Vieve Radha Price Breaks Down Her Creative Journey

Lauren: All of the members of The Private Theatre do a variety of different jobs within the company as well as outside of it. What do you say if someone asks you what the title of your job is?

Vieve: Good question. For TÉA Creative [the theatre company Vieve started] my title is Founder and Director of Mission. I found that the title of Executive Director, which many people use, felt limiting. When I saw somewhere “Founder and Director of Mission,” I thought it was artistic and encompassed tasks that branch out beyond what an Executive Director typically does. I’m someone who carries out the vision and mission of the company. 

Within The Private Theatre my title is Managing Member. It’s the title most of the company members have, and I love it because you can do whatever you want with it. We have talked as a company about this title/role a lot, and we have wondered if we should get more nuanced and have more specific job titles. But it has become clear that Managing Member means you can do it all and that the tasks can be shared in a more equitable way. 

L: How did you find your path within the world of theatre? 

V: It was sort of a circuitous path. When I first got to New York I worked in HIV prevention education using theatre with a company called S.T.A.R Theatre. I just loved the two things together -- getting to engage the performing arts in conversation with something that really mattered.

Eventually I was ready to do something else, so I joined the Peace Corps. As a Peace Corps volunteer I used theatre to do HIV prevention education in Tanna, Vanuatu, an island in the South Pacific. After three years of service, I came home and went to grad school. I got a Masters in Public Policy and then, because...why not...I got another Masters in Conflict Analysis and Resolution. Both of those felt really profound and powerful on the content side, but I was like, “Great, I know a lot about the theory and philosophy of these things, but I’m not interested in going to Washington as a policy wonk and I’m not really that ready to go to a conflict zone and try to transform conflict.” I wanted to engage in peacemaking, and I wanted to use performing arts to do so. I think the arts speak to people in a language that is more direct and accessible and resonant. My Conflict Analysis and Resolution Masters made me realize I really believe in the trajectory of transforming conflict and peacemaking, and the next step was to figure out how I could do that within the performing arts. That’s what sparked TÉA and what attracted me to the Private Theatre.

With TÉA, I did a piece about veterans coming home from wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. John Gould Rubin [Current Artistic Director of The Private Theatre] saw it, and we started talking. He and I began to ask each other, “What can we do together to further this type of work? To advance the peacemaking, to advance the theatre, and to advance the artistry of it?” That led to my joining the Private Theatre.

L: What came first for you, the want to create social progress or your love for the performing arts?

V: They were kind of simultaneous. In high school I was in all of the shows, but I majored in American Studies in college. I never wanted to be a theatre major though I enjoyed acting. I was too interested in the world. Growing up, my mom and dad were very much seekers of truth and inner transcendence, so that was already a part of what mattered to me. I guess it was in my cultural DNA. 

In college, I played Alex in On the Verge by Eric Overmeyer. It was the first time I truly grasped the power that theatre can have. In On the Verge, I was swept away by the words, by the cello, and by how much I cared about these three women... there were so many things about the play that were meaningful. I thought: so this is what theatre can do! And I decided to move to New York City.

A friend of mine was in S.T.A.R.  One day, he and I were talking and he said, “I think, knowing the kind of person you are, that you would love the work I'm doing with this theatre company.” I went to see his show, and I said, “Of course. That’s what I want to do.” 

L: Did you have any mentors in your career?

V: Cydelle Berlin, the woman who started S.T.A.R, was definitely a mentor. She was really on the vanguard. She started in the 80s when AIDS was at the height of an epidemic, she got her PHD in Human Sexuality, and she knew that performing arts was the way to reach the younger generations. Also, her tenacity and drive and ability to literally go out and tell people, “You have to give us money because we are doing something so incredibly important and life saving.” She was such a master. 

She also fostered transformative connections and relationships within the company. We were all young, and we were growing and exploring in such a safe space. We were given a place to wonder about race, homophobia, sexuality, gender, sexually transmitted infections and so much more. 

