Just got my hands on Plays and Playwrights 2007, the latest in the series put out by Martin Denton at New York Theatre Experience, Inc. Highly recommended, especially if you're teaching an acting class and looking for scenes for the students.
Also, I wrote the foreword, so I get nine bucks every copy sold. Would that that last sentence were true.
You can buy it right here on the world-wide internet web: www.nyte.org.
11 new plays, all fresh from the Off-Off/Indie rainforest.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Monday, April 02, 2007
little league
Check out www.leagueofindietheater.blogspot.com for a spirited discussion on all this Basic Showcase Code reform hoo-hah. Some great ideas and arguments.
I'm still carrying a torch for this proposed League, but here's what I'm wondering:
Is this a membership organization where you pay dues and elect chairpeople and all that?
How does this operate differently than, say, the Community Dish?
What concrete services can this League provide? If you're paying dues, what do you get?
Feels like there have been several bouts of great energy and passion around this idea, but it's getting time to figure out if there's an actual thing here.
Brass tacks and all that.
What do you think?
I'm still carrying a torch for this proposed League, but here's what I'm wondering:
Is this a membership organization where you pay dues and elect chairpeople and all that?
How does this operate differently than, say, the Community Dish?
What concrete services can this League provide? If you're paying dues, what do you get?
Feels like there have been several bouts of great energy and passion around this idea, but it's getting time to figure out if there's an actual thing here.
Brass tacks and all that.
What do you think?
Friday, March 16, 2007
heating up
Even though sleet and freezing rain lash my windows as I type, the temperature is rising on the AEA Showcase Reform issue. Two items:
Paul Bargetto has started a blog for The League of Independent Theaters. Go to http://leagueofindietheater.blogspot.com. Paul's the one who first turned me on to the L.A. 99 Seat Theater Plan.
And Ben Hodges new book Commercial Theater Insitute's Guide to Producing Plays and Musicals is out and and in the preface he describes the Code as "the greatest plight I believe facing developmental theater producing in New York."
He goes on to say:
"I have been unable in over three years to find anything ultimately beneficial in the Code to either producers or actors - in fact, all aspects are strictly antithetical to the goals of all members of a production, especially actors."
This book should be hitting a lot of desks around town, so the time to form the argument and make the case is now.
Paul Bargetto has started a blog for The League of Independent Theaters. Go to http://leagueofindietheater.blogspot.com. Paul's the one who first turned me on to the L.A. 99 Seat Theater Plan.
And Ben Hodges new book Commercial Theater Insitute's Guide to Producing Plays and Musicals is out and and in the preface he describes the Code as "the greatest plight I believe facing developmental theater producing in New York."
He goes on to say:
"I have been unable in over three years to find anything ultimately beneficial in the Code to either producers or actors - in fact, all aspects are strictly antithetical to the goals of all members of a production, especially actors."
This book should be hitting a lot of desks around town, so the time to form the argument and make the case is now.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
from the files
Going through some old stuff and found this. Something I wrote four years ago, fresh from the shock:
Theatre in Wartime
October, 2001
I've always believed that the act of theater is a potentially dangerous, even revolutionary act. I share this belief with most members of my generation of American theatre artists. We were taught this belief mainly through books. In college we were exposed to Artaud's Theatre as Plague. We read poorly translated Brecht, brushing off the Anglicisms thick as flies, trying to taste the blood and sweat of battle. We puzzled over Fo, getting few of the references and none of the jokes. We quoted Grotowski and Brook to each other, reverent and rapt.
And then we got jobs in summer stock. Our resumes filled with Shakespeare, Stoppard and Gilbert and Sullivan. The writers among us unwittingly split between the camps of Shepard and Mamet, both honorable and interesting schools, but neither revolutionary. The directors discovered Viewpoints. And we all found our way into the existing infrastructure of the American theatre industry. The best and the brightest of us either quit early or got jobs in film and television. The rest of us, more persistent and arguably less ambitious, stayed in the living and breathing theater.
And we lived like double agents there, or more accurately like split personalities, talking revolution while walking the status quo. A simpler way of saying it is we lived like hypocrites. Our theater was not revolutionary. We were not trying to infect anyone or incite anything. We were trying to impress our elders and outstrip our peers. We were trying to get paid. We were just trying to get by, really. But we kept our battered copies of Towards a Poor Theatre and The Empty Space and The Theatre and It's Double up on the top shelf and kept quotes from them above our desks. We were like most modern-day Christians, with our favorite Gospel memorized, only accidentally applying the lesson to our daily life.
See, we grew up rich, vicariously if not in fact. We grew up in the last twenty-five years here in America. We grew up fat and happy. Not our fault, but one of our facts. We were like the rich, smart white kids who secretly or openly envy the world's oppressed for their clear targets of rebellion and overthrow.
Those of us who doggedly stayed in the theatre soon had to deal with the embarassing fact that we seemed to be working in a deeply anachronistic field. Here we were in the age of Dell selling Underwoods. We were offering jugs of water in Starbucks. We were standing next to a DJ playing a harpsichord. We were in downtown Detroit opening up bicycle factories. Live theater, when anyone thought about it, which was rarely, was either boring or quaint. Or worse, it was important. Important like those books on the top shelf, covered in dust, not important like your day-runner, not something you would ever actually need.
And then last month the world fell apart. With two buildings down, another one burning and a plane crashed in a Pennsylvanian field, our veneer of safety was stripped and we all woke up, blinking, to a new day. Three thousand dead and two hundred and fifty million changed.
The immediate reaction was survival, of course, and the frantic counting of heads. Once the planes were out of the sky, once night came and friends and family were accounted for, once the world and its prosaic, comforting details came creeping back in, we started asking ourselves what now? What do we do?
I am not a firefighter. I am not a steelworker or a truck driver or a member of the National Guard. I cannot perform the immediate, physical tasks that will rebuild the city. I work in the theater. I write, act, direct, coach, and can, if pressed, run lights and sound. The mayor did not seem to have any use for me.
Two or three days after the attacks, I began reading the reactions of my colleagues in New York. I read through the articles and then raced through them again. I thought surely there had been a mistake. They didn't say that. Why would they say that? There must be more, there must be a last paragraph saying Come to the theater. Come tonight. We don't know what we'll be doing but come. We'll be there. Come for an hour. Come for ten minutes. Come cry or argue or just sit. Come now if you wish. Our doors will be open.
There was no paragraph. There was no invitation. There was no acknowledgement or expression of the theatre's essential function, as a place of secular communion and worship. I read only admissions of inadequacy. I read self-indictments of irrelevance. It all could be expressed as one question my colleagues asked: Who want to come to the theatre now? implying that there were clearly more important activities the populace should be engaged in, such as going blind from excessive CNN exposure while drinking heavily at home.
And yes, we were all in shock here in New York. None of us can be held completely accountable for words or actions those first few days. But crisis reveals the truth. And the truth is, we were revealed as faithless. Over and over, like a demented Greek chorus, we intoned "What do we do now? What kind of theatre do we create?
