Hello there all my lovely arts enthusiasts. Here I am on my poorly maintained blog, but the thing is I don't like to write here when I don't have something to write about.
But right now, as MTM embarks on its tenth anniversary, I've got some stuff I'd like to say.
MTM was run by me and pretty much me alone for years. Early on I made the very big mistake of thinking I had the resources to create theatre on a big scale. I didn't. It got me into trouble. A lot of people lost faith in me. That sticks with me now almost ten years later. Why did I do it that way? What could I have done differently? Why didn't I just shut down? How could someone with such good intentions end up getting such a shitty reputation? (I believe this is largely gone now, or at least largely decreased).
So now, I think of quality over quantity. I'm gun shy. And the type of work we do doesn't lend itself to that type of production setup. I'm reminded of a great line from the musical [title of show], which is the quintessential tiny, unknown musical: "I'd rather be nine people's favorite thing than one hundred people's ninth favorite thing." That's the mentality I try to keep in mind. But it's tough. Especially when there is a distinct "bigger is better" attitude that prevails.
Look, if you have the resources to do a huge show, great. Do it. Reach lots of people, produce on a grand scale, etc.
BUT-don't discount the small stuff. Here are a few ways the bigger is NOT better. It's an educational list for patrons to keep in mind when choosing what to go see, and for arts managers to keep in mind when it comes to having faith in the work they do, regardless of size.
A note: Size is very relative to a lot of things. A small arts organization in one place could be a big arts organization in another place. Think of your particular community.
1) Smaller budgets can, in fact, lead to artistic risk.
In 2008, when MTM was in a fight or flight period, I decided the company should do lesser-known pieces. There were two I had in mind: john & jen, and tick, tick, BOOM. john & jen in particular was perfect for us at that time. There are only two actors and a piano. It's supposed to be done with no set, minimal costumes, and no special makeup even though the story spans 40 years. That's the whole point. Therefore we were able to keep programming going while operating on the teeny tiny budget we had rustled up. With this we launched many years of doing these weird, risky little shows. We chose things with minimal sets and production expenses so we could keep paying the artists. It was weird-this total identity and financial crisis for the company ended up being what made us who we are.
2) Smaller companies know you.
One thing I love being able to do with MTM is see people who I know are donors or supporters and clearly remember them and be able to thank them, even if I'd never met them in person before. I like being able to create a personalized experience for every person who comes through the door. I love being able to address their concerns and suggestions as the person at the "top" (of a very small totem pole). It makes me happy that I get that kind of first hand information and experience, and that I have a direct hand in creating a hospitable environment. You're not going to get this at a huge theatre.
3) Smaller companies are often in fact cheaper.
I often compare MTM to a mom and pop store. However, there's a distinct difference: At a mom and pop store you are likely to pay a little bit more for your products. People do this because they are supporting local merchants, which is great. But when you're on a budget like I am, Target beckons and I answer its call. It's not that I don't want to support wonderful local merchants, and I try to when I can, but sometimes its just not an option.
With the arts, however, the opposite is often true. You can pay less for a small company, not because the quality is less, but because their expenses are often lower. We pay everyone, but we also sometimes use venues that aren't going to charge us as much, and we live with the fact that unconventional spaces can bring different types of challenges. When we use the venue we're in as the set (as we did this past year with 35MM and Nine), we are able to keep the price of admission low. There are no facility fees, processing fees, etc. offered in these cases. Don't get me wrong: There's lots of fabulous theatre happening on a large scale in venues that do charge such fees. I'm just saying in this case that the benefit of a smaller price tag doesn't necessarily lead to a lower quality product.
4) Smaller companies understand their resources.
We know our strengths and weaknesses. Potential is one thing-the ability to execute that potential is another. I am reminded here of a great quote from arts management guru Michael Kaiser. On a visit to Madison a few years ago, he spoke about a friend who runs a theatre in New York City. They do avant garde, bizarre type of work in a 99-seat theatre and sell out every night. "Why," Michael asked, "Do you stay so small? You could move to a much bigger space, do more work, etc.?" In response he said "Michael, I know that my work only appeals to 99 people per night." He can afford to stay in that space and take the risks he takes because he understands that his work is for a different audience. There is an antiquated model for regional theatres out there that assumes everything should be presented to a huge audience regardless of company resources, show, style, cost, location, or prominence. It's simply not the case and causes the demise of many a hopeful theatre company.
5) Smaller companies take a lot of crap and keep standing.
Every time someone says "Oh, I've never heard of you," with disdain, it's akin to saying "Oh. You don't do your job very well." Other lovely statements include "Well, if you did what _____ company is doing then you'd be doing better." Or "Well such and such and so and so (usually someone I know very well and have worked with) is a powerhouse. You could learn a lot there." Inevitably these comparisons are with companies that do different types of work, have different payment structures, and started with different resources.
But people think it's okay to compare, and are not shy about telling you that because you're not huge, you don't matter. (Recently I was told by a member of the press that MTM's 10th anniversary "wasn't interesting".) Funders and donors scoff because you're not reaching thousands of people, and you instantly fall in their esteem. (Never mind that sometimes when you give $50 to a large organization you're giving to their paperclip fund, while a small company can take that money and make it count.) Small companies don't have impressive numbers to tout-we have to rely on the passion for the work we do to convince people that we matter.
I've also been talked to like I'm a damned moron: "Wow, this budget balances exactly! Good for you!" "What you'll want to do is send out a press release. Do you need help with that?" "Well, here's how grants work..." (this has all been said to me in the last year.) You haven't heard of me, so I must not know what I'm doing. And honestly, it's a huge punch in the gut given how much I've had to learn the hard way.
Let's go back to the mom and pop example, which does come into play here. Say there is a lovely little store in your neighborhood. They sell cheese. (Everyone likes cheese.) It's a family owned business. They know you (because again, you go in for cheese all the time-who wouldn't go in for cheese if there was a store in your neighborhood? Wait, I got off track.) When you come in you're greeted with a hello and a thank you, someone who knows what you like, a person who can tell you what's new, and a person who is personally grateful that you're there.
Now say you're someone different and you've just stumbled on this store. Would you go in there and say, dismissively, "I've never heard of you. You should advertise more/do other things that much larger stores do." No, because you understand that the resources are different. Mom and Pop's Cheese Store could try to expand, become a chain, etc. but their business model doesn't call for it and they don't have the resources to carry it out. And that's okay. Because they have really good cheese and they make people happy. Obviously there are (swiss cheese) holes in this parallel, but you get the idea.
Look, everyone who makes art in any capacity deserves to be commended. Truly. The most important thing is that you know your own resources and keep them in mind with everything you do. Should arts organizations want to constantly grow? Of course! The important thing is to make sure your ideas don't get ahead of your capabilities. It could end up being a matter of being bigger or not existing at all.
And if you're a patron, I encourage you to wander into that mom and pop cheese store type organization, for all of the reasons I just listed. They may be small, but they've often been around for a long time. Wander in and maybe you'll learn the reason.
Monday, August 31, 2015
Sunday, September 28, 2014
10 things you didn't know about grants for theatre
So, admittedly, this one is pretty specific to my area. However, I suspect things don't differ all that much.
Grants are a crazy, complicated world. Sarah Marty and I will go into this more, but here's a quick overview of 10 things you didn't know about getting grants.
1) Your request must be matched dollar for dollar.
