There was an article in today's Seattle Times about paying what you can for arts—case in point, Radiohead's new album. They also mentioned Seattle Rep's Pay What You Can nights (something other theaters in town also employ).
Seattle Repertory implemented a pay-what-you-will night for the usually light Halloween, and it sold out. Like many theaters, it holds one such night per performance, totaling around a half-dozen a year. The minimum cost is $1, but customers pay on average $5. But each show, there's always somebody who is willing to pay the full price of $40, because that's what they decide the show is worth, said Christy Carlson, the ticketing services manager.
The article also mentions KEXP, the band Maktub, SAM and more.
I've seen first hand the huge lines that form on the days that we offer Pay What You Can performances (usually the first Monday preview of a Bagley show). People love cheap tickets, but more than that, they love getting to decide what the experience is worth for them.
Wouldn't it be nice if everything was like that? Oh, yes Apartment Manager, this month I'll be giving you $50 because that's really what this place is worth.
Showing posts with label Seattle theater. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Seattle theater. Show all posts
Paying what you can
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Labels:
cheap theatre tickets,
KEXP,
Maktub,
Pay What You Can,
Seattle Art Museum,
Seattle Rep,
Seattle theater,
Seattle Times
Rehearsal: An Actor's Blog, First Day of Tech
From actor Marya Sea Kaminski, playing Rachel in My Name is Rachel Corrie.
"I am given to making very important lists."
Rachel.
tech.
daylight savings.
stayed up too late.
anxious.
first day of school.
christmas morning.
dressing room.
tulips.
a turquoise bathrobe.
and a lovely woman named leslie.
two pairs of matching underwear.
two pairs of matching jeans.
two pairs of matching tshirts,
boxers,
tanktops,
long sleeve shirts colored a purplish blue.
set everything in order.
mascara.
powder.
new makeup brushes from rite-aid.
calm nerves.
into olympia.
a bedroom like every bedroom i've ever slept in.
except missing one wall.
and two cats.
energy.
sound.
lights.
nalgene.
paint supplies.
duct tape on the bottom of my feet.
stop and go and stop
and go go go go.
lb at his desk.
pushing buttons and then there was light.
obediah at his computer.
creating rain.
traffic. gunshots that make my heart stop.
kati with her notebook in the third row.
jolene quiet and fastidious in the upper right.
jen making faces at me from the back of the house.
braden speaking gently speaking direct.
like he is starving and finally smells food on the stove.
erica runs the show. a heartbeat in the sixth row.
david on the stairs.
is he always here on sunday?
long dinner break.
i hate taking breaks.
want to go and go and go.
into jerusalem, through khan jounis, finally
violently arrived into rafah.
my boots feel at home on that ground.
steady. even with the rake.
hover on the window ledge while a world
falls down around
the downstage left corner.
i will be able to hear you breathe, i think.
i'll try and pay attention.
the audience is going to be close enough
to smell sweat and smoke and fear.
the day is so long.
but no messages on my voicemail.
this is the everything.
rem.
stand.
the place where i live.
tuesday we'll start on february 7th.
i will have lived in palestine for two weeks.
and one hour.
saved for daylight.
"I am given to making very important lists."
Rachel.
tech.
daylight savings.
stayed up too late.
anxious.
first day of school.
christmas morning.
dressing room.
tulips.
a turquoise bathrobe.
and a lovely woman named leslie.
two pairs of matching underwear.
two pairs of matching jeans.
two pairs of matching tshirts,
boxers,
tanktops,
long sleeve shirts colored a purplish blue.
set everything in order.
mascara.
powder.
new makeup brushes from rite-aid.
calm nerves.
into olympia.
a bedroom like every bedroom i've ever slept in.
except missing one wall.
and two cats.
energy.
sound.
lights.
nalgene.
paint supplies.
duct tape on the bottom of my feet.
stop and go and stop
and go go go go.
lb at his desk.
pushing buttons and then there was light.
obediah at his computer.
creating rain.