May I suggest we get down the books? You know the ones, the ones we claim to be our Scripture. Read Artaud and think blueprint rather than poetry. Read early Brecht. Read the critics. Read Clurman. Read Fo. And then put the books away and get busy. Put up your initial reaction. It will be raw. It will be provisional. It will be incomplete. But the theatre, finally, is about incompletion. The theater is built on wild attempts and shots in the dark and striving for something just past your reach. It's live, it's messy, it's human. Writers, stop polishing that perfect phrase and scribble down a love letter to life, a vicious attack and smear of death, anything from your heart, not your head. Directors, stop worrying about incidental music and the staging, stop formulating your interpretation and make sure that the essential thrust and music of the the writer's words are there. And actors, the bravest of us, those that actually stand there and deliver, actors, stand there under the lights and sacrifice yourself, sacrifice your solitary fears and worries and concerns, sacrifice yourself in front of all of us, do righteous battle with your own ego and struggle and triumph and fail.
Live theater is the mark of civilization. Live theater is the most immediate expression of a culture. We can move the fastest. We work close up, hand to hand. We are the Delta Force of the arts. And we are needed now.
The communal event of the theatre, the gathering of humans to watch and listen to other humans, is the single most valuable experience anyone can have right now. We need to be together in a quiet, dark place and listen to each other breathe. We need to bump knees and brush shoulders. We need to hear each other sigh and and snort and cry and laugh. We need to feel strong and connected. Those are some of the things the theater gives us. We need to remember the glories and strengths of civilization. That's another thing theater gives. Put up Shakespeare, Marlowe, Moliere and Shaw. This is, we're told, what we are fighting for: civilization. And I put forward that civilization is more fully expressed in August Wilson than in a re-run of Friends, more intimately experienced through Chekhov than through a Jets game.
When the world falls apart, you are left with essentials. We are part of those essentials. When a Global Positioning System fails, it's helpful to have a compass. When computers crash, an Underwood comes in pretty handy. When you run out of gas, you can still get there on a bike. We are now, as we always were, important. In the sense that a jug of water is more important than a frappucino, matches more important than a Kleig light, a baseball bat more important than a security system when you find yourself in actual, immediate danger. We are important because we do it the old-fashioned way. Hand-to-hand. Face-to-face. Making it up as we go along. And that is what is needed now.
For god's sake stop arguing for our irrelevance. There are plenty of people who will do that for us, even in the best of times. And try not to complain now that it's hard. It is hard. This time it's real. This time people actually need us. Step up and speak.
That was four years ago, folks. How are we doing?
Theatre in Wartime
October, 2001
I've always believed that the act of theater is a potentially dangerous, even revolutionary act. I share this belief with most members of my generation of American theatre artists. We were taught this belief mainly through books. In college we were exposed to Artaud's Theatre as Plague. We read poorly translated Brecht, brushing off the Anglicisms thick as flies, trying to taste the blood and sweat of battle. We puzzled over Fo, getting few of the references and none of the jokes. We quoted Grotowski and Brook to each other, reverent and rapt.
And then we got jobs in summer stock. Our resumes filled with Shakespeare, Stoppard and Gilbert and Sullivan. The writers among us unwittingly split between the camps of Shepard and Mamet, both honorable and interesting schools, but neither revolutionary. The directors discovered Viewpoints. And we all found our way into the existing infrastructure of the American theatre industry. The best and the brightest of us either quit early or got jobs in film and television. The rest of us, more persistent and arguably less ambitious, stayed in the living and breathing theater.
And we lived like double agents there, or more accurately like split personalities, talking revolution while walking the status quo. A simpler way of saying it is we lived like hypocrites. Our theater was not revolutionary. We were not trying to infect anyone or incite anything. We were trying to impress our elders and outstrip our peers. We were trying to get paid. We were just trying to get by, really. But we kept our battered copies of Towards a Poor Theatre and The Empty Space and The Theatre and It's Double up on the top shelf and kept quotes from them above our desks. We were like most modern-day Christians, with our favorite Gospel memorized, only accidentally applying the lesson to our daily life.
See, we grew up rich, vicariously if not in fact. We grew up in the last twenty-five years here in America. We grew up fat and happy. Not our fault, but one of our facts. We were like the rich, smart white kids who secretly or openly envy the world's oppressed for their clear targets of rebellion and overthrow.
Those of us who doggedly stayed in the theatre soon had to deal with the embarassing fact that we seemed to be working in a deeply anachronistic field. Here we were in the age of Dell selling Underwoods. We were offering jugs of water in Starbucks. We were standing next to a DJ playing a harpsichord. We were in downtown Detroit opening up bicycle factories. Live theater, when anyone thought about it, which was rarely, was either boring or quaint. Or worse, it was important. Important like those books on the top shelf, covered in dust, not important like your day-runner, not something you would ever actually need.
And then last month the world fell apart. With two buildings down, another one burning and a plane crashed in a Pennsylvanian field, our veneer of safety was stripped and we all woke up, blinking, to a new day. Three thousand dead and two hundred and fifty million changed.
The immediate reaction was survival, of course, and the frantic counting of heads. Once the planes were out of the sky, once night came and friends and family were accounted for, once the world and its prosaic, comforting details came creeping back in, we started asking ourselves what now? What do we do?
I am not a firefighter. I am not a steelworker or a truck driver or a member of the National Guard. I cannot perform the immediate, physical tasks that will rebuild the city. I work in the theater. I write, act, direct, coach, and can, if pressed, run lights and sound. The mayor did not seem to have any use for me.
Two or three days after the attacks, I began reading the reactions of my colleagues in New York. I read through the articles and then raced through them again. I thought surely there had been a mistake. They didn't say that. Why would they say that? There must be more, there must be a last paragraph saying Come to the theater. Come tonight. We don't know what we'll be doing but come. We'll be there. Come for an hour. Come for ten minutes. Come cry or argue or just sit. Come now if you wish. Our doors will be open.
There was no paragraph. There was no invitation. There was no acknowledgement or expression of the theatre's essential function, as a place of secular communion and worship. I read only admissions of inadequacy. I read self-indictments of irrelevance. It all could be expressed as one question my colleagues asked: Who want to come to the theatre now? implying that there were clearly more important activities the populace should be engaged in, such as going blind from excessive CNN exposure while drinking heavily at home.
And yes, we were all in shock here in New York. None of us can be held completely accountable for words or actions those first few days. But crisis reveals the truth. And the truth is, we were revealed as faithless. Over and over, like a demented Greek chorus, we intoned "What do we do now? What kind of theatre do we create?
May I suggest we get down the books? You know the ones, the ones we claim to be our Scripture. Read Artaud and think blueprint rather than poetry. Read early Brecht. Read the critics. Read Clurman. Read Fo. And then put the books away and get busy. Put up your initial reaction. It will be raw. It will be provisional. It will be incomplete. But the theatre, finally, is about incompletion. The theater is built on wild attempts and shots in the dark and striving for something just past your reach. It's live, it's messy, it's human. Writers, stop polishing that perfect phrase and scribble down a love letter to life, a vicious attack and smear of death, anything from your heart, not your head. Directors, stop worrying about incidental music and the staging, stop formulating your interpretation and make sure that the essential thrust and music of the the writer's words are there. And actors, the bravest of us, those that actually stand there and deliver, actors, stand there under the lights and sacrifice yourself, sacrifice your solitary fears and worries and concerns, sacrifice yourself in front of all of us, do righteous battle with your own ego and struggle and triumph and fail.