Meaning if you ask for $5,000, you need to have at least $5,000 in additional income from confirmed sources. Technically you can ask for up to 50% of your project budget, but I've never seen anything get funded with that kind of a request. The Catch 22 here is that if you keep your request as a small portion of your budget, you are much more likely to get funded.
2) Overwhelmingly, grants do NOT fund operating expenses.
There are a handful of foundations out there that will fund staff salaries, marketing, day to day operations, etc. But not many. Most grants (and all of the government grants available in Madison) are to be used for a specific project, i.e. one show. Funding for building costs, salaries, institutional marketing, and the billion little things that come up have to be covered by donations or earned income like ticket sales.
3) There is not a lot of money to give out at the government level.
The maximum request for Dane Arts, which used to be the Cultural Affairs Commission, is $5,250. You can ask for that much up to twice a year, although you'd better be good and ready to defend why you asked for the maximum amount, and have a lot of other sources of income.
The maximum request for the Madison Arts Commission is $3000, once per year.
The Wisconsin Arts Board's budget is $780,000, the third lowest in the nation (behind Georgia and Kansas).
So just find a private foundation, right?
4) Private foundations are not well publicized and often by invitation only.
A slew of private foundations that give money out to arts organizations must be made aware of you before they will extend you an invitation to apply. This feeds into a vicious cycle of institutional marketing and branding that is best maintained by a development or marketing director, which many companies do not have. Therefore the foundations do not hear of the smaller companies, and those companies are unable to apply.
If you are eligible to apply, the competition is ridiculous. Which brings me to:
5) Everyone is after the same money.
I am of the mindset that grantors should divide their granting criteria into levels according to a theatre's annual budget. The reason for this is that as it stands, a tiny company just starting out is competing under the same criteria as a large scale, established company with a full time development staff.
I am sure there is some consideration given to the size of the organization, but the fact is everyone fills out the same application and must justify their work in the same way. New organizations therefore have a very difficult time getting into the system, and organizations that already have a staff because they have more money are able to compete at a stronger level than smaller organizations who have one or two people doing everything.
6) You probably won't get your full request.
You make a request for a certain amount of funds, but grantors typically want to give everyone SOMETHING, so they spread it out. In the last round of Dane Arts applications, there were 78 applications. 62 were funded, and only one received their entire request.
When this happens you have to adjust your budget to break even before you can receive your funds.
Oh, that brings me to:
7) You have to present a budget that breaks even.
At least where the government is concerned. Admittedly I'm not as sure about private foundations.
But when you're applying for a government grant you cannot show a profit. At all. This is complicated. More details in another post.
8) Grants take a loooooot of work.
I take issue with the term "unearned income", which is what donations and grants are deemed in the nonprofit sector. I assure you, you most definitely have to EARN a grant.
Here's a typical list of what you'll need for a grant:
Grants are a crazy, complicated world. Sarah Marty and I will go into this more, but here's a quick overview of 10 things you didn't know about getting grants.
1) Your request must be matched dollar for dollar.
Meaning if you ask for $5,000, you need to have at least $5,000 in additional income from confirmed sources. Technically you can ask for up to 50% of your project budget, but I've never seen anything get funded with that kind of a request. The Catch 22 here is that if you keep your request as a small portion of your budget, you are much more likely to get funded.
2) Overwhelmingly, grants do NOT fund operating expenses.
There are a handful of foundations out there that will fund staff salaries, marketing, day to day operations, etc. But not many. Most grants (and all of the government grants available in Madison) are to be used for a specific project, i.e. one show. Funding for building costs, salaries, institutional marketing, and the billion little things that come up have to be covered by donations or earned income like ticket sales.
3) There is not a lot of money to give out at the government level.
The maximum request for Dane Arts, which used to be the Cultural Affairs Commission, is $5,250. You can ask for that much up to twice a year, although you'd better be good and ready to defend why you asked for the maximum amount, and have a lot of other sources of income.
The maximum request for the Madison Arts Commission is $3000, once per year.
The Wisconsin Arts Board's budget is $780,000, the third lowest in the nation (behind Georgia and Kansas).
So just find a private foundation, right?
4) Private foundations are not well publicized and often by invitation only.
A slew of private foundations that give money out to arts organizations must be made aware of you before they will extend you an invitation to apply. This feeds into a vicious cycle of institutional marketing and branding that is best maintained by a development or marketing director, which many companies do not have. Therefore the foundations do not hear of the smaller companies, and those companies are unable to apply.
If you are eligible to apply, the competition is ridiculous. Which brings me to:
5) Everyone is after the same money.
I am of the mindset that grantors should divide their granting criteria into levels according to a theatre's annual budget. The reason for this is that as it stands, a tiny company just starting out is competing under the same criteria as a large scale, established company with a full time development staff.
I am sure there is some consideration given to the size of the organization, but the fact is everyone fills out the same application and must justify their work in the same way. New organizations therefore have a very difficult time getting into the system, and organizations that already have a staff because they have more money are able to compete at a stronger level than smaller organizations who have one or two people doing everything.
6) You probably won't get your full request.
You make a request for a certain amount of funds, but grantors typically want to give everyone SOMETHING, so they spread it out. In the last round of Dane Arts applications, there were 78 applications. 62 were funded, and only one received their entire request.
When this happens you have to adjust your budget to break even before you can receive your funds.
Oh, that brings me to:
7) You have to present a budget that breaks even.
At least where the government is concerned. Admittedly I'm not as sure about private foundations.
But when you're applying for a government grant you cannot show a profit. At all. This is complicated. More details in another post.
8) Grants take a loooooot of work.
I take issue with the term "unearned income", which is what donations and grants are deemed in the nonprofit sector. I assure you, you most definitely have to EARN a grant.
Here's a typical list of what you'll need for a grant:
- Clearly articulated narrative detailing what you're doing and why its worthy of government funding. (Typically runs 2-4 pages). You are usually limited in space and must explain what you're doing, who will be making it happen, who will see it, when everything will happen, where it will happen, and what it is. You must make a case for why your project needs to be funded by taxpayers. You must also have an evaluation system in place.
- Most grantors like to see an outreach component as part of the project, such as talkbacks, special free performances, art exhibits, etc. Often just presenting a show will not put you at the top of the pile.
- Itemized project budget that breaks even, with detailed notes to explain.
- 2-5 letters of recommendation from reputable sources.
- A marketing plan
- Your projected budget for the current fiscal year (not just the project)
- Your final financial statement from the previous fiscal year
- Often, a projected budget for the next fiscal year
- Press clippings and other items that establish your organization and its history.
- Complete listing of the Board of Directors and staff.
- Biographies of the staff
- Work samples like photos, audio and video
It's a lot. It's earned.
9) You apply for grants far in advance of when you'll need them
Sometimes more than a year. AND...
10) You may not get your money until after the project is over.
Not my favorite thing. But that's how some places do it.
Now you have a little bit of background. Please don't ever tell someone to "just get a grant" to cover their funding. And next time you see small organizations that have been awarded grants, know that it's an achievement, and far from a given.
Friday, September 26, 2014
14 things theatre managers are tired of hearing
I keep seeing these lists, and Buzzfeed is not going to make one for us, so here ya go.
I know most people don't mean anything when they say this stuff. But here's a new way to look at things.
14 things theatre managers are tired of hearing, complete with my thoughts and possible alternative ways to get your point across.
1) What do you mean you don't have enough money? Just get a grant.
Watch this clip and replace "jobs" with "grant".
2) So what is it you DO exactly?
