It turns out, when I'm vaulting from one gig to another / one state to another / one type of performing art to another, I don't often take time to sit down and write about it. Odd. 

Since I've last done a post, it's been quite the 3 years of getting to tell great stories, racing through airports to catch flights, trying to remember what state I'm in, and laughing until my stomach hurts with dear colleagues I can't believe I also get to call friends.

In the midst of it all, I've learned to truly cherish the times I get to work with people I already know and love - sometimes back to back. My current favorite is when I spent 2 months at Sarasota Opera, said goodbye to folks I truly enjoyed working with, then 10 days later traveled to Opera Colorado and greeted 3 of them again like it had been years instead of days (see our very silly video below).

I've also enjoyed becoming the stage manager I wished I had learned from when I was starting. Taking cues from some of the incredible people I've had the privilege to work with while freelancing, I've started to be intentional about making sure my team is finding time to rest, eat, have emotions, and take time when they need it. On the first day with a new SM team, I love to challenge us to be a team of humans who will all make and fix mistakes while having a great time and putting together a phenomenal show, instead of a team of robots who must be perfect or else. I've worked for both kinds of teams and will tell anyone who will listen that toxic perfectionism is an awful way to live. Plus, we're going to make mistakes either way, so why not be mentally healthy about it from the start?

Finally, somehow I've actually succeeded in my goal to become more than a stage manager. When Covid started, I had so many conversations with peers about not knowing who we were without work. It was a sobering moment of realizing just how much of my identity I was giving over to a place that would immediately replace me the moment I questioned the safety of a dangerous policy. So, on a quest to find an identity outside of my job title, I started the search for hobbies. A lot of them didn't stick (or didn't stick yet? unclear), but a couple have become a big part of my life.

The biggest - as I sit here next to a 6 foot tall bookshelf filled with yarn - is crocheting. My current project is a mountain of mice to be sold in the Boutique in the lobby of Champaign-Urbana Ballet's The Nutcracker to support their fantastic Tickets for Families program. It will be the third year for the mice and this year they'll arrive with tags including names and what state they were made in. 

​Next time I'll write about my big between-gigs hobby, volunteering as a puppy raiser for Dogs Inc. Here's a sneak peak at my current charge - Coco - a 4-month-old Labrador puppy who will someday be a guide dog for someone with visual impairment, a service dog for a veteran with PTSD, a companion pup for a Gold Star family, or something else amazing from Dogs Inc's list of possible careers. ​

It's been a very strange path, but I'm so grateful to get to do what I do. 

It's been a while, but things are finally revving up again. Last week was spent in Illinois helping to build a new ballet production with Champaign-Urbana Ballet - a delightful take on The Little Mermaid. 

Someone asked how stage managing felt right now, and I immediately had to tell them I don't know yet because CU Ballet isn't a fair meter stick. Not because the gig wasn't challenging (I'm still trying to build back up my tech stamina) or the show wasn't big (I'm dreaming of streamer cannons and automated fly systems), but because it doesn't seem fair to make such a big judgement call after spending time with a company that feels like home. It was a new piece in a theater I had never worked in before, but the camaraderie, good humor, and want to make something great while still getting to be human was all there. And in my experience, that isn't quite real life. 

When I went back to school to study stage management, I remember asking a professional SM how often her job was truly fun. She told me that if you were lucky, you got one fun show a year. The rest? Well. You had to be ready to find something great about each one while accepting that they weren't going to be what made you want to keep doing the job.

That was hard to hear because, while I understand that a job isn't always going to be joyful, I couldn't imagine spending only a few days a year truly loving what I was doing. 

10 years later, I get it. However, one good thing about no longer being beholden to one company for an entire season is that I can spend time truly evaluating whether or not I want to commit time to a specific company or a specific project. They're not all going to be the best thing I've ever been a part of, and sometimes I'll have to say yes to a project I'm not super psyched about in order to pay the bills, but I'm hoping that on the other end of the business shutting down, maybe it's possible to find groups of artists who are chasing it all: Making good art AND treating people like valuable humans. Bringing beautiful works to audiences AND having space to make mistakes. Tackling important issues with difficult messages AND enjoying the heck out of doing the work. 

Maybe that's silly. Maybe I'll be disappointed again. Maybe I'll read this again in a few months and shake my head. But maybe not. And if nothing else, it's nice to have back a little bit of the optimism I've forgotten in the past 10 years. Maybe that's a good enough place to start. 

Well. It happened today. After a month and a half of watching company after company cancel, the company I was supposed to spend the summer with canceled their season. It's not surprising. It's absolutely the right call. But the lack of creating and income for 3 months still hurts.

