Friday, February 26, 2010

"My Boy's Wicked Smart"

After seeing clips of the health Care Summit yesterday, I found myself remembering the following scene from Good Will Hunting:



Like Matt Damon, President Obama can deliver the intellectual smack-down better than anyone...

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Parallels

An article on the Huffington Post website -- "Reid spars with CEOs, walks out of meeting" -- finds the CEOs of major companies making, to my ears, similar arguments to the large theatres that argue that they are deserving of ever-increasing portions of the arts funding pie.
CEOs representing 11 major corporations argued that the Democratic emphasis on small businesses missed the important role that Big Business has to play, several people in the meeting told HuffPost."The way I heard it was, 'Small business was important, but you have to understand that these companies in the room, we work with thousands and thousands of small businesses around the country, so when we're doing well, they're doing well,'" said Sen. Mark Pryor (D-Ark.). [ital mine]
 The article goes on, in a paragraph eerily reminiscent of recent conversations on this blog:
W. James McNerney Jr., chairman, president and CEO of Boeing Company, was one of the more outspoken executives, arguing that helping big business was the same as helping small businesses, and that either way he supported them doing both, not one or the other. For every job created at Boeing, he said, two small business jobs are created. [ital mine]
 Have they been reading Michael Kaiser? Here's the final sentences of the post:
Sen. Jack Reed (D-R.I.) quipped that he bought the argument that American corporations are good job-creators -- with one caveat: "Yeah, in China."
 Which I echo in the theatrical context: "Yeah, in Nylachi." I'm sorry if this seems divisive, but like big business and small business, I don't think big institutional theatres and small ones are on the same page. All you have to do is scratch many of those in large institutions and you find the same hierarchical attitude toward the arts in the country as in the CEOs of corporate America. All it takes is a suggestion that the small business, or small arts organizations in small places, should receive some funding and bam! the big organizations from the big places shove themselves to the front of the line with their hands outstretched, complaining that the attention to the small doesn't recognize that paying attention to the large is the same thing as paying attention to the small.

As Woody Allen says, quoting the Bible: "And the lion will lie down with the lamb, but the lamb won't get much sleep..."

Maybe I Was Wrong

After reading a recent post by Thomas Garvey, to which I will not link so as not to drive traffic there, I have to admit that he all-too-often exhibits trollish behavior in his personal attacks on members of the blogging community. While I don't condone the previous comment by Troll Watcher, I also don't condone Garvey's personal vendettas that resort to irrelevant attacks in lieu of making an argument. I believe in civility. Comment moderation will remain on for the time being. Any attempts by Garvey, now or in the future, to leave comments here will not be posted or, should moderation be eventually removed, will be immediately deleted.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Class, Geography, and Internships

Back before we were discussing Outrageous Fortune, we were discussing the effects of class on education and success in the theatre, and I and several others talked about the class bias of unpaid internships. Today, Lyn Gardner of the London Guardian raises the same questions in a post entitled "Arts internships: chance of a lifetime or cut-price labour?" Gardner draws our attention to a report on this issue by the Arts Group, who represent arts students and graduates, entitled Emerging Workers: A Fair Future for Entering the Creative industries.  This report, Gardner summarizes, "has called the large number of unpaid jobs in the creative sector "exploitation" and is calling for legislation to regulate the use of unpaid internships by arts organisations, suggesting that all placements over a month should be paid the national minimum wage." She goes on:
This comes at a time when universities and colleges are producing ever-larger numbers of arts graduates, often from courses that often fail to equip them with the skills to find work, particularly in a recession-hit market. The colleges are happy to take the fees, but they wash their hands of the consequences. I think we should be asking why, according to the report, 40% of graduates entering the cultural sector do so through working unpaid – not least because it has massive implications in terms of access. It immediately discounts all those who can't afford to work unpaid, and particularly disadvantages those whose family home doesn't happen to be near London, where many of these unpaid opportunities are. [ital mine]
 Gardner makes an excellent point, one supplements our past discussion: that the "tradition" of paid internships not only privileges people who have the benefit of private wealth, a doting family, or a partner who is supporting them, but it also privileges people whose families live close to where the theatre is. If you grow up in a rural area far from a professional theatre offering an internship, for example, you must figure out how to pay the rent, whereas someone whose family lives in the city can move back home into their old bedroom and save rent money (not to mention the cost of things like food). This has a major impact on your ability to accept the internship.

