My Mouth Cost Me Work: How, Why, and What Next

My partner sometimes calls me mouthy. It's an endearment, before you get the wrong idea. And refers to the fact that I don't really know how to play the politeness game when it comes to speaking my mind about the injustice inherent in the theatre world. See previous blog posts here and here.

Recently, this mouthiness lost me a scenic design opportunity with a midsize theatre company in Seattle. (N.B. I'm not sure if my definition of midsize is your definition of midsize... so the operating budget just passes $1 Million. In comparison, A Contemporary Theatre [ACT] has an operating budget of around $7 Million).

I am intentionally not naming this organization.

The point of this blog entry is not to cry foul and point fingers at a specific organization. I want to talk about (1) the thing that I was "mouthing off" about, (2) how my privilege allowed me to say something, and (3) where the theatre community can go from here.

Ready?

The Thing I Was Mouthing Off About

I posted on the Seattle Theatre Artists and Seattle Technical Artists Facebook groups the following message:

"Asking/requiring freelancers to get a business license to work with your org is a barrier that disproportionately negatively affects artists of color and artists of other under-represented groups. As Seattle Theatre figures out that representation around the table matters, there is a going to be a time where orgs will want to hire a freelancer that isn't making bank on their gigs (due to size & number of projects offered). And an independent contractor does NOT need to apply for a business license UNLESS they meet some specific criteria, most of which don't apply to theatre freelancers (we're not hiring people or selling anything that needs to be taxed). But most importantly, if you make less than $12,000/year, you're not on the hook for a license according to the state. Just food for thought, theatre companies, as you work towards EQUITY and diversity at your organization. (BTW, in 2018 I've made less than $10,000 so far with all my stipends... just to give you some perspective on someone who "works a lot" including stipend-ed production management gigs.)"  (Permalink) (Also, permalink to the convo in the Seattle Technical Artist group)

Whether or not you agree with my choice of words or use of all-caps for emphasis, this is a real thing that is happening in Seattle/Washington State. In conjunction with this post, I also asked questions of the original theatre company that requested a Business License from me, two other theatres that I've worked with or have personal connections at, and my fellow freelance artists. 

What I heard: This is not something that theatres have been asking of their freelance artists. BUT, theatres are also waiting to find out what comes of the audit that the original company is undergoing. (Oh yes, the original company [OC] is undergoing an audit, so this request comes from a place of both high tension as well as lawyer advice.)

I thought to myself, okay, clearly I need to know more about this for myself as a freelance artist in Seattle. And thus I went searching for information about Business Licenses in Washington State. This included looking at it from the side of the person needing to get a license but also reading through the document sent to me by the OC: The Independent Contractor Guide published by the Washington State Department of Labor & Industries. In this document, the employer asks a round of questions about the potential contractor/employee to determine their status. It's really unnerving, I think, to have a theatre company answering questions about whether I have a place of business outside of their organization that I can prove on a tax filing form, among other distinctions being used by LNI.

So I decided to ask LNI directly for some insight. First I ended up in just General Inquiries, then a representative who deals with Workman's Comp Claims in Seattle, then the Small Business Liaison Office, then finally Workers’ Comp Coverage Determinations Office. Apparently, you can e mail a contract to the Determinations Office to have them tell you if you're a Volunteer, Independent Contractor, Covered Worker, or Employee. Take note!

After going over my interpretation of the six questions asked by the Independent Contractor Guide, the Determinations officer advised me that I would be considered a Covered Worker and that the OC would be responsible for paying Workman's Comp and reporting my hours regardless of if I provided a Business License (aka UBI).

Hmmmmm.

This left me with even more questions about what to do as a freelance artist because the fact that a non-profit theatre company in Seattle is being audited (much like the rash of audits in 2005) and changing their contracting policies while other orgs watch... there is a change in the air. And the fact that the individual artists that are going to have to start getting those licenses don't really know what's going on, well, that IS a problem. I stand by what I said in my original FB post, that this requirement -- whether originating from the state, city, or the theatre company -- disproportionately negatively impacts artists that are under-represented in our industry, namely POC, LGBTQ+, Women, Disabled, etc. Access to knowledge about these decisions and laws takes time to get. Advocating for yourself and knowing your rights takes time. Being a freelance artist who barely makes minimum wage on the amount of things we're contracted to do, well, doesn't leave a lot of time.

Needless to say, I'm going to be staying tuned to this and seeing how I can advocate for transparency from our theatre organizations and the city and state.

How My Privilege Allowed Me to Say Something

Do y'all know about white privilege? If not, please pause and go read (just one of many) essays answering "What is White Privilege, Really" you can find on the internet. White people, this means you.

So, I'm white. I have white privilege. My ability to speak up about the impacts of this thing -- that is also impacting me as a white artist -- is related to the fact that my indignation and frustration is less upsetting than if a POC artist took to social media. In our society, people of color are not afforded the same understanding of their anger. Their responses must be milder and less incindiary or face harsher criticism and retribution from our society at large. Yes, even in Seattle. Privilege number 1.

But there is another privilege I lay claim to that opens this door for me (because I'm also a female-passing, queer-identifying individual, so it's not like I'm not a target): I have a day job and don't need the design gig being presented by the OC to survive. I'm not cobbling together my bill payments via my measly freelance checks.

This is not nothing.

I might be an independent artist in the theatre community, but I'm not as vulnerable as many. I can rabble-rouse and, while it still stings to lose the opportunity to design the set at the OC, it isn't going to make or break my life (my career is another story and covered in the last part, below).

Where the Theatre Community Can Go From Here

Again, I'd like to reiterate that the outcome of my Facebook post and educational traipsing through state and city licensing was to be removed from consideration from the job at the Original Company (OC). I spoke about my white privilege and economic privilege that allowed me some freedom in speaking out. But clearly I'm not immune to pushing a hot-button issue to the point of losing work.

And it stings. I'm not going to pretend it didn't. I wanted to work on this show with this director and at this company and on this script.

But more importantly, I'm disappointed that the OC felt so threatened by my posts to drop me from consideration. Which is not how they passed it off to me in our e mail exchange. No, I was originally told that the time it took me to respond to the production manager -- four days -- meant they had considered me uninterested and they had moved on. But that wasn't the whole story. I was fortunate enough to have the director want to continue to advocate for me in a forthcoming phone meeting with the OC. Then the director was made privy to my FB-related dismissal. So, I got to hear the real reason I was no longer being considered because the director had already committed to keeping me in the loop.

#WhyIndividualArtistsDoNotSpeakUp #ButTheyDoSpeakToOneAnother

I don't regret what I said. I don't regret what words I used or my indignation. I don't even really blame the OC in letting me go from consideration (I don't AGREE with it, but I also can see their side of things).