When I got back from the Peace Corps and once I had started TÉA, I went back to S.T.A.R and told Cydelle I wanted to work with them on a piece about Muslim and Non-Muslims post 9/11. She supported me and said she had some people I needed to meet. Chukwuma [Current Private Theatre Managing Member] was one of them. He and I have known and worked alongside one another for 11 years.

L: Have you received push back from doing work like this? From the community or from potential funders?

V: One thing I haven’t mentioned yet is the methodology I use at TÉA called Insight Artistry. It now also informs the creative process of the Private Theatre. Insight Artistry is based on Insight method and philosophy. We’ve taken our bearings from the method and created an approach to both creating art and to being an artist. This way, artists don’t have to become philosophers, but it is a precise way to pay attention to people in their own terms. The biggest challenge about Insight Artistry is articulating that for funders. 

For Rocco, Chelsea - the last piece the Private Theatre did - it was difficult to get funding because it was hard for funders to imagine what the play was about and therefore why it was significant. We were trying to create a show that would put audiences in touch with the inner conscious process of becoming polarized. We wanted them to personally experience the dramatic possibility of transforming their own polarized habits of mind. In our socially and politically polarized world, I would argue this is a very important thing to do. Still, it’s not as immediately obvious as tackling a specific issue like HIV prevention education. Now, I’ve created a number of issue-based productions - Muslim/Non-Muslim relations post 9/11, the sturggles veterans have coming home from war in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the problem of violence and  police/community relations. The advantage of issue based theatre is that there’s an imaginable “there” to it that issue-based funders can support. But what I’ve discovered in my journey is that I am really not interested in issue-based theatre per se. I’m interested in figuring out how theatre can illuminate and help to transform the habits of mind and heart that generate social problems and issues in the first place. 

L: What’s the advantage - or the disadvantage - of doing issue-based theatre?

V: Two things happen when we do issue-based shows. First, - and this is an advantage - when we have an issue, it’s easier to secure funding. Second, however, when we do issue based theatre, all of a sudden the issue becomes our identity. When we created and performed, Under the Veil: being the Muslim and Non-Muslim post 9/11, people began asking us questions such as, “What do you think about the head scarf ban in France?” While I may have a personal opinion on the topic, it wasn’t like TÉA was out there to make a statement about what we thought about the headscarf ban. In reality, we were exploring the topics around the issues because we cared deeply about the people and the impact of the decisions people make in polarizing situations. Our funders understood that. But when we moved to Rocco, Chelsea, it was more difficult to explain the moves we were making. When asked by funders what the show was about, we would say we were doing a piece about consciousness. We were exploring  human interiority through theatrical performance. As I said earlier, funders had trouble imagining what this would look like. "That’s the point!" I would say, "It’s important to be able to imagine this!" So the onus is on me and other Insight Artists to work to explain and demonstrate what we are doing. I’m happy to say there are a growing number of us who are working diligently to do so.  

L: Do you ever find yourself comparing yourself to other artists? How do you deal with that?

V: I do always say to Jamie [Vieve’s Partner] that I can’t believe how jealous I get sometimes of artists who are able to work solo. A very good friend of ours is a painter who goes into his studio and paints for about 6 hours everyday. He’s always saying he has a new piece that he’s finished. However, when you do devised theatre in collaboration, and when you’re committed to paying people, it takes a long time. Rocco, Chelsea took six years. The project TÉA is doing now on the dynamics of race in America and colonization is into year two, and we’re certainly not ready yet. 

How do I move on from comparing myself? I move on by saying that for me, I want to be a multi-hyphenate collaborative artist. If you are a multi-hyphenate and collaboration is important to you - if this is what feeds your soul - then you have to say, “Yes, sometimes I wish it did move a bit faster, but this is something I really want to do.” 

L: What do you want in the future?

V: I want to be able to understand, articulate and communicate to others what Insight Artistry is, how it’s used and how it’s useful. I just feel there’s so much it could do. 

Also, I’d like to see this country support our artists more fully. It’s time. We need change and peace and I believe art is a powerful and effective tool in the pursuit of these. Let’s give the artists some money and see what they can do. I do believe artists can galvanize us to make the change we want to see in the world.

