Two Sides of the Same Coin

Nick at Rat Sass apparently thinks that Mike Daisey's essay and my rants are counter-productive. In his post "Pere Dayz Preempts Discussion," he finds great "dishonesty, self-deception, or spin doctoring" in the fact that Daisey's short essay in the Seattle weekly "The Stranger" is not as complex as his performance, and that it had a subtitle -- a subtitle! -- that bore the same title as his play. Daisey wrote about this on his website: "I know, the essay is subtitled with the name of the show—I wrestled with this, the editor wanted it that way, and that’s how it came out." If you have ever written for a newspaper, you know that this has the ring of truth -- critics, for instance, do not have total control over the headline over their pieces, for instance. But Nick sees some ethical breach in this, one that is worth dismissing Daisey's points. He writes: "I can’t judge how much Mike actually “wrestled” over the title. I’m not sure if he finds any real ethics involved in such a decision beyond those contained within the PR concerns of linking the two together. And as we all know, the realm of public relations and advertising often has a somewhat more malleable understanding of the ethical value assigned to terms such as 'clarity' or 'truth.'" But clearly he has judged how much Mike wrestled with this, and found him wanting. By using the name of his performance as a subtitle, Nick finds Mike guilty of *gasp* self-promotion! Perish the thought. Perhaps he should have published under an assumed name.

When I questioned him about this seeming obsession with finding perfidy in Mike Daisey -- remember, he accused Daisey of cooking up a self-promotion scheme following the water-pouring incident as well -- the real issue surfaced, as did Daisey's connection to me. In a response to my comment, Nick wrote:

"You like the Daisey rant. As I have already said, it matches well to similar rants by you. And as I have also already said numerous times about your diatribes, they are detrimental to the discussions about and proposals for new models we all are attempting. You always claim you are moving beyond your rants, but you continually fall back to them. You can’t seem to help yourself.

What Scott Walters said but what does not seem to stick for him is:

“It is fairly easy to describe what one is against, but much more of a challenge to describe what one is for.”

I have an intense dislike of self-righteousness, probably because I am so prone to it myself. So when I see it in you and Daisey and others, I jump on it."

I stand convicted: I do like Daisey's essay and what I have heard so far of his monologue. I think he is speaking a truth that has long been buried, and yes, I am trying to speak a similar truth. The Theatrical Emperor has very few clothes, and there is something rotten in the state of LORT-dom.

I also admit that the sentence he quotes is mine, and I think it is true: it is easier to describe what one is against than what one is for. But I was not implying with that sentence that I or anyone else should ignore what one is against and speak only about what one is for. They go hand in hand. Like black ink on white paper, they provide the contrast necessary to clearly communicate. When people protest the war in Iraq, they didn't do so by simply chanting what a wonderful world it would be if we weren't fighting, they condemn the wrongness of it. To ignore what is bad is to tacitly endorse it, especially when the status quo is being preached every day in theatre classrooms, magazines, and newspapers across America as the only reasonable way for business to be done.

When someone like Jonathan West, an artistic director for 11 years, trots out the artistic value of being a Starving Artist, it must be countered strongly, because it is the theatrical norm too often accepted as unquestionable truth. And when he dismisses as "not an artist" a 41-year-old actress who can't take a life of poverty anymore, somebody needs to blow the whistle and call a foul. John Clancy, in the comments to my post, says we should give West a hand and instead of a slap because... I don't know why... because he's younger than John and I, I guess, and ten years ago John says he'd have said the same thing. From my point of view, this makes it even worse! We now we have yet another generation of people following the same self-abusive pattern and calling it love. It's like women who stay with their abusive husbands because "I love him, and sometimes things are good." Are you nuts? John writes: "Yes, there's a defeatist attitude and a "fuck-it-just-leave-me-alone-to-die-here-alone-and-unsung" song being hummed in the background to Jonathan's words, but there's also a quiet strength and resilience in the counter-melody. He says, "just show up to work." That's all any of us are saying, at the end, or at least that's all I'm saying. Show up to work. Every day. No matter what you're getting paid. Yeah, ask for more, but show up while you're asking for it."

