Fellows Spotlight: David Gomez

Posted on September 27, 2021 by Hannah Kloepfer

Welcome to the DGF Fellows Spotlight.

This series of interviews put the spotlight on individual DGF Fellows and invites you to take a behind-the-scenes look at our program.The 2020-2021 class of fellows was asked a series of questions exploring where they’ve been, what they’re up to now, and what they hope for the future.

We thank you for following this series and supporting the work of these talented writers. We conclude the 2020-2021 Spotlight series with the following interview with DGF Fellow, David Gomez.

What was your first experience with theater?

Do you have any upcoming work you’d like to share?

Fellows Spotlight: Juan Ramirez Jr.

Posted on August 31, 2021 by Hannah Kloepfer

Welcome to the DGF Fellows Spotlight.

This series of interviews put the spotlight on individual DGF Fellows and invites you to take a behind-the-scenes look at our program.

The 2020-2021 class of fellows was asked a series of questions exploring where they’ve been, what they’re up to now, and what they hope for the future.

Please take your seats, unwrap your candies, and silence your cellphones as we put the spotlight on Juan Ramirez Jr.

What was your first experience with theater?

I remember the characters in my neighborhood, standing on the street corners or stoops, their stage, performing for each other, whether it was rap cyphers, cee-lo, drunk rants or fights. It was all drama to me. 

It took me some time to feel my first theater experience. I had seen a few shows but I think I was only understanding the stories, but not feeling them. A fortunate last-minute-extra-ticket-invite took me to Shakespeare in the Park, where I saw George C. Wolfe’s production of Tony Kushner’s adapted play Mother Courage and Her Children by Bertolt Brecht. Starring Meryl Streep and Kevin Kline. Now if this wasn’t going to inspire me, what will? The performance has had such an impact on me that I penned my own Bronx homage work. To this day, I keep chasing the experience of that play. 

When did you decide to become a writer? Is there a writer, show, or piece of writing that was particularly influential on your path?

I think you are a writer and the becoming is in the craft. I feel writers go through three significant moments when deciding on becoming a writer. Exposure, Encouragement and Evidence. Sounds scientific, right? First, we’re exposed to the art, we fall in love with it and want to understand it better. After a writer embraces their voice, someone, usually a teacher or mentor, gives us that validation or rather, encouragement. Then, after grinding mad crazy, we get a unique compliment that’s our own. A personal recognition, an added memory for someone, or, if we’re lucky, even an award. But most often than not, even a rejection can inspire. 

With all that said, I noticed writing when I was forced to do it as a kid. I soon took to drawing and began telling stories that way. I can’t remember the grade but I was young and a fellow classmate wanted to have a drawing competition with me. The best drawing wins. I created an entire illustration with characters, plots, beginning, middle and end – all to lose out because it was too long. Now I can’t remember anything of what I created but I remember how everyone kept talking about my story. How what I did should be a real comic. This is when I realized how inspiring a story can be. After a few self-taught screenplays later, I was at Lehman College’s theater program, where I met the first person who ever told me I had a talent to write story, William M. Hoffman. After self-producing my plays, I experienced how my work inspired audience members, especially as I spoke about my own tribe, and took every opportunity I could to tell a Bronx story. It wasn’t long before I decided to get an MFA at NYU. Who knows? Maybe a PhD is in my future. After this past year, I have officially taken on writing full-time. And now I’m creating stories in genres and mediums that are completely new to me. The journey of deciding to be a writer is always happening. To tell you truthfully, it’s every morning that I get up and decide to be a writer.

How do you describe your work overall? What sets your work apart?

My work is about giving voice to the voiceless. About creating artivism. Thinking of art and science in the same way. About exploring humanity in all its ugly and presenting that in the most beautiful of ways. I ask for the truth of myself and of the themes I take on. And if I’m lucky to find an answer, I ask, “And then what?” 

I think about my ancestors, my kin, descendants and what stories of today they would share. The closest we get to immortality is story. My mother took on the journey to come to this country while pregnant with me and my father was denied hospital access to see my birth. I’m a Nuyorican, Guatemalteco, Spaniard, Tanío, Mayan, African mix from the Boogie Down. I’m filled with story and perspective because I am story. I’m a Juan Man Show.

Can you tell us a little bit about the work you’ve been developing as a Fellow?

My play Calling Puerto Rico is about Joél, a hermit living in an attic apartment of a NYC private house, where he uses a ham radio, a device used for non-commercial communication, to connect with people, like Debra, an astronaut on the International Space station. After getting news about the potential for a third hurricane to hit Puerto Rico named Maria, he decides to contact and hopefully, save the person he hasn’t spoken to in a year, his grandfather, Aníbal. As both suffer from the same generational trauma of being afraid to go outside, Joél wants to safely get Aníbal out of Puerto Rico, because then maybe, he’ll find the strength to leave his attic too. The play focuses on hopelessness and the urgency of communication, asking ourselves, “When we hear cries for help, is it enough to only listen?” and if we are listening, “What will it take for us to finally respond?”

This work is an attempt to archive a moment in history, hopefully to remind ourselves of the fragile state we sometimes live in. More so, I’m obsessed with truth, in definition to how our characters view their lives. For this play, one of those truths I aim to explore is how important it is to feel hopeful.

What do you find most rewarding about your work as a writer?

I’m never the same person after any story I write. Sure, sometimes it’s cathartic, other times it’s all exploration, and I could describe to you how it’s probably the only thing I’m good at but honestly, it’s the only thing I want to be good at. I’m full of opinions, ideas and questions and as someone who has been speaking their truth since a young age, I want to share that. When your play is on stage and an audience laughs, you laugh. When they cry, you cry. And it’s this bridge between us that reminds us we’re universal. In this vast space we exist in, for a moment, we’re connected and we’re no longer alone. Writing is feeling and feeling is rewarding. 

Do you have any upcoming work you’d like to share?

