Program Note - The Neurology of the Soul

When neuroscience started using brain scans from fMRI’s (the f stands for functional) to analyze human brains, the possibilities seemed endless.  Literal mind reading, the ability to see thoughts, seemed not only possible, but on the foreseeable horizon.  And truly, the things these scans have found have been exciting and furthered our understanding of human behavior.  But one day, just to test the system, some scientists put a dead salmon in an fMRI.  The salmon was shown photos of people in social situations, and the scanned data was analyzed, just as with the human studies. According to the data, the dead salmon was having strong feelings about the social interactions it saw.

Since that study, the data analysis has been refined.  And the quest, for better or worse, to see inside our brains continues.  It is tempting to believe that someday all things will be knowable, though it’s harder to know whether we would want them to be knowable.  The privacy inside our minds may be the last privacy left. 

The Neurology of the Soul is about the desire to understand each other, to understand ourselves, to understand love.  Perhaps we will arrive at that understanding.  But remember that dead salmon.  Buyer beware. 

Program Note: The Resistible Rise of JR Brinkley

Trav SD as JR Brinkley and Jenny Lee Mitchell as his wife Minnie

After the 2016 presidential election, I started having gatherings in my apartment, inviting friends and colleagues over for what I called “Resistance Readings.” These were informal gatherings in which we read aloud from theater created in countries from around the world in response to political crises.  We started with Václav Havel, then continued to Brecht, to Ionesco, to Beckett, to Mrozek.  I began to realize that much of my favorite work was written at those times, and it formed the canon of what Martin Esslin termed absurdist theater. I loved those plays because they integrated the elements of political ideas, farce, and tragedy, just the sort of work I try to do with Untitled Theater Company No. 61.

I was searching for a way to respond to modern America, of course. My answer eventually came not only from those playwrights, but from history. Listening to a podcast, I heard some brief information about John R. Brinkley, the subject of this play. He has obvious parallels to Trump, but I was also fascinated by the world he was part of. What I found particularly intriguing is that most of the seeds of what we think of today as right-wing identity already existed in Brinkley’s time.  In fact, he helped define many of those elements, from its connection to country music to conservative talk radio. 

I was also interested in him as a con man, and in the place we put con men within American myths. In some ways we scoff at them, but in others they are an embodiment of the American Dream, fighting their way to fame and riches no matter what it takes. And there is no question Brinkley was admired as much as he was hated.

Why have we more or less forgotten him? I could posit a number of reasons, but one guess is: he lost.  He was discredited and bankrupted, in the end.  But in his day, he was an important media star and politician, not just a notorious quack. And if things had worked out just right…well, who knows what he could have become. Or where he could have taken America.

The Resistible Rise of JR Brinkley is playing at the New York Fringe Festival October 12 - 28, 2018

Writer/Director's Note - The Marriage of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein

The program note for my upcoming play, The Marriage of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein

“What is the answer? Then, what is the question?”

Image by Clinton Corbett

Gertrude Stein’s supposed final words are for me a touchstone of my work in theater. My plays are not about answers, and even the questions can be elusive sometimes. It would be easy to say that this play is about gay marriage, or love, or genius, or art. It is partly about all those things, and I must admit that I was first motivated by the real world consequences of a marriage not yet recognized by law.

But above all it is a play simply inspired by the remarkable lives of two women. As it happens, they are two very important women, to the history of art and writing and theater. They are also just themselves. Their relationship was both radical and extremely conventional, falling into the patterns of heterosexual marriage to such an extent it was almost a parody of male and female roles. Yet simultaneously it was such an iconic lesbian relationship that when Gertrude described them in a poem as “regularly gay,” she inadvertently coined a new popular term for homosexuality. It was a partnership so close that sometimes their identities seemed to merge. Gertrude wrote a book in Alice’s voice, and Alice identified herself as being a mere conduit for Gertrude’s genius.

Much has been written about what makes Gertrude Stein extraordinary. And she was. But just as fascinating to me is Alice, who was content to be ordinary among extraordinary people. Content to be in the other room, entertaining the women, while the geniuses declaimed. Content to be Gertrude’s wife, even in a world where such a status was only implicitly recognized.

I have made a decision to base the portrayals in the show more on the accounts of Stein and Toklas than any other source (The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas, Everybody’s Autobiography, Wars I Have Seen, and What is Remembered). Toklas, for example, is often described as prickly by others, but in their accounts I also saw the softer, more loving side to her. What I am most interested in is who they are in their relationship to each other. I wanted to explore the way that the secret bond between two people can be quite different than the face they show to the general public.

The play is impressionistic, living out of time, in a world defined by words. Structurally, it is inspired not only by Stein, but by Beckett and Ionesco. It is the story of their life, but it is also the story of how I see their life. I wrote it in the wake of my own marriage, as I was first discovering what it means to be married. It is a story about them, it is a story about me, it is not really a story at all, just a whirlwind of moments and ideas. It gave me great pleasure to write play and stage the play, especially with such a talented collection of fellow artists. I hope it gives you pleasure to watch it.

Adaptor's Note - The Iron Heel

The adaptor's note for my production of The Iron Heel, opening July 28:

“History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes,” as Mark Twain supposedly said. More accurately that quote belongs to our collective unconscious. It’s an idea that sounded so true it had to be put in the mouth of one our most important satirists. The Iron Heel, which many consider the first modern dystopia, is also a satire of sorts—like many dystopias, it is an exaggerated portrayal of our society, of Jack London’s America. It was written in 1908, and it was science fiction when it was written, although certain incidents have the ring of historical fact. It predicts World War One, Pearl Harbor, the stock market crash, even the term “the 99 percent” (though, awkwardly, here, it would be the 99.1%, with London preferring mathematical accuracy to pithiness). In many ways, it predicts the dictatorships that will arise throughout the 20th Century. One of the novel’s fans, Leon Trotsky, who rightfully called it “prophetic” (when reviewing it in the journal Art & Revolution) might have been wise to heed its warnings. But more importantly, it presented a distorted mirror to reality, distorted quite deliberately by socialist propaganda. London was a Marxist, and he openly stated that propaganda was his purpose. Thus, though there is a clear connection between his prose and that of Hemingway and Orwell after him, I prefer to make the connection to Brecht’s political satires, theatrical parables calculated to outrage the audience about the consequences of unvarnished capitalism. Like Brecht, my adaptation is consciously theatrical, though it reduces the theatricality to costumed actors, words, and music—folk songs written mostly after London died, but during the time in which his story is set. It is a show built to travel and reach multiple communities, rather than to dwell in a single theater. It is a show whose naked purpose is to examine political issues, couching them in a story. London’s novel is a fascinating historical text, but of course my deeper interest in it is the way in which the American society of a century ago rhymes so closely with so many of the issues we face in this most fraught political season. It is about an election between a socialist and an oligarch, shaped by terrorism. It would be too simplistic to say the oligarch is Trump and the socialist is Sanders…or that the Democrat is Clinton. The world isn’t repeating, not quite, our world has changed since London died, exactly one hundred years ago. But the rhymes…they are everywhere.