Everything. Next question.
Alternative: "There must be a lot that goes into that!"
3) "Why is the theatre so cold?"
Ghosts.
4) From someone at the same performance, in the same theatre, sitting one row behind #3: "Why is the theatre so hot?"
Satan.
5) People's moment by moment critique of the show when we haven't asked for it.
6) "Your tickets are too expensive."
Well yeah, we have to save up for our monthly vacations to Tahiti.
Seriously though, don't say this to people. This is not retail. We are not playing the 200% markup game.
Alternative: "Do you need volunteers for anything?" (Typically volunteers are rewarded with comp tickets.)
7) "Wow, not very many people here."
Would you like some more salt to rub in my wound? (Advice: Don't say this. We know.)
Alternative: "I really liked this. I will make sure to let people know about it!"
8) You look tired.
I am.
Alternative: "You look gorgeous!" (This is a time when it's okay to lie.)
9) (Calling two hours before curtain for a nearly sold out show): "What do you mean you don't have the exact seat I want available?"
10) Anything prefaced with "You really should..."
Alternative: "If I can help, please let me know."
11) "You know what you should add/take out?"
Read: "Here are my suggestions for changes to a show someone else wrote that you are contractually bound to do exactly as written."
.
12) "I've never heard of you."
Read: "You must suck at marketing."
Alternative: "What kind of work do you do? " "Can I get on your mailing list?" "I'll check it out." "Sounds cool!" "I have a friend who might enjoy that." "What's your website? I'd like to know more."
13) "The piano is too loud."
14) "I don't understand why you do so much work for so little money."
We don't either. But without it we're incomplete.
And the one thing we will NEVER get tired of hearing:
"Thank you for the work you do."
I know most people don't mean anything when they say this stuff. But here's a new way to look at things.
14 things theatre managers are tired of hearing, complete with my thoughts and possible alternative ways to get your point across.
1) What do you mean you don't have enough money? Just get a grant.
Watch this clip and replace "jobs" with "grant".
2) So what is it you DO exactly?
Everything. Next question.
Alternative: "There must be a lot that goes into that!"
3) "Why is the theatre so cold?"
Ghosts.
4) From someone at the same performance, in the same theatre, sitting one row behind #3: "Why is the theatre so hot?"
Satan.
5) People's moment by moment critique of the show when we haven't asked for it.
6) "Your tickets are too expensive."
Well yeah, we have to save up for our monthly vacations to Tahiti.
Seriously though, don't say this to people. This is not retail. We are not playing the 200% markup game.
Alternative: "Do you need volunteers for anything?" (Typically volunteers are rewarded with comp tickets.)
7) "Wow, not very many people here."
Would you like some more salt to rub in my wound? (Advice: Don't say this. We know.)
Alternative: "I really liked this. I will make sure to let people know about it!"
8) You look tired.
I am.
Alternative: "You look gorgeous!" (This is a time when it's okay to lie.)
9) (Calling two hours before curtain for a nearly sold out show): "What do you mean you don't have the exact seat I want available?"
10) Anything prefaced with "You really should..."
Alternative: "If I can help, please let me know."
11) "You know what you should add/take out?"
Read: "Here are my suggestions for changes to a show someone else wrote that you are contractually bound to do exactly as written."
.
12) "I've never heard of you."
Read: "You must suck at marketing."
Alternative: "What kind of work do you do? " "Can I get on your mailing list?" "I'll check it out." "Sounds cool!" "I have a friend who might enjoy that." "What's your website? I'd like to know more."
13) "The piano is too loud."
14) "I don't understand why you do so much work for so little money."
We don't either. But without it we're incomplete.
And the one thing we will NEVER get tired of hearing:
"Thank you for the work you do."
Monday, September 15, 2014
The most loaded question of all
I'm back! Did you miss me? You did. It's cool. Basically I've been fortunate enough to be working non freaking stop since January, and 2014 basically kicked my ass up until a few weeks ago. But here I am and oh my do I have a post for you today.
What exactly is a professional theatre?
Four Seasons Theatre Producing Artistic Director Sarah Marty and I will be tag teaming on some posts about this stuff. We think it's time some misconceptions get cleared up about how this all works.
Sarah and I are very different people. We are from different backgrounds (She has a background in arts management, technical theatre and music. Mine is in performance and directing.) We run our companies differently. But, we have a few things in common: We are both founders of the organizations we run, we're both doing ONLY musicals, and we run into a lot of the same obstacles. And we want people to know how this stuff works.
So let's dive into the deep end on the first day, shall we?
This post will probably get a little more emotional than the rest of them, largely because this is a very sensitive subject for me, and one that I have struggled to define in my time in Madison. And I fully admit that my perception has changed.
Ever since starting my theatre, Music Theatre of Madison, I have called the company professional. I have done this because even when I started and had no clue what I was doing, I found some way to pay each and every artist SOMETHING. This was because I wanted to use artists who have trained professionally and are committed to this as their life's work. That, however, turned out to be far more complicated than I realized it would be. (Another post.)
There are, however, people who disagree with me. And don't you worry. They have made sure to tell me about it. Typically the argument is comparison based. "You're not a professional theatre. [Insert theatre name]...now that's a real professional company." (Side note-often the companies I'm compared to do NOT in fact pay everybody).
There has always been talk in Madison (and elsewhere) about what constitutes a professional company. Furthermore, with the advent of social media (not really a thing 8 years ago when MTM started), there is also a lot more visible discussion about artists needing to be paid for their work. See a popular post from the last couple of years.
Anyway, for those who are wondering, let me break this down for you:
The traditional, established definition of a professional theatre is one that operates through contracts with Actors' Equity Association, the union of professional actors and stage managers in the United States. (The designers and director's unions do not come into the "professional" debate nearly as often-that's a post for another time).
Here is a handy list of fact about Actors' Equity Association.
In the last twenty years,for reasons I won't get into, more and more non-Equity theatres have popped up. Some of these non-Equity theatres pay a weekly salary of a living wage to some or all of their actors. Some do not. Others will hire one or two Equity actors on what's called a Guest Artist contract, which allows non-Equity companies to use an Equity actor on a case by case basis. (Music Theatre of Madison and Four Seasons Theatre are examples of companies who have done this at our local level. We have both paid people on Equity contracts AND have hired non equity performers but paid a living wage and/or a decent weekly stipend with housing and travel provided)
This is where it gets dicey. For many years Actors' Equity was THE definition of professional. Getting one's Equity card was a rite of passage, and it meant that you were "legit".
The point of a union is to protect its members. And while Actors' Equity does do that, it also, over time, began to market itself as the true definition of quality.
That mentality is still out there. And many of the actors who are members of Equity are extraordinary. But there are also a growing number of companies who pay their artists and sometimes even a staff, and who abide by some union standards, without using the union to do so. Like any industry, theatre is changing.
In fact, many professional actors in the Midwest make the conscious choice not to get their Equity cards, or to wait for awhile, simply because there are more opportunities available through non-Equity companies.
And let's not forget that actors who don't work constantly (so MOST) , regardless of union status, typically have to spend time waiting tables, pouring coffee, stocking shelves, walking dogs, corralling children, arranging edible fruit and allowing invasive medical procedures to be performed on their bodies. (You think I'm kidding). It's just the nature of the business.
Which brings us back to the term professional. What constitutes a professional theatre or artist?
