll talk about Oklahoma!, promise.

Tonight we struck the set. The turn around for the show, because it was in our big roadhouse, was so short it was like giving birth directly over the grave (isn't that some famous saying by one of those crazy theatre people, like Artaud?). Either way, the show felt like a success in many, many ways and I am happy with it over all.

I went to see the show twice (on opening on Wednesday and then again on Friday night). I saw it from the balcony on Friday and was struck with how much more rich some of the moments felt by my closer proximity to the actors and the new view I had because I'd been sitting mid-orchestra all through tech.

I think that the director, my good friend Bryan, did a fantastic job directing the show and making it relevant for today. He lead the actors in some very exciting directions, finding the poignant and hilarious moments that needed to be highlighted. As usual, the lighting design was beautiful (even if we had a few snafus), and the costume design was also very pretty. I felt honored to be a part of the design team for the show and have the talented actors populate the world that I had created.

Now I move on to my lighting design for The Waiting Room by Lisa Loomer. So far I feel a bit like I'm stumbling through the dark (pun intended) because I don't really know what I'm doing when it comes to lighting design. I am hoping that I get the same joy out of having a design like this realized, but light is so ephemeral, it's difficult to tell.

For now, I'm going to sleep.

Ooooooooook-lahoma!

It's tech weekend (well, right now it is first dress) of the long awaited thesis Oklahoma!. It's been an interesting couple of days; I believe I've forgotten what the real sky looks like.

The most interesting thing about a show like this is the number of elements that have to come together in order to make it work. Obviously there are the scenic elements, but not until the lights were added yesterday and today did my design truly begin to take shape. And tonight we have the costumes; it's nice to see Laurie in a dress and apron rather than sport pants and shirt.

Over the next two days the last touches are going to come together (hopefully). And then we get to add the best part of the process: the audience. I'm looking forward to opening for so many reasons.

Now back to paying attention. We're at the dream ballet now:

Feminist Design & Design Realized

This is going to be quick since I am running behind today already and, well, there isn't much to say right this second because there is going to be a lot to say in about a week.

First thing, I am still reading Twyla Tharp's book The Creative Habit and I had a realization today about how useful this book is employing feminist design techniques and, thus, how much I wish I'd had this book when I wrote my paper last year. (And I'm attempting to get this paper presented at conferences... but have no time to update it with this new bit. Sadness.) Anyway, there was a passage today that specifically struct me as pertinent to my feminist design ponderings. In the chapter about spine, Tharp says the following:

"There's an obvious reason why, as a choreographer, I am constantly groping for a spine. Dance is preverbal; it doesn't have the writer's advantage of using language to establish meaning and intent. The vocabulary of dance is movement, not words. So I need something more in the form of an idea, an image, a memory, a metaphor to make my intentions comprehensible to the audience. I have to articulate this to myself because I won't be using words to articulate it in public."

In my notebook I wrote: Yes! This is why it is important to analyze your visual language as a female/feminist designer: you do not have words--it's all nonverbal! One must know your visual cues and those of the audience. Otherwise communication fails and either nothing is understood or the wrong thing is understood.

To elaborate, in Ringer's four questions about feminist design she calls on us to ask these questions: "How does visual language contribute to these explicit and implicit messages? How do I as a woman and designer relate to the visual language and the world around me? How do I visually process information?" In being aware of how I process visual language, I can better make decisions about how to communicate my ideas to the audience because I am cognizant of how visual language is created in myself and thus the population as a whole. And to be aware of how nonverbal the art of theatrical design is, is necessary in order to not just assume what I put on stage is going to make sense to the audience.

Take Oklahoma! for instance (which is the design realized part). I was giving a mini-talk about it to my stagecrafts class last week. I began by talking about my inspiration and process of turning that inspiration into a design. And then today, I got to see the theatrical realization of that design (in part) before the cast's first rehearsal in Aycock. The translation of my idea into reality has a bit of disconnect because the cast (as they are the only ones that have seen it yet) don't know the awe-inspiring, personal connection I have with the landscape of Northern California that I was inspired by. HOWEVER! My ability to interpret that into a majestic backdrop of sky and clouds atop a sumptuous yellow "waves of grain" gave them pause. They were swept up. I had achieved the awe-inspiring by creating the magic, even if the personal was left to be my own secret in my concept.

Now, think, if I had been more versed in how I viewed/interpreted/created the visual cues and how important my role as the nonverbal story-teller, how different (or better?) would my design be?

With this rolling around in my head I am ready to work on Pericles because nothing is getting by me now.

Generosity

Another installation of my thoughts on Twyla Tharp's book The Creative Habit. I've designated a journal I had laying about to write thoughts and notes in as I read the rest of the book, each page full of things that could jump-start a conversation or a blog post. However, at the end of her chapter entitled "Accidents Will Happen" she discusses the importance of generosity.

In the chapter itself she discusses the idea that luck is not so magical and fleeting as many would have you believe, but instead is a skill born of preparation and dedication to your project, and the willingness to and ability to notice when to take an opportunity when it presents itself.

"You have to allow for the suddenly altered landscape, the change in plan, the accidental spark--and you have to see it as stroke of luck rather than a disturbance of your perfect scheme" (120).

I could speak specifically about her call for planning and preparation that does not hem in the creative process, but instead let me go back to the activity that follows this chapter about being generous because it speaks to more than this creative habit she writes on.

"Generosity is luck going in the opposite direction, away from you. If you're generous to someone, if you do something to help him out, you are in effect making him lucky." (136)

Tharp's discussion of luck really being the skill to recognize opportunity is great. But this call to, essentially, create good karma in order to generate luck as well is the most fascinating. The highly collaborative nature of theatre is like a microcosm of the world at large. No one exists in a vacuum and people's happiness and goodwill is dependent on the happiness and goodwill that is given them from those around them. In theatre, the free exchange of ideas is an act of generosity. No one artist claims importance in the process by insisting that they are the mastermind of the artistic product of the team. There is no expectation that if the lighting designer makes a suggestion that turns into the solution that gels the entire design together that the rest of the team owes it to them. And so collaboration becomes an exercise in being completely selfless and generous with your fellow artists.

