Theatre – Penn State Arts & Design Research Incubator

Q&A with the artists of MASKED

February 10, 2022February 15, 2022 Tara CaimiLeave a comment

An Exhibition by William Doan, Michael Green, and Emily Steinberg

Artwork above by Emily Steinberg

Borland Project Space | 125 Borland Building, Penn State University Park
January 12 – March 2, 2022 | 9 a.m. – 4 p.m. Monday through Friday
Masked Exhibition Artists’ Talk: https://bit.ly/3suSHDK
February 25 from 4 – 5 p.m.

How and when did you conceive of the Masked Exhibition and how did it all come together?

Emily Steinberg: During the Pandemic Year of 2021, Bill, Michael and I were zooming on a regular basis. We did this to stay creatively and socially connected during the time of lockdown and isolation. We spoke about a lot of things during this time, and one of them… was collaborating on an exhibition together around the idea of masking. What is masking? What has our experience been like during the lockdown. What are the issues of identity and presentation around masking. What are the historical and art historical precedents of masking. Picasso’s Demoiselles D’Avignon, 1907, comes to mind.

William Doan: I think it was during a catch-up zoom early in 2021 and we were chatting about possible collaborations. We discovered that we were all interested in masks/masking for a variety of reasons. Emily was already making work about masking, Michael’s take as a physician was interesting and personal, and I have always been fascinated by “masking” writ large as a theatre artist. We started sharing work and Michael investigated the possibility of showing the work at Hershey Medical and we were off and running.

Michael Green: As Emily and Bill said, we had been zooming for a while to stay connected, and during one of our brainstorming sessions, we decided to explore the theme of masking as something that was on everyone’s mind, but that probably meant something different to each person. Since each of us comes from different backgrounds, we thought it would be fruitful to respond to this simple prompt in our own way, and the exhibit evolved from there.

Artwork above by Emily Steinberg

What surprised you and/or what did you learn when you were creating the work for this exhibition?

Emily Steinberg: I loved the idea of blowing up drawings and printing them on vinyl.

William Doan: What surprised me was how differently we all thought about masking, yet our mutual interest in graphic medicine, comics, graphic narrative seemed to tie it all together. I learned that I’m really inspired by Emily and Michael’s work and want to keep finding ways to collaborate with them.

Michael Green: I was surprised by how scale changed an image. Most of my original work was done in small and inexpensive composition notebooks, 7.5″x9.75″. Seeing these images enlarged to 4 ft x 5 ft in size changed so much about the images, in terms of impact, meaning, and the feelings they elicited. Also, seeing the various pieces juxtaposed with one another was really interesting, because each of us see differently and express our visions in unique ways.

Artwork above by Michael Green

How has your perception changed since you first conceived of this exhibition; what does this work mean and represent to you now?

Emily Steinberg: This work represents a specific period in time for me. A time of vast uncertainty, of fear, anxiety, of trying to figure out how to maneuver within new constraints.

William Doan: I’d say my interest and thinking around the complex notion of masking has deepened. Teaching wearing a mask, trying to perform wearing a mask, trying to conceive of mask-wearing and Covid-like pandemics being part of life from now on, weigh heavily on my mind. And those thoughts feed the continued work I’m doing in the mental health space, thoughts about masking anxiety and depression, hiding and protecting the self, and the historical power of masking.

Michael Green: Masks have taken on meaning so much greater than originally intended in the medical context. Medical professionals tended to see them in terms of public health and safety. But for so many people, these are statements about politics, identity, and affiliation. It’s strange and interesting, and also troubling in many ways.

If you were creating work for the exhibition today, what would you do differently?

Emily Steinberg: I would create a full-blown graphic narrative about the experience and present it as life size panels.

William Doan: I would love to scale up the size of the pandemic doctor masks I made and explore different ways of applying text to them.

Michael Green: I think I’d include more self-portraits with masks to see where that takes me.

Artwork above by William Doan

What comes to mind around this topic of masking when you think about the future?

Emily Steinberg: I don’t want to think about masks anymore, LOL.

William Doan: I keep thinking about how regular masking in public will exponentially lower the number of people who know what I look like. And how this might feed social media as the location where you try to connect the masked face you encounter out in the world with the whole face of that person …

Michael Green: I look forward to a time when a mask is just a mask and no longer a statement about one’s politics or identity. I don’t know if we’ll ever get there, but I can hope ….

