Production Photos: The Music Man

all ©AKA Liz Lauren

Sorrow/Grateful

On the first day of tech [for The Music Man,] I crumbled inside myself, gripped to the core by a wave of echoing grief and awakening emotion. 

 

Historically, I have always been someone who gets reamed by emotional tidal waves tardily: days, weeks, months, years after the event. Like a shipwreck survivor who only experiences the intensity of what they went through once they are standing on the shore. Except for me? I've been standing on the shore for a few weeks...or years, completely unaware that I haven't processed the shipwreck. Like at all. And I wonder why I'm having this panic response in the middle of a grocery store, on the subway, as someone is telling me a perfectly innocuous story... or, ya know: on stage.

 

Apparently this "shipwrecking" response is not uncommon. At the height of adversity I am razor-sharp, hyper-lucid, totally focused on nothing but getting through the storm.  I think my hyper-vigilance just never quite turns off... and then I get caught unaware. 

Or have a panic attack. 

Or, I give myself an auto-immune disease. 

Or D: ALL OF THE ABOVE!  

Fun. 

On this particular evening I was filled to the brim with memories of my voice not showing up for me. Bursting with recollections of my many counted inadequacies over the last decade of struggle. Once upon a time, I loved to sing. Singing was my great outlet, my greatest joy; a place of total honesty and freedom. Oh, how I had become just yet another loss. Another grief to grieve.

 

That night, I felt so small and diminished beside KJ [Hippensteel]’s panache and glitter. But I mostly felt like such a fool. My inner critic was in full force:

"Who are you to be here?"

"Who are you to try again?"

"Who are you to think you could do this anymore?"

"You are too old, too ugly and your singing voice is a disaster."

"You are so unworthy"

"Everyone is laughing at you." 

"You are such a foolish old woman, doing this role."

 



It was a deep deep thing…

I think I am having a lot of echoes of post-colitis awakenings during this because it is showing me quite deliberately how much time I really "lost”

 

I think yes. it’s the time, it’s the stories, it’s the experiences… it’s lost time. Un-reclaim-able.

 

I am holding two conflicting thoughts about colitis: 

 

1. I am so grateful to be here, and to have found a solution to colitis that appears to be really working for me! My life has been restored and I feel good and healthy and I’m so glad to have a new lease on life.
 

but also… 


2. I feel sorrowful about all the time that I missed. About a kind of 'loss' around my 30s, my "prime," my years to "be in full bloom," and a kind of female and adult expansion being “taken” from me by so much illness and (literal) unutterable pain. 

But an almost constant sensation that I was literally “disgusting” 

by the depths of loneliness and isolation and the certainty that no one would ever love me or find me attractive or be willing to deal with my illness and the “disgust.”

 

After the run I panicked horribly. I wept-- not for the "job" I had just done on stage, but for all of it. For all the loss and all the fear and all the pain and all the horrors. I released all the uncried tears. And then I did something out of character: I called friends. I let loved ones in to this experience of humiliation and loss and pain. I called friends whom I knew would understand, who loved me fiercely, who I know would hold me in this base and demoralizing moment; and uplift, validate and support wherever I "was." 

 

It worked. We are not meant to bear it all alone. I am humbled. 

 

So.

 

Onward. Onward, still. Just like this photograph of me in song-- however clumsy or imperfect: in a position of surrender and of flight, simultaneously. Eye closed in a kind of faith, heart open to the possibilities of all that life holds, arms outstretched ready to welcome it. Welcome it all.

 

Onwards with courage and integrity.  

Resilience is distinct from mere survival, and more than mere endurance. Resilience is often endurance with direction. Share this Quote Eric Greitens
Read more at https://www.brainyquote.com/topics/endurance-quotes

Resilience is distinct from mere survival, and more than mere endurance. Resilience is often endurance with direction. Share this Quote Eric Greitens
Read more at https://www.brainyquote.com/topics/endurance-quotes

Resilience is distinct from mere survival, and more than mere endurance. Resilience is often endurance with direction. Share this Quote Eric Greitens
Read more at https://www.brainyquote.com/topics/endurance-quotes

 

 

 

"Resilience is distinct from mere survival, and more than mere endurance. 

