Wednesday, April 11, 2012

What's Your Mission Statement?

I read an article this week from a dramaturg, talking about Mark Chemer's "Ghost Light."  It discussed the importance of an artistic institution's mission statement in guiding its programming, its development, its outreach...its everything.

I get asked, a lot, for artist statements.  I've been told, more than once, that it would be a good idea to have a mission statement.  I've always (sometimes secretly, sometimes not-so-secretly) resented those requests/suggestions -- it felt too "professional," it felt like bullshit busywork to make myself sound good on paper, to justify my admission to "the room" or "the profession."

But over the past week or so, I've been asking that question of myself, or, rather, asking variations of what is your mission -- ie, Why the Hell Are You Doing This?  Why Are You Putting Yourself Through This?  Why Not Just Enjoy Your Life, Which Is Otherwise Easy And Meaningful?  Why Keep Writing, Even When It Doesn't Make You Happy?

I can't quite answer those questions, yet.  But I'm trying to work toward answers.  I started with a few easier questions:

What do I think theater should be?  And where do I want to sit within the world of theater?  If I could make ANY kind of plays, for ANY kind of audience, what plays would I write and what audience would I write for?

I think I'm more interested in theater that goes for peoples' hearts than for their minds...not that you can't go for both, but that I am most in love with theater that goes for the most primitive, reptilian parts of the brain, the parts that go BEYOND words.  I walk away from terrific plays, remembering only one particular gesture or stage picture...I want to write to help make those moments of magic and transformation.  I want to make theater that's silly and fun and creates opportunities for wonder.

And I'm mostly interested in the audience that doesn't show up at the theater.  I want to write for my dad, who doesn't go to plays, hardly, except with me.  I want to write for my students, who have only seen the occasional Broadway musical, and for the engineering majors at public universities, and for people who obsess over video games and barbecue, not Havel and Racine adaptations.  I want to make theater outside the theater.

By extension, it's fair to say that the people I'm trying to reach aren't the people who read all the plays.  They're not the people who are programming at the O'Neill, at Sundance, at the Off-Broadway theaters.  Those people are fantastic and smart and, yes, many of them would love to reach the same people I do, but they're the temple priests, and the people I want to reach are at the colosseum down the street, watching the gladiators.

So why am I spending so much time and energy begging at the temple gates?  Shouldn't I be selling hot dogs at the colosseum?

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