View larger images and the full exhibition at Masked online: https://spark.adobe.com/page/cevVdvRawvSZr/

Impolite Birth: Explorations into the Benefits of Theatre Voice Training for Childbirth

March 8, 2021March 8, 2021 Tara CaimiLeave a comment

By Kris Danford
Associate Professor of Voice and Speech

Headshot of Kris Danford, gray background

You’re walking along and suddenly you stub your toe. Without thinking, a howl of pain comes out of your mouth. You say “Ow!” or “Arrgh!” Or something more colorful I probably shouldn’t repeat in this blog post.

As humans, we make noise when we encounter discomfort. Why? Well, recent research conducted by Genevieve Swee and Annett Schirmer published in The Journal of Pain suggests that vocalizing may improve pain tolerance. It’s worth observing that vocalizing also seems to be a ubiquitous reaction to discomfort that is not strictly physical; emotional discomfort can also provoke the production of sound. Think of how a startled person might yelp or a person stricken with grief may cry, keen or wail. It’s a deeply ingrained impulse, but whether a person acts on that impulse to make sound is another matter.

In actor training, significant time is spent connecting the body to sound. Voice and speech classes focus on techniques to minimize physical effort, to breathe freely and respond vocally without bracing or inhibition. Voice teachers use phrases like “the release of sound” or “the purging of sound.” Students are sometimes encouraged to “sigh with relief,” to notice the vibration of their own voice and, even more, to notice that that vibration could be a pleasant sensation in their body. Simply put, noise is encouraged. Given that most people try to be unobtrusive and polite in society, that kind of unapologetic self-expression can initially feel vulnerable and unfamiliar. But after being steeped in this kind of training, it becomes familiar, enjoyable, even.

As a voice teacher and actor, this has been my world for many years. But in 2010, I took a hiatus from it when my husband and I pressed pause on life in New York City to give birth to our first baby in the rural calm of Vermont. My Birkenstock-clad midwives measured my bump with tape measures and taught me hypnosis-based birth techniques as I prepared for an epidural-free birth. I dutifully followed guided meditations and visualized forest paths and ocean tides. I devoured any and all guidance on childbirth I could get. As a rookie mom-to-be I didn’t know the first thing about any of this, so I relied on the experts. Despite my best efforts, the stroll-down-the-forest-path birth I had prepared for didn’t happen as planned. The techniques I’d studied were useless for me; instead, I spent hours contorted in agony and helplessly mute, so heavily dosed with narcotics that I was unable to articulate in words that I needed something different. In the end, we were infinitely lucky to have a healthy baby girl. However, the process left a lot to be desired.

Four years later, baby #2 was on the way. By that time, I had plunged back into the world of voice training and had begun a career as a certified teacher of Fitzmaurice Voicework®. I felt confident in what I knew about how the body and voice could work to facilitate release in the context of actor training. I decided, ‘Well, what the hell? This time, I’ll try using the voice work I know. Can’t be worse than last time, can it?’

As it turned out, it was a whole lot better.

It also turned out that I wasn’t the only person with this background who had gotten through labor using techniques rooted in theatre voice training. I was introduced to close collaborator Jenny Mercein of Tulane University, also a professional actor with extensive voice training. Jenny had also just given birth and had also relied on her voice training in labor, so much so that the nurses dubbed her “the singing mom.”

While researching the article we would eventually co-author, (The Voice and Speech Review, “The Birth Process and Theatre Voice Training: The Glorious Chorus”) we talked to a lot of actor/moms with similar backgrounds who had done the same thing in their births. The techniques they used worked to facilitate physical ease, yes, but vocalizing was a big piece of it. These were noisy births. And the helpful vocal expression wasn’t always the calm, low, serene sounds that many childbirth educators promote. There was moaning, singing, growling like a wild animal, shouting Shakespeare (!)…you name it. And according to these women, vocalization itself was an aid. It seemed to provide a sense of empowerment, ownership of the experience and even lessened the sensation of pain.