Must it be a living wage paid to all who work at the theatre? When I worked as an understudy for the Madison Rep in 2006, I was paid $500 for 2 weeks of rehearsals and three weeks of being on standby to cover both female roles. That boils down to $100/week. Would you call that a living wage?
Must a person currently be working in order to be considered a professional? I have friends who have been on Broadway one day and then, when the show closes abruptly or flops altogether, were back out waiting tables within a couple of weeks. So if they're serving you your pasta primavera, they're a professional waiter, but are they still a professional actor?
But this is the one that comes up most often:
Is professional always a higher quality? If that's the case, how on earth do you define "quality"? There's the problem arts managers run into so often: Unlike figures from income or numbers of people in attendance, Quality cannot be definitively measured. We can say our work is good (as we should). We can say we are incredibly proud of it. There is no way that every audience member is going to agree with us.
In my case I believe the best I can do is take my wealth of experience and the knowledge I've learned from my very respectable education and create work I truly believe in. And really that's all anyone can do. I combine that with the resources I have at my disposal to make sure I pay everyone. And I have taken very clear steps toward understanding the field better so that I can raise more money and pay more to the people who make the work happen: The artists. I'm working every day, including recently starting to work on my Master's in Arts Administration.
Here's the point: There is no one definition of professional. The truth is there are a handful of theatres in the United States that use ONLY Equity contracts. But they are few and far between. Almost all of the professional theatres in the United States (including prominent Wisconsin companies like American Players' Theater, Milwaukee Rep, Skylight, Milwaukee Chamber, The Fireside, Forward Theater, American Folklore Theater, and others hire both Equity and non-Equity performers for every production. The ratio varies by company but the fact is they can and will hire both.
I have nothing against Actors' Equity as an organization. They protect actors! That needs to exist! But the definition of Equity as a measure of quality, or, worse, the tossing around of the term without knowing what it means, needs to stop.
There is so much going on, and so many more arts organizations emerging, that building one's name is incredibly difficult. Branding is tough no matter what, and in an environment where the market is so populated with theatre companies it becomes QUITE tough if you don't have the resources and education to do it effectively. It's not impossible, but roadblocks abound, and any company, regardless of their level of success, will tell you that.
We recently closed our production of BONNIE & CLYDE. It was our 20th show, and our final sold out night was MTM's 100th performance. Over half of our income (grants, sponsorships, donations, ticket sales) from that show is going to personnel. In order to make this possible, I wrote grant proposals, solicited numerous donations, found sponsors, managed all of our marketing initiatives, called in favors, negotiated and bargained, strategized, and planned outreach activities. Due to not having the money for a full crew, I painted much of the set, designed the costumes and collected the props myself. Yet I lost many nights of sleep (and a lot of hair actually) worrying that somehow I wouldn't make it. Somehow I would screw this up and people would end up disappointed. Somehow I wouldn't be able to pay everyone and I'd be a fraud. This happens Every. Single. Year.
Oh I also directed the show.
I was fortunate enough to have a fantastic team behind me to make all of this work out...I am NOT saying there was any way I could have done it alone. But on a yearly basis I damn near kill myself, largely because I want everyone to get paid SOMETHING. Not just something. Something decent. Or even passable.
Why does MTM have so little money? Simple. Grant funding, corporate sponsorships and individual donations are becoming more and more difficult to get. (Sarah and I will both get into this in future posts). Not to mention the entire artistic mission of MTM is to do "the weird stuff." Plus ,the organization's leader (me) is still learning. 10 years ago arts management as a field would absolutely never have occurred to me.
We've built a niche for ourselves. But it means we also don't rake in the cash that bigger, more well known musicals do. And that's okay. Makes paying people a lot harder, but it's okay.
Until someone uses a public forum to say the company is "far from professional caliber", or, worse yet, 100% ignores the fact that MTM pays. That's what kills me. It's happened before. For awhile it subsided. But it happened again recently.
I'm not stupid. I know the difference between what MTM does and what a larger scale company does. I am reminded daily of my mistakes, and of how difficult I've made this for myself, and of how far I have to go.
But I also know this: In eight years, MTM has paid out hundreds of thousands of dollars to actors, designers, musicians, directors, and others. May not seem like much in the midst of companies that have annual operating budgets of millions, but that could have given me a nice reserve fund if I'd elected not to pay anybody.
I damn near kill myself to do it. So do many other companies across the United States. So it irks me. To label MTM's (or anyone's) productions as not very professional without explaining what that means. If people getting paid to do the work does not constitute professional, then what is the defining factor from an audience point of view? The technical aspects? The performances? The venue? The programs? The orchestra? All of the above? And at what point of quality do we cross that magical line and find ourselves worthy of an audience giving us magic "P" word stamp of approval?
If you don't believe me, I tell you what: Give it a shot. Produce one show in an arts climate where there is very little funding, very little direct sponsorship support available, and audiences are spread incredibly thin. Improve your chances of getting grant money by doing something different, because there is already a company in town doing something similar on a larger scale (you have to stand out from the crowd after all). Go out and personally solicit the money not only for production expenses but so that each and every artist who is working for you can take home the money you earned off of their work. Put in your own funds so that people can get paid. Research, ask, network, spend hours writing grants.
Oh and make it a musical. With an orchestra. And rights. Rights are incredibly expensive.
Then have someone tell you you're not a professional company. In a city where less than ten out of nearly 100 companies are actually paying their performers. That's pretty much a punch in the gut.
I guess the point is that it's a hell of a lot harder, and more complicated, than it looks. I'm trying to come to terms with it, and trying to improve the company every day. I don't have all the answers yet, and I don't pretend that MTM is perfect or that I couldn't be doing more.
But I know this-quality is subjective, and, aside from money being paid, so is what constitutes "professional."
What exactly is a professional theatre?
Four Seasons Theatre Producing Artistic Director Sarah Marty and I will be tag teaming on some posts about this stuff. We think it's time some misconceptions get cleared up about how this all works.
Sarah and I are very different people. We are from different backgrounds (She has a background in arts management, technical theatre and music. Mine is in performance and directing.) We run our companies differently. But, we have a few things in common: We are both founders of the organizations we run, we're both doing ONLY musicals, and we run into a lot of the same obstacles. And we want people to know how this stuff works.
So let's dive into the deep end on the first day, shall we?
This post will probably get a little more emotional than the rest of them, largely because this is a very sensitive subject for me, and one that I have struggled to define in my time in Madison. And I fully admit that my perception has changed.
Ever since starting my theatre, Music Theatre of Madison, I have called the company professional. I have done this because even when I started and had no clue what I was doing, I found some way to pay each and every artist SOMETHING. This was because I wanted to use artists who have trained professionally and are committed to this as their life's work. That, however, turned out to be far more complicated than I realized it would be. (Another post.)
There are, however, people who disagree with me. And don't you worry. They have made sure to tell me about it. Typically the argument is comparison based. "You're not a professional theatre. [Insert theatre name]...now that's a real professional company." (Side note-often the companies I'm compared to do NOT in fact pay everybody).
There has always been talk in Madison (and elsewhere) about what constitutes a professional company. Furthermore, with the advent of social media (not really a thing 8 years ago when MTM started), there is also a lot more visible discussion about artists needing to be paid for their work. See a popular post from the last couple of years.
Anyway, for those who are wondering, let me break this down for you:
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| AT LAST! |
The traditional, established definition of a professional theatre is one that operates through contracts with Actors' Equity Association, the union of professional actors and stage managers in the United States. (The designers and director's unions do not come into the "professional" debate nearly as often-that's a post for another time).