Tharp goes on to say that generosity is also linked to good teaching:

"... you invest everything you have in your [students]. You have to be so devoted to them and to the finished creation that your [students] become your heroes. It takes courage to be generous like that, to believe that the better the [students] look... the better the scene will play and the more satisfying the work itself will be. Without generosity, you'll always hold something back. The finished work shows it, and your audience knows it." (136-7)

This struck a chord when I first read it and I wrote quickly and furiously in my little notebook about how important this is to educational theatre. (By the way, I replaced "dancers" with "students" in the above quote, just to make it more relevant to my point, rather than Tharp's life as a choreographer.) I believe that the most successful productions at the educational level benefit from teachers and mentors that wholly adopt this idea of generosity as the guide the students towards success. There is no room in educational theatre for a teacher to grandstand, even if they are the designer or director or actor. Even in those instances, being generous with your process and knowledge pays forward to your students' own endeavors and will mean that the world will hand you the opportunity to be the recipient of someone else's generosity.

On an even more simple level, I think about my first day teaching Intro to Stagecrafts this semester. As I stood before the class, basically regurgitating the exact same spiel about the syllabus and handouts as the faculty and staff lecturers had just the section before, a lifelong dream became reality. That's right, ever since Kindergarten I wanted to be a teacher. I saw value and importance in the act of filling young minds with information about the world. Even though college students can be jaded punks at times, this semester has been one affirming day after another that teaching is a part of my future. And though I had always thought it was a bit cheesy, I told them, as I explained how the class would work and where they could get their notes and when I would be available to answer questions if they got lost, I said in earnest, "We want you to succeed. So don't be afraid to ask for help." Truly, though I'm only responsible for laying the foundation of knowledge about lighting instruments and actual measurements of lumber, it's also about inculcating in them a sense of empowerment and responsibility to their art form if they so choose to follow theatre as their path. Sure, it will mean more time answering silly questions or more time preparing extra lectures (about design!), but the gift of knowledge is my act of generosity. I've had some wonderful teachers and I hope to continue to have the opportunity to work with amazing mentors. I hope that this generosity will bring me that luck.

From Oklahoma! to Charlotte

Dear Readers (aka CT and Jenna), I had a great idea for a post. For about an hour and then it dropped from my mind. There are other things that I could write on but I fear they are too controversial and would be better left off of this public forum. So instead I offer you two things of note in my creative/theatrical life right now:

1. Oklahoma! is well underway, though painting is taking me much too much time. There has been a bit of an extreme learning curve trying to figure out how to paint new drops. I am working on drop #3 and it is taking a LONG time because not only is it new, it has to be painted relatively lightly so that it has a bit of transparency to it as it stands in for the cyc. The picture to the left, there, is the mid-stage drop, which was drop #1.

The other interesting bit pertaining to Oklahoma! (which opens in 3.5 weeks... have I mentioned that?) is that I am making a concerted effort to talk about it. I made sure I did a presentation to the cast, I am planning on bringing my model in for the stagecrafts class, and I have volunteered to be on the Q&A panel at the Super Saturday performance for local high schools on Oct 2. The reason is more than wanting to be self-centered about my work, but I feel like talking about a design is helpful for the next generation of designers as well as me. If I can explain my concept to people who are just starting to understand what a design concept is, then I feel I'll be able to articulate well to a director and the rest of the design team. Furthermore, there is so much more to a design than just what you see on stage, and I know that I want to pick the brain of designers after I see a particularly stunning production. Thus, I am offering my time to help my design live on as more than just a stage picture. I don't know if it will really be valuable, but, as Oklahoma! is my thesis, I figure this kind of work can't hurt.

2. I am also beginning to plan for the theatre conferences next year. I vowed after the last two years to not get caught off-guard by them, both in time-management and financial responsibility. I have decided that I will not attend KC/ACTF next year, in part because I feel I've out-grown it and also because it is all the way in Florida, which is a bit of a trek. Instead I am focusing my efforts on SETC, which was a great conference last year in Kentucky, and I have high hopes for the 2011 convention in Atlanta. I am also hoping to make it to USITT this year because it is in Charlotte, which is so close that it would seem a waste not to make an effort to take part in this professional theatre conference and expo. I'm honestly really excited about conferences this year and feel they are very important as part of professional development and learning. I am also working on polishing my feminist design paper from last semester in order to submit to the SETC emerging scholars panel and also the MATC emerging scholars work. Fingers crossed that perhaps I'm on my way to carving out an academic niche for myself. (And that I don't go bankrupt in the process).

That's about it on this front. I'm thinking I might post my work from my independent study this semester soon, so look for more artistic updates. But for now, I'm going to go wash Ultramarine Blue paint out from under my nails for the third time today. And perhaps my brilliant idea about a good blog post will come back to me. (And this time I'll write it down so I don't lose it. :P)

Creative Spark

Last night I was privy to a very interesting debate about the notion of recognizing the creative spark within oneself. One Mr. Hall adamantly asserted that the creative people in the world, without exception, recognize their creative spark. They may not know what form their creativity will take or how to enact it, but, from a young age, the innate creativity begins to take shape and manifest in whatever means are at a child's fingertips.

Over 12 hours later, my take on this assertion no longer resembles disagreement, but this idea did get me thinking about my own life and the life I hope to create for my family someday.