What I can't stand is that we have this very big issue that is about to impact every theatre artist in our community in relation to freelance work -- regarding getting and paying for business licenses and subsequent taxes, whether or how freelance artists are covered if they get hurt on the job, whether they will get paid the same rates -- and we have theatre organizations that are lobbying on behalf of themselves as they navigate this and making decisions and communicating out new policies without much transparency for the rest of us.

Seattle's theatre ecosystem is a mess, and not just because of our lack of representation and diversity on and off stage and the inherent racism that gets played out on our stages under the guise of "progressive plays": we're not really a whole community made up of artists and organizations. Organizations close ranks because they have the resources to reach out to their peer institutions for help and also warnings. But theatre artists are getting the short end of the stick with the lack of transparency about decisions that are impacting us directly.

I mean, in this case alone, it's good to know that the OC isn't cool with me being mouthy. That gives me some really concrete information about where to go from here with that particular company and the artists they work with. But I also don't feel comfortable revealing who this company is because I don't want to create backlash against myself (or the company). The environment here is very "behind closed doors and backs."

But we also have no advocacy in these organizations when we're not represented by a Union -- and so, so few of us will ever be represented by a Union.

Thus, I ask, where can we go from here, Seattle? Transparency. Communication. Heck, if I could have had the opportunity to actually respond to the OC about the issue they took with my Facebook post, well, we could have had a really great conversation. Probably still parted ways because I don't feel comfortable getting a Business License at this point in my career, but again, conversation would have happened.

Instead, I'm out here as an independent artist hoping to educate myself about this law that is impacting me and wondering what other organizations or individuals I have rubbed the wrong way by stating a fact that our government systems are part of a system of racism and oppression.

What's next for me, Seattle? Not going to stop being mouthy, that's for sure. And maybe not going to see another design contract for a while either because I'm too much trouble for y'all or because getting a business license is NOT in my best interest. (N.B. Once you get a Washington State Business License [$19] you'll also need to get a City of Seattle Business License [$45]. Don't listen to anyone that says it's just $20! Don't forget to do some reading about taxes as a business, too.)

Catharsis: The Royale @ ACT

Show: The Royale: A Play in Six Rounds; by Marco Ramirez

Theatre: ACT; Seattle, WA

Tickets: ACT Pass

Date & Time: Sunday, September 26, 2016 @ 2pm

Okay, an important bit of information is that I went to see this play after spending around 24 hours over 4 days taking an ArtEquity intensive. For four days we worked on establishing a basis for understanding and identifying white supremacy, oppression, and inequalities due to gender, race, sexuality (to name a few) in society that have been perpetuated for hundreds of years in our country. It was a very intense experience and to finish it off by watching a play that drives each of those points home was, as my title alludes to, an extremely cathartic experience.

The Royale is inspired by the historical, groundbreaking boxer Jack Johnson who was the first black heavyweight champion from 1908 to 1915. Ramirez's play explores Johnson's story leading up to his first fight against the fictional white heavyweight champion Bernard "The Champ" Bixby. The script deftly runs Johnson's desire to be the best boxer alongside his struggle against racism and Jim Crow Laws, pitting his egoism and selfish lifestyle against his dedication and love of his sister. The play itself is beautiful and cutting at a time when our nation is struggling with extreme violence against men and boys of color. During an interview with press, Johnson tackles the fact that his athleticism and talent are explained away by the fact that "his kind" are prone to violence, so of course he would be drawn to boxing.

But, as is the case with many plays, it is the entire package that makes this a memorable show. Because I follow these things, I was excited to follow the interviews and write ups about director Ameenah Kaplan's approach to the show. Kaplan was part of the original company of STOMP and, per her wikipedia page, has been drumming since age 12. Her relationship with movement and percussion shine through the staging of The Royale. As she says in the interview found in the program, "...rhythm.... It calms, it soothes, and it informs." The rhythmic performance of the script, from the boxing moves to underscoring important lines, most definitely informs the story and pushes this play beyond a simple "based on the life of" and into the realm of immediate, necessary, and heart-rending.

I also must comment on Carey Wong's beautiful set. If you know anything about my own aesthetic, it will come as no surprise how much I believe that the bare stage of this show with just four stools is exactly what this show needed. The barebones of a boxing ring, the platform allows the story, the words, the people to take precedence over the visual world, which is exactly how scenery should act. It also makes the moment when the boxing ring is created for the final face-off of Johnson that much more powerful. The caging of "the grizzly bear" is complete and the audience can't help but be struck by Johnson's courage in the face of societal and personal demons.

But more than the excellence of this production, which ACT rarely disappoints on, is how important it is that this story was chosen for the main stage season of a LORT company. When so many seasons at the leading theatres in Seattle and the country are written and directed by and starring predominately white males, to have a production that celebrates and analyzes the racial injustices of then and now while celebrating talented artists that are often relegated to second string companies is important. My ArtEquity training is showing, but I have been so disappointed by the lack of diverse stories available to my communities by the theatres I work with and/or admire. The day before I attended this performance, I was fortunate enough to attend The Black Women Wisdom Summit, curated by Valerie Curtis-Newton and hosted by The Hansberry Project and Intiman Theatre. During the rich, honest conversation between the 11 black women playwrights and Curtis-Newton, a simple truth of the lack of diverse representation became clear. Dominique Morisseau said it best (and do go read the article/transcript from Seattle Weekly linked above for more pearls of wisdom):

"Whose universe? Saying that work should be 'universal' is code for work that should be appreciated and understood by a white audience. So universal becomes code for white, and then we’ve got a white universe, and I’m like, hold on. The thing about universality is that we are all a part of the universe, so every work is universal. And if you aren’t writing from a specific place, where are you writing from?"

This question of "where are you writing from" can be broadened to include directors and designers who shape the world on stage, and the artistic teams that are programming what worlds are on the stage in the first place.

If you are on the fence about seeing this show, go! It runs through October 9th. There are a ton of ways to get discounted tickets at ACT that you may not know about. Including Pay What You Can on Sundays, $20 on Tuesdays, and $15 tickets to students/Under 25! You will not be disappointed to spend your money to see this production.

--

And now, some stats:

# of Actors: 5
# of Female Characters: 1
# of Non-white Characters/Performers: 4

# of Artistic Team Members Listed on Title Page of Program: 9
# of Female Artistic Team Members: 4
(including: Director, Costume Designer, Asst Lighting Designer, and Production Assistant)

Peer Review?

In my last post, Bubblegum, I discussed Peter Brook's indictment of directors/designers and audience members in their role in creating "Deadly Theatre." There was one other part of the chapter that has been bouncing around in my head, begging for more writing (and something else, which I'll get to in a moment): the role of the critic.