Resilience is often endurance with direction." 

- Eric Greitens

Ask Al: When what you're creating is about something deeper...

Dear Al, 

 

You mentioned in [writing] class the other night that you think sometimes there is "something else trying to emerge" from what we originally might have thought our draft was about.  

 

Can you talk more about how to [I'm paraphrasing here] "be in communication" with our work, or how we might better suss out the deeper meanings hidden beneath the surface of our first ideas? 

Thank you,

 

H

 

*

A wonderful question to expand upon. 

First of all, I'll start with a PSA: I am certainly no expert about artistic creation. Yes I do professionally create things, and I also professionally teach and mentor others through the creation of their artworks. But even that doesn't make me an expert in you, your relationship to your own self-awareness, or indeed any aspect of your personal creative process.  PSA ended.

 

That said, in my experience creating my own work and in facilitating the creative processes of others, I've observed that often times, initial offerings can offer hints of a larger "something" at play just below the psychological surface. A kind of (ecstatic or revelatory or totally annoyed) "Ohhhhhh" [lightbulb!]— followed by a realization that what we thought we were writing/acting/singing/painting about... was actually about That Other Thing. And usually— again in my experience— it's The Thing we are always haunted by, working on, avoiding or seeing from a new angle for the first time. 

     "This old thing" our conscious mind says, 

and our subconscious mind is like 

     "Yeah, girl. It's kind of always in some way, about That." 

Like Wagner's light motifs, those familiar themes return to us again and again, ready to be explored or expressed in a new way, sometimes when we were totally convinced we were writing about "Something Totally New and Original and maybe About Penguins!"

Or whatever. 

 

 

Now that can take many shapes and sizes. Let me offer some form-based examples:

- what we thought was a one-act play is actually a screenplay for a TV limited series.

- what we thought was a 1500-word academic essay is actually a 10,000 word collection of personal essays all sharing a similar theme.

- what we thought was a comedic poem featuring "funny words," is actually a very serio-comic poem about the grief of losing a spouse. 

- what we thought was a blog post is actually a full-length memoir (which, of course, is how White Hot Grief Parade came to be)  

The question to ask about psychological truth is "What might this piece really be about?"

And sometimes that Something can come in psychological shapes and sizes. Those might look like this: 

- what we thought was about packing for vacation is actually about our heart-crushing divorce.

- what we thought was about preparing a treasured holiday meal is actually about confronting being abandoned by our mother. 

- what we though was about a poetic observation of the glorious brutality of Alaskan winter is actually about a sense of agency and utter freedom. 

The question to ask when it comes to form is "What else might this be?" 

When we are creating, clarity matters. But we cannot always have these revelations in a timely manner, so we have to be patient, employ trusted eyes, ears and confidants to ask the big questions and press us to present not only our best work, but our truest work, to the world.

 

There was a great example of "something much deeper" from a new student who joined my online writing class [let's call her] Alice last month. She authored a [brilliant, might I say] "funny poem about words that is actually about grief." Alice was actively bored of writing poems about her dead husband, and even announced that fact before she shared her (extremely funny) poem about traveling around Western Europe and learning about all the different words for pastries that she found particularly hilarious. 

"I decided to write a funny poem about pastries and words because I am just sick and tired of my grief poems!" she declared.

After she read the first draft we all talked and laughed. And then I asked her about the origin of this poem. And well, before long, we weren't talking about pastries anymore. She was mentioning how we use strange words to name things in other parts of life. She told a story about visiting her doctor for her annual physical, discussing her health and her doctor using words she found inaccurate, reductive, and even bizarre to name her conditions: 

     "TIRED" and 

     "SAD" 

being two that felt particularly euphemistic.