A bit of background: both of my biological parents are artists in their own right. My mother a fine artist, though never professionally or academically trained, has created quite a few beautiful paintings and drawings in her lifetime. My father is a graphic artist and quite the cartoonist. And my step-mother is a graphic designer whose aesthetic and color choices always feel, well, right. Furthermore, my parents (father and step-mother) kept the house filled with music and literature. They were by no means connoisseur nor did they populate my childhood with only the classics, but I was constantly surrounded by some form of creativity or another. I was also put in movement/theatre classes, was given the opportunity to play the violin, and had drawing utensils at my fingertips. In every way my creativity was nurtured and encouraged and I was aware of my interest in exploring the world through a creative lens.

However, when I began to talk about becoming a theatre artist as my career, I was encouraged to find a more lucrative tact. I did not go away to college intending to become a theatre major but instead the always employable certified teacher. When I realized, during my first semester at Grinnell in my Introduction to Stagecraft course, that my passion for theatre was more than just a high school hobby, I dreaded telling my parents. And even after I did, I still deflected comments that as a female engineer there would be a lot more financial opportunities than going into fickle show business.

This is not to say that my parents do not support my decision to be a theatre designer. But I have always felt conflicted about my creativity. Though my father and step-mother have turned their artistic sensibilities into their careers, their complaints about being burned out and constantly vulnerable to subjective criticism (and their encouragement for me to go and make good money) has made me unsure of how, if at all, to nurture my creative spark. It has called into question if this desire to create is more than just an indulgence or hobby.

As I've gotten older I have come to realize that, indulgence or otherwise, it is an important element of my soul. And therein lies the essence of what it is to recognize your creative spark, as Mr. Hall spoke of last night. Sure, you can sense that you like to draw or write or tell stories or whatever, and you can feel this way from a very young age when expression is about everything from color to sound to movement and everything in between. But to come to realize how your creativity is linked to your essence, how much of your motivation and drive in life is, indeed, sparked by creating, that is something that comes later and under very difference circumstances than just being exposed to art and the like. And for some, it doesn't happen until they're 70 and the urge to paint becomes a desire that cannot be ignored. Or it comes when you're 21, walking in a desolate snow-scape and you have the urge to run your hands along a tree branch in order to telegraph to the world how beautiful you find your surroundings.

Year 3... And Go!

Okay, dear readers, I have been incredibly lax in updating this blog for a variety of reasons, too numerous to get into and all sounding like a poor excuse for being lazy. But I've got about 20 minutes before I need to start work in the scene shop today and so I'm here, with not much of a plan but the need to keep the promise to myself to write every week.

As the title suggests, year three of my graduate school career is underway. This is the last year in my MFA and I'm incredibly excited. It has been a bit of a stressful few days, getting the six first year MFA designers situated (and hearing about the crazy class schedule debacle) but the dust is starting to settle and I think it's going to be a great year.

Oklahoma! is off to a fast-paced start (we hit tech in 4.5 weeks!) and The Waiting Room is getting going as well. But not just the shows, I have, miraculously, only ended up with one structured class and an independent study of my own devising. It's like a year made-to-order. And you know what that means...

In 9 months, the real world awaits. Yesterday, at a gathering of returning and new graduate students, the question of what comes next, of course, came up. I feel like I answer this question at least once a day. But the bottom line is that the answer remains the same (and, predictably, vague): I'm going where the job is. The idea of going to New York never appealed to me and there are only to cities I would move to just to move and figure something out (Chicago and Seattle), but in this economy and with my temperament, I'm not one to just hope that I land on my feet by heading to some burgeoning theatre community. So right now, I don't have an answer, but I am looking forward to the adventure that not knowing provides. And, really, I don't expect I'll have much an answer until sometime next spring. Life has a funny way of working out but it often takes a while before things become clear. So until then, I'm going to go paint some more clouds and start working on No Exit, just because.

A Dedication

Once, when I was about 7 years old, I attended a Special Olympics event in Chico, CA. I was there because of my sister Kristin, a sister not many of you have ever heard me talk about. Kristin, 5 years my junior, was born with Down's Syndrome. And like all people who have an extra 21st chromosome, she is a happy, fun little girl. The sad fact is that I haven't seen Kristin in over 15 years as she lives with her father somewhere in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. Yet, every time I pass a person with Down's, my heart breaks a little for this sister who I hardly know.

At the pool here in Carrboro, watching the athletes register for their events for a Special Olympics day that my other sister, Morrow, is volunteering for, I was overwhelmed. I had intended to help the volunteer staff at the event in any way that I could, but was unneeded, and rather than sit in the muggy heat for 3 hours with a sense of dread and unease, I opted to come home instead. And now I sit here and I feel at a loss to the purpose of what I do.

When I was younger I wanted to be a teacher. I wanted to change the lives of students. I envisioned myself standing before a classroom while rapt students looked up at me, absorbing information and asking questions of their world. While I realize that was a wholly unrealistic ideal of teaching, the fact of the matter was that I imagined I would be serving my community directly through teaching.

Instead, I fill my time by trying to create spectacle and entertainment for a small sliver of a community. Today I must resume work on Oklahoma!, a show that I would argue is pure drivel because it shows us nothing new in our world today. It does not make you think, it does not challenge your opinions, it just entertains and amuses you. And it was picked for the UNCG season specifically because it would be a money-maker, drawing in the "blue-hairs" and families that long for the Golden Age of Broadway to return. (Granted, I feel that the director for this piece is trying [and succeeding] in making this production relevant and challenging. But the bottom line is that Rogers and Hammerstein themselves admitted that they conceived the musical to hearken back to a brighter, happier time as America was facing the brutal reality of WWII.)

It is disheartening that in almost a decade spent in this profession of theatre that I find myself struggling to find meaning and purpose in an art form that has been the cradle of dissent and change in past times. One of my most important heroes is Hallie Flanagan who helped create the short-lived Federal Theatre Project. Her belief that theatre (and art) could be driven by the masses as well as be thought-provoking and dangerous ("Theatre, when it is good, is always dangerous," she said), is one of the things that has driven me further in my endeavor to work in this field. But the sad fact is that not many people are doing dangerous stuff anymore. True, there are companies that are working outside of the capitalistic, commercial frame-work, but they truly are the "not-for-profit" sector. Furthermore, they are often preaching to the choir because like-minded individuals are generally the people who make up their audiences.