Live theater is the mark of civilization. Live theater is the most immediate expression of a culture. We can move the fastest. We work close up, hand to hand. We are the Delta Force of the arts. And we are needed now.
The communal event of the theatre, the gathering of humans to watch and listen to other humans, is the single most valuable experience anyone can have right now. We need to be together in a quiet, dark place and listen to each other breathe. We need to bump knees and brush shoulders. We need to hear each other sigh and and snort and cry and laugh. We need to feel strong and connected. Those are some of the things the theater gives us. We need to remember the glories and strengths of civilization. That's another thing theater gives. Put up Shakespeare, Marlowe, Moliere and Shaw. This is, we're told, what we are fighting for: civilization. And I put forward that civilization is more fully expressed in August Wilson than in a re-run of Friends, more intimately experienced through Chekhov than through a Jets game.
When the world falls apart, you are left with essentials. We are part of those essentials. When a Global Positioning System fails, it's helpful to have a compass. When computers crash, an Underwood comes in pretty handy. When you run out of gas, you can still get there on a bike. We are now, as we always were, important. In the sense that a jug of water is more important than a frappucino, matches more important than a Kleig light, a baseball bat more important than a security system when you find yourself in actual, immediate danger. We are important because we do it the old-fashioned way. Hand-to-hand. Face-to-face. Making it up as we go along. And that is what is needed now.
For god's sake stop arguing for our irrelevance. There are plenty of people who will do that for us, even in the best of times. And try not to complain now that it's hard. It is hard. This time it's real. This time people actually need us. Step up and speak.
That was four years ago, folks. How are we doing?
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
sneaking back in
Sorry, folks. Got abducted by aliens on September 28, 2006. Back now.
Things I'm doing:
Adapting my play Fatboy to the big screen.
Working with some great people on the Equity Showcase reform deal.
Still teaching down at Rowan University.
Working with Madi Distefano, kick-ass Philly artist, on her new piece Sweetie-Pie. Full-on development work, lots of raw text, open-ended conversations, deep questioning, lots of smoking and scratching of chins.
Dodging creditors.
Everyone should go out and buy Martin Denton's new book, Plays and Playwrights 2007. Everyone should go do that now.
Take care and watch out for those aliens. Decent enough folks, but they hug a little too tight.
Things I'm doing:
Adapting my play Fatboy to the big screen.
Working with some great people on the Equity Showcase reform deal.
Still teaching down at Rowan University.
Working with Madi Distefano, kick-ass Philly artist, on her new piece Sweetie-Pie. Full-on development work, lots of raw text, open-ended conversations, deep questioning, lots of smoking and scratching of chins.
Dodging creditors.
Everyone should go out and buy Martin Denton's new book, Plays and Playwrights 2007. Everyone should go do that now.
Take care and watch out for those aliens. Decent enough folks, but they hug a little too tight.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
ahoy
Sorry for the Claude Raines routine. Having a rough time getting into the rhythm of classes and the commute. It's starting to sort itself out, so...
I think the next logical and easily achievable step is to send the draft mission statement of this League idea around to all the 99 seat venue owner/operators and all of the theater companies that regularly work in those venues. Broaden the conversation and hear from the people directly working under the conditions we're talking about.
And as far as the Equity Showcase reform conversation, if you haven't yet, go to the Equity site and look at the LA 99 seat theater plan. Paul Bargetto tipped me to it way back when and I can't think of any good reason it wouldn't work in New York.
More soon.
Also, can anyone tell me how to add links to this site?
It's a wonder they let me walk around unsupervised...
I think the next logical and easily achievable step is to send the draft mission statement of this League idea around to all the 99 seat venue owner/operators and all of the theater companies that regularly work in those venues. Broaden the conversation and hear from the people directly working under the conditions we're talking about.
And as far as the Equity Showcase reform conversation, if you haven't yet, go to the Equity site and look at the LA 99 seat theater plan. Paul Bargetto tipped me to it way back when and I can't think of any good reason it wouldn't work in New York.
More soon.
Also, can anyone tell me how to add links to this site?
It's a wonder they let me walk around unsupervised...
Sunday, September 17, 2006
and we're back
Hey folks.
I started a teaching gig down in Glassboro, NJ a week after getting back in town and it's been a true ass-kicking experience. My ass being the one getting kicked. It's a 3 hour commute, one way. So I found a room in a house off campus and I'll be living down there Sundays through Thursdays for the next six weeks while I direct the first show of the semester.
So I'm semi-back.
Let's talk about the League. Still a good idea?
I make the move down to Glassboro tomorrow, so may not re-surface for a couple of days.
Hope all's well with all.
I started a teaching gig down in Glassboro, NJ a week after getting back in town and it's been a true ass-kicking experience. My ass being the one getting kicked. It's a 3 hour commute, one way. So I found a room in a house off campus and I'll be living down there Sundays through Thursdays for the next six weeks while I direct the first show of the semester.
So I'm semi-back.
Let's talk about the League. Still a good idea?
I make the move down to Glassboro tomorrow, so may not re-surface for a couple of days.
Hope all's well with all.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
summer vacation
Hey folks,
Long time no post. Now in Edinburgh, where Midnight Cowboy opens in two days. Early previews have been good, we'll see what the critics say.
With limited internet access and insane festival schedule, odds aren't great that I'll be posting much until I'm back home in September. Things may change, just heard rumor of a wireless connection to be had at the theater, but I can be a bit of a moron about those things, so if we don't talk, have a great August and check this space in the fall.
John
Long time no post. Now in Edinburgh, where Midnight Cowboy opens in two days. Early previews have been good, we'll see what the critics say.
With limited internet access and insane festival schedule, odds aren't great that I'll be posting much until I'm back home in September. Things may change, just heard rumor of a wireless connection to be had at the theater, but I can be a bit of a moron about those things, so if we don't talk, have a great August and check this space in the fall.
John
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
good question
This from Jake, in the comments on the Risk post below:
Here's the question, though. Is this a revolution from the inside or a full on erasure of what we know -- of the powers that be? Do we throw the baby out with the bath water? Are there agencies already in existence that could help us out? For instance, I'm currently enjoying a (rather substantial) grant from TCG in the mentorship program and that's defnitely an area they are interested. (They are also at the beginning of doing a pretty big joint program with opera, dance, and orchestra organizations.) Perhaps that's an avenue to pursue. What about Art/NY...who are our allies in this? And what is the ultimate goal? I like John's list, but a revolution makes me thing there's a king to dethrone. Is there one? Who is he? Where is he enthroned? Sometimes I feel like our rhetoric gets in the way of what we actually need to accomplish.
