Archive for 2009

My Blog-o-logical* Clock: To blog, or not to blog, that is the question…

 
*blog-o-logical: (ADJ) 2009 term coined by Ann Sachs; often paired with ‘clock’ (N). Refers to psychological stress due to time-lapse between Theatrical Intelligence blogposts.

On Mothers Day this year I birthed my blog. My blog-o-logical clock had been ticking for months, and I thought that after publishing the first couple of posts, the tick-tick-tocking would go away. Ha! That is the equivalent of saying that a mother’s work is complete after childbirth.

I have an idea for a book called Theatrical Intelligence. It’s a concept that uses the theatre production model to impact business performance. My blog is also called Theatrical Intelligence; its purpose is to send my ideas about this new concept out into the world to see what comes back to me. It isn’t working.

Aye, there’s the rub.

Nothing is coming back. Why?

FIRST: I don’t blog enough. Responsibilities to my company get top priority. Make no mistake: this is my choice. I co-own the business with my husband and no one is tying me to my desk.

SECOND: I have been uncharacteristically shy about “sending my ideas out into the world.” I’ve hinted. I’ve joined Twitter, and tweeted as @TheatreSmart. I’ve asked my kids what they think. But I haven’t launched, in the sense of sending my own theatrical rocket into space. 

THIRD: Twitter has an irresistible little feature called a Posterous Page. It is, essentially, a mini blog that is as easy to use as picking up the phone. I gave in to this preposterous temptation and have posted 28 little pieces since November, on what I call my (Pre)Posterous Page.

That puts me exactly 3 distractions away from writing the book. Or are they distractions? My partner Roger Morgan believes that so-called-distractions are part of the gestation period of creativity; natural and inevitable, given that the muse does not descend on demand. (I have encouraged Roger to write a book on innovative procrastination techniques. He informs me that the idea is in the gestation phase.)

Writing the book is the goal, I remind myself. Yet my blog-o-logical clock keeps ticking, an incessant reminder that I am committing blog-abuse.  My blog is hungry and wants to be fleshed out, to grow, to become the catalyst for getting the book out in the world.  Every day my inner critic (the 8th role of Theatrical Intelligence, by the way) prevents me from posting deeply shallow articles.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.

HOWEVER… cowardice doesn’t seem to fit comfortably. Therefore, I proclaim that in 2010 I will:

FIRST:  L-A-U-N-C-H the blog, such as it is, into the world.

SECOND:  Work on T-H-E  B-O-O-K

‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d.

Please join me as a conversation partner in this quest, and subscribe to my blog. Pass it along to friends and colleagues. And most important: share your feedback; one of the 6 Principles of Theatrical Intelligence is that “Failure is the quickest way to learn.” If I’m off the mark in your opinion, please let me know. That’s the way this dream will take flight.

Thank you. And may the new decade see your dreams come true.

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A “Twipping Point”?

Twitter-Theatre Alliance

Theatre people hug. We get kidded about it a lot.

Recently, I ran into a stage manager I hadn’t seen for years.  Our hello hug was a prolonged, emotional, jumping-up-and-down-squeeze, sort of like Hillary and Tipper at the 1992 Democratic convention. Our shared history returned in an instant as we laughed, cried and reminisced about toiling “in the trenches” on a new play that died too young, and a theatre family that disbanded too soon. We made a date for lunch. Anyone who witnessed our greeting on the street might have concluded that we were long lost sisters.

Last week I had an Ah-Ha moment at a Tweet-Up* here in NYC.  (*Tweet-Up: A gathering of people who follow each other on Twitter, meeting in person, often for the first time.) It is the third such event I’ve attended in as many months, and I simply love them. One Twitter pal after another shared their discovery that “…there is a person at the end of each tweet”, and with childlike wonder described their in-person meetings: “We hugged each other!”  The virtual had become a reality; the theoretical had become personal. The “hug culture” was so new and exciting for them, and we take it for granted in the theatre; it’s an everyday occurrence for us.

Many of the early adopters of Twitter are self-described geeks; brainy kids, inevitably the last ones to be chosen for sports teams. Their thrill has always been using technology to communicate, not sports or academia.  Likewise, those of us in the theatre were not usually the captains of soccer or basketball teams. We discovered a primal form of communication through our school plays.

