Unconscious process is dangerous… because it denies the political content inherent in artistic process by treating it as neutral. The denial of political content in process acts to covertly censor and marginalize some forms of individual artistic expression.
Raynette Halvorsen Smith 108
For the last ten years I have been on a journey to become a theatre designer. My formal education in design began, as it has for many of my mentors and contemporaries, as a grounded exploration of the ideals and process that were laid out by the great forefathers of design: Edward Gordon Craig, Adolph Appia, and Robert Edmund Jones. However, despite moderate success in the field, I never felt wholly comfortable and capable as a young designer, nor capable of expressing certain design ideas and concepts in creative collaboration. It was not until I studied feminist theory and performance that I became aware of how disconnected I had felt from theatre and dramatic literature up to that point. I began to sense that my struggles with design went beyond the known gender-bias I experienced as a woman in the scene shop, but were connected to a sense of my design sensibilities and process being a round peg trying to operate in the square hole set forth by years of design process laid out by Craig, Jones, and Appia. In recent years, the process and pedagogy of design has been under consideration by many designer-educators across the country and many have chosen to explore design possibilities through a feminist framework. Though the idea of feminist design in theatre is young, it is an apt way to explain the approach of women designers, like myself, who have not only struggled to make a place for themselves in this male-dominated industry, but also challenged the masculine, “unconscious process” that we have been taught to adopt.
Raynette Halvorsen Smith’s article “Deconstructing the Design Process” details in length the problems with the current methods of teaching design, least of which is the notion of the “unconscious process” that “covertly censor[s] and marginalize[s] some forms of individual artistic expression” (108). She asserts that the “design process has become frozen, steeped in tradition—tradition so pervasive that we have become blind to it” (107). This is similar to many feminist art scholars that counter claims that “overtly political representations have no place in art” with the argument that “‘conventional’ art is equally political, the politics having been cast in that ‘neutral’ or masculinist mode that appears invisible” (Hein 449). The nurturing and development of a feminist mode of design will counteract the “unconscious process” with a visual language created from self-awareness in the design process, as well as give vocabulary to and create space for young, female designers’ voices to be heard in the male-dominated industry.
The first step taught in the traditional design process is to read the script and take notes. Arguably, the play-script is the logical place to begin a design because within the words of the play lie the story, emotions, and people that will populate the world of said design. An often used book for design history and process is The Stage is Set by Lee Simonson, in which he states, “In the modern theatre, as in every other, the beginning is in the word” (464). This tradition of privileging the script poses problems beyond design practice, explaining why feminist performance art and many feminist theatrical traditions that favored the visual over the textual arose outside of the walls of the conventional theatre (Smith 110). Similarly, the visual avant-garde has often existed, or at least began, outside of the commercial, mainstream theatres because in other, smaller theatres and performance venues the designer is able, even invited, to break from an extreme servitude to the script and create something that mines the wealth of subtext between the lines.
Nevertheless, the script is still the first port of entry into creating a theatrical design, but at this first step—reading the script and taking notes—feminist theory can and should be applied. Designer Delores Ringer sets forth a series of questions in her article “Re-visioning Scenography” that not only begin to analyze the script in a feminist mode but also illuminate the ways in which artistic aesthetic plays a role in design:
1. In the production I am currently working on, what are the explicit and implicit messages about power in gender relations?
2. How does visual language contribute to these explicit and implicit messages?
3. How do I as a woman and designer relate to the visual language and the world around me? How do I visually process information?
4. How have my relationship with other artists in the theatre and the creative and working process I use been constructed? (299)
One might argue that the first question is one that all designers are already asking, feminist or otherwise. Likely, they do at least note the explicit messages because those are what are most obvious on the page and would be the most universally perceived by the actors, director, and audience members. However, the implicit messages and how they can and should be visually depicted are what create a feminist approach to design.
