Creating art and self from the intersections

With the $1 Play Project underway (and if you have 60 seconds and $1.00, you really should give what you can), and way too much to do in not enough time, I want to take a moment (read: procrastinate) and talk about what it's like and what it means to create art from a perspective of intersectionality.

Before buzzwords like “intersectionality” came along, a lot of people assumed that womanhood was White, Blackness was male, and both were straight. When Black feminists and womanists proclaimed that All the Women Are White, All the Blacks Are Men, But Some Of Us Are Brave, they created a new paradigm for examining race, gender, and sexuality that centered on the lives of Black women.

When I started writing Tulpa, or Anne&Me in late 2009, I had no idea I'd be doing the same thing for theatre. As much as I like to fantasize otherwise, I'm not really all that brave. I hate pain (receiving or inflicting it), and I am more easily hurt than I often let on. I'm much more prone to shyness, anxiety, depression, and exhaustion than my online persona indicates. My outspokenness about racism, sexism, and homophobia says more about their magnitude and the peril they pose to human beings than about any particular courage or wisdom on my part.

So when I set out to put down on paper some of the many thoughts and feelings I have when I try to relate to White women about race and gender (all from the perspective of a woman who loves women), it wasn't because I was intentionally trying to provoke people. It initially started out on my LiveJournal on something of a lark that channeled my infatuation with Anne Hathaway into something more meaningful. Since the discussions about race I was having with real White women were often so lacking, why not make up the conversations I wanted to have?

As Black women, we are constantly being asked to hide away or tear off chunks of who we are to make us safer for consumption. When we are with women, we're supposed to magically forget we are Black. When we are Black, we're supposed to ignore our womanhood. And we'd better keep that queer shit deep in the closet if we know what's good for us. Yet in Tulpa, all three of these identities are necessary to fully understanding the characters and the story.

Tulpa, or Anne&Me is not Intro to Intersectionality. The dialogue is pretty exclusively about race. But it's a queer woman's experience of race and how it impacts her most personal moments. The play focuses on an intimate relationship. But it's a relationship between women trying to maintain that intimacy in the face of racism and what that means for both of them.

“Your silence will not protect you,” Audre Lorde once said. Even prior to reading Sister Outsider, I may have sensed that this was true. As much as I hate being the center of attention or the object of scrutiny, the alternative – my silence – was even worse. My silence would mean allowing someone other than myself to define what my life means or what it should mean. My silence would mean becoming a shadow not only of myself but to myself. My silence would mean accepting my own dehumanization.

Despite the fact that I live as a queer Black woman in my queer Black woman body, as an artist I often wrestle with a sense that my life as I live it diminishes my art because it's somehow not as universal. But creating Tulpa, or Anne&Me cured me of that.

My art does not happen despite my queer Black woman self but directly because of it.

My queer Black woman self is not an obstacle to my humanity – it's the key to truly acknowledging and understanding it.

"Tulpa" needs a set designer!

VISIONARY SET DESIGNER NEEDED for TULPA, OR ANNE&ME
Written by Shawn C. Harris, directed by Aaron D. Pratt

Last year, TULPA, OR ANNE&ME made its debut at the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity. This year,TULPA, OR ANNE&ME is headed to the Fresh Fruit Festival, with a bold vision and fresh ideas.

Part whimsical fantasy, part realist drama, part gothic horror, TULPA, OR ANNE&ME tells the story of a withdrawn artist whose life gets turned upside down when Anne Hathaway crawls out of her television. With the help of her powerful imagination and two outspoken Guardian Angels of Blackness, she and Anne struggle to find a way to connect with one another. What unfolds is an intimate portrait of a relationship that asks us how race impacts what two people can truly be to one another.

We need a visionary SET DESIGNER who can:

• put their creative stamp on the production 
• turn a bare stage into a vivid, evocative mindscape 
• do amazing work on a shoestring budget 
• make a mobile set that can be put up or broken down quickly (15 minutes tops) 
• be reliable and easy to work with (no flakes! no divas!) 
• commit to working on the project from now until July 

This production of TULPA, OR ANNE&ME will not be yet another living room drama. If you really want to get creative and show off what you can do, this is the project for you.

