“What the Heck Am I Supposed to Be Doing?” and Other Artist Questions in Quarantine

This is another article about how we are in “unprecedented times.” And yes, before you ask – I hope this article finds you well. I know you’re probably sick of reading stuff like this, especially as an actor, writer, producer, director, or another theatre artist. It seems like everything we hold near and dear is collapsing around us. Navigating the industry right now can make us feel overwhelmed and powerless. We all keep asking ourselves, “Well…what now?”

The reality is that the theatre community is facing a huge dichotomy in mindset. Some argue that this is a time to be hyper-vigilant and exist in a state of manic productivity. After all, isn’t this the perfect setting to polish your repertoire book, fix your website, make self-tapes, and finally write that play you’ve been thinking about? Online workshops and classes warn that those who do not stay on their game will never successfully assimilate back into the industry, and the fear of falling behind has pushed us to the point of exhaustion.

Then, there is the polar opposite view – that we should be doing nothing. What is the point of producing theatre coldly and impersonally, over a computer screen? What is the logic of preparing for auditions that won’t happen? Who can learn 16 bars of “Giants in the Sky” when it seems like the actual sky is falling, with no end in sight? It seems vain and superficial…and a little bit hopeless. It inspires us to retreat to our couch, never change out of our Playbill pajamas, watch BroadwayHD, and cry.

Neither of these views serve us as artists. In fact, they are destroying us.

First of all, we are not business machines. Our job, as artists, is to recognize and honor our own humanity. If we don’t, then how can we expect to empathize with others, and create our best work? Defining our worth by how many self-tapes we make or how many virtual dance classes we take does not give us time to properly grieve what we’ve lost.

Music and theatre teachers have lost their classrooms. Graduating musical theatre majors have been catapulted into a non-existent job market. Many artists have lost their entire livelihoods and are struggling to pay bills for their basic needs. Many of us have also lost loved ones. It’s okay that we aren’t feeling “on” right now. Not to mention the fact that, with auditions and performances paused indefinitely, we don’t even know what being “on” really looks like.

So does that mean we abandon theatre entirely? Of course not – but if professional opportunities are the only driving force of our craft, we are going to find it very hard not to. That is why we have seen such an incredible uptick in virtual theatre experiences – YouTube concerts, airing of live musicals, classes over Zoom. These efforts have inspired both applause and eye rolls within our community.

On one hand, it’s encouraging to see how resilient we are. On the other hand, it seems self-indulgent. Does anyone really care to watch somebody sing on Zoom?

Here’s the thing though. Is it wrong for artists to be self-indulgent, to a certain extent, especially during a time of crisis? No one goes into theatre because there is a gratuitous monetary reward, or because it seemed like the “practical” thing to do. While it is true that theatre has the power to change the world, and that may influence a person’s decision to pursue it, this isn’t how the passion starts. Our gateway drug into this art form is the humming of a song in the shower, the desire to move our bodies when we hear a grand opening number, the connection we feel when we see a character cry, and we start to cry too. Perhaps it’s the feeling of community, the comfort that we are part of something greater than ourselves, or the rush we feel when we abandon our fears in front of an audience.

We chase that feeling, and that is what brings us into our training. Along the way, we develop other goals and dreams, such as inspiring others or creating social change, but the primal drive that creates those dreams is rooted in uninhibited joy. If we decide to pursue this professionally, we evolve into a Very Serious Theatre Person with a Brand. Amid this transformation, we sometimes lose sight of the kid who finally felt at home at a community theatre production of Guys and Dolls.

We spend so much time in our industry thinking about how to impress other people. How will we get this casting director to hire us? How will we get this producer to invest in our play? These are all valid questions, and they’re necessary to progress professionally. That being said, they’re not the only questions we should be honing in on during this time. Instead, perhaps we should be asking – what do I need right now? What is going to fuel my passion for art? What is going to make me happy, at this moment? What can I do to use my gifts and contribute to theatre in a positive way?

The part of us that’s going to get us through this is not the Very Serious Theatre Person with a Brand. It is the little kid singing Wicked in the car and learning 16 bars of Beauty and the Beast for the youth theatre auditions in town. That kid will ask you to lean into healing, learn songs you don’t “type” for, dance in your kitchen, and live text about Hamilton on Disney+ just because…it’s fun.

There is nothing less artistic about just singing a song in your bedroom, reading a play with friends on Zoom, making up a dance just because you want to, or watching a Zoom concert. There is a reason that the performing arts are used as an aid in the treatment of mental illness, addiction, and trauma recovery, in the forms of music therapy, drama therapy, and dance therapy. Participating in the arts is beneficial, even when the audience is virtual, or even when there is no audience at all.

This is also an excellent time to do some soul searching and figure out who we are outside of the professional world. Artists love what they do – which can be both a blessing and a curse. We often define our entire identity by the creative work we produce. Without the daily grind of auditions, rehearsals, and performances, it can feel like we don’t have any purpose or direction. Any moment that we spend not fixating on being the best artist possible feels like a failure.

Take some time to breathe and remind yourself that your worth as a person is defined by so much more than whether or not you book a job. Even if this industry crashed and burned and never came back (which would never, ever happen by the way), you’d still mean something. You are someone’s child, someone’s sibling, someone’s parent, someone’s partner, someone’s friend.

Maybe you’re feeling a pull to relocate, to explore another career path that you’d genuinely love and you’ve always been interested in, to just strike up a new hobby, like gardening or gaming or drawing cartoons. Your initial instinct may be to resist this – but lean into it. Trust your instincts. Put real effort into maintaining your everyday joys and important relationships. At the risk of sounding corny (which I think you’ll forgive – c’mon, you’re a theatre person), you need to follow your heart.

Further, although this time has been devastating in many ways, it brings so many of the theatre industry’s failings to the forefront – and gives us time to reflect on them. We have an opportunity to address inequalities, such as racism, within our community. We have an opportunity to evaluate and assess exactly what is being written and produced.

Perhaps this is not the time that you want to sit down and finally write your musical version of The Breakfast Club (although that would probably be fun, and I look forward to seeing it when you do). Perhaps this is the time you think deeply about the work you want to see on stage, identify what is missing, and decide that you’re going to create it – not because you’re afraid of slipping behind, but because you are passionate about moving forward.

As artists, we often see ourselves as a business. There’s nothing wrong with that in essence. Theatre is a business, and knowing how to market yourself and secure opportunities is a part of the process. Artists deserve to make money for the work they do and should always value being business savvy. But the reality is that no human being is really a business. In the grand scheme of life, you’re not a product to be sold. You are an actual person, and that’s what makes your art so powerful. I don’t mean to suggest that your desire to stay relevant professionally is incorrect.

Rather, I argue that your need to be a happy, healthy person is the fuel that will allow you to stay relevant professionally without burning out. And perhaps, releasing the need to be a perfectly curated product will be the catalyst for your most exceptional auditions, your most authentic website, your most brilliant ideas.

So I can’t really tell you what to do during these “unprecedented times.” Only you know where your joy comes from. Maybe fixing up your Instagram and working on your rep book is really keeping you going. Or maybe you just need to watch Sunday in the Park with George on Broadway HD today – and I don’t blame you. Bernadette really kills it.

Whatever you need to do, please know that you’re doing just fine. Of course, it’s always a good idea to keep on top of the news – but resist that doom scrolling. Put down your phone and go choreograph the finale of The Prom for no reason, like I know you want to. And remember: it’s not really the new industry that you need to be ready for. It’s the new industry that needs to be ready for you. I can’t wait to see how you use your power.