Image of pregnant woman sitting cross legged with hands over her heart and belly

I wanted to talk to providers. What did midwives and obstetricians know about the intersection of vocalization and labor? Had this been studied? At the University of Michigan in 2018, I met Certified Nurse Midwives Ruth Zielinski, Lee Roosevelt and Dr. Lisa Harris, MD. This research inquiry was, in fact, new; the effect of vocalization on laboring women hadn’t been explored. I was shocked to learn from them that they had all encountered experiences when a laboring woman was redirected to be lower, calmer…quieter. Or scolded for using “inappropriate language” when throwing in some four-letter words. Or told that making sound would sap their energy. Directly shushed, even. In the labor and delivery wing, nurses sometimes give each other the side-eye if one’s patient is being too loud or disruptive. These examples reveal something about the culture surrounding birth in many institutions. Given this reality, it is unsurprising that women often do not feel free to follow their instincts (vocal or otherwise) in childbirth. The examples are also symptomatic, of course, of a long history of women being silenced in broader societal contexts.

What would happen if expectant mothers had the kinds of tools for vocal expression that we voice teachers hope to instill in our theatre students? To find out, Zielinski, Roosevelt, Harris and I began a research project: “Impolite Birth: Theatre Voice Training and the Experience of Childbirth.” I developed a voice class geared toward expectant moms with the collaboration of the research time and my actor and voice colleagues Jenny Mercein and Laura Quigley. The project is on-going as I prepare to work with pregnant women (on zoom, for now) and introduce them to this work.

The human voice is a powerful tool of expression. That power is not limited to projecting one’s lines to the back of a theatre; it also holds the capacity to deeply affect both the listener and the speaker themself. The exploration of voice taps into vulnerable aspects of ourselves, revealing truths otherwise left hidden. There is catharsis and liberation in the expression of sound, whether it be in a play or in a birthing suite. As I continue with this research, I am excited to explore the ways in which voice work can be an aid for humans in a variety of ways and share its value beyond the confines of the stage.

Kris Danford & Jenny Mercein (2018) The Birth Process and Voice Training: The Glorious Chorus, Voice and Speech Review, 12:1, 35-48, DOI: 10.1080/23268263.2018.1417097

Swee, Genevieve, and Annett Schirmer. “On the Importance of Being Vocal: Saying “Ow” Improves Pain Tolerance.” The Journal of Pain, Vol. 16, No. 4, 2015, pp.326-334. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jpain.2015.01.002.

REASON TO HOPE: Making Theatre Antiracist – Contributed by Gwendolyn Walker

November 30, 2020November 30, 2020 Tara Caimi2 Comments

by Gwendolyn Walker
Assistant Professor of Voice for Musical Theatre

headshot of Gwendolyn Walker

The Day Theatre Stopped

On March 12, 2020, the Broadway League made the unprecedented announcement that Broadway shows would shutter their doors for a month. One month turned into three, then six. Currently, Broadway will stay closed until at least May 30, 2021, and most officials believe it will be even longer.

On May 25, George Floyd, a 46-year-old Black man, was killed in Minneapolis, Minnesota by police officers while in their custody after a store clerk alleged that Floyd had passed a counterfeit $20 bill. The murder was videotaped and went viral. Soon, U.S. citizens and people around the world had watched Floyd die while pleading with the arresting officers that he could not breathe. This produced an immediate and enormous social justice movement in the United States and around the world.

These are stressful times. One way that I handle stress is to think proactively. The whole theatre world in this country is currently paused. This pause gives us an opportunity to plan for what sort of theatrical world we hope to return to when theatres once again open their doors. What of the pre-Covid “normal” is worth keeping and what is worth changing, for example?

As much as I love American musical theatre, considerable change must occur for it to be an art form for all people.

Musical theatre is currently dominated by white, heteronormative, neurotypical stories, whereas BIPOC, queer, and neurodiverse stories are the extreme exception. Too often, we tell stories that require artists to conform to a default and distorted vision of “normal.” The consequence is an industry that is fundamentally patriarchal, misogynistic, heteronormative, neurotypical, and racist. By not addressing this distortion, we perpetuate the idea that straight, white, cis-gendered, neurotypical cultural identities are—and should be—the default, and in doing so we continue the suppression of all other people.

Dr. Ibram X. Kendi

A few weeks ago, as part of my work on Penn State’s College of Arts and Architecture’s Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion Committee, I co-hosted a pre-talk discussion about the work of Dr. Ibram X. Kendi, an antiracist activist, scholar, and author of the book, How to Be an Antiracist. Kendi was interviewed in a live, virtual event for Penn State, and to prepare for our discussion, I read his books and watched every interview and speech of his that I could find. I was shook. His ideas are daring, and he made me think about racism, my activism, and theatre in a new and hopeful way. Additionally, in his book, he extends his ideas of racism to include gender-racism and queer-racism, which I found empowering.