So, what does this all mean? What, if anything, can I change in order to feel like I'm doing more than catering to the jaded and numb audiences? I'm not sure. Many people talk about the death of theatre in terms of the decline of audience numbers and the rise in the mean age of said declining(/dying) audience members. I feel like the death of theatre is in it becoming deadly. If, in an educational theatre, where the students are allowed to try something without the threat of eminent doom if they fail, the season selection committee can't push the envelope a little with their big-budget musical, what hope is there for theatre that can't afford to fail? I don't have the answer, but I do hope that as a theatre artist that I don't forget that I want to do what Hallie says: create the type of good theatre that is dangerous. Meanwhile, as I work on shows that feel useless and un-challenging like Oklahoma! I will dedicate my work to Kristin, whose simple, innocent outlook on life is enough for me to know there is a time and place for entertainment for entertainment's sake. I will design in the vein of the Golden Age of Broadway, pull out the stops in spectacle, and create an iconic surrey-with-the-fringe-on-top because I know that if Kristin where in the audience her joy and excitement would be all that matters in the world.

Quietness Without Loneliness

I realize it is not quite Sunday, dear readers, but I was reading Twyla Tharp's book The Creative Habit before nodding off to sleep here in Georgia and was struck with inspiration for this week's post. I suspect that this book will be a source of many posts over the next few months as it was recommended by and now required reading for one of my professors.

The premise of the book is a discussion of how to make creativity habitual, something that does not leap out at us blindly, but a product of our imaginations that we can conjure as we need to. Tharp discusses the necessity of schedules and rituals, and, in the most recent page, the importance of solitude and lack of distractions.

For the last few months I have, miraculously, had the graduate office space to myself. My apologies to the recent graduates and incoming students, but this solitude has been a blessing. I joked, at first, about the emptiness of it and how lonely it felt, but the honest truth is that I work best when I am alone.

This has often been the case.

I did not do well in group projects in school, often ending up doing it all on my own. The year that I shared a room with my younger sister in high school was, perhaps, the single worst year of school I ever experienced. And, up until this beautiful, lonely summer, I work in my apartment bedroom more than my office despite not being equipped, really, with any supplies or proper space because of the simple fact that I can close the door and shut out the world.

Now, Tharp argues against distractions of all kinds (from watching movies during the lifespan of a project to ignoring numbers to not playing music in the background). These things make sense. But she also discusses the importance of solitude, and the state of mind that is a "quietness without loneliness." She says it is a form of meditation, but instead of clearing the mind, you let it wander. You embrace the mind's randomness and pay attention to the patterns that emerge while it is allowed to flit about unfettered.

Because I do prefer to have some background music and I don't intentionally avoid movies or TV during a project (though it seems to happen for time reasons alone), this idea of letting the mind wander captured my attention. But even more so, because of the place I am at personally and a philosophical conversation I am currently embroiled in, I feel that "quietness without loneliness" is applicable to life at the general level.

In the statement alone, I feel there is a call to accepting the quiet moments, the lulls of life, without seeing them as dull and lonely. In a society obsessed with relationships, practically screaming for a constant search for your "one and only soul mate," we often forget the importance of the time we have just for ourselves. This time that allows us to realize who we are as a single person, what our hopes, dreams, likes and dislikes are without the complications of another person whom we are trying to please.

I feel that for theatre artists, especially, the moments unfettered by relationships/family can provide us with the perfect time to not only explore dreams and opportunities we could not otherwise, but also to see how our creativity arises from within ourselves alone.

I suppose that this post is directly related to last week's, and I appreciate how life seems to present answers in due course when I am at my most confused and befuddled. After last week I did send an e mail to Anita regarding work with her next year. I have also begun making plans to visit potential theatre communities that I am not yet familiar with in order to decide upon places I could move to and start working. Nevertheless, it is in Tharp's words that I see the necessity of this time in my life as a honing of my creativity and thus myself. I feel that this moment in my life is what is needed and was meant to happen in order to allow all of my thoughts and ideas and feelings to be heard. And to understand and feel and know that quietness of all kinds is not a lonely venture.

The Summer Doldrums

I have been racking my brain, trying to think of something profound and meaningful to write on. Much of what I have been contemplating I have covered before. For instance, yet another person--a man--commented that it was unfortunate that my initials make it so that I'm "Mr. Toomey." This, after looking through my portfolio, which presumably I had control over whether or not to be "MR Toomey" or "Margaret R Toomey" or whatever, and yet seemed to think that I was blind to this choice. So very infuriating, on so very many levels given my relationship to this gentleman. (I speak more on this topic in my first post.)

Also, I have been feeling the anxiety over what happens next after I graduate in May. Though the big day is still 10 months away, I can't help but feel distraught at the crossroads I am facing. Do I follow my heart and make a move to a community that I want to live in for a while, even if there isn't the perfect job lined up there? Or do I make a wise career move and ingratiate myself to someone who will take me on as an apprentice and continue to live a gypsy's life? The second option is specifically wrapped up in a pipe dream I have to shadow the wonderful Anita Stewart at Portland Stage. There is a grant I could apply for to fund my work with her, but I can't even bring myself to ask if this is something she would be interested in, let alone applying because I can't stand having yet another expiration date on a part of my life.

This choice between career and, well, not-career was easy once-upon-a-time when "not-career" was synonymous with "family." Without getting into the details of the last 10 months of my life (though most of you probably know about it anyway), it was much easier to decide that career came second when I thought I was making a decision against it for the ideal of family. Now that I am unencumbered by that in my immediate future, I feel stupid for not taking the risk of moving around as much as I need to to make the connections I need in order to fulfill my dreams in theatre. In some ways, having a partner to make decisions about where life will take you is the most difficult thing you could ever face, but on the other hand it would make things easier... I could just blame him for ruining my dreams. Ha ha.

