Meltdown on the Mountain

Meltdown on the Mountain—It’s the getting back up that counts (with a little help from our friends).

from Christa Kimlicko Jones, Associate Artistic Director, Director of Programming: 

Building a theatre company isn’t easy.  There are many long roads, hurdles, and often mountains to climb. There are fears and doubts. There are big leaps. There are setbacks. Sometimes it even seems that it would make more sense to just not do it. It would be easier, safer, simpler. But, then, miraculously we get back up. We leap. We dive. We push through. Somehow we find strength in each other, in our dreams—and in you, our supporters. Not really sure how exactly it happens, but it does—and we thank you for it.

This past week, I went skiing for the first time EVER. And, needless to say, it proved to be more than just a skiing trip. I think I discovered myself and perhaps even conquered myself up on that stupid not-so-easy "Easy Street" course—with a little help from my friends. The leading up to it was fine, I guess. I would mention what I was doing for Spring Break, look around with saucer eyes for any sort of insight (people didn't realize that I was really looking for magical ANSWERS!) and mostly it was the same: people giving me advice, saying "you’ll be fine!" and telling me "just keep your skis in 'pizza.'" Telling me what boots or pants or jacket I needed. And of course I just said, "Okay!" because really, I had no idea about any of it. I had no context (except what I've seen on TV, and those people aren't doing 'pizza,' I don’t think. These "bits of advice," however, could IN NO WAY prepare me for what I was about to do. I suppose "keep it in pizza" was something I used the most! But, seriously, folks—almost 40 and first time skiing?? This brain and body are a bit different than my 5-year-old nephew who literally got to the top of the mountain and just went. No pausing. No questions. He just went. And survived. And went back for more. There is a lesson in that, I’m sure!  But, my journey was a bit more…um… involved.

So, first things first, I got my outfit—I looked like I knew what I was doing (that’s half the battle, right?!). The next morning, we started our road trip to Vermont. We got to the lodge after our gorgeous drive and met up with family. We were staying in the Trapp Family Lodges in Stowe, VT. Over dinner, there was discussion about the snow and the slopes and "Stay on the bunny..." "Okay," I said. Next morning—got dressed, good breakfast, and off we went! Another gorgeous, peaceful drive to the slopes. After getting all set up and looking around I thought, "I can do this!" Then off to lessons. We started slowly. Scooting along, learning about weight, etc. We learned how to get on the lift (much appreciated!), and then got to the top of the bunny slope. I honestly don’t remember my first time down. I was just following. Just trying to stay up. And I was doing great! We did this several more times until the class was over. Success!! I was able to do this! I only fell a couple of times (trying not to run into children—a very smart objective, I thought!). But I was good! We then had lunch, and back to the 1pm lesson: Intro to Turning. We graduated to "Easy Street." However, Easy Street wasn’t so easy. Anyway, it was fine, really—at first. With my class, I was able to follow my teacher and my other classmates. I fell mostly every time going down, but I learned how to get up. In fact, I got really good at that. (Maybe that’s the moral to the story, really?!) Up and down. Falling, yes, but getting back up! Had a great afternoon, evening of rest—muscles very sore. Jud said that I’d probably wake up tomorrow and think, "I don’t want to go, I’m too sore" (he was right), but, "getting up and going is key!"