It should come as no surprise that Brook believes the critic's role in promoting deadly theatre is in being too soft and not calling for competence when the piece falters. Brook calls the critic a "pathmaker" towards a better theatre, a necessary part of the ecosystem: "like the fish in the ocean, we need one another's devouring talents to perpetuate the sea bed's existence. However, this devouring is not nearly enough: we need to share the endeavour to rise to the surface." (32) Brook knows that this is not easy for the critic or the artists' on whom the critiques are being made.  Nevertheless, it is necessary as a bridge between the art and the audience. "When the status quo is rotten... the only possibility is to judge events in relation to a possible goal" (32).

There have been countless articles and blogs written about critics in theatre today. In Seattle, the theatre community is very on edge about the role of critics as seen in a Facebook comment discussion  in April of this year after Battleground Productions posted "An Open Letter to Seattle's Theater Community", a satirical lambasting of the critics in Seattle "written" by the late George Bernard Shaw. If you happen to be a part of the Seattle Theatre Artists Facebook page, please, go read the comments. Producers, actors, directors, and even our critics joined in on a, mostly, healthy and civil debate about why the critical response to Seattle theatre has been falling short. Ranging from accusations that only the large theatres are getting print space at The Seattle Times and The Stranger to the usual, touchy belief that reviews are too critical to the point of warding off potential audience members, the conversation boiled on for over 72 hours. Ignoring the personal attacks that floated to the surface, one thing was clear to me: Seattle Theatre Artists are really intelligent, thoughtful people who I'd like to hear more from when they see a show.

And then I read Brook's thoughts:

"It is for this reason that the more the critic becomes an insider, the better. I see nothing but good in a critic plunging into our lives... I would welcome his putting his hands on the medium and attempting to work it himself... [Because the] criticism that theatre people make of one another is usually of devastating severity -- but absolutely precise. The critic who no longer enjoys the theatre is obviously a deadly critic, the critic who loves the theatre but is not critically clear what this means, is also a deadly critic: the vital critic is the critic who has clearly formulated for himself what the theatre could be -- and who is bold enough to throw this formula into jeopardy each time he participates in a theatrical event." (32-33)

I have long wanted to write publicly about the theatre shows that I have seen but have avoided for one very important reason: my career. The idea of reviewing my peers, bosses, and potential bosses seemed like a really bad idea if I wanted to advance in this field. Actually, it still seems like a bad idea. However, perhaps emboldened by Brook's words and my own desire to shape the Seattle theatre community into what I know it can be, I'm going to embark on just that. Kind of.

I am not setting out to be a theatre reviewer or critic in the traditional sense of the term. I'm not going to search out or even take press tickets if they are ever offered to me. I am not aiming to tell audiences one way or another if they should see a show, though that may be a by-product of my writing if more than 5 people ever read my work. I am not going to hide the fact that I am a designer or that I have an agenda in both choosing the plays I see and the ones that I think are important. I am not even going to guarantee this project will last very long.

I am going to be transparent about why and how I am seeing a show. I will divulge how I came by the tickets. I will only write about shows that I see after they've opened out of respect for the preview process. I will be clear about any connections I have with anyone involved in the cast or the creative team. I will strive to be honest and thoughtful in what I write, which brings me to why I am going to try this out.

In life, I try, mostly successfully, to be honest and truthful with people I encounter. I don't talk behind people's backs; anything I say about you to anyone else is something I would say to your face (again, I am only mostly successful in this). For the last nine months I have taken a conversation with a fellow designer to heart: the mark of an amateur is that you do more theatre than you see.  At the time, I wasn't doing much theatre, so I decided to go see it. After every show I had thoughts, so many thoughts! If I'd been so fortunate to have a companion who'd shared my evening at the theatre, then the thoughts could be mulled over, dissected, and processed in conversation. And there it would end. What good does that do? If, as Peter Brook asserts, the critic and the artist has the same goal of shaping theatre into the as yet undefined art-form that is not deadly, then why not make my thoughts more public (and polished). And invite my fellow artists to do the same. I cannot tell you how much more I've valued my peers' opinions about my work, even when negative, over the reviews I've read.

So, after years of contemplation, I'm going to take the plunge and write publicly about the theatre I see. One might call it reviewing, but I hope it will be not only more than but also different than that. I don't plan to write formulaic-ly about the shows--touching on every design element, the directing choices, the stand-out performances--but instead to discuss the things that strike me and also how the show fits into the regional and national dialogues about our art form. And, because I have an agenda to make our industry representative of our society and more diverse in gender, race, culture, ability, among others, I'm going to touch on that when I write. This will probably take the form of a statistical breakdown, but we'll see. Much of this will be a "we'll see." I hope good things will come of it. Perhaps my fellow artists will join me in this endeavor. In fact, I'll be looking for someone to write about my upcoming show at Sound Theatre next month. In the mean time, stay tuned!

___

Brook, Peter. The Empty Space: A Book About Theatre; Deadly, Rough, Holy, Immediate. Touchstone: 1995. Print.

Bubblegum

Recently a colleague wrote to me about seeing a professional show currently opening here in Seattle. His overall assessment of the show was that it was good-- good acting, good designs, good directing, good themes-- but that it was still lacking. He said it reminded him of bubblegum: "Sure it has flavors of racial struggle or LGBT oppression or meta-theatrical-revolution. But then you chew on it for a couple hours, it loses all flavor, and it ends up being tossed out with the program."

Just a few days later, I picked up Peter Brook’s The Empty Space again. I first read The Empty Space in my Introduction to Directing class in undergrad, just over ten years ago. As a young theatre student, the book was read and notated based on what I thought was important, but mostly what the professor highlighted in class. Flipping through the pages, my margin-notes are quite sparse. I'd wager this is due to the simple fact that as a 21-year-old whose primary exposure to theatre had been in the cornfields of Iowa, I just didn't know what Peter Brook was on about.

Reading through the first chapter, “The Deadly Theatre,” I can attest that my newly underlined passages and notes are much more prolific and emphatic. As a working theatre-maker with many more years of theatre viewings and designs now under my belt, I profoundly recognize Brook's definition of Deadly Theatre over the course of my career. He indicts every person involved in creating a theatrical production --from actor to director to playwright to audience to critic--no one is innocent in the creation of deadly theatre.The two passages about the role of the director (and designer) and audiences in creating deadly theatre stood out to me and give me pause as I look around at the Seattle Theatre community, my theatre community.