traffic. gunshots that make my heart stop.
kati with her notebook in the third row.
jolene quiet and fastidious in the upper right.
jen making faces at me from the back of the house.
braden speaking gently speaking direct.
like he is starving and finally smells food on the stove.
erica runs the show. a heartbeat in the sixth row.
david on the stairs.
is he always here on sunday?
long dinner break.
i hate taking breaks.
want to go and go and go.
into jerusalem, through khan jounis, finally
violently arrived into rafah.
my boots feel at home on that ground.
steady. even with the rake.
hover on the window ledge while a world
falls down around
the downstage left corner.
i will be able to hear you breathe, i think.
i'll try and pay attention.
the audience is going to be close enough
to smell sweat and smoke and fear.
the day is so long.
but no messages on my voicemail.
this is the everything.
rem.
stand.
the place where i live.
tuesday we'll start on february 7th.
i will have lived in palestine for two weeks.
and one hour.
saved for daylight.
Rehearsal: An Actor's Blog, The Eve of Tech
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Labels:
acting,
Braden Abraham,
Marya Sea Kaminski,
Rachel Corrie,
Seattle theater,
tech rehearsal
From actor Marya Sea Kaminski, playing Rachel in My Name is Rachel Corrie.
Saturday March 10, 2007
The Last Day of Rehearsal,
on the Eve of Tech for MY NAME IS RACHEL CORRIE
“How’s the play going?”
asks my best friend, across the sticky table ghostlit by the flourescent beer sign. We haven’t seen each other in a week.
Well, it rivals falling in love. You know. There’s always that rush. The adrenaline of finding a role that you’d like to wear and stretch and stitch together, and then there is the dynamite in your stomach of actually getting cast. Of getting the phone call. Of saying thank you, goodbye, and looking around at your new world bursting with vibrant color, possibility, and the intoxication of sudden purpose. That’s what getting cast in MY NAME IS RACHEL CORRIE was like. Like dynamite exploding in the gut.
And sometimes that’s the best part. Sometimes the victory outshines the prize and you wrestle yourself into the rehearsal room everyday and make grocery lists in your head while you’re on break. Your imagination becomes resentful for all the parties and movies and slow dinners and long naps you could be having if you weren’t committed to living inside this play.
Rehearsing this play has not been that. It has not been the sweet fleet of a crush. It has not been the adventurous resonance of a night on the town. It has been like falling in love. Deep, and difficult, and beautiful in a way you cannot describe to your friends over beers.
For the last three weeks, I have woken up every morning and taken my time. I have eased into the day with the gentlest joy. Unforced, in the way that my day jobs and teaching gigs and endless meetings can sometimes demand the dregs of my energy. I have woken up every day with no wishes to make. I have had no restlessness or arm’s reach dreams of moving to Europe or taking a long vacations or going back to school or re-evaluating the Whys and mapping out the Hows or where I am. I have woken up every morning and prepared to go into the world of this play, eager to soak up all the delight and poetry and maddening curiosity Rachel Corrie used to paint her days.
I am happier than I’ve ever been, getting to know this woman. This girl. Her writing has seeped under my skin and pierced me in places. Her conviction, which somehow feels like a dirty word in this time of Great Apathy, is more fun to attend than any party I’ve every been to. Her politics, which so many people have dismissed as naive or deemed controversial and dangerous, are a dynamic story of calling things like you see them. No more and no less.
My last few weeks have been peppered with all of these press interviews, which have been nerve-wracking and sometimes shallow. The questions dress Rachel up as a hero, a martyr, an innocent victim... The more I get to know Rachel, the more I think she was just a girl. You can scour her writing and never find any desire to be a hero. She wanted to make a difference and she believed that she could. Maybe that’s naive. Maybe that’s heroic. I know that it is uncommon.
Admittedly, Rachel Corrie has become my hero. As an artist. And as a writer. And as a defender of her own spirit, her own light, which she knew was finite and indescribable. I am inspired by the way she followed her gut. Trusted her intuition. Saw a path laid before her and did not look away when that road became very, very dark.
