Theatre Hero Joyce Kulhawik Loves Boston

I LOVE BOSTON and have ever since I first arrived  here at age 17 to attend Simmons College. The only city I ever really knew before then was NYC. So I’ll never forget driving into Copley Square with my parents, looking around, and saying, “This is cute- where’s the city?” And they said, “You’re in it.” Little did I know that this small but resonant place would reveal itself to me in rich layers over the years. My whole professional life has grown as has the cultural life of this complex town. You might say we grew up together.

The first production I ever reviewed on television was MY FAIR LADY at the METROPOLITAN CENTER (now THE WANG) starring Rex Harrison in 1981!  And of course there were a handful of homegrown shows– SHEAR MADNESS at the CHARLES PLAYHOUSE welcomed me onto their stage and I raced back to the station barely making my nightly deadline. I remember THE LYRIC STAGE when it was tucked into an attic on Charles Street, so cramped a space, our camera and crew could barely fit without becoming part of the show. There was the beginning of the AMERICAN REPERTORY THEATER and its new Artistic Director–fresh from Yale and his famous student Meryl Streep– Robert Brustein; he invited all the critics for lunch at THE HARVEST in Cambridge to get acquainted and welcome us into what would become one of the foremost regional theaters in the country. THE HARTMAN THEATER hosted Jane Alexander and Tammy Grimes as they played Ibsen and Saw respectively; shortly thereafter, the witty Michael Maso arrived with the wonderful HUNTINGTON THEATRE CO.

I am amazed at how many people in this community have stayed close to those roots like me: Karen McDonald who sprang from THE NEXT MOVE and later blossomed at the A.R.T. Spiro Veloudos who roamed the ramparts of THE PUBLICK THEATRE and landed at the now-expanded LYRIC STAGE; Sandra Shipley whom I first saw at BOSTON SHAKESPEARE CO. back in 1981, who continues to resurface, most recently at the BCA.

We now have, despite the harsh climate (even harsher after Obama’s latest budget cuts) a thriving, variegated, homegrown theater scene with companies large, small, grand, modest, fringe and experimental fleshing out every corner of the city. I am so excited by the new Calderwood Pavilion, the Paramount, The Modern, and The Opera House which I remember when it was still encrusted with scary things and haunted with possibility. And I am still intrigued by the tiny, mysterious spaces where companies like WHISTLER IN THE DARK spin theater out of thin air.  Spring is in the air, and yes, I am still here looking toward the sun, very happy to take my seat in the dark waiting for something to sprout.

To learn more about Joyce Kulhawik visit her blog Spontaneous Acts of Joyce

Me, Inc.

by Jeremy Johnson

I’ve always considered myself a bit of a Luddite.  I used to state this proudly but I’ve grown to feel a bit uneasy with this mindset as I look at the rapidly changing world around me.   Ironically, I got some quick background on the original tem by Googling it and reading up on the Wikipedia entry; “Luddites were a social movement of British textile artisans in the 19th century who protested, often by destroying mechanized looms, against the changes produced by the Industrial Revolution, which they felt were leaving them without work and changing their way of life.”

I know how they feel.

As much as I struggle to incorporate new technologies into my life, I find I have just as difficult time translating these new forms and resources into my career as a theatre artist.   I’m not completely lost in the cyber world; I enjoy having a Facebook account and I finally learned to text a while back.  I have never blogged or Tweeted anything and I don’t know what an App is.  I feel somewhat stuck in the middle of this new technological revolution; interested in some of the advancements but slow to follow the crowd and unsure of its uses.

I am currently reading Crush It! Cash in on Your Passion by Gary Vaynerchuk and while the macho, frat-boy,  cyber-slang (“biz-dev” and “he’s totally killing it with his awesome content!”) make me a bit nauseous, the author still has some interesting points to make.    This is not the first book to tell me that I need to consider myself, my passions and my ideas as my own “personal brand”.  As distasteful as I find this idea I am attempting to let go of my judgments and preconceived notions while I absorb the reasoning.   Vaynerchuk posits that becoming an expert in your field and using every available form of social media can potentially lead to attracting the attention of those that can hire you and give you additional opportunities to “strengthen your brand equity.”

