Every goodbye is hello...

Well, I graduated.

Graduations are strange ceremonies to mark the end of things, and the thing about them that's particularly strange is the fact that they have nothing to do with what you just did, as far as their form goes. Particularly for art school students, because while everyone else celebrates the end of papers and exams, we've spent the last four years rolling on the floor, trying to figure out how to make a room feel like it's outside, making strange vocal noises, and being constantly evaluated not on how much we know but on how we function as people. This graduation was particularly weird because the teachers and staff who truly shaped my education weren't part of the ceremonies. So it became a bunch of people I don't know telling me congrats on an achievement when they don't even know what went into it.

Furthermore, I feel weird being congratulated for simply finishing college. That's like being congratulated for getting an A. And A and a degree are useful to have because they're quick marks for employers, etc, but they're not the real reason. It's not about what marker you get but about what you learned. What you experienced. Grades are practically useless in art school, so while we do get grades (because NYU makes us), we get evaluations about out work, out progress, and these are what matter. I've often forgotten what grade I got.

So, instead of patting myself on the back for getting a piece of paper, the only thing that makes sense is to use this moment to look back over the last four years - remembering who I was when I arrived and looking at who I am now and asking how I did. And happily, I can say that I think I did this college thing well. I have no regrets. I don't think I could have done any more than I did. (I mean, really, I worked on 43 shows in 7 semesters.) I stayed openminded and absorbed a lot across the board at the beginning, and then I narrowed my focus to be very specific towards the end in order to create a track for my specific interests. I worked with and learned from incredible creators, both teachers and students alike. I got well acquainted with the New York theater scene and have worked on a good number of shoes off- and off-off-Broadway. I spent a semester living in a place so completely different than anything I'd known, and traveled the world for the first time seeing art and experiencing people. My life took turns I never would have expected and I went with it even when afraid and am thrilled I did. I didn't waste it. PHTS apparently agrees and gave me an award for outstanding achievement in studio, and NYU graduated me with honors and apparently sent me a pretty certificate, which I haven't seen yet as my parents are doing things to preserve it. (My mother said, "Well, if we had given it to you, it's just stay rolled in that tube. "Until you needed the tube for something," my father added accurately.)

There are the questions that come up about what I'm doing after college. These are questions that are hard for my parents to answer as it can be hard to explain what I do and how the theatrical world works. It's rare that you'll have a "steady job" unless you're positioned at a theater company. You're hopping from project to project and trying to line up the next one and all of that, constantly. It's not a steady or stable or easy way of life, but I'm not worried, and here is why:

I am of the belief that theater school is one of the best preparations you can possibly have for life, particularly in our current social and economic state of affairs. Here are some reasons why:

1. Resourcefulness. Theater has always been poor. Theater makers have always been out of work. Most of the theater spaces in New York are falling apart. What this means is, we LEARN resourcefulness. We learn how to use what we have to get a better effect than the one that costs too much. We learn how to look for jobs, how to carve out places for ourselves. We learn how to survive and do what we do in less-than-ideal circumstances. We have to stay infinitely adaptable. I worked a show on Saturday where we had to set up a mixing station for the DJ, which we ended up making out of a piano stand an some scrap wood. We didn't have a pin to hold the piano stand up, though, and when I noticed this, the DJ (also a graduate of my program) said, "This is what your education prepared you for," and I found a screw and wedged it in. The ability to think beyond the obvious and literal and search for creative solutions is key to theater, and is also growing increasingly more and more necessary as our economic systems crumble.

2. Creativity. In theater, we have an idea, we wrestle with it and try to figure it out, and then work to manifest that idea into some physical form. The ability to do this, to move from idea to manifestation, is key to any kind of business endeavor. That's what we do--idea, create. And knowing steps to take in that whole process is particularly valuable. Frankly, that's what business look for when hiring upper-level positions. Taking a project and seeing it manifested.

