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.

Kindness and Generosity

The best part of moving: having to clear out your pantry. This means you can justify eating pancakes for lunch. :)
The worst part(s): too numerous to count.

Though my silly eating habits may seem interesting, what I did want to write about is how awesome people are. A while ago I posted on Facebook that I was accepting donations for my "Sunnyfund" and in return people would get some framed art. And I got some donations! As well as family who have offered money with no expectations at all because they want to make this move the best it can be. I am so extremely blessed.

And what this got me thinking was how much I cannot wait to be employed and able to help other people out. I've donated to a few charities when I've had some extra money (especially when I came into money that was purely gifts, like scholarships/refunds). But I've had to turn a blind eye to some of my family's troubles in the recent past and that sucks.

My family hasn't always had a lot, but one thing that I will never forget is how amazingly generous they all are. Seriously. When I broke up with S., my grandmother sent me $300 to help me get through the winter with the sudden shock to my finances. And now my mom and her person, Bob, are sending me a little money for gas. It's nice to be surrounded by people that will share their last dollar with you. I look forward to being able to do that someday.

Okay, back to to the pancakes.

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!

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.