Stick of Butter

By Bridget Kelso, member of the 2009 Emerging Writers Group

I remember the first time I saw myself reflected on television. While watching Sesame Street one day, I saw a little black girl with a big curly afro being sent to the store, all by herself. Her mother gave her a list of things to get, and she repeated them over and over as she skipped to the store: “A loaf of bread, a container of milk, and a stick of butter...” It was a revelation. Here was someone who looked like me, who sounded like me, and who had a Mom who trusted her to go to the store, just like me. The artistry of that moment – how she was drawn, the voiceover work, the writing – has stayed with me and continues to shape me. 

I remember watching a girl play a young Maya Angelou in I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings on television and thinking, “I could do that.” 

I remember wanting to live in a world populated by children like in the movie Bugsy Malone. 

I don’t remember all of these things because they happened yesterday. These are movies and images that were released more than 30 years ago. I remember them because there is something about them that made an impression. Certain images can, and do, stay with me... forever. It’s like there’s a particular combination of pictures and words that when entered unlocks the secret of who I am, and helps shape the person I am becoming. 

I want to walk away from a play thinking differently. I want art to make me run home and write, take a class, sing, join a movement. I expect art, including mine, to rearrange my view of the world. I expect good art to move me, or at the very least, to shift my internal barometer. 

That’s what I’m looking for EVERY time I go to the theater or the movies (but most especially the theater) – not just to be changed or moved, but to be remade, refashioned, to emerge different. No – not just different, more revealed. I believe this huge mystery of life is revealed in art, and so I take being an artist seriously. It really is a calling. 

I think there are lots of people who feel this way, and it’s reflected in their performances. There have been people over the years that have created moments for me that have the same resonance as my “stick of butter” memory. 

When I was pregnant with my son, I saw Zainab Jah in the Classical Theater of Harlem’s production of Trojan Women. The play was amazing, but I never forgot how Zainab’s portrayal of Helen made me feel. Very often when someone is good in a role, I’ll compare myself to their performance, or even feel envious. I felt nothing but admiration for what I was seeing that night: full immersion in a role, done in a way that I could not fathom. For the first time, I understood why men would go to war over such a woman; she was magnetic and dangerous, and I could not take my eyes off of her. The image of her in a cage, biding her time, has never left me. 

Tunde Samuels was well-known in the theater community as a producer at the National Black Theater. But I never knew my friend could sing until I saw him in The Legacy. He joined in on the end of one song, and his voice filled the space like Gabriel’s horn. I walked out of there feeling like I had been a part of an ancestral awakening. 

And just recently, two friends of mine performed some of my poetry. Alex Ubokudom and LaKisha May took my words and flew with them. At one point, Alex even repeated a line in such a way that it felt like a correction. They owned the piece, and the picture of them on stage together now belongs to that poem. 

I hold these images and feelings close to my heart. They leave an impression like finger prints on a glass. I hold them because I want my work to have the same effect on others. What’s the point of art that’s easily forgotten? Like the new Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM) ads on the train, I want my art to “hit you” later on. You will have your own list of hits and memorable moments, your own assortment of fingerprints. 

Choose wisely. Like Maya Angelou said “People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel.” Get some good art, let it feed your soul, and then later on, when you least expect it, let it warm your heart. 

“A loaf of bread, a container of milk, and a stick of butter...” 

Bridget Kelso is an Adjunct Lecturer at the City College of New York and a teaching artist for Judith Sloan’s EarSay Project at the International High School in Queens, which helps Immigrant Youth by transforming trauma into art. She is currently working on a solo performance piece entitled SLIDE SHOW: THE EVOLUTION OF RADICAL FEMINIST THEOLOGY.

This post is part of a weekly series from the Emerging Writers Group community of playwrights. The EWG is two-year playwriting fellowship at The Public Theater seeking to target playwrights at the earliest stages of their careers. In so doing, The Public hopes to create an artistic home for a diverse and exceptionally talented group of up-and-coming playwrights.

Dear South Asian Actors, Why Do You Hide from Me?

By Deen, member of the 2009 Emerging Writers Group

On February 13th, roundtable discussion about Asian Americans at the casting door was led by playwright David Henry Hwang. “Over the past five theater seasons Asian-American actors were cast in 2 percent of the roles in Broadway and major Off Broadway productions, while 80 percent of the roles went to white performers,” writes Patrick Healy of the New York Times, “Asian-Americans were found to be the only minority group whose share of New York acting roles declined slightly, and they were also the least likely to be chosen for characters that would traditionally be played by white actors.”

The Asian American Performers Action Coalition went so far as to name those theater companies that cast the fewest numbers of Asian actors (Atlantic Theater Company, Manhattan Theater Club, Playwrights Horizons and Roundabout Theater Company), while our own Oskar Eustis advocated for Asian Americans to raise their voices, picket the theaters if need be! This suggestion was apparently met with applause from the 400-strong audience at Fordham University.

