Designer's Notebook: Why We Have A Body at Strawberry Theatre Workshop

Mahria Zook as Renee and Alyssa Keene as Lili.
Photo by John Ulman.

Last night I opened my sixth show of 2017: Why We Have a Body by Claire Chafee at Strawberry Theatre Workshop here in Seattle. I was brought onto this project about seven weeks ago in a hurried conversation with director Rhonda J Soikowski who reached out to me on the recommendation of one of her colleagues. Rhonda pitched the show -- a four-hander that explores the role of gender, sexuality, mental illness, and family and was a sensation in the 1990s. Immediately images of pleated pants and shoulder pads flashed through my head.

Just a month before this call, I had made a decision to be more picky about the shows that I take on. My more stringent criteria was not about pay or working conditions but about the mission of the organization and/or the voices that would be amplified by the project. Coming off of one big musical with over 80% white or white-passing actors in the cast into a three-hander with an all-white cast and creative team, and then going into production managing and designing for Sound Theatre Company's Hoodoo Love by Katori Hall, there was a light bulb that went off in my head. I could only give my energy and life-blood (which is what we freelancer do give) to companies and shows that put their money where their mouth was and elevated under-represented and vulnerable voices in order to disrupt the white supremacy we are all now too familiar with in Trump's America. (Yes, duh.)

Rhonda's call and request for me to squeeze Chafee's non-linear, monologue-filled examination of women writing their own definition and future in a patriarchal world was my first test of my conviction. I had planned August to be a month of recuperation and preparation for the last of my 2017 shows. And yet, this was not a case of not being able to say no, which I definitely am afflicted by. This show was calling to me.

Back in my Feminist Theatre class in grad school at UNC Greensboro, I wrote a paper called "Becoming a Feminist Designer: Troubling the Traditions of Design." In the paper, I dissected traditional theatre design techniques and pedagogy using a third-wave feminist framework. It was the beginning of putting into words something I had long felt in my bones: my identity is imprinted on my designs and adds (positive and/or negative) value to them. And, by that logic, so does the identity of any designer. Thus, who is designing a production is as important as who is directing it, who is acting in it, and what it is about.

But I was only scratching the surface, struggling to apply inadequate language and theory to something much, much bigger than this.

Enter intersectionality.

Coined by civil rights activist Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw in 1989 essay, intersectionality is the complex, cumulative manner in which the effects of different forms of discrimination combine, overlap, or intersect. Now, in 2017, intersectionality is being used to expand our understanding of identity, white supremacy, and white privilege.

I have a more indepth write up about what I'm beginning to coin intersectional design practices (instead of feminist design theory), but the gist of it is that, as a designer, you have to interrogate your own position of power and privilege, interrogate the expected audience's, and then, and only then, do you start to break out the design decisions that build the world or clothe the characters. (Again, more later.)

So, back to Why We Have a Body for which I acted as the costume designer.

In Chafee's stage directions, she explicitly calls out various costume needs like Mary's orange coveralls and Eleanor's bib-waders, but it is in her stage directions for Renee, the married paleontologist caught in a love affair with female private investigator Lili, that demands an understanding of gender performance of the 1990s -- because that's when the play was written (and our production was set) -- and that of 2017. While in Mexico, trying to patch things up with her perpetually off-stage husband, Chafee's stage directions read, "She gives a tiny wave. Picks up his wallet, and she picks up his watch and puts it on. She feels its weight on her wrist...feels what it's like to wear a man's watch. She stares out." In that little ellipses, Chafee is telegraphing the subtext of Renee's navigation of her identity just a few scenes after we've heard her say to Lili, "Maybe I'm a man. Is that a possibility? I feel like a man..."

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.

I'm not going to do a thorough job unpacking this -- this blog post is not intended to be an academic paper -- but can you see the power of identity, gender performance, and power all wrapped up in the act of a woman wearing a man's watch? Layer onto that the very real trajectory of gender expression in the 1990s LGBTQ+ community, what was fueling Chafee's script, and this costume/prop piece is explicitly emblematic of what each stitch of clothing means in conveying character to drive the narrative as well as bring the audience along on that journey.

This stage direction is an explicit demand of Chafee that particular attention had to be paid to the costumes of these characters. As a cis-gender, heterosexual female, I knew I needed to rely on the authorities in the room to guide me. I had to unpack my privilege and experience to know that while I might think something looks right or is the right price, I am not the authority on that.

On the night of preview, I gave the actress a new watch -- we had been using a personal piece that I didn't want to risk during the show -- and while it fit as a 1990s men's gold watch, on stage it read more as a woman's watch. I saw it that way, from the other side of the audience. But, more importantly, Rhonda (the director), who had told me in my initial phone conversation about the personal connection she has with the play as a "lesbian of a certain age", told me it wasn't right. Because--and this is why intersectional design is more than just applying an understanding of the intersections of oppression and power but is in fact about navigating the intersections of the history of that oppression and power as defined by modern, regional, and generational understanding of our world--what a 2017 audience knows as an undoubtedly "heavily coded masculine" watch (which were the exact notes in a rehearsal report for the watch) is an almost comically large metal watch.

