How We Allow the Allowing

It’s the allowing that art makes possible. We traditionally think that it’s the patron who gives the artist an allowance. Yet it’s the artist who gives society a large allowance. The artists give us the allowance to imagine things another way. —Letters to a Young Artist, Anna Deavere Smith

This book was given to me by a mentor, collaborator, and friend at the opening night celebration of my first professional production post college graduation. Five months later, transformed after a spontaneous move to Washington DC, to work in the Community Engagement department at Arena Stage, I finally broke the binding.

Reading on my boyfriend’s roof and watching the candy pink dusk of the DC sky float by, I got to thinking about how we allow the allowing, that is how and whom the system allows to make the art. Anna Deavere Smith’s letters often speak to power in art making. She argues that though it is vital to understand the system and “the man,” we must realize that as artists, we too have power. Yet, in a community that so often seeks to create art that reaches across boundaries and highlights the universal human experience, we must look beyond who has the power to make art (all artists) to examine how emerging artists gain access today.

Working to Make It Work

As a director and deviser, I am inspired every day. What I’ve found, however, is that those moments of fiery inspiration about what the art could be, the people I could reach, and the community I could gather are doused within minutes by the icy cold reality of needing money and connections to make art. Particularly for young, emerging artists working to make it work—taking on a nine to five job to pay the bills or finding other ways to make ends meet—financial resources are scarce for making work and building resumes.

It feels ever more imperative that as theatre moves forward as an enterprise, a commodity, a livelihood, a hobby—you name it—access to art making as an emerging professional is not limited to those that have the resources to fund their own work, bolster their resumes with unpaid internships (followed by unpaid fellowships, and unpaid assistantships) or attend astronomically expensive MFA programs that embed graduates in a web of networking possibilities. If financial barriers are allowed to prohibit the cultivation of artistic potential, what would have happened to August Wilson, an artist who left high school in an economically depressed neighborhood after being accused of plagiarizing his own writing? It is critical that young artists like myself are not led to believe that that not only theatre-going, but theatre-making has become an elite endeavor.

It is critical that young artists like myself are not led to believe that that not only theatre-going, but theatre-making has become an elite endeavor.

What I’ve Learned Can Help and 95 Empire

I found an unexpected glimpse of hope in downtown Providence where I now work in the incredible Education Department at Trinity Repertory Company. A mere block from the theatre, between my offices and the coffee shop that fuels my day, sits 95 Empire, the new multipurpose black box space in downtown Providence.

Formerly the home of the Perishable Theatre, 95 Empire is a program of AS220, a comprehensive arts community center in Providence supporting art of all forms, from culinary to visual. This allows 95 Empire to offer its theatre artists-in-residence the full resources of AS220, from printing programs and posters at the AS220 Print Shop to stocking a bar in the space with beverages from the restaurant next door, AS220 Foo(d). The support of AS220 also allows 95 Empire, given some limitations, to offer its presenting companies 501(c)(3) status through fiscal sponsorship. This allows artists to congregate around work, receive grants, and disperse again without going through the hassle and commitment of applying for not-for-profit status as an official company. In addition, AS220 has a loyal community of art makers and art consumers at its core. This not only means better chances of filling the seats in the theatre, it means that AS220 is, through its very existence, encouraging multidisciplinary work.

95 Empire allowed my theatre cooperative, the AntiGravity Theatre Project, a performance collective I cofounded with director Kym Moore, to develop and present our tour of Erik Ehn’s Yermedea Raw on its way to Soulographie at La Mama E.T.C. in New York. The residency allowed us to present every show as a pay-what-you-can performance. Without 95 Empire’s support, the art would not have been seen, our educational efforts would not have reached members of the community, and transformative dialogue would not have taken place. Simple as that.

The production of theatre at 95 Empire centers on their signature program, Residence@95. Artist-centric and affordable, Residence@95 offers emerging and seasoned artists alike the opportunity to share they work in a supportive environment with accessible prices. Here’s how it works:

For a two-week residency, the artist or guest company pays its first $500 in box office proceeds to 95 Empire each weekend. After this initial $1,000, 75 percent of the remaining box office proceeds go to the artist and 25 percent to the house (the theatre can hold up to 100 people). Ric Royer, Director of 95 Empire, curates the work in the space on a rolling basis and produces the art in an unjuried and uncensored model, meaning limitations and specific circumstances aside, no one is turned away. When all is said and done, the Residence@95 program is run on a first-come, first-served basis. Residence@95 allows artists to make their work cost-neutral. Since its induction, nearly every Residence@95 production has, at the very least, made back its rent in box office proceeds.

Part of the reason Ric can keep costs so low, even allowing those who cannot quite make ends meet to use the space, is because he has more than one need. “If a group can’t afford the cost, I can say, okay here are some other things that equal this cost. You are well positioned for sustainability as long as you make yourself moderately needy. It’s in a sense good to make yourself need more than just money.