What all of this--my moniker, my future, etc--boils down to is that I have hit one of the valleys in the emotional roller coaster that is a career in theatre. I need a project to be passionate about, that excites me, that makes me see why I would bleed myself dry, make ridiculous geographic decisions, and shun personal happiness for this crazy art form. These kinds of moods come around for me like clock-work, especially in the summer when the seasons have ended and everyone else is, rightfully so, taking a break before getting pumped up about the upcoming season. In a few weeks people will begin to trickle back onto the UNCG campus, Oklahoma will start getting built, and, perhaps, I will be sucked back into the joy (rather than the anxiety) of putting together another show. Perhaps, too, I will send Anita an e mail and just see if there really is anything worth worrying about in potentially moving back to Maine next year.

Theatrical Photography

When I seriously began working on my theatrical career at Grinnell, I also discovered a secret love of capturing theatre on stage with my camera. I was also working as a staff photographer for the campus newspaper, The Scarlet & Black, and volunteered to sit through dress rehearsals and shoot the pictures because I already knew the directors, actors, and stage managers that I would need to ask permission of.

Sitting in the darkened theatre while the final pieces are coming together is a magical time. My theatrical brain was often enthralled and had to be turned off so that I would focus through the lens at the action on stage. Ultimately, I enjoyed that with little effort or input by myself, the visual impact of my subject was heightened and dramatic. By definition, a theatrical moment has dramatic lighting and tension that can be perfect to capture in a photograph, like the one below:



Unfortunately, being in the right part of the house and approximate distance from the stage are also important to capturing the right moments, which is why most theatre companies choose to hold separate photo calls so that the photographer(s) can be anywhere they want without interfering with the action of a rehearsal or performance. I, however, prefer to get my pictures during dress and previews because a staged moment does not have the same vitality as capturing the actors mid-gesture with the click of the shutter.



Furthermore, taking pictures during a dress can also provide information that can lead to important decisions during a photo call. The picture at the top of this post, from Jim Wren & Joe Sturgeon's memorable The Revenger's Tragedy at UNCG in the Fall of 2008, was shot during final dress and became the number one sought after pose for photo call for lighting and costumes. It was a stunning scene visually, but without having captured it with my camera, it didn't necessarily read as a defining still-image of the show.

One of the main reasons that I have taken pictures in the theatre is for my personal portfolio as a designer. I find that my photographic training has served me well in that I am also looking for composition of the image that will represent the show for years to come. Granted, I sometimes forget to snap a wide-angle shot to encompass the entire scenic view, but the close-ups are the ones that really get people interested enough to stop and look over my work. Don't tell me that you aren't intrigued by this picture, even if you can't really see what part I played in this staged moment:

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To see more of my theatrical photography, please visit the Theatrics Gallery on my website mrtoomey.com.

Lady... Sing Me... Over Home

Photograph by VanderVeen Photographers, courtesy Triad Stage

I have just returned from watching the closing performance of Triad Stage's Providence Gap. Another beautiful, heart-wrenching performance, which I won't wax poetic about, at least not too specifically.

The final moment of the play, which is, rightfully so, a teary-eyed moment as Chance is reunited with his love, was exceptionally poignant this afternoon as the actors prepared to bid farewell to the show. As Laurelyn Dossett, the talented musician who wrote and performed the music of the original piece played her way across stage in the final moments, her voice cracked and the staggering emotions that bringing to life a piece of this nature and sharing it with an audience was written across her face. As the cast took their bow, tears streamed down many of their faces as the audience stood in ovation.

The magic of theatre is not reserved for the tricks that we pull out of our sleeves and from our fly lofts to create a new world for the audience. But it also includes the transportation of the artists who have invested their souls into a piece. Not every production on stage moves the audience, and even less move the artists. But there are these rare shows that break your heart as the final curtain call is taken, like saying good-bye to a friend who you doubt you will ever see again. As sad as those moments are, these are the productions we are looking for.

I remember a production of Lynn Nottage's Intimate Apparel which I helped with at Portland Stage Co. in Maine. I was on the run crew and so only saw the show from the wings. But I believed so much in the story being told and enjoyed the artists who had come together to tell it, that I feel, to this day, it is one of the most important performances I have bared witness to. And everynight, there was a scene that made me cry and all I heard were the actor's voices carrying over the flats to where I sat, waiting for the next scene change.

The magic of productions such as Intimate Apparel and Providence Gap is rare, but for me is like finding home again. I have been a wanderer for much of my young life, yet the theatre has consistently made me feel rooted. Unfortunately, not every theater company or production has the right chemistry, and in those cases I have moved on, searching for the magic I found in high school, at Grinnell, and in Portland. As an audience member, Triad has enveloped me in the heartbreak of home, especially with Providence Gap, but I know that I am still looking for my artistic home. And while I hope that I find it, I must heed the mountain woman's words to not "look too hard" as it isn't a place that can be found by lookin'.

Oklahoma! ... continued

Well, Thursday was the big design presentation, so the model got done. I knew going into it that things were going to change, so not so much with the final. I've already had a meeting with the director about new ideas that he's excited about, so I'm working towards some overhauls for the model for this Wednesday. But in the meantime I thought I'd share pictures of where I landed, with commentary of course.

This is the show drop (position is changing) and it will not just be white (ha ha).

Laurie's House. Not much has or will change with what you're seeing here.

Judd's Cabin. There are some adjustments being made to this, in part because I don't really have all of the info about Aycock, but it's not going to change much from this.

The grove in the ballet. Nothing changing at the top with the romantic scene while all is well and good.

The Dance Hall/Nightmare. We spent a lot of time talking about this moment in the meeting. On my end, I think I've come up with a way to shift even further out of "Oklahoma" with some Mackintosh School of Art Nouveau motifs and changing the location of those light fixtures. Expect to see more about this later.