Collaboration is Ecstasy. Just Ask John Gould Rubin.

Last month I began tech rehearsals for a student production of The Tempest at The Stella Adler Studio by reminding the cast how many of our production's ideas came from them. I was surprised when one of the actors asked if I always worked this way. I had to think, partly because working the way I do had become so normal that I didn't think of it as unusual. And I said yes, that I do always work this way.

That event reminded me of what I had said to the cast of Rocco, Chelsea, Adriana, Sean, Claudia, Gianna, Alex, the devised show The Private Theatre produced last Spring at HERE. I reminded them that everything in that show was a function of collaboration. The central idea of the show, the stories we were telling and combining, the theatrical devices we were utilizing to tell these stories - everything emerged through a collaboration between the participants in the development of the show.

Some months ago I had a retreat with a dramaturg, two actors, artistic director, director and designer about the prospect of developing a new version of a Shakespeare play. The conversations led to a radical revision of the play, three major characters cut, and a new perspective on many other characters. By the end of the weekend we read our newly edited version of the play with great excitement, born, I believe, from the thrill of an organized and focused collaboration. I don't think I stretch reality to say that for all, the weekend was ecstasy!

Collaboration is central to The Private Theatre's mission statement and is increasingly becoming more important to me and how I want to work. The Private Theatre was recently approached about the possibility of developing a new Chekov project. In discussions, we determined to start with a conversation between designers, actors, dramaturg, director and translator before he even composes a version of the play. Even the writing would be a function of collaboration. That is radical.

I like this trend. The first play I directed with LAByrinth in 1999, when I was just starting to direct, was a devised piece called Dreaming in Tongues. The actors created their stories, chose their language (of which there were thirteen) and collectively created a world of gesture and movement. Like I said to the cast of Rocco, Chelsea... I told the Dreaming in Tongues cast they had created everything that was about to appear on stage. We were all moved at that moment, none more than I. 

We've had two workshops of A Doll House scripted by Royston Coppenger who will do the Chekov I discussed earlier. The last workshop we did at The Marble House Project in Dorset, Vermont, and it was one of the most exquisite collaborations I've ever had. This will be The Private Theatre's next show. I am convinced that this show will be better for our having learned better how to collaborate. And I am equally convinced that our future shows will continue our progress in how to collaborate better and more deeply.

This corresponds with a time when The Private Theatre is wrestling with our structure, procedures and operational methods. Our conversations about this are also a function of our ability to collaborate but in a different way and to a different purpose. I hope the virtues of who we are and how we operate will see us through to the next stage, but I also know nothing can be taken for granted. But I adore my partners in this company, believe that affection is mutual and that with our dedication to collaboration, we will see ourselves off to the next stage of our struggle, which, no doubt, one of us will write about in a few years...

What Does Hope Look Like? - Talya Mar

I’m going to be honest, I spend a lot of time these days worrying about the future of humanity. It sounds like such a grand thing to say, but news and science and numerous conversations I have every week reflect this feeling back to me; so I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you know what I mean. Which leads me to the question, what does hope look like in this landscape? Real hope, not band-aid hope. I spend a lot of time thinking about that too.

And here’s the thing, this species of ours terrifies and enrages me a lot of the time. Sometimes, when I fly into New York City and see the sky line appear, I shake my head and go “what were we thinking, what is all of this for, and at what cost?” But, if I’m in just the right mindset, I see it and it takes my breath away. I see all of the innovation and imagination and collective effort it took to build this city, and I think of all the languages and cultures that coexist in this city. I think of all the people in it scrambling around and working for something they believe in. And I am moved.

Because up close and personal, I am in awe of people. Of our resiliency, of our capacity to love, of the magic that happens when care and thoughtfulness is brought to the act of creation.

At The Private Theatre, we are constantly wrestling with what we can do as theatre-makers in these times. What is our role? What can we offer? What can we do to offer hope?