Let us first look at Brook's complaint against designers and directors:

"Deadliness always brings us back to repetition: the deadly director uses old formulae, old methods, old jokes, old effects; stock beginnings to scenes, stock ends; and this applies equally to his partners, the designers and composers, if they do not start each time afresh from the void, the desert and the true question --why clothes at all, why music, what for? A deadly director is a director who brings no challenge to the conditioned reflexes that every department must contain." (39)

The word that stands out to me in that passage is challenge. I think back to the work I did to apply feminist theatre theories to theatrical design practices and am reminded of Dolores Ringer's four questions of 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)

Ringer specifically charges designers with always questioning what has brought them to the the visual language they are using. What in their lives and their sensibilities, but also what in the world and society as a whole underpins the meaning of our design? If we do not challenge ourselves as designers, how can we possibly expect to be challenging our colleagues or audiences? And, as Brook so pointedly says, an unchallenged audience is a part of the problem.

Brook begins his criticism of the audience with something beyond their control: the price of tickets. He is not making an argument for affordable tickets to increase audience access, but says that the ticket price represents a buy in from the audience that they are wary of for fear of being disappointed: "...the risk is too great, too many disappointments." But that is merely a prelude to his larger complaint of audiences: that their complacency around and acceptance of Deadly Theatre is perpetuating that cycle of disappointments. He baldly says, "If good theatre depends on a good audience, then every audience has the theatre it deserve" (21).

This brings me back to the use of bubblegum to describe "good" theatre that is, ultimately, just Deadly. Good technically and in content, much of the theatre of Seattle, as my colleague put it, is ready to be thrown out with the program in only a few short hours. The theatre I have seen in Seattle over the last two years have left me with only a handful of productions I am still thinking and talking about. Two of the three were touring productions. Seattle leaders and artists that I chatted with early on all said similar things about how the theatres taking risks were our fringe theatres. Unfortunately, they also noted, Seattle audience's fear that they might end up at a “bad” show in a fringe theatre and so still head to the larger, professional houses instead of the cutting-edge fringe theatres when looking for an evening of theatre. Thus, the status quo doesn’t change in the upper echelons of our theatre community because it is being reinforced through ticket sales and, unfortunately, standing ovations.

What then can be done?

At this point, I sense a dire need for the professionals of Seattle to talk earnestly about our community and the theatre that we are producing. In  a recent interview with City Arts Magazine, theatre-leader Valerie Curtis-Newton discusses the Seattle theatre community's tendency to praise artists to their faces but then to turn around and criticize them behind their back. This isn't helping our community of artists and that needs to change. Brook even discusses the need for open, honest communication between professionals so that we can all grow and be better. Even more than that, though, much of the Seattle theatre audience are other artists and practitioners. If we're afraid to be a part of the conversation to raise up the standard of our product than we are, in fact, being served the theatre that we deserve.

___
Brook, Peter. The Empty Space: A Book About Theatre; Deadly, Rough, Holy, Immediate. Touchstone: 1995. Print.

Ringer, Delores. “Re-Visioning Scenography: A Feminist’s Approach to Design for the Theatre.” Theatre and Feminist Aesthetics. Ed. Karen Laughlin and Catherine Schuler. Madison, Farleigh Dickinson UP: 1995. 299-315. Print.

Why Theatre People Will Never Be Rich

I know it's really no secret that most of us who work in theatre are not getting rich. But this week I had a realization of one of the reasons this is true: we're awesomely giving. Not only are theatre people generally willing to take on projects for less money than any reasonable human being, we do things for free and/or trade. I've seen this latter act of giving first-hand in the last week.

I am working as the charge artist for a production of The Gondoliers over at Lyric Theatre. My primary responsibility is to paint a 29'x30' drop for the show that will look like this:

Gondoliers Backdrop

When tasked with this job, I asked to paint the drop horizontally because of the feathery quality of the colors. Immediately the TD for the show mentioned using the floor at Musson, a theatre supply company here in San Jose. At first I was worried about how much that would cost, but it turns out that Musson owes Lyric a favor, in fact, they owe Lyric a floor. At some point in the last year, Musson made a boo-boo and had to scramble to paint three drops for a client in less than a week. Unfortunately, their shop floor couldn't accommodate that many drops in such a short period of time. So, they called up Lyric and borrowed their shop/rehearsal space. For free. And now, when Lyric needs a floor for me to paint their drop, I'm at Musson at no charge for a week. For those of you who don't live in the world of theatre, when I painted a drop for CTC, they paid $100 for a week of use of Ohlone College's paint frame (and that was pretty discounted). So, even a highly successful business will offer up their time and space to help out the small theatres. And that's awesome.

Another, more extreme, example of the tradition of giving time without compensation manifested itself when I met the lovely ladies at The Costume Cadre, a collection of independent designers who have pulled their talents and resources to work in the Bay Area as designers, drapers, and stitchers. I met the effervescent Rita when I went over to see about Shady Shakespeare's stock and resources. And she was so generous in what she offered up from the Cardre's supplies/stock/resources to me. But, more impressively, she talked about the time she has dedicated to organizing, stocking, and cataloging the entirety of Shady's costume collection free of charge. That's a big project even in a small stock.

There isn't much else to report, really just wanted to share this realization that from big to small, we're all in the same boat. It's nice to see companies, individuals, and production houses supporting one another as we strive to make this world a better place with our art.

Ask and You Shall Receive or How I Became a Freelance Theatre Artist

So that we are all on the same page, let me recap that I'm wrapping up week three of my open-ended hiatus from CTC. And I've got my form all ready to send to unemployment. And I've still got bills to pay. And CT and I've pretty much decided we're going to (have to) stick it out in our one room apartment for a little while longer.

Our apartment. That is not our bed, just our couch.

But in true self-sufficient, pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps-fashion, I've been sending out applications and résumés since before I was officially on hiatus. I am happy to report that all of my efforts and frantic e mailing has paid off. Here is how I've been making/planning to make money since April 23:

Week One: Résumé and application blasts to theatres and craigslistings all over the place. By Tuesday I had two interviews with non-theatre companies, one an supplementary education company (read: after-school enrichment center) and one with a print company. The first interview I apparently bombed and the second, the print company, I was hired on the spot. Hooray! I started training the next day, Wednesday. For two days I gave it a go. At $12 an hour, doing graphic design and answering phones and running xeroxes didn't seem so bad. Except I was going to be the only person doing that and was expected to be so awesome I could replace the woman who'd been working for that particular company for over three years and knew all of the account abbreviations and quirks like the back of her hand. It wasn't looking good.

Also on Wednesday, I went to an interview at SJ Rep for a box office assistant position. Many of you may remember I did a stint at The Dallas Opera's box office when I lived in Texas and loved! it! Turns out SJ Rep uses the same ticketing program, had someone leaving the fold, and hey, they wanted to hire me. $9 an hour with hours fluctuating from 10 to 30 a week... well, I thought, it's something. And it's something that is flexible and low-stress enough that I could do other things. So Friday morning I quit the print company, thanked them for the opportunity, and drove to San Mateo to open Pied Piper Player's Once Upon a Mattress.
 

The Queen tries to make Winnifred as sleepy as possible.

