The Rareness of Thought

I received an email today promoting the new American Theatre 25th anniversary anthology. It reads:

“This is truly a special occasion,” said Teresa Eyring, TCG Executive Director. “The magazine’s coverage over 25 years offers a depth and diversity of perspective that goes unmatched in any single theatre publication. To be able to draw from that remarkable body of work to create The American Theatre Reader is a special gift that can’t be replicated.”

“These pieces offer insights not just into the history of contemporary American theater but also into the way artists and producers think -- a rare intimacy. “

---Charles McNulty, LA Times

Wow. "These pieces offer insights....into the way artists and producers think -- a rare intimacy." If McNulty is right, the "rareness" of this intimacy is a 25 year condemnation of artists and producers within the American theatre. Simply making art isn't enough. It is the responsibility of the artist to speak about the work, to write about the work, to contribute insights to the development of the field. The largely trivial nature of the last 25 years of theatre stands as a testament to the lack of ideas and the lack of communication.

By Analogy: Alexander Chee on Annie Dillard

This has nothing at all to do with theatre or theatre education, and everything to do with theatre and theatre education. It also has something to do with blogging -- the communication of ideas through words. This essay by Alexander Chee describes his experience taking a writing class with Annie Dillard. Please use the comments as a discussion thread: how does this apply to what we do? The essay is entitled "Annie Dillard and the Writing Life," and it was posted on October 16th at "The Morning News." (Big h/t to Patti Digh at 37days)

Comment Moderation Now Turned On

To those who think that rude, ad hominem attacks are worthwhile, I suggest you keep them on your own blogs. On this blog, they will no longer be approved. Period. Next topic of conversation.

Tom Loughlin on Quality

Over at A Poor Player, Tom Loughlin has written an excellent post entitled "A Question of Quality," in which he worries about his increasing crankiness with the general level of mediocrity he sees in theatre -- mediocrity that insists it be treated as excellence. What troubles Tom, and is of particular interest on for those of you following the development of the CRADLE(arts) philosophy, is how the issue of "quality" plays out within a commitment to participatory arts. What "keeps me from fully embracing a retreat from the concept of the “professional artist,” Tom writes, "is my fear that, given the propensity of 21st century society to raise the mediocre to the level of excellence, there will soon be no excellence at all." He goes on: "The question of quality is one that I think is tiptoed around when we speak about participatory arts. When we work to open the arts to all (an idea I fully support), in this current cultural mindset we run the risk of reducing the quality of art. When everyone can get a hamburger from McDonald’s, they begin to think that McDonald’s makes a pretty good hamburger. We know that dedication, full-time commitment, experience, and an intense passion for excellence can create high quality, and that is what we have traditionally meant by “professional artist.” Trying to ascertain what is the best process and best practices we can put into place to increase participatory arts while at the same time maintaining high quality will be the trickiest part of the entire enterprise."

The issue of quality is one that has plagued arts criticism for millenia: what makes something "good"? What if one critic "likes" something and another doesn't -- doesn't that mean that the concept of quality is "all subjective"? What if one era dismisses something, but a later era loves it -- or vice versa?

When the term "quality" is introduced into the participatory arts / community-based arts discussion, it is usually used as a way to suggest that amatuer artists don't (indeed, can't) create work with a "quality" as high as that made by a professional whose "dedication, full-time commitment, experience, and... intense passion for excellence" gives them a greater likelihood of achieving excellence. Indeed, in Malcolm Gladwell's wonderful book Outliers, he devotes most of an entire chapter to the "10,000 hour rule," which says that, no matter what it is, you have to do it for 10,000 hours before you are truly able to make a lasting contribution. The most memorable example he gives is The Beatles, whom Gladwell argues benefitted from the 8-hours-a-day gigs required of them when they were playing in clubs in Hamburg. It's a persuasive argument. On the other hand, Charles Leadbeater and Paul Miller make an equally persuasive argument in The Pro-Am Revolution. They write: "From astronomy to activism, from surfing to saving lives, Pro-Ams - people pursuing amateur activities to professional standards - are an increasingly important part of our society and economy. For Pro-Ams, leisure is not passive consumerism but active and participatory, it involves the deployment of publicly accredited knowledge and skills, often built up over a long career, which has involved sacrifices and frustrations."

