My Lesson in Fundraising

This post is embarrassingly late, but if you were inside my life, you'd know that this really is the first chance I've had to sit down and compose my thoughts for mass consumption.

Two weeks ago, we held a fundraiser - our first ever - for our new show, Red Death. It's an opera, based on Edgar Allen Poe's short story, "Masque of the Red Death." Bryan wrote the libretto, and Daniel Doss, is composing the music. I'm directing and producing.

This isn't my first time at the Fringe Festival rodeo, so I'm not ignorant about budgets and such, but the further we got into this project, the more never-before-seen expenditures came up. It was already going to be our most ambitious (read: expensive) show to date, even without things like piano rental and tuning. Of course, Bryan and I (and everyone else) isn't in this for the massive piles of cash (that don't exist), but we don't want to go into debt either. And most importantly, we want to pay the people who are bringing this show alive. A fundraiser seemed to be the only option.

If you've never held a fundraiser, let me tell you a few things I learned about the process:

1. It's hard. There is a tremendous amount of planning, shopping, requesting/begging, wheeling/dealing, promoting, organizing, loading in, setting up, running the thing, striking, and math involved. It is physically and mentally exhausting and anxiety-producing. Thank Everything for friends like Jill (http://www.classymcgraceful.com/), who's done it many times before, knows what all needs to be done, then works her butt completely off (don't trip over it, there, on the ground) to help us make it happen. And held my hand at the craft store and Costco as I went wild-eyed and boggle-minded and stopped being able to form clear sentences.

2.  It's expensive. It's a great example of having to spend money to make money. If you don't have food and activities and entertainment, people won't want to come. All that stuff costs money, so the first goal of the fundraiser is to pay for the fundraiser itself. Which is a little Inception-y.

3. My family rocks really hard. Every single one of them pitched in to help. My niece performed (her debut!), my brother worked the raffle table, my dad worked the silent auction table, my mom worked box office, my nephew worked the photo booth with Bryan, and my sis-in-law worked the craft table. They are amazing.

The most important thing I learned about this experience came at the end of the evening, when Jill started wrapping the evening up and thanking people for coming. I was suddenly struck by what really happened: All the people in this room, and several who weren't but contributed online or by handing me a check, believed in us, and believed in our project. They believed enough to spend time and money, and did so willingly. Happily. I'd been feeling guilty and weak about asking for money (and donations for the auction/raffle), but all these people jumped up to help. Because they wanted to. Even people who contributed to the project, in one way or another, and I had their names on a "Do Not Accept Money from These People" list at the box office, insisted on paying. Even people who worked that night contributed money. Even people that I've never even met attended, paid for tickets, paid for auction items, put money in donation baskets, and bought raffle tickets.

And, very suddenly, I realized that I wasn't begging. I was giving people an opportunity to help us.

I have this idea that I should be able to handle "It" - every "It" -  all on my own, and that asking for help is a sign of weakness. But it's not. These people wanted to help. They wanted to be there. They wanted to support us. We gave them an opportunity to show us that, and when they did, I was moved to tears by it. (To anyone who knows me, this shouldn't be a big surprise, but I swear, it's genuine.) It's a pretty incredible feeling to know people believe in me, and my work.

Thank you, everyone. Thank you so much for the auction and raffle donations, for the monetary contributions, for the gift of your time and work. Mostly, though, thank you so much for this lesson in support and gratitude. I am deeply moved.

If you're interested in more information about the show, including dates and times, pop over to Bryan's website: http://www.jupiterkansas.com/red/. Also, there's an online donation button there. Just in case you were wondering.

"Red Death": A New Opera by Bryan Colley and Daniel Doss

Many of you are aware that, since 2008, Bryan and I have produced an original play every year at the Kansas City Fringe Festival. Since Fringe is a beautiful testing ground for new and different material, we've tried to challenge ourselves every year to do something we've never done before. We've done comedy, drama, satire, campy musical, staged an old radio play, and some productions that sort of defy categorization.

This year, it's opera.

WAIT! Don't be scared. It's very audience-friendly opera. Intimate opera. It called Red Death, and it's based on Edgar Allen Poe's short story "Masque of the Red Death." Bryan wrote the libretto, and local composer Daniel Doss wrote the music. And it takes my breath away. It is sweeping and intricate and haunting and creepy. Operatic tenor Nathan Granner stars as the "dauntless and sagacious" Prince Prospero, who believes he can escape the disease ravaging the country by locking himself and a bunch of friends in his castle to party on, with Devon Barnes as his servant, who tries desperately to talk some sense into him. Amy Hurrelbrink is choreographing and will join dancers Chelsea Anglemyer, Josh Atkins, Tyler Parsons, and Tiffany Powell onstage.