I can’t say I have a lot of answers to these questions, but I do have a feeling. A feeling that if we can find a way to zoom in—to look past all the chaos and commerce and greed to the people who are making their way—that maybe we’ll be okay. Maybe, if we hold up enough stories, stories that push us and comfort us, that remind us of all the intricate crazy astounding beauty of being human on this planet, that just maybe we’ll be able to find our way to hope. To the kind of hope that builds something new, something different, something sustainable, something with kindness and resiliency built into the very fabric of how we think and act and create. And I think, perhaps, it is in asking these questions, in searching for and shaping these stories, that we as theatre-makers can keep our pulse on hope.

My year with The Private Theatre - Lauren Grajewski

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I am always limiting myself. I currently am a Drama student at New York University, and in classes I will tell myself, “There is someone else who can answer this question better than you. Keep quiet.” While brainstorming for projects, collaborations, and scene work, I will often hear my inner voice saying, “No,” to any ideas I have before ever giving myself time to figure out if they are possible. I tell myself I will never be able to learn the piano, I will never successfully go on a diet, I will never be as outspoken as I aspire to be. This does not mean I don’t have big dreams, because trust me, I do. And I believe I am capable of achieving them. However, more often than not, I find myself to be my own biggest bump in the road.

According to my Stage Combat Professor, this inner voice that causes me to put limits on myself is called my “Monkey Brain.” I don’t know the scientific definition of the Monkey Brain, so if my Professor ever reads this he may think I butchered the description, but this is my understanding of the Monkey Brain: It is a primitive voice in each of us that encourages us to choose whatever is most instantly gratifying or safe. In order to be a fuller creative self, we must quiet our Monkey Brain and take time to explore what is beyond the limitations we naturally put on ourselves.

I first joined The Private Theatre as a Development Assistant last April. My job was to help the company research and organize grants and funding opportunities. I did not know anyone from the Private Theatre before joining the team. While I was an acting student at the Stella Adler Studio at the time, I, of course, heard of John Gould Rubin, but I never had him as a teacher. As a result, I was extremely nervous at our first meeting -- not only was I venturing into a different field in the theatre industry by straying away from acting and working more on development opportunities, but I also did not have any previously established relationships with anyone in the group. My Monkey Brain encouraged me to stay quiet at the first meeting, and I probably said ten words the entire evening.

To my chagrin, my Monkey Brain continued to silence me for the next few meetings I attended with the Private Theatre for fear of looking unqualified, despite being given ample opportunities by the other generous members to contribute. Looking back, this was not an entirely terrible thing. It gave me the chance to observe the company, to really listen and decipher how it works. I discovered that we are a group of 11 people, all of varying ages, varying experience in the field of theatre, and varying specialties and skills. Nevertheless, we all have the same power in the room. Most of us do not even have job titles within the company. We are all managing members who are working together towards the same goal: to create raw, intimate, and startling productions of classical, contemporary or devised work.

This may sound like a large spectrum of theatre that we cover -- that’s what I thought at first, too. However, my observing the company for so long made me truly understand how one company can equally pursue all of these diverse types of theatre productions: The Private Theatre has no Monkey Brain. We do not limit ourselves. While it is easy for me as an individual to limit myself, as part of The Private Theatre, it is impossible. The group is always pushing each other to be more than. None of us are just an actor, just a director, just a writer, just a producer. With the help of each other in the group, we push ourselves to be multi-hyphenate artists who can create any art we put our minds to. All of the tools we need to do so are in each and every one of us, and if they are not, we learn how.

In the last meeting we had, we began talking about the current politics of America and how we feel one of the only vehicles for change is art. We realize that something innate within the art of theatre is that it takes time to refine and develop. We wanted to find a way to create a type of theatre that can respond to the current moment within days of events happening, not years as theatre often does. Figuring out how we can achieve this concept frustrated some, excited others, and confused the rest. However, we all had the same response to the idea. We believed it was important and we said, “Yes.” We then brainstormed ways to make it happen. This is something I believe to be very unique to the Private Theatre. Ideas some people would find impossible, we excitedly say, “Yes! Why not?” We then follow up that question with, “Now, how are we going to do it?”