The rehearsals have been dream-like. They have gone very, very fast. I show up in the morning and Braden and I warm-up and then we get to work. I blink and six hours have passed. I always feel like we’re just getting started. Every day I feel like that. Even when the time has gone roughly. Last Thursday, the weight of the text and the noise of all the expectations hit me from behind while I was trying to practice the delicate ballet of the blocking. But even in the rare times I feel like crumpling under the pressure of embodying this extraordinary person in the middle of the place where she grew up, the difficulty has been welcome. Rachel courted difficulty. She seemed to have a knack for looking challenge deep in the eye and painting it sky blue.
We go into tech tomorrow. I am reluctant to leave the rehearsal room. Not because we’re not ready. This play wants an audience. This play wants to be heard and laughed at and fought with. I am reluctant to leave the rehearsal room because it has been a wonder-full time, looking into Rachel’s world and building it from the inside out. It has been an artistic dream come true to meet Braden Abraham every day and devour the work in front of us. It has been an experience of warm sunlight through the window to run lines with our Stage Manager, Erica Schwartz-Hall, and to share small insights on the text and discover the happy secrets that Rachel buried every place she went. It has been a trip around the world to sit with our Dramaturge, Kati Sweeney, and build a clear picture of the sounds of tank shells through concrete and the banter of young children playing soccer in Rafah. It has changed my life, for good, I think, to spend these days with Rachel Corrie.
I will never be the same.
“It’s going really well,” I say to my best friend. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”
Saturday March 10, 2007
The Last Day of Rehearsal,
on the Eve of Tech for MY NAME IS RACHEL CORRIE
“How’s the play going?”
asks my best friend, across the sticky table ghostlit by the flourescent beer sign. We haven’t seen each other in a week.
Well, it rivals falling in love. You know. There’s always that rush. The adrenaline of finding a role that you’d like to wear and stretch and stitch together, and then there is the dynamite in your stomach of actually getting cast. Of getting the phone call. Of saying thank you, goodbye, and looking around at your new world bursting with vibrant color, possibility, and the intoxication of sudden purpose. That’s what getting cast in MY NAME IS RACHEL CORRIE was like. Like dynamite exploding in the gut.
And sometimes that’s the best part. Sometimes the victory outshines the prize and you wrestle yourself into the rehearsal room everyday and make grocery lists in your head while you’re on break. Your imagination becomes resentful for all the parties and movies and slow dinners and long naps you could be having if you weren’t committed to living inside this play.
Rehearsing this play has not been that. It has not been the sweet fleet of a crush. It has not been the adventurous resonance of a night on the town. It has been like falling in love. Deep, and difficult, and beautiful in a way you cannot describe to your friends over beers.
For the last three weeks, I have woken up every morning and taken my time. I have eased into the day with the gentlest joy. Unforced, in the way that my day jobs and teaching gigs and endless meetings can sometimes demand the dregs of my energy. I have woken up every day with no wishes to make. I have had no restlessness or arm’s reach dreams of moving to Europe or taking a long vacations or going back to school or re-evaluating the Whys and mapping out the Hows or where I am. I have woken up every morning and prepared to go into the world of this play, eager to soak up all the delight and poetry and maddening curiosity Rachel Corrie used to paint her days.
I am happier than I’ve ever been, getting to know this woman. This girl. Her writing has seeped under my skin and pierced me in places. Her conviction, which somehow feels like a dirty word in this time of Great Apathy, is more fun to attend than any party I’ve every been to. Her politics, which so many people have dismissed as naive or deemed controversial and dangerous, are a dynamic story of calling things like you see them. No more and no less.
My last few weeks have been peppered with all of these press interviews, which have been nerve-wracking and sometimes shallow. The questions dress Rachel up as a hero, a martyr, an innocent victim... The more I get to know Rachel, the more I think she was just a girl. You can scour her writing and never find any desire to be a hero. She wanted to make a difference and she believed that she could. Maybe that’s naive. Maybe that’s heroic. I know that it is uncommon.