Next morning, VERY sore. Could hardly walk. But, was determined to push through. Stretched out. Got dressed. Good breakfast. Nice drive there, but this day…this day was different. I had a feeling in my stomach. Of dread. The day before, I knew nothing. But today, today I knew what was about to happen. And I, in no way, trusted myself. But, on we went. ‘Easy Street’, here we come! Lift was good. I was a pro at this! Got to the top--the top of the mountain that I had skied many times the day before. Turned the corner, looked down. And FROZE. My legs had no idea of what to do. People zooming past but I froze. And then I started crying. The meltdown on the mountain had begun. I tried to move, scooted a bit. But just couldn't go. Or let go. Isn't interesting how just a little bit of knowledge will keep you stuck in one place? Anyway, I tried to follow Jud, but just couldn’t go. I cried, I yelled at him for bringing me up there, I started scooting down on my bottom—but that wasn't really working. The people on the lifts got a lift and a show! And I didn't care. I was going to die on that mountain (it was a very dramatic moment). I had to keep taking my goggles off because they were fogging up from crying. I tried getting up and kept falling over and then no energy to get back up because I was crying—I mean, sobbing. It was quite a sight, I'm sure. Jud standing there, all the while, trying to give me pointers. I certainly didn't want to listen. But he stayed. And then, after probably 20 minutes or so of this, I'm not sure what happened—something in me?  Something in the fact that he was still there?  Something in the knowledge that I had to get down? Something in the knowledge that I did it just the day before? I don't know. But I stood up, had a moment with myself, looked straight ahead, and went forward a bit. I stopped. Then turned a bit, went the other way. The next thing I knew I was traversing down the mountain—slowly, but I was going. Bit by bit, and then somehow, I was down the mountain. It wasn't like I just said "Okay…GO…" and I was down, which may be the way for some. For me, it was slowly, bit by bit. And the most bizarre thing—when I got down, I had the thought of, "I want to go again." Why in the world would I do that to myself?  Bizarre. So, I went down again. I fell every time—but less and less. Most importantly, I kept going. Learning something about it each time down.

On that day, I realized that looking straight down the mountain didn't work, but focusing on just the task at hand—that I could handle. I learned that if I keep going, eventually I will get through.  And, at some point, I might even enjoy myself! I learned that it’s okay to be cautious, smart in fact. It's okay to be a bit afraid. It's most important that you take that breath and you try. And if you fall, learn how to get up. And surround yourself with those that love you, care for you, believe in you, will stick up for you when others try to push you down, and you will actually enjoy the scenery as it goes by. You might even be able to improve your technique each time you go.

Just like building a theatre. Just like anything in life, really. Those things that are most worth it will be hard, but they are possible. I’m certainly not ready to do blue slopes yet, but I am willing to go back again and get more bruises in the process. Thank you for being those supporters on the mountain of building a theatre company. We literally could not do it without you. It's scary at times for sure, but it's definitely possible. And the bumps and bruises are worth it. We will keep diving. Taking leaps. Taking chances—with you. Looking forward to seeing you up there on that mountain again and again. Together we can do this!

TheatreEast.org
Support Theatre East

We Are Family

from Todd Eric Hawkins, Managing Director 
 

In school, I was constantly bullied; I was ganged up on, beaten, and terrorized on a regular basis. Or at least that is how it felt at the time.

On my first day of sixth grade, I transitioned to a middle school in Norman, Oklahoma. It was the first time I wasn’t able to walk to school; I had to ride the bus.  This concept to me was terrifying. At 11 years old, I was already almost 6 feet tall and I was painfully shy—a combination that would prove to be a liability.

I sat on the bus that first morning, scared of the new experience. To soothe myself, I held my books to my chest, trying to make myself as small as humanly possible. I can only assume that I thought that if I stayed still, none of the other kids would notice me and, therefore, wouldn’t pick on me. My height made this impossible.

One of the boys on the bus asked if I was a boy or a girl. I, of course, told him that I was a boy. At the time I didn’t realize it, but the next move would be the beginning of my many encounters with bullies. He told me that he thought I was a girl, because I carried my books like one. Everyone laughed and that was all it took, I was called a fag for the first time in my life.  At the time I didn’t even know what the word meant, let alone whether I was one or not.

I consider myself one of the lucky ones. When I look back on that time and the events that followed over the course of the next six years, I am oddly thankful. Without that teasing I wouldn’t be the person I am today, nor would I have found a home in the theatre.

In the Drama Club, I found my allies, a merry band of misfits who were all looking for some kind of escape from the cruel, unjust world that we were forced to inhabit. In the auditorium after school, during countless hours of rehearsal, I felt like a valued member of the team. That feeling gave me the strength to ignore the name-calling and fight back when pushed.  I discovered who I was.