Twitter and other forms of social media provide a natural alliance between technology and art. My mind reels at all the ways we can help each other navigate this new terrain as we explore its possibilities.

The hug is just the beginning of what could be – please forgive me, Malcolm Gladwell  – a “Twipping Point”. I can’t wait! What about you?


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Rocco at TCG: Back From Peoria

Rocco Landesman

Rocco Landesman

Rocco Landesman had just gotten off the plane from Peoria on Saturday when he arrived at the Theatre Communications Group Fall Forum. We were a group of about 120 TCG theatre members and board chairs, gathered at the Desmond Tutu Center in Chelsea. (Full disclosure: I am neither a theatre member nor a board chair; I had received special permission to attend.*) Everyone in the room was honored that Rocco had carved out the time to meet with us so early in his tenure at NEA, and we were eager to hear what he had to say.

I don’t know Rocco well, although he was our Studio landlord for a few years. As he walked in I didn’t so much assault him as take the opportunity to congratulate him on his provocative entrance into his new role, and to express my hope that he wasn’t discouraged by his critics. His response: “Ann, I’m 62. I’m not about to change now.” I don’t know why I expected anything different, but it was so reassuring to hear those words I almost threw my arms around him and kissed him on the lips. I tend to be a little over-the-top in situations like this, so decided against it.

Rocco opened his talk by telling us about a “gruesome meeting on the Hill” recently, after which he told his wife Debby it reminded him of a favorite old country song: Joe South’s These Are Not My People. Then he told us that he was relieved to be here, because “…you ARE my people!” Vigorous applause. It  felt good to be included.

He drew a parallel between the theatre as “the most aspirational of activities” and the Obama administration as driven by aspiration. In his no-nonsense-get-to-the-bottom-line style, he respectfully referred to our President as an artist “…who has faced the blank page” and succeeded in that perilous journey. And he spoke passionately about the theatre as “…the most essential, the most basic and primal of all human activities; the activity that appeals to our deepest needs and impulses.” It was stirring. “I mean it’s gossip – we’re overhearing people talk when we go to a play!” Impeccable timing.

He went on to explain that if we hadn’t heard about “Art Works” yet, we would soon, with its triplicate meaning :

1. Art works on the wall, as in “a piece of art”.

2. Art works to transform lives, as in his case, he was changed forever when he saw Long Days Journey…

3. Art IS work!  As in: there are 5.7 million arts related jobs in our country.

Rocco spoke from his heart, and didn’t refer much to his scribbled notes on a yellow pad. He admitted that the Chairmanship is still so new to him he hasn’t figured out how it works. He is comfortable in his discomfort, however, and is not afraid to fail. It is one of the reasons I’m so excited about his arrival in Washington; he is living proof of the Theatrical Intelligence principle: failure is the quickest way to learn.

He was a good sport and answered a few questions we had submitted earlier in the day. His lack of endorsement for ‘No Child Left Behind’ was palpable: “It leaves too many children behind who could be saved by arts programs.” He spoke of a charter school in New Orleans which gave him a glimpse into an inspired program, as he watched young children start the day singing Fats Domino songs.

And he answered my question (don’t even ask how thrilled I was) which was “By what measure will you define your success at NEA?” His answer was to tell of the crusty old New Englander who was asked his advice about what makes a happy life. His answer: faster horses, younger women, better whiskey, and more money.

Rocco: I’ll let the first three go, but without a doubt the way I’ll be judged is by how much money I can bring into the NEA. What can I say? I am optimistic. And with apologies to Mel Brooks – perhaps my optimism is delusional –  I can’t help it, I’m a broadway producer.

Applause. Standing ovation. Exit.

My opinion? Perfect casting.

*I was meeting Futurist Jack Uldrich, a Twitter pal, who had presented a stimulating talk on “unlearning” earlier in the day.


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“Date Specific” Performance Piece: Happy Halloween!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Performance Pieces Everywhere You Look!

Performance Pieces Everywhere You Look!

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A Leap of Faith: Actor. Warrior. Hero.

