Search

The play The Promise by José Rivera shines light on the unsustainable nature ofcolonization and the impact of human sacrifices carried throughout generations of black, indigenous, and other people of color [BIPOC]. The story centers on a Puerto Rican family desperately trying to accomplish their dreams, exploring themes of survival, loss, freedom, and release. In this play, the main character, Guzman, is trapped in an “American Dream” that perpetuates the colonizer mentality. Being tortured by inequality, this “Dream” causes Guzman to almost lose the most important thing he’s ever had: his relationship with his family. I joined The Promise as the Production Stage Manager with a wealth of compassion, trust, and joy, prioritizing personal connections rooted in empathy. With this approach, I nurtured the ability to authentically present myself, assert my authority, and forge a unique identity as a leader. With a company of 88% BIPOC artists, myself included, creating a play in an educational institution, my journey encompassed theatre-making while consciously diverging from production choices historically influenced by “White American Theatre” practices. My upbringing predominantly reflected an American capitalist culture intertwined with the pervasive influence of white supremacy—the social, economic, and political systems that collectively enable white people to maintain power over people of other races. I unconsciously internalized and applied to myself and others the practices of white supremacy, particularly through my work as a theatrical stage manager. As I consciously confronted and relinquished the pursuit of perfectionism —a white supremacist standard — I redirected my focus toward cultivating a loving community that embraced multiple truths, identities, and perspectives. Reflecting on my transformative journey through The Promise, I stand enriched by the profound lessons learned. This experience shattered the confines of traditional norms implanted within me

Faced with being stranded on Pluto, the characters in Alistair McDowell’s X struggle to decide who has the authority to make decisions and even whose story is the “real” truth. During their existential emergency, they wait, fight, and lose themselves altogether as their realities fracture and unfold. As the Production Stage Manager of X, I considered each collaborator's diverse stories and stakes. This external tension fueled an inner one, ultimately challenging me the most. X forced me to confront the incongruity between my avoidant, people-pleasing tendencies and my responsibilities as a Production Stage Manager. Leading this production required a dance with power, challenging old stories about my role as a stage manager and writing new ones about the value I add to a process with my knowledge and experience. My initial approach began with a checklist of values. Before the tension points surfaced in this process, I shared my values of respect, pride, trustworthiness, excellence, flexibility, and fun with the company as part of our first rehearsal. Naïvely, I planned to return to this list as a definitive guide for any problems I might encounter. However, this strategy was complicated by complex interpersonal challenges that would activate my self-sabotaging habits of avoidance, passivity, and ruminating. When we shifted to the performance phase, a tension point arose that tested how I saw myself and my role on the production. Our director became very involved in troubleshooting technical problems encountered during performances, which set off my self-defeating default behaviors. I initially worried that I had done an inadequate job of maintaining the production, leading to a disruption in trust. After a fair bit of hand-wringing, I gathered the courage to confront my discomfort and discuss my concerns with the director. She validated my feelings and agreed that I had the competence to maintain the show now that it had opened. Through this conversation, I applied m

The play Dance Nation explores the ferocity, vulnerability, and discoveries of middle school students on a competitive dance team. After a feral dance under red strobes and a self-aggrandizing monologue where she grew impossibly tall and impossibly loud, one character, Ashlee, asks the audience, “What am I going to do with all this power?”While Ashlee struggles with how to embrace her beauty, intellect, and confidence, I struggled with how to use my authority as the stage manager of this production. I was afraid to use my voice, to speak directly and confidently, because I did not trust my collaborators to respect me. My fear of disappointing others prevented me from owning my authority and confidently leading my team. In order to overcome that fear, I leaned into the discomfort and worked on monitoring my tone of voice, avoiding upspeak, and using direct language. I realized that I had the power and ability to do my job well, regardless of how others felt, and I could do so with kindness to both the company and myself. As I practiced using my voice, I was able to trust my collaborators to listen to and support me. My fear slipped away, and my belief in myself grew. I prioritized meeting the community with compassion and used my authority with kindness. I confidently led Dance Nation to a triumphant run of performances with the knowledge that my use of my power had contributed to the development of a courageous process.

