Were I to imagine an ideal theatre (which is not, I understand, the proposal \u2013 and I\u2019m not about to do it here \u2013 but it does beg the question, from the get-go: why imagine anything that is not somehow \u201cideal\u201d?), I think of moments of cultural impact that were better, I expect, to hear about than to experience, like Woodstock or the Geneva Conventions. I imagine a theatre that can be talked about \u2013 and in the telling, amplified. Spend much time around \u201ctheatre people\u201d and you\u2019ll discover that this is not, in practice, an unusual occurrence. \u201cLet\u2019s not, and say we did\u201d is our mantra. I exaggerate to make a point.<\/p>\n
Let\u2019s talk instead about the theatre that does<\/i> exist, and must<\/i> exist.<\/p>\n
The theatre that must exist is ugly and unsatisfying, much of the time. It is defined by failed efforts and a bizarre-bordering-on-pathological determination to return to the scene of the crime (in this scenario, artists are the criminals; art is the bullet; guess who the victims are?). Thankfully, funding being what it is in these United States, the gun is rarely loaded.<\/p>\n
I know, I sound like Dostoyevsky.<\/p>\n
The theatre that must exist, and does exist, is not unlike a visit to the dentist or the DMV. It\u2019s tedious. It requires effort, from the maker and the viewer alike. It tracks the mundane passage of our daily lives, like the weather report. I love this theatre with every ounce of love I have to give, because occasionally \u2013 occasionally \u2013 it transcends anything I could have possibly imagined for the world. Which is why I prefer not to imagine it at all. I\u2019d rather show up and wait, knowing that something<\/i> of significance will happen, even if it takes a while.<\/p>\n
There\u2019s nothing ideal about it. But it matters. It matters<\/i>.<\/p>\n
My title is \u201cArtistic Director\u201d \u2013 a meaningless term, on its face. I do not possess a \u201ccuratorial\u201d mind, though I do make choices that lend a certain shape to things, over time. If the theatre that must exist, and does exist, is a sweatshop \u2013 and it is \u2013 then I\u2019m the shop steward on the midnight shift. Nobody needs a curator on the factory floor. My job (if I can call it a job) is to respond, support, cajole, commiserate, and live among artists who sacrifice everything for a lost cause. We\u2019re putting in the hours, all of us. There is no conscious thematic or contextual basis for anything I do. The work continues and the narrative writes itself. If we\u2019re lucky, there are witnesses. It\u2019s important to be witnessed.<\/p>\n
I write this from my studio at the MacDowell Colony in New Hampshire, which is in its way a kind of shrine to the agony (and, I suppose, ecstasy) of solitary effort. The theatre that must exist, and does exist, can be crushingly solitary in the making \u2013 and then, crucially, it explodes into something authentically communal. That is the theatre that I do not wish to imagine, but wish to have.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"The theatre that must exist is ugly and unsatisfying, much of the time. It is defined by failed efforts and a bizarre-bordering-on-pathological determination to return to the scene of the crime (in this scenario, artists are the criminals; art is the bullet; guess who the victims are?). ","protected":false},"menu_order":0,"template":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginedtheatres.com\/api\/wp\/v2\/theatres\/810"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginedtheatres.com\/api\/wp\/v2\/theatres"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginedtheatres.com\/api\/wp\/v2\/types\/theatre"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginedtheatres.com\/api\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=810"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}