3. Communication. Similarly to creativity, theater artists are focused on creating a form that best communicates what they want to say. It's not about fitting the idea into a form that does not suit it, but finding a form that does, that will actually get the idea across. And that's the kind of communication we need, desperately, in this world.

4. Collaboration. Theater artists have to work with lots of people to get their piece up. Collaboration is a VITAL part of making theater, and like it or not, you learn how to do it if you truly apply yourself. You learn how to listen to other people, how to take in their ideas, how to ask helpful questions. You learn how to manage people, how to value their ideas and your own, how to work to weave ideas together into something none of you could have created on your own. And you learn that just because something is "easy" does not necessarily mean its better. Sometimes the easiest collaborations produce the most boring product, and you need different voices on the team, one of which is the "mean" one who will say what he/she feels honestly and generously in order to stir up conversation.

That has been huge for me. I came into college not at all comfortable with how to work with other people, avoiding confrontation at all costs. And throughout my time in college I've felt myself getting stronger and stronger, more and more confident, most likely to actually ask a question or talk to someone I don't know, because theater has taught me collaboration. These are lessons I'll be learning my entire life, but I got a very strong start, largely thanks to the incredible people who taught me so much about other people. Particularly, how to care for them. Most of what I do as a director and designer is care. Simply care. And I have learned a particularly valuable lesson in that--true care, true love, is not easy. It's not letting anyone off the hook, because if you did you wouldn't be truly caring for them and their development. Caring sometimes means being willing to be the one who they hate, if that is what they need. I learned more about caring for people from one teacher, who was also the hardest, most brutally honest, you could say "harsh" if you were so inclined, teacher I have ever had, because all of that was to a very loving point, which was my own development as an artist and a person. And because someone was willing to do that, I grew tremendously these past four years. And for that I am terribly grateful.

So, for the question of what this next stage of life holds, I have the literal answer and the Next Major Spiritual Question to Tackle (Because That's What Colleen Does In Her Life, After All).

The literal answer is that I'm writing this blog from Ithaca, New York, where I will be living and working all summer. I am at the Hangar Theater as their Lab Company Sound Designer/Sound Design Intern. The Hangar Theater is a fabulous regional theater that has a jam-packed summer season. One of its main focuses is education, and surrounding that is the Lab Company. The Lab Company is a company of college-aged actors, designers who are recent graduates, and directors chosen by the Drama League (the Drama League Directing Fellowships are incredible opportunities for up and coming directors, and it's likely that I'll apply for one several years from now). The Lab Company gives everyone opportunities to practice their craft, learn from each other and working professionals. Through this, I will be designing eight shows (five children's theater shows, three "Wedge" shows which are more experimental shows directed by the Drama League fellows), and assisting professional designers on 3 of the mainstage shows (a new play, Gem of the Ocean, and the Rocky Horror Show). Outside of work I'll also be helping continue development on a piece I worked on in May when the creators of the piece are up here. My first full day of work was today, and I'll post more updates about that as the summer goes on. Lots to say, I'm very excited to be here, I have to read two scripts for a design meeting tomorrow and I am THRILLED FOR DESIGN MEETINGS I LOVE THEM.

After the summer, the plan is to visit Virginia briefly, then return to New York, work (a day job and) as a sound designer, and self-produce my own directing work. It would make no sense for me to move back to Virginia or really go anywhere else. Grad school is not an option until I've been out in the world more, all of my connections are in New York, and places that will pay me for what I have my degree in and love doing are also in New York. So, that makes sense. I've got an apartment with fabulous rent out in Brooklyn (a 10 minute walk from the only Bojangles in NYC, WIN!), I've got some show offers on the table. It will work out.