Let's start with a quibble: I don't like the use of the word "quality" in this argument, mainly because it is too broad, too difficult to define. I have the same problem with its synonym "excellence," which I too often see as being defined as "those things I think are good." The characteristic that Loughlin is defining as "quality," I suspect, I'd be more comfortable calling "virtuosity," meaning "technical skill, fluency, or style." If we use that word, then I am more willing to admit that an amateur might be less likely to have put in Gladwell's 10,000 hours to develop virtuosity. (Although this is not always the case -- there are many people who devote as much time as do professionasl to their art, while not making their living at it. I question the linkage of virtuosity and money making, but that's probably best left for another discussion.)

However, I think virtuosity is only one part of "quality," and perhaps not the most important one. Virtuosity is something that is contained within the artist, and expressed through the work of art. It stands alone. For me, however, quality is an interaction, it is something that is created between an work of art and its audience.

A work of art can exhibit virtuosity, but fail to connect to its audience in any way. For example, a concert pianist might be a virtuoso playing a Mozart concerto, but if he performs before an audience for whom the Western tonal system is foreign and meaningless, then for me the performance lacks "quality." On the other hand, a story told by someone who lacks virtuosity, but whose story connects to its audience in a powerful, immediate way, for me, is a higher "quality" performance. In other words, "quality" exists not in the work of art or performance itself, but in the experience of the art by a specific audience.

Which brings me to what I consider more important than virtuosity: authenticity or genuineness. The characteristic of being "free from pretense, affectation, or hypocrisy; sincere:; or "Honestly felt or experienced: genuine devotion." This is a characteristic that exists both within the artist and the audience. The works is genuinely felt by the artist and authentically experienced by the audience. To me, more than anything else, this is what leads to a "high quality" performance -- the authentic communication of a genuine emotion or idea from artist to audience.

Sometimes, authenticity is enhanced by virtuosity -- for instance, think of when you watch figure skating in the Winter Olympics and you have been informed how difficult a particular move is and how long the skater has been working on it. When that skater successfully executes that move, you as an audience share in his or her authentic emotion and you appreciate the sheer virtuosity of what was accomplished. But all too often, virtuosity becomes an end in itself, and it stands between the audience and the epxerience. The form has taken precedence over the content, and the result is an empty experience and a lower "quality" experience for the audience. For example, much modernist art is incomprehensible to the average spectator, and while it may exhibit a high level of virtuosity, the experience is one of bafflement.

Would that experience be improved by a degree of knowledge, so that one might appreciate the technique? Absolutely, and such knowledge might release the authentic emotion contained within the virtuosity. But again, that rests not in the virtuosity itself, but in the interaction between audience and work of art. Which in turn means that the "quality" of a work of art changed with each audience.

Like Tom, I find most theatre that I see mediocre at best. But for me, it isn't because it lacks virtuosity, but rather that it lacks genuineness -- I don't believe it, I don't feel it. It doesn't speak to me, because I have no connection to the artist, the story he or she tells has little connection to my life, and all the virtuosity in the world won't bridge that gap.

Obviously, the ideal is to combine virtuosity and authenticity. The question is which element is primary. For me, a work of art needs to first be authentic; virtuosity is frosting on the cake.

Inexplicable Dumbshow Interview

The good guys at The Inexplicable Dumbshow have posted the podcast interview they did with me last week. Check it out, and while you're there, check out all the other great stuff they do.

In Praise of Theatre Bloggers

Recently, Tom Loughlin posted a link to a a short video of director and Group Theatre co-founder Harold Clurman from the documentary Harold Clurman: A Life of Theatre, which coincidently I had just showed to the students in my Directing II class. I urge you to not only watch the snippet Tom posted, but to locate the entire documentary to watch, as it will provide your with inspiration and, perhaps, a renewed sense of purpose.

Clurman was a passionate believer in the power and importance of the theatre. He helped found the Group Theatre not because he was trying to promote his career, but because he felt strongly about what role a theatre ought to play in the American culture. If you watch Loughlin's clip, you can see how, at the age of 80, he still had the fire -- a fire that comes through most powerful in the moment that follows his condemnation of the mediocrity of our culture, when he says, with what seems to me red-rimmed eyes, "This always makes me angry."

Me too. Me too.

To me, Clurman ought to be a model for all young artists. And not simply because he was an excellent director who founded and important theatre, but because he had a strong sense of his responsibility to the art form as well. yes, he directed many important productions, but he also was a critic, an author, a speaker, and a professor at CUNY. The Collected Works of Harold Clurman, which sits on the shelf right in front of my computer, runs to over 1000 pages, and that doesn't even include his full-length books such as the inimitable Fervent Years. It wasn't enough that he just "do the work," he felt that it was important that he write about it, convey his ideas to others, work to advance the field. Aside from Tony Kushner, what contemporary artists are making a similar attempt?