Throughout this past year, with the help of my Private Theatre family, I have worked hard at overcoming my Monkey Brain, and truly opened myself up to expanding creatively. While I still continue my development work with the Private Theatre, my position in the company has grown as the exposure the company has given me has caused my interests to grow. I now cover social media, I was Company Manager for our latest production of Rocco, Chelsea, Adriana, Sean, Claudia, Gianna, Alex at HERE Arts Center, and most importantly, I am a fearless contributor at our meetings. I cherish the moments I spend with my fellow Private Theatre members around company member Vieve Price’s kitchen table. The sharing of ideas that happens there and the willingness from each person to put in the work to make those ideas come to fruition is nothing short of magical. A courage to grow beyond what I think I am capable of has been instilled in me from my work with the Private Theatre and has inspired me to grow even outside my work with the company. I now run towards the things that I fear, speak without judgement, enjoy asking for help, and am thrilled by the unknown. My challenge to you? Next time you are encountered with something that pushes you out of your comfort zone and your Monkey Brain says, “No,” instead choose to say, “Yes.” Then ask, “Now, how?”

Is New York Over? - Adriana Rossetto

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I’m writing from the airport where I’m about to fly out to Milan, my home-city. I spent the last 2 weeks vacating my room in Brooklyn and selling everything I had accumulated over the last 7 years I’ve lived in New York. My friends and the incredible community of artistic collaborators I have built around me found my latest move quite jarring and definite, but I have been procrastinating goodbyes and telling everyone “oh, don t worry, I’ll be back sooner than you think”. I was so busy doing it all, but now, as I sit waiting for my flight with a glass of wine at the terminal, I cannot help but think “is New York over?”

I came to New York chasing a dream as many of my international theatre friends, and over the past 3 or 4 years I’ve grown used to waves of “Goodbye to all that”s, many of which broke my heart as I observed my international community grow thinner and thinner until 2 or 3 friends and I became the last pillars of that initial artistic ensemble of friends. The reasons are always the same: struggling with immigration papers, struggling to pay rent, struggling to find a survival job, struggling to get cast in a project. The rising price of the game (the rising price of rent as well as of the emotional burden) has got me thinking: was New York always this hard or is the dream fading out?

Is New York over? No, New York is well and better than ever. That corporate New York, the New York of Hudson Yards and the progressive Disney-fication of the city,  that New York is doing really great. 

But for someone whose main fantasies of the city were Jack Kerouac’s On The Road and Patti Smith’s Just Kids, a generation of carefree artists exploding with life in the backdrop of a restless city, I wonder: has that New York ever existed for my generation? The New York where artists, not banks, were still somehow the lifeblood of the city, being afforded the possibility of working one job and still make art, possessing both the luxury of time andmoney as the career moves forward ever so slowly without burning out. Has that New York ever existed for me? 

New York feeds on ambition, a ruthless (and ever so wonderful) city in which nothing is ever enough, the collective common denominator being to always want more. And then our industry: an industry made of “thank you, next”s, in which everyone boogie-woogies to that eternal “you never know” beat, faithful only to that silent voice in the back of our heads that says: “maybe this time…”. Did I somehow miss that sweet spot where you get to do what you do because you are hungry for life and not because you have to get through this interminable to-do list in order to be successful? 

Is a life in the arts possible without burn out? Is a life in theatre possible outside of the evergrowing inhospitable grind of big cities like New York or London? 

What if we embraced the idea that rest, recovery, reflection and why not, even boredom, are an essential part of the progress towards a successful artistic life?

It's with these questions in mind that I fly out to Milan, and with the permanent bond I have with my artistic family, The Private Theatre, their support and love, I feel ecstatic and free. Together with them I will be looking into other (better and more sustainable) models to create theatre, also favoring a lifestyle more inducing to creativity. We're researching out-of-the-box solutions for producing theatre as well as looking into developmental processes that are more reflective of the global, digitally nomad and always interconnected world that excites us as an ensemble and that have been such a fundamental part of my life.

