by Helen Jaksch

I have a Master’s degree in Performance Studies. What exactly does that mean? Great question. In another life, I may have told you that it has a lot to do with speech-act theorist J.L. Austin’s idea of performativity and a lot to do with the intersection between the ideas of theatre-maker Richard Schechner and anthropologist Victor Turner.

I would have told you that it includes everything from critical race theory to Freudian psychology to art and public policy to gastronomy to folklore to theatre. I would have told you that it explores the performance of gender identities, the performance of empty chairs, the performance of fiction, the performance of dancing bodies, and the performance of everyday life.

Are you a little lost?

Me too.

Let’s start again.

I have a Master’s degree in Performance Studies.

What exactly does that mean?

It means that I observe. That I take nothing for granted. And that I ask a lot of questions.

I come to each theatrical experience as Elinor Fuchs suggests—as though I am visiting a small planet. A planet unlike any other. A planet I must navigate and explore between lights up and lights down. One that is created with words and bodies and technical design and the play of space between them. I land on the planet with an open mind, but I bring with me a critical eye and a heart eager for greatness. No one ventures to a new small planet for the ordinary. Exploration is embarked upon for the sake of adventure. For the cultivation of new and meaningful experiences. But these small planets floating around the universe that is New Orleans are very much still forming. Still gathering space dust and momentum. It is my hope that my perspective and opinion (which is by no means the definitive truth) can help the creators, artists, and my fellow visitors to the planet see with enriched eyes and ears and tongues and voices. It is my hope to see the ghosts that grace the shadows. To hear the whispers of ideas. To see the mistakes and missteps. To witness the triumphs of miraculous moments. To tell of all that I saw there. To ask great questions. To ask for more. To ask for better.

I mean these small planets no harm. But I would be doing them, their creators, and their audiences a great disservice if I planted my flag, cheered vacantly, and went home and wrote a sparkling review devoid of any real observation or critical feedback. I know it may not always be what the artists/creators/producers want to hear, but it is my intention to always write what they should hear. It is my intention to write something to argue with and learn from. It is my hope to move beyond questions of what is “good” and what is “bad” (though I will certainly give credit where credit is due). I want to move towards questions of doing. What is this piece doing now? In this moment? In this place?

I will meet this small planet where it is at, whether that be small space rocks being lightly held together by the gravity of an idea or a planet fully populated with multiple democratic governments and eight moons orbiting around. I will observe from that meeting place and be as fair and honest as possible. I am not searching for perfection. Or even success. Some of the greatest moments in theatrical and art history were phenomenal failures. I am looking to land on planets built on strong ideas and artistic integrity. Planets made from guts and blood and heart. Planets that consider their audience, which is different than pandering to them or talking at them or down to them. I am searching for those planets that have genuine moments of communication. Sincere attempts at discovery. I am looking for planets that defy their ephemeral nature in order to do something. Something important. Something worthwhile.

Great theatre/dance/performance art can happen anywhere. Not just in New York and not just with budgets of millions of dollars. It can happen here in New Orleans. It has happened here. But theatre/dance/performance art that is sloppy, under-developed, misdirected, over-conceptualized, and off-the-mark can happen anywhere too. Not just in New York and not just with budgets of millions of dollars. It can happen here. It has happened here. And I plan to discuss all of it. I hope that every artist will hold nothing back in the creation and production of their small planet and they can expect the same from me. I will question and critique each work and its creators, but I will also applaud them. I hope this in turn helps other visitors question and critique and applaud the planets they visit. And I hope ultimately the artistic community will question, critique, and applaud themselves. We all have an obligation to tell it like it is. To be honest with each other. We do not get there by hiding the flaws under a woven rug or only focusing on the moments that worked. We do not get to the promised land on roads paved with false standing ovations and insincere praise. 

What will ultimately lead to great theatre/great audiences/great artists is an open and critical dialogue. Between artist and audience. Between audience and artist. Between critic and audience. Between critic and artist. Between artist and artist. It is that simple. And that hard.

I am looking forward to the many small planets I will visit in the future. And to all the things I may find there.