City of Glass (Paul Auster) Director/Adaptor's note

Program note for City of Glass:

Robert Honeywell as Daniel Quinn

The first time I read City of Glass, I had the strong sense that I had written it. Somewhere in a half forgotten dream, I had deposited all my thoughts about language and identity and mixed it with styles borrowed from detective fiction and theatrical absurdism. It even started with one of my favorite devices—mistaken identity, via a misplaced phone call.

What I did know for sure is that it seemed the perfect text for me to adapt for the stage. Its central staging problems seemed like opportunities. Fortunately, I was able to talk briefly with Paul Auster about my thoughts, and he kindly gave me the go ahead to try it out. You are about to see the results.

Most of all, for me, this is a play about brokenness. Daniel Quinn is a broken version of the author, haunted by the ghosts of his wife and son. Peter Stillman Jr is an example of a man who is deliberately broken by another. Do we have the language to express that brokenness?

With every adaptation I create, I ultimately reconceive the context and make it about myself and my art. Who am I, and how does it relate to the play? Who are you, the audience?

All I can say is this: listen to me. My name is Paul Auster. That is not my real name.

Why I'm back on kickstarter (Paul Auster's City of Glass)

So, here I am, back on kickstarter for a fourth time

In many ways, I hate being here. I hate being here because, by necessity, any stint on kickstarter involves the mild harassment of friends and colleagues, most of whom themselves have limited resources, asking them to devote some small part of those resources to your campaign so you can devote resources to their campaign so that they can...and round and round it goes.

I also hate being here because of the time and energy it takes, time and energy that I really should be putting into the massive job of directing and writing and producing, not to mention the side efforts of grant writing, publicity, etc.

But, nonetheless, I am back. Here’s why:

1. We need money. We always need money, it’s true, but this year our NYSCA grant got held or (or cancelled) because one field on it did not, apparently, save, when it was submitted. There is an appeal in progress, but it will take a year.

2. This is an expensive show. One reason: It involves video, and unlike previous shows at 3LD where the video resources are massive, The New Ohio (wonderful in many other ways) does not have a huge video inventory.

3. Kickstarter attracts the attention of people who would never know about our show otherwise. At least a third of our donors to our previous campaigns were strangers who learned about our project via the kickstarter. A Paul Auster adaptation seems a likely candidate to draw similar interest.

4. Most of the contributions to the kickstarter campaign are NOT ACTUALLY DONATIONS, BUT A WAY TO BUY TICKETS AT A DISCOUNT. A very important point to me, that tempers my guilt when asking for contributions. Because honestly, I’m going to be harassing everyone to buy tickets eventually, the process is just starting a bit early. The discount isn’t big, it just takes away about $5 in fees, but it’s cheaper than buy via our ticket service and helps us by getting us money early, and also fills the theater during the oh so important first two weeks of the show.

5. It helps spread the word about the show early. Half the trick to filling theater is creating buzz…we have a few cool videos, and this helps us let people know about the show. Which will be very, very cool, and very, very worth the money.


Which is all to say: Here’s our kickstarter. Contribute to it and get a discount ticket to the show. For all that I hate the promotion, I’m pretty proud and excited about what we’re creating. I am acutely aware that no project we have ever done could have been achieved without the donors and ticket buyers who made it possible. My last project, Money Lab, was created with the premise that art has a value, something our supporters have proven they believe many times over. Let’s prove it again.

Paying for it: Bitter Lemons, Kirkus, and the purchased review

Let me start with a thought experiment. Suppose that The New York Times instituted a new policy. Suppose they charged theaters $1000 per review—but guaranteed a review in return, that would be printed online. Furthermore, if it was an Editor’s Choice, it would also appear in print.

Obviously, the first reaction to the policy would be outrage, on the part of theaters, on the part of critics. But what would the practical implications of such a policy be? I can only speculate, but I suspect far more theater would be covered. Much of it would be bad, or boring. There would be more reviewers employed. And, here is the thing—a few shows, maybe more than a few, that would never see the light of day in our current system, would receive some attention. Maybe some writers or directors or actors or designers would find themselves employed, who would not be employed. Artists that might be otherwise invisible might be seen.

True, there would be a financial barrier to those who want a review, but to be honest, there is already a financial barrier. Most theaters that get reviewed in The New York Times pay for a publicist, and they pay much more than $1000. And most shows that are reviewed tend to have larger budgets. Not all of them, not mine certainly, but most.

It would be hard for me. I do my own publicity, usually, because I can’t afford a publicist. And the very fact that I am often reviewed in the The New York Times is something I am proud of. It would make my position less special. And there might be a lingering doubt, even with a good review—was this show well reviewed because of merit, or because money was involved.

Of course, nobody at the The New York Times is about to adopt this policy. Their financial situation may be precarious, but it is not so dire that they are about to throw away years of tradition. But a crisis exists in reviewing, partly because of the financial crises that most print publications are experiencing. There has always been a glut of product compared to the number of established reviewers available. That imbalance has only grown exponentially, becoming a systematic problem with no easy solutions.

This is not a crisis just for artists, but for art. Because the worst thing that can happen to an artist is not to receive a bad review. The worst thing is receiving no review at all. The worst is having one’s work be invisible. And yet more and more work is invisible. And the more work that is invisible, the less we are able to find artists whose work does not fit the existing conventions or expectations. The more the status quo simply perpetuates itself.

Bitter Lemons, a Los Angeles website, has introduced a new policy, similar in some ways to my thought experiment. You can purchase a review from them for $150. It will be, they assert, an unbiased review, written by professionals, with no guarantee of an endorsement.

This is not a new idea, in the world of book reviews. Kirkus provides a similar service, for books. For $425, they will review your book, with the same professional reviewers they use for major releases. However, as anyone who had had a book published by a small press knows (or self-published), Kirkus overlooks the great majority of books.

I know the significance of those reviews first hand. I have had two books published by Hungry Tiger Press, a small press. The first was reviewed by School Library Journal and Booklist. Both were nice write ups, and as a result the book (Paradox in Oz) is now on its fourth printing, with copies in libraries across the country and across the world.

By the time the second came out (The Living House of Oz), the world had changed. Self-publishing was more common, and as a result, I believe, a small presses like Hungry Tiger were overlooked. No one chose to review the book. Copies barely appeared in libraries, and the Hungry Tiger never sold out the first printing. Why? No one official had endorsed it. The same writer (me), the same illustrator (Eric Shanower), and the same quality of book. I actually prefer it, though Paradox has definitely become a favorite among Oz fans. However, it was at least equally worthy of review. But the timing, the other books in the queue, etc, prevented it from seeing the light of day.