Here is a handy list of fact about Actors' Equity Association.
- There are a TON of contracts available through Equity. A company that wishes to operate as an Equity theatre must establish one under which they operate. The type and tier of contract a theatre establishes varies based on many many factors, including city, number of rehearsal hours for productions, number of performances, and the size of the venue. Equity contracts pay anywhere from $11/week (Yes, that's ELEVEN DOLLARS-this is, to be fair, for very specific types of contracts) to the Equity minimum for Broadway and first runs of national tours (the productions that are first to go out after the Broadway show), which is $1807/week.
- Actors can obtain their Equity card several ways. They can work a total of 52 weeks in qualifying Equity houses, earning credits through what's called the Equity Membership Candidate program. They can be a member in good standing with a sister union (such as SAG or AFTRA) Or they can get cast in a production that gives them to get their card because the theatre operates under one of the Equity contracts discussed above. Once they join Equity, they pay an initiation fee (currently $1,100), and dues. Once they become a member, they are NOT allowed to perform without an Equity contract.
- When a theatre establishes itself as Equity, it is required to have a certain number of Equity actors hired for each individual production. The number required depends on the contract. This typically means the company must hire Equity stage managers as well.
- Salaries are not all there is to a contract. A theatre must also pay into the actor's pension and health insurance, and, if the actor is from out of town, provide a per diem, travel, and housing.
In the last twenty years,for reasons I won't get into, more and more non-Equity theatres have popped up. Some of these non-Equity theatres pay a weekly salary of a living wage to some or all of their actors. Some do not. Others will hire one or two Equity actors on what's called a Guest Artist contract, which allows non-Equity companies to use an Equity actor on a case by case basis. (Music Theatre of Madison and Four Seasons Theatre are examples of companies who have done this at our local level. We have both paid people on Equity contracts AND have hired non equity performers but paid a living wage and/or a decent weekly stipend with housing and travel provided)
This is where it gets dicey. For many years Actors' Equity was THE definition of professional. Getting one's Equity card was a rite of passage, and it meant that you were "legit".
The point of a union is to protect its members. And while Actors' Equity does do that, it also, over time, began to market itself as the true definition of quality.
That mentality is still out there. And many of the actors who are members of Equity are extraordinary. But there are also a growing number of companies who pay their artists and sometimes even a staff, and who abide by some union standards, without using the union to do so. Like any industry, theatre is changing.
In fact, many professional actors in the Midwest make the conscious choice not to get their Equity cards, or to wait for awhile, simply because there are more opportunities available through non-Equity companies.
And let's not forget that actors who don't work constantly (so MOST) , regardless of union status, typically have to spend time waiting tables, pouring coffee, stocking shelves, walking dogs, corralling children, arranging edible fruit and allowing invasive medical procedures to be performed on their bodies. (You think I'm kidding). It's just the nature of the business.
Which brings us back to the term professional. What constitutes a professional theatre or artist?
Must it be a living wage paid to all who work at the theatre? When I worked as an understudy for the Madison Rep in 2006, I was paid $500 for 2 weeks of rehearsals and three weeks of being on standby to cover both female roles. That boils down to $100/week. Would you call that a living wage?
Must a person currently be working in order to be considered a professional? I have friends who have been on Broadway one day and then, when the show closes abruptly or flops altogether, were back out waiting tables within a couple of weeks. So if they're serving you your pasta primavera, they're a professional waiter, but are they still a professional actor?
But this is the one that comes up most often:
Is professional always a higher quality? If that's the case, how on earth do you define "quality"? There's the problem arts managers run into so often: Unlike figures from income or numbers of people in attendance, Quality cannot be definitively measured. We can say our work is good (as we should). We can say we are incredibly proud of it. There is no way that every audience member is going to agree with us.
In my case I believe the best I can do is take my wealth of experience and the knowledge I've learned from my very respectable education and create work I truly believe in. And really that's all anyone can do. I combine that with the resources I have at my disposal to make sure I pay everyone. And I have taken very clear steps toward understanding the field better so that I can raise more money and pay more to the people who make the work happen: The artists. I'm working every day, including recently starting to work on my Master's in Arts Administration.
Here's the point: There is no one definition of professional. The truth is there are a handful of theatres in the United States that use ONLY Equity contracts. But they are few and far between. Almost all of the professional theatres in the United States (including prominent Wisconsin companies like American Players' Theater, Milwaukee Rep, Skylight, Milwaukee Chamber, The Fireside, Forward Theater, American Folklore Theater, and others hire both Equity and non-Equity performers for every production. The ratio varies by company but the fact is they can and will hire both.
I have nothing against Actors' Equity as an organization. They protect actors! That needs to exist! But the definition of Equity as a measure of quality, or, worse, the tossing around of the term without knowing what it means, needs to stop.
There is so much going on, and so many more arts organizations emerging, that building one's name is incredibly difficult. Branding is tough no matter what, and in an environment where the market is so populated with theatre companies it becomes QUITE tough if you don't have the resources and education to do it effectively. It's not impossible, but roadblocks abound, and any company, regardless of their level of success, will tell you that.
We recently closed our production of BONNIE & CLYDE. It was our 20th show, and our final sold out night was MTM's 100th performance. Over half of our income (grants, sponsorships, donations, ticket sales) from that show is going to personnel. In order to make this possible, I wrote grant proposals, solicited numerous donations, found sponsors, managed all of our marketing initiatives, called in favors, negotiated and bargained, strategized, and planned outreach activities. Due to not having the money for a full crew, I painted much of the set, designed the costumes and collected the props myself. Yet I lost many nights of sleep (and a lot of hair actually) worrying that somehow I wouldn't make it. Somehow I would screw this up and people would end up disappointed. Somehow I wouldn't be able to pay everyone and I'd be a fraud. This happens Every. Single. Year.
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| Replace the coffee with Diet Coke and this is an eerily accurate picture of me every day for nine years. . Except no bows. I don't do bows. |
Oh I also directed the show.
I was fortunate enough to have a fantastic team behind me to make all of this work out...I am NOT saying there was any way I could have done it alone. But on a yearly basis I damn near kill myself, largely because I want everyone to get paid SOMETHING. Not just something. Something decent. Or even passable.
Why does MTM have so little money? Simple. Grant funding, corporate sponsorships and individual donations are becoming more and more difficult to get. (Sarah and I will both get into this in future posts). Not to mention the entire artistic mission of MTM is to do "the weird stuff." Plus ,the organization's leader (me) is still learning. 10 years ago arts management as a field would absolutely never have occurred to me.
We've built a niche for ourselves. But it means we also don't rake in the cash that bigger, more well known musicals do. And that's okay. Makes paying people a lot harder, but it's okay.
Until someone uses a public forum to say the company is "far from professional caliber", or, worse yet, 100% ignores the fact that MTM pays. That's what kills me. It's happened before. For awhile it subsided. But it happened again recently.
I'm not stupid. I know the difference between what MTM does and what a larger scale company does. I am reminded daily of my mistakes, and of how difficult I've made this for myself, and of how far I have to go.
But I also know this: In eight years, MTM has paid out hundreds of thousands of dollars to actors, designers, musicians, directors, and others. May not seem like much in the midst of companies that have annual operating budgets of millions, but that could have given me a nice reserve fund if I'd elected not to pay anybody.