Rich Topol: Actor. Warrior. Hero

Rich Topol: Actor. Warrior. Hero

I just completed directing a project in the 29th Annual Octoberfest at the Ensemble Studio Theatre* in New York’s Hell’s Kitchen. I am writing this blogpost because an exceptional actor named Richard Topol has inspired me. Rich, as everyone calls him, is a perfect example that actors are as courageous as any warrior. Truly, they are heroes.

Rich probably has no idea how much his work meant to me in the few days we worked together.  I suspect he believes he was just doing what he does as an actor.

The project was David Perry’s Eulogy, a one-person play in which a man comes to an emotional reckoning with his abusive mother as he eulogizes her. The play could be described as the technical equivalent of singing four arias in forty minutes and performing Hamlet’s soliloquies in between. And this with one rehearsal.

I had seen Rich on Broadway in a hilarious and heart wrenching performance in Awake and Sing, but met him for the first time at our one rehearsal prior to the two readings. Within 5 minutes it was clear that he trusts himself to exist fully in the moment; if he gets lost along the way he has the courage to live in the unknown – essentially in free-fall – until he discovers something he can grab on to and move on. This, of course is one of the principles of Theatrical Intelligence: success comes with having the courage to step into the unknown.

Actors must find a comfort level with whatever they’re doing, and a staged reading of a demanding script in front of a savvy audience with virtually no rehearsal can be daunting. Many actors just won’t do it. Understandable. It is rather like being asked to jump off a cliff not knowing if your parachute is going to open. Other actors, and Rich is one, are willing to take that leap of faith, and jump.

In the talkback after the first of the two readings, when asked about his experience during the “performance”, Rich responded  “It was exhausting! Sometimes I didn’t remember what was coming next on the page, and when I got there it wasn’t what I expected. So I thought, OK, I’ll live here for a while and just see what happens.”

86 Plays. 38 Days.

86 Plays. 38 Days

What if we could all live this way every day? “Live here for a while…” not knowing where it might lead. If we can trust that it is OK not to know where we are emotionally or intellectually or spiritually, it leaves open the possibility of discovery. If we are open to discovery, just think what new things we can learn!

Billy Carden, the Artistic Director of EST, says: “…if you believe in discovery, if you want to be entertained by the unexpected, surprised by the spontaneous, if you want to hear a new voice for the first time, or a familiar voice in a new way, if you want to experience the spirit of work in progress: join us.”

Thank you, Rich, for your leap of faith. You are a hero.


*EST was founded in 1972 to nurture individual theatre artists in the development of new American plays, and has produced 6,000+ new works over the decades.  I have been a lucky member of this family of 500 theatre artists since 1977.

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Follow Your Fear

(Or “Is That a Dead Moose on the Table?!”)

 

Recently a Theatrical Intelligence blog reader posted a question about conflict in the workplace; she wondered if using theatrical intelligence could help resolve the tricky issues of conflict that frequently occur at work. The answer is yes, Yasmin, and thank you for asking.

Many of us have a fear of conflict at work, which is often reminiscent of family quarrels and hierarchy. We tend to go to great lengths to avoid it, because it makes us feel embarrassed, uncomfortable, and often powerless.

It would benefit us to follow one of the guiding principles of improvisation: “follow your fear”.1

When professional actors improvise in performance, they actually look for obstacles to overcome. Obstacles provide dramatic conflict and the opportunity to venture into unexplored territory. “Following one’s fear…” authentically, under imaginary circumstances, is a proven improvisational technique; it produces behavior that can be eccentric, paranoid, emotionally unpredictable and frequently humorous in a surprising kind of way.

There is only one way to really screw up in improvisation: deny reality.  For example, when two actors are on stage and one of them puts her jacket over her head to protect her from… whatever… the reality of the imaginary circumstances has been established. The other actor accepts it as a gift and immediately uses it. Is it raining? Snowing? Are there pigeons above? Is paint dripping? One or the other will establish what the jacket is protecting them from, and that will be the reality they share and build upon.

Acceptance of the reality, as it is being established, is paramount, in order to build a concrete story.