Is purchasing a Kirkus review a cure for that? Unfortunately not. If it were, I might be endorsing Bitter Lemon’s decision full-throatedly, quite frankly. I will admit something. When I published The Golem, Methuselah, and Shylock, via Theater 61 Press (the publishing branch of the theater company), I knew no library journal would review it. Books of plays are almost never reviewed, and such a small press as our own was not going to break through. And yet I knew the value of ending up on a library shelf. So I paid ($350 at the time). The result was a mixed review. Not a rave, but if it has appeared among the normal Kirkus reviews, it would have resulted in a number of library sales. But—more importantly, the review was labeled clearly, to distinguish it from their other reviews. So almost no one read it.

Was it an unbiased review? I believe so. I understand the arguments about the slippery slope of getting paid by the people receiving the review. But frankly, no one would be served by purchasing a biased review. And yes, Kirkus gives an option: if you don’t like their review, they won’t print it. So one is unlikely to see an out and out pan among what they call their “Indie” reviews.

But the practice also feels exploitative. Not because they are excepting money for reviews, but because they separate those reviews from the reviews the write without being paid to do so. They say they are maintaining their journalistic standards by separating out their purchased reviews from those books they voluntarily choose to review. Perhaps. But in so doing they are also taking money from desperate artists, caught in the system. And not giving much in return.

This brings me to Bitter Lemons. Unlike Kirkus, they don’t have paid/unpaid wall. On the other hand, they don’t need one: all the reviews will be paid for. And though they have a certain following in Los Angeles, they do not have cache of the major print publications. Paying for a review in The New York Times—or The Los Angeles Times—is one thing. But from a well respected blog? That gets into much more iffy territory.

And of course it comes with a stigma: you paid for it. You are not worthy of a regular review. If you were worthy, reviewers would be reviewing you for free. They would rush to see your show and put words in print, because they would sense the importance of the work. They would have heard from…someone.

This is of course bullshit. Plenty of worthy work goes unseen. But still, it is a mantra fervently believed, especially among many critics. There is a true blindness that many critics have to their own blindness that I find disturbing.

But my own critique about Bitter Lemons new policy is not that it is inherently immoral, or a breach of journalistic ethics. To call it biased is to ignore the accepted biases in reviewers, pre-existing slants mostly based on reputation, or a taste for one type of art over another, or one set of ideas over another, or perhaps one gender over another. If anything, I suspect the Bitter Lemons reviewer will have that same doubt most hold lingering in the back of his or her mind: why did this artist have to pay for it?

Does self-interest pay a part in their decision? I cannot know what lies in their heart, but I suspect it plays a part, as it does in us all. But I don’t particularly care. What I do care about is whether this is a model that can break through the barrier for those whose work is rendered invisible. This I doubt. Ironically, if it were, their business model would be an ineffective one. Because in order for it to be effective it would have to adopted by every large publication as well. And then: $150 for a single blog review when I can get a reviewer down from the LA Times for just $800? Who wants to shell out on the little stuff?

But if the Bitter Lemons policy inspires people to reexamine the reviewing model we have, just a little bit, I welcome it. Sadly, all I have seen are angry denouncements. Which is an easy way to avoid the real problems in the system as it stands.

Funny thing, after all this time, one of my picture books, Fractions in Disguise, was recently reviewed by Kirkus. It was published by a mid size publisher, Charlesbridge, which is now associated with a very large publisher, Random House. It was a starred review, a rare honor. If I had paid for that review, nobody would have seen it, even starred. But because I was associated with a larger publisher, everybody saw it.

You can find it now at a library near you.

Artistic Director's Note for Money Lab - 2015

Mad Jenny and Maris Dessena
in Love und Greed in Money Lab

I wrote a related note for the 2013 workshop. This one is updated for the 2015 edition of Money Lab, at HERE:

I was taking a cab the other day, and my cab driver asked me if I had any good ideas to help the world. He was collecting.

I work in theater, I said, so all my ideas are about theater. But I do think art can help the world.

He scoffed. If you were starving, he asked, what would you like? Food? Or a flower?

Recently, I said, I’ve been doing a lot of work with theater and music created in the Terezin concentration camp. What’s amazing to me, is how vital that work was to them. How, despite the starvation, the terrible conditions, and the specter of death, they still needed to create. Or maybe they needed to create because of all that.

A distraction, he replied. They would have traded it all for a good meal.

Maybe.

In the United States, often the money associated with a profession tells you something about the way its valued. If you look at a list of college majors and money prospects, theater lies at the bottom. For our workshop of Money Lab, I did a survey of our audience members. I found that the artists made, on average, $24,000/year less (self identified part-time artists) to $45,000/year less (self-identified full-time artists) to comparable New Yorkers with similar demographics, matching education, age, borough, etc. Our non-artists made about $13,000/year more than the New York City averages.

I did not make a conscious choice to give up $45,000/year to become an artist. But I am willing to accept the choice. Because for me, art is a necessity. I am not starving, so I don’t have to confront the food or flower question. Like most artists I know, I live in a constant state of anxiety about money. Nonetheless, I would find the alternative worse.

And yet, the other question I am curious to understand is how much do we really value art. Why is it so difficult for artists to be paid? Here we are paying all our performers the same amount. $50/performance. It’s not much. But it’s what we can afford. Honestly, it’s more than we can afford, but it’s important to us.

Why is money for art so scarce? Why is the income inequality among artists even greater than the income equality among the general populace? Why do a few get so much and the rest so little? I doubt we will answer those questions in the course of this show. But what we will explore is how our audience values art vs. what are generally called the necessities. Food, or flowers?

Watch the values go up and down. We’re in a theater, so the odds are already skewed in the artists favor. So we shall see…

Finding Text: Writing the Libretto for the Velvet Oratorio

 A note about my process of using found text in The Velvet Oratorio:

Anna Marie Sell (Aide) and
Andrea Gallo (Shirley Temple Black)

The first thing I knew when beginning this project was that I needed to do a lot of research. I knew a fair amount about Czechoslovakia and The Velvet Revolution, because I had done some research before putting together the Havel Festival in 2006, but I wanted more. I wanted to know what it felt like to be in Czechoslovakia in 1989.

I started interviewing Czechs and Slovaks who had been there, and simultaneously I started researching newspaper accounts from the time. One thing became quickly clear: many or most people attending the November 17 march did not suspect they would be participating in an event of great political significance at all. Other demonstrations had had little effect. Why would this one be different?

One reason was the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the changes in the Soviet Union. But of course the speed of the collapse of Communism in Czechoslovakia was something of an illusion. There had been a growing amount of pressure year by year, since the tanks invaded in 1968. Like a floor that suddenly collapses after years of seeming stability, the stress had been almost invisible, until one day the whole thing gave way.

