Sister Circle

Back in grad school we studied playwrights like Brecht, Shakespeare, Odets, Williams, and my favorite, Ibsen. Each writer presented a unique glimpse of the world and wildly different challenges. 

But looking back one thing there wasn't a great deal of was work from women or people of color. The voices were compelling but often felt linear in tone. It was probably something my overly earnest and anxious 25-year old self didn't really take the time to consider. I was just happy to be performing.

There were a handful of classmates, who thankfully, felt different. A group of African-American girls started a terrific little theater company called, Sister Circle. The group was made up of actors and playwrights who wrote, directed, produced, and performed original works. The stories were bold, unique, and personal. The girls were a big hit.

Most importantly, Sister Circle was an excellent example of a group of artists who refused to wait for permission to get their stories told. They felt the program wasn't doing enough to support underrepresented voices and instead of complaining took bold initiative to do something about it. It's a story that still inspires me to this day.

The Power of Theater

Last night I went to my old high school and saw a terrific production of, Legally Blonde. The school's state of the art theater was certainly not what I expected. Many years ago when I attended the school, participating in the play was a completely different experience. We performed in the gym and were responsible for building the set. It was almost like a rite of passage.

Watching the show last night there were a few things that really stood out in my mind.

1. Colorblind Casting: Nobody has a monopoly on the human condition. Stories connect us ALL. And it was wonderful to see the director recognize that everyone has a voice. Having a cast as diverse as the community itself was a beautiful representation of what theater is all about and how it has the capacity to bring people together.

2. The Audience: Everyone in attendance was so supportive of the young people on stage. I could feel the actors feed off the energy in the room, which built their confidence not only as storytellers, but more importantly, as young people trying to find their voice through creative expression.

3. Legacy: If you asked Mr. Kohles when he was young if he'd envisioned himself becoming a high school drama teacher he would have likely scoffed at the question. But not only was it clear he had embraced his role but that it had become something far greater than he could have anticipated. Someday he will leave behind a very important and sustainable platform for mentorship, collaboration, and community long after he's gone.

The Power of Values

I look back with fondness on those times I performed in cramped, poorly lit black box theaters in the East Village. The audiences sat practically on top of one another as they huddled together to watch original works by some of New York's most promising playwrights.

I also recall rehearsing scenes from, A Doll's House during drama school. My classmates and I sat in narrow hallways after being kicked out of rehearsal spaces others had wisely signed up for in advance.

As much as I look back on those times with a sense of gratitude and nostalgia, I wouldn't do it over again. My goals have changed and my perspective has evolved. In other words, what I value as an actor and individual is no longer the same. I have grown.

Many of us often have a difficult time saying, "No." We take on too many projects earnestly believing we can do it all, while secretly wanting to please others.

I've learned that saying "no" to something means you are invariably saying "yes" to something else. It may be a rewarding opportunity now, or many years down the road. 

If there's something you feel obligated to do, but feel a voice tugging at you to pass it's likely that your values are not aligned with the opportunity. If your values are important enough to you protect them at all costs and align them with your vision.

Plenty of Talent

Last night I went to see a friend perform a few songs in an old bar in an equally old hotel on the corner of a quiet street.

I arrived on time without much fanfare and was immediately greeted by my friend's boyfriend and the doorman. One said hello and embraced me with a hug, while the other promptly asked for $8.

I watched all three acts that night in a cramped little room that reminded me of the many black box theaters I  once performed in, nestled between nondescript bars and corner markets in the East Village.

Each musician was unique, talented, and a real joy to listen to. I was glad I'd made the trek even if it was 8:00 pm on a Sunday night.

During one of the performances, it dawned on me that at a certain point there's little distinction between many of those who supposedly "make it," in the entertainment industry.

I would have had no qualms about stumbling across any one of their songs on the radio, or playing in a coffee shop. They were great.

Still, these musicians would likely argue they hadn't yet reached the success they hoped for.

I suppose once can take great solace in knowing that talent in this world is not in short supply.

What's it to You?

Years ago, after a play I'd performed in came to a close, I walked up East 8th Street with my cast-mate and good friend Sarah. "What was that point of that?!" I cried. "There was nobody even in the audience." The little black box theater I was referring to was once a haven - a gritty little space where compelling stories were told in front of intimate, but packed rooms of 20. My frustration that evening reminded me just how distant a memory those performances now were.

As I paced back and forth just outside a busy apartment complex, Sarah listened patiently. The truth is, I 'd been struggling to find my meaning as an actor for quite some time - a realization once as clear as the sight of the Statue of Liberty from the Brooklyn Bridge.

Now, I'd lost my sense of purpose. The days where I believed a monologue I delivered, or a scene I was part of would somehow make a dent in the world by shaping the mind of someone who sat raptured in those creaky black chairs had come to close, or at least a long sabbatical. If people weren't even willing to show up why even bother? I thought.

As my little rant finally came to a close, Sarah offered a positive word or two of encouragement. But it took me quite some time to realize something that would thankfully realign me with my old perspective on the importance of artistic expression.

Before it matters to someone else, it must first matter to YOU.