The theatre has always provided me with a sense of family. Whether it was high school, college, or Theatre East, the people who surround me when I am actively engaged in the art of making theatre are the best people I know. 

I think much of it has to do with the collaborative nature of the theatre. Nothing can get done without everyone involved doing his or her job. Success depends upon it.  Even when things don’t seem to be going well, the show, as they say, must go on, and the players must pull together and do whatever it takes to make it happen. That lesson may be the most valuable thing I have learned from the theatre.

I am honored to be a part of the Theatre East family, and as part of that family, I am committed to doing whatever it takes to make it a success. Thank you for welcoming me and above all for your continued support.

TheatreEast.org
Support Theatre East

When Life Gives You Lemons

from Judson Jones, Artistic Director

When life gives you lemons, make saturated calcium hydroxide¹ 

We’ve all heard the old adage before. And while we know it to be true, that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

The year is 1990. I’m a junior at Whitehouse High School. And for some reason, in the infinite wisdom of a 17-year-old, I opted to sign up for Physics class. Why? I still don’t know. I could say that I truly wanted to ponder the mysteries of the universe. Most likely there was a cute girl in the class; at 17 you tend to follow certain parts of the body more than others. So there I was. I had already plastered my textbook cover with my favorite bands, I had my new Chuck Taylors on (which I think the cute girl noticed), I was ready for some Physics. Then Mr. Tom Young walked in. You know that look on your face when you smell something but you can’t figure out exactly what it is, and you kind of turn your head one direction and then another to see if you find the source? That was my face for the next 50 minutes. Who cares about Bon Jovi? Who cares about red canvas Hi-Tops with black laces? Who cares about the cute girl?! I’m going to fail Physics!!! After school that day I went and drowned my sorrows in a tall  suicide² Slush from Sonic.

As I lay in bed that night two thoughts kept creeping into my mind. Over and over. Incessantly. No matter how hard I tried, my mind was plagued with fear and grief. One: Cop Rock. Really?! From the same mind that created Hill Street Blues?! It made no sense! That was the problem with the ’90s! Things were too good! We left the depressing, gritty, cocaine-filled, recession-induced dramas with the ’80s! We didn’t want to see a brooding cop with a dark past who nurses a bottle of Scotch each night just to blot out the nightmares of the streets arresting some arrogant drug lord that had the cop’s partner taken out in an undercover sting that went bad two weeks ago! We didn’t want to see that! Instead we wanted to see the same brooding cop and the same arrogant drug lord SINGING AND DANCING TOGETHER! Ugh! It was such a rough time. Oh, and the other thought that kept penetrating my mind was sitting in Mr. Young’s Physics class for the remainder of the school year.

But much to my surprise Physics class got better. There was something incredibly special that Mr. Young brought to class every single day: Passion. And it was contagious. He loved teaching. He loved his students. He didn’t try to make science cool, instead he simply showed us how cool it was. Listening to him talk about quantum behavior or how a Dunking Duck works was like listening to a master painter talking about a piece of art. He was the myth buster before MythBusters came along! Plus he always had assignments you could do for extra credit. This was the secret to me passing. (Oh, and after the 11^th episode—“Bang the Potts Slowly”—Cop Rock was canceled.)

We were getting close to midterms and we were each directed to conduct an experiment and document the process FULLY. This would count for half our grade. The stakes were high. So I chose the old lemon-powers-the-digital clock experiment. I already had a head start: we’d bought my dad one of those setups years ago for Father’s Day and my dad keeps everything! I had my digital clock, my piece of copper, my galvanized nail, my wiring, and most importantly my lemon. It went off without a hitch! Then I had to write about it. What was the chemical process that made it work. Mind you, this was before one could just Google it or go to Wikipedia to find out that it’s just an electrochemical reaction caused when oxidation and reduction occur. (I’m still not certain what that means.) Anyway, I pored over texts and labored over my predicament for days. And the night before it was due I found myself staring at the blinking colon on my lemon-powered-digital clock. Then an idea struck me. Partially because I’m stubborn and partially because it’s rumored that I’m a smart ass…I would write a play. Which Way Did He Go George could be called an homage to Of Mice and Men with a Frankenstein twist. It centered around an ill-fated lemon named Lenny and the painful choice that George would have to make. I don’t want to spoil anything for you, but yes, George kills Lenny! Sorry. But then George decides to resurrect Lenny in spectacular fashion and thus documenting my experiment began. I finished my masterpiece, went to class the next day, and handed in my death sentence with a smile.