I’ve been awarded the Bronx Council on the Arts New Work grant, where I am writing a play titled A Love Letter To The Bronx [@ALoveLetterToTheBronx], where after production, I will release the rights for free for community members to produce the work for educational or fundraising.

I’m a teaching artist with Art Defined, a Bronx based non-profit, where we’ve partnered to develop The Flip The Script Anthology Series, where writers will develop and produce their first works. 

This year, I was accepted into the Block by Block Artist grant with Rattlestick Playwrights Theatre, where I performed an excerpt of my first official Juan Man Show titled Broadway Of The Bronx. Follow on social media as the character Angel will soon start making an appearance. 

Part of the American Theater Group PlayLab and Latinx Playwrights Circle, I’m always writing new works and looking to meet new artists. Find me. Say what’s up. 

Thank you, Juan, for contributing to the blog! Find Juan and “Say what’s up” by following:

Website: www.JuanRamirezJr.com | IG: @AJuanManShow  | TWITTER: JuanMRamirezJr

Fellows Spotlight: Calley N. Anderson

Posted on August 10, 2021 by Hannah Kloepfer

Welcome to the DGF Fellows Spotlight.

This series of interviews put the spotlight on individual DGF Fellows and invites you to take a behind-the-scenes look at our program.

The 2020-2021 class of fellows was asked a series of questions exploring where they’ve been, what they’re up to now, and what they hope for the future.

Please take your seats, unwrap your candies, and silence your cellphones as we put the spotlight on Calley N. Anderson!

What was your first experience with theater?

I saw a touring company production of Elton John & Tim Rice’s “Aida” at the Orpheum Theatre in Memphis, TN (my hometown and deepest love) when I was a kid. I can’t quite remember what age I was, maybe around 11 or 12, but I remember being struck by this world where a world beyond my own could be made real right in front of me so earnestly. It was one of those moments that my brain stored that wouldn’t fully materialize again until college. That’s where I took my first play analysis class and started to find the right language for exactly why theater moved me. It would take three more years for me to realize that I wanted to not just study plays, but to write them myself.

When did you decide to become a writer? Is there a writer, show, or piece of writing that was particularly influential on your path?

Funny enough, I didn’t decide I wanted to be a writer until after I’d written my first one-act play. It was a final project for a class in undergrad and, after finishing it, I felt this kind of loss that I’d never quite experienced before. I wanted more of the challenge, the rush, the complexity. Sure, I’d flirted with the idea a little–I was also taking film classes at the time and working on a short screenplay–but I didn’t put any real weight behind it. But my advisor, who encouraged me to take the playwriting class, said I should try it. Then the teacher of the playwriting class said I should keep going once the final project was over and done. And then I won an award for that final project three months before graduation. The rule of three, you know? So I graduated, and I committed. As much as any unemployed college graduate could; I moved home, started working at local performing arts nonprofits by day, and wrote at night. Eventually, that led to graduate school applications, then graduate school, and here I am now–still committed, pandemic and all!

As far as writers and pieces that stuck with me enough that I count them as “influential,” I think of Blue Door by Tanya Barfield. I studied it in my advisor’s play analysis class and have probably read that play more than any other I own. There’s something about it that made me say “that–that’s what I want to do”. And it’s not just about the playwriting part, but about the kinds of stories I want to explore, the characters I want to interrogate and unearth. And it’s a truly amazing two-hander (which I’ve still never written–still a bit intimidated by it). 

How do you describe your work overall? What sets your work apart?

I’m fascinated by moment-to-moment shifts in human behavior and how unstable it can be when you try to rely on it. It comes up in a lot of my work. When I do my own beat analysis for my plays, those pivotal shifts can happen anywhere from mid-line for a character to two or three lines of dialogue, but a beat rarely lasts much longer than that for me. I like to think of it as my characters keeping me on my toes and consistently surprising me with what they’re responding to and experiencing. I tend to mix those shifts with subject matter that reaches into the uncomfortable muck that we like to glaze over in our interactions with others–the things that we act like aren’t working (for or against) us in the moment. Those things go into a funnel that more times than not has to do with history, culture, lineage, truth, and legacy (with a Memphis-Southern-Black lens on it). Then, with a lot of patience and a lot of listening to the characters’ voices, a play comes out of the funnel’s bottom. I don’t think any of that individually sets my work apart exactly, but I think my blender is unique because of my Southern Black womanness. It invades all the questions I ask, all the perspectives I’m interested in, how my characters speak and listen, what worlds come to a larger stage, and what I push an audience to walk away seeing and feeling and understanding. 

Can you tell us a little bit about the work you’ve been developing as a Fellow?

The Alligator is a story about legacies, secrets, relationships, mental illness, fear, and coming-of-age in Blackness. It is a Southern gothic tale about Bradley, a 15-year-old Black kid who, after suffering a mental breakdown, just wants to get back to doing normal 15-year-old things with his best friends Kings and Darryl  (like learning to drive). But when he suddenly finds himself being haunted by a looming figure donning a pimp suit made entirely of alligator skin, Bradley has to turn to the only person he knows who has seen this figure before–his estranged father, Kirk. No one believed Kirk when the figure showed up the first time, but now that the figure has his sights set on Bradley, the two must forge down this path together despite the years of distance and pain between them. It is naturally set in Memphis and is full of so much that I love. 

I’ve gone through so many very different drafts of this play (six!)  and feel like, with DGF Fellows, I finally ended up on the path that works and is right for these characters. The Alligator showed up one day and made clear to me that he wouldn’t go away until I did him justice, so he’s been haunting me just as he haunts Bradley. I’m really excited to see where the road takes us next–The Alligator is such a physically daunting character. It will be thrilling to meet him in the flesh (whenever the pandemic allows me to do that)! 

What do you find most rewarding about your work as a writer?