Ithaca is a small hippie town nestled in the middle of nowhere in that vast land known as "upstate New York" which really means "any part of New York that is not New York City". So far it actually reminds me a lot of Asheville, North Carolina, a feeling confirmed by the lighting design who is from North Carolina. The arts are thriving. Nature is beautiful (lakes and hills and waterfalls). There are lots of small places to go in town, but nothing surrounding it. I like the isolation. There's something really lovely, after being in the city, to going away, changing your pace, and working out whatever you need to work out.

Which brings me to part two of the summer, which my mother thinks is a continuation of my last blog post. I'm not sure how much I really agree but it's on the subject of love, and the challenges and values of love, which is really what all my blog posts are about, but anyway.

I am starting this summer with a question. How do you love when it seems impossible? How do you love when someone you trust and love does something incomprehensible? How do you love when something rips apart a thing that was once whole and beautiful? How do you love when you watch the hurtful ripple effects of a decision you vehemently disagree with with every fiber of your being? How do you love when you, frankly, don't want to anymore? When it would be so much easier and feel so much better if you didn't? How do you love even then?

Some things happened this week that have violently pushed those questions into my brain. An awful situation that has shaken me and most of my friends to the core. In the past few days I've been more angry, upset, confused, and worried than I have been in a very long time. Because something ripped through the center of something I loved quite deeply, I have seen people act in ways I never would have expected, and people I love have been hurt (and will continue to be as the news spreads). And the thing with me is, you can do whatever you want to me, I have the patience and the stamina for that. But if you hurt someone I love, this Toby-instinct* rages up in me and I could actually murder someone.

*Toby-instinct, referring to Tobias Ragg, that little kid character in Sweeney Todd. Toby is, I think, the purest example of love and devotion and loyalty I have ever seen in art. Toby loves Mrs. Lovett ultimately unselfishly--if it came down to it, if it was better for Lovett if Toby disappeared, he would. It would kill him, but he would. He's SO singly focused, if anything begins to threaten her, protecting her is where ALL his attention goes--and how much he could be hurting himself doesn't cross his mind. Which actually makes Toby the most powerful and the most dangerous character in that show--because you can do an incredible amount of physical damage if you're not afraid of breaking your own hand. A summary of my years of Toby analysis is actually somewhere on Facebook if you're into the whole Sweeney Todd thing. It's from the last time Toby really flared up, in 2008.

So, being in a very particular emotional state, needing some solidarity and grounding, and having gotten no sleep for the past several nights, I did not go to church on Sunday morning. Instead, I went down to Battery Park and walked the labyrinth that's there. It's a small classical labyrinth (as opposed to the Chartres-style labyrinth) laid out with stones in the grass. I sang, a lot, while walking it, which I'd never done before. And I spewed out the situation and prayed desperately for those who have been affected by it. But then on the walk out of the labyrinth, I got to the hard part.

I am not allowed to hate anyone.

It is, actually, against my religion, which we all know I take very seriously.

In fact, I am supposed to love everyone. And yes, that's always difficult because it's hard to expand your care that much, but I have never found that so hard until this moment. Because I don't WANT to love them right now. I would LOVE to vilify and hate and be done with it. But actually, this very strong code I have instilled in myself says that I can't do that. And intellectually, I know that bringing more hate into the world won't help the situation at all. And I know that love does not mean approval, or letting things slide, and love is definitely not letting people off the hook, and there is some way to love within all of this, but emotionally I am not at all there. I was praying for help in trying to love, and it was a physical struggle for me to get the words out.

So here I am now. In beautiful Ithaca, which is particularly good for me as it is away from New York City, the center of this situation. With the question, "How do you keep loving when it is the hardest possible response?" Which is a question that will take much longer to answer and be very hard to put into practice, but I've got to get some kind of beginning. Partially logistically, because I need to be able to look at people in the face and have a conversation by the time I return to the city. What I said to a group of friends as we lent each other our support, wrapped in blankets and crying on a balcony in Brooklyn, was, "I don't know how to even begin to heal this situation." And it's one that's going to need a lot of healing in a lot of different ways, for a long time, so we've got to start somewhere.