When we came back from the break Mr. Young promptly started handing out our graded term papers. All but mine. He simply asked me to stay after class. Great. I was going to get an F and a lecture. I could hear it already: “You don’t apply yourself.” “Was this supposed to be funny?” “You’ve learned nothing in my class.” After everyone left the class I slowly made my way to his desk and was prepared to lay prostrate and receive my lashings. Mr. Young handed me my paper. B–. “I would have given it a higher grade but I felt like the plot sort of fell apart towards the end. And it seemed a bit contrived at times.” I just stared at him. Oh my God, I’ve fallen asleep again. That’s what’s happening. I’m asleep at my desk and at any moment something is going to wake me up and I’m going to spring back and let out something like, “Uhwoodowha?” That didn’t happen. I was indeed awake. Mr. Young broke the silence, “You probably think I'm teaching you Physics don't you? I’m not. I'm teaching you that when you're faced with something and you don't know what to do or how to move forward…you don't close the book. You don't give up. You DO something.”

...

In this business of theatre, we are told “No” so many times. Whether it’s seeking a role, funding for a production, a home for a play, presenting a design or a score, we will hear “No” many times before we will hear “Yes.” And all too often it makes us want to throw up our hands and simply close the book. Over the past couple of weeks Mr. Young has come to mind often. Every time I think I can’t send another email, I can’t reach out to another possible funder, I can’t chew another TUMS…I take a moment. Breathe. And think, “Don’t close the book.”

Thank you, Mr. Young for that gift. It has made all the difference. What you put in motion…has stayed in motion.

The Race Goes On

from Joseph Mitchell Parks, Associate Producer

As I sat and read my colleague Christa Kimlicko Jones’s latest blog post, I realize we are in the exact same boat, and furthermore it is the same boat that most of us as artists sail through life in. We do anything and sacrifice anything to be a part of the theatre community that we all love. 

Right now I am in the middle of the rehearsal process for Othello running at The Secret Theatre the end of this month.  In addition to playing Cassio, I am also co-producing the project.

My day begins at 6am with my morning coffee and a sensible breakfast. I have always treasured my mornings since I was a little boy. I have never been one to wake up and go; I need time and caffeine to ease myself into the day. For this very purpose, I get up early and I usually even try to squeeze in a little bit of a favorite film or television show.  My castmate (and roommate), Valerie Redd, often teases me about my morning dramas. It is not unusual to find me drinking my coffee while watching Revolutionary Road, The Reader, The Hours, or any other gripping drama. These types of films always give me perspective on my life and I appreciate my life so much more when I watch them. It’s a true catharsis.

Following my morning ritual I try to make it five times a week to my gym to get in a good workout, which always improves my day. Then I am off to work a full day for The Acting Company, where I am the Producing Assistant and Resident Company Manager, which entails problem solving and helping take care of other artists all day, which is wonderful. It is gratifying to spend my whole day working for a classical theatre company.

Rehearsals begin at 7 and I cannot eat between work and rehearsal, otherwise my stomach will be in knots. I try to shrug off the day and be completely present in the studio, but at this point it has already been a long one and I have a few more hours to go. It is a challenge we all face everyday.

At 10pm we end our rehearsal and my Co-Producer and Director and I debrief and then I head home. Like Christa it is now midnight and it all starts again at 6am.

It is a fascinating thing how we choose this life, but I would not give it up for anything in the world. 