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| My happy place. |
I damn near kill myself to do it. So do many other companies across the United States. So it irks me. To label MTM's (or anyone's) productions as not very professional without explaining what that means. If people getting paid to do the work does not constitute professional, then what is the defining factor from an audience point of view? The technical aspects? The performances? The venue? The programs? The orchestra? All of the above? And at what point of quality do we cross that magical line and find ourselves worthy of an audience giving us magic "P" word stamp of approval?
If you don't believe me, I tell you what: Give it a shot. Produce one show in an arts climate where there is very little funding, very little direct sponsorship support available, and audiences are spread incredibly thin. Improve your chances of getting grant money by doing something different, because there is already a company in town doing something similar on a larger scale (you have to stand out from the crowd after all). Go out and personally solicit the money not only for production expenses but so that each and every artist who is working for you can take home the money you earned off of their work. Put in your own funds so that people can get paid. Research, ask, network, spend hours writing grants.
Oh and make it a musical. With an orchestra. And rights. Rights are incredibly expensive.
Then have someone tell you you're not a professional company. In a city where less than ten out of nearly 100 companies are actually paying their performers. That's pretty much a punch in the gut.
I guess the point is that it's a hell of a lot harder, and more complicated, than it looks. I'm trying to come to terms with it, and trying to improve the company every day. I don't have all the answers yet, and I don't pretend that MTM is perfect or that I couldn't be doing more.
But I know this-quality is subjective, and, aside from money being paid, so is what constitutes "professional."
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
The Beauty of Improvisation
Sorry it's been awhile everyone. I know you've been waiting on pins and needles.
I'm coming off a nasty bout with a cold and a November 2013 that pretty much blew, so I don't have a whole lot of clever musings to share. But something did happen last week that I thought I'd pass on.
Dane Arts, formerly the Dane County Cultural Affairs Commission, grants out money to local arts organizations three times a year (though soon it will be two). The last cycle, which was due October 1st, had decisions made about funding last week. MTM applied for our upcoming revue "You're The Flop", which is an original piece we're writing about the history of musicals that "flopped" on Broadway, and how commercial success doesn't always equal artistic success.
Anyway about 5:30 Thursday night my Facebook feed had a few posts show up indicating "Yay! We just got a call from Dane Arts! We got $X,XXX for our project! Hooray! Huzzah!"
I immediately pulled out my phone. A missed call! Checking my voicemail I heard the message:
"Hello Meghan, this is Doctor Shandley's office reminding you that you're due for an eye exam. Please call us at your earliest..."
.
What I did next was kind of a rookie move. I lost my cool. After a devastating month this just was the straw that broke the camel's back. I immediately began to doubt myself, my contribution to the local arts scene, my ideas, my financial planning capabilities and my ability to sell people on my ideas. I was passionate about this project,and I thought it had showed in my proposal. I followed the rules. My budget was incredibly detailed. I answered the questions thoughtfully, clearly outlined our project goals and evaluation tools, and asked for an appropriate amount of money relative to the project's budget. And it was a really unique idea. So why? Why hadn't they funded it?
In my somewhat irrational mindset I decided it was clearly because I suck at life and the panel did not believe in what I was doing. (We'd gotten many grants before but that wasn't important right now.)
I arrived at a place that I come across probably once or twice a year: The "what's it all for?" As Mama Rose sings in Gypsy: "Why did I do it? What did it get me? All your life and what does it get you? Thanks a lot and out with the garbage." Why bother? Eight years of getting kicked in the gut time and again. Why?
I thought about 2011, a year in which we'd had a poor showing for a show that meant the world to me, john & jen. I was damn close to shutting it down at that point. Perilously close. But then we started work on a show called The Glorious Ones, about a commedia dell'arte troupe in the 16th century and their passion for what they did. And working on that show (which did do well), pulled me out of one of my deepest ruts. A lyric goes like this:
While I am incredibly thankful to have acquired so many skills on the business side of this, at moments like these I'm glad to have an artist's heart, and a connection to music and theatre that reminds me of why I do what I do and inspires me to find solutions.
I've improvised so many times in this crazy endeavor. Like the time I was told we'd have a piano for a concert and we didn't so we went knocking on the door of a church down the street and asked to borrow a keyboard which we then hauled down Jenifer St. Or the time my stage manager passed out backstage and I ran the light board on a show I'd never run the board on before at an incredibly important special performance. Or the thing with the hay. Or the bathtub. Or the ducks. (Oh yeah, haven't gotten to that yet.)
So last week, after a tirade and my Associate Artistic Director talking me off the roof of my house, I pulled myself up, dusted myself off, put down the wine and started planning how we would raise the money we needed. (I may have picked the wine back up a couple of times). I remembered how many times funding had fallen through before and how, somehow, we'd always made it work. Wallowing at this point would do me no good. It was time to move to plan B.
The truth of the matter is that while we must be so careful as arts managers, and think as business people, we are all a little nuts to be doing this in the first place. The principles of business do not always apply in the arts. We don't measure our progress purely on a balance sheet. When things get rough we have a very real, passionate, inexplicable NEED to keep going. So, we improvise.
Monday I got an email. We got a grant. They forgot to call me.
I'm coming off a nasty bout with a cold and a November 2013 that pretty much blew, so I don't have a whole lot of clever musings to share. But something did happen last week that I thought I'd pass on.
Dane Arts, formerly the Dane County Cultural Affairs Commission, grants out money to local arts organizations three times a year (though soon it will be two). The last cycle, which was due October 1st, had decisions made about funding last week. MTM applied for our upcoming revue "You're The Flop", which is an original piece we're writing about the history of musicals that "flopped" on Broadway, and how commercial success doesn't always equal artistic success.
Anyway about 5:30 Thursday night my Facebook feed had a few posts show up indicating "Yay! We just got a call from Dane Arts! We got $X,XXX for our project! Hooray! Huzzah!"
I immediately pulled out my phone. A missed call! Checking my voicemail I heard the message:
"Hello Meghan, this is Doctor Shandley's office reminding you that you're due for an eye exam. Please call us at your earliest..."
What I did next was kind of a rookie move. I lost my cool. After a devastating month this just was the straw that broke the camel's back. I immediately began to doubt myself, my contribution to the local arts scene, my ideas, my financial planning capabilities and my ability to sell people on my ideas. I was passionate about this project,and I thought it had showed in my proposal. I followed the rules. My budget was incredibly detailed. I answered the questions thoughtfully, clearly outlined our project goals and evaluation tools, and asked for an appropriate amount of money relative to the project's budget. And it was a really unique idea. So why? Why hadn't they funded it?
In my somewhat irrational mindset I decided it was clearly because I suck at life and the panel did not believe in what I was doing. (We'd gotten many grants before but that wasn't important right now.)
I arrived at a place that I come across probably once or twice a year: The "what's it all for?" As Mama Rose sings in Gypsy: "Why did I do it? What did it get me? All your life and what does it get you? Thanks a lot and out with the garbage." Why bother? Eight years of getting kicked in the gut time and again. Why?
I thought about 2011, a year in which we'd had a poor showing for a show that meant the world to me, john & jen. I was damn close to shutting it down at that point. Perilously close. But then we started work on a show called The Glorious Ones, about a commedia dell'arte troupe in the 16th century and their passion for what they did. And working on that show (which did do well), pulled me out of one of my deepest ruts. A lyric goes like this:
I've gone without bread. Lived close to the bone. Got into deep water and sunk like a stone. But now and again I have risen and flown like a kite. And God help the people who don't get the joke. Who won't risk a failure, who won't go for broke. I dare them to stand in my boots in the mud for one night! But do what they do, or say what they say, I'd rather be me at the end of the play. For what is this life but the beauty of improvisation?When I started this company I was an artist and not a business person. (As you may have noted, occasionally my reactions dictate that I might have a touch of the dramatic in me.)