Thinking of myself in the same terms as a Nike sneaker or a bottle of Gatorade is a disturbing thought.  It feels as if there is an inordinate amount of focus on the packaging or exterior when dealing with ourselves in this way.   Have we moved from self-improvement to self-packaging?  Although the author stresses authenticity is that really possible with this approach?  At what point am I boxing myself in so that I’m only thought of as directing a certain type of play?  How does the artist use these forms of social media to support their career without oversimplifying their identity down to 140 characters?

As you can tell, I’ve struggled through this book, however I hit a paragraph that chilled me and is forcing me to reexamine my point of view; “If you’re not using Twitter because you’re in the camp that believes it’s stupid, you’re going to lose out.  It doesn’t matter if you think it’s stupid, it’s free communication.  That in and of itself has value and you should take advantage of it.”  It is easy for me to judge the communication and think it worthless or superficial but I am in a business that relies on communication of all kinds.

I am the first to admit that I have grown to love following my friends’ lives and careers through social media and I have seen many theatre companies embrace these tools as well.  I have read stories of artists documenting their work and reaching potential donors through YouTube.    In coming to terms with this new and intimidating technology I’ve decided that the best approach should be the creative one.  Rather than looking down my nose at these changes, how can I use these various tools in the ways that I choose to use them?  We are in an exciting and new landscape of no rules.  There is no “one way” to do anything and as artists it’s our responsibility to learn the new technologies in order to expand what they can do.   Up until now, I’ve feared that I have to change myself to meet the technology rather than change the technology to meet my own individual needs.

A quick look back at my predecessors is enough to get me thinking.   In 1813 in York, England three Luddites continued to fight progress and after killing a mill-owner were hanged in the public square.

Excuse me, I’m going to go check out that Tumblr website again.

About the author

Jeremy Johnson is a director living in Boston, MA.

The Regulars Part 2

by Marco Paulo Carneiro

How well are we doing at knowing our patrons? Many of them were with us the week before, and they’re back to see our show a second or third time, this time with friends. Are we doing enough to remember them, and truly say thank you for their support? Are we recognizing their continued contributions and applause, their commitment to our work through the good and bad times? Some of them are what allow us to exist (especially for we Fringe-ers).

There is so much (necessary) talk about what we can do to create an interactive experience for our audience. But how far can this go if the audience doesn’t feel they could comfortably fit in with us at a mixer, post-show talk or even in a piece of interactive theater? We should know our regulars. Remember their faces, remember their “orders,” try to remember their name and make sure they know who you are. Find out what their needs are, what would make for a better patron experience. Invite their thoughts in person. Online forums and discussion boards are invaluable, but I guarantee they will feel like they are literally part of our team if you take some time -make some time- to get their views right there in the theater. And feeling like a team member leads to dedicated patrons who are just as excited for the next production as you are. They might not be the hotshot reviewer you want to impress, but their insight and opinions -especially when they start contrasting past, current and future plans for repertoire, facilities, etc- are incredible ways of knowing if what we’re doing is clear and consistent with our mission and vision; their opinion is a way of knowing if we’re having an affect at all. They wield incredible sway power within their own communities and can help make or break the public success of our work, even if the success isn’t what we’re after. They help keep us grounded so that we don’t overlook the basics. And all of that makes for the beginnings of a great foundation for dialogue-driven community.

In the end, knowing our patrons is all about the community we’re all building together with each passing day of readings, productions, exhibitions and conversations. Knowing them gives us feedback, provides us with loyal support, and allows us to keep growing in our Boston community. The more we know our patrons, the more they’ll want to know us. So please, take some time to remember who gets the extra-toasted bagel. It could be the best thing you’ll ever do to help keep the homegrown movement alive.