 

None of the words her doctor used actually named what was going on with her...

 Because what she truly was experiencing was the mental and physical results of 

     "GRIEVING."

She was 

     "HEARTBROKEN" 

and 

     "DEVASTATED." 

 

So no. "TIRED and SAD" just didn't cut it, and this doctor (who was maybe trying, maybe inexperienced, or maybe callous-- who knows?) wasn't using language that named her condition, and might actually help her in a myriad of ways.

All to say: whaddya know? The poem wasn't about funny words and pastries after all. The poem— as much as she was trying to avoid it— was still about her grief.

I think THAT is what I mean. 

 

It is in our best creative (and personal) interest to keep our channels open not merely for what we want to "say" in our work, but for what our work is trying to "say" and tell us. 

 

So here's to staying open to what's happening below the surface, and welcome those messages. 

 

 

AFOOT -- GAIA

In 2124 the world is an apocalyptic landscape after the cataclysmic events known as “The Windfall.”

Adelaide’s Botanic Gardens boast an intricate network of AI-controlled maintenance systems known as “GAIA,” a digitally-preserved testament to nature’s perfection. 

 Enter Inspector Lila Gardener, a homicide detective investigating the murder of Adelaide’s great botanist: Dr. Victor Hale. 

Who killed Hale? 

How

and why?  

What secrets lurk beneath the city’s sleek exterior? 

Lila is on the case, for beneath the vibrant foliage and synthetic streams, a mystery lays concealed…In this immersive, site-specific, new form of theater, you interact with your environment using our new AFOOT console. 

All you need is your smartphone, a pair of headphones, and yourself in this thrilling theatrical walking tour of Adelaide.

 •••

CAST

Detective Inspector Lila Gardener — Amy Maiden
GAIA —  Anna O'Byrne
Yashido Natsuko — Gen Parton Shin
Dr. Amanda Narayan — Anula Navlekar
Ilan Zorillo — Mark Dickinson

"The Keepers:"
Shel Silverstein — Tony Sheldon
Madame Ranyevsky — Beverley Klein
Nessa Diffenbaugh — Ange Lavoipierre
Frankly Burnett — Nick Simpson-Deeks
Kew — Rosanna Hyland

•

TEXT & STORY by: Alexandra Silber

DESIGN, sound, mapping + concept by: Asa Wember

PRODUCED by: Alley Scott + Alec Silver for Dutch Kills Theater

MUSIC by @wet__hands featuring Argh Reath

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AFOOT -- Shadows of the Past

SHADOWS OF THE PAST is part of AFOOT: Adelaide— a lush, haunting, and romantic 19th century ghost story. 

The story centers around Amelia Edwards and William Gardener— who come together and fall in love across class divides in 1885. 

 Set in the founding years of the Adelaide Botanic Gardens, this romance intertwines local Australian history and supernatural elements. 

Weaving together history, romance and a touch of the supernatural, SHADOWS OF THE PAST explores themes of love, loss, and the enduring connection between people and places across class, death and time. In this immersive, site-specific, new form of theater, you interact with your environment using our new AFOOT console. 

All you need is your smartphone, a pair of headphones, and yourself in this theatrical walking tour of Adelaide, South Australia. 

•••

CAST 

Amelia Edwards — Anna O'Byrne

William Gardener — Nick Simpson-Deeks 

Florrie — Alexandra Silber

Marianna the Medium — Ange Lavoipierre 

Jonathan Edwards — James Robertson Malt 

Policeman — Mark Dickinson

 •

TEXT & STORY by: Alexandra Silber

DESIGN, sound, mapping + concept by: Asa Wember

PRODUCED by: Alley Scott + Alec Silver for Dutch Kills Theater

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AFOOT -- Whisper Walk

 WHISPER WALK explores the power of uttered personal stories. 