Week Two: More résumés and applications including bookstores and Starbucks. Pretty much anywhere I thought I might be employable, I applied. But things that week were pretty low-key and boring. I worked on my friend Margo's website and even my own website. (BTW, now offering portrait and wedding packages!) On Thursday I trained at the SJ Rep Box Office and it was like riding a bike. Sure, there were things that they do differently than the Opera, but it was pretty easy and I felt good about my choice to take the job. And on Sunday I struck Once Upon a Mattress and got the last of my paycheck from PPP and made plans to talk about other work with the company.

Week Three: (That's this week) Everything started to fall into place. Monday I had lunch with the Artistic Director of PPP and we worked out a plan for me to come aboard as the Production Manager for the company, teach during their conservatory, and designing on a regular basis. Tuesday I went to visit family in Oroville.

My sister Hannah and nephew Hunter

Wednesday I worked at the box office. And then yesterday, Thursday, I got a slew of e mails and had two meetings that resulted in 3 gigs (one painting a backdrop, one designing costumes, and one costume supervising) and a call to work over-hire on a load-out for a theatrical supply place in the area. Bada-bing, Bada-boom.

I've done the math. It's not spectacular money for the amount of work, but it's close to what I was making before. And it's on projects ranging from Shakespeare to Gilbert & Sullivan. Which is pretty neat. The thing that has kept me from doing freelance work before is the difficulty at keeping sane. What do I mean by this? Well, in a 9-5 job, even in theatre, there is structure. You go to work, you complete your work, you go home. Sure there are crazy days during tech week and strike, but those are planned in advance, you see them coming, and time is allotted for them and subsequent recovery. As a freelancer, that is on you. Working with five different companies means that you have to be sure that tech weeks aren't going to collide and that you'll have enough time to complete fittings and paint flats and whatever has to happen. And then there is the travel time. And gas. When you work at one theatre you go there and come home. Some traveling may occur for the company, but life is contained. When you work for five different companies you're running all over the city, or in my case, all over the bay area, trying to get everything sorted and done. Sure some work can happen at home (especially costume-related work), but mostly you go to their space and use their tools and then you drive somewhere else the next day... it gets overwhelming.

But perhaps the biggest stress about being self-employed, working gig to gig, are taxes. I've never had more than one 1099 a year, so while a pain, it was pretty straightforward and didn't change my taxes that much. But with this much gig work, I'm going to have to do quarterly taxes or I'm going to end up owing hundreds of dollars I've already spent come April of 2013. I'm not sure why companies can't take taxes out. Okay, I'm sure it has something to do with paperwork and calculations that are far beyond just issuing a check, but can't there be a way to make this easier? Can't there be a way to take the burden of this off the artist? More importantly so that the artist doesn't accidentally spend money that really has to go to the federal government??? For now I just automatically deduct 20% out of the fee and put it in savings. And now with quarterly taxes, I won't get hit with a big OUCH! next year.

So now I can call myself a freelance theatre artist. And really raise my parents' anxiety levels. Woo.

The Great Job Search

Here's the low-down: I'm unemployed. Well, underemployed might be a better term. This week is week two of the open-ended hiatus I was put on from CTC when I turned down the opportunity to design their Summer Rep Shows (more on this at a later date). This is the second hiatus I've been put on, but the first without a fixed end and that involves losing my health insurance. Times are lean in theatre, it would seem.

And so! I've been diligently applying for jobs, both in and outside of the theatre. I'm in Silicon Valley, so I've hit the big places: Apple, Google, Yahoo, Facebook, etc etc and the national companies: Starbucks, Target, etc etc and the theatres. Oh, have I hit the theatres. From actual listings on places like TCG's ArtSearch to Bay Area Theatre Bums to individual websites of each theatre I have come across (I've got them all bookmarked). It's a lot of work applying and sending out feeler résumés, especially when there isn't much to show for it. And you're stressed out about how on earth you're going to pay your rent in one of the most expensive regions in the world.

The good news: I found a part-time job at San Jose Repertory Theatre in their box office.

The bad news: It only pays $9/hr and my hours will fluctuate from 10 to 30 in any given week.

The also good news: My partner in crime, C.T., got promoted last week and is guaranteed 40 hours+ a week and is making somewhere close to, or over, $15/hr.

The really bad news: This is still not going to be enough.

Let's set aside the fact that I'm back to being uninsured (I had a bunch of physicals and exams before I lost my insurance and so far I'm healthy) because, well, that comes with the territory and I've been there before. And let's just talk about what it means to be living in a 450 square foot, studio apartment which is about to cost us $1050/month and I'm only guaranteed to bring in $90/week before taxes. What, huh? This is a low-point. This is why I am applying to complete reach-jobs at the tech companies. I don't really care about the perks of working at those companies. I just know they are stable and will pay me the living wage of this area for one simple reason: They are the reason that it costs so frickin' much to live here in the first place.

From the article "High Cost of Living Shrinks Silicon Valley's Sizable Paychecks" by David Schepp at Aol.com.

This whole situation has me, for the first time in my life, seriously kicking myself for getting a degree in theatre.

When I chose my major at Grinnell I did it with pride and a bit of rebellion swelling in my heart because I knew that it was a pretty stupid field to go into for financial security, etc. But I was young and wanted to follow my heart. And I didn't want to choose a career path just because it would make me money. I wanted to go out into the world and make art and do something meaningful and be poor because I chose to be poor (not, as was my mother's case, because life sucks and circumstances bore her into decades of abject poverty and welfare). I was your typical, naive idealist.

And when I decided to go to graduate school it was with a more tempered idealism, but idealism nonetheless. I felt that my Master's degree would grant me some kind of security, some options that would be more stable, and help quiet my step-mother's fear of my looming destitution.

Even applying for summer employment during graduate school didn't have me second-guessing myself. I was confident this path would be awesome, if also frugal. Then, upon graduating from UNCG, I landed a job as the Resident Designer/Painter/Teacher at a children's theatre in sunny California. I wasn't going right into teaching! I was getting to move back to the West Coast (a dream I'd been harboring since I first hunkered down in the Midwest for college)! Things were going to be awesome!

Except it's expensive to live in this part of the country. And the recession is still taking its toll on the "unnecessary" items including the obvious: the arts, and the not so obvious: school bus transportation (important when you work at a children's theatre). But even two weeks ago when I heard Republican Candidate Mitt Romney talk about choosing an engineering major over his own field, English, I firmly believed that I had made no mistake in my choice of study. (And was pretty incensed about his statements as a mark of privilege as well as the wrong mindset when you want to have a society that also has beauty. Why not, instead, talk about needing to provide funding for art, writing, those non-engineer fields... but I digress.)