According to Dr. Kendi, “racist” is such a pejorative word that most people equate it with being a bad person. Because most people consider themselves to be good people, they also consider themselves to be “not racist.” The problem is that “not racist” isn’t something you do, it is something you say—a moniker you hang on yourself or a passive comment. Typically, we say it in response to someone calling us out for being racist in the first place. “I’m not a racist!” we reply.

But to be truly “not racist”, Dr. Kendi suggests we must be active: we must be antiracist. When you label yourself ‘not racist’ there is no action implied there. Nothing to do. Additionally, Kendi says we must recognize that the same person can be racist one moment and antiracist the next because being antiracist is something that we DO, not someone who we ARE. For example, a person might agree with a racist political policy in one moment, and an antiracist environmental policy in the next – so in juxtaposing moments, that person could be described as racist and antiracist.

Further, Dr. Kendi challenges the idea that ignorant and hateful people propagate and are responsible for racism. Kendi shows how people in power, acting in their own self-interest, often create racist policies that make these powerful people more powerful, but the original intent is not to be racist – it’s self-interest. These racist policies, in turn, govern the majority of people and so these racist policies eventually lead to racist ideas to justify them. Those racist ideas eventually lead to ignorance and hate, but the ignorance and hate were not why the racist policy was created in the first place: self-interest is the culprit.

“One either believes problems are rooted in groups of people, as a racist, or locates the roots of problems in power and policies, as an antiracist.” – Ibram X. Kendi

In other words,
The words We think it goes this way with an arrow pointing to the right over four boxes that read, left to right, Ignorance and hate, Racist ideas, Racist policies, Self-Interest above the words It actually goes this way with an arrow pointing right to left

Applying Kendi’s Theory to Theatre

Understanding this chain of causation helps us understand why racist, misogynistic, heteronormative, neurotypical theatre perpetuates itself. Applying Dr. Kendi’s idea to the theatrical industry, powerful people, acting in their own self-interest, believe they will make more money by not challenging theatre-goer’s ideas. If straight, white, male, cis-gendered theatre constitutes “normal” by default, powerful people will continue to create theatre that conforms to that idea because doing so will make them more money. The result is that theatre goers routinely ingest straight, white, male, cis-gendered theatre, further reinforcing and confirming whatever racist cultural ideas they may have. These racist ideas are then put into practice as daily thoughts, actions, and belief systems, and those ideas lead to exclusion, ignorance, and hate.

In other words,
The words We think it goes this way with an arrow pointing to the right over four boxes that read, left to right, Ignorance and hate, Racist ideas, Racist Theatre, Self-Interest above the words It actually goes this way with an arrow pointing right to left

I am explicitly saying that when we create racist, misogynistic, neurotypical, and heteronormative theatre, we are creating theatre that perpetuates exclusion, ignorance, and hate.

The time is long overdue that we, as an industry, actively fight against that. It is not enough to say that we don’t do these things. We must passionately and actively do the opposite.

People instinctively turn to artists following catastrophic events. People are buying books again! They are binge-watching shows on Netflix and buying music streaming services. All of this content is created by artists, and we are more powerful now than ever. We shape consciences with the art we choose to make, and we must be conscious about the message contained in the art that we choose.

The shutdown combined with the biggest antiracist movement in our country in 70 years offers us a unique opportunity to create an enormous, positive change in the way we create theatre; to challenge ourselves to be radically inclusive and equitable. I would go even further and say that this is our responsibility. We must help lead the world out of this humanitarian crisis.

How can we do that? What ACTIONS can we take? Here are a few ideas:

Give money to BIPOC, LGBTQIA+, neurodiverse, and female-identifying writers, lyricists, playwrights, theatre companies, theatre creatives, and activist organizations. Money is power and it takes power to create change. If you can’t give money; give opportunities. If you can’t give opportunities; give your time.
Get on the board for a theatre company and make your voice heard. Run for office in one of the theatre unions with the specific goal to create antiracist policy change. When you are on the board, you help create policy, and policy is power.
Hire non-white and neurodiverse theatre makers, women, and transgender artists for your team and listen to them.
Eliminate tokenism. Diverse people need opportunities to portray fully realized characters rather than harmful, racist stereotypes.
Theatre creators can ask themselves if the roles they are creating and casting need to be played by a specific gender, physical ability, or skin color, and if not, to leave the character description open. For example, instead of a character breakdown that reads, “Strong leading man, baritone to A4,” it could instead read, “Strong, grounded character with a good sense of humor about themselves who’s been kicked around by life but still believes in love.”
Participate in antiracist theatre groups and encourage colleagues to do the same. The Asian-American Performers’ Action Coalition and the African-American Artists’ Alliance are a couple of great ones.
Create an antiracist theatre action committee at your institution or if you can, create a position for a person who is the director of diversity, equity, and inclusion. Invite them to be part of your casting and season selection processes.
Read antiracist literature and follow antiracist activists on social media.

