Making theater in 2023 means that I no longer have a semblance of an idea what theater really is. Theater at one time was guaranteed to be based in the connection between living, breathing humans in the same room. Making "theater" through a pandemic has shifted this definition for a lot of people. I really don't know where it stands for me. What I do know is any art I make comes from what I have inherited and learned and what I imagine. What I create is tied directly to my roots in suburban Baltimore County, Maryland, deeply entrenched in my Jewish community and upbringing, and surrounded by my queerness. Me being queer means that I can't just accept the status of the world as good and right, so I question any and all norms I encounter. From roles in a room to the labels of audience and performance to systems of power, I try my best to interrogate lines drawn and boxes made. How can any nice and neatly cornered box contain the expansiveness of humanity? Why should we let any static system or definition that's explained with "that's how it is" stay that way?
Often, that anti-"if it isn't broke, don't fix it" mentality puts some fear into the world but I am exhilarated by what lies in that unknown. When you get the screws a bit loose, there's space for change and growth. That's where the imagination comes into play. In that space, we can build entire worlds. Who knows if there will be any purpose in them, but that's largely for us to decide. What lives in the darkness of the here and there? I want to know. Consider this your formal invitation to search with me.