Admittedly, Rachel Corrie has become my hero. As an artist. And as a writer. And as a defender of her own spirit, her own light, which she knew was finite and indescribable. I am inspired by the way she followed her gut. Trusted her intuition. Saw a path laid before her and did not look away when that road became very, very dark.
The rehearsals have been dream-like. They have gone very, very fast. I show up in the morning and Braden and I warm-up and then we get to work. I blink and six hours have passed. I always feel like we’re just getting started. Every day I feel like that. Even when the time has gone roughly. Last Thursday, the weight of the text and the noise of all the expectations hit me from behind while I was trying to practice the delicate ballet of the blocking. But even in the rare times I feel like crumpling under the pressure of embodying this extraordinary person in the middle of the place where she grew up, the difficulty has been welcome. Rachel courted difficulty. She seemed to have a knack for looking challenge deep in the eye and painting it sky blue.
We go into tech tomorrow. I am reluctant to leave the rehearsal room. Not because we’re not ready. This play wants an audience. This play wants to be heard and laughed at and fought with. I am reluctant to leave the rehearsal room because it has been a wonder-full time, looking into Rachel’s world and building it from the inside out. It has been an artistic dream come true to meet Braden Abraham every day and devour the work in front of us. It has been an experience of warm sunlight through the window to run lines with our Stage Manager, Erica Schwartz-Hall, and to share small insights on the text and discover the happy secrets that Rachel buried every place she went. It has been a trip around the world to sit with our Dramaturge, Kati Sweeney, and build a clear picture of the sounds of tank shells through concrete and the banter of young children playing soccer in Rafah. It has changed my life, for good, I think, to spend these days with Rachel Corrie.
I will never be the same.
“It’s going really well,” I say to my best friend. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”
Being Fabulous
|
Labels:
August Wilson,
Diane von Furstenburg,
Fire on the Mountain,
Gem of the Ocean,
John Jacovelli,
Nordstrom,
Rachel Corrie,
Seattle theater
From Joanna Horowitz, Communications Department
It's 5:30 on a Tuesday afternoon, and I can say a few things with certainty: I am not wearing shoes (my high heels have been removed and tossed under my desk), I have consumed a ridiculous amount of food and wine (including two different desserts), and I would be napping face first on my keyboard if I didn't need to see Fire on the Mountain tonight.
An explanation? I'm not really a bad employee. In fact, it was my boss who bought me a ticket to the Nordstrom Spring Fashion Ovation--a fashion show organized by the Seattle Repertory Organization and fundraiser for the Rep. This year brought in a record amount for the Rep and featured the designs of Diane von Furstenberg. Basically the whole morning for me was spent applying lipstick, pretending I'm rich and fabulous (well, I don't really need to pretend about being fabulous) and then crashing back at my desk. Do actual work? Um, that's what tomorrow is for.
Once some of the wine had worn off, I headed downstairs for the meet and greet for Gem of the Ocean, the last play of the season. The excitement around this show is palpable. For one, it marks the Rep's completion of August Wilson's 10-play "Pittsburgh Cycle." It also means we're the only theatre in world (galaxy...universe...) to have performed all 11 of his plays because he performed his one-man show "How I Learned What I Learned" here in 2002.
During the meet and greet, August's wife Constanza Romero spoke about her and August's long history with the Rep. Set designer John Jacovelli shared his model of the set--Aunt Ester's house--and talked about the intricate wallpaper that might transform during Citizen Barlow's journey to the "City of Bones." (This probably sounds like gibberish, but go to Seattle Rep's website for a synopsis of the play). Director Phylicia Rashad (by whom quite a few of us staffers were a little star struck) chimed in with details the designers had forgotten to mention, but was mostly gracefully reticent.
My Name is Rachel Corrie is underway in rehearsals, Fire on the Mountain is playing to packed houses and has gotten some amazing reviews, and Gem is now in rehearsals. It feels like a great way to start winding down the season. And we're already gearing up for next season. We should have titles to announce in the next week. Stay tuned!