Inspired in part by the "Phone of the Wind" (風の電話, kaze no denwa) of Otsuchi Japan, WHISPER WALK is a conceptual piece of moving, living, documentary-style testimonial art of life-like personal stories “whispered” into the ears of the audience at ordinary, everyday locations-- all told as they move through the guided walk. 

The private audience thus serves as a confidant and a kindly stranger on the road to whom the speaker can perhaps speak more candidly than to a regular character in their everyday lives… 

In this piece we explore the notion that memory is tied heavily to place, and that a singular place can contain a multitude of “stacked” memories and stories from the countless humans who cross the location from the hours to centuries.

*

Text by Alexandra Silber

Structure by Asa Wember

Produced by Alley Scott and Alec Silver for Dutch Kills Theater

Performance direction by Alexandra Silber 

Walking routes, Recording & Sound Design UI & Web Programming all by: Asa Wember

With performances by:

Michael Cormick

Mark Dickinson

Rosanna Hyland

Beverley Klein

Ange Lavoipierre

Amy Maiden

James Robertson Malt

Rishi Mutalik

Anula Navlekar

Gen Parton Shin 

Tony Sheldon

Nick Simpson Deeks 

Geena Quintos 

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“PS. I bless you with all my heart”

Absolutely no words to encapsulate the experience of Our Class at BAM other than enormous:

Enormous was the challenge.
Enormous were the relationships formed
Enormous is my love of Rachelka
Enormous is my gratitude for having been a part of it.

Farewell for now, friends. 🎈

“PS. I bless you with all my heart”

 

The Eleventh Classmate

Originally published by Broadway World on 19 Jan, 2024

Stephen Ochsner as Jacob Katz

* 

Last spring, I came on board to participate in a casual reading of Our Class by Tadeuz Słobodzianek. Political polarization, disinformation, families and friendships in crisis over ideologies were front and center of all our minds that day:

How could ten ordinary classmates growing up through extraordinary times make such horrific choices, respond to traumatic events in such barbaric ways, inspired by so much fear and so little empathy?

The answers might be difficult to comprehend, but it is not hard to find contemporary evidence— it exists right before use every day. In the comments sections. In our direct messages. Across tense dinner tables. And screamed violently at parallel protests. It seems the global population have one thing in common for certain: we are all terrified.
And in our fear, we have all become more rigid, more intolerant;
    and far less capable of compassion, nuance and meaningful listening.
In that fear, is where our friendships, communities and wider societies begin to break down.

It feels virtually impossible to hold more than one truth these days, but it’s what I feel compelled to do. There’s the visceral: the outrage, the grief, the loss, the fear, the violence, the deaths, the horror. There’s the global proliferation of hatred from every angle. And there’s the relational: the how could yous and the how could you nots. Every day online and in the street I feel the pain going septic behind everyone’s rage.

In Our Class — ten Polish classmates — five Jewish, and five Catholic — grow up as friends and neighbors, then turn on one another with unutterable brutality; in traumatic, life and death consequences.  It is inspired by the real life events surrounding a 1941 pogrom in a small Polish village of Jedwabne.  

It is staggering.  Shocking. Stomach-churningly timely. We follow the lives of the classmates from the age of 5 through eight decades of the 20th century. It examines the nature of hate, and how we—as human creatures— have the potential for both brutality and love.

Yes, the play hits differently than it did last spring. Yes.

 FEATURING THE PERPETRATORS

    From the very beginning our visionary (Ukrainian-born and Jewish) director Igor Golyak told us what his most important concept was: it had nothing to do with visual imagery, playing-style or group dynamics. It was the central idea that we must not approach this play as a story that happened “back THEN, far away from here to and by people that are nothing like me.” We had to do everything in our power to center our own personal morality and humanity into the exploration of this play to make sure it was not a PAST-TENSE play. It was a PRESENT-TENSE play.
    Our Class is not history, it is our present and our future.

