off-stage right

Scott Walters, a leader and advocate for participation and creation of art in smaller communities (with populations under 100K for his specific project) has written a very thought-provoking letter to Rocco Landesman that you should check out.  Whether you agree or disagree with Scott, he makes some interesting points about NEA funding priorities.

The following statistics jumped off the page and have stuck in my mind since reading it five days ago:

Right now, almost 50% of the Theatre Communications Group member theatres are in six states, while there are an equal number that have none at all. The average population of the counties where TCG member theatres are based is 1.35M people, whereas 96% of American counties have populations under 500,000.

Forget for now whether the NEA should be concerned with this or focus on democratizing the arts.  Forget about the NEA completely and re-read that statistic:

50% of the Theatre Communications Group member theatres are in six states.

The average population of the counties where TCG member theatres are based is 1.35M people, whereas 96% of American counties have populations under 500,000.

It doesn’t really matter where you stand in the debate about NEA funding being based on “quality” or “geography,” as theatre artists we are obligated to think about the relevancy and future life of the art form; as theatre artists we are obligated to train future artists; and as theatre artists we are obligated to nurture theatre audiences.  (The fact is that the NEA has such a small budget that it can’t fix the problem and money is only part of the solution.)  What can and will make a difference is if we as artists make a commitment to fulfilling our obligations.

If we, as theatre artists want there to be an audience in the future and want there to be theatre artists in the future we had better lend a hand to Scott and others who are working to get theatre into those smaller communities.  It doesn’t take a genius to know that if you never experience something you will never miss it in your life.

We cannot sit by idly while a significant portion of the country grows up in and lives in an arts-free culture.

You know the question.  You have heard it a 1000 times.  Where was your first time?  With who? 

I am not talking about THAT first time!

I am talking about the first moment you knew you were in love with theatre, that you knew it was your destiny.   I remember the series of events that helped me realize that the arts could make a difference to a community.  This is also when I realized that some communities can’t be saved easily.  It takes years to make a difference.  It takes passion.  It takes the arts.  Can you believe I learned that at the age of ten?  Funny thing is it has taken me 20+ years to realize that was the year that changed my life.

I was born in Flint, Michigan and lived outside of Flint in Grand Blanc for the first 11 years of my life. In the late seventies/early eighties, when the Michigan economy was collapsing, one of many times in the last 40 years, Flint and the surrounding areas were ground zero. I bring this up not to make the story longer, but for two very important reasons: (1) Grand Blanc was the site of my first theater class, my first play, and the beginning of my lifelong love and participation in the arts and (2) at a very young and very impressionable age, I witnessed a community crumble to pieces.

My mother was a special education school teacher who was laid off when her school was shuttered in budget cuts and my father was a residential realtor left with plenty to sell and no one who had enough money to buy. My father headed west to work while my mother, sister and I spent a year and a half watching the town and community we loved become something we did not recognize. Despite my youth I was very aware of what was happening (around 6, I had developed a lifelong addiction to the news, reading, and information). Friends lost their houses or moved away. The community center where I was a competitive ice skater and gymnast slowly offered less and less opportunities and finally closed. Gradually we lived in a ghost town with almost no stores and despite my mother’s valiant efforts to maintain our activities and lifestyles, as well as morale, it was clear she was fighting a useless battle. The only bright spot in our increasingly bleak community was the local library and the wonderful music and gym teachers at our elementary school.

The Grand Blanc Library provided Mr. Rancillio, my first theater teacher. He was a towering, but thin giant of a man (along the lines of Tommy Tune), who made the world better by teaching us to imagine and create stories. Soon every book I read became a play that I encouraged my friends to embark on with me. I would be on pins and needles waiting to spend all day Saturday in the library creating theater. Over at Cook Elementary it was Miss Novakowski and her twin sister Ms. Gentile who took matters into their own hands. As extracurricular activities had been eliminated by the school district, these two fabulous teachers convinced a local nursery to give us their unsold geraniums and we students went door to door selling the flowers for $4 to raise funds to produce two musicals (Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and Mary Poppins) and two all-school gymnastics and dance performances.

I had been diagnosed in second grade with a severe hearing problem and truly was unable to sing, but the sisters had faith and cast me in both shows as the chief Oompa Loompa and Jane Banks. I am sure that being the shortest child in grade 3-6 helped me in many ways. Of course as a competitive gymnast with years of dancing under my belt, I was vested in making sure that all four events happened with great success. Thus begin my first fundraising experience for the arts. I went door to door and sold geraniums as if my life depended on it—looking back in some ways it did. Needless to say, for two years I was one of the top sellers in the entire school.

At the age of 10, I learned the valuable lesson that when I was passionate about something I was able to talk about it well enough to make other people passionate about it, so passionate that they would give me money to make something happen that was beneficial to the community.

At the age of 10, I realized that the arts could make the worst circumstances better.

At the age of 10, I discovered the magic of make believe and story-telling.

At the age of 10, I was faced with the stark realization that sometimes the arts weren’t enough to hold a community together, but they were a necessity to rebuild it.