There is no king, I don't think, just like there's no actual physical wall between Houston and uptown or Brooklyn and Manhattan. And the revolution I dream of is not one of destroying something that exists but creating something that doesn't yet. There are a lot of good ideas and organizations out there and the more you look the more you'll find. In very simple terms, I'm interested in seeing a professionally run organization created that is dedicated to the needs of the artists and producers working in 99 seat theaters in New York. TCG is looking at the whole country. ART/NY is looking at the whole city. Wouldn't it be beautiful to have a collective organization dealing with organizations like those two to foster Off-Off and looking for the other partnerships and opportunities that are out there?
Ninety zillion degrees today in London. True fact. We've all been atomized.
Here's the question, though. Is this a revolution from the inside or a full on erasure of what we know -- of the powers that be? Do we throw the baby out with the bath water? Are there agencies already in existence that could help us out? For instance, I'm currently enjoying a (rather substantial) grant from TCG in the mentorship program and that's defnitely an area they are interested. (They are also at the beginning of doing a pretty big joint program with opera, dance, and orchestra organizations.) Perhaps that's an avenue to pursue. What about Art/NY...who are our allies in this? And what is the ultimate goal? I like John's list, but a revolution makes me thing there's a king to dethrone. Is there one? Who is he? Where is he enthroned? Sometimes I feel like our rhetoric gets in the way of what we actually need to accomplish.
There is no king, I don't think, just like there's no actual physical wall between Houston and uptown or Brooklyn and Manhattan. And the revolution I dream of is not one of destroying something that exists but creating something that doesn't yet. There are a lot of good ideas and organizations out there and the more you look the more you'll find. In very simple terms, I'm interested in seeing a professionally run organization created that is dedicated to the needs of the artists and producers working in 99 seat theaters in New York. TCG is looking at the whole country. ART/NY is looking at the whole city. Wouldn't it be beautiful to have a collective organization dealing with organizations like those two to foster Off-Off and looking for the other partnerships and opportunities that are out there?
Ninety zillion degrees today in London. True fact. We've all been atomized.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Monday night late in the Big Smoke. One week down on Midnight Cowboy rehearsals. Thanks to an extraordinarily talented and game cast and an exceptional stage manager (Tom Jeffords, an American, hire him if you can), we are blocked. Moving slightly faster than the speed of light.
Moved into an actual apartment, out of the hotel.
Hotels...
What is it in a hotel that reduces a person to a body? Night after night, your individuality, your history, your personality is leached, reduced. You become a person who lives in a hotel. It defines your day and worst, controls your night. You sleep the shallow, empty sleep of a man who sleeps in a hotel.
Nice flat in Southwark for the next two weeks. Cats. Nancy. Real life.
Way out here in London, working mad on this show and yet thinking hard on New York. This whole League can happen, however, I can't do it. We can.
If you know me, then you need to help me do this, because you know it's a good idea.
If you don't know me, then you really need to help me, because it's help from unexpected sources that pushes things over the limit and makes the difficult easy and the impossible unstoppable.
And here's something else:
I just heard from my father that a great man has died. So rest in peace Robert A. Hetlage. I knew him from when I was a child, I knew him all my life. He lived long and he lived well, he died a devoted husband and a loved father and grandfather. He lived honorably. He was a true and complete friend to his friends. He was a man you could rely on to the end of the world.
A sad night for us. Rest in peace, Bob.
Moved into an actual apartment, out of the hotel.
Hotels...
What is it in a hotel that reduces a person to a body? Night after night, your individuality, your history, your personality is leached, reduced. You become a person who lives in a hotel. It defines your day and worst, controls your night. You sleep the shallow, empty sleep of a man who sleeps in a hotel.
Nice flat in Southwark for the next two weeks. Cats. Nancy. Real life.
Way out here in London, working mad on this show and yet thinking hard on New York. This whole League can happen, however, I can't do it. We can.
If you know me, then you need to help me do this, because you know it's a good idea.
If you don't know me, then you really need to help me, because it's help from unexpected sources that pushes things over the limit and makes the difficult easy and the impossible unstoppable.
And here's something else:
I just heard from my father that a great man has died. So rest in peace Robert A. Hetlage. I knew him from when I was a child, I knew him all my life. He lived long and he lived well, he died a devoted husband and a loved father and grandfather. He lived honorably. He was a true and complete friend to his friends. He was a man you could rely on to the end of the world.
A sad night for us. Rest in peace, Bob.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
back in London
Folks,
Apologies for the silence here, I had to fly back to London early for some additional casting and design meetings for Midnight Cowboy. Rehearsals start tomorrow morning and I'm ready to get into it. If you're in London look us up, we're here all month. If you're in New York, check out all the good things going down at the Ohio Theater with their Ice Factory blow-out and something very good opening at PS 122 on Wednesday that I can't remember the name of... Lemon Orange Canary? Orange Lemon Canary? Something Something Canary, I'm pretty sure.
Interesting, fruitful conversations with Melody Brooks and Ben Hodges, among others right before I left. I'm working towards an action plan for the fall I can post up here. One thing that seems certain is that any changes to the Showcase Code or creation of a new contract are going to have to come from the Equity members themselves. So we need to start reaching out and contacting Equity actors with an alternate contract, getting their input and work towards a petition.
In an internet cafe in Hammersmith, paying by the hour, so I'm off.
Speak soon.
Apologies for the silence here, I had to fly back to London early for some additional casting and design meetings for Midnight Cowboy. Rehearsals start tomorrow morning and I'm ready to get into it. If you're in London look us up, we're here all month. If you're in New York, check out all the good things going down at the Ohio Theater with their Ice Factory blow-out and something very good opening at PS 122 on Wednesday that I can't remember the name of... Lemon Orange Canary? Orange Lemon Canary? Something Something Canary, I'm pretty sure.
Interesting, fruitful conversations with Melody Brooks and Ben Hodges, among others right before I left. I'm working towards an action plan for the fall I can post up here. One thing that seems certain is that any changes to the Showcase Code or creation of a new contract are going to have to come from the Equity members themselves. So we need to start reaching out and contacting Equity actors with an alternate contract, getting their input and work towards a petition.
In an internet cafe in Hammersmith, paying by the hour, so I'm off.
Speak soon.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
great speech
Check out this link to Eduardo Machado's keynote speech at the annual ART/NY shindig. And thanks to Melody Brooks at New Perspectives for pointing me towards it.
http://www.offbroadwayonline.com/page.php?key=keynote2006
When everybody's saying the same thing, maybe it's time to start listening to each other.
http://www.offbroadwayonline.com/page.php?key=keynote2006
When everybody's saying the same thing, maybe it's time to start listening to each other.