For the found text, I used newspaper reports, especially those in the New York Times, The Washington Post, and The Baltimore Sun. And as one of the thank you gift for the Havel Festival, Václav Havel had given me a huge volume of correspondence from Shirley Temple Black and her aides at the U. S. Embassy in Prague. I had almost forgotten about it, as it seemed so imposing. It turned out to be a treasure trove.

For the scenes, I also used my interviews. One interviewee told me the story of being interrogated about The Berlin Wall, despite the fact that he had been held in detention and knew nothing of what had happened. Another told me about a former secret service officer who begged to speak in Wenceslas Square. And Havel himself told me a little about the person upon whom be based the original Staněk.

Terrence Stone and cast sing a chorus

My interviews inspired the choruses. I knew that Henry Akona is adept at capturing patterns of speech in his music, so I filled the choruses with quotes from my interviews, mixed with the chants of the protestors. I grabbed some quotes from Havel’s speeches and contrasted with the first-hand accounts of the listeners internal reactions when hearing him speak. I tried to include all the doubts, all the confusion, all the surprise. And for the second chorus, I used allusions to the famous 19th century Czech poem “May,” by Karel Hynek Mácha, to connect with Czech Nationalist and Romantic traditions.

All that went into the mix, along with the body of literature using Ferdinand Vaněk, Havel’s signature character and a symbol of the dissident movement. But perhaps most of all I wanted to bring out the feeling inherent in all of Havel’s work, captured in his first address as president. No matter how great the seeming triumph, there are no easy answers. The world is filled with more questions, and the greatest of all may be: what’s next?

Money Lab: Call for performance proposals

Money Lab: An economic vaudeville is looking for performances for its March 20 – April 12 run at HERE theater.

The parameters are as follows:

- All performances must address an aspect of economic theory (Keynes, Marx, the gold standard, the meaning of the word free, etc etc)
- No performances can last more than 7 minutes.
- No performance can have more than 4 artists
- We are seeking music, dance, video, burlesque, clowning, comedy, puppetry, sketches, storytelling, and other unconventional forms of theater and performance.
- We are seeking fully realized performances, not scripts or ideas. However, if you have a five-minute monologue you would like to submit on the subject, we are separately considering those.
- Every show act will receive 2 – 6 performances during our run, the majority of which will be in one of the weeks of the run

Payment: Artists receive $50 each/performance Artists include performers, choreographers, writers, etc (in other words, if your performance has 2 performers, with one writer/director, all three of you will receive $50/performance.)

Please provide us with a work sample of some sort, as well as your idea. Acceptable work samples include scripts and videos. Also provide a few reviews of your work and a reference.

Please make your piece a serious attempt to tackle an economic issue in an entertaining manner. Entertainers with an academic background in economics are particularly welcome. HOWEVER, this is still an entertainment, not a lecture. We are looking for playfulness, and we prefer questions rather than answers.

This was originally produced as a workshop at the Brick Theater. To get a sense of the tone, please visit our website or read some of the original press:  from The Village Voice, Fanchild, and New York Theater

All artists will be eligible for an additional stipend, awarded to one person (in conjunction with an auction) at random every evening, as part of an auction/economic game.

Submissions will be accepted until December 20. Acts and schedule will be determined in January. Additional support, such as rehearsal space (beyond tech), etc, is possible depending on funding, but not guaranteed.

Email proposals and all information to: utc61moneylab@gmail.com

Concession curation and the Cel - Ray cocktail

I started curating the concession stand during the HavelFestival.

One thing that I always do when I travel is try the junk food.  The chocolate, the salty snacks, the sodas, whatever I can find.  Somehow, to me, that is where I really get a sense of what living in the country is like.  Restaurants are fine, I love tasting the local cuisine, but on a day to day basis, growing up…I would bet the junk food is at least as representative.  Because all the flavorings are there, in distilled chemical form, distributed on a processed potato product or other unhealthy conveyance method.

So when I was presenting the works of Havel, I thought, let’s bring the taste of the Czech Republic here as well.  Fortunately, there is a Czech and Slovak Variety Shop in Long Island City, Queens, which provided a full range of the treats.  My favorite is the Fidorka, which I had chosen through carefully judged eating in supermarkets and small groceries in Prague.

It proved wildly popular.  In fact all the snacks sold out quickly (as did our Pilsner Urquell).  Berit Johnson, who was running our concessions at the time, started out as a doubter, but over time became a believer.

I have been curating the concession stand ever since, culminating perhaps with The Pig, which included a full meal, provided by Korzo.  But the Fidorkas were not forgotten: they were dessert.

Besides adding a sense of fun, I do think there is something to actually being connected by taste to the theater.  Perhaps that is part of why dinner theater and experimental theater have been joining forces so actively recently.  It engages another part of the brain and really provides, in neurological terms, a new cognitive framework for the appreciation of the performance.

Which brings me to my Cel-Ray cocktail.

For the Festival of Jewish Theater and Ideas, one of the elements of our concession stand was Dr. Brown’s Celery Tonic, better known as Cel-Ray.  A staple of Jewish delis, I first enjoyed it as the perfect accompaniment to pastrami on rye. I don’t eat meat now, but still enjoy the occasional drink of it.

I did overestimate the popularity of the drink.  For the uninitiated, celery soda perhaps seemed a doubtful product.  With about 50 extra cans, I had only one choice: to make a Cel-Ray cocktail for the after party.  I mixed it with Jose Cuervos tequila and called it a Jose Rosenbaum.

Recently, I was approached for a cocktail recipe for a book of recipes by sci-fi authors.  I have now gone back and perfected it.  For the good of theater.  For the good of society.

Here is the secret formula:

The José Rosenbaum

5 parts Cel-Ray

2 part Jose Quervo tequila

1 Mean Bean (a pickled, spicy string bean)

1 Grape tomato

Kosher salt

Cayenne pepper
Celery salt

Rim the glass with a mixture of kosher salt, cayenne pepper, and celery salt (my taster, aka my wife Connie, recommends skipping the celery salt…too much celery).  Mix Cel – Ray and tequila with ice, stir gently.  Pour into an old fashioned glass.  Garnish with Mean Bean and tomato.

I’m serious about the Mean Bean.  It makes the drink.  And it’s delicious.  Get it here.

Enjoy!

Obies Follow Up - Reflecting after the 2014 Awards

So the Obies were Monday night, and the trend that I discussed in my last blog post continues.  In general, approximately 90% of the work rewarded has budgets of $250,000 or more, though the calculations are a bit complicated this year for reasons I’ll get into.

Before I go into that, I do want to mention, as I did last time, that these posts are not meant to denigrate anyone involved, especially the award winners.  I saw and enjoyed a few of the shows honored, and they were all good shows created and performed by talented people.  I know a few people who were on the awards committee this year, and I know their hearts are in the right place.  And I am very fond of Obie chairman Michael Feingold as a critic, I think he did much good over the years.