You know what? I know few theatre artists who don't show up for work no matter what (if anything) they're getting paid. I did my share of that when I was a freelance director in Minneapolis. That's part of the problem. Why should producers buy the cow if they can get the milk for free? Why should producers pay you more when there is a line of youngsters behind you who will work for bus fare? And the worst part is that artists do it to each other -- many of the producers are artists themselves who produce in order to get their work seen. The feel guilty about it -- they are not rubbing their hands with glee -- but they feel they have no choice. It is a vicious cycle.

Isaac at Parabasis is wrestling with Saul Alinsky's Rules for Radicals, but he is made uncomfortable when Alinsky's tactics are applied to theatre because "embracing the Alinsky school means doing one thing in those above battles that I'm not totally comfortable with: treating those who disagree with you as your enemies. When you're dealing with a corporation that is refusing to hire black people, I have no issue whatsoever with, for example, personalizing the problem by making it about specific people rather than the corporation as a whole, or whatever. But I'm not entirely comfortable with doing that with my fellow theatre artists, or theatre administrators." And I have the same discomfort with Alinsky, frankly -- I think we have a society that eats polarization for breakfast to the point where it is no longer effective for enacting change. But I don't think I or Daisey are attacking individuals, but rather a system that ultimately is abusive and destructive to theatre artists. Daisey is finally pointing out the weasel under the cocktail table that has been attacking everybody's ankles but they were too polite to say anything. I recently directed Thousand Kites, which showed that it was not only the inmates in America's prisons that are being abused, but the guards as well -- they suffer under a system that puts them both into destructive and damaging lifestyles. The same is true of theatre: the administrators are working as hard, and often for as little remuneration, as the artists.

For too long, theatre artists have accepted 84% unemployment, a migrant lifestyle, constant underemployment, low or no pay, and little control over their careers as being "what we signed on for when we chose it," as West puts it. It is time to say enough is enough. Every year or so, a group of academics will come together and wring their hands in worry, thinking maybe they shouldn't be producing so many theatre artists, given the employment realities. I say, instead of thinking about creating fewer artists, we should be focusing on creating more jobs, and I mean more paying jobs that do not require artists to give up their claim to lead a reasonable life. I believe this is possible, but it is only possible if we fully recognize the problems of the current way of doing things.

I will continue to write about the abuses, and I know that Mike Daisey will continue to perform his piece and, I hope, write more essays. And I will also continue to promote alternatives such as the tribal model I have been writing about for weeks. And I make no apologies for either activity.

Ultimately, they are two sides of the same coin.

Jonathan West on Mike Daisey

Mike Daisey links to Jonathan West's commentary on his essay How Theatre Failed America. West, "a Midwestern writer, actor, and stage director" who "co-founded Bialystock & Bloom Theatre Company... and served as the company’s Artistic Director for 11 years" oughta know better. What he gives us is is a very clear and vivid view of the self-destructive ethos that has made theatre an art form that refuses to support its artists.

He writes:

But now I need to go on a bit about the bug-a-boo I have with Mike’s contention that Theater failed America. In his article, I sense an underlying sentiment from him that somehow the American theater artist is inherently entitled to a middle-class existence. Entitlement is something I've never considered when it comes to having a career in the theater. If you ask any artist making theater in America today whether they made the choice to be an actor, actress, designer, director or craftsperson because of a need for comfort and steady work, my guess is that you would receive an overwhelming “no”.

Let's examine this paragraph a bit. First, I don't think Mike Daisey, or I for that matter, am suggesting that there is an "entitlement to a middle-class existence." Entitlement means "the right to guaranteed benefits" -- please note the word guaranteed. Nobody in their right mind would argue that the decision to be a theatre artists guarantees one to a middle-class existence.

What I am arguing, and what Mike Daisey seems to be arguing (I will not put words in his mouth), is that the decision to be a theatre artist should not disqualify you from a middle-class existence. While one might not choose to be a theatre artist "because of a need for comfort and steady work," neither does one choose to be a theatre artist out of a need for discomfort and sporadic work. There is no correspondence between doing quality theatre and not eating, not having a home, and not health insurance. The art of theatre is not benefited by being filled with artists who are a) young, b) tired, and c) worried about whether a bout with appendicitis will put them on the streets.