That I get to witness people shift, ask themselves questions, ask others questions, reevaluate their positions after thinking about a character or a moment days later, disagree with how a character handled a thing, feel a way about me writing a thing, that anyone cares enough to do any of those things. I think often people feel (or are led to believe) that theater is something they applaud because that’s what you’re supposed to do or say they loved something when they didn’t. It’s thrilling to me that my work leaves a window open for people to be honest about how they feel, whether they say it to me directly or not. My work picks at truth and the many definitions of it even when it’s difficult. So far, the people who engage with my work feel they are allowed to do the same. It’s brilliant. I never want people to not feel that way. I love that people, so far, have not felt that way.

Thank you, Calley, for contributing to the blog! You can stay up to date on Calley’s work by following @calley_ands.

Fellows Spotlight: Mike Ross

Posted on July 28, 2021 by Hannah Kloepfer

Welcome to the DGF Fellows Spotlight.

This series of interviews put the spotlight on individual DGF Fellows and invites you to take a behind-the-scenes look at our program.

The 2020-2021 class of fellows was asked a series of questions exploring where they’ve been, what they’re up to now, and what they hope for the future.

Please take your seats, unwrap your candies, and silence your cellphones as we put the spotlight on Mike Ross!

What was your first experience with theater?

Hmm. I know I saw a community theater production of Grease at some point in my Minnesotan childhood, but I wouldn’t call it seminal. My first time BEING in theater, though, was this thing in fourth grade called “Destination Imagination,” where you & your fellow elementary schoolers wrote & put together a short show based on a writing prompt. Then you built a set & lugged it out to one school gym or another to compete against other children. I may have been a little too pushy about writing the scripts, but it got us to state, so, I mean, who’s to say. What’s certain is that the first time an audience laughed at something I wrote, a long and vicious positive feedback loop was born. Also, I played a tiger. THAT’S seminal.

When did you decide to become a writer? Is there a writer, show, or piece of writing that was particularly influential on your path?

In first grade we were assigned to write a short story, and I wrote a whole book called “Space Trip” about me, my friends, and my dog on said space trip. I remember being absolutely sure that this was what I wanted to do forever, and while that never really wavered, certain artists were influential both in how much I loved their work and in how transparent they were about how they got to be working writers: Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett, Tig Notaro, Rachel Bloom, Adam Schlesinger, Ngozi Ukazu, and Menken/Ashman, to name a few.

How do you describe your work overall? What sets your work apart?

In terms of my voice, I don’t think I can write anything that doesn’t have a sense of humor, even or especially if I’m upset about something. I’ve heard you’re supposed to write what you would actually like to read or see, and what I like is entertainment that makes me think while still being, you know, entertaining, so I do my best to do that. In terms of content, I never get tired of taking big ur-characters we all know (Lewis & Clark, Adam & Eve, Odysseus & sirens, etc) and using them to explore my preoccupations/obsessions (kissing, worrying, singing Bruce Springsteen, etc). 

Can you tell us a little bit about the work you’ve been developing as a Fellow?

Yes! LEWIS LOVES CLARK is a historical tragicomedy about exactly what it sounds like: Meriwether Lewis, a dreamy, depressed alcoholic, is desperately in love with his best friend and co-captain, William Clark, even as he begins to suspect Clark may not be such a great guy. It also explores other aspects of the famous Corps of Discovery that people today don’t necessarily know or think about. Really, it’s a show about the way we are pulled through life looking for answers to things we can’t know, like: does the Northwest Passage exist, or am I unknowingly complicit in a national tragedy, or does this boy like me back, and so on. The fellowship is helping me – and my fellow Fellow and brilliant composer Dylan MarcAurele – figure out how to balance tone in a piece that is as stuffed to the brim with horrible and/or hilarious events as real life tends to be. It is also helping us to just, you know, actually write the darn show. 10/10, would recommend the experience.

What do you find most rewarding about your work as a writer?

I could just say “making people laugh” and that would be true, but the second, even truer answer is “making people laugh because I wrote down something very specific to me, something that I almost thought maybe only I found funny or upsetting or interesting, and then by dint of live theater, finding out other people felt that way too.” Finishing a first draft of lyrics also feels pretty great.

Do you have any upcoming work you’d like to share?

My third book for young readers, Game Over, will be out sometime next year. In the meantime, I’m excited to keep working on Lewis Loves Clark with Dylan and the invaluable support of DGF!

Thank you, Mike, for contributing to the blog! You can stay up to date on Mike’s work by following @mcrossisnotapun on Twitter and by visiting mikerosswrites.com

Fellows Spotlight: Regina Velázquez

Posted on July 16, 2021 by Hannah Kloepfer

Welcome to the DGF Fellows Spotlight.

This series of interviews put the spotlight on individual DGF Fellows and invites you to take a behind-the-scenes look at our program.

The 2020-2021 class of fellows was asked a series of questions exploring where they’ve been, what they’re up to now, and what they hope for the future.

Please take your seats, unwrap your candies, and silence your cellphones as we put the spotlight on Regina Velázquez!

What was your first experience with theater?

My parents weren’t big theater-goers, which was more about economics and education than it was about their love for seeing live performances. I remember going to see a production of “South Pacific” at Hiwassee College in Madisonville, Tennessee, when I was in elementary school. I’m not sure if my folks knew someone who was performing or if they’d been given tickets; I do know that I probably sang “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair” for a month straight afterward. We had the soundtrack (vinyl) to “Fiddler on the Roof,” and I wore down the grooves on “Sunrise, Sunset,” but I never saw it live. We went to church a lot—I mean, a LOT—and there can be a hefty amount of pageantry there.

My brief acting phase was in 5th grade, when I was part of a very small troupe that performed a Cinderella-meets-Ugly-Duckling kind of play. The director, Miss Ginny, took one look at my frizzy hair and buck teeth and cast me as the ugly girl. She made me take off my glasses for the final scene to show that I had transformed into the beautiful princess. I could barely stumble my way over to the prince. On our road tour to another elementary school, my brother got sick and managed to roll his window down just in time to lose his Filet-O-Fish all down the side of Miss Ginny’s car, so I truly feel that karma played the last card.

