There You Are

I grew up with a religious story or ritual: When you are in distress, pray to God for guidance and then flip open the pages of your Bible at random. You will find what you need.

This never really worked for me. I would be distressed about a boy and flip open to Levitical food laws. I would be worried about a test and flip to the description of the beast in Revelation.  Grieving over my grandfather's death, I flipped to the story of Lot's wife.

Some might argue: there's still a message, the ways of God are mysterious, do a little more research it's there.

But I've found non-traditionally religious literature to be far more reliable.

Tonight Annie Dillard stops me, mid-paragraph, with a quiet, awkward, sentence. Call it serendipity. I opened a book and a quote caught me like a salmon leaping upstream.

In Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Dillard says:

"What we know, at least for starters, is: here we--so incontrovertibly--are." (130)

I stop because, of course, of course, we are. 

Let me situate the source of my frustration: I have been learning again, taking a conservatory of physical theatre for actor-creators. 

In class, we did an exercise in the neutral mask in which we have to be the ocean and move through it and wash onto the shore. 

The neutral mask is a mask of total presence and total ease. As one of our instructors put it, the mask tells you "you can do it." It isn't excited about that fact or afraid of that fact. The mask isn't worried about failing because it won't fail. Everything is ease and everything is unique and everything moves past without catching hold. 

This is both a beautiful gift and a big fat curse. The human is constantly experiencing emotions which slide through and over and into and out of the mind and, so, the body. By this I mean, I experience those things. By putting on the mask of ease, I am offered the gift of total presence and ease. Because it is a mask, it reveals the human flow of energy and experience that writes itself on my body. 

As I think about this and mull it over, I am at turns excited and daunted--my human bits roil up and down like a sine curve. I am reminded of zen. The mask is the moment of zen, the practice of waking up to remember that you are always, already present and that nothing more is required of you. You can experience this present moment fully and let it go. Then I am daunted because I realize that when I put on the mask: it is a practice to which people devote their lives. The mask is a master; I am a novice

Back to the ocean, I could picture it, feel it, sense it, hear it in my imagination as I waited my turn. Then I put on the mask, full of excitement. I turned around, making sure to breath in and out like the ocean, I let my arms drift and lift with awareness and I looked at the world around me. The fish, the kelp, the waves--I was told to turn back around and take off the mask. 

"You're a person, in the sea, looking at the sea. You need to be the sea."

What. 

"Breath it."

Yeah, ok. I put the mask on and the sea was gone. I heard that I couldn't look at the sea because that's a person looking at the sea. So I retreated to gesture and what felt like avant garden dance. I didn't see the sea I heard my breath and moved around the stage trying to follow the breath. I felt like fool.

Taking the mask off, I was told "There were moments." I believed it, having seen it in my classmates, and I still didn't understand it. 

I tried again and again and again and never made it through the sea to the beach, always I was stuck in the water, trying and failing to be a sea I could no longer see. 

It was an incredibly frustrating experience. I kept trying, anxious to put the mask on, anxious then to take it off, anxious to try something else, still seeing nothing until a blinding headache plopped me in my seat watching my classmates struggle as I had. 

I have several thoughts about the exercise that have been rolling in my head since we spent what felt like an eternity trying and failing to do those things.

1. It is an impossible task to be an ocean. It is so very hard to try to think of the ocean and yourself and yourself and the ocean as one and the same when someone is telling you over and over that you just aren't big enough. Because obviously. Obviously I am not the ocean and obviously the ocean is bigger than I am. 
2. The impossibility of the task does not strip the task of meaning. In trying to do it, I learn something.
3. Letting the breath move the body and then stilling body and breath is the most effective way--that I saw--to move from the ocean to the shore.
4. Trying to be the ocean or the shore is as sure a way to fail as not trying to do it. The harder any of us tried to be the ocean, the less ocean we were.
5. Ease. There is ease in the ocean, even in it's wildness, depth and richness.
6. Ease. There is ease in me, even in my wildness, depth, and richness.
7. After all, I am--incontrovertibly--here. 

At the end of the day, I am brought to the conclusion that I am learning to recognize and allow my own presence in the here and now. To be the space, I have to first be comfortably me. It's so funny to me that the incontrovertible fact is the one that I work so hard to know and do and be.

When frustration is happening, there is a nugget of wisdom or knowledge being pressed into existence. 

For starters, Dillard says, we are here. 

The Cult of Authorial Intent and the Power of the Interpreter Part 1

In November 2016 the Dramatist's Guild published an open letter in defense of authorial intent in playwrighting.

There are several issues at play here. One being the casting of white actors in roles of people of color, notably Martin Luther King Jr. in Kent State's Production of The Mountaintop by Katori Hall and Clarion University's production of Jesus in India by Lloyd Suh. "Colorblind" casting is a very particular issue which contains a huge and nuanced discussion of power, bias towards white performers and stories, as well as the systemic oppression and appropriation of narratives, cultural elements, and bodies of people of color in America.

The integrity of authorial intent is a second issue which contains a huge and nuanced discussion about the nature of collaboration, the distance between collaborators, and the most valued portion of performed narrative (text vs mise-en-scene vs performed bodies etc).

These two discussions being linked is tough for me because both are so complex and nuanced.