Friday, June 23, 2006
swing space
Just spoke with Hendrik Gerrits, manager of the Artist Space Program down at Lower Manhattan Cultural Center about their Swing Space program. They hook up artists with empty commercial space downtown. The program is only about a year and a half old and they have plans to expand it to the rest of the city. He was very enthusiastic about sitting down with a group like the League and giving some guidance on what's worked for them and what hasn't. They work with a lot of big firms, you can check it out on www.lmcc.net. Their next deadline for applications is July 17, all of the info is below:
Lower Manhattan Cultural Council’s Swing Space program provides artists and arts organizations with rent-free space to create, rehearse, and present work. It’s that simple.In partnership with area landlords, LMCC makes vacant space downtown available to artists, curators, and cultural organizations on a temporary basis for projects. And not only that, but Swing Space artists and art groups are also eligible to apply for stipends ranging from $300 to $3,000 to support project costs.Proposals are accepted twice a year through an open call and reviewed by a panel of artists, arts professionals, and LMCC staff. Next Deadline: July 17, 2006, 5pmInformation Sessions:RSVP required: http://www.lmcc.net/RSVP/index.htmlWed, June 21 6PM125 Maiden Lane, 10th FloorFocus: Studio workspace Rehearsal space Office space Mon, June 26 6PM15 Nassau (at Pine)Focus: Installations Curated exhibitions Public programs PerformancesComplete information on Swing Space including guidelines and applications is available at: http://www.lmcc.net/art/swingspace/overview/2006.5apply/index.htmlContact Jeanne at jgerrity@lmcc.net or (212) 219-9401 x108 with questions.Know any artists? Help us by passing this great opportunity on!____________
Lower Manhattan Cultural Council’s Swing Space program provides artists and arts organizations with rent-free space to create, rehearse, and present work. It’s that simple.In partnership with area landlords, LMCC makes vacant space downtown available to artists, curators, and cultural organizations on a temporary basis for projects. And not only that, but Swing Space artists and art groups are also eligible to apply for stipends ranging from $300 to $3,000 to support project costs.Proposals are accepted twice a year through an open call and reviewed by a panel of artists, arts professionals, and LMCC staff. Next Deadline: July 17, 2006, 5pmInformation Sessions:RSVP required: http://www.lmcc.net/RSVP/index.htmlWed, June 21 6PM125 Maiden Lane, 10th FloorFocus: Studio workspace Rehearsal space Office space Mon, June 26 6PM15 Nassau (at Pine)Focus: Installations Curated exhibitions Public programs PerformancesComplete information on Swing Space including guidelines and applications is available at: http://www.lmcc.net/art/swingspace/overview/2006.5apply/index.htmlContact Jeanne at jgerrity@lmcc.net or (212) 219-9401 x108 with questions.Know any artists? Help us by passing this great opportunity on!____________
Thursday, June 22, 2006
risk
Back on the blessed Lower East Side, banks of the East River.
Last week of the shows at PS 122, Americana Absurdum and The Complete Lost Works of Samuel Beckett, so come on down if you haven't yet. Both are very good fun.
Been thinking a lot about risk this last week. I guess since almost everything I've done in the last six years has been shown in New York over the last six months and then receiving an Obie for Sustained Excellence, I feel like one time is ending and something new is on the rise.
And I want to make sure that this new time is as interesting as the last one and I know the only way to guarantee that is to keep risking.
Risk being wrong, risk failure, risk looking foolish.
Risk offending people.
Risk ending my career.
Risk making major, public mistakes.
Risk alienating powerful people.
Risk sounding really stupid.
Risk losing everyone's respect.
High risk, high yield.
Talking about this League idea is risky because let's face it, it may never happen.
Taking on Midnight Cowboy is risky because I've never done anything like it before.
So, so far so good.
I've been going back through some old notes and reading old messages and I'm struck over and over again by the general acknowledgment that we're in a state of crisis and that things must be changed. If I had a dime every time someone called for "revolution", I'd be the one lined up against the wall. But let's be honest. Are we just blowing off steam? Are we just rattling the bars of the cage we've built and locked ourselves into?
Revolution sounds cool. But revolutions don't rise up like a tide and sweep things away. They are built, action by action. They are prepared by dedicated people working in an organized manner. They are often accomplished after many years of individual failures, brave attempts and flawed or foiled plots. A revolution has to be raised like a child, not embraced like a one night stand.
The real risk is to put your wildest dreams, your most extreme ideas, into action. Because they may not work and they may be laughed at or they may turn out to be commonplace and then you have to come up with new dreams. And that's the hardest thing I can think of.
Everyone who knows me knows how much I like talking. I will talk my ass off. I feel we've talked plenty about this League idea and plenty about how much it's needed and what a glorious future awaits us all blah blah.
Let's risk putting it into action. What's the first step?
Last week of the shows at PS 122, Americana Absurdum and The Complete Lost Works of Samuel Beckett, so come on down if you haven't yet. Both are very good fun.
Been thinking a lot about risk this last week. I guess since almost everything I've done in the last six years has been shown in New York over the last six months and then receiving an Obie for Sustained Excellence, I feel like one time is ending and something new is on the rise.
And I want to make sure that this new time is as interesting as the last one and I know the only way to guarantee that is to keep risking.
Risk being wrong, risk failure, risk looking foolish.
Risk offending people.
Risk ending my career.
Risk making major, public mistakes.
Risk alienating powerful people.
Risk sounding really stupid.
Risk losing everyone's respect.
High risk, high yield.
Talking about this League idea is risky because let's face it, it may never happen.
Taking on Midnight Cowboy is risky because I've never done anything like it before.
So, so far so good.
I've been going back through some old notes and reading old messages and I'm struck over and over again by the general acknowledgment that we're in a state of crisis and that things must be changed. If I had a dime every time someone called for "revolution", I'd be the one lined up against the wall. But let's be honest. Are we just blowing off steam? Are we just rattling the bars of the cage we've built and locked ourselves into?
Revolution sounds cool. But revolutions don't rise up like a tide and sweep things away. They are built, action by action. They are prepared by dedicated people working in an organized manner. They are often accomplished after many years of individual failures, brave attempts and flawed or foiled plots. A revolution has to be raised like a child, not embraced like a one night stand.
The real risk is to put your wildest dreams, your most extreme ideas, into action. Because they may not work and they may be laughed at or they may turn out to be commonplace and then you have to come up with new dreams. And that's the hardest thing I can think of.
Everyone who knows me knows how much I like talking. I will talk my ass off. I feel we've talked plenty about this League idea and plenty about how much it's needed and what a glorious future awaits us all blah blah.
Let's risk putting it into action. What's the first step?
Sunday, June 18, 2006
banks of the Thames
Things I've learned this week:
It is not possible to live in London on 20 pounds a day, no matter what a producer may tell you.
Always take the night flight. If you fly all day, you stay up all night, you're bleary and cranky the next day and it takes about 48 hours to focus.
Most English actors can do a pretty convincing New York accent, none can do Texan. Think Benny Hill doing Blanche Dubois on a lot of cough syrup. Strange, unsettling utterances I have sat through.
Everyone says they've seen Midnight Cowboy. Most, if pressed, have no memory of the film.
In England, lemonade is 7-Up. I actually knew that one, just forgot.
Flying home tomorrow and back for at least two weeks. Hope to get a lot of this League business in motion before the fall, so watch this space. Also may put some old essays up here if I can figure out how.
Be safe, speak soon.
It is not possible to live in London on 20 pounds a day, no matter what a producer may tell you.