In high school, I went on a field trip with my English class to a production of “Romeo and Juliet” at the University of Tennessee. I anticipated a fun bus trip and a boring play. But I was blown away by the performance. The stage was a series of white platforms at different levels. The guy who played Romeo was sexy and intriguing. The actors wore neon-colored spandex outfits (it was the ’80s) and some had football padding underneath, so when they fought, they hit each other hard, jumping from one platform to another. They ran and screamed and spat big loogies and kissed passionately and breathed loudly. I was fascinated that such an old play could have this tremendous energy. I think that moment transformed how I thought about theater. I realized it doesn’t have to be stuffy and dull, performed only for an audience of well-heeled elite. It can be raw and sweaty, and it can resonate with a broad audience—even a bunch of unsophisticated high schoolers.

When did you decide to become a writer? Is there a writer, show, or piece of writing that was particularly influential on your path?

I’ve always known that writing would be part of my career, although I originally aimed for advertising, thinking there would be more money down that road—but I decided I would rather my words make people feel something than make them want to buy something. Writing fiction for a living seemed like a dream to me for many years, even though I earned an M.A. in creative writing. I would write something and never send it out, or start something and never finish it. When I got into the publishing world as an editor, it felt nearly impossible to write on my own because so much of my creative energy went into my work. And editing typically pays so little that I often took on freelance work that I’d do on nights and weekends. Add in a couple of kids and some serious health scares, and I barely had anything left. 

Fortunately, I got involved with the Williamstown Theatre Festival’s Community Works playwriting intensive, and the wonderful support and encouragement from that experience really helped me turn my vision around. I’m working on whittling out distractions in my life and giving myself more space to work on creative pieces. Being a DGF Fellow is having an amazing impact on how I think about my writing. I’m not just screaming (or sobbing) into the void anymore; I’m finding opportunities to connect with people.

Many Southern Gothic writers have had an influence on me: Flannery O’Connor, Eudora Welty, Tennessee Williams, Toni Morrison, William Faulkner. I love the dark humor and the quirkiness of the characters, but mostly I admire the way they set up a facade—whether it’s of wealth, piety, politeness, or knowledge—and then break it all down.

Ultimately, though, my family—both the one I was born into and the one I married into—is full of great storytellers whose tales have impacted me on a daily basis. Everyone has great stories. They’re part of who we are.

How do you describe your work overall? What sets your work apart?

I can’t escape my Southern roots, no matter how hard I try. That element of politeness we equate with Southerners is almost always in my writing, but I do like to pick at it and show the less-than-savory realities that lie beneath the surface. At the same time, I’m not necessarily trying to tear down an entire group of people; these are people I love and respect, and though I might not agree with them, I can often understand where they’re coming from. I think one of my jobs as a writer is to help people from the rest of the country (world, too?) understand Southerners, fundamentalists, middle/red state America—even as I’m struggling to figure them out myself. I like to mix humor and drama thoroughly, I subscribe to painful honesty, and I love to surprise the audience with something completely unexpected.

Can you tell us a little bit about the work you’ve been developing as a Fellow?

I’m working on a play called “Space and Time” that’s semi-autobiographical. It’s about a woman, Hope, who’s visiting her parents on an annual pilgrimage from the Northeast to her hometown of Knoxville, Tennessee, and finds them in a much more precarious state than she’d realized they were in. Her father is suffering from Alzheimer’s, and her mother’s physical health is declining. After observing a couple of incidents, she acknowledges that they need help, and she feels a sense of duty to move back to Tennessee and take care of them. But her marriage is on the rocks, so she also feels compelled to try and save it, which means staying in the Northeast.

Hope’s two children are on this trip with her. They’re at the age where they’re becoming aware of political and religious differences, and they have a lot of questions. Why is their grandmother so faithful to her church, even when it means condemning her family? Why doesn’t Hope stand up to her parents? How can you love someone even when you fundamentally disagree with them? How much crap should you take from another person in a relationship? I want the kids to ask the questions in a safe zone—their grandparents’ house—and invite the discussions that I think people should be having with each other right now.

What do you find most rewarding about your work as a writer?

Especially with this play, whenever someone reads or hears part of it and says, “That reminds me of my grandfather…” or, “When I was a kid, we also used to…,” I feel like I’ve succeeded. I love it when something I write inspires others to tell their own story. It’s like a chain reaction, and I believe it’s that kind of human connection, through stories and understanding, that writers can change the world.

Thank you, Regina, for contributing to the blog! You can stay up to date on Regina’s work by following @regina.l.velazquez on Instagram and @RegVelazquez on Twitter.

Fellows Spotlight: John-Michael Lyles

Posted on June 22, 2021 by Hannah Kloepfer

Welcome to the DGF Fellows Spotlight.

This series of interviews put the spotlight on individual DGF Fellows and invites you to take a behind-the-scenes look at our program.

The 2020-2021 class of fellows was asked a series of questions exploring where they’ve been, what they’re up to now, and what they hope for the future.

Please take your seats, unwrap your candies, and silence your cellphones as we put the spotlight on John-Michael Lyles!

What was your first experience with theater?

My first experience with theater was seeing the tour of The Lion King with my Mom many years ago. We sat way up high and shared a pair of binoculars and when Rafiki popped off, I was never the same.

When did you decide to become a writer? Is there a writer, show, or piece of writing that was particularly influential on your path?

I began writing music when I got my first guitar at age 12. It began as a form of therapy, a sort of musical journalling that never stopped. It was Tarell Alvin McCraney’s “Choir Boy” that opened my eyes to how Blackness, Queerness and musical storytelling could intersect on a proscenium. It was Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl” that taught me how much epic, romantic and prophetic energy can be housed in a poem or lyric.

How do you describe your work overall? What sets your work apart?