It's funny how money, or the lack-there-of, will make you question everything you hold dear. But unlike many of my posts in the past where I wonder about continuing in this field because I've been unhappy with this, that, or the other project, I'm now wondering how I can continue when I can't even afford to buy myself new bras. I've been so fortunate that the last few times I've been in this mess I've had a partner to help support me as I get back on my feet (ironically enough that time also ended with me starting work in a box office). This time it's tougher because we're living somewhere more expensive and C.T. is just now getting into making good money. We're going to make it. We have to. But as I look at job postings many things cross my mind that never did before: Maybe I should consider getting out of theatre. Maybe I should consider getting out of non-profit. Maybe I should consider moving back to the South where the cost of living is lower. Maybe I made a mistake.

Maybe I made a mistake.

No one likes to admit that they were wrong. Especially not me.

But all I can do is keep my fingers crossed and keep sending out those résumés.

I'll keep you posted.

Happy Saturday or How to Keep Up Morale When Nothing Else is Going Right

Fired. I am fired. From writing about my career and thus thinking deeply about it. There is really no excuse, but let me tell you a a little bit about why I haven't written since November.

Do you recall that production of The Cherry Orchard that I was working on in the summer? Well, for reasons I still do not fully understand, I faced a battle to get paid my fee when everything was done. I did, in fact, get paid (Hallelujah!) but it really put a damper on my feelings about working in theatre. The occurrence called into question the integrity of the field and the economic viability. And since then I've been thinking of a way to talk about the situation without 1. whining or 2. bad-mouthing the whole experience and possibly getting sued for libel. I wanted to write up a post about contracts and wording for contracts, but, as is obvious from the situation I faced, I have no clue about designer contracts. (I didn't ever sign one-- yes, yes, I know!) And then I wanted to write about artists supporting each other and everyone being open and honest when financials don't measure up, but, well, since I don't understand what happened, again, I didn't want to possibly get in trouble with libel. Combined with the rather rude comment I got on my post about sewing made me just feel like there was no good to come out of this field right now.

And then fast-forward to my life right now, and, well, things have been looking bleak.

That's why I've made a concerted effort to look on the bright side of things. Because of this, I'm bringing back the blog (especially after reading The Pioneer Woman's "Ten Things I've Learned About Blogging") and a tradition I started when I was trying to decide on a pie recipe for Thanksgiving: "Happy Saturday." Basically, when I was trying to find the right recipe for a Turkey Day Apple Pie, I had to test them out. But I didn't want to eat lots of pie. So after one successful Friday night of pie-baking, I brought half of the pies to work at CTC for the cast/crew/whoever was in the building. I wrote a note with a description of the pies: "Happy Saturday!" Because, let's be honest, working on Saturday stinks. I baked pretty regularly on Friday evening (who can go out partying when you have to be at work the next morning and either use power tools or at least paint within the lines?) and brought in a portion of the goodies to work Saturday morning. And, not surprisingly, the company members at CTC started to look forward to this little ray of sugary delight at the theatre on Saturdays. After Christmas I decided to stop because, well, it does cost me money and time. And people were sad. Combined with the very arduous task of our annual Fund Drive and our bleak financial situation, I needed to resurrect my baking. And so "Happy Saturday" returned this past weekend with Cranberry-Orange Coffee Cake and Apple-Cinnamon Coffee Cake. It was a rousing success. This time I put out a donation can so that people can help pay for the treats if they can, and, well, along with the compliments for the goodies, I got some money to help offset the tradition. And it's awesome. I'm happy to be back in the kitchen as it were, and I know that it's something everyone enjoys looking forward to.

This is all to say, I'm glad I can bring some good to my place of work, especially when I could just be a dark, doom-and-gloom rain cloud. This is not to say that things are peachy and I'm happy with all of the decisions being made by management, but I want to make sure my peers--my company--have some happy in their lives. So, here's to an awesome tradition and pictures of last week's Happy Saturday treat and recipes from The Joy of Cooking:

Apple-Cinnamon Coffee Cake

 

Cranberry-Orange Coffee Cake

Have all ingredients at room temp.
Preheat the oven to 350°
Grease a 9-inch square baking pan or a 9-inch spring form pan

Combine
.5 c sugar
2 T all-purpose or rice flour
2 T unsalted butter
Blend until crumbly then add
.5 t cinnamon
(.25 to .5 c of nuts if you'd like)
This is your streusel topping. Set aside.

Whisk together:

1.5 c of flour
1.25 c of sugar
2 t baking powder
.5 t baking soda
.25 t salt
(1 t cinnamon for Apple Cake)

Beat well in a large bowl:
1 c sour cream
2 lg eggs
(1 T grated orange zest for Cranberry-Orange Cake)

Add the dry ingredients and beat until just smooth. Overbeating tends to toughen the cake. Spread batter in the greased pan.

Add

2.5 c dried cranberries or diced, peeled apples (depending on type of cake)


Sprinkle with streusel.
Bake until a toothpick comes out clean, about 40 to 45 minutes. Cool on a rack.

Enjoy with your awesome friends!

Good Theatre & Teaching Philosophy All Rolled Into One

I wrote this recently and while it is a little less polished than it should be, I had a lot of revelations about my thoughts on theatre and teaching theatre that I think are important to share.

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As a working theatre artist, my philosophy on teaching is deeply intertwined with my philosophy about theatre as an institution. Thus, let me quickly outline my thoughts on what makes good theatre.

First, good theatre is truly collaborative. By this I mean it is more than a few artists coming together to make one artistic piece. True theatrical collaboration is about a few artists coming together to influence each other’s work and input in creating one cohesive artistic piece. In order to do this, a scenic designer must not only welcome suggestions from the lighting designer about, say, what material is used to build the set in order to facilitate an interesting look scenically and through light, but also know enough to suggest specific alternative footwear to the costume designer if the deck poses trouble for an actor who is supposed to appear barefoot. Furthermore, I believe truly collaborative theatre allows the designers to work alongside, rather than subordinately, with the director so that all ideas can and will be considered.

Second, good theatre is more than the final product and the bottom line. While it is important to create a product that will garner recognition enough to get the proverbial “bums in seats,” theatre cannot be an example of “the ends justify the means.” Theatre is an art form that has allowed countless playwrights, directors, designers, actors, and audience members explore society from new and engaging ways. When we answer “Why are we doing this show?” with answers like “It is a crowd-pleaser” or “It will make money” we are not doing the art justice. As theatre artists we must engage with the production from start to finish, finding the important reasons to tell any story, from Oklahoma! to Orpheus Descending, from The Cherry Orchard to The Little Mermaid. Furthermore, theatre is a living, breathing art-form. It changes in the design, rehearsal, and performance process because of the many different people—including the audience—that are a part of making it happen. Good theatre and good theatre-artists recognize that not only are the public performances important, but also the journey from conceptualization to realization.