Which in many ways is what is inspiring me to write.  I think that we all can become prone to a certain sort of narrowness of vision over time that leads us to lose sight of the broader picture.  In this case, many of those serving are frequently working with (or reviewing) the people being honored, and it may be hard to realize that a large and important part of the downtown theater scene is mostly being ignored.

Ironically, this is exactly the part of the downtown scene that most benefits from the awards.  To many receiving the awards on Monday, the award served as a bit of a (deserved) ego boost, but had little or any impact on their career.  But it is the lesser known shows with the smaller budgets that have the artists who truly need the recognition.  And of course, that was the purpose of the Obies to begin with: to recognize those who haven’t been seen and recognized by the mainstream.  In those days, the mainstream was simply Broadway, and the small budget shows were much fewer in number.  Now Off-Broadway exists mostly in the upper middle class of theater budgets, and yet it still persists in looking up at the upper upper class and saying, aren’t we poor?  Meanwhile, the lower class, or even the lower middle class is mostly ignored.

Do we really have to reflect American society that directly?

In regard to Monday’s Obies:  There were 20 awards given to shows, some with multiple recipients.  I face a problem with these calculations about how to group them.  The World Is Round received 3 awards, but they seem to be grouped together.  The Octoroon’s playwright, Brendan Brandon-Jacobs, won a playwriting award that also covered his work on Appropriate.  However, cast member Chris Meyers also received a separate award.

So if you group the awards as Playbill does, you find yourself with 20 awards.  However, the listing on the Village Voice website seems to indicate 26 awards.  The reason the difference creates very different calculations is that two shows, This Was The End and The World Is Round, fall under the $250,000 threshold.  So the result is that either 2 of 20 (10%, right on the average) or 4 or 26 (a surprising 15%) of Obies this year went to more moderately budgeted shows.

Close to the border, I suspect, is NAATCO’s production of Awake and Sing, for which Mia Katigbak won an award.  I am counting it as over $250,000, because of the size of the cast, but I could be wrong there.  Please feel free to correct me if you have contradictory information.

I will also mention $250,000 is a very high threshold.  I have never done a show with a budget over $100,000, the closest I’ve come is around $80,000, and that was officially Off-Broadway (astoundingly little for an Off-Broadway show, but nonetheless…).  With the in kind contributions my theater company has received from the venues/co-producers, that budget has reached a little over $100,000.  I know many, probably the majority working downtown who have never passed the $50,000 mark.  I actually assumed at first the budget for The World Is Round (a show I saw and loved) was over $250,000, but some investigation revealed otherwise.  Good job on their part.  I wasn’t able to discover what support BAM provided that wasn’t on that official budget, but it was a show that easily could have broken the $250,000 barrier regardless. [UPDATE: That includes BAM support]

So, using the more generous assessment, here are the updated totals for the Obies over the last 5 years:

The Public 18, Signature 10, Playwrights Horizons 9, Soho Rep 7, Manhattan Theater Club 6, New York Theater Workshop 5, Lincoln Center 4, Rattlestick 4, BAM 4 (3 of which are for World Is Round), Foundry 3, Ripe Time 3 (also credited for World Is Round), , Elevator Repair Service 2 (both times at The Public),  Classic Stage Company 2, HERE 2, Incubator Arts 2 (counting Three Pianos, on stage at NYTW at that point), Manhattan Class Company 2, St. Ann’s Warehouse 2, Theatre for a New Audience 2.

And those which have won a single OBIE in those years:  Alliance Francaise, Ars Nova (Natasha & Pierre, which had moved to a commercial production), Atlantic Theatre Company, Barrow Street, Baryshnikov Arts Center (Fela, which had moved to Broadway), Bushwick Star/The Debate Society , The Chocolate Factory, La MaMa (Good Woman of Setzuan, moved to The Public), NAATCO, Partial Comfort, Pig Iron, The Play Company, Primary Stages, PS 122, Second Stage, Punchdrunk, 3LD Art + Technology Center (as part of Under The Radar), Transport, Vineyard.

In terms of budget: out of 96 awards, 84 went to shows with budgets definitely over $250,000, 5 were definitely under (3 for World Is Round), and 8 were in the gray area for me (including Awake and Sing).  So the percentage of lower budget shows is between 5 – 13 %.

I would remiss to write all this without suggesting some solutions.  First, a larger Obie committee.  Quite frankly, I think it is unfair to ask to few people to see so much.  There are a number of qualified possibilities, and the number could be doubled, at least. And for those new Obie members: select people who are part of the true independent theater scene.  Second, a clear way to contact the committee and let them know about your show.  Yes, if you have the right press agent who knows the right people to contact, it can be done.  But the contact should be published on the website, and the committee should be announced, as early as possible.  Finally, and most importantly, there should be a commitment from all the judges and the Obies as a whole to seek out those smaller shows.  To see things that you may know nothing about.   I know it’s not all going to change overnight.  But a commitment that, say, 33% of the awards will go to lower budgets shows is not impossible, by any means.  And that commitment in itself will inspire the judges to seek out new work.

It’s not easy.  In response to my earlier post, I had a few people ask me privately, what should I go see?  Here’s my honest answer: Like everyone, I live in my little bubble.  I can tell you about my friend’s plays, some of which are very good.  And occasionally I am drawn to something outside of that bubble. I recently saw Then She Fell, which I thought was amazing (and never won an Obie), but that show has received a fair amount of recognition, which is why I knew about it to begin with.

I do know some of the places where you can find those shows.  Some of them have won an Obie (or two) over the last five years, but considering the number of Obies given and the number of shows at these theaters (which have much busier seasons than the large institutions), most of the shows never get seen at all.  I know, because I have worked at a lot of them (as I warned, of course, it is my friends I know about).

So go to The Ohio, HERE, 3LD, La MaMa, The Brick, Dixon Place, Abrons, The Secret Theatre, The Chocolate Factory, Metropolitan Playhouse, and all the other smaller theaters about town.  And not just when Taylor Mac or Black Eyed Susan or a downtown luminary is performing, do it when a possible future downtown luminary is performing as well.  For my part, I pledge to look beyond those theaters and really try to seek out interesting shows I would not know about, to look at the tiny reviews with only a paragraph or two devoted and think, could that be interesting?

New York is a busy place.  It is hard to see even my friends' work, plus those few shows that have received enough buzz to make them interesting to me.  To venture into the great beyond?  It takes time, and it takes effort.

So I am asking a lot, I know.  But I am asking it because I think it is important.  If you are in any way in a position to influence future awards, please consider it.

How the OBIES are failing New York theater

Let me start by getting one thing out of the way.  I have never won an OBIE.  I doubt that I have ever been considered for an OBIE.  In my 20 years plus of working in downtown theater, I don’t believe anyone from the OBIE committee has stepped foot in the theater for any play I have written, directed, or produced.

