New Leaf Theatre

So, one of the brilliant structural details about this play we’re working on called Six Years is that each scene moves forward six years from the scene we just saw.  It’s one of the things I love about it.  It seems like an arbitrary amount of time in some ways, but something about the roundness of it really appeals to me.  And so much happens in a time span like that.  Just think about where you were six years ago today.  G’head.  Think about it.  Think where we were as a country six years ago.  Now try to imagine where you’ll be – where we’ll be – six years from now.  Fascinating when you stop and think about it.

One of the challenges we’ve been talking about since the beginning of the process (before we even cast this puppy with seven of the finest actors I’ve had the good fortune to work with) was the transitions.  It’s important, we decided months ago, to have transitions that are part of the storytelling of the show.  We didn’t want (nor can we afford) to have people in black come on stage, pretend they aren’t there, and move chairs and props around.  What kind of theatrical mileage can we possibly get out of that?  So the challenge became finding a way to stay both inside and outside of the world and time continuum of the play, to accomplish the basic task of getting furniture and props on and off stage while also working on another level to keep the storytelling moving forward.

Tonight was the night to stage the transitions.  I’m really glad that we set aside a whole rehearsal for something that seems to typically rank pretty low on the priority totem pole.  I came in with the idea of working in two time signatures - to have Phil and Meredith (the couple whose lives we follow in this 24-year marathon) in one speed and everyone else in the other.  I’m lucky enough to have the aforementioned brilliant cast that is also willing to jump in and try things, even when prefaced with my “This might be crap, but let’s try it.”  I’m also lucky that even if it starts as crap it’s anything but by the time they’re finished with it. 

I’m happy with what we found tonight.  I know that the shifts will get tighter and (hopefully) inform the scenes as any connective tissue informs the limbs it sits between.  I hope that the audience finds the transitions engaging and that we’re able to communicate a sense - not literally, but more evocatively or expressively - of the lives happening in the gaps between scenes.  I’m excited to see how these moments continue to grow and shift.  I’m excited to have such a brilliant team to work with.  I’m just excited to see and hopeful about what we discover next.

Nothing brings about renewal like a good retreat.

Last weekend, we New Leafers took twenty-four hours out of our busy lives, day jobs, and rehearsal schedules to re-connect with each other and with the company.  We talked big-picture concepts and strategy, we brainstormed, we worked on The Long Count, we got excited about this season, and about the future.

One of the first things we did was talk about our purpose–why are we doing this?  There are plenty of theatre companies in Chicago; what do we do that is uniquely valuable?   And after we’d spent some time articulating that, we re-visited our four-year-old mission statement, which was written when we were a much different company.   All the key words still fit us:  intimate, animate, renewal.  But something seemed off about the end of the sentence - there was this sort of misleading distinction between “artist” and “audience” that raised questions about which group was being valued more, and it was not quite right.

And so we changed one word.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you our new mission statement:

New Leaf Theatre creates intimate, animate theatrical experiences that renew artist and audience.

And then a surprising thing happened as we discussed our values.  (We’ve re-articulated those, too, and will be posting them on the website in the coming weeks.)  Kyra said something earlier in the day about honesty, which really struck a chord with me, and since I was lucky enough to be the person with the marker at the time, I wrote it down.  Honesty.  Meaning honesty in performance, in storytelling, in our connections with the audience, but also, and maybe more importantly, in our relationships and the way we work as a company.    I hadn’t really thought about it before, but as soon as the idea was “out there” in the world, it just seemed so true and so right.  I was so excited that we were able to name that quality and to claim it as something essential to our identity.

Now honesty is a wonderful thing.  Some would say it is the best policy.  But claiming honesty as a value brings a certain responsibility.  And so when the time came to dig in and talk about how we work together as a company… well, sometimes honesty means having really difficult conversations.   And we did.  We talked about hurt feelings, about resentments, about the ways we’ve failed each other.  And it was hard.

But honesty doesn’t necessarily mean truth without tact– we sat in this cozy hotel suite and talked about hurtful things without trying to hurt each other.  And when we uncovered a painful place, we addressed it, sometimes apologizing, sometimes affirming, always always committed to working our way through it.