Lastly, good theatre is vital to our society. Sadly, theatre’s popularity is rapidly dwindling in the face of the instant, often-free media offered up by our ever-wired life in the twenty-first century. Too often theatres face concerns over the rising age of their dwindling audiences. Nevertheless, as theatre artists we know that theatre is important. Why else would we be in the business? But, more than that, good theatre is important. As hinted above, it is easy to look at theatre as merely a money-making operation and pander to many audience’s desires to be transported from their mundane lives by special effects and happy endings. While there are some truly remarkable plays and productions that do happen to have those elements, more often than not, much of that theatre is Peter Brook’s definition of deadly theatre. Historically accurate, devoid-of-life productions of Shakespeare for the Canon’s sake. Ridiculous farces that make the audience laugh but leave them with hardly a new thought in their head about life. But good theatre, vital theatre, is more often the spark that reignites the people’s passion for our art. Productions of August: Osage County, Ruined, Next to Normal, Spring Awakening, Rent, The Lion King, to name a few, all brought audiences back to the theatre through gripping stories or amazing theatrical magic (or both). And all of those productions of good theatre proved to artists and audiences alike that good theatre is a vital, unmatched way of dissecting and understanding our world. Only through this live, collaborative art form can the audience commune in real-time with living, breathing, nearby people on and off stage. Through these types of productions theatre becomes, even for an instant, important again.

Now, how does this translate into my teaching philosophy? Do I envision myself using my role as teacher and mentor to grandstand about these points on theatre? No. My passion to be an artist who makes and takes part in good theatre drives me to be an inspiring and demanding teacher of theatre. I want to give my students the tools to define good theatre for themselves and know how they can contribute to that theatre if they choose to pursue it as a career.

Theatre as a collaborative art form is most directly applicable to my work as a teacher. While I was more than content to work solo on projects during my time as a student, group work and discussions allowed me to grow the most as a critical thinker and artist. As a teacher I translate my desire to bounce ideas off of people into encouragement of a collaborative way of learning and, thus, creating art. As a design professor I envision projects that mimic the collaborative process of designing with 2 (or more) other designers and even a director. This teaches students about the process of designing, and encourages a growth in communication and public-speaking skills. It also can create the space for students to learn about very important traits as a collaborative artist: humility and compromise. Undergraduate theatre students often have the most exciting ideas about art (because they don’t know what is “impossible” yet) but also have the most challenges either overcoming or building up their egos. A good theatre teacher will nurture the exciting possibilities that the untested artist brings to the table while identifying which students need to learn how to step back and those that need encouragement to step forward in sharing ideas about a given project.

My second assertion that theatre is more than the final product and the bottom line is more in line with my philosophy on (theatre) education as a whole. It speaks to the question of what is more important, the process or the product. Many of the educational institutions I have had contact with have struggled with this concept. It is easy to say on paper that the theatre department is committed to the process of putting on a show, but, when push comes to shove, the product takes precedence over the process because of ticket sales or institutional oversight. I firmly believe that my role as a theatre teacher and mentor is to highlight the process as a learning opportunity for the student as student and as artist. In her book The Creative Habit, Twyla Tharp asserts that the best productions for her have been critical failures because she learned the most from them as an artist. Through critical evaluation of the artistic work during and after the process, I wish to instill in young artists critical thinking both for their own, their peers’, and their mentors’ work. As well as encourage them to see that the act of making art is as vital as the final artistic product.

Furthermore, as a woman in a male-dominated area of theatre with an underprivileged childhood, I personally have struggled to define what the process of design is for me. As a teacher I not only expose my students to the traditional design process as discussed by the forefathers of design (Robert Edmund Jones, Adolph Appia, Lee Simonson), but also encourage students to define their own process based on how they artistically interpret and experience space. During my time at UNCG I was fortunate enough to read and discuss new design pedagogy, including that of veteran theatre professor Richard Isaacks of UT Austin. He has challenged the script as the sole jumping off point for design, instead creating exercises that force students to create the visual narrative and then apply it to the written word. As an artist I’ve challenged myself to break out of the process in this way with great and eye-opening results. As a teacher I aim to challenge my students to approach design from every angle and to question not only what they are choosing but why they are choosing it to represent the world of the play. This ties directly into my paper on the intersection of feminist theory and the design process, which is less about a gendered approach to design but more about the individual’s response and synthesis of their world into the picture created for the stage and what role that plays in creating meaning for the actors and the audience.

Finally, as a student of theatre for seven years I was painfully aware of the professors that no longer cared about our art. I worked with professors who had been in academic theatre for so long that they were out of touch with the current trends in theatre and only viewed the art form through an academic lens. While academic theatre can be vital, it is often too bounded by curriculum and community desires to challenge its audiences and artists. As a theatre teacher I believe it is important to continue to work professionally. This not only allows me to continue to grow as an artist, but keeps me up to date with artistic and thematic trends that my students will face as they pursue a career in theatre. I aim to mentor them on their theatre, not merely my own.

The Blossom Cyc or Reality vs. The Dream

Okay, so I haven't updated for a while not because I've been putting it off but because I've been hunched over a sewing machine making paper flower garlands for The Cherry Orchard. This past weekend I had made enough (9) in order to determine what I thought I would need in order to complete a 20' curtain. By my estimation: 125 garlands total. And I have been completing about 3-7 a day. Yeah, you do the math and say what I said: Ummmm, what was I thinking?

So, the reality of the situation is while I'd like to make an entire 20' curtain made up of my garlands:



I have to supplement what I've done with something prefabricated. I think I've found some options, though the colors are wrong wrong wrong. And with all this paper I fear that the set is going to burst into flames... But whatever.

Then today I came across a blog post about a flower curtain which is a far more remarkable version of what I envisioned, but still awesome:


No Betweens, 1996, sculpture | silk, cotton, polyester, and thread, by Jim Hodges

Source: http://www.sfmoma.org/explore/collection/artwork/20917##ixzz1XPwk0R23
San Francisco Museum of Modern Art


And it is at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art!

Anyway, what this all boils down to is that, while I wish I had more time and more labor and more money in order to create this curtain of flowers like this image (and maybe it is a good thing I didn't see this image until after I'd started in this vein), it's the sad truth about theatre that the artistic vision is often watered down due to the lack of those things. Nevertheless, I have faith that my design for The Cherry Orchard will rock socks, if and when it gets built. :)

The Business of Theatre

I make no claims that I am business-minded in any way. However, having worked at a fair number of theatre companies, from professional to opera to regional to community, I have learned a lot of what not to do. And, as might be expected, what I would do differently if I were heading up the theatre, or, for that matter, my own theatre.