    We had to be courageous enough to reckon with that within ourselves.
How?
By making friends with confrontational thoughts.
Rather than asking ourselves
    “how could THEY?”
we were forcing ourselves into twisting our own psychology into an excruciating moral question mark:  
    “How might I? What would it take for me to behave in this way?”
By acknowledging that by the very nature of being human we have the capacity for great cruelty, we don’t distance ourselves from the perpetrators, we acknowledge that at any moment, we might very well become them, were the circumstances “just right” enough to push us over the edge of our own moral compass.
    It is—without exception— the most challenging, fully enacted moral exercise of my career.

Myself as Rachelka turned Marianna

This brings me to an interesting question on the lips of so many these days: how many more stories of oppressed peoples’ trauma (in this instance Jewish trauma) do we need to bear witness to? Haven’t we been through enough? How many times can we hear and see these stories played out and still not experience social change in a wider sense?

Fair questions. And I don’t have neat answers. What I can provide is an idea central to the import of Our Class: the featuring of the perpetrators.

Last week while speaking with a journalist, we discussed the rule in journalism that has become a kind of law— when an act of violence is carried out, do not feature the perpetrators, focus on the victims and their memory. Wise indeed in journalism— where we (at least we used to) get our neutral facts and information. No need to create cult heroes out of perpetrators of violence.

But art is a different matter. We look to artists to meet different needs within society— we “hold the mirror up to nature” and beckon audiences to examine themselves. More than just culture preservers, historians, or beauty-makers— artists have been crucial to social change, catharsis  and personal examination since the dawn of the art form in Ancient Greece. We need art in order to grow as a collective.

For the majority of the 20th century Holocaust art largely followed the focus on victims just as journalists did— it was almost a moral imperative as the last survivors were reaching the ends of their lives. Preserving the crucial stories of victims was the very definition of our collective sobriety toward hatred. It solidified a restored humanity in Europe and around the globe.

But by framing the Holocaust as a mystifying, totally incomprehensible evil to be exacted by “animals” we distance ourselves from the atrocities as impossible to see within ourselves. To view the events and the thinking that got us there, as— to quote Elie Wiesel—“the ultimate event, the ultimate mystery, never to be comprehended or transmitted,” we shield our consciousness from the absolute certainty of our own human capacity for evil.

Gus Birney as Dora

Our Class is no such piece of avoidance or moral circumvention.

Through Słobodzianek’s use of direct address, the audience is implicated— the characters speak not just to one another, but to the audience as the “11th classmate” asking over and over again the haunting question:

    “What could I do?”

Perhaps Słobodzianek is indeed asking us:
    What could we do?
    What are we doing?
    What will and might we do?
And perhaps most chilling of all:
    who are we to judge these characters if we never dare to fully observe ourselves?


That is what distinguishes this piece from others.

NEVER-FORGETTING

Every day I grapple with fear of forgetting. With the fact that I am two generations removed from the events of Our Class (and so many other stories I’ve had the privilege to tell on stage and page). I was not alive during the war — and these memories do not belong to me.


When people continually try to deny the reality of the Holocaust, being a dramatic story-teller complicates matters. These events truly did happen, and perhaps the fear is that if one makes it fiction, people will think it isn’t true.


But we have learned that the documents alone are not enough. A 2022 U.S. survey by the Anti-Defamation League found “widespread belief in anti-Jewish tropes, at rates unseen for decades.” In the first two months of 2023, attacks on U.S. synagogues increased 71 percent.

Second- and third- and soon-to-be-fourth generation storytellers from all genres — as well as those who are not direct descendants — attempt to combat this evaporation.

“Never forgetting” is a trope if it is not followed by meaningful action. And it seems that action is changing and shifting— as those charged with remembering inherit a different—but in many ways identical—world.



Despite challenging subject matter, Igor Golyak’s production features whimsy, music, laughter and even joy. It features 10 incredible performances by beautiful actors. It includes designers that are each the absolute top of their chosen art form— all coming together to tell this story with breathtaking beauty.