Although education and experience are helpful, what matters most is your passion, vision, and commitment. A passion for comics (mainstream and indie), anime, manga, and graphic novels would be an amazing bonus.

Because of the play's subject matter and my personal interest in giving opportunities to underrepresented artists, women, people of color, and LGBTQ people are strongly encouraged to apply.

I am hoping to make my final selection by April 1. Please send all inquiries and supporting materials (samples REALLY help) to: Shawn C. Harris at whoisyourtulpa[at]gmail[dot]com.

For whom does the Black artist make art?

This has been brewing for a while after watching this video and the responses to it. What's been disheartening about all this is what this reveals about the position of the Black artist. It seems that we can't win for losing. Everybody, it seems, wants a piece of what we create. Everyone, it seems, believes we should create for purposes other than our own. Everyone, it seems, has something to say about what we create. Ironically, these clamoring voices push us from the center of our own process, a process that requires us to be centered and in touch with our own voices.

Granted, many Black artists have decided that it's a sucker's game to pay too much attention to that. I'm one of them. But it still bothers me when I come across this attitude that because I am a Black artist, that I need to represent myself a certain way, represent my people a certain way, or represent my experience a certain way if I want my work to be seen as authentic, valuable, or meaningful. In effect, what is valued about an artist who is Black is not authentic self-expression or the capacity to imagine and create new things, but to put what is created to a specific purpose. It is the mindset that says that the reason why we should learn about Black history, Black culture, Black literature, Black art, Black music, and so on is not because Black people are human beings who have history and culture and create literature and art and music, but because the history, culture, art, and music of Black people are useful to others.

So, as much as I dislike what Tyler Perry does, I can understand him saying that Spike Lee needs to go to hell. As much as I don't like how The Help tells a story about Black women, I can understand why Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer pushed back against Tavis Smiley trying to hold them to a standard that no White artist is asked to uphold.

Don't get it twisted. If you thought I was only talking about Black folks doing this, I wasn't. White folks do it too. I have a post in me somewhere about the 5 types of stories Black folks are allowed to bring to mainstream audiences, but that's for another time.

Are you getting what I'm saying here?

Gestating the writing process

The piece I'm gestating now has taught me that I don't write plays so much as give birth to them. And it frustrates me to no end. I am creatively bloated and sluggish, laden down with the play that's growing inside me, and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it besides feed it and wait. I have nearly no say in what comes out, no input as to when it will happen. I only feel the stirrings in the murky darkness of the metaphorical womb. It frightens me a bit.

It's eerie just how embodied my process is, how closely it parallels the cycles of my body. Most of the stuff I write, fertilized as it is, never takes root and gets ejected from my system like so much menstrual blood. The plays that take hold, the ones that eventually become my children made of words, often have difficult births. There is always pain because I am pushing out a truth I am not big enough to express, threatening to split me in two. With every piece, there is the fear that this is the one that will finally kill me. Yet once I'm in labor, I cannot desist. It must come out, even if I die afterwards.

And when it's over, I hold my baby of paper and pixels. Did I do this? Did this come from me? It can't be. It's wrinkly and slimy and more precious than anything in the world. I clean it off, make it look somewhat more human. I let it feed off my dreams and memories. I watch it grow.

Tulpa, or Anne&Me is a lively toddler now, having taken its first steps last year and progressed to running around. I am amazed by it even as I fear for its future, for the world I brought it into.

Pregnant again, I am waiting for the new piece to take shape, to tell me its name. I had my own ideas, but the play inside me rejected them. I remind myself to let go of trying to control it. Just feed it and wait. I am always hungry, and my cravings are strange.

I envy those with the gift of clarity. What is it like to create something as an act of will? What is it like to choose what comes out of you? To have a say in what and when and how? What is it like?

Know a director? "Tulpa" needs one!

I wrote a play called TULPA, OR ANNE&ME that debuted at the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity in June 2011. I would like to do it again for 2012, and I'm putting together the team I want to work with.

Part whimsical fantasy, part social commentary, part gothic horror, TULPA, OR ANNE&ME tells the story of a withdrawn artist whose life gets turned upside down when Anne Hathaway crawls out of her television. With the help of her powerful imagination and two outspoken Guardian Angels of Blackness, she and Anne struggle to find a way to connect to one another. What unfolds is an intimate portrait of a relationship that asks us how race impacts what two people can truly be to each other.