Ringer used her design for a production of Marsha Norman’s Getting Out to explore ways in which feminism can be visualized on stage. She states that “feminist scenographers can use the trivial and ordinary details of women’s lives as the material with which to make monuments” (302), pointing to her design of painted landscapes on the aprons of the characters to depict how their environment has imprinted them. This kind of approach is an example of how, as a feminist designer, the designer’s duty of visualizing the context in which the story takes place becomes about recognizing the differences in the visualization of the woman’s world verses that of the man’s (Ringer 312). In a traditional design approach, the landscape of the environment might have been made visible in paintings or photographs on the walls, but by painting it across an article of clothing deeply associated with women and their role in life, it creates a more socially charged message about the life of the characters in the play and relates to the feminist performance techniques of using the body as script and canvas.
Furthermore, the designer’s awareness of how to use visual language to illuminate or deconstruct gender and power in the performance of the written word goes beyond the actor and action, but also the space encompassing them. In a discussion about women’s theatrical space, Hanna Scolnicov asserts that “woman is so closely associated with space that almost any articulation of space on stage [. . .] is directly expressive of her position, her lifestyle, her personality” (xiii). Thus, the visual cues provided in scenic design become important in constructing power dynamics in a theatrical piece. Again, in discussing her design for Getting Out, Ringer explains that the decision to arrange the scenery in a “nonlogical fashion” was directly related to making manifest the nonlogical aspects of the past that Arlene, the main character, was facing (302). This departure from Realism is a common approach to feminist art and design , and is important in creating a visual language that does not ignore the explicit and implicit messages of gender power that Ringer asks about in her questions above. It also plays a part in how women designers can grapple with Ringer’s third question: “How do I as a woman and designer relate to the visual language and the world around me? How do I visually process information?” (299) In traditional theatre practices, the pursuit of a unified misé en scene that recedes from the audience’s consciousness is paramount, and is bounded by Realism, because Realism provides the stylistic consistency that is needed to create a design that will recede behind the action of the production. However, the conscious feminist designer’s understanding of her own role as a visual artist allows her to break free of the strictures of Realism to consider hers and others’ interpretations of the visual cues being presented.
By calling attention to the position and interpretation of the designer’s artistic eye, feminist design ideology departs completely from traditional design practices—becoming conscious rather than unconscious—and comes into direct conflict with the great forefathers of design. In The Dramatic Imagination, Jones demands, “Get the personal you out of your work. Who cares about you?” (41) This call for a complete divorce of the artist from their art is impossible, and in any other art form would be considered ridiculous and ignorant. Smith compares the pursuit of the unified artistic vision to that of military discipline, in which any “show of individuality is considered a breakdown in discipline. [. . . And in theatre] where any detection of separate individual artistic expression in the production […] is considered a threat to the ‘willful suspension of disbelief,’ a distraction that weakens the impact of the performance” (113). However, the feminist designer’s choice to depart from Realism creates space for new meanings to be created based on the designer’s own process and aesthetic values, not those provided by history or the playwright or even the director. Furthermore, some scholars define feminist art as approaching “reality from a feminist perspective” (French 69) and feminist performance art as having a quality of “undecidability [. . . . In which] ‘meanings are explosive, ricocheting and fragmenting throughout its audience. The work becomes a situation full of suggestive potentialities, rather than a self-contained whole, determined and final’” (Smith 111). A departure from Realism is needed in order to create this “undecidability” and begins with the designer’s awareness of how she processes visual information. By choosing what images to draw inspiration from and how to mold and edit them into scenic and costume designs, the feminist designer is the first lens through which meaning is created. Awareness of her own role in the creation of meaning for a given production means that the feminist designer will be aware of the audience’s role in the creation of meaning and breaks away from the teachings of traditional design practice which shows “indifference to the philosophical and political meanings embedded in the way that designers work” (Smith 109).