 

The Regulars Part 1

By Marco Paulo Carneiro

I’m still working towards my undergraduate degree, and it’s been a long way coming. Granted, I took time off/sometimes lightened the course load in order to work some fantastic freelance gigs and develop self-started arts opportunities throughout Boston and beyond. I even got paid! But, as grateful as I am for all of those wonderful jobs, I’ve always had to look for part-time work to put some extra coins in the piggy bank. For the most part, it’s been in retail or the food industry.

For a while now I’ve worked at a coffee shop. While serving out beverages and pastries, you start to remember the regulars who come in everyday ordering the same drink or asking for their bagel to be extra toasted. From there, we start being able to converse with them about the products they like, what they did on the weekend, and how their grandmother’s gallbladder surgery went (if nothing else, it helps pass the time when they’re awkwardly staring at you, impatient for the milk to finish steaming…) Right then and there, we’ve connected and discovered something about our customers, and we’re also able to find special ways to fill their needs. All this is from simple conversation – the “filler” stuff. For some of us, it’s only natural that we should remember and be able to create this experience; they come in everyday and we are good at making those connections. For others, it’s actually a big effort to remember so they too can make the customer feel welcomed and known while expediting a regular’s order. Either way, the customer will walk away feeling appreciated and special; we accomplish that much through simple conversation and maybe even a familiar smile.

Now, I go out of my way to treat retail and food service workers well; I know how hard they are working – I’ve been there, I sympathize. But, it’s not often I get that special treatment I try to give out, mostly because I’m not really a regular anywhere. But when it does happen, I have to admit it feels great. Suddenly you’re a VIP whose name and needs everyone knows and the other people around can only wish they had their product delivered with such love. Right? (RIGHT?) Anyway, you can imagine how great I felt when I had a similar experience when I walked into a small-town, family-owned, homegrown bakery while visiting my parents over the holidays. I hadn’t been there in years and I was bundled up with a scarf and furry hat covering most of my face. I was hardly halfway through the door when the saleswoman looked up, remembered me from at least five years earlier and said, “You’re picking up for Olivia?” (Olivia is my mother). To think that after years of being away and being half-mummified in polyester-blend winter wear, she could still remember me and whose son I am. Maybe she just has a good memory; she certainly has a flair for being familiar with customers. And she even thanked me for coming in again. “Again.” As if I was just there the week before. And that’s where this is going.

About the Author

Marco Carneiro is the Managing Artistic Director of the Boston Stage Company. www.bostonstagecompany.org

Heart, Head & Hands: Food/Theater/Community Part 2

by Candelaria Silva-Collins, copyright 2011

The audience is there, we just have to build it.  I will share a few ways that I have built appreciators In both my dedication to home-cooking/breaking bread with others and in bringing people to theater.

Invite people – consistently, frequently, in a variety of ways.

I invite people to meals cooked by me at my home regularly.  A lot of the invitees have been surprised because they are not my friends, they are acquaintances.  Nearly everyone comes.

I never go to theater without a companion – from performances at Huntington Theatre, by Company One, Wheelock Family Theatre, Speak Easy Stage Company  and the African-American Theatre Festival (to name but a few) – I bring someone with me.

Inform people

I share recipes and theatre reviews & information both informally through emails and more formally through blog posts.  If I like something, if I find something provocative or interesting, I share it.

Throw the net widely/reach beyond usual comfort zone

When I was Director of ACT Roxbury, I informed broad networks of people about our events.  I didn’t presume to know who would or would not be interested in our events and initiatives.  I didn’t let geography hamper me.  So I invited Roxbury residents, residents of surrounding communities and people in the metropolitan area.  I participated in the Multicultural Committee of the Greater Boston Convention and Visitor’s Bureau to inform visitors about the plays we produced and the Roxbury Film Festival, for example.

Organizations like StageSource, Underground Railway Theater, and Bank of America Celebrity Series were open enough to have events at Roxbury Center for Arts at Hibernian Hall, coming outside of their usual territory to meet the audiences we attracted.  Similarly, we hosted events featuring Roxbury-based artists in other communities including National Heritage Museum (Lexington) and Boston Convention & Exhibition Center (Boston seaport).

