Ovation

The music announces itself with a decidedly ethnic feel.  But it’s not until the final curtain that I give a second thought to the extent the performance is steeped in the minority:  In gender, in race and in culture.  I’m absorbed in the message; the actors are quite talented.

 

Exiting, we strike up a conversation with the woman who collected our tickets at the door.  She’s taken with the story herself, and echoes our sentiments that it’s too bad more were not in the audience to experience this work.

 

He and I spend many weekends over the past year exploring tiny theaters across the city.  The venues are intimate; the sets often quite bare; the performances brave, raw and sometimes shocking. I’m a little surprised by how many of these enclaves are cloaked in ordinary storefronts, surviving on little more than the passion of artists practicing their craft.

He questions whether the sparse attendance has anything to do with the segment of the population this playwright examines in her tale. Maybe this piece of work doesn’t draw the theater-going masses?  It makes me think about measures:  Range and capacity and sheer volume. While the message of this story is universal, do too many lack the capacity to relate to the actors?   And I wonder:  In a world that measures success by sheer volume, can we hold ourselves true to authentic, soulful work when its range of appeal is limited?

Most businesses exist to grow, and the pressure to do so is enormous.  The temptation to take on every prospect falling in the path can be irresistible; whether they share our values or comprehend our message somehow seems less important.  In the quest for more, our brands are watered down, our products altered or cheapened; we become less of ourselves.

This playwright could choose to allow changes to the color of her characters’ skin or a mainstream genre of music to transition her scenes.  But her story wouldn’t be the same.  Re-told within the bounds of the patriarchy or a more homogenous culture, so much of her message, so much of her onlyness, is lost.

 

What if we, like she does, choose to focus on the work that most closely represents our values and our true selves?  It’s not going to look like anyone else’s work, that’s what makes it our best. The trail is being paved. In today’s connection economy, the diversity in our world becomes harder and harder to ignore, and with it the need to conceal our onlyness lessens.

I love that these tiny venues for creative expression exist. I imagine the thrill of a dream realized when a production hits the stage. While the rich performances delivered will be seen by fewer, I like to think more artists will feel empowered to bring their most intimate work into being because there are places where they can. How can the bar not be raised?