Well, as far as I'm concerned, the answer is: the theatre bloggers. The majority of them are artists trying, like Clurman, to create worthwhile works of art. At the same time, they freely contribute their time to make sense of what is happening in the world of theatre, writing post after post, arguing with each other, theorizing and criticizing. Someone like George Hunka, for instance, has not only written and directed plays, but has also written erudite blog posts linking up contemporary theatre with the great thinkers and art works of modernism. Isaac Butler, Matt Freeman, and Don Hall contribute thousands of words each week. Newer bloggers, too many to mention (a few: Chris Ashworth, Travis Bedard, Bob Fisher, Ian Moss) bring their own insights into the conversation. And a few of us older academics -- Tom Loughlin, Andrew Sullivan, and I -- throw our oars in as well.

What often gets lost in posts such as David Cote's call to action is that this activity is a true contribution to the art of the theatre, a contribution made in moments stolen from lives that are already chock full of day jobs, art making, and everyday living. It is truly heroic, like Clurman's heroic life. And while from time to time things may get tired in the theatrosphere, and may not be as consistently insightful as some would wish, nevertheless these bloggers are the keepers of the flame. Most of the well-known theatre artists have abrogated this responsibility, choosing instead to focus on their own careers while feeling no responsibility to advance the field or to represent it to the larger society. In a time when the internet allows such artists to bypass the mainstream press and communicate directly with the world, most make no attempt to do so, leaving the field to flounder.

And so I take this opportunity to salute the theatre bloggers. Thank you for your work.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I am up for "post-tenure review" this fall, and while I was putting together my dossier, I decided I wanted to mention the impact of my blogging on my career the last four years. I mentioned, for instance, that my NEA grant would have never happened without the blog, and that my ideas wouldn't have been as polished had they not gone through the burnishing of my fellow bloggers. Anyway, I remembered that Chris Wilkinson had said something nice about my blog after I announced I was shutting it down, and I wanted to quote him in my PTR cover letter, so I went to "Noises Off" and did a search on my name. Imagine my surprise when I found a post on July 29th, two months after I had stopped writing Theatre Ideas, entitled "Fighting Talk on Theatre Blogs." I knew I hadn't been fighting, so I was curious why my name was mentioned.

In it, Chris summarizes the "controversy" over David Cote's article in TONY in which he called on bloggers to "Engage/enrage." As someone who has engaged Cote only a few times (most of them enraging), I was sort of tickled to see him calling out the slumbering theatrosphere, something I had occasionally done as well. As Pink Floyd once said, "Is there anybody out there?"

Reading further, I found out, to my amazement, that the reason I was mentioned was, in fact, that I was to blame for the sleepiness of the theatrosphere (well, me and George Hunka). "Why have things been so quiet?," Chris asked rhetorically. "Partly, it seems, it is because some of the blogosphere's more combative, abrasive voices have either moved on or mellowed out." Ahem. He then went on to quote Matt Freeman, who wrote on his blog, "So...has the blogosphere been dull lately? I'd give that a big yes. Scott Walters has gotten a grant and left his New York bashing ways behind, although we did give each other a pair of parting middle fingers before stopped writing Theatre Ideas." While I don't remember giving Freeman the bird, I suppose it happened -- I'm certain it was done with great respect and affection, as always. However, that the disappearance of a couple bloggers should lead to nap time in the theatrosphere amazed me. Who knew that George and I were so damned important -- not to mention combative and abrasive (OK, I knew that part) -- that in our quietude we were damning the theatrosphere to zombihood? Especially when Don Hall was still around raising the banner of abrasiveness.

But after I read Wilkinson's piece, well... I just couldn't bear carrying that guilt any longer. I decided it was time, after a five month hiatus, to open the windows, remove the sheets from the furniture, and open Theatre Ideas for business once again. It's the least I can do. On my CRADLE(arts) blog, I will continue to address issues concerning the arts in small and rural communities. And I also plan to soon create a blog concerning theatre and arts education in higher education. I'll just be a blogging fool...(wait for it). But dang it, I'm feeling sort of abrasive and combative (George, are you feeling pretentious and self-aggandising, and ready to drop a few quotes?). Maybe I'll engage and enrage somebody. I just hate so much quiet! Don, I'll let you throw out the first douchebag.

Oh, and for those of you who wish I'd kept the windows shuttered: direct your complaints to . Chris Wilkinson and David Cote. How could I ignore a call from New York and London, the two capitols of the theatre world?