Of course, if you do an internship your chances increase of getting hired permanently by an institution after they have worked with you for a while. I think we all recognize that. Getting a foot in the door can help your chances for future employment. But internships privilege certain feet over others. The question, as Gardner says, is one of access, and it provides more evidence that the theatre playing field is not level, not a meritocracy.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Not Color VERSUS Rural, Color AND Rural

In an essay on the Community Arts Network website entitled "The Need for a Community Arts University Without Walls," Marta Voreno Vega, the founder and president of the Caribbean Cultural Center African Diaspora Institute, has this to say:
It is important to recognize that the community arts movement is embedded in the movement of civil and social justice. It is the creative arm of the movement of civil and human rights. Community art is therefore the bearer of history, legacy, tradition and voice for cultural equity social justice and human rights. As we look at the conditions of communities of color and poor white communities across the nation, the reality is that our communities are still marginalized and under-resourced. Inequity continues to stifle the growth and achievements of young people and adults from communities of color and rural white communities. While there has been progress there is much to be done. [italics mine]
She goes on:
the reality is that our nation is still in denial of the systemic inequalities and social injustices that frame the major, historically endowed institutions of our society that generally perpetuate “less than” opportunities for people of color and poor rural communities. These institutions, while sustaining and concentrating their power due to privilege and preferential treatment, are also those that determine standards of excellence and what gets included and excluded as valuable in our society. [italics mine]
"Less than" opportunities. My post on who attends the NCTC, on how class affects college attendance and, as a result, affects who is able to succeed in a theatrical career -- all of these are about "less than" opportunities afforded the poor, the rural, the people of color.

The issues surrounding racial diversity are paralleled in the issues surrounding geographical diversity. They are not the same thing, but they have similar power structures, similar causes, similar means of enforcement. There should not be a sense of competition between communities of color and rural communities. That there are fears about money going away from communities of color to rural communities is evidence that the elite power structure is still determining the terms of the discussion. Race, class, and geography all intersect at the same bloody crossing.

Rerun: On Possibility

America is coming of age. Note the many changing aspects of America.

A maturing America means a nation conscious of its arts among all its people. Communities east, west, north, and south are searching for ways to make community life more attractive.

The arts are at the very center of community development in this time of change...change for the better.

The frontier and all that it once meant in economic development and in the sheer necessity of building a nation is being replaced by the frontier of the arts. In no other way can Americans so well express the core and blood of their democracy; for in the communities lies the final test of the acceptance of the arts as a necessity of everyday life.

In terms of American democracy, the arts are for everyone.They are not reserved for the wealthy, or for the well-endowed museum, the gallery, or the ever-subsidized regional professional theatre. As America emerges into a different understanding of her strength, it becomes clear that her strength is in the people and in the places where the people live.

The people, if shown the way, can create art in and of themselves.

The springs of the American spirit are at the grass roots. Opportunities must exist in places where they never have existed before. A consciousness of the people, a knowledge of their power to generate and nourish art, and a provision of ways in which they may do so are essential for our time.

If we are seeking in America, let it be a seeking for the reality of democracy in art. Let art begin at home, and let it spread through the children and their parents, and through the schools, the institutions, and through government.

And let us start by acceptance, not negation--acceptance that the arts are important everywhere, and that they can exist and flourish in small places as well as in large; with money, or without, according to the will of the people. Let us put firmly and permanently aside as a cliché of an expired moment in time that art is a frill. Let us accept the goodness of art where we are now, and expand its worth in the places where people live."

Robert Gard, Arts in the Small Community (1969)
When I read this ringing endorsement of the power of the arts in the lives of ordinary people, and the power of ordinary people in the arts, and then I think of so many of the conversations we have here in the theatrosphere and face-to-face, I am reminded of the minister's funeral oration over the body of Alex, a young man who has committed suicide, in the movie The Big Chill. The minister looks out into the assembled mourners, mostly baby boomers who have lost their idealism, and he asks, "Where did Alex's hope go?" When each morning I catch up on the thoughts of so many theatre bloggers, I ask the same thing: Where did theatre artists' hope go? When did we become so convinced that what we do is so little desired, so little respected? When did we lose sight of our importance to a community's understanding of who it is and what it believes?

But those are the wrong questions. Those are questions based in blame and retribution, questions that points us to the past: how did we get here? It is what Carolynn Myss calls "woundology," a focusing on one's injuries and wrongs, a dwelling in the past instead of the future. How we got here is unimportant; where we are going is crucial. As artists, we need to commit to a conversation about possibility.