Once the designer has become conscious of the lens through which she views the world and how it effects her work, she can then approach Ringer’s fourth and final question, “How have my relationships with other artists in the theatre and the creative and working process I use been constructed?” Knowing the answers to this question make manifest the ways in which gender-bias in design and the theatre community affect artistic synthesis and output. As discussed before, the necessity of a unified design concept is considered vital in the traditional theatre process and this comes from the hierarchical structure that places the director at the head of the process: the director who is usually male . Thus, the relationships and hierarchy in the creative team become a part of the patriarchal control over design process and product. However, a shift away from a top-down creative process has begun to emerge in theatre. In an informal survey of artistic directors, producers, and stage directors, designer Robert N. Schmidt asked what makes designers more hirable than others:
[. . .] It is no longer sufficient for designers to be able to develop their work in a chameleon-like way from a director’s fully formed ‘concept.’ It is now essential that designers [. . .] function as co-equal artists-helping to initiate rather than merely elaborate upon the director’s theatrical aesthetic style [. . .].” (163)
The philosophy behind scenography, a field that combines at least scenic and costume design and is most common in European theatres, most directly speaks to the necessity of creative partnership rather than a hierarchical structure. In her book What is Scenography? Pamela Howard explains that “to go further scenographically is to work seriously to observe the director’s methods [. . .] the implications of the text, and to use this knowledge to unlock the visual power of the play” (xxiv). The adoption of this philosophy, used scenographically or on an individual design basis, breaks down the militaristic and thus patriarchal hierarchy claimed by Smith previously. This approach allows for a female designer to become equal to her (often male) counterpart, the director.
Furthermore, if a scenographic approach is used, the feminist designer is able to not only escape the traditional patriarchal hierarchy of the director, but also have the opportunity to “regard the entire visual field of the theatre as a ‘landscape’” (Ringer 305), which promotes a wider canvas on which to interpret Scolnicov’s earlier assertion about the intertwined association of woman and space in which “any articulation of space on stage [. . .] is directly expressive of her position, her lifestyle, her personality” (xiii). Moreover, scenography is often described as working from the character outward in order to make “the space speak” (Howard 14). A feminist designer who works in this manner visually places woman and her struggles and growth at the center of the action rather than as “supporting objects surrounding and supporting the male hero” (Ringer 300). This can lead to design decisions like Ringer’s choice to organize the scenery of Getting Out in a non-logical way discussed earlier, or, as in the case of one of my recent designs, the decision to eliminate unnecessary walls in Act III and IV in Chekov’s The Seagull in order to highlight the feeling of entrapment felt by the characters, most of all Nina. Scolnicov argues that “the articulation of [The Seagull’s] theatrical space is [. . .] determined by female motivation” despite the women not being central characters of the play (111). In discussion with the director, the play was identified as “Kostia’s play” and yet I felt that because his troubles were directly linked to his relationship with his mother and Nina, those two women play a more central role in creating the shape of Kostia’s world. However, this notion worked on my process in a wholly subconscious way, making discussion with the director and creative team difficult when trying to articulate the motivation behind my simple design concept. Had I been armed with Ringer’s questions, I may have been able to consciously construct a design as well as articulate my choices. Nevertheless, having explored design through a feminist lens, and appreciating the importance of my own voice and the questions I can ask of the visual language that I am drawn to, the design process feels more open to possibility and success.
Smith asserts that “the pressure of hurdling through the design process to opening night narrows the scope of what can be created” (108), which I would argue is at the heart of why design students struggle and why the field of design has not yet evolved past the theories and ideas set forth nearly a century ago by Jones, Craig, Appia, and Simonson. However, there is hope in the mere fact that veteran designers like Smith and Ringer are also questioning the traditional process of design and putting forth new ways of thinking for themselves and their students. Questions like those posed by Ringer transcend feminist design and lay the groundwork for a new mode of approaching design as a whole. No longer should the designer be presumed invisible in their work, nor just a servant to the script or director. As more women enter the field of design, they too can find themselves in the collaborative art form both as individual artists and partners in the process. By taking Pamela Howard’s assertion that “a theatre designer has to have an insatiable curiosity to find out about things […] to look beyond the surface and discover the truth” (299) to heart, a young female designer can begin to develop her own design process without fear of failure or gender, and with the tools to communicate her new ideas.
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