Now comes the cliched bravado:

A life in the arts comes with great highs and great lows. But that’s what we all signed on for when we chose it, right? I knew that my life was going to be tough when I really knew that I was going to fully sign on as a dedicated member of the theatrical community. But I also knew that I would be in the company of a hearty band of tenacious dreamers who would help me, through good humor and generosity, to shoulder the burden of working 47 different types of jobs and constantly worrying about my inability to ever really retire and live in a sunny condo in Florida.

Gag me. "Tenacious dreamers." No, Jonathan, that's not what we signed on for. We signed on for a life devoted to our art, not for a life of grinding poverty. It's not like we decided to become monks. This is the same logic that leads to people telling migrant workers, hey, you knew you weren't going to get rich being a migrant worker, what are you complaining about the piss-poor wages for?

In a paragraph that is breathtaking in its condescension and idiocy, West writes:

In his article, Mike Daisey talks about a friend of his who is giving up after trying to be an actress in Seattle. I don’t think that lady is weak, I just don’t think she’s a true artist. True artists are a combination of two things: talent and tenacity. The talent is the easy thing. The showing up day after day for guaranteed rejection, humiliation and unfair treatment that is just part of the job description of being an artist is the real work. Mike Daisey’s friend, it seems to me, was not made of the stuff for the real work that goes on throughout an artist’s life. You can still be talented and have a hobby. It seems to me that is the case of his actress friend. She's a great hobbyist who, for very sane, rational reasons, chose to move away from something that was crushing her soul.

What an insulting prick. "I don;t think she's a true artist." I'm sorry. My greatest desire was to keep my temper and just point out the errors in this article, but I can't. Paragraph after paragraph, West arrogantly frames economic injustice as artistic freedom, naively expressing a belief that theatre is a meritocracy (does anybody really believe that? Is that why so many people go to grad school in order to "make connections"?) and the cream rises to the "top" ("Theater isn’t an “everyone gets the same size piece of cake” kind of enterprise. Some people succeed. Some people don’t."), that an acceptance of poverty is heroic ("Let's face it, we theater artists are all a little mad to keep putting ourselves in front of doors that more often than not get slammed in our face"), and that artists just need to suck it up and glory in the status quo (" I would love to think of myself as a theater artist through and through who derives his entire income from performing and directing, but I know that will probably never be the case. That doesn’t mean, I’m saying, “Boo hoo, this is too hard. I’m giving up on the theater.” I’ll just paste together a life with odd jobs and things outside the realm of theater that can support the work I do as an artist.") West combines a weird artistic Darwinism with the capitalistic myth of merit and an anarchistic fuck-The-Man bravado is noxious.

And he winds up with this classic: "But what we need most of all is for the American theater artist to stop whining and to just keep showing up to work."

I can't beat Mike Daisey's own response to this line:

This is classic: really, what we need most is for the artists to stop whining? Really? It's that much of a problem, the whining?

I saw this a lot in Seattle, on message boards, and from a number of other regional sources around the country: an intense disgust with the "whining" of artists. I believe it comes from a Puritan impulse--people who've been working under hard conditions in the trenches for years and years can become hardened. After all, they never make any money—why should anyone else? They haven't gotten to live in the city they wanted to and do theater--why should the next generation? Why should they have it easy?

The short answer is that we should be making things better for the future. I believe the largest missing element in the American theater is its treatment of the artists—if the actors had stability, they could be ensembles. If we had ensembles we could start winning back some of the losses of the past and forging a new tradition that is living and vibrant and based around humans, as opposed to a tradition based around real estate and subsidized buildings. We owe it to the future and to ourselves to make things better. That is the dream of progress.

Exactly, Mike. Now there's a healthy vision. West seems to argue that theatre is better if it is done by people who have no money, no time, no control over their careers, no stability, and no health insurance. That there is some sort of artistic value -- no, beyond value, some sort of artistic heroism -- in being taken advantage of. And those who think otherwise he insults by characterizing them as people who dream of a need to "retire and live in a sunny condo in Florida."

Let's make this explicit:

1) Theatre is not better if it is made by poor, tired, insecure artists.

2) There is nothing heroic about allowing oneself to be exploited.

3) Theatre can only be made BETTER if artists have the time to focus their attention on it full-time, or as close to full-time as possible, and not as a fucking afterthought during the few hours available after putting in a full day doing something else.

Jesus Christ. Can we finally grow up and stop thinking that we're sticking it to The Man if we are eating ramen noodles four nights a week in a roach-infested studio apartment? Can we give up this belief that in poverty their is virtue, and in insecurity there is inspiration? How did we come to believe so deeply in the self-destructive narrative of heroic desperation?