“In my experience, fear comes from not knowing what to expect and not feeling you have any control over what’s about to happen. This must be the question you’re asking yourself. What is going to happen next? Don’t. panic. When you panic, you’re far from fear, you’re out of control. There is power there, there is power in NOT KNOWING.”Fear, Bunny Bunny Before I knew what the production of Bunny Bunny was, I knew I wanted to do something big to challenge myself, treading into territory that would push me outside of my comfort zone. I was determined to lean into the unknown and let go of perfectionistic self-expectations. On this journey, I discovered interwoven themes of connection, trust, and most prominently, fear, growing curious about how these themes influence my leadership style. When I started graduate school, I thought that in order to appear capable, reliable, competent, and marketable, my management style had to default to perfectionistic tendencies and surface level connections. I didn’t show up authentically since I was both afraid of making mistakes and of being shut out of the cohort if I made a social misstep. This fear led to an amalgamation of self-doubt, distrust, and a disconnect between myself and who I felt I should be as a manager. My experience at UCSD has been life-changing and world opening. It has given me space to find myself again, to grow as a leader, to fail and flourish, and to deconstruct my perfectionism. I proudly led a successful run of the show by adapting to a new leadership style built on communicating personal boundaries and expectations, delegating tasks, and encouraging independence among the stage management team while offering guidance and input when necessary. As a capstone to my graduate school experience, Bunny Bunny helped me to connect with myself and my collaborators. I found and embraced the power of the unexpected during this devised process. I overcame barriers that prevented me from showing up authentically by relea

The central theme of the play peerless by Jiehae Park, based on Shakespeare’s Macbeth, is achieving success by any means necessary. The play emphasizes that sacrificing one’s humanity and integrity in pursuit of success will lead to suffering and loss. The production process of peerless revealed my default behavior of self-sacrifice. Throughout rehearsals, I denied myself the necessary space to replenish by giving all of my time, energy, and compassion to the process and my collaborators. Sacrificing myself for the production bred feelings of shame, disappointment, and resentment, which caused me to disengage. I began to question this response in order to reconnect to the production and identified a long-held and destructive belief that in order to be an effective leader, I needed to be completely selfless. I ultimately turned further inward to examine how I could navigate my emotional responses and lead with authenticity to bring myself back to the process. Several components of peerless reflected what I had felt and experienced during 2020 and 2021: loss, grief, cruelty, disregard for human life, and valuing the individual over the collective. I aligned my personal values of kindness, compassion, grace, and connection to my approach to stage management by leading conversations about the events in the play and themes of murder, arson, and death with care, empathy, and humor. I named and acknowledged when I was activated by these themes, and reminded myself to welcome the emotions rather than try to deny or suppress them. I modeled how to compassionately embrace my humanity by stepping away due to illness, overwhelm, and grief. These open and vulnerable conversations contributed to a brave space where all collaborators could discuss their honest reactions to the text. The eight weeks that I spent alongside characters who were embodying the worst of humanity revealed that my approach to stage management is centered on being whole and embracing authenticity while ackn

OF THE THESISEstablishing a Caring Community within the Everybody Process by Allison Bailey Master of Fine Arts in Theatre and Dance (Stage Management) University of California San Diego, 2022 Professor Lisa Porter, Chair “Also, really listening to each other, and maybe being less judgmental and more forgiving but, also, owning up to our mistakes and being open to changing our own minds. Lead with our Understanding. You know: just being nice to each other. For once. And I’m talking about Everybody.” USHER, Everybody by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins I am drawn to theatre because I value the opportunity to create a culture of care within communities that create art. My thesis production, Everybody, was about the uncertainty of life and death, and what humans do with the opportunities and relationships that we have during our existence. My opportunity to lead in the collaborative creation of an embodied community was disrupted by COVID-19 and four quarters of virtual learning and production work. This led to frustration and angst when I was crafting my thesis ix intentions. Still, I seized the opportunity that was offered, and committed to nurturing a community in which care and support are at the forefront of its shared values. I ultimately referred to the script to articulate my intentions around cultivating a supportive environment, and aligned my objectives with what I consider to be the necessary components of such a community. Trust and camaraderie are essential for supportive and caring community building. These elements were built with the stage management team by creating a structure of feedback that held everyone accountable. Every week, I asked the team a question, and I shared a query I had been reflecting on for the week. By exchanging this data throughout the process, I received authentic feedback, and built upon the team’s relationships to cultivate interdependence and accountability within the entire rehearsal process. When there were moments of risin