Collaborate

There is strength and expanded capacity in collaborating with other organizations on joint projects and in promoting each other’s events.  No organization is ever the only game in town.  No organization ever has an exclusive hold on or right to an audience.  People like variety, choice and to try new theater and food on for size.  We have to make it as effortless as possible for this to happen.

Educate and Nurture Future Audiences

Exposing children to well-prepared food and excellent theater prepares them to get hooked on these kinds of experiences.  We have to create future audiences and artists by going into the schools and community centers where young people are.

And don’t forget adults. Go to where adults are – community organizations, churches, gathering spots like restaurants, hair salons, and the Super Stop & Shop in the South Bay Mall, for example.  There are communities of seniors who would relish the opportunity to attend theater. (I work with Door2Door to the Arts to bring senior citizens to arts and cultural events using the vans that were previously mainly used to transport them to doctor’s appointments and grocery shopping.  In one year, we have brought seniors to nearly 50 events!)

Affordability/Marketing

In addition to the pay-what-you-can performances, ticket give-ways, discounts to community organizations, and ticket discounts through Bostix, we need to empower venues and staff to aggressively market unsold seats in the moment.

We need to pretend that no one knows who we are and what we do and inform them through public theater in places like South Station and Copley Square.

Food and theater connect people in a world where many people are becoming more comfortable with the remotely connecting through electronic portals than face-to-face. We all need food, we all need art in real time and actual space.

Holla!

Heart, Head & Hands: Food/Theater/Community Part 1

by Candelaria Silva-Collins, copyright 2011

A good meal, like a good play, requires the best ingredients no matter how straight-forward or complex it is.  As an appreciator of live theater and home-cooked, food, I see the connection between these two life-affirming, life-sustaining entities.

Food, slow food, lovingly home-cooked (and locally source when possible) requires a lot of collaborative efforts.  I cook with the memories, cooking lessons, and history of meals tasted and meals cooked coursing through my hands. I learned to cook by being in the kitchen with my mother and grandmother.  I refined those lessons through pouring over cook-books, recipes, cooking shows and videos.  I count on the farmers and their staff, the grocery stores and farmer’s markets to bring that food to me.  I rely on the hungry mouths of children, husband, friends and family to appreciate my artistry.  My cooking means nothing without appreciative (or even just hungry) mouths to eat it.  There has often been theatricality in the rooms where I’ve dined, especially with family.

Theater, too, is a collaborative art.  It springs from the imagination of the playwright and all of those who nurtured a love for language and stories in that playwrights’ mind.  The playwright needs the director and stage manager and crew and the actors, of course, the actors who are the spice and heat and utensils that bring the play to life.  An unseen play is an empty vessel indeed.  Theater needs audiences to experience, appreciate (or denigrate) the food it provides.

Meals and theater spring from, reinforce and invigorate community.  Food is sustenance, a necessity that can be elevated to an art and is most special when delivered with love.  Theater is sustenance, necessary to souls and intellect.  Both are repositories of history and hope and visions for the future.

Great food and theater are cultural mirrors that yearn beyond the particular to achieving universality.

In this age of multiple appointments, rushing and busyness, quick food and quick entertainment have more adherents, it seems, then slow food and real theater. Yet there has always been and will continue to be a desire for food and theater that have been well-crafted.  This desire is not just the province of afficiandos  – it is bubbling throughout society.

About the author:

Candelaria Silva-Collins is a Facillitator, Consultant, and writer living in Boston, MA.  Follow Candelaria’s blog  Good and Plenty or visit her website www.candelariasilva.com .

Reconciling Institutional Success with Audience Engagement

In today’s global marketplace, arts organizations of all types are vying for the attention of an increasingly busy clientele. Contemporary audiences have less time to attend more functions and events than ever before, and potential concertgoers are always on the lookout for experiences that are unique and valuable, on their own terms.  In order to confront this dilemma, orchestras, opera companies, and other arts institutions, including theater companies are redefining their role as intermediaries in the performance process. Indeed, incorporating the artistic voices of audience members through participatory behavior has become a principal operating mechanism for many organizations.