As my character Rachelka says:

“We all have our destiny. Our b’shet.”

Perhaps mine—at least in this era of my life— is a kind of theatrical never-forgetting.
We’ll see.

Turn Crumbs into a Feast

Hello darling one. Feeling creatively blue? 

Man, we can be such jerks to ourselves! Have you ever had that mean-voiced ticker-tape loop in your head chanting on repeat that you have "NEVER been in a relationship/made money/had success in your hashtag career?"
 
Snore.

Instead of making insulting, jerk-like decisions about yourself and your life, stop using “never/always” statements and try asking yourself questions like these:

- Is this absolutely true?
- Have I NEVER booked a gig/ been in a relationship/ made money…?
- EEEEEVER?
- Am I truly always a trash fire of mistakes and loser-hood?

We’re so quick to decide that if we haven’t totally nailed it, standing-ovation-style, at a Sutton-Foster level of validation, that we suck.
 
Dig deep, look for where you have had successes, no matter how teeny-weeny, and build upon it! Tiny triumph by tiny triumph, micro bit by micro bit.
 
You decide what’s true for you, so if you aren’t staring at a reality that lights you up, change your perception, roll up your sleeves, and change your life—brick by brick.
 
Sometimes, we have to turn what we perceive of as “crumbs” into a feast. That's okay—it teaches us to be realistic, optimistic, and above all: innovative.

Everything is "Practice"

 When we view everything as a practice, we're reminded that we can begin again at any time.

There is no "too late".
There is no "too out of practice to try."
There is no "I'm not the kind of person who does that."
There is no "I haven't figured it out yet."
There is no "I need to become a new person before I can do this."
There is no "I can't.' 

There is just a decision to practice again. And again. And again. 

A noticing of what happens when we don't, and a choice to begin once more.

A dedication to awareness, which leads us to the practices we're wanting and needing more of. 

And an allowing of all of it to ebb and flow and shift and change and morph and take new shape alongside us.

 

Ask Al: Not all opportunities are created equal...

 Hello Al, 

I am a mid-career American actor and would appreciate your professional advice!

As background: I am a professional actor in my mid-thirties, I've performed leading roles in regional American theater, have appeared on concert stages, albums, and have covered multiple roles on Broadway.

I've recently changed agents-- a move I'm largely excited about! However, the very first audition my new agents have sent my way is what I would consider to be a really "poor match" for me and I'm experiencing concern. 

• Concern for how my new agents view me, 
• and for a possibly warped view of how I see myself
• concerned that my agent and I aren't on the same page 
  
• and for tarnishing new relationships by turning down an opportunity (however inappropriate I think that opportunity might be)

Do I take advantage of the base "opportunity to audition" even though the role/job is not one I want?

The project itself is something I have a lot of history with, is in line with my skill set, my personal history/identity, is with a company I would love to work with someday (perhaps on something else), and is indicative of the theatrical work I want to be doing. But the role I have been submitted for is traditionally played by an actor 10-15 years my senior, and as a woman in my mid-thirties, the role seems to be at odds with how I see myself both as a person and in the casting brackets of the industry.  

While perhaps I am indeed perceived as older than I regard myself and need to have a reality check, I think the larger concern is that my new agents and I aren't quite aligned. 

• Should I "suck it up" and take the audition? 
• Do I pass on the opportunity and not mention to the agents how concerned this makes me? 
• Or do I brooch a hard conversation with the new agents? 

I'm so conflicted. But equally, I'm surprised by how "emotionally activated" this situation has made me-- which usually indicates something deeper is at play—so I'm not responding with the clarity I'm accustomed to. I'd so appreciate your advice. 