Because I grew up in a Black household, I learned hands-on that survivors are sustained by anthems and that our resilience requires rhythm. My music is an acoustic antidote to abandonment and indifference. My storytelling seeks to illuminate pathways for those experiencing scarcity. Through southern-fried melodies, I create catharsis for the queerdos, poetry for the ostracized and bops for the apocalypse!

Can you tell us a little bit about the work you’ve been developing as a Fellow?

David Gomez and I are working towards a third draft of our musical Shoot for the Moon! It takes place in Harlem, 100 years ago. It explores a forbidden gay love affair between Mercy Wheatley, a Black prizefighter, and Federico García Lorca, a celebrated Spanish poet who is studying abroad. While they’re falling in love amidst the Harlem Renaissance, they’re forced to overcome cultural barriers, the cut throat boxing world, and Mercy’s impending wedding. It’s a sexy, sweaty and surreal musical that will leave you wondering: how hard would you fight for love?

What do you find most rewarding about your work as a writer?

I usually write from guitar, so when I finally get to that step where someone has arranged my song for a band or orchestra, 10/10 I’m gonna cry. The beauty of that expansion is one of my favorite things!

Do you have any upcoming work you’d like to share?

I’m looking forward to further developing Shoot for the Moon at the Rhinebeck Writer’s Retreat with David Gomez!

Thank you, John-Michael, for contributing to the blog! You can stay up to date on John-Michael’s work by following @jmlyles1 on Instagram and Twitter or visiting www.john-michaellyles.com

Fellows Spotlight: Eliana Pipes

Posted on May 28, 2021 by Hannah Kloepfer

Welcome to the DGF Fellows Spotlight.

This series of interviews put the spotlight on individual DGF Fellows and invites you to take a behind-the-scenes look at our program.

The 2020-2021 class of fellows was asked a series of questions exploring where they’ve been, what they’re up to now, and what they hope for the future.

Please take your seats, unwrap your candies, and silence your cellphones as we put the spotlight on Eliana Pipes!

What was your first experience with theater?

I can’t recall a first experience in the theater, because thankfully it’s been part of my life as long as I can remember. My parents met in a writers group/book club, so needless to say they’ve always appreciated the arts and made an effort to take me to see live theater.  I grew up in a pocket of Los Angeles called Culver City, and in the early 2000’s two theaters opened blocks from my house which gave me access to a lot of free arts education very early in my life. In particular, a nonprofit called YoungStorytellers that came into my elementary school and gave me a mentor to guide me through writing my first script in the 4th grade.  YoungStorytellers was the first of a string of arts nonprofits — from Center Theater Group’s education department, to Sony Studios, to the Actor’s Gang — that shepherded me into the theater.  Thanks to them, the arts and advocacy have always been tied for me.

When did you decide to become a writer? Is there a writer, show, or piece of writing that was particularly influential on your path?

I’d been commandeering girl scouts skits and putting on backyard plays with friends for a long time before I ever really considered myself a writer — but for me, a turning point came in high school.  I went to a public performing arts school as an actress, and I quickly became frustrated with the kinds of roles that were available to me as a young woman of color (the spunky best friend or supportive girlfriend if I was lucky, more often than not the silent maid).  

I started writing plays in my junior year of high school as part of a conscious effort to create space for myself and my friends, to create roles that felt authentic, where we could reimagine and redefine who we could be.  One of my high school plays ended up being part of our school’s fourth year project, which I’ll always be proud of. Countless plays and writers were influential, too many to thank here — but I try to thank them in my writing instead. 

How do you describe your work overall? What sets your work apart?

My body of work is incredibly varied because experimenting with style and form is part of how I have my fun. After staring down the barrel of an American canon that seemed entirely uninterested in people like me, I was immediately drawn to experimental theater that shattered tradition, challenged norms, and moved the goalposts on what a play could be.  

Now, my point of view as an artist stems from a devotion to spectacle in service of story — plays where the dramatic frame and devices are crucial to the theme. I want each play to feel like its own genre invention. I’ve written surreal dreamscapes on reality TV, drag fairy tales, meta-theatrical vignette epics, and even a naturalistic two hander. The play I’m working on for the [DGF Fellows Program] begins with a man’s liver sitting in a cooler on ice.  

Even with the variation, there are still common threads.  I always reach for large-scale theatricality, for imagism and heart.  I always write marginalized characters who have agency, who have complicated desires.  And my writing is always ferociously personal. 

Can you tell us a little bit about the work you’ve been developing as a Fellow?

The Cowboy and the Moon uses imagistic spectacle to explore the way a modern-day alcoholic Father sees himself within his addiction: as a wandering Cowboy in the Wild West. But outside of the Father’s drunken fantasy, the real world churns on for his wife and daughter.  The women must negotiate between playing along with his Prairie world and grappling with the impact of his drinking on their day-to-day lives.  

I’m aiming to confront and subvert the western theater canon, which is full of stories of Alcoholic White Fathers, usually written by Alcoholic White Sons. I felt called to disrupt that lineage by moving beyond naturalism, introducing the lenses of gender and race, and approaching all characters in the orbit of addiction with compassion.

What do you find most rewarding about your work as a writer?

For me, the most rewarding thing about being a writer harkens back to those early experiences of making space — both by making space for other artists to practice their craft, and also creating a vocabulary that makes people feel seen.   

My early relationship with writing came out of feeling isolated — thinking that nobody else shared or understood my experiences.  But then, once I’d committed to articulating those experiences in writing, I got the absolute shock of discovering that there *were* other people who shared my experiences, we just hadn’t been given a shared vocabulary for expressing them.  And that vocabulary is also rendered by actors and designers who bring their own experience and expertise into the work. 

One of my happiest writing career memories came during rehearsal for a festival showing of my play DREAM HOU$E. I had invented a convention in the play where brackets would indicate when a word was pronounced in Spanish — so [Julia] for the Spanish hu-lia pronunciation and [Julia] for the english pronunciation. That convention opened up a world of new conversations for us in the room — how would a character pronounce “quesadilla”? Or what about her mothers name? In the process, we all reflected on how we code switched in different spaces and realized we all had common experiences that we thought we were alone in. 