Always take the night flight. If you fly all day, you stay up all night, you're bleary and cranky the next day and it takes about 48 hours to focus.
Most English actors can do a pretty convincing New York accent, none can do Texan. Think Benny Hill doing Blanche Dubois on a lot of cough syrup. Strange, unsettling utterances I have sat through.
Everyone says they've seen Midnight Cowboy. Most, if pressed, have no memory of the film.
In England, lemonade is 7-Up. I actually knew that one, just forgot.
Flying home tomorrow and back for at least two weeks. Hope to get a lot of this League business in motion before the fall, so watch this space. Also may put some old essays up here if I can figure out how.
Be safe, speak soon.
Monday, June 12, 2006
day of rest
Woke up this morning with nothing to do but pack for a week away. A week ago we loaded two shows into PS 122, teched and opened them both, critics have been in and now they're running and I'm in that great, strange place in the director's life where I am of no real use to a project anymore. Very proud of them both, check them out if you can. And deep gratitude to those who came early, nothing gets a cast focused like a crowd.
Over the weekend I took part in a Creative Capital workshop at LMCC and heard about LMCC's "Swing Space" program. It's a working model of something we've been talking about, an arrangement between realtors and arts organizations to provide temporary rehearsal space. So no need to re-invent the wheel on this front. I'll talk to them when I'm back and see if the deal can be replicated throughout the city.
Something we need some help on is finding a simple way to determine how many Equity actors work under the Showcase Code in a given year. We have to start gathering this kind of information for a compelling case. Also, over-all attendance to Off-Off or indie theater. The collective numbers are impressive, we all know, but we need to do the research now to make the case in the fall. Any ideas on how to start?
And just to throw some seeds out there, here are the 11 things I wrote down when I first started thinking about what a League of Independent Producers might be able to accomplish, in no particular order of priority:
1. New York 99 seat theatre plan (new contract or code)
2. Rent subsidies for 99 seat theatres
3. Affordable or subsidized rehearsal space
4. Mentor program (matching established producers with first-time producers)
5. Creation of a National Alternative Touring Circuit
6. Creation of a new weekly arts and culture newspaper
7. Getting an accurate annual audience count for 99 seat theatres in New York and establishing a system to make that count each year
8. Completing an Economic Impact study
9. Out-reach to opera, dance and visual arts producers and venues
10. Creating an avant-garde curriculum for high school students
11. Getting financial commitments from commercial producers and film companies to support 99 seat theatres in New York
That's everything I scribbled down. Ambitious, but it's been my experience that dreaming big early is the most efficient way of getting something launched. Of all these, I think the first and the third are the most pressing and the seventh and the eighth the most important to get an accurate read of the territory. Let me know if anyone thinks differently.
Feels to me like we should start thinking about a meeting. I'm back from London on the 19th and then flying out again sometime early July, gone until September. So late June works. If not then, then it's the fall.
Again, thanks for supporting the shows and a huge cyberthanks to Steve Kovacs for designing our new website, www.clancyproductions.com. Seriously spanking.
I'll see if I can do some London blogging over the next week. In the meantime, all good things to all.
Over the weekend I took part in a Creative Capital workshop at LMCC and heard about LMCC's "Swing Space" program. It's a working model of something we've been talking about, an arrangement between realtors and arts organizations to provide temporary rehearsal space. So no need to re-invent the wheel on this front. I'll talk to them when I'm back and see if the deal can be replicated throughout the city.
Something we need some help on is finding a simple way to determine how many Equity actors work under the Showcase Code in a given year. We have to start gathering this kind of information for a compelling case. Also, over-all attendance to Off-Off or indie theater. The collective numbers are impressive, we all know, but we need to do the research now to make the case in the fall. Any ideas on how to start?
And just to throw some seeds out there, here are the 11 things I wrote down when I first started thinking about what a League of Independent Producers might be able to accomplish, in no particular order of priority:
1. New York 99 seat theatre plan (new contract or code)
2. Rent subsidies for 99 seat theatres
3. Affordable or subsidized rehearsal space
4. Mentor program (matching established producers with first-time producers)
5. Creation of a National Alternative Touring Circuit
6. Creation of a new weekly arts and culture newspaper
7. Getting an accurate annual audience count for 99 seat theatres in New York and establishing a system to make that count each year
8. Completing an Economic Impact study
9. Out-reach to opera, dance and visual arts producers and venues
10. Creating an avant-garde curriculum for high school students
11. Getting financial commitments from commercial producers and film companies to support 99 seat theatres in New York
That's everything I scribbled down. Ambitious, but it's been my experience that dreaming big early is the most efficient way of getting something launched. Of all these, I think the first and the third are the most pressing and the seventh and the eighth the most important to get an accurate read of the territory. Let me know if anyone thinks differently.
Feels to me like we should start thinking about a meeting. I'm back from London on the 19th and then flying out again sometime early July, gone until September. So late June works. If not then, then it's the fall.
Again, thanks for supporting the shows and a huge cyberthanks to Steve Kovacs for designing our new website, www.clancyproductions.com. Seriously spanking.
I'll see if I can do some London blogging over the next week. In the meantime, all good things to all.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
dreaming wide awake
Friends,
Sorry for the silence. I've only had this blog for a couple of months so not sure of the etiquette, but I can tell you I feel a little pang each morning when a day has passed and I haven't posted. Time is just racing now and next week I'm out of the country. May have more time then, actually. Anyway, apologies.
Many, many good ideas and threads in the comments below. Just want to say that I'm very happy to be back in this kind of conversation, it's the one real thing I miss from my days as an artistic director. As artists we dream for a living, but it's usually an individual dream, a private vision. And god knows it takes all we have to get that singular, private vision up and running, but it's nice to dream collectively once in a while.
You can see, just by reading below, how much passion and imagination there is and also how much commonality. Let's keep talking and I'll try a little harder to keep posting. Individual dreams are individual burdens, and they take so much effort and often, sadly, never come true. Common dreams can be a lot easier to achieve. Because if we're all dreaming the same thing, who's to say it's a dream? Maybe it's time to wake up and go to work.
Come see my shows, you non-attending bastards. And thanks for seeing the shows, you beautiful, attending sons-and-daughters-of-bitches. Man, probably shouldn't post after 2:00 AM. I start sounding all abusive.
Sorry for the silence. I've only had this blog for a couple of months so not sure of the etiquette, but I can tell you I feel a little pang each morning when a day has passed and I haven't posted. Time is just racing now and next week I'm out of the country. May have more time then, actually. Anyway, apologies.
Many, many good ideas and threads in the comments below. Just want to say that I'm very happy to be back in this kind of conversation, it's the one real thing I miss from my days as an artistic director. As artists we dream for a living, but it's usually an individual dream, a private vision. And god knows it takes all we have to get that singular, private vision up and running, but it's nice to dream collectively once in a while.
You can see, just by reading below, how much passion and imagination there is and also how much commonality. Let's keep talking and I'll try a little harder to keep posting. Individual dreams are individual burdens, and they take so much effort and often, sadly, never come true. Common dreams can be a lot easier to achieve. Because if we're all dreaming the same thing, who's to say it's a dream? Maybe it's time to wake up and go to work.