I’ve recently spent some time trying to come up with a conceptual framework that helps us understand how arts organizations can engage potential audience members by reconciling traditional institutional practices with the blurring of professional and amateur performance culture (i.e. the Pro-Am Revolution). Arts organizations of all types have experienced a shift in the way young audiences associate with art, as they move beyond simple interaction by helping to imagine, plan, execute, and evaluate artistic events as equal stakeholders. Although much of my own work has taken place in the context of the orchestra world, it seems to me that theater is uniquely situated to foster lasting relationships with new audiences. Many of the characteristics inherent in theater: including drama, tension and resolution, and communication?make it an especially effective medium for impacting and inspiring audiences?especially new, young audiences.

Case in point: in my recent work with the University Musical Society (UMS) a major arts presenter in Ann Arbor, MI, I oversaw a study questioning how organizations might create innovative participatory experiences for the next generation of artists and audiences. The result: a new series that has UMS working with professional actors, student leaders, and a major business school to introduce non-arts students to various facets of artistic creativity through a theater skills workshop. The reception has been almost universally positive, with students and faculty alike praising the applicability of theater techniques to life off the stage.

So what do you all think?  What do non-artists (if there is such a thing) have to learn from us, and what might we learn from them in return? Does such an exchange hold value for audiences and arts institutions alike?

Michael Mauskapf is a PhD candidate in Musicology at the University of Michigan, where his work investigates the intersections between musical and organizational practices in America. He has presented his work at conference in the U.S. and abroad, and his research has been published in various journals and books, including 20Under40: Re-Inventing the Arts and Arts Education for the 21st Century. He is currently managing partner of Symphony Bros., LLC, a consultancy that helps artists and arts organizations tackle the unique challenges they face. (see www.symphonybros.com;  blog: http://symphonybros.wordpress.com; twitter: http://twitter.com/symphonybros;  facebook: http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Symphony-Bros-LLC/110406145676610)

Your Mission, Should You Choose To Accept It

By Jesse Strachman

The unique appeal of theater lies in the fact that every performance is a hand-crafted, once-in-a-lifetime experience. Theater is about creation. It creates something unique and special – a personal, shared emotional connection between the audience and the actors on the stage. I once got some terrific advice from a director about casting, paraphrased: “It’s not about how good the actor is or how great they sing – it’s about how they make you feel.” It is that creation of the shared emotional experience that makes theater special.

Keeping theater new and fresh is a challenge. In a world dominated by market-driven entertainment, innovation becomes more difficult. The more experimental and unique a show is, the harder it becomes to draw in an audience. Small audiences mean less money, which means the theater company can’t survive. Also, if a show is really out-there, then that special connection doesn’t get made, leaving the audience scratching their heads, trying to figure out what exactly they just witnessed.

How can we, producers of small, intimate and edgy theater, retain the novelty and innovation and still retain our audiences? One way is by reaching out to those people who don’t go to see theater – at least, the ones that don’t go see small theater, and explaining to them what they’re missing. Most people like art, as long as they can understand it. At the very least, we should try to get them to start coming to see the less experimental works, and see where their curiosity takes them. Most people who don’t see small theater are afraid that they won’t “get it” – that it will be lost on them, that it will be boring, that they’re not “cultured” enough. But the reality is that the best stage comedies are even funnier than today’s sitcoms, the best stage dramas are far more engrossing than the best things on TV, and so on. Reach out to co-workers, and to “non-theater” friends. Make it a goal to bring at least one of them with you next time you see a show. The best thing we can do is to get people off the couch and into the theaters by telling them – if you like “Friends,” you’ll love this Neil Simon comedy. If you liked the movie “The Full Monty” – hey, did you know they made a musical? Yes, on stage. It’s even better than the movie.