The central theme of the play peerless by Jiehae Park, based on Shakespeare’s Macbeth, is achieving success by any means necessary. The play emphasizes that sacrificing one’s humanity and integrity in pursuit of success will lead to suffering and loss. The production process of peerless revealed my default behavior of self-sacrifice. Throughout rehearsals, I denied myself the necessary space to replenish by giving all of my time, energy, and compassion to the process and my collaborators. Sacrificing myself for the production bred feelings of shame, disappointment, and resentment, which caused me to disengage. I began to question this response in order to reconnect to the production and identified a long-held and destructive belief that in order to be an effective leader, I needed to be completely selfless. I ultimately turned further inward to examine how I could navigate my emotional responses and lead with authenticity to bring myself back to the process. Several components of peerless reflected what I had felt and experienced during 2020 and 2021: loss, grief, cruelty, disregard for human life, and valuing the individual over the collective. I aligned my personal values of kindness, compassion, grace, and connection to my approach to stage management by leading conversations about the events in the play and themes of murder, arson, and death with care, empathy, and humor. I named and acknowledged when I was activated by these themes, and reminded myself to welcome the emotions rather than try to deny or suppress them. I modeled how to compassionately embrace my humanity by stepping away due to illness, overwhelm, and grief. These open and vulnerable conversations contributed to a brave space where all collaborators could discuss their honest reactions to the text. The eight weeks that I spent alongside characters who were embodying the worst of humanity revealed that my approach to stage management is centered on being whole and embracing authenticity while ackn

OF THE THESISEstablishing a Caring Community within the Everybody Process by Allison Bailey Master of Fine Arts in Theatre and Dance (Stage Management) University of California San Diego, 2022 Professor Lisa Porter, Chair “Also, really listening to each other, and maybe being less judgmental and more forgiving but, also, owning up to our mistakes and being open to changing our own minds. Lead with our Understanding. You know: just being nice to each other. For once. And I’m talking about Everybody.” USHER, Everybody by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins I am drawn to theatre because I value the opportunity to create a culture of care within communities that create art. My thesis production, Everybody, was about the uncertainty of life and death, and what humans do with the opportunities and relationships that we have during our existence. My opportunity to lead in the collaborative creation of an embodied community was disrupted by COVID-19 and four quarters of virtual learning and production work. This led to frustration and angst when I was crafting my thesis ix intentions. Still, I seized the opportunity that was offered, and committed to nurturing a community in which care and support are at the forefront of its shared values. I ultimately referred to the script to articulate my intentions around cultivating a supportive environment, and aligned my objectives with what I consider to be the necessary components of such a community. Trust and camaraderie are essential for supportive and caring community building. These elements were built with the stage management team by creating a structure of feedback that held everyone accountable. Every week, I asked the team a question, and I shared a query I had been reflecting on for the week. By exchanging this data throughout the process, I received authentic feedback, and built upon the team’s relationships to cultivate interdependence and accountability within the entire rehearsal process. When there were moments of risin

A foundational concept I took away from my previous studies was that Stage Managers are seen, not heard. I used to be afraid of inserting my voice into a conversation and interrupting the creative process. My silence led to passive behaviors which I mistook for practices of service-leadership . As a service-leader, my primary goal is to improve others’ experiences and to be in service rather than in control of a process regardless of my position. In hindsight, I recognize occasions when I suppressed my instincts, and my intermittently unresponsive presence was detrimental to the production; what I was practicing was the act of service without the leadership. Throughout my graduate studies, I learned to trust my voice and my ability to facilitate, build relationships, and advocate authentically for the process I was both serving and leading.During previous productions, I shied away from opportunities to build relationships with collaborators. Given the physical separation of the company working on Heap, a new play produced on Zoom, it was important to establish a sense of community from the onset. Before the first rehearsal, I assembled and distributed care packages for each company member with a mug, tea, coffee, and a snack. These items would typically be found on a hospitality cart in a rehearsal room. The experience of each person enjoying the same drink during rehearsal was a way to unite the company while we were physically distanced. Additionally, Heap’s production calendar consisted of twenty-three days to rehearse and film. The time restrictions in this foreign environment allotted rare moments for learning curves and playful exploration. I recognized this obstacle and responded to my instincts and foresight; I budgeted rehearsal hours carefully, scheduling concurrent breakout rooms for rehearsal, costume fittings, and technical setups with actors and designers. I authentically facilitated weekly production meetings in which I asked questions utilizing the c