While I am incredibly thankful to have acquired so many skills on the business side of this, at moments like these I'm glad to have an artist's heart, and a connection to music and theatre that reminds me of why I do what I do and inspires me to find solutions.
I've improvised so many times in this crazy endeavor. Like the time I was told we'd have a piano for a concert and we didn't so we went knocking on the door of a church down the street and asked to borrow a keyboard which we then hauled down Jenifer St. Or the time my stage manager passed out backstage and I ran the light board on a show I'd never run the board on before at an incredibly important special performance. Or the thing with the hay. Or the bathtub. Or the ducks. (Oh yeah, haven't gotten to that yet.)
So last week, after a tirade and my Associate Artistic Director talking me off the roof of my house, I pulled myself up, dusted myself off, put down the wine and started planning how we would raise the money we needed. (I may have picked the wine back up a couple of times). I remembered how many times funding had fallen through before and how, somehow, we'd always made it work. Wallowing at this point would do me no good. It was time to move to plan B.
The truth of the matter is that while we must be so careful as arts managers, and think as business people, we are all a little nuts to be doing this in the first place. The principles of business do not always apply in the arts. We don't measure our progress purely on a balance sheet. When things get rough we have a very real, passionate, inexplicable NEED to keep going. So, we improvise.
Monday I got an email. We got a grant. They forgot to call me.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Get it in writing
Verbal agreements simply don't cut it. How, you ask, would I know that? From several experiences. I'll share one...which is sort of linked with another one.
In 2006 I met a guy doing one of our first shows, Violet. He was very charming, sweet, and helpful. His father owned a construction company. He and I began dating that fall. In the process he both loaned me $100 to pay my credit card bill, fixed the brakes on my car (about $60 for the parts), and offered his father's huge stock of lumber and his set design services for our 2007 production of The Sound of Music.
Fast forward to winter 2007, when I found out that this guy was a sociopathic monster. Nonetheless, I offered to pay him back the money I owed him, which he refused. He said his father would still loan the materials for the Sound of Music set, and that he would design it. He assured me this was the case. I believed him.
Shocker: He disappeared and suddenly was completely unavailable to answer any calls or offer the services he had promised. Money was extremely tight and I didn't have enough to buy any kind of decent set, since we had been promised lumber and set design services. And by the time I figured out he had bailed, it was too late. So the set for the show left something largely to be desired.
Why, you ask? Did I not have a backup plan? Did you not have other resources? DID YOU NOT GET A CONTRACT? Nope, nope and nope. I'm not proud of it. It was one of the hardest lessons I had to learn.
If you get a promise from someone of a donation of goods/services: A) Get it in writing. B) Have a backup plan in case they bail. This means making what I call a Worst Case Scenario Budget (or a People Sometimes Suck Budget).
Look at your show budget and figure out what would happen if this person's promises fell through. What can you move around? Where can some corners be cut? (Do you need to spend that much money on printing? Can you shop around for some less expensive paint? Does that opening night reception have to happen? Can you hit a thrift store for some of your props or costumes instead of renting them?)
I have had to be extremely frugal, usually not by choice. Over the years I have learned how to do things on a limited budget while not sacrificing quality (for the most part). Part of this has come from Worst Case Scenario budgeting, which gave me some budgeting techniques that then crossed over into my actual budgeting. I will talk about all of that another time.
But the moral of the story is I didn't get it in writing and I got screwed. Would I have had time to take it to court and fight him for it? Probably not. But when you write something down there is at least paper proof of the legality of the arrangement. So (again, worst case scenario), you can pursue these people if they screw you over. And if they sign something, they know you've got them and are more likely to follow through.
A few years later we had our costumes donated for Edgar Allan Poe's NEVERMORE. This wonderful business, Ravenworks at Westgate Mall, totally came through and would have no matter what. But you can bet we had a contract. And I also had a Worst Case Scenario Budget and plan, outlining where I could get the elaborate period costumes we needed, and the money for them, if in fact this arrangement did not work out.
Funny story: Same guy reappeared after the show was over (and after MTM had gone through some serious problems and I was utterly devastated). He reappeared because he was suing me for the $200 he loaned me during our relationship. This process included repeated phone calls and emails, threats of sending the police after me, insults, offers to babysit for his new girlfriend's daughter to "make up the cost", calls asking me if I wanted to go on a TV judge show, a humiliating experience where I asked for a restraining order and the judge denied it because he had not physically threatened me or hit me. Finally we went to court, at which point a much smarter judge told him he didn't have a leg to stand on. He appealed. And then didn't show up to the hearing.
All this happened because it was a verbal agreement between the two of us that he would loan me the money for a couple of personal expenses. And remember, when I offered to pay him back, he declined.
Moral of the story? Write. It. Down. Outline the terms of any arrangement that could affect you or your business (and yourself, for that matter) explicitly.
If nothing else, get commitments in an email and save everything you ever receive. (My email inbox is up to over 100,000 right now. Still hanging on. And trust me, I've had to go back and nail people.)
Also, don't date sociopaths.
In 2006 I met a guy doing one of our first shows, Violet. He was very charming, sweet, and helpful. His father owned a construction company. He and I began dating that fall. In the process he both loaned me $100 to pay my credit card bill, fixed the brakes on my car (about $60 for the parts), and offered his father's huge stock of lumber and his set design services for our 2007 production of The Sound of Music.
Fast forward to winter 2007, when I found out that this guy was a sociopathic monster. Nonetheless, I offered to pay him back the money I owed him, which he refused. He said his father would still loan the materials for the Sound of Music set, and that he would design it. He assured me this was the case. I believed him.
 |
| Good question. |
Why, you ask? Did I not have a backup plan? Did you not have other resources? DID YOU NOT GET A CONTRACT? Nope, nope and nope. I'm not proud of it. It was one of the hardest lessons I had to learn.
If you get a promise from someone of a donation of goods/services: A) Get it in writing. B) Have a backup plan in case they bail. This means making what I call a Worst Case Scenario Budget (or a People Sometimes Suck Budget).
Look at your show budget and figure out what would happen if this person's promises fell through. What can you move around? Where can some corners be cut? (Do you need to spend that much money on printing? Can you shop around for some less expensive paint? Does that opening night reception have to happen? Can you hit a thrift store for some of your props or costumes instead of renting them?)
I have had to be extremely frugal, usually not by choice. Over the years I have learned how to do things on a limited budget while not sacrificing quality (for the most part). Part of this has come from Worst Case Scenario budgeting, which gave me some budgeting techniques that then crossed over into my actual budgeting. I will talk about all of that another time.
But the moral of the story is I didn't get it in writing and I got screwed. Would I have had time to take it to court and fight him for it? Probably not. But when you write something down there is at least paper proof of the legality of the arrangement. So (again, worst case scenario), you can pursue these people if they screw you over. And if they sign something, they know you've got them and are more likely to follow through.
A few years later we had our costumes donated for Edgar Allan Poe's NEVERMORE. This wonderful business, Ravenworks at Westgate Mall, totally came through and would have no matter what. But you can bet we had a contract. And I also had a Worst Case Scenario Budget and plan, outlining where I could get the elaborate period costumes we needed, and the money for them, if in fact this arrangement did not work out.