This play needs a DIRECTOR who can . . .

• apply anti-racist principles and practices to all aspects of production
• create an amazing theatrical experience with limited tech and budget
• respect the playwright's voice and vision
• collaborate with the playwright to select cast and crew
• schedule and attend all rehearsals
• maintain a healthy working environment 

Although education and experience are definitely helpful, what matters most is your passion, vision, and commitment - and, of course, how easy you are to work with.

When looking over candidates, what I am trying to figure out is: What makes this person particularly qualified to assume a leadership role in a theatre project where the experience of being a gay African American woman is a big part of its meaning?

Because of the play's subject matter and my personal interest in giving opportunities to underrepresented theatre artists, LGBTQ people of color are strongly encouraged to reach out.

I am seeking to make my final selection by February 1. Please send all inquiries and supporting materials (if any) to: Shawn C. Harris (writer and producer) at whoisyourtulpa[at]gmail[dot]com.

For more information about the journey of TULPA, OR ANNE&ME, see http://indiegogo.com/tulpa2012.

"Tulpa, or Anne&Me" fundraising campaign ends TODAY

On January 12 at 11:59pm EST, the IndieGoGo campaign for my play, Tulpa, or Anne&Me is ending. Although people have supported the project by contributing a total of about $1,700, there is still $1,300 to go.

Let’s break this down mathematically. If only 130 readers each donate just $10 TODAY, Tulpa, or Anne&Me will reach its fundraising goal.

With so many conversations going on about who gets to tell stories about people of color, the importance of things like “Shit White Girls Say … To Black Girls,” the release of George Lucas’ Red Tails, and otherwise being an ally supporting voices of color in arts and entertainment, your contribution sends a message that it matters to you that these find their way on stage and screen, that it matters who tells these stories, that it matters who benefits from these stories, and that it matters who gets to witness these stories.

Tell the world that it matters to you. Take a couple of moments to say so now.

P.S. If you are sick and tired of first-person shooters starring square-jawed White dudes, you should check out and support the Arkh Project too.

2012: The year of Black people as subjects

Kicking off 2012 on the racism front, we have this video, "Shit White Girls Say . . . to Black Girls"

And then we have this post at A Poor Player, which prompted 99Seats to write "Shit White Theatremakers Say" (and then "More Shit White Theatremakers Say" in response to Scott's comment on the original post and in 99Seats' follow-up).

I'm not going to weigh in on that particular discussion because, frankly, I'm tired of it. I can't even work up the energy to get pissed off. But, I can say that it has been my experience that when I told Black people outside of theatre that I'm a playwright, several Black people piped up and told me that they used to enjoy participating in theatre but got out of it because it's so racist.

What I am going to mention, which the video and the blog posts at A Poor Player and by 99Seats exemplify, is a trend I noticed in 2011 that I'm hoping will be over for 2012. For lack of a better term, I'm going to call it Black People* As Objects. To be more precise, I'm talking about Black people as objects of ridicule, scorn, fear, study, charity, validation, and so on. From that ridiculous article in Psychology Today about Black women being "objectively" less attractive than women of other races to pretty much anything that comes from the mouth of a GOP candidate about Black folks, it seems that a lot of people who are not Black have a lot to say about what the lives and actions of Black people are supposed to mean. Essentially attempting to probe and prod us like lab animals. Which could almost not be racist if said individuals, I dunno, bothered to actually have a conversation with Black people (as in Black persons, not Black People (TM)) where they sought to truly understand and relate to us as persons and not as objects or symbols.

I don't put a lot of stock into new year's resolutions, but if I were to make one for myself, I'd say that 2012 is the Year of Black People as Subjects -- subjects who live their own lives, have their own reasons for doing things, experience their own trials and triumphs, construct their own meanings, have their own thoughts and feelings as beliefs, and so on. The challenge for 2012 will be focusing my energy on those who are capable of talking to and talking with Black people and not talking at, talking for, or talking about us. From now on, I'm only going to get involved with discussions that involve Black people only when I can see that the discussion is framed around Black people as subjects. If that is not the case, I'm generally going to ignore it or poke fun at it. Maybe even link to this post, if I'm feeling generous.