So any screed against the current state of the OBIE Awards (and let me make no bones about it, that is what this is) should be read with the knowledge that I, of course, have a personal stake in it.  But if this were pure sour grapes (and I have at times eaten of that fruit), without any implications beyond myself, I would confine myself to my own private 3am anxieties about my life/career and leave it at that.  However, I do think my experience with the OBIES reflects a greater problem with the awards in general, and that is why I am choosing to address it.

I wouldn’t care, of course, if I didn’t think the OBIES were important.  This is the 58^th anniversary of the award, which originally was created to offset the idea that Broadway was the only place interesting and valuable can happen.  That very important work was being done in smaller theaters, with smaller budgets, with fewer commercial interests.  That in fact this is where the heart of theater lay, where the greatest theater could bloom.  The OBIES were the first to embrace the Off-Off-Broadway movement and give an equal weight to those productions.  They have gained their status through good work and high ideals.

And like many esteemed institutions of over fifty years, they have gone to pot, borne down with the weight of their own success.  Somewhere in them is the kernel of that original ideal.  But it is buried, deeply buried.

That is not to say worthy work, inspiring work, does not get recognized.  It does.  I am friends with some OBIE winners, and well do they deserve it.  I would not wish to denigrate anyone’s achievement.  But the awards now have become largely about one thing:  celebrating the achievements of those in institutional theater, perhaps a step below Broadway in budget, but nonetheless work that is highly recognized and highly touted without the help of an additional award.  It has become about the status quo.

Let us examine the awards, by the numbers.  In the last four years (I chose four instead of five because the last four were easier to research, and with the OBIES coming up Monday, I’m hoping to fill out the roster), these are the theaters which have won multiple OBIES, from the most to the least:

The Public 13, Playwrights Horizons 8, Manhattan Theater Club 6, Lincoln Center 4, Signature 4, Soho Rep 4, Foundry 3, Rattlestick 3, Classic Stage Company 2, HERE 2, Incubator Arts 2 (counting Three Pianos, which was actually on stage at New York Theater Workshop at that point), Manhattan Class Company 2, New York Theater Workshop 2 (also counting Three Pianos), St. Ann’s Warehouse 2, Theatre for a New Audience 2.

And those which have won a single OBIE in those years:  Alliance Francaise, Ars Nova (Natasha & Pierre, which had moved on to a commercial production), Atlantic Theatre Company, Barrow Street, Baryshnikov Arts Center (Fela, which had moved to Broadway), Brooklyn Academy of Music, Bushwick Star/The Debate Society , Elevator Repair Service (at The Public),  La MaMa (Good Woman of Setzuan, moved to The Public), Partial Comfort, Pig Iron, The Play Company, Primary Stages, PS 122, Second Stage, Punchdrunk, 3LD Art + Technology Center (as part of Under The Radar…not sure who main funder was…), Transport, Vineyard

Perhaps more tellingly, of 72 productions, I would say 63 unquestionably had budgets over $250,000, 2 probably were under, and 7 fall into the gray area for me.  My guess is less than 10% regardless.  I base that calculation on my years of working as a producer and occasional GM for different levels of production.

So what does all that data tell us, besides that The Public has been winning an incredible number of OBIE Awards.    In the multiple awards category, there are two champions of the indie theater scene, HERE and Incubator Arts.  Wonderful.  Among the others, Bushwick Starr, La MaMa, 3LD, and PS 122 are all represented.  Very happy to see it.  And by implication The Ohio, where Pig Iron put on Chekhov Lizardbrain. One of my favorites.

But it is not enough.  Under 10% with a budget under $250,000 is not enough.  And that is a conservative estimate, for most of these institutions have multimillion dollar budgets to sustain them that don’t even get figured into the production cost.  These are not the productions that the OBIES once endeavored to honor, productions that would be overlooked without the scrappy little awards from a scrappy downtown rag called The Village Voice.  These are highly established theaters with the budget to have themselves be seen, regardless.  The OBIES may be an extra feather in the cap or a moment of downtown cred, but you can find those same productions at the Drama Desk or the Lortel awards.

What the OBIES have done on in the past and can do, could continue to do, is to recognize the small theater productions that it first purported to promote.  And I don’t mean via the $1,000 grants that do sometimes go to small, deserving companies.  I was extremely joyful when Metropolitan Theater, which does quality work on a tiny budget, won their award a few years.  But they have been working over 20 years themselves, and it is telling that they were given an award that should by right be given to the smaller, newer companies.  But since Metropolitan had never been recognized before, the award came, well overdue.

One main reason is that the awards are a closed system.  Only a few judges are chosen, often reviewers who are only being sent to the bigger productions to begin with.  There is no easy way to invite judges in advance, nor any indication that the judges are encouraged to seek out and find the smaller productions.  The awards themselves have become star studded, competing with the Tonys in the recognition value of its presenters.  Here is Anne Hathaway!  Here is Cyndi Lauper!  Here is Meryl Streep!  They too are participating, many of them are eligible for the very same award, by dint of the fact that they chose to perform in a play with a budget of $1,000,000 instead of $5,000,000.

But I will embrace the stars.  I will even pay the $20 I am now asked for as the OBIES turn more into a money making machine and less into a celebration of downtown theater.  I will do all that if I know the names and the money are also being put towards a good cause, finding the seeds of new exciting theater and promoting it.  And I don’t mean as the exception, almost by accident, when it stumbles across a show that has received just the right amount of buzz to draw in a judge or two.  I mean consistently, as a statement of purpose.

I still believe the OBIES are capable of it.  I want them to be capable of it, because frankly no other award has the name recognition to have the same clout.  So perhaps this is no more than a plea, a call in the wilderness.  Come see us in the wilds of indie theater.  There is good work.  There is also plenty of terrible work.  But every so often, there is life-changing work.  If only it could be seen and recognized.

UPDATE: Please read more thoughts (and possible solutions) in my follow up post

Money Lab Survey: Salaries of artists vs. non-artists

Well, after a whole lot of number crunching (honestly, 6 hours or so...what's my hourly rate?) I finally have the survey results from Money Lab.

Many caveats here:  obviously, this is a self selecting lot.  You had to either fill out the survey at the show or online.  Also, many chose not to reveal their salary, despite the fact that it was an anonymous survey.  Our highest salary was $225,000, and I know of at least two audience members who make more.  On the other side, there were those who simply noted they were ashamed of how little they made and didn't want to share.  A number of them, actually, which I suspect would drive these averages down.  But I decided to only work with people who had provided numbers.

I also noticed that asking people whether they were (a) a professional artists and (b) made the majority of their money from their art caused really emotional reactions from some people.  I can't say I blame them.  I have my own emotions about those questions as well.  But for the purposes of the survey, I am defining part-time artists as professional artists who get the majority of their income elsewhere (though they may well spend more time on their art than on their day job).

I used census data as a sort of control.  I only have data for the five boroughs, so it's harder to compare out of New York, but I did do two types of comparisons:  Artists vs non-artists who answered the survey, artists vs. residents of NYC with similar demographics.