Funny story: Same guy reappeared after the show was over (and after MTM had gone through some serious problems and I was utterly devastated). He reappeared because he was suing me for the $200 he loaned me during our relationship. This process included repeated phone calls and emails, threats of sending the police after me, insults, offers to babysit for his new girlfriend's daughter to "make up the cost", calls asking me if I wanted to go on a TV judge show, a humiliating experience where I asked for a restraining order and the judge denied it because he had not physically threatened me or hit me. Finally we went to court, at which point a much smarter judge told him he didn't have a leg to stand on. He appealed. And then didn't show up to the hearing.
All this happened because it was a verbal agreement between the two of us that he would loan me the money for a couple of personal expenses. And remember, when I offered to pay him back, he declined.
Moral of the story? Write. It. Down. Outline the terms of any arrangement that could affect you or your business (and yourself, for that matter) explicitly.
If nothing else, get commitments in an email and save everything you ever receive. (My email inbox is up to over 100,000 right now. Still hanging on. And trust me, I've had to go back and nail people.)
Also, don't date sociopaths.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
OMG you guys. You should soooo come to this show. It's super good.
It's a super rainy, dreary day here in Madison and leaving my house sounds like the worst idea ever. So I got to thinking about marketing. Because winter is coming. In Wisconsin. And on top of people being super busy, it also sucks outside in the winter. No one wants to drive, walk, talk, pay for things or do anything at all that involves taking off their Snuggie.
(Snuggie night. A marketing idea. It's yours. Just give me the credit.)
Actually I think about marketing a lot. It's the part of running a theatre that I most enjoy: The challenges, the ideas, creating the materials and watching the results. (Which, for the last couple of years at least, have been positive.)
Gone are the days of putting up posters and hoping that alone gets people to the show. Also gone, mostly, are the days when an ad in the local newspaper would send people flocking to buy tickets. The world is getting their information in a different way now. I see a lot of theatres sticking to the same old, tried and true marketing initiatives they've always done, and it bums me out.
I learned about marketing as I learned about so many other things: The hard way. For several seasons I relied on the old fashioned methods: Posters and cast members inviting their friends. As you can imagine, this did not work so well.
We did The Sound of Music in 2007. (This was before we started focusing on lesser known shows. Clearly). I ended up over committed and with not enough assistance on that show. Because of that, I forgot something important. I forgot to tell Madison that the show was going on.
d. A hook has been established and incorporated into the design.
e. For captive audiences where you have more than one second to get the idea across,, such as on a postcard or Facebook post, more information can be included like summary, reviews and other details as appropriate.
7) What local businesses might be willing to offer a deal revolving around our show? (Coupons, promotions, similar demographics, etc.)
8) WHAT ELSE?
(Snuggie night. A marketing idea. It's yours. Just give me the credit.)
Actually I think about marketing a lot. It's the part of running a theatre that I most enjoy: The challenges, the ideas, creating the materials and watching the results. (Which, for the last couple of years at least, have been positive.)
Gone are the days of putting up posters and hoping that alone gets people to the show. Also gone, mostly, are the days when an ad in the local newspaper would send people flocking to buy tickets. The world is getting their information in a different way now. I see a lot of theatres sticking to the same old, tried and true marketing initiatives they've always done, and it bums me out.
I learned about marketing as I learned about so many other things: The hard way. For several seasons I relied on the old fashioned methods: Posters and cast members inviting their friends. As you can imagine, this did not work so well.
We did The Sound of Music in 2007. (This was before we started focusing on lesser known shows. Clearly). I ended up over committed and with not enough assistance on that show. Because of that, I forgot something important. I forgot to tell Madison that the show was going on.
Looking back I'm not sure what the hell I was thinking. It's the Sound of Damn Music. If I had developed even a mediocre marketing plan of any kind I would have gotten people in the door. But I didn't. I was too busy trying to create a show that I was proud of. Which happened...but not very many people saw it. That is the worst.
That happened for several years actually. When we switched to lesser known musicals I knew it would get tougher and I at least was prepared. But I didn't really have much idea of how to go about getting the word out on weird shows. After a lot of trial and error, and several utterly crushing performances for teeny audiences, I figured it out.
I work with a small theatre company in Monroe, WI. It is a wonderful organization, full of volunteers who do what they do because they love theatre and the community in which they live. Recently they had a show that did okay audience wise, but not as well as they had hoped. It the first show they'd done since I started working there so unfortunately there was a bit of a learning curve.
The company had taken to following a pretty standard list of publicity tactics that were only working with shows people were familiar with. So as a plan for going forward, I presented them with the following list of marketing questions to consider when marketing any how, but particularly one that may not be a household name:
1) Who is the target audience for this show or event? Age? Demographic? Interests?
2) In addition to general publicity, how do we make contact with the specific
demographic or demographics to whom this show or event will appeal?
3) Who are people we have established relationships with who can help us to reach the demographic we need to reach?
4) What is the “hook”? Can this show/event be sold on name recognition alone? If not, what is the angle we can find that will cause people to pay more attention? Is there a live animal in it? Is there a film version? A familiar song or character? An interesting design concept? A fun theme? A modern/current event relevance?
5) After the “hook(s)” are established, how are we going to promote that hook? Is there a special interest group that may want to hear more about it? Can we do anything at the library to promote the show? Would a live performance help us?
6) What should the graphics for the poster and postcards look like? We need to make sure of the following: (NOTE: This is applicable for organizations who do not have professional graphic designers working for them...although sometimes you get a professional who doesn't follow these guidelines either. So it never hurts to check. Also I have feelings about posters. But I'll get to that later.)
a. Design is eye catching and colorful, with the name of the show prominently featured. (Would you stop to look at it in a sea of other posters?)
b. There is a tag line to help attract interest. Ideally this tag line is funny or suspenseful, and leaves the reader wanting more. (For The Wild Party our tag line was a lyric from the show: "By tomorrow morning we could be dead drunk...or just dead.")C. All pertinent information is included and visible, but not as large as the title of the show. Oh, how it sucks to have something printed and realize that important info is missing. Every time I design something I go through and make sure it's all on there: Who, What, When, Where, Why, How, and How Much?
d. A hook has been established and incorporated into the design.
e. For captive audiences where you have more than one second to get the idea across,, such as on a postcard or Facebook post, more information can be included like summary, reviews and other details as appropriate.
7) What local businesses might be willing to offer a deal revolving around our show? (Coupons, promotions, similar demographics, etc.)
8) WHAT ELSE?
Here's the thing. You are not special.
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| Sorry. |
I'm not special either, don't worry. None of us are. You can never operate under the assumption that people will come to your event because it'll be good and they'll like you. This is the age of Facebook, Twitter, Kindle, YouTube, Instant Video, Netflix, Hulu, Redbox, Reddit, online gaming, Spotify, and a whole bunch of other stuff I'm too out of touch to know about. Entertainment is quite literally at your fingertips at every waking moment of the day. And then there are aaaallll the things that are also going on at the same time as your event that require people to put down their smartphones and buy a ticket.
The million dollar question: Why? Why should I come to your thing? ("Because it's good" is not an acceptable answer.)
More on this, my favorite arts management topic, in further posts. But bottom line we have to get creative. And we have to create a great product on top of that. "Come for the gimmick. Stay for a great show." It's an ongoing challenge that we all must embrace.
Theatre company=hard.
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