I started out like a lot of star-struck teenagers who had bit parts in high school musicals: it was exhilarating to be on stage, but the rehearsal hall became home. To be involved in a theatrical production was to become part of a group that made equals of the geeks, the jocks, the cheerleaders, the boys who liked to dress up, the girls who wanted to build scenery, the kids who hated school but kinda liked making fools of themselves in public. We became a family for a few weeks, getting intimate and silly and playing new roles with each other. I’ve often thought that the primary reason that people should go to the theatre is to support the social welfare system of this particularly benign asylum. It keeps the crazies off the streets and gainfully employed.
When I announced to my parents that I wanted to study theatre at university, they set aside their disappointment that I wasn’t going into law, and settled for the idea I might become a famous actress. After a few years I came to the realization that the world didn’t need another mediocre white actress competing for the 20 or so good roles available. As part of my studies I was required to work backstage on a show, and was given the job of making props. It was a grad student’s production, an adaptation of Kafka’s The Trial, and the design concept was influenced by the surreal painters, especially Magritte. My first prop challenge was to suspend a green apple invisibly below a bowler hat. I could do that. And I realized that I could stay in my theatrical home by doing what very few people did: creating, finding, and re-creating the elements that illustrated the stage story. It didn’t matter how I looked, there were no limits on what I could learn to do, all I needed was the skill and creativity I knew I already had in my hands. And a few good tools.
I still have the hammer that my father gave me for Christmas after that revelation. I guess he figured it was the closest I was going to get to owning a gavel.
When I announced to my parents that I wanted to study theatre at university, they set aside their disappointment that I wasn’t going into law, and settled for the idea I might become a famous actress. After a few years I came to the realization that the world didn’t need another mediocre white actress competing for the 20 or so good roles available. As part of my studies I was required to work backstage on a show, and was given the job of making props. It was a grad student’s production, an adaptation of Kafka’s The Trial, and the design concept was influenced by the surreal painters, especially Magritte. My first prop challenge was to suspend a green apple invisibly below a bowler hat. I could do that. And I realized that I could stay in my theatrical home by doing what very few people did: creating, finding, and re-creating the elements that illustrated the stage story. It didn’t matter how I looked, there were no limits on what I could learn to do, all I needed was the skill and creativity I knew I already had in my hands. And a few good tools.
I still have the hammer that my father gave me for Christmas after that revelation. I guess he figured it was the closest I was going to get to owning a gavel.