The pandemic years have been very difficult for people in the performing arts, and for people across the nation in general. But one positive thing that came out of it was corporations realized that it wasn’t necessary to have employees come into the office every day, or even at all; that working independently from home was often just as effective as commuting into the office each day.
As a result of this realization, a portion of the workforce were “free to move about the country,” as Southwest Airlines used to say. People suddenly were asking themselves, “If I can live anywhere, where do I want to live?” Theater artists, if they step outside the centralized system (“If I want to work in Chicago, I need to be in New York; if I want to work in Seattle, I need to be in New York…” — Beth Leavel) and instead think in terms of taking control of the means of production, might find themselves asking the same question. If I no longer have to live in New York for my job, where do I want to live?
There is nothing intrinsically positive or negative about anywhere you want to make your art; each choice presents a different set of issues. If you love New York or another city that has a vibrant and active theater scene, you have certain problems and opportunities (e.g., opportunity: there is an established audience of people interested in theater; problem: how do you get their attention?); if you want to live in a community that doesn’t have much going on as far as theater is concerned, you have different problems and opportunities (e.g., opportunity: you’re the only game in town; problem: nobody seems interested in that game). And of course, there is no guarantee of success in any of them. The point is you now have a choice. You’re free!
This is not a new idea. We’ve already discussed Robert Porterfield’s move from New York to Abingdon, VA. What about more recent examples?
Double Edge Theatre started off “as a feminist ensemble collective by Stacy Klein, with co-founder and emerita ensemble member Carroll Durand, and several other women, in Boston, MA.” Twelve years later, Double Edge left Boston and moved to the small town of Ashfield.
“This move was precipitated by the absolute economic impossibility to pay exorbitant Boston rents and to house overseas guest artists for long periods. The Ensemble had seen and participated in examples of barter in Central Europe and determined that sustainability might be easier found in a rural environment. The dream of living in Ashfield and maintaining performance space in Boston dissolved by 1996 — after two years of traveling three hours back and forth to Boston with young children in the car; and, of equal import, being shunned by villagers who could not imagine a theatre that did not perform, and facing a doubtful Ashfield community, who wondered if DE was some sort of commune or cult!
1997: A year later we opened our first performance space in Ashfield—the Barn. The impact of the move to the Farm was so far reaching that it can be said that if the Ensemble had not moved, as serendipitous and tenuous as that move was, Double Edge more than likely would not exist today.
Double Edge website (“About Us”–>”History”)
Today, Double Edge Theatre has a permanent company, a strong following of Ashfield residents, they are active and respected members of their community, and they are recognized nationally and internationally for their creative and powerful performances and rigorous training program as well as a variety of artistic collaborations. Conventional Wisdom might have said that their experimental work would be better appreciated in an urban area with a “more sophisticated” audience, but they probably wouldn’t have been able to develop their distinctive style without the space provided by the Farm.
Another example might be Zack Mannheimer, whom I wrote about for American Theatre Magazine in 2015. As I wrote at the time:
As the summer of 2007 rolled around, Zack Mannheimer found himself at a crossroads. For seven years, he’d been artistic director of Brooklyn’s Subjective Theatre Company, whose mission was described as “producing a wide range of politically and socially relevant theatre and presenting it at no cost to the public.” The company’s mission statement went on to say that the company intended to “create work that consistently challenges and entertains our audience while inspiring creativity and social responsibility within our community.”
But Mannheimer was finding that goal increasingly difficult to attain, and for a possibly surprising reason.
“There can be no real discourse and debate when everyone you surround yourself with on a daily basis tends to agree with your positions on whatever issue,” Mannheimer says. “My main problem with creating art for an audience in [New York City] is that the majority of the people I create art with and those who come to see it agree with my viewpoints before they even walk in the door to create or to witness the creation. I am helping to provide reassurance to these people; I am not challenging them on an intellectual level or a primal level. Art creation has, for me, become nothing more than masturbation. My company and I have enjoyed many successes, good reviews, a loyal audience, and so on. But no change in what we preach is occurring.”
So on June 1 of that year, Mannheimer set out on a cross-country tour of the United States in search of a new place to open a theatre and a restaurant. His criteria for the town where he would settle were:
* 500,000 population in the metro area
* A downtown that needed to be revitalized
* Issues with the retention and recruitment of young people
*An arts scene that was burgeoning but not yet established
Scott Walters, “Zack Mannheimer Found NYC Audiences Too Homogeneous, So He Went to Iowa”–American Theatre Magazine, Nov 20, 2015
After making his 18-city tour, he chose Des Moines, IA. He arrived knowing nobody with $100 in his pocket. Eight years later, after “laying the groundwork and winning converts to his vision,”
“Mannheimer is the executive director of Des Moines Social Club (DMSC), an arts and entertainment venue located in downtown Des Moines in an historic Art Deco firehouse Mannheimer had renovated for $8 million. It opened a year ago, with an opening address and performance by David Byrne for more than 4,000 people. DMSC, Manneheimer says, “provides a home for local artists, offers unique programming spanning all arts disciplines, and brings people of every age and background together under one roof—all for the purpose to use the arts as a catalyst to create unprecedented community engagement.”
A few months before I wrote about him, Mannheimer announced that he was moving on to follow other interests and he turned over the DesMoines Social Club to another group of leaders. ““It’s been eight years, and [the club] needs some new blood,” Mannheimer told the Business Record. “But if I’m going to hand it off to someone else, I want to do it when we’re doing well…It’s not for lack of ideas, but we need to keep pushing the envelope.” Today, he is the co-founder of Alquist 3D, which is “printing affordable housing across the nation, starting with the first owner-occupied 3D home in the world in Virginia.”
So this is the point where you need to do some self-reflection: Zack Mannheimer had a list of characteristics of places he’d like to live–what might your list look like? And how might that translate into actual places?
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