Yes, I'm a little scared, but I have found life's greatest treasures when I do what I fear. In fact I have found New York seven years ago just the same way. The Private Theatre is an adventurous group of collaborators, and we have often danced at the edge of our artistry, and as a proud member of the ensemble, I am ready to take that mission one step further. In the wonderful words of Private Theatre member Vieve Price, stay curious, certainty is overrated: I feel liberated to be, yet again, back to square one where I get to say “I don’t know” and navigate the incredible mess that makes this life so worth living.

If this offends you,leave - Chuk Obasi

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A couple years ago I was at a Summer fair with my family when I noticed a man walking by me wearing a t-shirt with an image of the American flag on it.  Under the flag were the words, “If this offends you, leave.”

In my mind, it’s not about the flag itself.  The flag is a piece of cloth with Stars and Stripes on it.  It’s about this country that the flag represents.
I know a lot of folks who love this country to death.  I know a lot of folks who love to point out the great many flaws of this country.  (I know some folks who can check both boxes, but nobody’s trynna hear that noise...)

The thing is, whether you are deeply critical of America or unconditionally in love with her, or anywhere in between, you are equally part of the fabric.  
Anyone remember last November when 20,000 employees of Google across the country (across the world, actually) walked out of their offices to protest sexual misconduct and other aspects of what had become a sense of company-wide non-inclusive workplace culture?

Could you imagine if any of the staff who did not walk out updated the Google home page to read “if these colorful letters offend you, then leave?”  
20,000 workers.  What would happen if they actually left for good?  Even besides the massive productivity void it would leave, think of the many other implications if that happened...

What actually happened in that case was Google’s CEO, Sundar Pichai, wrote an email to the protest organizers, part of which read, “I understand the anger and disappointment that many of you feel.  I feel it as well, and I am fully committed to making progress on an issue that has persisted for far too long in our society... and, yes,  here at Google, too.”

... My man...

This man at the Summer fair wearing this strongly-worded t-shirt seemed to be sending a message to people who are deeply critical of aspects of America.  The seemingly obvious target to me was Colin Kaepernick, who was in the midst of his protests during the national anthem at NFL games.  A lot of folks continue to think the flag offends him.  Or in other words, that America offends him. 

But the thing is, Kaepernick IS America.  We ALL are.  And like a remarkably successful global tech company, we will always be a work in progress.  But since we are ALL America, we all get a say. How can we do better?  How can we be better?

All of this is to say, I could have made a case to the man with the strongly-worded t-shirt at that Summer fair that the “flag” has apparently become offensive to him.

But I wouldn’t ask him to leave.

New Year's Evolutions - Evan T Cummings

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New Year’s resolutions have always struck me as a funny thing. The early days of a new year are a completely arbitrary time to assess your goals, behaviors, wishesand expectations. It’s winter. It’s cold. ….There’s too much good stuff on streaming to stay home and watch. 

This is the time you’re going to make sweeping declarations and major life shifts??
 It’s always seemed to me that small, deliberate adjustments and reassessments throughout the year, or even over a longer stretch, are the way to go. 
 As 2019 begins in earnest, The Private Theatre isn’t “resolving to….” do X, or “making major change” Y. But we are looking ahead towards the upcoming year – even our next few seasons – with excitement and anticipation. And it’s because we’ve been slowly building a better sense of ourselves as a company and have been gradually putting together productions, projects and initiatives that come from the ground up – from the foundation of who we are, or want to be.

In the recent few years, we’ve clarified our mission and added managing members to our fold. We’ve taken an honest look at where we’ve been – and we’ve collectively imagined where we hope to go. 

Our production that begins performances at HERE Arts Center in February, Rocco, Chelsea, Adriana, Sean, Claudia, Gianna, Alex is our first full production in New York in some time. It’s the result of development and incubation. It pulls from stories that first were shared in early workshops, in another era (even if that “era” was just a few years ago), but it also takes into account our present tumultuous time. 