I used to think that good communication meant that everyone always understood each other, there were no arguments, no hurt feelings, no bumps in the road. In my five years (almost) with New Leaf, I’ve learned that the truth is more complicated, richer, more rewarding than that.  In our work, we talk a lot about renewal, about going through the hard stuff not to reach a happy ending, but so you can earn a new beginning.  This weekend, we put our talk into action.  And now, we begin.  Again.

I am celebrating Labor Day by working.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the idea of vocation: work that requires your whole self — heart, mind, and soul — work that challenges and fulfills, that speaks to some essential piece of you, that makes you more fully yourself.

My vocation is acting. It took me years to come to terms with that, to own it.  Even now, writing it “out loud” in this public forum is a little scary. But it’s the truth. It’s highly unlikely that my vocation will ever pay all of the bills, but as I have grown fond of saying, it’s not about making a living; it’s about making a life. 

And for me, making a life means working for New Leaf.  And while I consider myself an actor first and foremost, I find I get tremendous satisfaction from tasks and projects that sometimes seem far removed from the act of making theatre.  Managing the business of New Leaf  (today that means grant reports, acknowledgment letters,  paying bills, and organizing files) may not be as fulfilling as rehearsing and performing, but it strengthens the foundation of this place that I am lucky enough to call my home.

I often catch myself feeling jealous of friends whose vocation supports them, who have the luxury of spending their 40 (or 50, or 60) hours a week in fulfilling work.

Today, I am simply grateful to have work that I love.

Don’t forget to join New Leaf tomorrow, Wednesday August 27th.

I’m our production manager, so I’m just going to leave you with the bullet points:

Holiday Club: 4000 N. Sheridan Road. 7 PM.

You can win that iPod Touch you’ve been salivating over, and lots of other great prizes.

Two Included Drinks and Food for $30 at the door.

Or get your tickets early for only $25 right here.

Readings of Fresh New Plays by Bilal Dardai and Brandon Ray.

Music courtesy of local Folk legend Mark Dvorak.

A new season of great theater that we are eagerly bouncing off the walls to tell you about.

Oh and that iPod Touch? No service plan.

SWEET. I MEAN: FRESH.

Big question, huh?  I think so.  It’s big and scary and complex and important, and yet something that it seems we’d rather sweep under the rug than talk about at parties.  But it’s always there - we’re always building towards something whether we know what that thing is or not.  And not many people I know are exactly where they thought they’d be when they started out, starting making their plans.  And what do we do when the plan gets us something/somewhere/someone that’s different than we expected? Marsha quoted this great saying the other day - If you always stick to the plan you’ll get exactly what you wanted five years ago.

I am not where I thought I’d be five years ago.  But here I am.  And now what?  How can we move forward?  Where do we start?  What’s the next first step?

Well, if you’re New Leaf, you decide to take that step by building your season around the question that is perhaps the scariest thing confronting you at the moment.  And that’s just what we’ve done.  This season, we’ll work together as an ensemble -with some old and new friends - to ask ourselves “How do we build a future from a present we didn’t expect?”

I just sent a “For Immediate Release” to the press announcing our season, and now I’m filled with that butterfly/jittery/first-day-of-school feeling.  And I don’t think it’s the coffee or the fear of typographical errors in my press release.  Because now, for some reason, it’s real.  Here we go.  We’re about to jump in with both feet into this season, this question, not knowing where we’ll be at the other side.  It’s so exciting - I am so excited about this season.  And it’s also terrifying.  In the best possible way. 

So here we go.  Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present New Leaf Theatre’s 2008/2009 Season.  Here’s the short info - but pick up the Season Announcement Press Release to get all the goods!

FALL 2008
Six Years by Sharr White
CHICAGO PREMIERE
How does our nation of families hold together through the push and pull of progress?

WINTER 2009
Touch by Toni Press-Coffman
How do you move forward when your worst nightmare becomes your reality?

SPRING 2009
The Long Count - an original piece devised by the company
How do we create this future while we’re living in the present?