---

Othello opens October 25. Buy tickets at www.secreattheatre.com 

or visit the company website at www.wanderingbarktheatrecompany.org

Photo by Olli A

TheatreEast.org
Support Theatre East

Marathon Days

from Christa Kimlicko Jones, Associate Artistic Director, Director of Programming:

I just closed a show.  Up until last Sunday, I was acting in a new play called The Woman Standing on the Moon, by James Haigney.  We had a 16 performance run at Urban Stages in NYC.  During tech week, classes started back up, so I was teaching a full load and then walking over to the theater each night.  My ritual each evening was to touch base with my husband and pick up the largest bottle of water I could get, a yogurt, a banana, a coffee (I know, I know, not the best thing, but…sometimes I treated myself to a Pumpkin Spiced Latte, and that just made me happy!), and some kind of protein bar.  I couldn’t really eat anything more than that before the show, because, though it was long, it was very emotional, difficult subject matter.  Most nights after the show, I would need to walk it off.  I’d walk in the night air—a full 12 extra blocks to get to my train.  I’d get home close to midnight, sleep for an average of 4 ½ hours, and do it all over again.

Since school had started back up, I invited my students to come, which many of them did.  (I have to give a big shout out to them right now: Thank you to the students, especially of Stella Adler Studio.  You know how to be great audience members!!)  At any rate, I can only imagine it was an interesting introduction to me; they definitely saw me in a different light than in the classroom!   After the show, there were many dear moments with those students…and the next day in class…and days after.  One day, I recall many of them swarming around me and asking me how in the world I could do that show and then come to studio each day bright and shiny to teach and give so much?  And truly, I have to say… I wasn’t quite sure myself.  I don’t know exactly know where the energy came from or how I got through…all I know is that I had to be right in the moment.  I knew what my objective was for each class, and I pursued it to the best of my ability.  I tried not to think about what was going to happen at the end of my day (i.e. get in a major fight and completely crumble into a snotty, wailing mess in the middle of the stage).  If I thought of that too much, I’m not sure I could get through.  But instead, I was with my students.  And the moment. I took one breath at a time, one moment at a time, and the next thing I knew it was the second act, and I was in the middle of that stage.  During this process, I learned how to pace my energy out.  Whenever I found a quiet moment during my day, I took it.  I drank water all day long.  I ate light, but healthy.  I figured out what my body needed so that I could run the marathon.  Oh, and I laughed A LOT.  With my students, my colleagues, my husband, and my cast mates.  Laughter is good stuff.

I am so happy to have had an opportunity to play a role like that, for many reasons of course, but also to be able to tackle that question of, what does one have to do to be present, to not play the endgame, to not collapse from exhaustion when you’ve got so much ahead?  I think it has to do with breathing and taking that first step.  Taking every moment for itself.  I remember in graduate school, I was talking to my professor, Franchelle Stewart Dorn, who had played Medea. I asked her how in the world she did that every night.  She said, “I took a breath and I walked on the stage.”  And I realized then, “Oh, that’s what we should do every day—take a breath, start the day, be in the moment, and allow yourself to be surprised by the outcome.” 

The motto at the Stella Adler Studio is, “Growth as an actor and growth as a human being are synonymous.”  What a great truth that is.  I am so proud to get to do what I do every day.  I am often amazed.  Man, to be an artist, to learn how to be in a moment in life—and to help shape and hopefully inspire young minds—what could be better?  Sure I like sleep too, but…that’ll come soon enough.

TheatreEast.org
Support Theatre East

photo by Eva the Weaver

The Wonder of Theatre

from Todd Eric Hawkins, Managing Director 

For my 12^th Birthday, my family took me to see The Man of La Mancha at the University of Oklahoma. It was the first time I experienced live theatre. I remember very few details about the events that led up to stepping into the lobby of the theater, but from that moment on everything is etched into memory.

The theater was the most beautiful place I had ever been. The red carpeted lobby that curved around the back of the theater, the chandeliers that hung majestically above my head as we waited to be seated. There was an excitement in the air. I watched as people began to fill the lobby, I listened as they reconnected with friends and talked about their lives and the people they knew in common.
 