Yesterday, CT and I had a very long conversation about theatre as a business. I've said before that many theatre practitioners do not view theatre as business; they view it as art. The problem is, if you're taking in money for a product, then you've got a business on your hands. And while most theatre companies do not have "make money" as part of their mission statement, it's a necessary goal in order to achieve whatever the mission statement is.

Along with thinking of theatre as business in relationship to your customers (aka audience members), is thinking about how to run the most effective business for your employees. I've worked at some really spectacular, morale-boosting theatres and some soul-crushing theatres (all of which will go unnamed so no one feels called out one way or another). And I know that I've done better work as an artist and wanted to bring more people into the theatre as a spokesperson at the former. But when, as an artist, you are working under crappy circumstances, you wonder, why am I doing this? Do I really want to sacrifice having a comfortable bank account for this? It's not a good thing. And I think, if there is any reason I would want to start a theatre company, it would be as much about having an artistic vision that I believe in, as it would be having a group of artists feel taken care of and happy in choosing a profession that burns you out with little financial reward to show for it.

This is all to say that, more so than ever, both because I'm done with school and was charged by many faculty members (not personally) to go out and start my own theatre, and because I am tired of being taken advantage of (I am more a rug than anything else sometimes) that I am, more than before, seriously considering starting my own theatre. I think it helps that CT seems to have a head for business ;), if I could convince him to take that financial plunge with me. Meanwhile, any of my awesome colleagues and peers want to join me?

Paula Vogel on Darwinian Theatre and Love Letters

This evening I had the opportunity to listen to Paula Vogel in a question and answer setting at UNCG. Like Tony Kushner last year, my head feels like it is about to explode. In a good way.

Professor Vogel said a lot of really amazing things, much of which I am still trying to process. But one thing she mentioned was the importance of theatre pedagogy that does not insist that there will be only one person standing at the end of the program. Instead, fostering an environment that encourages people to collaborate (shock!) and work together, to lift one another up in our pursuits and, in turn, be lifted up by our peers, that is what we should be striving for in education (and the art form). As a student and (soon-to-be) educator, I definitely agree with this opinion. I sincerely believe that it's not about hoarding the opportunities and connections, but instead sharing with peers, students, mentees, and fellow artists the same things you hope to have shared with you. It goes back to Twyla Tharp's idea about generosity and how, in this collaborative art form, we must work together as a team to make our art viable, desirable, and beautiful. From these two amazing women is an important idea about art and theatre. I will definitely keep coming back to this because I know I was fortunate enough to have people who were generous and did not treat my education like a Darwinian fight for survival.

The other thing Professor Vogel mentioned was that her plays are Love Letters to the actors, directors, audience, and people who inspired her. I love that. I love the idea that as a playwright she is in conversation with everyone who will make her play come to life (and that she admits that designers [and directors] will know where the furniture should go) through her work. Sometimes I feel like designers don't give the play enough credit as a piece of work by a person. They take it for face value and don't wonder about who wrote it, what had happened to them, what was going on around them. I think it is important to remember, just as we were taught in our English classes, that to understand the written word, one must understand the writer. Oh, so important. And to think of it as a Love Letter, written to the creative team, that makes it that much more special and important.

In short, this was an amazing evening. I feel energized to work with amazing artists and put my philosophies to work. Thank you to the anonymous donor that helped pay the honorarium for Professor Vogel's visit. And I cannot wait for Suzan-Lori Parks keynote next weekend!

Financial Strain

As one can imagine, after attending two conferences back to back, my finances are dwindling. This makes me think about the financial burden of being an artist, specifically a theatrical artist.

In my third year of undergrad, my mentor took my design class to Actors Theatre in Louisville, KY for the Humana Festival of New Plays. It was one of my top-ten theatre experiences, including my time spent in London. One of the students with us was looking at one of their internships and one of our own was, at that time, one of their interns. I remember being drawn to the idea of working with ATL because of the work they did with new American plays, but was devastated to learn that they paid their interns nothing. Not only that, but interns were expected to work so many hours that they had no hope of holding down any other kind of paying job. My dreams of working at ATL left me with a sigh.

The unpaid or underpaid internship is not uncommon. In fact, the Federal Government has weighed in on whether or not labor laws are being followed for internships. Theatre, an industry that relies heavily on the unskilled worker being paid little to "learn" and further their craft, has been hard-hit by the Federal Government's "meddling." However, many companies have found loopholes in the system, calling what little they do pay things like "expense reimbursement" rather than pay so that they can continue to pay pennies for eking out every last drop of sweat from young, aspiring theatre artists time and energy.

But, more so than at the internship level, theatre artists are paid very little for the time put in. If we seriously sat down to tally the hours worked for freelance gig, that one-time stipend (for which we usually also must pay our own taxes), we are definitely working under minimum wage. And from that low pay we take out money to pay for supplies and tools, for computer programs and classes, for trade shows and conferences, all in the name of getting better and being the best. Yet, we are struggling to make ends meet.

I think about my own situation. I do not have a family that I can call up for support. For undergrad I walked away with 25% of the four year bill in student loans. My parents paid about 2% of the four-year bill. The rest was the magic of scholarships and grants that were predicated mostly on my academic abilities. For graduate school, I have been making ends meet on my small graduate assistantship. And this month, my ends needed to meet over two conferences (one of which I will get partially reimbursed for, one of which I didn't pay for registration), tire alignment, an oil change, a dentist bill, and my usual slew of bills. I'm cutting it close and praying for my tax refund to magically arrive in my bank account very, very soon.

This stress over money is why I am drawn to apply for work at the college level, rather than risk freelancing. While I am fortunate to have a partner with whom I can face the financial stress of adulthood with, I do not have the luxury of moving in with parents (or my partner) while I see if I can make a go of it between $500, $50, $2,000 gigs. I also really like my teeth and am tired of not having dental insurance. And yet, I don't want to enter into academia and shrivel up and die. I want to go out there and be passionate and take risks over my art. But, as Ben Cameron of the Doris Duke Foundation said during his keynote at SETC this year, if there is any industry that has the most donated hours of work and time, it is the arts. Our passion, our field, our industry is predicated on our volunteer time and efforts because we are not paid enough to make it our job and our career.

What, then, can be done? What, then, can my path be? I hope that it will be full of theatre and jobs that take me to many different theatres to work with many different directors, but it will also include something that will pay the bills for a while. Whether that is a job at Starbucks or teaching theatre or answering phones or whatever, I will work myself to exhaustion so that I can make theatre come to life. As a child raised in a welfare home, I have fought not to fall into the typical career paths just so that I can have a well-paying job, but to follow my heart and passion into a career path that makes me happy and that I love. I hope, one day, though, that perhaps, like the public school educators that also deserve a break, that our country's artists will be able to do just what they want to do: create art. And not worry about that Vente, triple shot latte, half-caf, non-fat, three pumps of caramel drink they need to make for the well-paid customer who walks through the door.