I think that if we were to start getting these people in the door, then there’s room to get them to expand their interests to the more esoteric works. Ask them questions. Find out what works for them. What did they like? What did they dislike? What would they like to see more of?

There are people out there who would come to the theater if they knew there was something for them there. I believe our job is to find them, and bring them in.

Jesse Strachman is the Artistic Director of Blue Spruce Theatre

What is a Successful Boston

By Daniel Berger-Jones

I envision achieving success like reaching the top of a giant mountain. Let’s call it Mt. Everest, since I’m prone to hyperbole anyway. The goal is the Top. But in this business, if you succeed wildly and fly to the Top, you lose your personal life and any hope of being normal again. Or possibly, you OD on a fistful of pills you needed just to sleep because you’ve driven yourself insane. That’s if you succeed. And if you fail, you feel like you’ve been rejected and you suck. So, I have to ask myself constantly “What the hell am I climbing towards, here?”

Some of us are in this business for recognition. Some of us even hope for fame. Whether we’d like to admit it or not, the need to be paid attention to is probably a driving factor behind almost every artist (you, dear reader, being the exception).

Some of us can’t figure out how else to express themselves. Some need an escape.Some of us are just geeks, in it for the stories, the possibility of being King Arthur one night, and Claudius the next. Some are hoping for the commercial that goes nationally viral and earns us the kind of financial security we’ve always dreamed of. But how does Boston fit in for anyone’s path to their personal Top?

There are certainly bigger markets, so in my mountain metaphor, Boston should be, what?  Base Camp 3? The place where people who almost made it to the top of Everest look up at the peak longingly, setting back down the mountain to nurse their frost bite? This is certainly one way of looking at our city. I have a different way to look at it.

First, that we are not on the same mountain as the larger markets. We are K2. We are a different mountain, with different, sometimes harder obstacles. We are fewer. Which means every show must count. Our audience must be blown away, or they will leave, and so will our good artists. The only way to keep good artists here is to offer a higher quality of art than the markets with more to offer fiscally. That leaves it up to us as a community to push each other to make better art. Not just better–the best.

We’ve accepted mediocrity in our theatre for too long. Our standards are just now beginning to rise to the level required of a theatrically reputed city. It is our job as a theatre community to evaluate everything, our own work as well as that of others, with a constructively critical eye. If something is good, but not perfect, let’s try it again, and do it better. With one misstep on a mountain like K2, you tumble towards a pummeling death. Mediocrity, for me, is the pummeling death of theatre. Boston, marvelously, is beginning to aim for perfect, not just good.

Until we achieve perfection, though, and have Grade A product to offer, one possibly difficult truth to swallow is that we are not a financially profitable theatrical town. A company hoping to make money in this town should move to Mt. Everest. We cannot gamble with the ratio of price to good quality art. We cannot skimp on actor, designer, or producer salaries. We cannot skimp on rehearsal periods, or costumes, or props. We’re not a big enough town yet. We need to be a family.

Every company working together can make the intelligent, young, eager population of this town crescendo into a proud theatrical community, and not just another town with several spattered audiences for one theatre at a time. If the price of better theatre is fewer productions with longer rehearsals and more expensive tickets, we have to eat the losses in the name of a greater cause. Someone has to stop thinking about money and start pushing for emotional, gut-punching, change-my-life-in-a-second theatre. Once we do, the audiences will give money of their own accord, just to see more. Theatre funded purely by donation, free of admission charge, can be the future if the product is perfect every time.

I think that the acting community in Boston is already aware of all of this, and is slowly figuring out how to evolve into K2, Mt. Everest’s bad-ass counterpart. The really gut-wrenching tragedy and side-splitting laughter is poking its nose through the snow.  I see at least one production a year these days that does it to me. We are close, and I will stay on this mountain until I can look down and see a brand new view of the world below.