Skidmore Ranch. This is the part that is changing most drastically. And this part of the model sucks. But whatever. Ultimately, the platform is going away and we'll be creating a ring for dancing with hay bales and what not (lights are staying the same). I didn't consider this idea before because of In-One scene issues, but we resolved that during the meeting and now Act II is SOOOOOOO much better.

Skidmore Ranch backporch. Also changing, now that there is no platform and the in-one scene has changed. And Prior (who is my little dude there) is falling over. :P

Laurie's House. Then back to Laurie's house. Some cool choreography/staging ideas have come from the director on this, but mums the word in case magic cannot happen.

So yes, changes are in the air (which means another update about this is likely next weekend). Have I mentioned that this is my thesis work? So documenting it via my blog helps keep things fresh for when I have to write my paper or whatever.

Oklahoma!

So, my exciting blog post? A photo essay of my work on Oklahoma. I was hoping I'd have gotten further with the white model today, but sometimes my perfectionism gets in the way. For now I'll just share the drawings that go with what's done in the white model... which leaves out a few key scenes, but I promise to update you as I get further in the process.

Step 1. A Model Box of the Space. In this case, the roadhouse on campus Aycock Auditorium. I've included the wing space, or rather lack there of, so that's why it is so long. There are only two pockets of floor space SL and SR that we can use, much of what you're seeing is housing an orchestra shell and an "office." Bollucks.

Step 2: Laury's House. As you can see from the original drawing, the house has switched sides of the stage, because of that blasted lack of wing space. There is some interesting ideas up my sleeve about how the show will begin with "Oh What A Beautiful Morning" but I'm not telling yet....

Step 3. The Dream Ballet (yes, I know I'm missing Judd's cabin, but bear with me). This hard-framed flat of trees will go into silhouette in the wedding portion of the dance and then silhouetted gas lanterns will fly in above the silhouetted dance hall girls when Judd's fantasy takes over. A little difficult to show that second part in the white model, hence my inclusion of my hastily drawn elevation.

Step 4. The Dance at the Skidmore Rance at the top of Act II. I've not gotten it done, but you can see that I'm working on creating a platform with posts that have lights strung between them. The second picture is the close up of the beads and thread I'm using for the 1/4" scale. It's stuff like this that makes modeling fun.

So obviously there is still work to be done (floor treatment, the house for the back porch scene at the Skidmore Ranch, Judd's Cabin). But I think I've made progress. I am feeling infinitely better about this design than I was about a week ago, and I think the director is feeling good, too. We have a final design presentation on Thursday, which means I'll be presenting my work to my faculty (most of whom have at least seen the drawings), the director's faculty (he's an MFA Directing student and this is his thesis), and some of the staff (Technical Director, Lighting/Sound Supervisor, Costume Shop Supervisors/Cutter-Drapers). So expect more updates soon!

Being in the Audience

On Friday, June 11th, 2010, I sat in the audience at Triad Stage as theatre history was written. Preston Lane's new Appalachian Saga Providence Gap premiered and brought the teary-eyed audience to their feet. It was a truly breath-taking experience and I meant every ounce of my standing ovation (I could write more on superfluous standing O's, but not here). The music by Laurelyn Dossett, the designs by Alexander Dodge, Kelsey Hunt, and John Wolf, and of course the performances by so many talented individuals made for a wonderful night in the theatre.

I believe that my awe of the show was due, in (very small) part, to my lack of involvement. Sure, I had heard bits of gossip from various people involved, as I am part of the company of Theatre 232, the partnership between UNCG and Triad during the summer. But I didn't help stitch, build, hang, paint, or herd any part of the show. Thus, when I sat in the front row (hooray!) I was wholly transported by the story and the magic and did not worry if the lines were going to be right or the set would function correctly, or any number of horrors that go through my mind when I watch a show I have poured some ounce of myself into.

I miss being transported like that.

A friend of mine started a project this year to see one play a week. She is an up-and-coming director, heading up Chicago's new Prologue Theatre so her options are many. In a smaller theatre community like Greensboro, the disconnect from productions is more difficult. True, I haven't actually ever worked on a show at Triad, but being surrounded by people who are, means that often times I hear too much of the drama and gossip and I am disheartened to make the effort to sit in the audience knowing all that I know. (That, and being in graduate school doesn't afford me the luxury of time or money to patron the arts the way I want.)

This is a part of the reason that moving to a larger city with a greater professional theatre community appeals to me. I look forward to being able to walk into a theatre and know no one. When I went to see Faust at The San Francisco Opera last weekend, I loved that I had no clue what to expect when the curtain rose. I had no connections to the production, the building, or the people in the audience (save my date) and I appreciated that anonymity so that I could truly enjoy the show for what it was (or, in the case of Faust, being marginally disappointed and slightly bored by the end, but hey, such is life).

I have, for the last ten years, been searching for (and occasionally finding) the white-hot passion I once felt for theatre that drove me to throw caution to the wind and choose this as a profession. When I get to see great theatre that I haven't touched, the elusive passion re-emerges and I all I can think is, I want to do that. And after watching Providence Gap, my head is swirling with ideas about my upcoming year at UNCG and where I am going afterwards. I hope that I am able to hold on to this earnest feeling of hope and love for theatre. I also hope that, if you can, you go see Providence Gap, or another show that you have been thinking about. It just might surprise you.

The Trouble with Summer

Ack! I missed posting last week. My apologies. It might have something to do with the fact that though I am out of school, my life is a whirlwind of too much to do.

This summer I am in the process of realizing 3.5 designs and working on another. I was hired to design costumes and scenery for two upcoming shows in the Cabaret space at Triad Stage in conjunction with UNCG's Theatre 232. The two pieces, The Actor's Nightmare and Sister Mary Ignatius Explains it All to You are performing back to back, which is why the design is 3.5 rather than 4. The set is essentially the same for both, with a few details changed. But the costumes, boy-howdy (as my mother likes to say). They are proving difficult and a pain.