The rule of thumb is this: if the discussion is about Black people or people of color, and not by Black people or people of color, it should ask Black people or people of color for their input. Not to debate or otherwise argue about basic shit (like whether racism is real in theatre or anywhere else), but to more fully understand something from the perspective of those who have to live with it.

I know that some people would ask, "Well, what about discussions about White people?" To be honest, that's not really my concern. Yes, that's a double standard. But it's a double standard I've experienced as necessary in order to have a real dialogue and not revert to White people telling Black people and other people of color what to do, what to say, how to say it, and how to think and feel about it. Which, again, goes back to treating Black people like objects.

And all that stuff I said above? That goes for discussions about women too.

* Particularly Black women for some reason. I don't know why so many people in 2011 were so interested in who we're dating (or not dating), fucking (or not fucking), marrying (or not marrying), or giving birth (or not giving birth) to.

Walking the talk on moneyballing theatre

As my plans for the 2012 production of Tulpa, or Anne&Me start coming together, I'm in a pretty good position to apply some of the ideas I brought up in my "What If . . . Theatres Played Moneyball?" post. As I'm researching venues and running the IndieGoGo campaign (which you should contribute to if you haven't already), I'm also thinking of ways to describe what I'm looking for in various members of the cast and crew.

Being that the director is the keystone person in all this, I created a job ad for a director that lays out, in simple terms, what I need that person to do. When writing it, I gave myself a few "rules" to work with, such as:

1. Must be written as "can do," not "must have"
2. No less than 3 but no more than 7 requirements
3. Directly mention the people I want to apply

What I came up with was:

This play needs a DIRECTOR who can:

• apply anti-racist principles and practices to all aspects of production
• create an amazing theatrical experience with limited tech and budget
• work within the guidelines of the AEA showcase code
• respect the playwright's voice and vision
• collaborate with the playwright to select cast and crew
• schedule and attend all rehearsals
• maintain a healthy working environment

Although education and experience are definitely helpful, what matters most is your passion, vision, and commitment - and how easy you are to work with. Because of the play's subject matter and my personal interest in giving opportunities to underrepresented theatre artists, queer women of color are strongly encouraged to reach out.


I am seeking to make my final decision by January 15. 


Please send all inquiries and supporting materials (if any) to [my personal info].

Hopefully, this will draw people who would be the biggest assets to the production and not just those who interview well. I'm sure that some experienced theatre artists may look at my requirements and go, "Well, duh!" But I've heard a lot of stories about people who get involved in projects without being solid on the "Well, duh" parts and wind up creating a complete clusterfuck. As time goes on, I've learned to give myself credit for the fact that, while I make mistakes, I don't have to make ALL the mistakes ALL by myself to learn.

I hope that, should I find a director this way, I can apply the same thing to the rest of the cast an crew.

What about you? Do you have any experiences with "moneyballin" theatre? How did it turn out?

Tulpa 2012 is coming! And you can help!

Visit the IndieGoGo campaign to make a contribution and find out more about how you can help make Tulpa, or Anne&Me happen.

Discourse and community organizing in indie theatre

Previously, I talked about the need for community organizing in indie theatre and what that means. I mentioned that transforming the landscape of indie theatre will require a different way of engaging so that everyone can fully participate.

I want to parallel two recent experiences that bring into sharp relief the need for a new way to navigate discourse in the indie theatre community. The first is the Audre Lorde Project's QTPOC Occupy Wall Street Town Hall meeting. The second is Gwydion's Playwrights Wish List.

At ALP's Town Hall, there were a few things that stood out about the process: 1) the participants came from all walks of life; 2) everyone present participated and was fully engaged; and 3) there were differences of opinion but not debate.

I believe this has to do with the way the town hall was set up. First of all, there were ground rules for discussion which everyone agreed to abide by. They were:

1. One mic, one diva
2. Step up, step back
3. Check your privilege

With these 3 simple rules, it set the stage for this town hall to be a place where the community could listen and share, just to get a lay of the land and see where people are. After sharing those rules, we broke up into 6 groups. We did not have our choice of groups; we just counted off. In retrospect, this was probably a good idea because it gets rid of habitual ways we have of interacting in a familiar group. Each group had 1 or 2 facilitators.

