Craftsmanship

Another installment of Drive To The Curtain
 

When I get into a jam and have to forego an aesthetic choice, I often think to myself, "THE AUDIENCE WON'T KNOW THE FUCKIN' DIFFERENCE". That’s not a good  perspective for craftsmanship or the effort of making better experiences for, ahem, paying audience members but…it’s likely to be true. It may also be practical. When is it O.K. to let it go?

For a start, look at the calendar and the clock. Check your other resources,  including other people working with you on this thing. What is it going to cost  you to either force this aesthetic choice into existence or cook up an adaption that will approximate it? Another couple of hours? Twenty minutes? Somebody has  to go get a ladder, move a lot of chairs out of the way, set the ladder and climb  up there? Extra crew have to be called in and it gets done….when? Tonight after  the scheduled shift? In the morning? Is somebody else coming in then? Oh… the stage gets painted overnight… Can’t do it then. Or is it just as simple as this: You have an hour to finish the load-in, about that much time’s worth of regular stuff to do, but this thing might take fifteen minutes you can’t afford. How much difference in quality will this make to the show, what will be missing in the communication of the story to the audience?

“I’m the only one who’s going to know the fuckin’ difference…”

This isn’t easy because you count, too. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t think of yourself as a professional, you wouldn’t get these gigs, you wouldn’t get paid, you wouldn’t get the other gratification that keeps you in  this line of work. Your opionion, your sense of craftsmanship, counts. You’re the  last one you can, or should, dismiss when having to make difficult decisions about craftsmanship…even if no one else is really going to know the fuckin’ difference… this time.

“Disregard for details is the first sign of doom.”
– Kai Krause

It’s a tricky prospect but one that people have been wrangling since, probably, they were barely hominids. You learn which things you bust your ass to do well and which you let go, primarily by busting your ass to do well a lot. Eventually,  experience puts you in positions from which you have a pretty good perspective on when to… let… it… go. Given, you will misjudge this. You’ll screw up. You’ll get caught out, people will fuckin’ know the difference and you’ll look  bad. If you’re not basically psychotic, you’ll learn from that mistake and prevent yourself doing it again. You’ll make a different mistake but, one can hope, it’s not as bad as the last one because of shared conditions. You will be reminded that craftsmanship is that important and that compromising it really can hurt.

photo: Cassandra Phillips

Sometimes, you just can’t do anything about it. The venue doesn’t have the gear, or the stuff is falling apart. The stage, sightlines, something isn’t suited to your show. Tech support is crap or just non-existent. You don’t have enough time.  You’ve torn out some hair making some things turn out well, at least. Some of  the other things are just beyond reach. In your big picture view, they’re all of about the same importance in your show, so that the shortcomings are going to  look, to you, like big potholes of neglect, even though you have neglected nothing. In the same load-in, you’ve made some things work out really well. They’re moments of thoroughly professional, high craftsmanship. You can do this, goddammit. See?!

Yes, somebody sees. Somebody notices. Maybe even consciously. I’ve had plenty of people over the years walk up to me after a show and compliment me on some design, some technical element. To be honest, some of those times I didn’t think I did that great a job. I was having craftsmanship issues, or I had potholes in my artistic decisions. From an Off-Broadway production, I got positive and negative mentions in reviews, and I disagreed with most of them. Since  then, I’ve gotten good ink for a few different disciplines in several different productions. Some of the criticisms I didn’t quite understand. What’s this tell me?

It’s all indicative of a fundamental. Caring about what you do, caring about craftsmanship, is part of professionalism. Exactly how that plays out from show to show, scene to scene, isn’t always predictable, but it’s clear to me that if it’s important to you, that’s enough. It’s part of the drive to get better. One way or another, if you care, it pays off.

"Drive To The Curtain" series - #1: Professionalism

   A couple of years ago, I started writing a series of blog postings about working in theatre called "Drive To The Curtain" over in WordPress. I haven't been using WP, none of it is dated and I don't think anybody actually read that stuff, so I'm putting it up here now.
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I’m just going to do this anyway. It feels like a good starter for this series, even if we’ve all heard it before. (Have we?)

PROFESSIONALISM AND AMATEURISM HAVE LITTLE OR NOTHIING TO DO WITH MONEY, etymology notwithstanding. I’ve worked with a lot of people over the years in performance projects who were very professional or just plain amateurs regardless of whether they were paid (or, if so, how much). Likewise, I’ve tried to carry myself and behave professionally, even if I didn’t quite know what the fuck I was doing. I appreciate that in others, and it counts for a lot. It isn’t just effort for effect, it’s effort for good results.

I’ve seen just too many under-compensated, underappreciated workers carrying themselves as professionals, being productive and helpful, to have much patience for those whose asses are getting covered yet can’t be bothered to pull their heads out of their ignorance, much less lift a finger to help. Worse, amateurs like that often manage to get in the way of the rest of us and make our jobs harder simply by not co-operating. Can’t tell you how many simple tasks on my list have been made hair-pulling workarounds because someone with a title and power but limited skills, bent on maintaining order in their tiny unproductive worlds, have unilaterally changed the schedule and work environment arbitrarily and without consulting anyone else. These are amateurs — selfish, incompetent, egotistical twits who shouldn’t be left alone with pointy objects.

photo: Craig VanDerSchaegen

OFTEN, THEY'RE SUPPORTED BY PEOPLE MUCH SMARTER, and have actual chops and social skills, in search of the professional gratification they really need while they’re struggling to pay the rent in the meantime by working for idiots. The hell of it is that the work, itself, is often gratifying, and it keeps the good people, the actual professionals, from moving on as they should. Nevermind that the money isn’t paying the bills and the boss is an immature micromanager, some good workers will keep coming back to make the art, partly because they’ve had “real jobs” and are afraid it’s either this or that.

Whether our choices are that limited is a topic for elsewhere. For now, my rant is in support of the professionals I meet and get to work with all the time while railing against the airheaded and petty amateurs under whom many of them work. Every once in awhile, I’ve told somebody, “If you ever need a recommendation, email me.” It’s cheap talk, really. I’d much rather be able to hire them. That, too, is cheap talk. Best I can do, usually, is let them know I get it, and I appreciate it. As an experienced outsider rolling into their house to do my thang for awhile with their support and then hit the road again buh-bye, I’m hoping a token of my perspective is helpful, that it, at the very least, reminds them they’re not completely nuts.

Regular positions in theatre can be a bit isolated, depending upon whether the organization’s definition of outreach is developing relationships in its community or merely shaking more money out of people. Once, I asked an artistic director whether the theatre was in touch with a similarly low-budgeted, plucky organization in the neighborhood and I was told “We’re not in touch with anyone”. Right. Actors, however, always itinerant, commonly keep on top of the broader performance scene in a variety of theatres, and even at the bar. They don’t become isolated and lose perspective that easily. They’re always moving around. Production people from several theatres might benefit from post-show boozing together. Just a thought. Apparently, this has long since been addressed in Manhattan with the Broadway bowling league (which, I found out while there, includes Off-Broadway and then some). Fringe Festival kind of goes there, too. Beats staff meetings.

High school students, volunteers at community theatres, minimum wage multitaskers doing three people’s jobs in neglected and run-down venues… Pros can be found anywhere. Since I end up working just about anywhere, it’s good to know that.