In all cases, I found the cost of being an artist to be significant.  At the least a difference in income of $24,000/year (part-time artists vs. NYC residents with similar demographics), at the most a difference of $45,000 (full-time artists vs. NYC residents with similar demographics).

Thinking of the subject in terms of a decade of work, an artist is giving up between $240,000 and $450,000 dollars per decade on average, in return for the emotional satisfaction of being able to do artwork.

I have been working for 20 years.  According to my subset (full-time artist living in NYC), I have given up about $900,000 in order to be an artist.

That was my choice, freely given.  I feel I have a life that is more fulfilled.  But damn.  Can I also have the money?

Here are the results:

Non-Artists

Average salary (all) $74,000
Average salary (lives in NYC): $76,800
Median salary (all): $75,000
Median salary: (lives in NYC): $68,000
Average Salary compared to artists who completed survey: +32, 333
Salary compared to other residents in their borough in NYC, with similar demographics, according to census data: +13,000

Artists (combined) 

Average salary (all) $41,667
Average salary (lives in NYC): $39,400
Median salary (all):$40,000
Median salary: (lives in NYC): $30,000
Average Salary compared to non-artists who completed survey: -$32,333
Salary compared to other residents in their borough in NYC, with similar demographics, according to census data: -28,000

Artists who make majority of their income from art:

Average salary (all) $45,800*
Average salary (lives in NYC): $37,313
Median salary (all): $35,000
Median salary: (lives in NYC): $35,000
Average Salary compared to non-artists who completed survey: -$28,200
Salary compared to other residents in their borough in NYC, with similar demographics, according to census data: -45,000

*Note, one large salary (from a non-New York resident) may have skewed results for the Average salary (all)

Artists who DO NOT make majority of their income from art:

Average salary (all) $39,250
Average salary (lives in NYC): $40, 778
Median salary (all): $35,000
Median salary: (lives in NYC): $35,000
Average Salary compared to non-artists who completed survey: -$34,750
Salary compared to non-artists in their borough in NYC, with similar demographics, according to census data: -$24,000


OTHER STATS
104 replies
57 professional artists (36 part-time, 21 full-time)
47 non-artists


Types of Artists

39 Theater
6 Visual
4 Literature
1 Music
2 Dance
1 Film
4 Other

Average Age: 38

Education:
4 High School
8 Some College
39 College Degrees
53 Graduate Degrees

Residency
69 NYC residents
35 non NYC residents

Money Lab: Good Charity, Good Charity

A New York Times op-ed by Peter Singer ("Good Charity, Bad Charity") was just written that relates directly to the food vs. flowers debate that I previously write about on the blog, and which was one of the main focuses on Money Lab. So I took a pause in my Money Lab statistics evaluation (ongoing!) to write a few thoughts on it.

The article designates health causes as “good charities” and the arts as “bad charities” based on the most specious of analyses. There are so many gaping holes in the particular editorial it is hard to simply pick one, but I shall do my best.

First of all, in order to prove his point, Singer handpicks two examples that he chooses to be representative. To represent the arts, he chooses a museum that is building a new $50 million wing. To represent health, he chooses a theoretical charity seeking to reduce the eye disease, trachoma. This charity, apparently a never-before seen model of efficiency, is able to convert your donation immediately so that each $100 automatically saves someone from the disease.

How can you compare the morality, Mr Singer argues, of giving someone money to cure blindness, compared to the selfish interests of a few frivolous museum goers who want to see more pretty pictures? In fact, he goes so far as to posit a demon that blinds someone every time a certain number of people patronize that new museum wing.

Oh art lovers, know that you are sticking a hot poker into the eye of good health!

Of course, even if you credit his economics (which I will address in a moment), his examples are absurd. If he wants to see examples of companies that do a very lot with a very little, there is no better place to look than the arts. I have not done the totals yet, but I know that the Money Lab workshop cost under $5,000. And yet—every participant was paid for their work (some paid extra due to the patronage auction), and we produced a theater piece that played to sold out houses every performance.

But to think that the benefits end there is to not understand the nature of art. The discussions the show inspired will, I hope, shape the thinking of those who saw the work. That in turn will filter out into the world of ideas, and indeed, I do think that great social change often originates from the smallest of art. I am not trying to be grandiose when I say the intention of Money Lab is to change the world. To me, every art piece does, or should.

And then there is the benefit to the artists. Besides the relatively small monetary benefits, there is the opportunity to practice their craft, to develop, to ready themselves for the next piece of work. Every art piece is merely a gateway to then next ten, the next twenty.

And to me, and to the company—the benefit is incalculable. There is the benefit of spreading the work further, because of the press it has and will receive. But also the benefit of being able to shape and refine my own ideas, which once only resided in my head, and to make them tangible and real. To communicate to others. It is more than a desire that I have to do that, it is a need, for my own happiness. If you told me that I needed to give up my art or face a 1 in 1,000 chance of blindness, is there any question which I would choose?

And yet this workshop cost only $5,000, probably less. A $100,000 donation could fund up to 20 - 30 such workshops. Or a couple of fully realized productions, with all that entails.

Now look at a health foundation. The truth is, most health foundations are relatively inefficient. In a survey of charities, it was found that it was not unusual for 50% of the costs to go towards administration. The Autism Spectrum Disorder Foundation was found recently to spend almost all of its money on administration.

But beyond bureaucracy, much of the money is spent on research, and, inevitably, much of the research leads to dead ends. Solutions are in short supply, though when they are found, they can often pay for themselves; there is a reason that drug companies spend so much on research, and the reason is money. This is not to say that one should not give nonetheless, but it should be with the understanding that the $100,000 you give will disappear into a well of $50 million or $500 million, and that the results may be as little as identifying the fact the research should now be directed elsewhere.

Does that make, say, autism or cancer or trachoma a bad charity? Of course not (though perhaps the Autism Spectrum Disorder Foundation might not be your best bet). You give to what you believe, you help the world how you can. And yes, one of those ways could be towards a museum building a new wing.

It would be unusual for them to ask. Most such developments are actually spurred by one or two large funders. But if asked, maybe you do want your money to go towards that museum. Maybe that new wing will display a new artist, and that support will lead to a career. Maybe that artist will be one of the greats. Or maybe someone walking through the museum will stop, look at a painting, and be inspired. Maybe it will change her life.

Maybe, one day, should she ever grow ill, that memory, the memory of all the art she has seen and experienced, will be her comfort.

Money Lab: Detroit, bankruptcy, and the arts

A recent article in the New York Times about the Detroit bankruptcy and the Detroit Institute of Arts brings me back to a theme I wrote about in an earlier posting about food vs. flowers. As part of Money Lab, I am trying to examine how we value art, and this current crisis put that question into stark relief.