But really, what overwhelms me is having to wear two different hats at the same time. I don't know how those European designers do it. Well, I have my theories (assistants!) but even still, my brain seems so jumbled with all of my lists of things to do. And then, as I said, I'm in design meetings for a completely different production, Oklahoma!, which will open UNCG's 2010-11 season. The professors here have said on a number of occasions how overlapping designs is not out of the ordinary, but I wonder about this process.

I'd also like to state for the record that summer work is bullocks. I do not understand why the theatre shuts down for the summer, and we all scramble for summer-stock jobs where we get paid infinitely too little for a jam-packed, insanity-inducing process that spans 2 months. Was this kind of season created to follow the agrarian calendar (like schools) or to give us time off because we're ever so burnt out (sarcasm)? I commend theatres like Triad Stage, mentioned above, that still close down in the summer, but not for as long. Currently they are wrapping up their season with a new work by artistic director Preston Lane called Providence Gap. It wraps up July 4th weekend and then rehearsals, etc restart in August for The Glass Menagerie. Somehow that makes a little more sense to me than taking May to August off. But to each theatre their own.

Nevertheless, my summer job is plugging away and Oklahoma! is shaping up nicely (perhaps scans of my designs will hop up here as soon as they are [mostly] finalized). Personally, though I like time off in the summer, I'd rather a little more stability in the job market and a little less stress about getting to my September pay check.

Boy Toys and Girl Toys

This week's blog post is inspired by today's webcomic from Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal:



Funny and oh-so true.

This got me thinking about the gender divide in theatre and how this could easily be a comic that questions why there are not more female scenic designers. Though changing, young girls are more likely to be exposed to toys that promote girly things, like mothering or fashion-sense. Meanwhile, boys get toys that nurture imagination and, well, engineering.

Personally, I had Barbies and Legos at my fingertips as a young girl. But where I think it makes a world of difference is that I was also exposed to boy things. None of my parents (I have three-- mom, dad, step-mom) ever told me that there were certain things that I could not do because I was girl (like help with building stuff or run around outside making mud pies). Recently I had a discussion with a male friend of mine about playing dress up. He assumed that I had been the typical tom-boy with no interest in girly things like playing princess and wearing pretty clothes. That is incorrect. I loved to play dress up and there are many pictures of me sitting with my flannel nightgown swirled out around me combing the hair of my Barbies and My Little Ponies. Nevertheless, I also knew that on a daily basis I'd much prefer to wear pants so that I could run and jump and climb. I'd say that I viewed the world as an equal-opportunity place.

And then I really started to delve into theatre (and hit puberty) and it became obvious that if I wanted to be the girl who didn't work on costumes I needed to either stick to the painting and props, or I needed to be more butch. I did both, but really embraced my inner tom-boy and set aside all notions of girliness in favor of being "one of the guys." This has continued to this day, bleeding into my friendships and relationships. I have not been considered someone who wears a dress willingly by anybody for the last five years. And I do believe this has a lot to do with my desire to be accepted by the guys in the shop as their equal. Removing the gender markers that clothing provides, I strive to prove my worth as a scenic designer by denying my gender.

Not anymore.

This year I vowed to care more about my appearance and buy clothing because I liked it, which often means because I think it is pretty. This means I now own dresses and skirts and high heels. And the first day that I wore a dress to class this semester, even my professor (who is male) commented on it. And while I can't really wear these clothes in the shop anyway (not just because of safety, I mean, I don't want to have an entire wardrobe of paint clothes), I feel like I have been able to embrace a part of me that has lain dormant because I felt that my gender was a problem. I am going to be the tom-boy and also enjoy wearing frilly dresses. There is a time and place for both and they are not mutually exclusive.

So, I say, give your daughters Legos and Barbies. And your sons too. Allow them to help Dad fix the sink and Mom bake pies. Demonstrate that it is about what you enjoy doing, not what you're supposed to do because of your chromosomes. The world should be equal for all. Sure, it isn't and children will pick up on it, but who knows what kind of ideas might come if they can not only pick out Barbie's prom dress but also design the venue as well.

Fin: 2 Years Down, 1 to Go

So, I am finally done with year two of my three year MFA as of about 10:30 am this morning, which is why I didn't post last Sunday, as usual. The end of the year has given me a number of things to muse over, but one specifically is the review and portfolio process.

Here at UNCG, the graduate designers attend a 30 minute review at the end of each semester. Until this last one, we generally just brought show and sketchbooks to demonstrate the completed work in and outside the classroom. Due to my own interests in catching up on my physical portfolio and the two graduating designers having (mostly) completed their portfolios for work, this year we just brought portfolios. I must say that I prefer the portfolio review rather than show books, etc.

While the portfolio review forces me to keep my work current in the book (rather than waiting 3 years to update it) and keeps me from having to lug around stacks of 3-inch binders, it is more helpful to look at the distilled work overall. I also feel that the professors can better respond to the work in a final portfolio presentation and see how we, as young designers, are going to present ourselves to the world at large in job applications. At my undergrad we did a portfolio review that was set up a lot like the tables at U/RTAs (or so I've been told) so that, though we included things like show books and full-size drafting, it was set up in a way to depict the life of our work. I believe portfolios are a better indication of the growth of a student/designer and force us to really choose wisely what we include in the portfolio.

I also feel that the portfolio allows for more discussion to occur about the things that happen outside of the design classroom. Though it did not happen in my review specifically, I felt that knowing that only my portfolio-quality work would be on the table, the opportunity to ask about the other work I had completed this semester would present itself. Unfortunately, reviews are not really conducive to bringing in a binder full of writings and plays from an academic class, but being succinct with the visual representation of ones design work allows time for conversations about the non-visual work. (Again, that didn't really happen in my review, but such is the nature of conversation.)