When we entered the theater, my Grandmother asked me to find our seats as she handed me the ticket stubs. I walked up the side of the aisle looking for the letter E and then walked along the long curved row of seats until I found the numbers on the tickets. The crowd was pouring into the theater as we sat down. As they entered, the noise from the lobby became a whisper. The kind of hushed speech I heard at church on Sunday mornings. 

As the lights began to dim and the orchestra started to play, I was overcome with a sensation that I had never felt before. I felt as though an electrical current was shooting through my body. My Grandmother would later recall that at that moment I sat on the edge of my seat and stayed there for the entire performance, as if I was trying to “be up there with them.” 

Whatever I thought I wanted to do when I grew up before that night vanished from my 12 year-old mind. I was being summoned to the theatre. 

It would be 14 years before I experienced that sensation again so fully, the day I arrived in New York City for the first time. 

I flew into LaGuardia Airport filled with all of the stories of danger that my parents had instilled me. As the cab crossed the Triborough Bridge and headed down the FDR, I thought it was the noisiest, dirtiest city.  Why would anyone choose to live here? Then the cab turned off of 50^th Street onto Broadway and Times Square came into view. Suddenly, I was home. 

I spent that evening ignoring my parents’ advice and walking the streets of Times Square, stopping to read each billboard and picturing my name in lights. I passed Tommy, Kiss of the Spiderwoman, Phantom of the Opera, and Angels in America. 

The following day I had an audition for several regional theaters through my college program and I had purchased a ticket to a show—my first Broadway show—for after the audition to celebrate my success. A success that would unfortunately never happen, not the way I had imagined anyway. 

I performed my monologue from Division Street the next day for a panel of two judges. In order to go forward to the actual audition you had to receive a yes from both judges; I got only one. I was devastated. 

That night I drug myself to the theater to see Cyrano: The Musical. I took my seat and waited for the show to begin. The lights dimmed and the overture began. Suddenly, as the music began to swell the name Cyrano began to be written on the scrim as if it were being hand written by Cyrano himself. The signature ended with a long stroke of the pen across the surface as the scrim began to rise. Suddenly, I was no longer a bitter and depressed 26 year old, I was 12 again. 

The power of theatre is that it has the ability to uphold, tear apart, and reassemble how the viewer thinks, feels, and, in some cases, behaves. Theatre has always acted as a bumper in my life, continually pushing and steering me on my journey and shaping me into the person I am today. 

I proudly accepted the role of Managing Director at Theatre East as a way to make sure that experiences like mine are available for others. Together we will work to provide a platform for our community, allowing them to experience the power of theatre that changed my life.

TheatreEast.org
Support Theatre East

The Whole Is Greater Than the Sum of Its Parts

 
 from Judson Jones, Artistic Director

Gestalt. It’s one of my absolute favorite words. It's a German word that basically means that the whole cannot be derived by a simple summation of its parts. For me, this isn’t an example of how theatre can work, but instead how theatre should work. A few years ago a group of artists, members of our business community, and supporters gathered in a room to ask a question. That question was: 

Can we build a theatre company whose commitment to community, whose commitment to operating in a transparent and inclusive manner, whose commitment to the incredible power theatre possesses, is matched only by the commitment to producing earnest, catalyzing, provocative, needed, and great work?

While it has not always been easy, and we haven’t always succeeded, this continues to be our goal. The success of this company—our educational and community programming, past and future productions—is not due to the work of any individual, but to the work of many.

I’m constantly fascinated by the process of putting a production together. Everything about it. From selecting the script (or the script selecting you)…to assuring the playwright you won’t destroy their play…finding the space…hoping you can afford it…bringing on the director, supporting their vision…hiring the creative team and hoping the designers get along…the director leading the creative team to his or her vision and then being brave enough to let them run with it…finding your cast…hoping you find them…trusting that you’ll find them…being so thankful when you finally find them…doubting every decision you make…production meetings….staff meetings…marketing meetings…board meetings…meetings about meetings…publicity…unions…realizing that, while you have 10 bottles of wine for the opening night gala, you need to frantically run to the store immediately after curtain because no one brought a corkscrew…all of this, and ultimately hoping you have the budget to pull it off.