In many workplaces a denial of reality is the norm. We’ve all experienced situations where there is no acknowledgment of what is really happening (hence the expressions: “the elephant in the room” or “the dead moose on the table”).

Denial of reality inevitably breaks down trust and builds up fear. Acceptance of reality opens up worlds of possibility.  What if you were to “follow your fear” in the face of a workplace conflict? What if you were to have the courage to say “The dead moose on the table is beginning to smell – what shall we do about it?”

I suspect that you and your colleagues at work might discover unexpected behavior and opportunity. Accept the response as a gift, just like in improvisation. Follow your fear, and see what happens.

1 This expression was coined by the late great Del Close at Second City, about 50 years ago.

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My Brother Jim Sachs

My recent infatuation with Twitter makes me think of my brother Jim. He was a man of few words and the 140 character tweets would have suited him just fine. I’m sad to say he’s not here to join the fun; he died of cancer in 2002 at the age of 47, leaving a void in the hearts of his wife, three teenagers and his enormous family. Jim certainly left his mark.

His name, with 3 of his colleagues, is on the patent for Apple’s mouse (below). 

Jim’s Name on Apple’s Patent for the Mouse: 1988

He invented the electronic book a dozen years ago, and predicted it would take about a decade to catch on. Need I say more? No. (But I will… he was my little bro, y’know?) Jim’s electronic wizardry made Laser Tag and Barney possible (remember that  talking, purple dinosaur?) I often wonder what other breakthroughs he might have come up with, if he’d only had a bit more time.

Jim has been on my mind this summer, influenced no doubt by the death of our mother. I’ve been flooded with memories of older-sister-younger-brother shenanigans from our childhood in New Hampshire. In retrospect, Jim was the first person in my life to give me a glimpse into what I now refer to as Theatrical Intelligence.

One particular memory from the early 60’s keeps coming back to me: he was a serious 8-year-old and I was a rather dramatic 16, preparing for one of those standardized tests and trying to make sense of a word problem that had one train going X miles an hour colliding into another train going Y miles an hour and I was nearly apoplectic at the image. Jimmy (as we then called him) asked “What’s the problem?” And I launched into a harrowing description of children being catapulted from the train and lovers “untimely ripped” from each each other’s clasp and infants rendered orphans and… Jimmy stopped me and said “Ann, it’s a math question.” To which I immediately responded “It’s a tragedy!”

I will never forget that little face peering up at me through 1960’s glasses, shaking his head in disbelief: “I guess that’s why you’re going to be a Broadway actress,” and I, with deep disdain: “And you’re going to be an engineer!”

It was a pivotal moment: we understood that each of us viewed the world through a completely different lens (albeit his lens in this case sure was clearer than mine!) Over the years we reflected back on that particular moment, and as we grew older confided in one other about our contrasting perspectives. We both loved learning, and never ceased to learn from our differences.

Looking through my Theatrical Intelligence lens today, I see that Jim’s dominant roles were Designer, Technician and Producer, whereas mine were Actor, Writer and Producer.  We came together as conversation partners as Producers, and were able to expand our capabilities by incorporating the other’s vision.

Shortly before he died we had a boffo laugh when we secretly agreed that together we would have made one perfect person. How blessed have I been, to have such a brother.

Sometimes I think that writing this blog is not only a way to explore the world of Theatrical Intelligence, but a way to continue my conversations with Jim. 

And when I miss him, which is every single day, I find myself saying…

“This is for you, Jim.”

 

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In Memory of my Mom – Origins and Influences

Theatrical Intelligence in Triplicate

Mom died 2 weeks ago. Jeanne O’Sullivan Sachs: Oct 15, 1920 – July 19, 2009. I was blessed to be with her as she made her final exit, as were my siblings.  In her honor, I post “Three Moms”, taken by my younger brother Bob. It is the quintessential Mom: elegant, poised, and laughing at the delicious irony of life. “See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil.”

I’ll be posting my thoughts about my mother as soon as I have the presence of mind to edit my daily “ritual writings”. She had Theatrical Intelligence in abundance!

In the meantime, I’d like to share the a piece of writing dictated by Mom to me on Thanksgiving Day, 2007. She was 87. Our family was playing a game from Mary Pipher’s Writing to Save the World, called “I am from…” It’s about origins and influences.