I'm not sure what hit harder - the cancellation of the world premiere opera about a bunny that the entire company was psyched about, or losing my chance to finally call Sweeney Todd and step into the world of Production Management at the same time. Both projects were hard. I don't know the last time I worked harder on a show than I did on Edward Tulane, and Production Managing a 5 show rotating rep company while also serving as Stage Manager for 1 of those 5 shows would have been so much work....but both projects were incredibly exciting. 

We knew Tulane tech was going to be huge, ridiculous amounts of work, and I was ready.

I know the schedule demanded of serving double duty would have had me in exhausted heaps some days, and I was chomping at the bit to get started. 

And now, both are gone. 

I'm not sure what the point of this post is, really, but it seemed important to write it.

This feels like an impossible time to be in the arts, but I know we'll come out on the other side, because what is the alternative? A world without art isn't a world worth living in, so we'll be there when it opens up again. 

Until then, I'm hunkering down, kept company by my plant named after a Shakespearean king, a duck with a clipboard and headset, and all the wonderful people I'm lucky enough to virtually connect with. I'm passing the days helping manage the supply chain and warehouse workings of the Minnesota Opera Mask Force, attending virtual play readings, Facetiming with family & dear friends, and stage managing an open mic night once a week on Zoom (or more accurately wrangling the Zoom demons).

​It doesn't feel like enough after 70 hour work weeks and barely enough sleep, but it will have to do for a while. 

One of my favorite parts of working for a company that's looking ahead to what's next is the atmosphere when something special is on its way.

Don't get me wrong - different folks at the company are excited for different facets of every show we do. For instance, the cast on our current production is PHENOMENAL and hilarious. The amount of dance parties backstage alone...

However, there's something specific about the enthusiasm when talking about 'that show.' In years past, it's been Silent Night, or Peter and the Starcatcher, or The Shining (not all at the same company, of course). Whenever that show was mentioned, the energy would heighten, the intensity would sharpen, and you could feel everyone leaning in slightly in anticipation. And goodness gracious were the products good. 

Currently, that show is Edward Tulane. Based on the children's book by Kate DiCamillo, the new opera tells the tale of a toy rabbit's journey to learn how to love. The story is beautiful, and heart breaking, and special. And wow are the folks in the production department excited about it. We are 2 productions out from starting rehearsals for Tulane, yet every day is filled with excited conversation with the Props Master about the prototype for the doll version of Edward, or with the Costume Director about amazing fabrics for jellyfish. 

And even though we know the show is going to be huge, and hard, and an awful lot of work, it feels like we've been entrusted with something precious, and you'd better believe we're going to do our best to take care of it. 

Early in my career, I was told that survival meant finding something to love and appreciate in each show - the music is beautiful, the company is made of lovely people, the design is gorgeous, props include a giant stuff monkey, there's a chorister dressed as a cupcake - something. 

Every once in a while, the elements align and I find myself working on THAT show. The one with exactly the right company, story, production, and people - the one that makes me excited to get to work everyday and finds me talking non-stop about the work we're doing.

That's where I'm at right now. 

In the midst of a stunning design, gorgeous music and words that capture incredible emotion, a company that quickly became family (in all their goofy glory), an insanely well-choreographed battle scene, and a story that is important and heartbreaking at exactly the right time, you find Silent Night. 

An opera by Kevin Puts and Mark Campbell, Silent Night focuses on the Christmas truce of World War I - the story of soldiers who had been trained to kill each other suddenly finding peace and common ground in the middle of hell, and the aftermath of what it means to see the enemy as human. 

At a normal time, it's a stunning, beautiful, important piece. 

Getting to perform it on Sunday, November 11, 2018 - 100 years after the Armistice - and prefaced with the orchestra playing and audience singing the National Anthem? Words fail to describe the pertinence. 

We fly through shows so quickly in this business that they all start to blur together. However, I have no doubt this one will stick with me long after we close on Sunday. 

So often, I try to explain to friends and family what it is I do for a living. Some of it is very quantifiable - cueing artists onto the stage or lights and deck moves, running rehearsals, problem solving when things go wrong - these easily have relatable stories attached to them that people who have seen a live show can understand. 

And then there are the stories that make no sense if you've never sat behind a tech table or in a design meeting. How do you explain the conversation about the prop lobster aspics made of ballistic gel molding because everyone wants to poke them and see them jiggle? Or doing so many performances of La Boheme that you start putting a joke of the day on the door behind which the men's chorus waits before they're called backstage in the midst of the major scene change to Cafe Momus? Or being in charge of 23 children dressed as Nibelungen, and gathering in a circle before their first entrance from the depths of the orchestra pit to whisper a battle cry of 'For Narnia!' (my choice) or 'Tator Tots!' (their choice). 