And I need more than just money.” When young artists don’t have the financial resources, but perhaps have the time and skills that 95 Empire needs to maintain its space and producing model, they can still be awarded the opportunity to make their work. Bartering is not a dirty word at 95 Empire and can in fact lead to mutually beneficial, communally sustainable partnerships between artists and the producing body. Ric notes, “There is real economic stability in an unjuried model and a flexible model, if you align everything you are doing so that each work supports the others.”

Extreme affordability, the ability to exchange need in more than just currency, and expansive support cradled by an arts company and a community of artists in a state capitol? I mean, this is a pretty incredible model, right? Models like this are part of what we can do to ensure that all young artists are both empowered to grow and given access to do so.

Other Ideas, However Farfetched

I remember reading on several colleges’ Web sites that their admissions departments had conceived of a sort of equalization scale for AP courses and extracurricular activities. Whenever possible, the admissions officers would not penalize an applicant for attending a school that offered only a single AP class and a handful of extracurricular options when compared against a candidate who took eight of the nine AP courses available and participated in a wide range of after school activities. When considering artists for gigs or jobs in a theatre company, we could make a greater effort to take access to opportunity into account, not penalizing those who have less experience at fewer jobs when this is a product of needing to earn money to stay afloat.

I had the privilege of serving as one of the Community Engagement Fellows at Arena Stage in their 2010/2011 season. Arena’s Allen Lee Hughes Fellowship program offers its fellows one of the few almost cost-neutral intern/fellow/apprentice/assistantship programs in the country. My time there transformed me as an artist and educator, preparing me to tackle challenges and think in unabashedly big ways in my artistic life.

And yet, as theatre companies buckle down and cut costs across the country, internship stipends and benefits seem to always find their way onto the cutting board. While I understand the inclination, it seems as if in an ailing economy, it is these very (essentially) free labor positions that continue to support companies’ salaried structures. What if instead of cutting internship stipends and housing, artistic leaders made a commitment to instead make their internship programs more affordable while simultaneously reshaping the positions to fuel growth and engage new, younger, untapped audiences? What if we could create a system where our country’s best and brightest could vie for positions that were both vital to the future of companies and financially cost-neutral?

What if instead of cutting internship stipends and housing, artistic leaders made a commitment to instead make their internship programs more affordable while simultaneously reshaping the positions to fuel growth and engage new, younger, untapped audiences?

Lastly, and I realize this is perhaps the most farfetched, for those companies that produce seasons each year, a slot, a rehearsal room or a studio could be donated to young artists, say under thirty years old, to develop their own work. Or not even donated, but offered at reasonable rates that anyone could afford.

Sharing the Responsibility

I recognize that given the lack of resources and excess of expenses and worries, companies and producers do not always have the well-being of the young artist in mind. This of course makes sense. Especially in the not-for-profit sector, there is only so much generosity with resources, time, and space to go around. Thus, finding methods to present work created by young artists for young artists is vital to solving the problem of access. And young artists aren’t just standing idly by waiting for access to the art to find them.

My housemate and friend, a stage manager my age, told me of a group of young artists gathering together to present rogue Shakespeare in Central Park. They rehearse for one week and present the play outdoors, sometimes with each act in a different locale in the Park. They are able to present their work without the cost of space rentals or designer fees. I love this, because it is both a great idea and a solution devised by young artists for the sake of their own work and careers.

By no means am I suggesting that the onus of reshaping the current structure lies on established artists and companies alone. As young artists, we must figure out how to survive in the current landscape, how to embrace what Vanessa Garcia calls our “hybrid artist” identities. Zelda Fichandler saw a gap in how work was being created and funded, so she devised a solution. As young artists, we too are charged with this task. I’ve got my thinking cap on.

A Final Vow

To be an artist, one must have a wide expressive range and a profound desire to communicate. That desire to communicate has to be larger than the chains that bind...Don’t disregard your chains; don’t ignore them—use them to get stronger. —Anna Deavere Smith

I am beginning to get a grasp on how the system works. The past few years have taught me much about the reality of the expectations I had for this business and lifestyle. And yet, I still refuse to entirely accept the system or believe that my expectations were too high to begin with. Whatever chains I feel or see holding me or my peers back, they must be used to make us stronger.

For young artists are the future. When a young artist, eyes still wide open with hope and possibility, experiences a spark of genius, the system (young people included) must allow this spark to be cultivated, even in the smallest of venues with the smallest of budgets. We must empower the artists of tomorrow to make art today in order to hone their aesthetics, develop their voices, and maintain their hunger and will to fight. The future of our art and society depends on it.

And I vow, right here and now, to remember this decades down the line when “young” or “emerging” no longer qualifies my artistic identity.