While there were so many other in-depth conversations about the costumes as they pertained to the presentation of each character that I could go into, the story about the watch is the epitome of how design must take into account everyone from the playwright to the director to the audience, and also the designer herself.

It was a such a wonderful opportunity to hone my definition and understanding of the intersectional design process with a play that demands it. I'm grateful that I said yes and I hope that, in my more curated 2018 season, these opportunities will multiply. But I am also excited to start formulating and sharing out this philosophy with the world.

--

See Straw Shop's Why We Have a Body by visiting the brown paper ticket page.

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.

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.

Being Better

Well, Pericles is open and good. We never managed to replace the noisy jack-chain in the bottom of the curtains that fly in and get moved about, but I think that the actors have been able to manipulate them in such a way to reduce noise. We tried all kinds of other ideas for the weights, but it was too last minute. If we'd thought about it earlier, perhaps before the chain pocket was created in the first place, we would have been better off.

While the opening of the show has been a relief, things feel less than awesome right now for me. I'm still waiting for a job to emerge and I'm struggling with some personal demons, while also diving head first into Orpheus Descending and preparing for SETC in Atlanta.

I ask myself, as we get closer and closer to graduation (just over 2 months at this point) what I'm doing and why. I felt a lot like this as I was leaving Grinnell, having been embroiled in nasty department politics and feeling generally burned out from four years of school. My time at Portland Stage really helped heal me and remind me of the passion that I'd followed into my college major. And now that I feel that I've found myself in this very familiar valley, I hope that whatever happens after May 6th will involve some more healing.

But what I have been trying to take away from the situation I find myself in is how I would do things differently. For instance, how will I be a better teacher and mentor? How can I keep students from being overwhelmed by academics at the detriment of their artistic development? How can I make the boring stuff, the red tape, the things that can't be gotten rid of be less important to the excitement of creating and collaborating and being involved in theatre?

I don't know that I have concrete answers as to what I would do, but I definitely can see the pitfalls. I had two lovely friends visit me this weekend and one asked me, where do you see yourself in five years. The honest/ideal answer is that in five years I'll be teaching. In five years I will be settling down with a family. But the reality is that I'm probably going to be teaching next year because that's the most tangible way that I can be employed. And while I won't have a lot of professional experience under my belt, I definitely plan on being the best theatre educator I can be, because I at least have a lot of experience in the system. And it's time to change it.

Feminist Validation

Almost a year ago I wrote a post I titledTempestuas Validation. In it I explored how not being named one of the winning entries at KC/ACTF had crushed my ego. It was introspective but fairly mopey. Since writing that I went to the SETC conference in Kentucky and was awarded second place in the graduate scenic design competition for my design for The Seagull. And I researched and wrote a paper about the ideas of feminist design. Which I submitted to three conferences. A few weeks ago, MATC sent me a rejection e mail.

Today, 6 weeks away from the 2011 SETC convention in Atlanta I received an e mail congratulating me on receiving the Young Scholar's Award for my paper on feminist design. Even before I get to the convention where I will have 2 designs in the design competition (Oklahoma! and The Waiting Room) I have already won. My work and my deep thoughts about design and the design process have been validated. I am going to present, to goodness knows how many people, about my search for feminist design. I have been having trouble sitting still and concentrating this afternoon...

I think the most rewarding thing about the news is not the $225 cash prize, but that I am starting to feel the crossover of my academic pursuits and thoughts and my artistic endeavors. I am starting to feel like an artist-scholar. I can show how theatre design doesn't have to be brainless and about making a pretty picture, but about dramaturgical research and in-depth analysis of how our world operates. This is exciting, and I am, admittedly, geeking out. I love all of the academic work I've had my hands in over the years. I honestly miss it when I have been told to just produce sketches. In a perfect world I would be able to do lots of research and mull things over before designing the scenery or costumes for a play. Sadly, theatre doesn't afford that kind of luxury (and very few people would take it if they could, instead cramming more jobs together in order to pay the bills).

All of this is interesting as I start work on my next and final design at UNCG, costumes for Tennessee Williams' Orpheus Descending. I'm very excited about the project because the director wants to break away from the expectations of it being a realistic play, instead delving into the illusions and motifs and the undertones of the Orpheus myth (and racial and economic commentary being made). As the costume designer, I really feel like I'm going to be able to apply some of the feminist design questions. Things, finally, feel like they are coming together. It is a good way to wrap up my MFA. Everything seems to be culminating and I'm having to bring all of my education and skills to bear. Hopefully with very exciting results.

Two Weeks of Thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Year 3... And Go!

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

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

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

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

Fin: 2 Years Down, 1 to Go

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

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

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

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

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