Also, I promise some blogs soon that will give you more of a peek into the artistic process, filled with thought-provoking nuggets, ripe for instigating intelligent discourse. Just don't give me a glass of wine for lunch...
It's 5:30 on a Tuesday afternoon, and I can say a few things with certainty: I am not wearing shoes (my high heels have been removed and tossed under my desk), I have consumed a ridiculous amount of food and wine (including two different desserts), and I would be napping face first on my keyboard if I didn't need to see Fire on the Mountain tonight.
An explanation? I'm not really a bad employee. In fact, it was my boss who bought me a ticket to the Nordstrom Spring Fashion Ovation--a fashion show organized by the Seattle Repertory Organization and fundraiser for the Rep. This year brought in a record amount for the Rep and featured the designs of Diane von Furstenberg. Basically the whole morning for me was spent applying lipstick, pretending I'm rich and fabulous (well, I don't really need to pretend about being fabulous) and then crashing back at my desk. Do actual work? Um, that's what tomorrow is for.
Once some of the wine had worn off, I headed downstairs for the meet and greet for Gem of the Ocean, the last play of the season. The excitement around this show is palpable. For one, it marks the Rep's completion of August Wilson's 10-play "Pittsburgh Cycle." It also means we're the only theatre in world (galaxy...universe...) to have performed all 11 of his plays because he performed his one-man show "How I Learned What I Learned" here in 2002.
During the meet and greet, August's wife Constanza Romero spoke about her and August's long history with the Rep. Set designer John Jacovelli shared his model of the set--Aunt Ester's house--and talked about the intricate wallpaper that might transform during Citizen Barlow's journey to the "City of Bones." (This probably sounds like gibberish, but go to Seattle Rep's website for a synopsis of the play). Director Phylicia Rashad (by whom quite a few of us staffers were a little star struck) chimed in with details the designers had forgotten to mention, but was mostly gracefully reticent.
My Name is Rachel Corrie is underway in rehearsals, Fire on the Mountain is playing to packed houses and has gotten some amazing reviews, and Gem is now in rehearsals. It feels like a great way to start winding down the season. And we're already gearing up for next season. We should have titles to announce in the next week. Stay tuned!
Also, I promise some blogs soon that will give you more of a peek into the artistic process, filled with thought-provoking nuggets, ripe for instigating intelligent discourse. Just don't give me a glass of wine for lunch...
Can you mid-size that?
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Labels:
Book-It,
Cynthia Fuhrman,
Jerry Manning,
Lori Larsen,
mid-size theater,
Seattle Shakespeare Company,
Seattle theater,
The Empty Space,
Theater Schmeater,
Washington Ensemble Theatre
From Joanna Horowitz, Communications Department
So, I've been letting Paul do most of the talking (typing?) about The Lady from Dubuque process, and maybe you've been thinking, "Where's Joanna? I can barely live without her!" (well, a girl can dream). Here I am.
First off, John Logenbaugh had an article in last week's Seattle Weekly about whether or not Seattle is really a theatre town. You can read it here. I've been thinking a lot about what John says, essentially that Seattle is seeing a severe deficit in mid-sized theaters and that's hurting us. Now that the Empty Space is closed, there's a sizable gap between fringe theaters (and there are lots and many of really high quality) and the "big houses" like us at the Rep. This clearly affects those of us working in theatre--it means less places to work that can afford to pay actors, directors, etc.
The question I have is, how does the lack of mid-sized theaters impact us as audience members. Will the gap change what we see on stage? I don't feel completely confident in answering these questions, being relatively new to the Seattle theater scene and to the Rep. But my very knowledgeable boss Cynthia Fuhrman may have some answers.
According to Cynthia, who also just had this same conversation with Rep Casting Director Jerry Manning, widening the gap between fringe and large theaters will mean Seattle will be less likely to retain the young actors who move here or stay here after school. They will act in fringe theaters like WET and Theater Schmeater, but most won't be able to make the leap to ACT, INTIMAN or the Rep without the stepping stone of a theater like Empty Space. That means eventually you'll see fewer local actors on the big stages.