Come see my shows, you non-attending bastards. And thanks for seeing the shows, you beautiful, attending sons-and-daughters-of-bitches. Man, probably shouldn't post after 2:00 AM. I start sounding all abusive.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
mid-week thoughts
Working like a lunatic this week, two shows opening at PS 122 next week (both of which every one of you will come to early with nine friends in tow, I trust) and beginning work on the stage adaptation of Midnight Cowboy which I just got hired to direct at the Edinburgh Fringe in August. Hot, frantic, strange few days.
A few thoughts on this League:
Some folks have talked about a physical site being important, a venue with rehearsal space, maybe a place with more than one stage. I like the idea, naturally, but every physical space eventually evolves into a clubhouse with some people on the inside and others knocking at the door. No way around that. So I think a physical location is important, in fact, some actual office space at the very least is essential, but thinking broadly, how about an organization that as part of its mission works to create new spaces, working with realtors, donors, merchants and politicians? Organized sweat equity, long-term neighborhood preservation or neighborhood development, etc. That's one concrete thing the League could work towards that no other organization I'm aware of has as a stated goal. And it's something that makes success verifiable, at the end of a year you could say this much square footage was created or acquired for small theatre artists, these many new affordable rehearsal halls were built, this many performance spaces were found.
Riffing off someone else's idea in one of the comments, how about an organization that works with local colleges and universities to train and place administrative, technical and creative interns with small theatres? So it's not just the random eager or not-so-eager kid hanging around getting in the way, it's someone who's gone through a process familiarizing her with the environment and even the particular Off-Off or indie theater she'll be working in. Same wing of the League could work to organize those sought-after group sales with a theater class that can make an iffy early Wednesday show into a solid, rowdy audience.
And another goal is to work consistently and ferociously with the local, state and federal government to preserve the cultural eco-system of which we are the key. Simple recognition of that fact and recognition that it's an organized community, not just a lot of individual artists, is the first step towards financial support of that community.
What do you think?
Come see the shows. Midnight Cowboy onstage, that's pretty strange, right? And most importantly, who's got free rehearsal space for me on Friday and Saturday afternoon? And a couch for Americana Absurdum.
A few thoughts on this League:
Some folks have talked about a physical site being important, a venue with rehearsal space, maybe a place with more than one stage. I like the idea, naturally, but every physical space eventually evolves into a clubhouse with some people on the inside and others knocking at the door. No way around that. So I think a physical location is important, in fact, some actual office space at the very least is essential, but thinking broadly, how about an organization that as part of its mission works to create new spaces, working with realtors, donors, merchants and politicians? Organized sweat equity, long-term neighborhood preservation or neighborhood development, etc. That's one concrete thing the League could work towards that no other organization I'm aware of has as a stated goal. And it's something that makes success verifiable, at the end of a year you could say this much square footage was created or acquired for small theatre artists, these many new affordable rehearsal halls were built, this many performance spaces were found.
Riffing off someone else's idea in one of the comments, how about an organization that works with local colleges and universities to train and place administrative, technical and creative interns with small theatres? So it's not just the random eager or not-so-eager kid hanging around getting in the way, it's someone who's gone through a process familiarizing her with the environment and even the particular Off-Off or indie theater she'll be working in. Same wing of the League could work to organize those sought-after group sales with a theater class that can make an iffy early Wednesday show into a solid, rowdy audience.
And another goal is to work consistently and ferociously with the local, state and federal government to preserve the cultural eco-system of which we are the key. Simple recognition of that fact and recognition that it's an organized community, not just a lot of individual artists, is the first step towards financial support of that community.
What do you think?
Come see the shows. Midnight Cowboy onstage, that's pretty strange, right? And most importantly, who's got free rehearsal space for me on Friday and Saturday afternoon? And a couch for Americana Absurdum.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
comment round-up
A lot of great comments and the beginnings of some good conversations since the Draft Mission Statement post. Thanks everyone for reading and joining in the discussion. In the interest of efficiency, I'll summarize some of the thoughts:
Walls and Bunkers comments:
James points out part of the problem may stem from too much supply rather than too little demand. This has been Zach's point for years, there's just too many little theater companies in New York. I think the problem is not that there are too many, it's that they're not organized.
Jake calls for a multi-generational and multi-disciplinary movement. Now that's interesting. Visual arts collectives and homeless theatre companies pooling resources to get a physical space.
Ann, god love her, applauds the general idea and speaks for the audience, saying the artists shouldn't do all the heavy lifting. She talks very practically, pointing us towards theatre departments in universities, getting administrative support, etc.
And then Jesica, an AEA member and co-founder of Collaboration Town, gives a hearty hell yes, let's do this thing.
Comments on the original post, the Draft Mission Statement post:
Colin calls for a broader approach, not just changing the Showcase Code, but changing Equity. There's some support and concern expressed and then Zach goes a little further and proposes starting a new union, perhaps along the lines of that Freelancers Union I used to see advertised on the subway. Mark and George weigh in, helping to differentiate this embryonic idea from what ART/New York is already doing.
There are more comments and more issues expressed than the above, but in order to steer the conversation forward, let me ask this:
How do people envision this League operating? Non-profit? Membership organization? What's the staff? Does it need a physical office? Where might that be? Would anyone reading this pay dues or a membership fee? What would the League do, actually and practically, to merit that money?
And let me say this:
I'm enjoying being an artist right now. I've also got a lot of producing and consulting and teaching work lined up right now. So if this is going to happen, we're going to need three or four more people to devote some time and focused energy to build it. And once we build it, I may not be the right guy to run it.
Calling out for a little vision here. General sense is that the thing is needed. What does the thing look like?
Walls and Bunkers comments:
James points out part of the problem may stem from too much supply rather than too little demand. This has been Zach's point for years, there's just too many little theater companies in New York. I think the problem is not that there are too many, it's that they're not organized.
Jake calls for a multi-generational and multi-disciplinary movement. Now that's interesting. Visual arts collectives and homeless theatre companies pooling resources to get a physical space.
Ann, god love her, applauds the general idea and speaks for the audience, saying the artists shouldn't do all the heavy lifting. She talks very practically, pointing us towards theatre departments in universities, getting administrative support, etc.
And then Jesica, an AEA member and co-founder of Collaboration Town, gives a hearty hell yes, let's do this thing.
Comments on the original post, the Draft Mission Statement post:
Colin calls for a broader approach, not just changing the Showcase Code, but changing Equity. There's some support and concern expressed and then Zach goes a little further and proposes starting a new union, perhaps along the lines of that Freelancers Union I used to see advertised on the subway. Mark and George weigh in, helping to differentiate this embryonic idea from what ART/New York is already doing.
There are more comments and more issues expressed than the above, but in order to steer the conversation forward, let me ask this:
How do people envision this League operating? Non-profit? Membership organization? What's the staff? Does it need a physical office? Where might that be? Would anyone reading this pay dues or a membership fee? What would the League do, actually and practically, to merit that money?