And you do all this in the fervent hope…to share a moment. All of these people working together, giving of themselves, their craft, working around the clock, hours of rehearsals, months of planning…hoping to create a single moment. A single shared moment with you. Why? Because it is in that moment we are closest to the gods.

I believe that.

TomOppenheim, Artistic Director of The Stella Adler Studios, lauded Theatre East at our first benefit with the following words: "I see there a mirror that reflects exactly the vision of a sane theater that Harold Clurman calls for. They have beautifully articulated alist of values, which are sound, noble, and creatively potent. They sing of the theatre providing a communal experience, connecting us to the world and each other, catalyzing critical thinking, educating us; they insist the theatre be accessible and, like Harold Clurman, see it ultimately as a civilizing force." I told Tom then that we did not deserve such words, but I hope we can earn them.

All my very best,
Judson

TheatreEast.org
Support Theatre East

The Natural Producer

from Joseph Mitchell Parks, Associate Producer

My parents got me involved in the theatre at the age of 8, and as I look back I can see the signs of a future working as a producer even in the beginning. I had a sense of wonder and must have overwhelmed the  producers of the show with my many questions about the set, costumes, lights, etc. ... At the age of 12 I began working with a local community theatre in Dallas in which I was the youngest member of the company and I wanted to soak up all the information I possibly could from my mentors of the time. I was always fascinated by the production process and always wanted to be one of the people making the decisions about the shows.

My fascination continued in my undergraduate training in which I had the privilege of working with members of Anne Bogart’s SITI Company. Each company member, in addition to their many talents as actors, were integral parts of the producing process of the show. Anne’s Associate Ellen Lauren is one of her principal performers in addition to her work with Anne on a producing level. I knew then that was the kind of artist that I wanted to become. I did not want to be the kind of performer who sat around waiting for opportunities to come, but one who went out and made them happen with other artists that I respect and admire and more importantly to work on projects that were important to me. During my training I also worked on work study in the box office and was able to get experience in the financial business of working in the theatre. Our professors at St. Edward's University were also professional Equity artists who often shared the stage with us, so it was always clear to me that you need to wear many hats to have a full career in the theatre.

When I moved to New York five years ago I knew I wanted to find a home working with  companies that I cared about. As the Associate Producer of Theatre East I have found just that. My passion for classical theatre is also fed by my work with The Acting Company as the Producing Assistant and Resident Company Manager. With them I have had the opportunity to go on two national tours, understudying many tracks in one of them, and have learned everything I know from the great co-founder Margot Harley, who started the company in 1972 with the late John Houseman. My involvement with these two companies has shaped my life here in New York. I have also been able to work with Shakespeare NYC and produce independently.

I feel like I am exactly where I should be in my life and that this is only the beginning of my career as a Producer and I am so glad it is with a company like Theatre East.

All the best,

Joseph

TheatreEast.org
Support Theatre East

The Reluctant Producer

from William Franke, Director of Development

Each time someone asks me how I got involved with Theatre East, I preface the story with "I never wanted to be a producer because I knew how much work it was." Whenever I'm in a production or on a set, I can't help but be aware of how many people it takes to realize the finished film or play, how much effort goes into it. And I just wanted to focus on my acting.

Of course, if you've met the folks who founded Theatre East, you'll understand how easily I was drawn in. I first met Jud & Christa back in late 2005; we'd been acquainted a little while when they invited my wife, Jody, & me to attend a show they produced (pre-Theatre East) called HARVEST. We were so blown away by the quality of the show on all levels that when they told me a little while later that they were forming Theatre East with Joseph Mitchell Parks & some others, my enthusiasm bubbled over. I kept foisting upon them all these ideas I had been storing up over the years of things I would do if I were to be a producer (which I wasn't). Eventually they were compelled to ask me to join the company and, later, the staff.