I say “apparently” because I wasn’t there and couldn’t witness it firsthand. I was at Ugly Rhino’s Valentine’s Day-themed short play festival bemoaning the fact that my play had been pulled at the last minute because we had been unable to find any South Asian actors to play the roles. The festival is a monthly event that Ugly Rhino puts on -- a fun and fast collaboration, as these things usually are -- complete with talented artists and drinking games. February’s incarnation saw work by a number of Public Theater Emerging Writers Group alumni. My play, Gaurav, is about the death of Gaurav Gopalan, a gay South Asian engineer and theater director who was murdered in DC. In it, two parents try to come to terms with their son’s sudden death as a result of a hate crime which has yet to be solved. Heavy fare for a festival that encourages drinking, but meaty roles for the actors.

If we had found any actors, that is. We contacted about a dozen people. One very talented one (and my friend) was going to be at the David Henry Hwang panel. One was in Colorado working. A few were busy. A few never responded to any of our emails or Facebook messages. Two weeks turned into one week. The festival’s casting department tried to help. One week turned into a weekend. My director and I had an emergency rehearsal to figure out if I could play one of the roles, if he could play one of the roles with a sign around his head that said “I know I’m not South Asian, but I play one on stage,” if we could begin the show with an announcement that said: “We would have liked to have cast this play appropriately, but all the South Asian actors are at David Henry Hwang’s panel discussion at Fordham.”

I won’t lie. I was a little bitter and in my head I was taking it out on David Henry Hwang. I fully understood the point of the panel and I think it’s a very important conversation to be having. But the irony that it was happening on the same night as this festival and that my director and I couldn’t find any actors to play the parts of Gaurav’s grieving mother and father was just too much for me. My laughter every time I mentioned it had a decidedly sharp edge.

It’s true what the panel said about Asian Americans being unfairly undercast. It’s true that Asian American audiences need to “vote with their feet” as David Henry Hwang said (and Healy reported). But it is also true that every time I have written roles for South Asian actors, it has been a nightmare trying to cast them. As a South Asian writer and performer, I feel an obligation to write more South Asian roles: It’s important for South Asian audiences to not only see their own stories reflected, but to see stories about queer people who break the mold of South Asian conservatism; it’s important for non-South Asian audiences to see South Asian stories, to see more diversity in general; and it’s important for South Asian actors to have those roles.

But every single time I have had to cast anything outside of a South Asian girl in her 20s, I have been moved to desperation by the end of the process, and I’ve been trying to do this for about six years in NYC. I am sometimes tempted to say, “Fuck this I’m writing for white actors from now on.” Not because I don’t love my South Asian peeps, but because my hair is thinning and pretty soon I’ll have nothing left to pull out.

I don’t know what the answer is. I can see how it’s possible that many South Asian actors don’t stay in the field because the prospects are so slim, and those that do might opt to do more film or TV, perhaps? Certainly, South Asian families do not generally look kindly upon their children attempting a career in the arts. But the fact remains that every single time I have tried to cast South Asian actors, it has been a difficult experience. I often end up with actors at vastly different ability levels, with vastly different amounts of experience. If I can find actors at all, that is.

So what to do? I don’t have an answer. I’m not advocating for anything contrary to what David Henry Hwang and others advocated for at Fordham when they talked about Asian Americans at the casting door. But I think it needs to said -- when I do write roles specifically for South Asians, more often than not I’ve been driven to exasperation by the casting process, more often than not I’ve had to be grateful for any actor I could find versus finding the right actor for the role, and more often than not I’ve wondered why the hell is this process so damn hard?

Where are you, South Asian actors?


Draw the Circle will have its World Premiere at InterAct Theatre (Philadelphia) April 4-8th, 2012. To find out more or to buy tickets, click HERE.

For more information about Deen, please visit: deentheplaywright.weebly.com.

This post is part of a weekly series from the Emerging Writers Group community of playwrights. The EWG is two-year playwriting fellowship at The Public Theater seeking to target playwrights at the earliest stages of their careers. In so doing, The Public hopes to create an artistic home for a diverse and exceptionally talented group of up-and-coming playwrights.

Adventures in Webcasting

By Jerome A. Parker, member of the 2011 Emerging Writers Group

This past fall, I approached one of the directors of a theater company who was giving my play a developmental reading about the possibility of webcasting and I was confronted with a dead stare. “Do you mean filming?” “Yes, filming is part of it – but…” He interrupted: “We have a very strong relationship with Equity (the Stage Actors’ union), and we’re not allowed to film.” I had heard this response before, so I was ready with my retort. “I’m aware of Equity’s rules – but this isn’t exactly filming – not as you may think of it. We’re not going to film for archival purposes. In fact – we will erase any video after the event. We’ll just be using the camera to project a live feed to the internet – so that audience members who aren’t able to attend – because they are out of state, in another borough, etc… - can watch the play. We would, in no way, jeopardize your relationship – or the actors’ relationship for that matter - with Equity by creating content that can be distributed.” Still the dead stare. “Why would anyone want to watch a play on the web?” I knew where this was headed – but until I got a definitive “NO” I kept trying.

See, I went to graduate school on the west coast at UCLA, where New Media was part of the storytelling curriculum. Californians seem to be way ahead of the curve with anything internet related, though in the theater section of my school I was also met with apprehension from professors and classmates alike.