Theatre, like academia, often operates within an elitist institutional model focused on the capitalistic foundation of product over process. Theories and practices have evolved within these systems to further support and enable hierarchy, bureaucracy, and white supremacy. In an environment where art and artistry is at the soul of collaborative relationships and authentic communication, this type of model is unsustainable, limiting, and toxic to creativity. My research, which centers the belief that teachers, like Stage Managers, are artists, examines the connection between those in positions of leadership and the institutions in which they operate, and how holding space for critical, individual thought, advocating for equity of the oppressed, and re-designing the container (the classroom and the rehearsal room) further challenge established norms and breaks down these systems from within.Freire’s critique of the banking model in his book “Pedagogy of the Oppressed” (Freire, 1970), decries how a teacher (or mentor, or leader) is meant to impart knowledge on the empty vessel mentee, maintaining their status as “master” throughout the inevitably oppressive dynamic. This model denies creativity by implying that there is one singular answer, that conversation is a technique, and that the answer is the end point. Freire instead argues that conversation is part of the process towards creativity and enlightenment. His dialogical method of teaching upholds that everyone carries experience, that conversation encourages an equitable exchange of ideas, and that empowering non-oppressive relationships (whether with others or the self) are at the core of pedagogy. As an artist who is process focused, my most fulfilling and successful relationships have closely followed this model, and in my time researching and practicing the art of teaching, I have found that this model serves the artistry of different interdisciplinary practices. As a teacher of undergraduate students, I have a

During the production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I expanded beyond my comfortzone of traditional production and engaged in a pre-recorded project to be debuted online during a global pandemic. While orchestrating this production, a compelling dynamic in the play resonated with me: the relationship between Peter Quince, a new up-and-coming producer, and Bottom, an experienced and seasoned producer and actor. In the play, there are collaborative challenges between these two characters and, after an enormous fiasco, they come together to make a captivating piece of theatre. This relationship reminded me of several rather complex collaborators that I have worked with during my academic career. I connected with the struggle of evaluating relationships, establishing expectations, and regulating heightened emotions. During this production, I learned the essential and lifelong takeaway: adaptation is necessary to grow and perfection is a myth. Adaptation takes many shapes, and for me, it means the shifting of expectations, asking for help, and assessing what is and what isn’t working. After an ardous few days of navigating uncharted waters at the beginning of filming, I discovered that I was holding myself and my collaborators to an unrealistic standard. I believed that we would get through the process with few, if any mistakes due to how much we had prepared. I realized this idea of reaching perfection was unattainable. The realization that I could loosen my grip on my expectations allowed me to ask mentors, friends, and collaborators for help and to rapidly diagnose the situation. Throughout my academic career, I have been taught in predominantly white spaces. I have been considered the “exceptional” BIPOC student, which has caused me to frame my worth around perfection and productivity. In my experience and research, I have found that perfectionism and exceptionalism are ideals perpetrated by White Supremacy and are related to other -isms such as racism and ableism. T