As we further shape our programming, including future projects and education and development programs like The Shop, a few particulars have developed into the little goals we want to be part of the foundation of everything we do. They have to do with looking out: to the world around us, the stories and choices that shape our current moment, and the audiences that share in our work. And inward: to what’s important to us individually and as collaborators.

We’ve challenged ourselves to remain imaginatively committed to diversity, variety, inclusion in all the work we do. We aim to actively pursue artists for our productions and development that are reflective of the cultural, racial, geographic, and physical diversity of the world in which we live and create. And we want to take steps so that our audiences reflect that range too.

Our theatre won’t be alive, present, or important unless we continue reach out – to build and grow our community of artists and audience even more. Indeed, we have old friends and new to thank for reaching, then exceeding, our late-fall crowdfunding campaign goal. Still, we continue to ask: can we keep pushing ourselves towards a theatre that reflect a larger ‘us’?

 And then there’s the self-reflection. 

As I said above, I’m not one for declarative resolutions. 

I prefer questions and musings...

I wonder what colleagues I might meet in the next year that may become lifelong collaborators. And which ones in my life now might move on - to a new area of the country, or a new field.

I wonder what might change in the city where I live: Will my favorite bar or restaurant close? Will one or more of those last few theatre companies that are not wheelchair accessible find a way to provide access, or move to new spaces? Might a new record shop, or bookstore, actually open, or are they gone for good? And what will it say about me that I’m a theatre-maker in New York City and not Chicago, or Louisville, or London.

I ponder the ways that my friendships, or my relationship, might further connect me with something deeper in myself – push me to be a better artist. Will this be a year that is more transitional (readings and first drafts and further development) – or more foundational (a major fellowship or a production that makes waves)? What will change around me? And who are the people I choose to join me on the journey? 

No sweeping declarations or unattainable resolutions here.

I’d rather just let it all unfold. 

My Life in Theater is Relentless - So Why Do I Keep Doing It? - Libby Jensen

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From May through August this year I didn't really have a proper day off - Production Managing back to back shows all summer. As I look back through my calendar for those months I can recall the feeling of my head hitting the pillow exhausted, and almost immediately hearing my alarm going off, calling me back to load-in, or tech, or strike, or notes, or production meetings.

Creating a life working in theater for me often means overlapping freelance gigs - scheduling days within an inch of their lives, and then hiring an assistant (and paying them out of my own fee) when I realize I've cut it too close, and can't actually be in two (or three) places at once. I remember in the not-so-distant past having one short break in a sea of never-ending work, and deciding to spend that time going home, crying for a few minutes, and then going back to work. I just had to let out something - I was completely drained and needed to off-gas.

So why do I do it? Every day I wake up and choose this life because I fucking love it, man. A few weeks ago I was invited to speak to a group of young technical theater students and one of the leaders asked us to share why we do this work - and my answer came to me immediately: because I get to work with My People. I get to work with like-minded folks who care about the things I care about. Unlike any other job I've had, or group I've been around - there is an inherent sense of home that I feel when I'm with Theater People - and that sense of place is so addicting that I never want to leave. Sure I don't get along with every theater-maker, but to me, there is an invisible thread that runs through it all - that keeps me connected to this world in a visceral way. In any group of people putting on a show I can find my place, speak the language, feel seen and understood.

There is a common culture. A certain style of humor. A similar work-ethic. A willingness to try it again until we get it right. A queerness that doesn't necessarily have to do with who we sleep with, but rather a willingness to be sensitive, different, fluid, open, accepting, to work outside of social constructs. A comfort with discomfort. A preference for whiskey. A closet of black clothing. No one of us is all of these - but I would wager that many of us are many of these. And finding myself surrounded by these people is exciting, energizing, and provides a life-force necessary to create amazing theater. We all work so hard for something that is so fleeting and yet can matter so deeply to the core of humanity. For this art form - for these stories we want to tell - we will fight bitterly, will cry, bleed, lose sleep. We care SO MUCH. And for that I not only stick with it - but I crave waking up and getting to work.