Once we were in our groups, we went to our assigned spaces, we selected a note-taker and reporter (for the report-back). Then we asked 3 simple questions for us to ask about QTPOC involvement at Occupy Wall Street. Not leading questions, just open things for people to share. If I'm remembering correctly, we were asked:

1. Are you involved with OWS? Why or why not?
2. Why do you think QTPOCs are marginalized at OWS?
3. What can we bring from OWS to our own community organizing?
4. (Bonus) What did you want to get from the town hall meeting?

We were given about 30-45 minutes to talk about these questions. After that, we reconvened, and each group gave a 5-minute report-back that shared the general feeling of the group plus some responses to the questions. Then we had a few minutes for general feedback and to fill in info gaps about what happened in our group breakouts.

It was an amazing experience because I felt empowered and connected in a way that I rarely feel in everyday life. Let's be clear here; I was not controlling anything. I was just one participant in a group. Yet I felt more powerful there than I did in situations where my control is more or less absolute. Isn't that something?

Over Twitter, Gwydion and I chatted briefly about how we could import this model to the virtual world. Since then, I've been thinking a lot about his Playwrights Wish List because that's exactly the kind of thing we need more of in the theatre community. It hits almost every single one of the community organizing principles. Granted, it's going to be tough to sustain that effort since Gwydion took upon himself roles that are usually spread out among at least 3 other people (facilitator, note-taker, report-back). However, comparing the success of the town hall meeting with the success of the Playwrights Wishlist, I noticed that they had a few things in common.

1. An explicit invitation to a specific group
2. A clear understanding of what we're there to do
3. Willingness to allow individuals to speak for themselves, asking for clarity where needed
4. Responsiveness to the group needs and concerns
5. Commitment to follow up in the future

Those are just off the top of my head. What other things would you add to creating a truly participatory model of discourse when it comes to organizing in the indie theatre community?

Community organizing and indie theatre

A while back I mentioned an interest in combining theatre with community organizing. For a variety of reasons, November has been the month where I've committed to learning more about community organizing. I'm taking part in the Audre Lorde Project's Daring To Be Powerful community organizing workshop, and I'm really enjoying myself and sensing a lot of growth.

My work with the Audre Lorde Project is a natural continuation of what I've been doing with the People's Institute for Survival and Beyond.  With the People's Institute, I've developed the ability to analyze power structures and root them in real history. With the Audre Lorde Project, I'm learning how to apply that analysis in a way that reflects and serves QTPOC (queer/trans people of color - pronounced "Cutie Pock") communities.

This community organizing aspect of my artistic journey is particularly striking because, in my opinion, theatre is the most communal of the arts. It is the art form most intimately connected to where, when, and with whom it happens. You can tell a lot about a community by the theatre it creates.

As this communal element becomes a bigger part of who I am as a theatre maker, it becomes increasingly important for theatre to become the vanguard for exposing, examining, and transforming the power dynamics within our communities. Part of being able to do all that is creating methods of discourse that truly allow for the full participation of the community.

Yet as a community, theatre tends to be more reactive than proactive. We react to what the NEA is doing. We react to this or that theater's decisions. We react to this or that critic's statements about The Ultimate Truth About The State Of All Theatre. We react to this or that article or book being published. And I'm thinking, "Shouldn't this be the other way around? Shouldn't we be telling them what needs to change? Shouldn't they be listening and responding to us?"

Then again, how would they do that? It's not like we're being invited to fully participate in conversations about things that affect us (To me, this is what differentiates the Haves from the Have Nots - see HowlRound). And it's not like those things are receiving sustained effort and attention. As a result, it seems that we're having the same conversations all the time, and we're starting from ground zero each time we have these conversations. No matter what the discussion is, we always have to deal with

• Denial that there is a problem
• Refusal to believe things can change
• Disbelief that we, collectively, have the power to make those changes
• Unwillingness to act even in small ways

So what we have are stimulating discussions with brilliant people that never seem to lead to concrete action. We lack for nothing: not vision, not knowledge, not resolve, not know-how, not resources. Look at what we actually accomplish! Look at how much time and energy and brainpower we've put into doing the work we do just for the love of it. We're not powerless. We're not lazy. We're not stupid. We have the ability to make things very different for ourselves and our communities, but we seem to keep doing the same old thing.