Concerned

 

*

 

Dear Concerned, 

First of all, congratulations on being a mid-career actor in her thirties who is represented, working at what sounds like an admirably high level of skill and professionalism, and still passionate and committed to her craft in the prime of life! That's a lot to be proud of, and I mention it specifically because I think we often forget to appreciate how much we've accomplished and how far we've come—especially when we might be stuck inside a thought loop. So brava: you made it this far in your manifested artistic life. 

Next, rather than focusing on what the "right" choice is (because there is no "right choice"), my first advice is to get real quiet with yourself and get to the root of these activated feelings before trying to land on a preferred solution. 

Might this be about... 

• being perceived of as older than you are/feel/wish to be viewed and the judgements and emotions that brings up? 
• feeling misunderstood or misrepresented? 
• feeling anxious because you're a recovering people-pleaser, and saying "no—" especially in a new relationship—is extra challenging for you? 
• potentially being perceived of as "difficult" and/or "picky" or "a diva" by this new agent and the casting director and THOSE labels activate you? 
• a self-worth issue? ("who do I think I am to turn this down?") 
  
•  ...or something entirely different?

No matter the reason(s), getting real with yourself about the underlying feelings creating anxiety in this scenario will help you navigate it with better clarity. And I'll add—not ONLY this scenario, but future scenarios that activate your anxiety as well! (And as a post script: your identity as a female on planet earth does not make the above perceptions easier. Women do indeed fight stereotypes about being difficult/a diva/high-maintenance, that in men would be applauded as "knowing their worth" or "having standards...")

Finally, after you've done that, I'd "change the lens" on this for yourself and regard it as an opportunity to have a deeper, more meaningful conversation with your new agent about the kind of work you want to do, the way you wish to be represented in the industry, and to engage in meaningful dialogue about that in a back-and-forth that can only provide data for you both going forward. Just like a misunderstanding in a friendship or romantic partnership, these moments can be ignored and cause fragility, OR they can be the catalyst for a deeper conversation that gives everyone a chance to gain more understanding. 

Your agents might respond with something simple:

• "the casting director asked for you specifically and I felt obligated to send it your way!"
  
• "I figured why not? An audition is an audition, right?"
• Thank you for this feedback-- let's pass and then dig in to other opportunities! 

I'll lightly warn: there is the possibility that your agent will not respond positively, or with the open heart and mind of your design. They might get defensive, double-down, or use language that re-activates some of your fears (for example might say something like "you can't be so picky" or "a lot of my other clients your age are going in, why can't you just trust me?") That is a distinct possibility, and I offer that the quality of their response is equally good data for you going forward.

While opportunities are wonderful, not all opportunities are created equal. 

And while this audition opportunity is one worth considering, the opportunity for deeper discussion is one that should definitely not be passed up!

Al

I WISH (on its 4 year anniversary...)

I Wish — 7 • 24 • 2023 ✨

Four years ago I never would have dreamed that a random tweet on a weeknight could become a long-running series at 54 Below — one that brings so much joy, catharsis, laughter, wholesome uplift and community to its performers and its audiences. 



This is the twelfth edition (!!), and this incarnation took me by surprise: I was moved by the mere existence of it. 



Do you ever feel wobbly about your place in the world? Wondering if what you do or offer matters? Me too. 

But whenever I feel wobbly about whether or not I contribute meaningfully to the world around me, it isn’t the great big accomplishments or adventures that move me. It’s the friendships, the quiet moments and creations like I Wish. 

I always return to this humble little offering and remember that not all contributions are giant blockbusters, money-making or award-winning endeavors. Some are simply small acts of kind, excellent, consistent offerings of pure uplift. Some are merely the gathering of wonderful people in celebration of an art form and a community we love. 

And sometimes, that’s enough. Perhaps it is more than enough. 



Thank you to the I WISH dream team of our musical director extraordinaire Drew Wutke and producing wunderkind Jen Sandler — without you there would be no wishes. I love us. 



Thank you to 54 Below.

Thank you to this and every cast of I WISH. 



Keep wishing. ✨



📸: @james.t.murray