It is, by far, our most ambitious production to date. Costumes are being designed and built. The set is bigger and more intricate than anything we've attempted before.

These things cost money. So does hiring an accompanist to play Daniel's intricate music. So does renting a piano. So does publicity and marketing (flyers, print ads, etc). So does paying actors, which is very important to me.

So, we've had to face the difficult decision to ask for help in producing this show. Financial help. We've never done this before. It's hard to ask people for money. But if this show is going to be everything that we dream it can be, we have to. Otherwise, production standards will necessarily be lowered. I hate that prospect more than I can say.

On Saturday, we are holding a fundraiser, Masks for the Red Death: A Poe-pourri of Talent and
Activities. It will be held from 7-9pm in the Fellowship Hall (north entrance) at St. Peter's UCC, 700 E. 110th (corner of 110th and Holmes). St. Peter's is a huge supporter of local arts, and they have been extremely kind to us.

We will have entertainment, food, a silent auction, a mask-making "craft buffet," and a photo booth. Individual tickets to the fundraiser are $15, or 2 for $25. Kids,12 and under, will be admitted free. More info at the Facebook event page: https://www.facebook.com/events/709107682466497/

 

If you want to help our project, but are unable to make it to the fundraiser, Bryan has an online donation button on his website: http://jupiterkansas.com/

 

Please consider donating. You'll get your name in the program, and our deep gratitude. Maybe I'll sing you a song too. I take requests.

It's a Beautiful Day for Good News, Volume 2

Here is another installment of my retaliation against "mainstream" news outlets that seem to report on how the world is mostly filled with terrible people doing awful things to each other. I maintain that the world is full of beauty and kindness and wonder, but murder, rape, and explosions make for more dramatic headlines. Screw that.

The Canadian lottery winner of $40 million donates it all to charity:
http://www.today.com/news/canadian-lottery-winner-donates-40-million-jackpot-charity-2D11777987

His doctor told this teenage cancer patient that he could only go to Prom of he wore a surgical mask all night. His friends didn't want him to feel alone:
http://www.myfoxorlando.com/story/25459941/on-prom-night-va-students-wear-protective-masks-to-support-friend-with-cancer#ixzz317g2cA5A

An eight-year-old boy, saving up to buy a PlayStation, was so moved by a nearby fatal house fire, that he bought something else instead:
http://www.cbsnews.com/news/texas-boy-8-buys-smoke-detectors-instead-of-ps4/

High school students show appreciation to an elderly neighbor who brightens their days: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1wWhLzDRIY&feature=share

12-year-old CEO donates proceeds to send kids to camp, because "Why not help a kid?":
http://www.msnbc.com/melissa-harris-perry/watch/boy-changes-the-world-one-bow-tie-at-a-time-120614467639

Thanks to Bryan and Jill, who help by sending me good news links.

Always an Adventure: Dramarama, Spring 2014

Today was the last Dramarama class for the 2013-2014 school year. In the fall, I teach playwriting for third-fifth graders, then acting exploration for fourth- and fifth-graders. In the spring, it's acting exploration for second- and third-graders... then kindergarten and first.

 

After-school classes are this weird Twilight Zone area for students: They're out of school, but they're not out of school. So teaching an after-school arts class - which is pretty much guaranteed to be full of imaginative, energetic kids - can be just that much more exhausting. Teaching an after-school arts class to kindergartners in the Twilight Zone... Jeez. I can barely have a coherent conversation afterward.

 

I do love arts education, and I am deeply convinced of its value and necessity. But it ain't always easy.

 

This year's second-third grade class was called Monster Hunters. Every week, we "traveled" to The Island of Forgotten Monsters - which we figured out, as a group, how to get there (it involved a portal). We were given hints by the "monster" who lived in the classroom, which the class was able to draw, one line at a time, and learn the name of, one letter at a time, as the marker was passed from student to student, until everyone decided the tasks were complete. As it turned out, this monster's name was Paqufcezam, but we called it "Paq," and when it started leaving letters for us, outlining the day's adventure, this class decided to write back.

 

Reading a letter from Paq. I love this picture.

 

This Monster Hunters class is a version of what's called "process drama," in which the instructor essentially sets up parameters, and then lets the class take over the group storytelling. It's fun, because, as the instructor, I have no idea what each class will bring. It's tiring because, as the instructor, there is no way I can prepare. Also, I have to keep my eye on the clock so we dismiss on time, and that's a challenge when I have to work "returning to the classroom" into the story.

 

But it's totally worth it.

 

What wonderful goofballs.