And now that the portfolio is updated about 90% from where it was 3 years ago when I started thinking about graduate school, and my exams are all done, I am excited in looking forward to my final year. Many people wonder about why an MFA takes three years, but as it is a terminal degree and studio-based discipline, such is life. But I also feel that, if structured smartly, the third year provides for the culmination of all of the in-class work. I am only taking 1 class each semester and the rest of my credit hours are for the designs I am completing for the department. I am excited to be able to truly focus my brain power on doing what I want to do with my life. And if I ended my academic career here at the 2 year mark (because, let's be honest, I could have crammed more credits into the last 2 years) I wouldn't have the amount of designs to show, but also I wouldn't feel like the time had truly come to an end. Academically, I feel solid, so a Masters of Arts (MA) would be fine, but to truly feel like a Master of Fine Arts, now the finer-detail work will begin.

Design Portfolio Madness

It is that time of year again in which I struggle to motivate myself to put together my physical portfolio. For those of you who haven't gone clicking excitedly, I have an online portfolio of both my theatre and photography work. It is so nice in this day and age of digital output, to just throw it up online and send off a link. However, physical portfolios do come in handy, as I have seen recently as a colleague prepares to go to a job interview at a school in New York.

However, I am left to wonder a few things about portfolios in general at this juncture.

1. How different is the digital portfolio to a physical book?

I have heard on more than one occasion that they differ quite a lot, and I understand that because the constraints on one are not the same with the other. However, other than size, scanning, and printing issues, why would you include completely different things in one or the other? My current physical portfolio has less stuff than the one online, but all of my shows have pages, I just don't keep them in the portfolio depending on what I am presenting.

2. How big of a portfolio book should I use?

In undergrad, my mentor insisted that I get a portfolio big enough to hold my drafting. So I now have an 18x24 portfolio that is a bit of a monster to lug around but gives me lots of space to lay out sketches, pictures, etc. But last year I purchased an 11x17 book in order to accommodate what the professors here at UNCG have me produce. The problem is that I can't fit enough information on just two pages of an 11x17 and some of my shows span 3 or 4 sets of pages. I know that there are in between sizes I could get, but I don't really need any more portfolio books. Really. I have decided for my review this year to repopulate my big book with pages since I have been ignoring it and I do prefer how much space I have comparatively.

3. How do I organize the book?

I see this question the most often from young designers who are working on books and the variations are endless. I have always been a fan of chronological organization of shows/projects because I feel that (1) it shows your development and (2) it matches your resume (in a sense since I advocate for starting with your earliest work). However, if you have different kinds of design work in one book like costumes and scenery or scenery and lighting, it's sometimes best to break them apart and group them together. (And don't even get me started on how to include extra work, like scene painting samples and sketches). The part of my brain that is OCD really would just like to stick with chronological ordering so that I know it makes sense, but the suggestion to lead with your best foot is always a good idea. Again, this is why electronic portfolios are nice because the information can be organized, but the order in which it is viewed always differs so reorganization for different applications does not get in your way.


These questions are just your basic meaning-of-life questions, and completely ignore the biggest pain experienced when preparing a physical portfolio: the leaching of your money for printing all of the stuff that has to be done. Yuck! Nevertheless, in the interim of generations and digital media availability, the physical portfolio is a beast to be tamed. Excuse me while I go get my whips and chain.

An Ode to Opera

Alright, for those of you who do not know this (i.e. you've not spoken to me in any meaningful way in the last 4 months or so), I officially own up to my appreciation-bordering-on-obsession of opera. My exposure to opera began in high school at the Seattle Opera with the school outreach program. As a budding theatre nerd, I was enraptured by the spectacle of it all and I've always had a special place in my heart for classical music. Sure, it can get a bit boring and having to read super-titles gets old (and can honestly hurt the neck and/or eyes), but, to me, opera was the perfect bread of theatricality, magic, and drama.

Then, for about five years, my exposure to opera lay dormant as I lived amongst the cornfields in Iowa and the cold tundra of Maine. But when I moved to Dallas and a theatre job turned out to be anything but fun, I found myself working at The Dallas Opera in the box office. And one of the perks of working at TDO was getting to see the final dress rehearsal of the operas. I was transported back to the days in high school when I felt enveloped by the production and transported away to Rome or Paris or Algiers. The orchestration swept over me and the arias carried away my heart. Even trying to explain how enamored I am of the opera here seems to be inadequate. Just trust me, to me, opera is breathtaking in every way: visually, aurally, emotionally.

I was sad at the close of the 2007-08 season when I had to leave TDO because I had grown to appreciate the work I was doing and the people there are, by far, those most fantastic group of artists and art-lovers you will ever meet. I was also sad because the new Winspear Opera House was opening and I would have loved to have been a part of the inaugural season. But life takes us where it will, and so I left for graduate school in Greensboro, NC.

At which point I began to sense the hold that opera had on me. It manifested itself when I created a design of La Boheme for a class project which drew upon my experience sitting in the audience in Seattle and Dallas (and subsequently won me the first place in the scenic design competition at KC/ACTF). But there was still a feeling of nagging loss until, in March 2009, I was able to see the final show at the Music Hall at Fair Park of The Italian Girl in Algiers and was blown away by the complexity and beauty of it all once more.

Now, as TDO counts down to the the world premier of a new opera based on Melville's Moby Dick, I am sad that I won't get to be a part of that magic. Fortunately, I have made plans to see Faust at The San Francisco Opera in June and have been keeping my eyes out for an opera company tackling Wagner's Ring Cycle (which has been on my list of "must sees" since high school). As any of my friends can tell you, opera has become my newest artistic obsession and I want to fill my life with live performances (sorry, CDs and live broadcasts are just not the same) until I die. I can't wait to be like the little old ladies I worked with at The Dallas Opera who could tell stories about all of the different versions of La Boheme they had seen (as well as fret continuously about where their season seats would be). Perhaps, if I get to really design a few operas in my lifetime, that would be pretty cool too.