I really want to make this two blog posts! Because such important and nuance topics!!! But as American Theatre and the Dramatists Guild have linked the two issues, I feel that I want to address them and their relationship within at least one post. Edit: I'm making it more than one blog post.

These two topics are in conversation out of necessity because the roles that are being given to white performers are roles written by playwrights of color for performers of color in order to address the those stories.

I have to admit that I am a white American--though I have always been extremely conscious of the immigrant source of my family on one side from eastern europe--I am visibly white in America. That means that there are a LOT more roles for me than for actor's and performers of color. I am also a female performer, which carries it's own dearth of roles compared to male performers. I am a director, actor, writer, and scholar. So my experience crosses a broad range of making, viewing, studying, and discussing theatrical narratives.

I have two responses to these that I want to explore--

1. Authors are not gods and they are not the sole creators of a theatrical production--They are collaborators to be respected and included when possible. 
1. This said in the modern world, this kind of collaboration is at times tough to accomplish due to distance, how busy a given playwright is, dead playwrights with estates, etc etc
2. Collaboration is also tricky--what does collaboration entail and when is it just better to write a new script or production to explore the idea?
2. "Colorblind" has come to be a short hand for "We're not racist." If you're selecting to do a play with characters who are not white, don't go casting white actors because you "didn't have enough actors of color" "didn't have the right ones" "thought the experience was universal" or otherwise did not consider how the white performer is usurping this narrative and erasing the bodies of color from this very visual stage. Because that shit is a violent appropriation.
1. Color Conscious casting and storytelling is important
2. Engaging with the cultural milieu is important
3. Avoiding censorship is important
4. Actively discussing these issues is important

These two issues intersect because of power politics. Playwrights of color having their works appropriated and filled with white bodies when the plays were deliberately written for non-white bodies is part of the power web in which white bodies take what they want without consequence. Find here a brief primer on appropriation. 

Making space for these stories and these bodies onstage is important because traditionally and contemporarily, there aren't a lot of spaces where these bodies are prominent and where their stories are told. 

That's where it gets thorny and prickly when white artists complain that if it's universal or if they don't have the actors they can still tell these stories. Because there are PLENTY of stories out there that white artists can tell and that call for white bodies to fill them onstage. When a writer of color deliberately writes a play about people of color and white people decide to produce it and fill it with white bodies, these white productions have co-opted the story and fundamentally used it to take space away from the people who created it.

That's a problem. I say again. It's not okay.

This brings me again to the term "Colorblind". There is a cult in contemporary culture of protecting white people's feelings. The big example that is relevant here is the response to "hey, that was racist". When someone tells a WP that something they said or did was racist, the response is generally along the lines of "I didn't mean, I'm not racist, You can't possibly think that I'm racist, You just didn't understand, you don't know me well enough, etc, etc, etc". This has led to the term White Fragility which covers the way that WP, when uncomfortable become defensive and recenter the conversation and to themselves (see above: "you don't understand what I mean't").

You can see that in the above productions when excuses are made for the problems the production faced: "I didn't have enough or the right actors of color" or "the things in this play are universal" both center on rearranging the discussion to the white problems or point of view.

Let me break that down. The first two responses: "I didn't have enough actors of color" or "I didn't have the right actors of color" reframes the conversation in terms of the white producers problems and makes the solution reliant on the inability to see POC. POC protest saying: you have stolen one of our stories and the opportunities for us to perform and tell those stories. And the response has nothing to do with the issue. "I couldn't find enough actors of color" skirts the issue by erasing the visibility of poc performers and their protest. This is also victim blaming: POC point out: you've hurt us by taking this story and the roles. The white producers say: "It's your fault because I couldn't find any POC to cast anyway. I was just trying to solve to problem of not being able to find you".

The second response which claims the narratives as universal centers the white POV as the universal and so reinforces the hegemonic oppressive power structure that the white experience is universal via claiming all experience as it's own. It, again, ignores the distinct experiences of people of color by white washing them, invalidating them under the umbrella of "universality".

My tirade above is not in any way meant to stop production of these shows, but if you're going to produce them, you should also be willing to do the work on them. When you produce Shakespeare, you do dramaturgical work to understand the play. When you do a play like How I Learned to Drive, you engage in a complex issue that requires some specific work to engage in the issues of incest and abuse. So, if you're going to do a work about POC or a work that has issues of racism or oppression or includes the stories of POC, don't just assume that you a white production team already knows everything or that you can just tell the story. Do the work.

Suggestions:

1. Do produce these shows. 
2. Cast artists of color in shows that ask for them. If you aren't able to find "enough/theright" performers of color, don't compromise and cast white people, pass it off to a theatre or organization that can. Go looking, because I guarantee you, the performers are there.
3. Put artists of color in leadership positions on these shows. 
4. Recognize that you exist in a racist society and that at some point you are going to fuck up. Be prepared, when it happens, to recognize that the behavior is something you can change but that it's your job to do that work. 
5. When it happens, don't make excuses for yourself, apologize. 
1. This sounds like: I'm sorry, you're right, that was deplorable.
2. This does not sound like: I'm sorry, I didn't mean, I didn't intend, If you saw it from my point of view . . . 
6. Then make it right. 
1. This does mean taking appropriate action: recasting, pulling the show, changing leadership, changing the structure to allow for and add artists of color.
2. This doesn't mean making excuses or finding a way to do your thing anyway.