Zachary Mannheimer in Des Moines

I just received an email from Zachary Mannheimer of Subjective Theatre, who left New York City four months ago to bring his theatre to a different part of the country. He is following three of the values propounded by this blog: decentralization, localization, and a new business model. Here reports in as follows:

Long time no talk. I’ve been busy, as you have been, of course. Been keeping up with your world out there, though.

Wanted to bring this to your attention – you all know why I moved out here – and it’s been about 4 months and things are moving rapidly. There was just a huge article on the project – I was on the cover of Juice (The Village Voice of DSM) and then the Register (The NY Times of DSM – take these comparisons as you will) did the article again on the front page of it’s arts section.

These are things that would never have happened in NYC. In 4 months I’ve compiled more support than in 8 years in NYC. Thought you might find this interesting. Here’s the article:

http://www.desmoinesregister.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080219/LIFE/802190377/1039/life

Also – to check out the whole plan – go to www.subjectivetheatre.org and click on the “More info on The Des Moines Social Club”.

Lastly – I’ve got an essay titled “The Idiot from Iowa” coming out in the NY Theater Review next month. I think you will all find it enjoyable.

Miss you guys – hope to see you all soon!
Z

Welcome, RVCBard

Welcome to the theatrosphere, RVCBard, who writes the blog "Love's Labours Lost." RVCBard, "a black woman educated at an HBCU," uses her blog as a place for discussion by raising questions. Good stuff -- check it out.

Model: Two Examples of "And Then"

From the Community Arts Network website (www.communityarts.net):

"Arlene Goldbard, sometimes called the Godmother of community arts, is offering an interesting workshop in Oakland, Calif. , this spring. Here's her description:

The Refresher Course, a five-part workshop series designed to refresh your vision, values and emotional vigor. I'm offering The Refresher Course every other Tuesday evening from 7-9 pm starting March 25 (subsequent workshops will be April 8, April 22, May 6 and May 20, 2008). They will take place in a comfortable location near Lake Merritt in Oakland. The series fee is $250, payable by check or credit card. Each session focuses on an important aspect of self-understanding and self-development, using guided visualization, journaling and dialogue in a welcoming atmosphere that allows you to participate in exactly the way that’s most comfortable and helpful for you."

Now, this is the type of thing that artists can do quite well, and there is a hunger for this sort of thing.

Another example -- one that I have personally experienced and been blown away by -- is the Circle Project (http://www.37days.typepad.com/thecircleproject/). Patti Digh and David Robinson use variations on theatre games and other techniques to help universities, organizations, and businesses address issues of diversity and community. They conducted a workshop last week on my campus that I attended that was truly outstanding. Robinson is a Seattle-based director who recently directed the NYC production of the play Dirt that got an excellent review from nytheatre.com; Digh writes the inspirational blog 37 Days (http://www.37days.typepad.com/), and has written several books as well. The two of them will be publishing a book entitled Toast Rules that will come out in the next several months. They represent a great example of artists using their talents as consultants.

Clancy on Steppenwolf Clones: Take-Away

For the most part, I find John Clancy's 2001 essay attacking "Steppenpups" sort of objectionable and sort of admirable at the same time. He's right: young imitators are never as good as the original. I'd love to read a similar essay that attacks much of NYC's superficial "say-it-fast-say-it-loud-say-it-without-a-pause-and-without-a-thought" style that echoes the bad old days of the 1920s. Maybe he can write that in the future (or maybe he's already written it and can provide a link).

That said, for me the money quote is this:

"If you want to create the next Steppenwolf Theatre, then do what they did. Commit to ten years with the same core of people and spend every night arguing and agreeing and thrashing around in a basement somewhere until you have your own aesthetic and vision to share."

No THAT is pure, unadulterated truth, tribal theatre folks. Print it out and tape it to your bathroom mirror so you see it every morning

On Travis Bedard and Holarchies

Travis Bedard at "Midnight Honesty at Noon" muses about how theatre failed America from "The Left of the Revolution." The post overall is well worth reading in its entirety, and I urge you all to do so -- I have read it a couple of times!