To me, the greatest gift of being a writer is being able to facilitate those moments of questioning and communion — whether it’s just for myself in the glow of my laptop as I’m drafting, or for a group of actors doing table work, or (hopefully) eventually for a full house and a long run.

Do you have any upcoming work you’d like to share?

Yes! 

I wrote a solo show called “Unf*ckwithable” about a girl living in a van, vlogging for #vanlife by day and shooting down delivery drones to loot the contents by night.  It was  produced for Drama League’s Directorfest and directed by Cristina Angeles.  The show is fully designed and recorded from a theater — which has been so thrilling to watch after a year on Zoom.  It’s available to stream from June 14-21 202 and tickets are available at: https://directorfest.org/unfuckwithable

Thank you Eliana, for contributing to the blog! You can stay up to date on Eliana’s work by following @elianapipes on Instagram and Twitter or visiting www.elianapipes.com

Fellows Spotlight: Dylan MarcAurele

Posted on April 6, 2021 by Hannah Kloepfer

Welcome to the DGF Fellows Spotlight.

This series of interviews put the spotlight on individual DGF Fellows and invites you to take a behind-the-scenes look at our program.

The 2020-2021 class of fellows was asked a series of questions exploring where they’ve been, what they’re up to now, and what they hope for the future.

Please take your seats, unwrap your candies, and silence your cellphones as we put the spotlight on Dylan MarcAurele!

What was your first experience with theater?

I didn’t grow up with much exposure to theater. I didn’t get to see a Broadway musical until I was in college. But I did go to a public high school without much arts funding, which is cool because one year I was asked to music direct the school musical. In retrospect I had no idea what I was doing, and I’m sure I would laugh if I saw a tape of it today, but I had a blast and have been working in theater ever since.

When did you decide to become a writer? Is there a writer, show, or piece of writing that was particularly influential on your path?

Harvard has a tradition called the “First Year Musical” where a group of first-years is selected to write, produce, and direct a two-act musical. I applied on a whim and somehow they let me do it, and we (including my DGF collaborator Mike Ross) wrote a very silly show about a guy who goes to Hell and attempts to freeze it over in order to impress a girl. I still feel like I’m ‘winging it’ as a writer just as I did back then, but I’d say I’m most inspired by composers like Bobby Lopez and Lin Manuel Miranda who write songs that are hilarious, heartbreaking, and catchy.

How do you describe your work overall? What sets your work apart?

I’m still trying to figure out my voice. But one thing I care about is accessibility. I try to ask myself, “Will my friends outside of the theater community like this?” “Will my PARENTS like this?” I never want to write for an echo chamber, and I think it’s possible to create meaningful work that engages even the least ‘theater-obsessed’ audience members.

Can you tell us a little bit about the work you’ve been developing as a Fellow?

Our show is a folky/americana musical tragicomedy called Lewis Loves Clark. It’s a show about the aspects of the Lewis and Clark expedition that the history books don’t tell. It’s evolving as we’re writing it, so I’ll stop there!

What do you find most rewarding about your work as a writer?

Watching people’s reactions on opening night.

Thank you Dylan, for contributing to the blog!  Stay up to date on Dylan’s work here: 

IG and TW: @rhonymusical 

Fellows Spotlight: Christiana Cole

Posted on January 25, 2021 by Hannah Kloepfer

Welcome to the DGF Fellows Spotlight.

This series of interviews put the spotlight on individual DGF Fellows and invites you to take a behind-the-scenes look at our program.

The class of fellows was asked a series of questions exploring where they’ve been, what they’re up to now, and what they hope for the future.

Please take your seats, unwrap your candies, and silence your cellphones as we put the spotlight on Christiana Cole!

What was your first experience with theater?

I was a shy, anxious kid, and although I felt deep emotions, I struggled to express them. I felt misunderstood by my peers, and had trouble making friends. I felt very lost.

But then, something happened.

When I was 9 years old, I saw the national tour of CATS in my hometown of Austin, Texas. As Grizabella belted out “Memory,” a new sensation flooded my body: I was emotionally connected to the people around me. I was crying, which normally would have embarrassed me, but when I looked up, I saw that my parents were crying too. The whole audience was just as enrapt and sympathetic to the downtrodden glamour cat as I was. Suddenly, my emotions were not silly, or “too much” – they had a home, and that home was the stage. It was the best thing I had ever seen or felt. At that moment, I dedicated my life to musical theater.

In the days that followed, I obsessively re-enacted CATS at home, throwing couch cushions around to make the junkyard, wrapping a green quilt around my shoulders to be Grizabella one moment, and attempting spasmatic gymnastics as Mistoffeles the next. I began collecting cast albums and renting every possible movie musical from Blockbuster (except “Damn Yankees,” because it had a swear in the title, and I was a scrupulous Catholic child).

When did you decide to become a writer? Is there a writer, show, or piece of writing that was particularly influential on your path?

My senior year of high school, I had to decide whether I would major in creative writing or music. On the one hand, I was a compulsive journaler and poet, the comedy editor of my high school newspaper, and all-around English nerd. But, I was also a talented singer. I was first chair soprano in All State Choir both my junior and senior year (huge deal in Texas), plus I had been the ingenue in a dozen local kids theatre shows. In the end, I chose to study opera, because singing is essentially a sport: you must train your animal at a young age if you want to be competitive on a world-class level. I remember thinking, “Well, I’ll always write, but if I don’t get musical training now I’ll always regret it.”