 

 

So today was the last session of K-first's six-week Acting Safari class. It's also a process drama class, in which we mysteriously receive an envelope each week, informing us of Where, and When, we'll be traveling. The first class is spent creating the mode of transportation, which can travel through space AND time. This class decided to build a vehicle, complete with a kitchen and bunk beds, that launches off of a roller coaster track and into the air. When we get to where we're going, we can shrink the Where-and-When Machine and make it invisible, so we can carry it with us and don't lose it, which is a really nice feature. (Also, between classes, we can leave it in the room and no one will bother it.) Today, we went to Saturn, in the year 3000. Since 2014, it's changed from a gas giant to having a "robot" surface, so that was handy. Unfortunately, we had to defeat King Darth Vader (once you defeat the King, all the other Darth Vader clones are destroyed), and that took some strategizing. It was decided that some of us would distract King Darth Vader, while the rest of us snuck up behind him to hit the "OFF" button on his light-saber-holding arm. We knew this would work, because once it's switched off, he can't switch it back on, because King Darth Vader's other hand is a spoon. Duh.

 

Of course, we were victorious.

 

 

Because what could possibly go wrong, with this group of adventurers?



 



 

 

 

So. Art. The visual kind.

Drawing, I suppose, was my first artistic expression. I guess it's probably everyone's. My mother tells me that I stopped all visual art expression when I was in eighth grade, after my art teacher at school told me I was "doing it wrong." It took me until college to pick it up again, but by then I'd been seized by the Theatre Monster, and anything non-performance-related was relegated to the back burner. I did occasionally find time to make jewelry and sew and decoupage, but all in fits and starts.

 

This fall, during Carrie, I found myself surrounded by people who art pretty much all day, every day. I have other friends who are visual artists, but I don't go to their house after a show and sing or paint until all hours of the morning. So I became inspired again. I started carrying around a sketch book. I drew almost every day. I posted some photos on Facebook.

 

And a crazy thing happened. Someone commissioned art from me. And paid me. Then someone else did too, only they wanted something bigger.

 

Memo line of my first art sale

 

 

So, here are a few photos of the things I've been working on recently. Let me know if you want to own one. Or more than one, even. Because all the cool kids are doing it.

 

Heidi Heidi Heidi OH!  -  Sold

 

Taped Before a Live Audience  -  Sold

 

 

Spring is Sure to Follow  -  Sold

 

Press Conference 

 

Immediate Lemonade

Hidden in This Picture

This is my arm, and it is not for sale.

"Variations on a Theme"

In January, Heidi Van asked me if I'd be interested in presenting a reading of a short play (60 minutes) at her space, The Fishtank Performance Studio, for her series called Spring Shorts. I jumped at the chance.

 

Then I pondered, with my partner Bryan, what to do. There was less than two months before the performance date, so we were considering doing something that was already finished, or at least started. Writing a new play was out. No time.

 

But then Bryan suggested putting together a play that was several short scene that were variations on a theme, so there would be minimal writing. I changed that up a bit, and within three days, I was writing a new play.

 

Because, of course, I knew there was no time to write a new play. But there I was, typing away.

 

Seized by a wave of inspiration, I cranked out 28 pages in three days. Then, my brain breaks screeched to a stop. It took me awhile to get going again, but within a couple of weeks, I had the first draft of (duh) Variations on a Theme.

 

The play consists of two actors portraying different characters in fifteen short scenes that all begin and end with the same few lines, and carry a common theme (well, of course). It was read by the incomparable Teri Adams and Parry Luellen to a crowd of thousands (the Fishtank seats about 50).

 

There was a talkback afterward, where the audience asked me various questions such as why I was moved to write it, how much we rehearsed, and if I had a favorite scene. There was also a heated discussion between audience members about whether it was "too long" or "perfect the way it is," that sort of thrilled me. It's nice when a work you've created gets people riled up.

Project Pride

PROJECT PRIDE
Back row, from left: Amanda Tilden, Josh Metje, Izze Loos, Martin Tomlinson.
Front row, from left: Leanna Varney, Christian Williamson, Claire Davis, Leah Brownlee.

 

 

Recently, I had the extraordinary good fortune to participate in the development of a performance piece with the brand-new LGBTIA-and-straight-allied teen theatre troupe, Project Pride. The Coterie Theatre's Education Director, Amanda Kibler, started it, and I elbowed my way in. (Just kidding. I only begged.)

 

As I believe I've mentioned in previous posts, devising theatre is the direction that my passion is taking, and working with LGBTIA youth is high up on my list of priorities. For months, we worked together (with co-director Zac Parker) to develop a show that was, at once, hilarious, touching, angering, and inspiring.

 

On March 8, we had our only performance (this year), with a pre-show by The Pride Players from Omaha. The audience was large, and receptive. They laughed, they hooted and hollered, they cried. I burst into proud tears at curtain call.

 

These teens (including my amazifying niece) are gorgeous examples of love, beauty, passion, collaboration, communication, and acceptance. The future looks bright.