Daniel Berger-Jones is an actor and founding member of Orfeo Group

Whistler In The Dark’s Meg Taintor Talks About Community

I talk about community a lot. About getting artists and lovers of art together and starting conversations about the work that we’re doing: how it is, what it needs, how it could be better.

In fact, last summer, I was being interviewed for a preview piece in the Globe about the Small Theatre Alliance of Boston‘s upcoming FeverFest and the reporter interrupted me at one point to tell me that all my talk of “getting the community together” and “getting the conversation going” wasn’t actually going to make it into the final piece that she would run, because it felt too touchy-feely. Which is odd, right? That the idea of community-building and talking about the work being done in that community has the faint smell of patchouli attached.

I didn’t end up giving her that much more to work with, because what has always excited me about FeverFest and what excites me about the Alliance itself is that very idea: that something crucially important happens when people who make art in a city come together in a room to talk about and support the art being made. And that the conversation that starts in that room continues into other rooms and other theatres and takes on a life of its own.

True to her word, not a sentence about that idea made it into her article.

But I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. I grew up outside Boston, coming to shows in the city throughout my childhood and teenage years, but I hadn’t lived in the area since high school. So when I moved back to the city and founded Whistler in the Dark Theatre six years ago, I had no community here: I didn’t really know anyone. And I’m kind of pathologically shy about meeting new people, so finding a way into the community that was here was daunting.

So, I took a different approach. If I didn’t know the people making the art, I could at least familiarize myself with the art. So I went to dozens of plays – not nearly as many as Larry and Barry, but a lot – and I got to know Boston through the work that was being done. And then, slowly, I started asking people whose work I respected out for coffee, to talk about the work and the city and the community that I was discovering. Those conversations helped shaped the niche that Whistler carved for itself – our place in the ongoing artistic conversation became clear through watching and listening to what the other companies were choosing to present, and how they were choosing to work.

The process that I went through, of meeting this city’s artists through the work that they do, is what our audiences do every time they walk into one of our theatres. And from my experience of our audiences at Whistler, if we give those audiences the chance to deepen that moment of meeting, they will. Our audiences are generally smarter and more curious than we give them credit for being – if we can find a way to include them into our work beyond simply sitting back and appreciating it, they will.

So we, like many of the other theatres in the city, have been doing just that: a more approachable presence online with Facebook and our blog (we’re still figuring out what that whole Twitter-thing is about…); Friday and Saturday night post-show receptions in the theatre where we encourage the audience to stay and share a snack and a drink with us and talk about the show; semi-monthly new-work readings followed by moderated discussions between the playwright and the audience. And now, when I greet our patrons in pre-show, or talk with them after the performance, or respond to the emails I get in the mornings after shows, I feel like my community of collaborators has expanded out one more circle to touch all the people who choose to spend an evening with us in the theatre, working with us to understand the play we’re presenting.

The next step, the one I’m so curious about now, is how to make that conversation one that our audience wants to continue long after they’ve left the theatre – one that expands out not only to bring in more audience, but that sends our audience members on the same journey I went on – of exploring the full range of Boson theatres in an expanding circle of knowledge. I know my audiences will and do see shows by our close collaborators, companies like imaginary beasts or Mill 6, and often shows by other companies in the Alliance, thanks to our new cross-promotional program insert, but how do we engage in the audience on a city-wide level, not just theatre by theatre?

This is an exciting time to be in Boston. The emergence of so many new small and fringe companies, and the growth and development of our midsize theatres mean that we have more artists working and more artists engaged in the process of making this town a more exciting place to be. The Small Theatre Alliance of Boston is fostering conversation and collaboration among the emerging artists in the city. And the Boston Theatre Conference aims at focusing our attention on continuing to open up the conversation to include and empower our audiences.

I so look forward to getting in the room with you all in February, and talking about art, and life, and collaborations.

Meg Taintor is the Artistic Director of Whistler in the Dark Theatre. She is also a proud founding member and the President of the Board of the Small Theatre Alliance of Boston, an organization dedicated to fostering the growth of small theatres and emerging artists in the Boston theatre community.