I moved to New York to study opera at the Manhattan School of Music, where I got the best musical education money can buy. Although I preferred singing musical theater (I had only seen one opera before making the decision to major in it, and I fell asleep), I never considered majoring in musical theater. I knew that I wanted the most hard-core musical education I could get. I loved learning about the origins of music-drama, and finally wrapping my brain around music theory. I didn’t fit in very well with the singers, but I did fit in the with the composers, who became my best friends. I sang the hardest, weirdest new music I could get my chords on. I also began writing my own music and featured original works on both my junior and senior recitals. The composition faculty was very welcoming of me, a non-major, and allowed me to audit many composition classes. I also managed to audit a creative writing workshop at Columbia University, across the street. I am still so grateful for the years I spent at MSM, because they let me do my own thing and chase every angle of musicianship and creation.

After graduation I decided against pursuing an opera career because frankly, it was too expensive. (In classical singing, you pay to audition, and often work for free or near-nothing for many years.) I realized that unlike operaland, which operates as a museum/country club, Broadway was a real commercial business, so I began auditioning for musicals.

I attended a free seminar at the old Reproductions photo lab, where a nice lady named Judy talked to us about how to get an agent. But the thing that hit me hard was this flow chart. Judy put everything into perspective: at the top of the white board, she wrote the word “Producer,” the apex of the Broadway food chain. Below that, she wrote “Director,” then “Music Director,” “Assistant Director,” “Stage Manager,” so on and so on, until she got to “Junior Assistant Janitor.” She wrote “Actor” below that.

Then, she flew that magic little marker all the way up to the top of the pyramid. And at the tippy-top, above “Producer,” she wrote “WRITER.”

“Without the writer, no one else on this list has a job,” she said, poking the board for emphasis. “The writer is always the number one voice in the room.”

My student-loan-riddled, control-freak ass was sold at that point, although it would take years to accept it, because I was attached to the notion of being a singer.

But as time went on, I wrote more and more, and it became clearer and clearer that writing was a deeper, more intimate art form for me. I didn’t want to be a replaceable person, trying to do something interesting with “If I Loved You.” I wanted to bring something completely new into the world. I wanted to create entire universes for all those people on the flow chart to be a part of. I didn’t want to play Grizabella, I wanted to explode with a thousand Grizabellas, who could sing on and on long after I’m gone.

How do you describe your work overall? What sets your work apart?

My writing is weird, cute, unpredictable, colorful, wildly funny and deadly serious, and unlike anything I’ve ever seen. In the years leading up to now, I’ve written a musical about hamsters. I’ve written a musical about magic underwear. I’ve written a musical about a drag queen who fights Nazis. I like to write about things that only make sense on the stage. I like to write roles that actors feel excited to tackle because they’re unlike anything they’ve done before. I like to write melodies that feel cathartic to sing.

I am an autistic person (mildly impacted, I mask very well, I’m reasonably good at parties). I am also a non-binary person. I have felt my whole life that my brain is simply different from other people’s. For a long time, I felt ashamed and tried to blend in. But now, I’m proud of who I am. My unusual brain is the reason I write unusual things.

Looking ahead at the major works I have planned, one theme jumps out again and again: religion. I have spent decades of my life working as a professional church musician. Before attending MSM, I went to a small Christian college in Texas for two years where I test-drove evangelical Christianity, and otherwise I was an enthusiastic Catholic. But faith has a way of cracking when you put weight on it.

Some people like to write about romantic love, or certain time periods. But I am obsessed with writing about faith and magical thinking, and reframing stories we think we know to reveal the shocking truth beneath them. I have occasionally thought about changing my name to something more gender-neutral, but “Christiana” is so apt, given that a lot of my writing is somehow a reflection (or rebuttal) of Christianity.

In the years to come, I look forward to sharing my work with America and the world, because I think musical theater has thus far failed to examine religion in a large-scale, candid way. It usually gets an ecumenical, pro-delusion pass. But I think we’re ready for something more provocative now.

Can you tell us a little bit about the work you’ve been developing as a Fellow?

TRIBE WITHOUT A GOD is a new original musical comedy. It’s about a tribe of Neolithic people who are hit by a big flood, and almost all of them die in the river. That’s a problem! But it’s an even bigger problem…because they worshiped the River God. We follow runaway human sacrifice Silverlight as she falls in love with TomTom, an existential ex-River Priest struggling to lead a straggling band of survivors. Will the tribe keep worshiping the River God? Or is there a bigger, better god just around the corner, waiting to be worshiped? At its very core, TRIBE WITHOUT A GOD explores who and what gets sacrificed in a world where god and government are impossibly tangled.

The music is a cross between Radiohead, Joni Mitchell and Stephen Schwartz, and the tone is like The Simpsons. The entire cast will be wearing knit bodysuits that allow their characters to be naked onstage (without requiring nudity from actors). There are roles for all kinds of actors who are normally not centered: black trans women, Asian men, short dudes who are baritones, fat people, etc. Basically, a show that isn’t a love story between two white straight people with long legs. Sondheim says he goes to the theater to meet people he hasn’t met before, and I take that charge very seriously in my writing.

What do you find most rewarding about your work as a writer?

I find writing rewarding because if I didn’t write down all the things in my head, I would explode.

In all sincerity, there is nothing more thrilling than watching my words come to life with actors. I love making edits, I love rewriting, I love tweaking and finessing and fixing. I love it when a scene is perfect, when it has that SHWING! sparkle, with each line fitting perfectly in the chain, one pearl after another. My dad is a retired TV director for the local news, and my mom is a TV producer-turned-realtor. Between the two of them, they taught me about dramatic pacing, about how language should flow, how a show should be thrilling, how it’s not enough for something to be nice, it needs to be gripping. I live for those moments, both as a writer and an audience member.

Thank you Christiana, for contributing to the blog!  Stay up to date on Christiana’s work here: 

https://www.facebook.com/christianacolenyc

www.christianacole.com

Fellows Spotlight: Kyoung H. Park

Posted on September 10, 2020 by Hannah Kloepfer

Welcome to the DGF Fellows Spotlight.

This series of interviews put the spotlight on individual DGF Fellows and invite you to take a behind-the-scenes look at our program.