What actions can you think of that we can take as a community? What changes can you make to become more antiracist? How can we overcome the obvious obstacles? For example, to produce more antiracist theatre that is successful, we will need people willing to see theatre that is different. That will not be easy. I recognize that this idea is fraught with seemingly insurmountable problems.

But I believe we can do it. I believe that we are capable of bringing about an equitable, diverse, and inclusive new normal where the theatre that we make represents our entire community. Will it be perfect? No. Will it be easy? No. Will we correct all the harm that has been perpetrated against our beautiful and diverse community? No. But we must try. This unique moment in time makes this a perfect time to begin to be the change we want to see in the world. I believe, like Dr. Kendi, that change is possible. I believe in the power of theatre-makers to change hearts and minds. I believe in my community. I believe that there are so many reasons to hope.

*Original Graphic idea from Toby Sinclari’s “Book Summary: How To Be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi – The 3 Big Ideas.” 21 June 2020.

Gwendolyn Walker is an Assistant Professor of Voice and Alexander Technique at Penn State’s BFA Musical Theatre program. She is certified by the Contemporary Alexander School and she maintains a busy New York City studio. Her students can be seen in most shows on Broadway today.

How COVID-19 opened time and space for interdisciplinary collaboration – Contributed by Charlene Gross

June 11, 2020June 11, 2020 Tara Caimi1 Comment

by Charlene Gross
Assistant Professor of Costume Design, Penn State School of Theatre

If this year were like any of my past 20 years, this weekend would mark my third opening night of the summer season. Damn Yankees, which would open this week at the 2020 Ohio Light Opera, is a production that will never be. Theatrical designers, performers, directors, stage managers, technicians work all the time. We work as a team. For most of us, the summer is a busy season when our audiences attend festivals across the country.

Black and white sketch of two men wearing Yankees baseball uniforms — Damn Yankees Costume Sketch for Ohio Light Opera’s cancelled 2020 Season

Perhaps some of you will agree with me regardless your discipline. It is not the social isolation which is so strange; it is the abrupt appearance of weeks without any production demands. And with those lost demands, a gnawing need to work. Stay sharp. Participate in producing something.

What am I to do with all this time? With all my skills? How do I help my community? What do I have to offer?

I’m a costume designer. I design and make real clothing for imaginary people. Before arriving at Penn State, I was known as a go-to person to collaborate on complicated costumes. I have enjoyed building costumes with special effects, and costumes which could survive punishing production demands and dance movements at the extremes of human flexibility, all in the service of a larger team.

Theatre is all about collaboration, but suddenly being forced to pause from constant production, I realized my collaborators reached far beyond the stage. I’ve worked on and designed over 200 shows, but I’ve also collaborated with visual artists on installation pieces. I designed outfits for use in the Joshua Tree National Forest designed to survive rattlesnake bites to shins and arms. I designed light weight clothing with ice packs built in for endurance athletes. I worked with PhD chemists setting up fake crime scenes for CSI students’ final exams (a good workout for special effect makeup skills)! I consulted with a public defender office on clothing choices for clients facing trial, developed comprehensive SfX scars that reproduce the effects on the body of surviving an F3 tornado, and worked with industrial companies on best choices in uniforms for ergonomics and chemical handling safety at EPA Superfund sites. I contemplated how many odd ways I have shared my skills, built over my career in costume design, with the world outside of costume design.

So as Covid-19 hit, and every one of my upcoming theatre, dance and opera shows were cancelled, I looked around to see how my skills could help.

Of course I can sew. That’s easy for me. And cloth masks? Well, there was debate of their usefulness for the first 2+ weeks but I knew something was better than nothing, so I began to sew. Requests first came from friends and family. Then members of my own department at Penn State. Then multiple departments. Eventually from across the entire University.

I like to organize people. We had a lot of scrap material in the PSU costume stock. I organized our graduate costume students and costume staff into mask making teams. We have now produced over 3000 masks and organized distribution to dozens of business units at Penn State, and dozens of community organizations across the state and region.