And let me say this:
I'm enjoying being an artist right now. I've also got a lot of producing and consulting and teaching work lined up right now. So if this is going to happen, we're going to need three or four more people to devote some time and focused energy to build it. And once we build it, I may not be the right guy to run it.
Calling out for a little vision here. General sense is that the thing is needed. What does the thing look like?
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
walls and bunkers
A comment on the previous post from Jake highlights a problem I'm always running into and a conversation I've had with many people over lo these many years. I'm wrestling with this problem, or choice, as I type these words. I've got two plays I'm working on right now, a very loose Woyzeck adaptation and a big crazy full-length with a gang of clowns invading and over-running a 19th century well-made play. I'm also re-mounting two shows now, Americana Absurdum by Brian Parks and The Complete Lost Works of Samuel Beckett as Found in an Envelope (partially burned) in a Dustbin in Paris Labeled "Never to be performed. Never. Ever. EVER! Or I'll Sue! I'LL SUE FROM THE GRAVE!!! "discovered" by Greg Allen, Ben Schneider and Danny Thompson. But instead of working on any of these four shows, I'm typing on the old blog, trying to stir shit up.
Activism or organizing or agitating or whatever it is I'm doing when I talk out about a new League of Independent Producers, or a new Alternative Touring Circuit, takes time and thought and energy. Most theater artists in New York have a precious small supply of these three things and choose, wisely, to spend them on their work. This is especially true of younger artists still chasing their own voices and visions. So those with the most to gain from a systemic change in the Off-Off or indie world, the younger artists, have the least amount of resources to contribute. And this is where we all begin to climb the wall or build the bunker.
The wall is the status quo, the existing conditions. We climb the wall by accepting them as unchangeable and adapting to them. These are the physical, economic conditions of the American theatre industry and the common, accepted understanding in this country of what theatre looks like, what it does, how it behaves, how you buy it, where you see it and how you judge it.
The bunker is the safe place, physical or psychological, where a committed artist hides and schemes. The Theatorium was my big old tumble-down bunker for a few years. Clancy Productions is my current bunker. Bunkers are vital. They keep you alive. The only big problem with a bunker is that the view is for shit. You're dug in, walls all around you, safe, but essentially blind.
It is extraordinarily difficult to sustain a life or what can laughingly be called a career in the theater in this country in these days. I believe it is our collective responsibility to make it less difficult. It's the logic of collective action. It's enlightened self-interest. It's believing in the future.
This belief was the driving force and the main reason we put together the New York International Fringe Festival nine years ago. The festival didn't solve the problem, obviously, the problem is bigger than that, but for a few years there it felt like we were dealing with each other in a different way, we were climbing out of our bunkers and looking at the wall together and it didn't look that high or that strong, not when you looked around and saw how many of us there were.
Now it's nine years later. The wall is still there and we're still here, by and large. Some new bunkers dot the horizon, some old ones have been abandoned or over-run. And it feels to me like it's time to poke our heads out again.
We built the festival by talking to everyone who would listen to us, pooling all of our collective resources, holding onto each other as tightly as we could, and then jumping off a cliff, screaming all the way down. At least, that's my memory.
And the time and effort it took to talk and pool and hold onto each other and jump off that cliff was time and effort I didn't spend on my art. After five years of it, I had to step away and see if I was still an artist.
It's been almost five years since I resigned from the company and the festival. Built myself a nice, roomy bunker in those years. New bunker, old wall, same story.
I hate this story. I hate the story of the starving artist, the struggling playwright, the tiny houses, the eviction notices, the vast indifference, the institutional disregard.
Yes, Jake, an artist's first responsibility is to her art. But when external conditions make it all but impossible to make the art, some time and effort and thought should be directed to changing those conditions.
How do we do this?
We talk to each other honestly and directly about the conditions.
We identify things we'd like to see changed.
We plan how to change these things.
We put the plan in action.
Sounds simple because, actually, it is. There's no guarantee we'll accomplish anything, but there's nothing stopping us from trying. The trick is to keep talking, stepping slowly out of the bunker and walking towards the wall.
Got to get to rehearsal. More later.
Activism or organizing or agitating or whatever it is I'm doing when I talk out about a new League of Independent Producers, or a new Alternative Touring Circuit, takes time and thought and energy. Most theater artists in New York have a precious small supply of these three things and choose, wisely, to spend them on their work. This is especially true of younger artists still chasing their own voices and visions. So those with the most to gain from a systemic change in the Off-Off or indie world, the younger artists, have the least amount of resources to contribute. And this is where we all begin to climb the wall or build the bunker.
The wall is the status quo, the existing conditions. We climb the wall by accepting them as unchangeable and adapting to them. These are the physical, economic conditions of the American theatre industry and the common, accepted understanding in this country of what theatre looks like, what it does, how it behaves, how you buy it, where you see it and how you judge it.
The bunker is the safe place, physical or psychological, where a committed artist hides and schemes. The Theatorium was my big old tumble-down bunker for a few years. Clancy Productions is my current bunker. Bunkers are vital. They keep you alive. The only big problem with a bunker is that the view is for shit. You're dug in, walls all around you, safe, but essentially blind.
It is extraordinarily difficult to sustain a life or what can laughingly be called a career in the theater in this country in these days. I believe it is our collective responsibility to make it less difficult. It's the logic of collective action. It's enlightened self-interest. It's believing in the future.
This belief was the driving force and the main reason we put together the New York International Fringe Festival nine years ago. The festival didn't solve the problem, obviously, the problem is bigger than that, but for a few years there it felt like we were dealing with each other in a different way, we were climbing out of our bunkers and looking at the wall together and it didn't look that high or that strong, not when you looked around and saw how many of us there were.
Now it's nine years later. The wall is still there and we're still here, by and large. Some new bunkers dot the horizon, some old ones have been abandoned or over-run. And it feels to me like it's time to poke our heads out again.
We built the festival by talking to everyone who would listen to us, pooling all of our collective resources, holding onto each other as tightly as we could, and then jumping off a cliff, screaming all the way down. At least, that's my memory.
And the time and effort it took to talk and pool and hold onto each other and jump off that cliff was time and effort I didn't spend on my art. After five years of it, I had to step away and see if I was still an artist.
It's been almost five years since I resigned from the company and the festival. Built myself a nice, roomy bunker in those years. New bunker, old wall, same story.
I hate this story. I hate the story of the starving artist, the struggling playwright, the tiny houses, the eviction notices, the vast indifference, the institutional disregard.
Yes, Jake, an artist's first responsibility is to her art. But when external conditions make it all but impossible to make the art, some time and effort and thought should be directed to changing those conditions.
How do we do this?
We talk to each other honestly and directly about the conditions.
We identify things we'd like to see changed.
We plan how to change these things.
We put the plan in action.
Sounds simple because, actually, it is. There's no guarantee we'll accomplish anything, but there's nothing stopping us from trying. The trick is to keep talking, stepping slowly out of the bunker and walking towards the wall.
Got to get to rehearsal. More later.
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