I'd like to focus for a few paragraphs on a couple sentences Travis writes midway through the article: "Our entire universe as understood is indeed nothing but nested taxonomies. Our quarrels are from different branches of the organizational tree."

The novelist, playwright, and essayist Arthur Koestler coined the word "holon" to describe this idea of a nested structure. It, in turn, serves as one of the primary organizing principles of Ken Wilber's thought (see A Brief History of Everything and The Eye of Spirit: An Integral Vision for a World Gone Slightly Mad). I think Wilber most clearly illustrates this concept in terms of language: a single letter is complete in and of itself, AND it is part of a larger structure which encompasses it: a word; a word is complete in itself, AND it is part of a larger whole that encompasses it: a sentence; a sentence is complete in itself, AND is encompassed in a larger structure: a paragraph; and so on. So the holon moves from the most basic unit toward ever more complex units. And the complex units rely upon the simpler units to exist: if there were suddenly no letters, for instance, then every contiguous circle would collapse: no words without letters, for instance. This is known as a holarchy (echoing hierarchy). So far, so good?

Let's apply this model to something else: football, and the nested structure that leads to the NFL (this is somewhat simplified, but you'll get the idea). The first level is represented by high school football teams, where a very large number of young players learn the basic skills to play the game. The next level are the college teams, which are fewer and are comprised of the best of the high school players -- there are still a lot of college football players, but fewer than there were high school players, and the skill level is higher; the next level is the NFL, which is comprised of only a few teams made up of the best of the college players. The key to this development is that at each level the players are playing the same game and being taught the same skills, so that each higher level of complexity can build on the skills developed previously. The holarchy would not function well if, at the high school and college level the players played with the traditional oblong ball, but when they hit the NFL they played with a basketball. There must be continuity to successfully winnow the ranks so that only the best are competing in the NFL.

If we apply this to the theatre, we run into a lot of trouble. The lowest level is again high school, where lots of young actors (we'll focus on actors for the moment) perform mostly in musicals and a few plays. The next level is college, where fewer become theatre majors, and where they perform in a mix of plays (classic, contemporary, musical, perhaps a few new plays) much broader than the first level. Now what? What's the next level? Well, let's assume it is the regional theatres, where an even smaller number of actors are working, and where there is a similar mix of plays to college. Now what? What is the next step? Let's make a controversial step here: the next step, and final destination, is Broadway, where only a very few actors perform. What is the nature of the plays there? The majority are musicals, with a few plays thrown in. In fact, we're back to the high school mix. But here's the problem -- since they left high school, the actors have been playing the game with a different ball! Most of them haven't been honing their musical skills (singing, dancing), but rather learning another game entirely, one involving verse speaking and realistic acting styles. In other words, there is little continuity from holon to holon.

We could do the same thing with other theatrical holons: Off-Off Broadway to Off Broadway to Broadway. Again, the skills developed at one level doesn't really transfer well to the next level "up." However, this latter holarchy lacks the reliance of higher holons on lower: if Off-Off Broadway disappeared, it is doubtful that Broadway would also disappear in a poof, unlike sentences that would disappear if letters disappeared.

All of which is to say this: while theatre people often behave as if each "level" of theatre is a ladder to the next level "up" (with perhaps film thrown into the mix? Beyond Broadway, perhaps?), the fact is that there is no real holarchy, no real ladder that reflects the development of a set of skills. Sure, a Broadway actor is a lot better than a high school actor, but is a Broadway actor in The Lion King better than an actor playing Lear at the Guthrie? Perhaps he is better at singing and dancing, but the Guthrie actor is probably better at verse speaking. The connection is weak.

So a "revolution" such as I am proposing is not really a new level in an existing holarchy. It is not a feeder to the regional theatre scene, for instance, much less Broadway. The skills that would be developed -- acting, yes, but also entrepreneurial skills, community engagement skills, non-hierarchical collaborative skills -- do not feed into that type of organization. In fact, it might be helpful for artists in a theatre I am proposing to think of themselves as a breed apart, and perhaps to find the lower levels of the holarchy less in high school and college students who have honed their skills as performers than in those who were interested in a variety of disciplines -- the interdisciplinary and the unfocused.

To some degree, this may be why I often come across as exclusionary as I describe this new way of doing things. It really doesn't function within the perceived holarchy. Although when you look at the descriptions above, neither does most of the theatre.