So ladies and gentlemen, in her own words, Jeanne O’Sullivan Sachs:

* I am from Mortimer O’Sullivan, Patrick Ahearn, Ellen O’Brien, Agnes Ahearn, and John Mortimer O’Sullivan.

* I am from Irish Catholics and Irish Catholics and Irish Catholics and Irish Catholics!

* I am from Ireland, Ballyporene and green and history and the brogue.

* I am from Billerica and Boston.

* I am from “Children are seen and not heard”; “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”; “A book is your friend, you must not destroy it” and mass on Sunday morning (as late as possible for Dad!)

* I am from Mildred McKean the music supervisor telling my parents “You have a very gifted child” and arranging a cello for me.

* I am from… (no, that sounds too braggy!)

* I am from my doll Betty, a gift from Grandfather Ahearn – tailor to Harvard Square – making me jodhpurs when I was thirteen.

* I am from cello recitals and music camp as one of the professionals (I don’t know how they found me!)

* I am from summers on the Cape with my brothers and sisters in Wellfleet.

* I am from sitting at the soda counter and ordering an ice cream sundae while Dad always had a coke and said “…add a little lemon.” That was so grown-up!

* I am from Children’s Hospital and Sidney Farber at Harvard and Faure’s cello sonata which was when Ernie fell in love with me.

* I am from daffodils and 4/3/43, our wedding day.

* I am from 54 months of pregnancy, six kids, being a chauffeur, learning to ski, teaching cello, founding an orchestra and getting my masters – it didn’t take very long – they gave me credit for life.

* I am from my six children and my thirteen grandchildren and my great-grandson Jack and more “greats” on the way. (Good “Jeannes and Ernies”.)

* I am from…four score and seven years ago!

R.I.P. Mom.

Your final words were “Love you”. Thank you for everything. Love you too.

 

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What Role Were You Born To Play?

Recently I’ve re-connected with some old friends who cannot wait to retire. They’re ready to do what they’ve “always loved doing” because for one reason or another, they didn’t end up doing it in their regular work.

If you are stuck in a job you don’t like, tapping into your Theatrical Intelligence can help. Identifying your inborn talent(s) that may have gone underground in your adult life, can get you unstuck.

Try this:

Think back to your childhood. Remember the neighborhood where you grew up?  Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and inhale the smell of that long ago place. If the neighborhood isn’t clear, or you moved around a lot, picture a time when you shared secrets with your closest friend…

Was there a time when you and your friends decided to put together an event of some kind?  A gymnastics demonstration? A neighborhood circus with performances by your pets? Maybe a swimming show with a lemonade stand? Whatever it was, YOUR part in this event made you really proud.

Write down what you remember. I’m willing to bet it resembles one or more of The 8 Roles of Theatrical Intelligence:

1.    The WRITER: You had an idea and wrote it down. You understood the concept: tell the audience, tell them again, and tell them that you told them; with humor, drama and clarity.

2.    The ACTOR: You performed. You lived moment-to-moment. You understood that timing is everything, and that theatre isn’t larger than life – it is AS LARGE as life!

3.    The DIRECTOR: You “saw” the ideas as if they already existed, then staged it to please the audience. Your friends placed their trust in you because you gave them positive feedback about their strengths, and you made them feel good about themselves.

4.    The PRODUCER: You thought up the whole event, assigned your buddies the tasks that matched their strengths, sold the idea to everyone in the neighborhood and got them to pay for tickets. You invited everyone you saw, and one restaurant owner was so enthusiastic he threw an after-show party at your request.

5.   The DESIGNER: You envisioned the environment for the event. You drew it with vivid strokes and it took on a life of its own. You told your friends what to build, what to wear and why they had to wear it in spite of their objections (and they thanked you for it afterwards!)

6.    The STAGE MANAGER: You knew that your best buddy’s vision could be built. You crafted the schedule as to what had to be done by when, so your friends would have a chance to practice. You arranged parking places for bikes, strollers, cars, and managed the traffic and access to rest rooms.