Peter Block, in his excellent book Community: The Structure of Belonging, describes what such a conversation is like:
The possibility conversation frees us to be pulled by a new future. The distinction is between possibility, which lives into the future, and problem solving, which makes improvements on the past. This distinction takes its value from an understanding that living systems are propelled by the force of the future, and possibility as we use it here...is one way of speaking of the future.

Possibility occurs as a declaration, and declaring a possibility wholeheartedly can, in fact, be the transformation. The leadership task is to postpone problem solving and stay focused on possibility until it is spoken with resonance and passion. The good news is that once we have fully declared a possibility, it works on us -- we do not have to work on it.

The challenge with possibility is it gets confused with goals, predictions, and optimism. Possibility is not about what we plan to happen, or what we think will happen, or whether things will get better. Goals, prediction, and optimism don't create anything; they just might make things a little better and cheer us up in the process. Nor is possibility simply a dream. Dreaming leaves us bystanders or observers of our lives. Possibility creates something new. It is a declaration of a future that has thye quality of being and aliveness that we choose to live into. It is framed as a declaration of the world that I want to inhabit. It is a statement of who I am that transcends our history, our story, our usual demographics. The power is in the act of declaring...The future is created through a declaration of what is the possibility we stand for.
What possibility do you stand for? Block asks, "What is the crossroads where you find yourself at this stage of your life or in the project around which we are assembled?" Or more directly, and to my mind even more powerfully: "What declaration of possibility can you make that has the power to transform the community and inspire you?" And the two "overarching questions" that point to the future: "What do we want to create together that would make the difference?" And "What can we create together than we cannot create alone?"

For me, I find myself at a crossroads in this project of expanding the reach of theatre throughout America where the artist and the community meets; where virtuosity and specialization meets human creativity and common wisdom; where fear meets trust.

I recently read a powerful book by Patrick Overton called Rebuilding the Front Porch of America: Essays on the Art of Community Making. In a chapter near the end of the book entitled "The Deep Voice: The Relationship Between Art, Spirituality, and Healing," Overton, who testified in front of Congress during the hearings about the NEA's support of controversial art in 1990, makes a declaration of possibility:
The arts aren't the cause of the crisis facing our culture, they are a cure. The arts aren't the source of the hurting in our society, they are a way of healing the pain. The arts are not in and of themselves, evil; they are an authentic expression of self that manifest in an individual's courage to face life as it really is. Art that is not an authentic expression of self is not art -- it is propaganda, or a product -- but it is not art. Art is the voice of the soul struggling to express what it means to be human.
He discusses participating in a think tank meeting for the Theatre Program of the NEA where there were two members who had a history together, and what seemed opposite visions of the arts.
One, from a very prestigious private foundation, kept talking about the beauty and magnificence of art because it lifted her spirit. To her, art makes meaning and beauty and this is the kind of art her foundation was interested in funding, This is art that inspires transcendence. The other person was from a theatre cpmpany from the south and he talked about art as that which must challenge the status quo. To him, art is not something created to be beautiful, or to make people pleasant or happy or comfortable. Art is something that confronts what is wrong and unjust in our society and is designed to make people feel uncomfortable. To him art reveals what is wrong with out world and, in so doing. demands something be done to change it. This is art that inspires transformation.

As I listened to them, it seemed to me they weren't really disagreeing. In essence, they were both saying the same thing, but in a different weay. To understand the nature of art, we have to understand it in both its "ascendant" and "descendant" purpose. Art can, through ascendance, through the elevation of the human spirit, help us transcend what we know, what we see, what we understand. When art does this it is "awful" (that is, full of awe). This is when art lifts the spirit. It is the exhale -- art that empties us and sucks the air out of our lungs because of its power and the truth of the simple/complexity it protrays in such a profound way. This is when art reveals mystery and truth and grasps us with such intensity that it transcends the human condition, and leaves us changed, forever. Art is one of the few things left in our world that can create this much-needed sense of "awe-fullness" in us.

But there is another function in art, art as descendence. Art can be an invitation (sometimes compelling) to descend from the surface of our lives -- beyond the facade and the masks, to the depths of our existence -- the deep place where truth exists. When art does this, it is the inhale -- driving us into ourselves, forcing us to gasp for air, taking in the force and intensity of the experience inside of us because of the power and the truth of the simple/compelcity it portrays in such a powerful way.

