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?