It also means you won't have the opportunity to see an actor like Lori Larsen in a fantastic production like Frozen in an intimate 120-seat venue. Someone like Lori can't really perform with a fringe theater because of Equity contracts and the fact that most fringe companies can't afford to pay. So, with mid-sized theaters dwindling, your opportunity to experience professional quality theater with really great veterens in an intimate setting also dwindles.
Finally, it's a pretty common belief, said Cynthia, that the more theater that is available, the more people to see it. It's more accessible (if there's theater in your neighborhood, you're more likely to go see it), and you have broader options to match up with your taste. And once you see enough that you connect with, the more you get in the habit of going (like heroin, Cynthia said, but I think she was joking).
So what can we do to try to slow and reverse this trend? Well, for one, don't stop going to theater. All kinds of theater. We say now in hindsight, "Wow, I wish I would have gone to the Empty Space more." So, go to the mid-sized theatres in Seattle: Book-It, Seattle Shakespeare Company, etc. And go to the smaller fringe theatres, especially the ones that you think have a potential to grow: maybe WET, Theater Schmeater, Seattle Public, Balagan. With our support, they may be the next generation of mid-size theatres.
Ok, off the soapbox for the day.
So, I've been letting Paul do most of the talking (typing?) about The Lady from Dubuque process, and maybe you've been thinking, "Where's Joanna? I can barely live without her!" (well, a girl can dream). Here I am.
First off, John Logenbaugh had an article in last week's Seattle Weekly about whether or not Seattle is really a theatre town. You can read it here. I've been thinking a lot about what John says, essentially that Seattle is seeing a severe deficit in mid-sized theaters and that's hurting us. Now that the Empty Space is closed, there's a sizable gap between fringe theaters (and there are lots and many of really high quality) and the "big houses" like us at the Rep. This clearly affects those of us working in theatre--it means less places to work that can afford to pay actors, directors, etc.
The question I have is, how does the lack of mid-sized theaters impact us as audience members. Will the gap change what we see on stage? I don't feel completely confident in answering these questions, being relatively new to the Seattle theater scene and to the Rep. But my very knowledgeable boss Cynthia Fuhrman may have some answers.
According to Cynthia, who also just had this same conversation with Rep Casting Director Jerry Manning, widening the gap between fringe and large theaters will mean Seattle will be less likely to retain the young actors who move here or stay here after school. They will act in fringe theaters like WET and Theater Schmeater, but most won't be able to make the leap to ACT, INTIMAN or the Rep without the stepping stone of a theater like Empty Space. That means eventually you'll see fewer local actors on the big stages.
It also means you won't have the opportunity to see an actor like Lori Larsen in a fantastic production like Frozen in an intimate 120-seat venue. Someone like Lori can't really perform with a fringe theater because of Equity contracts and the fact that most fringe companies can't afford to pay. So, with mid-sized theaters dwindling, your opportunity to experience professional quality theater with really great veterens in an intimate setting also dwindles.
Finally, it's a pretty common belief, said Cynthia, that the more theater that is available, the more people to see it. It's more accessible (if there's theater in your neighborhood, you're more likely to go see it), and you have broader options to match up with your taste. And once you see enough that you connect with, the more you get in the habit of going (like heroin, Cynthia said, but I think she was joking).
So what can we do to try to slow and reverse this trend? Well, for one, don't stop going to theater. All kinds of theater. We say now in hindsight, "Wow, I wish I would have gone to the Empty Space more." So, go to the mid-sized theatres in Seattle: Book-It, Seattle Shakespeare Company, etc. And go to the smaller fringe theatres, especially the ones that you think have a potential to grow: maybe WET, Theater Schmeater, Seattle Public, Balagan. With our support, they may be the next generation of mid-size theatres.
Ok, off the soapbox for the day.
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