The one, the descendent function, reveals what is and shouldn't be. The other, the ascendent function, reveals what isn't but could be. Art can be beautiful and lift our spirits -- but art can also force us to face the truth -- to descend to the deep place and see the world as it is and shouldn't be. They both do the same thing -- they are a way we can transcend the condition of our lives -- a way we are transformed. These two functions cannot be separated -- they are converse images of the same creative force -- the same truth.
He then, in one of the most powerful descriptions of what art can do to heal, describes when he was invited to speak at the dedication of the Huntsville Vietnam Memorial in 1994. A Vietnam veteran himself, Overton had not spoken about his experience in Vietnam since his return to the US in 1968. Reluctantly, he agreed. He stood up in front of a crowd of older and younger people, mostly veterans of various wars, and he talked about his experiences on a flagship in the Gulf of Tonkin, and later in a naval hospital in Japan. He closed his speech by reading a poem that he wrote specifically for the dedication ceremony about his experiences with the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, DC. The poem, entitled The Healing Wall, is stunning and deeply felt, and while I would like to share it with you, it is much too long for this already-long post. But in it, he describes his unwillingness to experience the wall, and then his eventual visit in which he looked for a name that he did not find -- his own, and he felt the pain of having survived. He ended the poem with this line: "No more walls, please, no more walls."

He writes:
I will never forget that afternoon in Huntsville. It was an emotional experience for all of us. Following my speech, people were very quiet, still. It reminded me of my visit to the Wall in DC. Slowly, people began to move, looking through the crowd for someone to hold, to hug. There was a need to touch. There was not a lot of talking. I saw men of my father's generation with tears running down their faces, something that is all too rare for them. I saw sons and fathers embrace -- with a kind of knowing and understanding that may not have existed before. That afternoon in May invited a small community, deeply wounded by the war, to heal. My speech and poetry did not do the healing. The people did. What I did was extend the invitation. What writing the poem did was invite me to name my own healing and celebrate it. And, by sharing the poem with that community, I invited others to name their own healing and celebrate it with each other as well.
After I read his poem, and imagined his reading of it, and after I finished the essay, I wondered whether it was ascendant or descendent art, and the more I thought about it, the more I felt that it was both, like a descent into hell and a resurrection. In Ireland, Frank Delaney tells a story of an Ulster king who always had his cart pulled by two horses, a black horse and a white horse, because they represented both sides of himself that he must always ride yoked together. Perhaps that is when art is truly transcendent and inspired.

Overton describes a possibility for theatre and for the arts -- a possibility of healing. Sometimes healing requires surgery -- the cutting of flesh and the inflicting of pain in order to remove that which is diseased. Other times, what is required is nursing, care-full tending and attention. But the motivation is the same: to heal. That is an attitude of goodwill, of caring.

And so I declare here the possibility of caring as a relationship between artist and community, a mutual healing to be shared through descendence and ascendance, inhaling and exhaling, together. I declare the possibility that our fellow citizens hunger for what we can create together, by bringing our imaginations together in one place, and that like Jesus with the loaves and fishes, we can feed everyone through an attitude of abundance. I declare the possibility that all people everywhere share this hunger, and deserve to be fed what will most nourish them.

What is your possibility? What is the crossroads where you find yourself at this stage of your life or work in the project around which we are assembled? What declaration of possibility can you make that has the power to transform the community and inspire you?

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Comment Moderation On

In the comments to my "Response to Isaac re: CRADLE" post, I received a comment from someone named "Troll Watcher," who is either some sort of bot or someone who doesn't have enough to do. But s/he apparently is following Thomas Garvey and posting a definition of "troll" after his comments. Troll Watcher's comment has been removed, and comment moderation turned on. Any other future comments of this nature will not be posted, by Troll Watcher or anyone else with a similar purpose.

Let me be clear: this blog is a forum for an exchange of ideas, not personal abuse. Anyone who comments here will be treated with respect, regardless of whether I or any of my readers disagree with the ideas expressed. Focus on the ideas. Period. I will not tolerate personal attacks of any kind, and will remove them forthwith. If you wish to call people names and insult them, or have personal meltdowns and hissy fits, there are many other blogs in the theatrosphere where that is the coin of the realm. This isn't one of them. MySpace is a really good place for adolescent behavior.

For those who think you will follow up on this post with an attempt to argue whether Troll Watcher is "right" or not, your comments will not be posted. The issue is one of a free and open exchange of ideas. I have no patience for conversations about personalities. Personal comments will not be approved.

Comment moderation will stay on until I see evidence of an adult ability to converse intelligently. I invite anyone who has a problem with this policy to stop reading Theatre Ideas. If you have something you simply have to say on this matter, email me at walt828 at gmail.com