Allow me to go on a bit of a tangent and explain different ways to work for change because without it, what I say after this won't make much sense. There are 4 basic aspects to working for change. They are:

1. Service - focus on individuals and respond to immediate needs
2. Advocacy - work with representatives to change policy
3. Activism - mobilize individuals to increase attention about issues
4. Organizing - community members change power relations to address root causes

Because of what I've learned from the People's Institute and the Audre Lorde Project, I've come to understand that what theatre needs now is organizing. When I talk about organizing, I don't simply mean doing things in an orderly fashion. I'm using the Audre Lorde Project's definition, which states that organizing is:

a strategic process for building people's collective power to achieve self-determination and justice

Political action is one of the more overt forms of community organizing, but there are many ways that it can be applied. Of course, just waking up one day and saying, "We should organize!" just doesn't work. Organizing efforts need to be guided by solid principles. In my experience, having clear, explicit principles for action cuts down on a lot of dysfunctional bullshit that makes dealing with some organizations a real pain in the ass. The Audre Lorde Project outlines a few organizing principles:

• Self-determination - those directly affected by the problem decide what should happen and are in leadership
• Power - build a base of people/community power; make changes in power relations
• Justice and movement building - in line with justice for all oppressed people
• "We" not "I" - broad base of community members; act together based on shared vision for change
• Direct action - actions that directly take on those in power; using our voices, minds, bodies, and creativity in numbers for empowerment
• Address root causes - address underlying causes; address the ultimate reason for a problem ("-isms")

Of course, this is just one group's set of organizing principles. How could we refine them for the indie theatre community?

Will you contribute $50 to support theatre by and about queer Black women?

“When I dare to be powerful - to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid” — Audre Lorde


Earlier this year, I wrote and produced a play called Tulpa, or Anne&Me that debuted at the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity.

Since that first production, I’ve often been asked about what’s next for Tulpa, or Anne&Me. This is a great sign because it means that the play has touched people in some deep places and led to powerful moments of growth and healing for many. I feel a real responsibility to make this piece the best I can make it and bring it to as many places as I can where people want and need to see it.

Right now, I’m talking with someone who can offer me an opportunity for more performances in mid- to late April. Despite the fact that I’m based in NYC, there are still only a few plays by and about queer Black women being made. Although the world we live in wants me to be comfortable with feeling insignificant, I no longer have the luxury to deceive myself into believing that my work and my voice are not important.


I am raising $3,000 for the 2012 production of Tulpa, or Anne&Me. If only 60 people contribute just $50 each*, I can reach that goal. If only 60 people contribute just $50 each, my work will have another chance to do what it’s meant to do — pave the way for healing and transformation in our lives, relationships, and communities. If only 60 people contribute just $50 each, they will be doing more than putting a story on stage, but creating a vibrant opportunity to honor those of us who are Black and woman and queer.

  Will you contribute $50 to be part of that process?


(*That works out to only 1 person a day for the next 60 days.)

Emptiness and the living playwright

It may seem strange for me to say this, but the biggest influence on my work as a playwright is Peter Brook's The Empty Space and The Open Door. The Empty Space is one of the first books about theatre I ever picked up. At the time, I only plucked them off the shelf because they were short and easy for me to understand. Little did I know how fortuitous it was for this piece to appeal to me. From the first sentence, I was immediately made aware of the sheer possibility of theatre:

"I can take any empty space and call it a bare stage. A man walks across this empty space whilst someone else is watching him, and this is all I need for an act of theatre to be engaged." -- Peter Brook, The Empty Space

If I can be said to have anything approaching a philosophy of theatre-making, that would be it. This idea of emptiness as a core component of theatre-making fascinates me as an artist. What a liberating, empowering concept! To make vital theatre that engages audiences at every moment, you don't need a building, or sets, or a light/sound board. All you need are people and space. Imagine that!

