J. Holtham here, the formerly anonymous blogger of 99 Seats. Arena Stage invited me and Adam Thurman of Mission Paradox Blog to join them for the Black Playwrights Convening and blog about our thoughts, responses and reflections. Here's the first installment from me...
As I wrote here, when I got the invite for the Arena Stage’s Black Playwrights Convening, and I saw the list of participants, I pooped my pants a little bit. It was the most incredible collection of playwrights, artists, storytellers, administrators I could imagine, all in one place. (On the train down, Isaac Butler joked that, if a missile hit the train, that would be the end of black playwriting in America.) But I wasn’t prepared for actually being in the room.
It was simply the coolest room I’ve ever been in. Well, okay, being at the inauguration last MLK weekend was pretty cool, too. Not a bad yearly tradition.
Crowded into a rehearsal room in the Davis Performing Arts Center at Georgetown University, first there was meeting and greeting, catching up with old friends. Playwrights had come from all over the country (well, mostly New York, but more on that later). Most knew each other from festivals, theatres, schools, but hadn’t seen each other in a while. Finally, we settled in to the work at hand.
Arena Stage gathered us as a part of a series of convenings on the state of new plays in America. This is obviously much on the minds of, well, everybody these days. This particular convening was about black playwriting, but it became much, much more.
Interestingly, a few months ago, I sent the following e-mail to a group of black playwrights I knew, many of whom wound up in the room with me here:
Tomorrow marks the 4 year anniversary of the passing of August Wilson. A lot has gone down in the last four years, a lot has changed and some things have very much not. This summer, a kind of mask slipped aside, again, and we got a glimpse at the underbelly of our country, still there, still angry, still ready to bite.
I've been thinking a lot, in the last few months, about being a black playwright in America today and what that means, both for me personally and for the field at large. What is the state of black theatre and black playwriting today, what's changed, what hasn't. How do we confront these turbulent times in our work?
And that, it turns out, is what was going on in the room this weekend. We started off with a rollicking discussion, bouncing around the room, responding to an excerpt from Outrageous Fortune, The Ground on Which I Stand by August Wilson, and New Black Math by Suzan-Lori Parks, some of the suggested readings. It was a day of questions, first principles, some anger and frustration, a lot of agreement and shared experiences, a lot of overlap and a lot of divergence.
One writer made a distinction between "African" plays, steeped in African-American storytelling traditions and aesthetics and "American" plays, appealing more to the "mainstream." Another wondered if we were being "ahistorical" and not looking enough at the writing of figures like Langston Hughes and James Weldon Johnson, who were wrestling with these very issues in the '30s and '40s. As his grandmother told him, "You ain't the first black man to read." Others, though, spoke eloquently and passionately about finding their own voices and stories to tell and having to fight to be heard, in particular the female playwrights, one of whom has been told that "black women playwrights have a problem with structure."
So, yeah, there was some frustration in the air. Frustration at institutions that are happy to have a black writer in the house, happy to have a black audience in the house, but won't market to their "regular" audience for those shows. Frustration at the coverage in recent Playbills and other places about how Broadway is addressing race...solely in plays and musicals written by white men. Many folks, though, even rejected or challenged the notions of "white vs. black," asking if, when Kenny Leon became the artistic director of the Alliance Theatre in Atlanta, did it become a black theatre?
Out of the frustrations, though, one of the major themes of the weekend began to emerge early: self-reliance. We would come back, again and again, to the idea that a black artist needed to find their own audience and bring them into the institutions. At least one person said there was a crisis in marketing to black audiences. So much of that affects the audiences and so much of that falls on our backs. There is work there, and an obligation, but also a lot of control and empowerment. We can and should develop our own audiences, know who they are and how to reach them and bring them along with us. It was something we would keep coming back to over the weekend.
We laid a good foundation to start off the weekend. There was much, much more to come.
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