This year, you’ve met Jessica Kahkoska & Elliah Heifetz;  Paulo K Tiról, Andy Roninson, Kate Douglas, Avi Amon, Nikhil Mahapatra, Nolan Doran, and Andrew Rincón.

As we wrap up the 2019-2020 Fellows calendar year, we are pleased to feature Kyoung H. Park and Melis Aker, and we hope you’ll revisit the collection of Spotlights .

Each writer is asked a series of questions to help us get to know them better, while exploring where they’ve been, what they’re up to now, and what they hope for the future.

Please take your seats, unwrap your candies, and silence your cellphones as we put the spotlight on Kyoung H. Park!

What was your first experience with theater?

Growing up in Santiago, Chile, my first experience with theater was acting in middle school plays: I had small roles in David Ives’ “All in the Timing” and played Dracula in Tim Kelly’s “Seven Wives for Dracula.” I was a rather shy kid and a school nerd that often got bullied, so acting in plays helped me stay social and make new friends. In high school, I played the Marquis de Mascarille in Moliere’s “Two Precious Maidens Ridiculed,” Jean in Ionesco’s “Rhinoceros,” the Poet in Strindberg’s “Dreamplay,” Haemon in “Antigone” and the Nurse in an adaptation of “Romeo and Juliet” where all the characters’ genders were reversed. I think my drama teacher knew I was queer before I was able to admit it to myself – I found acting quite liberating and an opportunity to express myself and be seen! I mean, I was also a high school cheerleader – maybe I was just living in denial.

When did you decide to become a writer? Is there a writer, show, or piece of writing that was particularly influential on your path?

I moved to New York to study film directing at NYU, but after a year, I dropped out of film school and switched majors to Dramatic Writing. My first one-act play, PLAY FOOL, which was about a lesbian woman handcuffing a male escort over Christmas dinner so he could impregnate her, won a student writing competition and was produced in a basement theater in the West Village. Seeing my work produced changed my life; I decided to leave my film ambitions aside and figure out how to be a playwright. I became obsessed with tragedies – mostly because I came of age living through 9/11 – and Edward Albee’s “THE GOAT, or Who is Sylvia? (Notes Toward a Definition of Tragedy)” influenced my writing, for sure. Mr. Albee was actually my first mentor – I wrote to him after seeing THE GOAT, and he offered to talk with me about tragedy, read my plays, and he even invited me to write at his Barn in Montauk, which is where I wrote my first full length. Mr. Albee also taught me the importance of the Dramatists Guild’s work in protecting the rights of American playwrights, and how critical it is for theater artists to see and read as much theater as we can. Especially Brecht.

How do you describe your work overall? What sets your work apart?

Because I am an immigrant, I didn’t have access to traditional opportunities to develop and work in theaters. In fact, during my mid-twenties, I was deported so I spent a few years making theater abroad, working with companies such as Boal’s Theatre of the Oppressed in Rio de Janeiro and the Royal Court Theater in London. By the time I felt ready to give New York a second try, I made a commitment to myself that I’d immigrate to the States and write, direct, and self-produce my own work, to make sure I’d see my plays up on a stage. I founded my company, Kyoung’s Pacific Beat, eight years ago and in collaboration with artists from different cultures and different disciplines; we devise our work and center stories of (im)migration, queerness, identity and the ways these intersect in communities of color. Our company distinguishes itself for being a peacemaking theater company – our work values boundary-breaking discourse, aesthetic rigor, and non-violent, social change.

Can you tell us a little bit about the work you’ve been developing as a Fellow?

I’m working on a new play called NERO, which re-tells the story of George W. Bush’s War on Terror as an anachronistic rendition of Nero’s Roman Empire. NERO centers a white, male actor embodying white supremacy in the middle of a diverse ensemble representing a rising minority-majority vying for power. For me, I think this is my everything play—a play about peace and war; about the history that has shaped me; my inner conflicts becoming part of the American experiment—which can also be a violent, racist, Empire; and reconciling truth, memory, and history in a way that reflects my post traumatic experience of being alive in these times. In performance, the play asks: how do we center our cultures of origin, heal our (broken, migrant) relationships to land, and dismantle white supremacy to co-create a new “state of the nation” play? During my fellowship, I went through research materials I gathered from the George W. Bush Presidential Library in Dallas and I’m currently collaborating with composer Helen Yee, our lead actor Dave Gelles, video designer Marie Yokoyama, sound designer Lawrence Schober, and vocal coach Rachel Kodweis to create original songs for the show. Over the course of the next ten months, we’ll continue to collaborate virtually to develop a Zoom version of the play with support of a grant from the MAP Fund. As a peacemaking theater artist, I feel like this is an appropriate time to tell the story of a narcissistic tyrant who blissfully plays the lyre as his Empire catches fire.

What do you find most rewarding about your work as a writer?

I’m a survivor of childhood abuse; I’ve endured and witnessed physical, verbal, and sexual violence. I discovered my voice journaling in the fifth grade. My journal became the only safe space where I could express myself. A few years later, theater taught me how to wear a mask that allowed me to be heard and seen. Since then, I’ve worked as a playwright, director, and facilitator in order to live in my skin. I’m still healing from complex PTSD; if I don’t do this work, my memories fade into darkness. The way memories manifest in my plays is my way of processing the events of my past and my inherited, intergenerational trauma. I write to live because I’ve survived. I find this reminder utterly rewarding. Also, I’d like to express my gratitude for being part of this fellowship program. For two years, I couldn’t write a word and thought I had lost my voice. Lucy, Migdalia, Allison and my fellow fellows saw me crawl back to life through my writing. This opportunity could not have come at a better time. 

Thank you Kyoung, for contributing to the blog! You can stay up to date on Kyoung’s work by following him on social media: 

Instagram: @kyoungspacificbeat, @kyounghpark

Twitter: @kyoung_h_park

Facebook: Kyoung H. Park, Kyoung’s Pacific Beat

(Featured Image Credit: Tahir Karmali)