The Open Door is the book that made me realize that making theatre that captivates and touches an audience depends not on a complex intellectual edifice, but the freedom to explore and discover. This helped free me from feeling obligated to explain so much about my plays, whether in the script itself or when collaborating with others.

Of course, Peter Brook was working with playwrights who are either dead or not present during the production.

As a living playwright, this puts me in a bit of a quandary. On the one hand, I want to help collaborators in whatever way I can. On the other hand, I want to give people the space to discover their own meanings for the play. Sure, I want to be involved, and I want the intentions I have to be honored, but at the end of the day, I wrote a play, not a manifesto.

In my own writing, I deliberately create empty spaces, and I am often reluctant to make any definitive statements about my work's meaning or intent. For one thing, those things are not static. Who I am when I initially write a script is often not the same person as who I am six months after the final draft. Another thing is that I enjoy making room for a variety of perspectives and approaches. Giving my scripts this free space, I find, does much to keep the work fresh and allows for more powerful collaborations with fellow artists and audiences.

What about you? How do you create empty spaces in your own work as a theatre maker?

Follow-up "Moneyball" post at TCG Circle!

At TCG Circle, I ask, "What if . . . theatres played Moneyball?"

Then I dig deeper by asking, “What if, instead of relying on gut reactions and chemistry, we figured out a way to describe, observe, and measure what we are looking for?”

Check it out and drop a few of your ideas!

What if . . . Indie theatre played Moneyball?

There's rich teams, and there's poor teams. Then there's 50 feet of crap, and then there's us."

-- Brad Pitt as Billy Beane, Moneyball

I'm not much of a sports fan, so Moneyball was a real departure for me in terms of my normal film viewing habits. That said, I was glad I went to see it because what I saw got me thinking about the way we approach making theatre.

In the film, the Oakland A's is a major league baseball team that doesn't have the money to attract and maintain star players. When they get someone really good, they're quickly snapped up by teams that can offer a lot more money. In effect, the A's were constantly hemorrhaging talent to rich teams like the Yankees and the Red Sox.

The story starts when the A's have just lost their top three players, which they have to replace on the same limited budget they've always been operating with. Having had enough of this, General Manager Billy Beane starts to question the conventional wisdom of finding and recruiting talent. Help comes in the form of Peter Brand, a Yale economics graduate who has adapted a system for determining just how much a player can contribute to winning games. It completely goes against the old way of thinking about what matters when it comes to how baseball games are won. The system leads to the A's uncovering rare gems in major league baseball who were previously overlooked because they looked and performed differently from the square-jawed All-American ideal of what makes a great baseball player. The result was what Peter Brand called the major league baseball version of the Island of Misfit Toys. Once they were able to maximize and synergize the unique talents of these players, the A's had a 20-game winning streak.

I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this.

What if . . . we applied Moneyball thinking to off-off-Broadway theatre?

How would we take out the guesswork and bias of conventional wisdom to find what truly works for the theatre we want to make? How can we transform the way we relate to and organize with other people in the trenches with us? How can we maximize the strengths of off-off-Broadway theatre to uncover the hidden gems that get overlooked by the current way of doing things?

The way things look now, a lot of us are doing what Broadway does but on a smaller scale (in other words, cheaper). From our selection process to putting together a cast and crew to securing a venue for rehearsal and performance, there's nothing about the way we go about doing these things that separates us from the big guys. We even look for the same things when we do this, with a few cosmetic differences here and there.

We're all on the lookout for this vague thing called quality and striving for this thing we call excellence. Although this can lead to some amazing results, I sometimes wonder if this is despite the system rather than because of it.

What would happen if we took the search for quality out of the equation? What if, instead of relying on what we call talent or chemistry, we figured out a way to describe, observe, and measure what we are looking for? How would that change the way we talk about what we're trying to do? How would that change who could be involved in that process? How would that change where we worked? How we worked? Why we worked? What we worked with/on?

What I see happening is a move away from credentials and connections toward model where individuals come together to create theatre for a specific purpose in a distinctive way. Imagine more things like FUREE in Pins and Needles, things that could not happen in any other environment but one that made room for experimentation, encouraged the participation of non-specialists, and facilitated direct collaboration within communities.

At least, that's what I hope would happen.