7.   The TECHNICIAN: You made calculations from your friend’s drawings, found the right person to donate materials and stayed up all night building the set.  You finished on time, and with no budget. When people got nervous and asked “What’s happening?” you replied “Workin’ on it!”

8.    The CRITIC: You recognized problems from the get-go, and knew that if it had been approached from a different perspective it would have worked better. But heck, it was fun, and set the precedent for the next time. You wrote a flattering article for the Neighborhood News, in which you had instigated the “Kids’ Column”.

Do any of these roles sound familiar? Even at an early age your Theatrical Intelligence was at work.

What made your event so unforgettable? What worked?

You wanted everyone to talk about the event all week! That is the first of The 6 Principles of Theatrical Intelligence:

1. Everyone shares the same goal.

Next, everyone would’ve been mortified if no one showed up, if one of the pets didn’t cooperate, or if the setting wasn’t finished. Embarrassment doesn’t begin to describe it! That’s the second principle:

2. Everyone shares the risk.

What else worked? Everyone worked together and beat the deadline!  Third principle:

3. Collaboration rules!

The 4th principle takes over (sometimes against all odds) when a show is being developed:

4. The work matters.

Chances are that you experienced 4 of The 6 Principles before you were 8 years old.

(The 5th and 6th principles occur when there’s a more sophisticated level of production: 5. Failure is your friend, and the fastest way to learn. 6. Success comes with the courage to step into the unknown. We’ll take those on later.)

I believe that every one of you was born with Theatrical Intelligence. As a kid, chances are that you played at least two roles with complete abandon. And as you morphed into a grown-up, you may have ended up playing a role that didn’t quite fit. It happens to many of us.

What was the role you were born to play?

Are you currently playing it?

If not, when did it go underground?

How will you get it back?

The goal of Theatrical Intelligence is to IDENTIFY the role(s) that gave you such joy and freedom as a child, and put them to USE in your daily life.


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Launching a Blog = Birthing a Baby*

(*sort of)

The Creative Process Takes Shape

The Creative Process Takes Shape

About nine months ago I began thinking about creating a blog. The buzz in my women-owned-business community was that blogs were the wave of the future. I knew my blog-ological-clock was ticking because the future arrives quicker and quicker these days, so I got busy, fast. My new venture Theatrical Intelligence® was taking shape, and wise minds suggested that a blog would be a catalyst for conversation in anticipation of my upcoming book.

Since my concept was not fully conceived, I googled ‘blog’ and learned that the word is a contraction of the term web-log.  Googling ‘theatre blogs’ confirmed that my beloved theatre industry lags in the blogosphere, and I saw that theatre students, as always, were ahead of the curve. So I decided to do what the students were doing: learn blogspeak and sign up for Twitter, LinkedIn and Facebook.

I watched. I waited. I learned. And after a couple of weeks I experienced what can only be described as blog-hunger. The symptoms were oddly familiar: there was a primal creative force driving my every moment, an obsessive craving for 24/7 knowledge-exchange-with-wise-women, and the wildest dreams imaginable. It was exactly the same as the baby-hunger that had consumed me three decades before.

When I was pregnant with my daughter in 1974, none of my friends had yet taken the plunge into parenthood. I trembled as I described to my doctor the feeling of leaping into the unknown where no one I knew had ever gone before. She tactfully reassured me that “others had done it.”  Giving birth to Theatrical Intelligence® feels exactly the same way. Yes – others have done it! But to me, it is tremendous, terrifying, exhilarating, exhausting, and ultimately the most creative thing I have taken on since giving birth to my children. It feels as if I’m taking a courageous step into a new frontier.

A New Life - Welcome!

A New Life - Welcome to Gabriel!

You are hereby invited into the new terrain that is Theatrical Intelligence. Will you please help me expand my reach beyond my current network by answering two questions?

  1. What is the most fulfilling work you’ve ever done? Please describe.
  2. In what way are you happy (or unhappy) in your current work? Please describe.

Your answers to these questions will help inform my new concept, and I thank you in advance for contacting me.

The picture on the right is my first grandchild, Gabriel. His journey into the world gave me the analogy of birth and blog, creativity and community. Not to mention love. Thank you, Gabriel!

And to everyone: Welcome to the Theatrical Intelligence community.


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