I did what any good theatre person does—I figured out how to solve a series of problems. I budgeted time and money. I used my limited resources. I phoned friends. I got great advice.

A young boy in a red sweatshirt and a woman with glasses and brown hair in workshop counting cloth protective face masks. Boy is looking ito camera. — My son and I count masks into piles of 10s, and then count by 10s to make bags of 100 masks for distribution. Remote learning at its best!

A young boy in a red sweatshirt and a woman with glasses and brown hair in workshop counting cloth protective face masks. — (They were sterilized before they went out to the campuses by EHS. I swear!)

As I reached out, expanding the network of who we helped, and who helped us, I met the amazing group at the Manufacturing and Sterilization for COVID-19 (or MASC). They were taking on problems as they arose across the state and region. I offered my expertise.

I was asked if it was possible to use construction Tyvek to make respirator hoods. They had one example of a commercial hood. They potentially needed hundreds of them. I told them I had a friend and former student who had built the costumes out of Tyvek at Santa Fe Opera. So, I did what I do with a tricky costume problem; I called a friend (Ashley Bellet) to get her insight on best practices for sewing Tyvek.

My husband (Stephen Spoonamore) modeling the Tyvek hood for fit. The hood disassembled.

I was asked to figure out how to help a headband to stay on the head properly, and provided headband input for a 3D printed face shield.

I was then tasked to develop a flat pattern, both digital and paper, for a Level III surgical gown for Susan Purdum. I did it with my graduate student, Alyssa Ridder over Zoom, working methodically through the measurements of a gown that took up half of my living room floor.

Charlene Gross sitting on floor smiling into camera holding a legal pad and working with Alyssa Ridder who appears on screen of the laptop on step stool beside her — Alyssa Ridder MFA Candidate ’21 on screen and Charlene on the floor patterning the surgical gown in paper and digitally

Then an email popped up asking if I knew of someone in theatre who works with makeup. I’d be the person. I teach stage makeup for School of Theatre every semester. The question of how to remove makeup from the now highly valued N95 masks they were sterilizing for reuse came up. Well, I can remove makeup from most fabrics, but the N95 mask is a highly oleophilic fiber which binds the oils from the skin and makeup doesn’t release oils. I offered to try if they sent me a few masks, suggested possibly an industrial surfactant would work, but the easiest solution in my mind? Ask the wearers to not wear makeup. Touchy, I know (I work with performers!) but it may be worth asking to see if that helps with some of the issues. Guess what the solution was?

Let me pause here and say, for my first two and half years at PSU, I’ve worked with amazing colleagues. Best in the field of theatre. But to do things which are truly interdisciplinary, while theoretically encouraged, is really hard given the demand on all of our time. Between course loads, production loads, mentoring student designers, designing shows myself, outside creative research, recruiting… there is little time to work on other things. Let alone find others in the University who want to do the same. The first three years have been about navigating Penn State and demands of my day-to-day academic job.

Suddenly, with performance production stopped, and having fortuitously found the MASC team I was working among 300+ engineers, surgeons, epidemiologists, materials scientists, airflow engineers, proto-typers, business procurement experts and 3D printing technicians with amazing skills, many of which were completely outside of my prior experience.

But my skills were completely outside of theirs, and much needed to meet several of their goals.

Now I have become part of this astounding group of problem solvers. I read our daily MASC reports on innovations in testing, containment, process and treatment, and marvel at how many people with novel skills have contributed.

I hope someday soon to once again be designing real clothes to put on imaginary people in the theatre, but in the meantime I am continuing to expand my skills, and, I believe, expand to many other people how valuable the thinking and process of theatrical design can be, when applied to many other demanding tasks. I have met some amazing people during this process, and was deeply honored, even embarrassed, when my colleagues awarded me one of the MASCed Marvel Awards for our COVID response. They cited my unique contributions to developing protective clothing and organizing cloth masks when supplies were extremely difficult to find. I am personally humbled, but extremely proud I was able to represent our Theatre and Performance community to the larger world in this way.

We are Theatre people. This is what we do.

Stay Safe. Wear a Mask*. We will get through this.

A selection of protective cloth face masks hanging from a horizontal wooden beam, a saw horse, and a poster board in Charlene's driveway — Mask contactless pick up/ drop off point at my house on a particular busy day.

*If you don’t have one, send me an email and I’ll make sure you have one or 25 within 24 hours.