About 10 years ago I took some trips to Detroit in order to visit someone I was dating. Anyone who has been in Detroit knows that the contrast between the city center and the suburbs is a stark one. The city is abandoned and impoverished, and there are stunning border areas where one can follow a street past boarded up buildings and then suddenly find oneself surrounded by fancy houses with beautiful lawns, literally yards apart.

There were, however, two bright spots I remember in the inner city. One was an old Beaux Arts building, which houses the still thriving Detroit Institute of Arts. The other was the new Detroit Tigers’ baseball stadium, Comerica Park.

Both were built with city money of course, one at the end of the 19th century, one in at the end of the 20th. However, it is the art museum that has continued to be dependent on public money. After many years, with the help of the tax dollars of the surrounding counties, it is now relatively solvent. However, Detroit’s bankruptcy places the museum in another sort of alarming jeopardy; the pensioners, the ones who are so unfairly in jeopardy themselves because of the bankruptcy, see an asset. The art inside is worth $2 billion. And they want it sold.

That is a bit of a blanket statement, which ignores certain nuances. The pensioners are not the city’s only debtors. Nor are they a uniform block, I am sure plenty of pensioners might regard the virtual destruction of the museum to be a tragic event. But the question, in law, is clear: will Detroit be obligated to see off the art in the museum in order to help fund the pensions?

Putting aside that legal question, which no one has yet answered, I will pose two more: what is the more economically advantageous thing to do? And does either decision have more moral weight?

Economically, it would be a clear blow, I think. Getting rid of the museum’s collection would mean that one of the few remaining bright spots in the city has been doused. The museum would have to shut down, simply because of the logistics of museum funding.  Much of the art was given with the explicit caveat that it must not be sold, and selling it would have huge repercussions on private funding, partly because it would end any chance of future art donations.  Furthermore, the blowback from the Association of Art Museum Directors would be huge: their sanctions against the National Academy Museum were extremely painful, and the NAM's offenses amounted to just two paintings. And finally, and this is the nail in the coffin really, the museum is currently being funded by tax dollars from surrounding counties, which would end immediately.  They would complain (legitimately) that their tax dollars had been spent to sustain the museum, not to get Detroit out of debt. The downtown cultural district, or what remains of it, would be effectively demolished, and the peripheral effect on surrounding businesses and restaurants will be stark. There will be even less of a reason to go into the city itself, leaving it even more of a black hole around which more enticing suburbs circle, hoping not to get sucked in.

As a comparison, the baseball stadium cost $115 million in public funding. Because that public money was essentially given to a private owner, rather than holding the stadium as a city asset, the stadium is safe. The reason behind that expenditure was the purported economic benefits of the stadium. In actuality, studies show that the money cities spend on stadiums tends to be a loss, while the smaller expenditures on museums spur enough economic growth to be a gain. But since museums are non-profit while sports activities are definitely for profit, museums often are seen as leeches. If it is economically worthwhile, why doesn’t it make money? (as a side note, it seems that even the $500 million pledged to a new hockey stadium is safe)

Of course, there may be some relief provided for pensioners, and it is hard to deny the needs of the retired population, those who have worked hard in civil service or as teachers or policeman all their lives, only to see their promised benefits stripped away. How much relief will it afford? That, I think, is debatable. How will the money be used, through what filters will it be put, how widely does it need to be distributed….will it mean a substantive increase in pension, or in essence a one time payment of another couple of hundred dollars? And what economic penalties will they pay for the further decay of the city in which they live? I suspect the benefits may be more negligible, and the loss more acute, than people initially guess.

But let us say, for the sake of argument, the benefit is a significant one. In a case such as that, what moral right is there for us to demand the preservation of a museum’s art collection? That is a murkier question. Money was spent by taxpayers so that people would have a chance to look at pretty pictures. Selling the collection doesn’t mean destroying the pictures, it means removing access to them. Some would go to private collectors. Some might be bought by other museums. What it will definitely do is remove that opportunity in Detroit. To a pensioner who doesn’t care for art, the opportunity to eat a little better is clearly the preferred alternative. And even for those who do care for art…

Well, here is a scenario. I pose it to you. Guaranteed income for the rest of your life. In return, I ask one thing. I will destroy one painting by Vincent Van Gogh. It won’t be Starry Night. But it will be Van Gogh, and it will be beautiful.

What choice do you make?

Money Lab: Excerpt from The Neurology of the Soul

The new play I've been working on, The Neurology of the Soul, addresses not only neurology, but some of these issue I'm exploring for Money Lab.  Mark, in the play, is a neuromarketer, someone who using neurology as a basis for his marketing.  In the course of the play, Amy starts making art basic on the images of her brain, and Mark becomes interested in marketing that art. This on the cost of being an artist:

mark

Do you know why starving artists choose to starve?

amy

It’s a choice?

mark

Usually.  Because, let’s face it, plenty of artists are just as smart and capable as businessmen, wouldn’t you say?

amy

I suppose.  Yes, of course.

mark

But they put a value on something other than money, correct?

amy

Right.

mark

Let’s call that thing artistic fulfillment.  How much is artistic fulfillment worth, in terms of dollars and cents?

amy

It don’t think it can be evaluated like that.

mark

Nonsense.  Saying something can’t be evaluated simply means that you haven’t found the right formula, yet.  Let’s take a theoretical scenario.  Let’s say you compared what artists and businessmen of similar background and education make.  And say you found that, all things being equal, an average businessman makes $50,000 per year more than the average artist.  Does that seem plausible?

amy

More than, unfortunately.  It’s probably more than that.

mark

OK, but let’s be conservative, and say $50,000 per year.  Over 40 years, that’s two million dollars per lifetime.  Available, for you, for any artist.  Only thing is, you need to make that choice.

amy

Some artists make good money.

mark

Many?

amy

No, of course not.

mark

And you know that, going in.  Two million dollars, on average.  Maybe, less, if you’re a successful artist.  Maybe more, if you’re a successful businessman.  Two million dollars, and the choice is yours.  Business or art?

amy

I’ve worked in offices, too.

mark

To make ends meet, or as a career?

amy

Does it matter why?

mark

I think it does.  I think that makes a difference in salary.  You’re a smart woman, Amy.  You could be making a lot of money, if that was your major goal in life.  So, two million dollars, or artistic fulfillment?  Which do you choose?

amy

If that were the choice, and I’m not sure I buy that it is, I choose artistic fulfillment.

mark

Exactly.  As I said, everything has a definable value.  You just have to find the right formula.

amy

What if you are artistic, and not fulfilled?  Have you just thrown away two million?

mark

Do you feel unfulfilled by your art?

amy

Often.

mark

So let’s value your fulfillment at five hundred thousand.  Maybe we can fill in the rest of that value by making a few sales.

amy

What are you after?

mark

A commission, of course.  If my company is partial owner of the images, perhaps we should get a small percent of sales.  Or maybe I want some artistic fulfillment myself.