While there is something to be said for producing as an avenue to creating your own opportunities, the real driving force behind Theatre East that keeps us going is creating opportunities for the community. For example, our Educational Outreach program The New Rites Collective. Thanks in part to the insistence of Raquel Almazan & Sean Turner, we started that program much earlier in the evolution of our company than I would have thought possible. To be honest, I also wasn't sure if the world needed another theatre company's educational outreach program; but when I saw the impact it was having on the students who took part, for whom it unlocked an understanding of themselves they might not have arrived at otherwise, I realized that it was an essential component of how Theatre East can help give back to the community.

The same is true of the plays we produce. To paraphrase Wallace Shawn*, we believe the third act of a great play takes place in the bars & coffee shops after the audience has left the theater and continues to discuss the play. We hope to take it even further and produce plays that get our community talking & investigating not only the play they've just seen, but the deeper issues the play raises; plays that serve not only as topics for spirited discussion, but more as springboards to conversations about even greater matters that affect our community.

Of course, all of this is even more work than I ever imagined it would be. And yet, it's invigorating to collaborate with such committed people on work that is even more important than I initially envisioned. I hope you'll help us realize these goals by being a part of our community, whether it's at our mainstage shows, at our monthly 3rd Monday Mixers at O'Lunney's in Times Square, our Neighborhood Reading Series, or any of the places & spaces in between. We're all in this together.

Thanks,
Bill

TheatreEast.org
Support Theatre East

* click here for an essay by Wallace Shawn that is an interesting read

(but not the source of the paraphrased quote)

Finding and Revealing One’s Voice

from Christa Kimlicko Jones, Associate Artistic Director,Director of Programming: To be honest, I was dreading writing a blog post and then I realized that, in fact, what I am most anxious about is putting myself out there. Putting my voice, my thoughts out there. Exposing myself. But then, I realized, that perhaps that’s exactly what I need to write about. That’s usually the case, isn’t it? To tackle those fears head on?!
Then it occurred to me that finding and revealing one’s voice is one of the main reasons why I do theatre. It’s really what interests me most about theatre. It’s why I love to be a part of a rehearsal process so much. It’s why I read plays and want to bring them to life. To exchange ideas. To expose. To question. It’s why I feel like a theatre company is important; Theatre East is definitely a celebration of many voices coming together for a greater mission. It’s also why I teach (Voice & Speech) at Stella Adler Studio. I get to help a young actor breathe more deeply, more fully, and find their most specific, most muscular way of speaking so that they might better reveal the character’s passions, allowing for an audience to be moved, changed so that they might see a bit of themselves.
I guess I’m incredibly interested in people, in their stories, in their thoughts and dreams, their opinions—and in revealing, unveiling, exposing the truth. I’m interested in coming together to tell stories, so that we don’t feel quite so alone in this crazy journey of life.
It feels a little funny to share this in blog format. I have to say that if I had my way I’d rather sit over a lovely cup of coffee or tea (or beer or wine or whatever) and look people in the eye…and connect. And exchange. Listen. Respond. Truthfully. In the moment. Of course, there are only so many hours in the day! So, until then…this will do.
Nevertheless, that’s why I do what I do. The people are what keep me going. The stories. The ideas. The hopes and the dreams. The light bulbs. The furrowed brows. The challenge of it all. The searching for truth. One’s pure and honest, glorious voice.
And I’m thankful that I get to be a part of a world and of a craft that allows for that revelatory exploration.
Actors’ Equity Association, the union for stage actors, sends out membership renewal cards twice a year. One of the things I look forward to the most is the quote or anecdote included in the letter portion. This one hit the nail on the head for me:

"I wanted to be an actress in 1912; I want to be an actress today. That walk from the darkness backstage through the door or opening in the scenery where I make an entrance into the bright lights with that big dim mass out beyond, which bursts into applause, then the first terrifying sound that comes out of my throat, which they describe as a voice, but that first instant it is the siren of terror and intention and faith and hope and trust and vanity and security and insecurity and bloodcurdling courage which is acting." ~Ruth Gordon (1896-1985)

Yes, it’s scary to put one’s self out there—but if you do, unabashedly so, in my heart of hearts I feel that it’s absolutely worth it. Until next time,
Christa

TheatreEast.org
Support Theatre East