Perhaps my favorite of late was during Don Pasquale. A month ago, I stage managed Chuck Hudson's Don Pasquale for Minnesota Opera. Set in the 1950's, Pasquale is cast as a washed up silent movie actor in the midst of a changing Hollywood. Scene shifts were covered with projected films of Pasquale's work - including a sci-fi thriller that features an octopus attack. One morning, as we're working through cueing, Chuck turns to me sitting behind the tech table and asks, 'do you know if there are extra movie props backstage?' I grin as I tell him I know for a fact some of the movie props were sent, and he asks to have them set onstage. What followed was my favorite headset conversation with my ASMs:

Me: Do we have any tentacles backstage?
ASMs: Yep!
Me: Can you have props set one on the highest shelf?
ASMs: Will do.
Me: Suction cups out. 

And then most of the headsets went live with quite a lot of laughter. 

That day, it was actually my job to say, with all seriousness (and a lot of laughter in my voice), 'suction cups out.'

What a silly, wonderful way to make a living. 

Sometimes, an ASM's book just needs some humor:

Tosca 2016 - the P.A. used a large staff to knock on the ground 3 times under a staircase on my cue.

Rusalka 2015 - Kelly Kaduce and I would dance backstage before her Act 3 entrance.

Diana's Garden 2017 - I cue a carpenter to hold a door while Doristo knocks on it. I also may be currently reading the Game of Thrones series....

And so there's no concern, the first and the third both had notes under or near them clarifying due to the 'hit by the bus' clause. 

I've been stubborn.

Throughout the years I've stage managed The Nutcracker, I've held onto the idea that I could continue to call projection cues by their rightful name. Even in the battle, even in the big transition to Land of Snow, I stubbornly clung to 'Projections 5 Go.'

And then this year happened. 

One of the wonderful things about working with the Champaign-Urbana Ballet is their dedication to continually making their productions better. Each and every remount year something has been added, redesigned, or improved. This year, the Battle was reimagined and the amount of new projection cues in those 8 minutes alone caused the total number to double. 

The result is amazing, and exciting, and a whole lot more to call. 

I found myself sitting at the tech table after first dress, combing through the Battle for ways to make my call cleaner, easier to understand, and more efficient. As I sat there with the video playing, trying to rehearse the windup for a large transition, I realized it was time to drop 'projections' for something shorter. 

I struggled to make numbers connect with 'Pro.' 'Vid' got stuck in my mouth too often. 'AV' was only losing one syllable. 

With a sigh, I texted my fellow stage manager, Josh, to tell him the news. 

As it turns out, it's a change I should have made eons ago. I love the simplified call, the ease of the word, and the fact it doesn't sound like any other department. 

Plus, the response of the crew when I warned them of the different call they were going to hear was pretty hilarious. There were requests for it to be changed to 'best,' 'fav,' or 'fab' (I almost said yes to that one...), as well as guesses as to what I was actually meaning with tab (the best being the number of drinks on my tab for the crew that evening).

The moral of the story being, I'm a new convert to Tab and am unsure why it took me so long to get there. 

At three-years-old, my parents tell me I was a hellion. They couldn't take me anywhere without a tantrum and a quick exit.

So, when they decided to get tickets to a play - my first - they had exit strategies and contingency plans for the inevitable hurricane of sound I would become.

Imagine their surprise when I sat enthralled with my mouth hanging open the entirety of Peter Pan.

This summer, I had the opportunity to return to Neverland serving as the stage manager of Peter and the Starcatcher at the Illinois Shakespeare Festival.

The script, the cast, the direction - it was a summer of utter joy - of getting to play and call it work.

​There are plenty of words I could say, but I think this video pretty much takes care of it:


https://www.facebook.com/IllinoisShakes/videos/10154250662198419/

Minnesota Opera's world premiere of the 'The Shining' opera received quite a bit of press, so much of it incredibly positive and excited about this new piece of American opera. After NPR's piece aired, I got countless texts, emails, and calls from friends, family, and former coworkers, asking what it was like to work on the show, wanting to know if I could send them photos, and asking if it was actually good. (One of my favorite texts was something like 'you can tell me...is it as corny as it is in my head?')

My constant answer fell somewhere along the lines of, 'It's the largest, hardest, most complicated show I've ever worked on. Backstage is bonkers. And it's good. Really, really good.'

There's more to say, but I'll let the photos speak for themselves. Working on this world premiere was an incredible journey, and I can honestly say I enjoyed spending a couple months at the Overlook.

Production photos from Minnesota Opera: Music by Paul Moravec, Libretto by Mark Campbell, Directed by Eric Simonson, Conducted by Michael Christie, ​Scenic Design by Erhard Rom, Animation and Projection Design by 59 Productions, Costume Design by Karin Kopischke, Lighting Design by Robert Wierzel, Sound Design by C. Andrew Mayer, Choreography by Heidi Spesard-Noble.