So when I arrived back in NYC and found LONYLA.COM, an international hub for theater storytellers on the web, I was more than ecstatic. My skype conversation with founder J. Dakota Powell was an even more joyous occasion for me, as I felt I finally found a band of partners in crime. We both were enthusiastic, to say the least, about the opportunities to be found on the web for theater writers and theater companies in particular.

 I, for one, believe that small theater companies can increase their audience members and revenue via the web. Large companies like the Metropolitan Opera House and producers of mega hits like WICKED use the web to keep their brands relevant and to reach new fans. You must imagine my excitement, then, that La Mama, a historical downtown landmark of a theater, is leading the digital theater movement for small non-profits. At least once a day my Facebook page lights up from one of their status updates. Sometimes this includes live presentations. I’d be very interested to see what impact their web presence is having at their institution.

My last foray in webcasting was for an EWG night of shorts this past winter, produced and led by EWG member Pia Wilson. She, Akin Salawu (EWG ’08), and I met at the Kraine Theater and tested all of our equipment, after spending hours setting up a Facebook page which could be shared times over with just a click of a button. By using just a laptop with a webcam and an internet connection, we were live in moments and broadcasting our rehearsal process.

 However, once again, the progress was met with hesitation by other playwrights and artists involved in the festival. So, the “live” broadcast was cancelled. And even though it didn’t work out as an endeavor then, I was especially surprised about how easy the process was and how easy it was to share and put in place.

So, suffice to say, I’m looking forward to the future and to further adventures in telling stories theatrically on the internet.

Stay tuned :)

Jerome A. Parker is a playwright and lyricist from NYC. His play, SUITES FOR SAD MEN, will have a staged reading this April with Mixed Phoenix Theater Company. This fall he is one of the featured US artists in the TIME WAVE FESTIVAL produced by LoNyLa.com

This post is part of a weekly series from the Emerging Writers Group community of playwrights. The EWG is two-year playwriting fellowship at The Public Theater seeking to target playwrights at the earliest stages of their careers. In so doing, The Public hopes to create an artistic home for a diverse and exceptionally talented group of up-and-coming playwrights.

Is there an Effin’ Problem?

By Aaron Wigdor Levy, member of the 2011 Emerging Writers Group 

I use the “F” word a lot in my plays. I use it in all sorts of combinations. It wasn’t a conscious choice or an attempt to be edgy, but soon after I started writing, language more associated with dockworkers and angry drivers began finding it’s way into my scripts. I never thought much about it. It was just the way my characters’ communicated or, rather, didn’t communicate with their world. Since Mamet, Shepard and countless other playwrights made profanity commonplace in the seventies, I just viewed it as another tool to tell my characters’ story. Then one day I had a conversation with a literary manager friend that made me think it was in fact a much bigger deal. 

 “The Major Artistic Director of this Major Regional Theater hates the “F” word.” (I’m leaving out the person who told me this and the person it was about.) I was actually kind of shocked. I can understand why some people wouldn’t like excessive use of the “F” Bomb and some audiences may be put off by it, but it’s one word, and a very prevalent word in both our society and new plays. Isn’t that being a bit puritan? I started asking around. The same person told me that he’s heard a person within the theater community say that “profanity is the placeholder for an articulate idea” and that “only lazy playwrights use profanity.” He also told me how a major regional theater wouldn’t consider a play because of mild profanity. This seemed pretty extreme to me. I don’t think I’m lazy. I don’t think I’m that inarticulate. 

Some chalk it up to playing it safe, which is true, especially in commercial theater. If you’re taking the family to the theater you don’t necessarily want them coming home with a new vocabulary. I don’t think Broadway is quite ready for Taxi Driver: The Musical yet. Another friend who works at a regional theater says it’s all about informing the audience. If they come in expecting family fare, they might not want that entire season dedicated to Sarah Kane. Downtown New York and Peoria are still very different places. But why do we expect theater to be politer than other forms of entertainment? To me the best part of theater is that it investigates the world we live in, and part of the world is profane. 

In my own experience I have found the audience surprisingly willing to go with some of my plays that are a bit saltier. After a performance of one of my plays a woman who must have been in her seventies came up to me. I was expecting her to tear me a new one (in polite language of course), but she gave me a hug and told me how much she liked the play. Here I was already so defensive about what I’d written and this woman just wanted to give me a compliment. 

Should I be concerned about the language in my play? Am I hindering my options for production with a flurry of “F” Bombs? I’m not sure, but I think by peppering my characters’ dialogue with the occasional four-letter word I’m able to show their frustration, place in the world and further define them.

Aaron Wigdor Levy's profanity laced short play, TRUBIE, was commissioned and recently produced by the American Theater Company in Chicago for their 10X10 Play Festival. 

This post is part of a weekly series from the Emerging Writers Group community of playwrights. The EWG is two-year playwriting fellowship at The Public Theater seeking to target playwrights at the earliest stages of their careers. In so doing, The Public hopes to create an artistic home for a diverse and exceptionally talented group of up-and-coming playwrights.