During the production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I expanded beyond my comfortzone of traditional production and engaged in a pre-recorded project to be debuted online during a global pandemic. While orchestrating this production, a compelling dynamic in the play resonated with me: the relationship between Peter Quince, a new up-and-coming producer, and Bottom, an experienced and seasoned producer and actor. In the play, there are collaborative challenges between these two characters and, after an enormous fiasco, they come together to make a captivating piece of theatre. This relationship reminded me of several rather complex collaborators that I have worked with during my academic career. I connected with the struggle of evaluating relationships, establishing expectations, and regulating heightened emotions. During this production, I learned the essential and lifelong takeaway: adaptation is necessary to grow and perfection is a myth. Adaptation takes many shapes, and for me, it means the shifting of expectations, asking for help, and assessing what is and what isn’t working. After an ardous few days of navigating uncharted waters at the beginning of filming, I discovered that I was holding myself and my collaborators to an unrealistic standard. I believed that we would get through the process with few, if any mistakes due to how much we had prepared. I realized this idea of reaching perfection was unattainable. The realization that I could loosen my grip on my expectations allowed me to ask mentors, friends, and collaborators for help and to rapidly diagnose the situation. Throughout my academic career, I have been taught in predominantly white spaces. I have been considered the “exceptional” BIPOC student, which has caused me to frame my worth around perfection and productivity. In my experience and research, I have found that perfectionism and exceptionalism are ideals perpetrated by White Supremacy and are related to other -isms such as racism and ableism. T

Theatre, like academia, often operates within an elitist institutional model focused on the capitalistic foundation of product over process. Theories and practices have evolved within these systems to further support and enable hierarchy, bureaucracy, and white supremacy. In an environment where art and artistry is at the soul of collaborative relationships and authentic communication, this type of model is unsustainable, limiting, and toxic to creativity. My research, which centers the belief that teachers, like Stage Managers, are artists, examines the connection between those in positions of leadership and the institutions in which they operate, and how holding space for critical, individual thought, advocating for equity of the oppressed, and re-designing the container (the classroom and the rehearsal room) further challenge established norms and breaks down these systems from within.Freire’s critique of the banking model in his book “Pedagogy of the Oppressed” (Freire, 1970), decries how a teacher (or mentor, or leader) is meant to impart knowledge on the empty vessel mentee, maintaining their status as “master” throughout the inevitably oppressive dynamic. This model denies creativity by implying that there is one singular answer, that conversation is a technique, and that the answer is the end point. Freire instead argues that conversation is part of the process towards creativity and enlightenment. His dialogical method of teaching upholds that everyone carries experience, that conversation encourages an equitable exchange of ideas, and that empowering non-oppressive relationships (whether with others or the self) are at the core of pedagogy. As an artist who is process focused, my most fulfilling and successful relationships have closely followed this model, and in my time researching and practicing the art of teaching, I have found that this model serves the artistry of different interdisciplinary practices. As a teacher of undergraduate students, I have a

A foundational concept I took away from my previous studies was that Stage Managers are seen, not heard. I used to be afraid of inserting my voice into a conversation and interrupting the creative process. My silence led to passive behaviors which I mistook for practices of service-leadership . As a service-leader, my primary goal is to improve others’ experiences and to be in service rather than in control of a process regardless of my position. In hindsight, I recognize occasions when I suppressed my instincts, and my intermittently unresponsive presence was detrimental to the production; what I was practicing was the act of service without the leadership. Throughout my graduate studies, I learned to trust my voice and my ability to facilitate, build relationships, and advocate authentically for the process I was both serving and leading.During previous productions, I shied away from opportunities to build relationships with collaborators. Given the physical separation of the company working on Heap, a new play produced on Zoom, it was important to establish a sense of community from the onset. Before the first rehearsal, I assembled and distributed care packages for each company member with a mug, tea, coffee, and a snack. These items would typically be found on a hospitality cart in a rehearsal room. The experience of each person enjoying the same drink during rehearsal was a way to unite the company while we were physically distanced. Additionally, Heap’s production calendar consisted of twenty-three days to rehearse and film. The time restrictions in this foreign environment allotted rare moments for learning curves and playful exploration. I recognized this obstacle and responded to my instincts and foresight; I budgeted rehearsal hours carefully, scheduling concurrent breakout rooms for rehearsal, costume fittings, and technical setups with actors and designers. I authentically facilitated weekly production meetings in which I asked questions utilizing the c

The combined thesisWORKS dance theatre productions provided me with the opportunity to explore my fundamental approach to stage management. By examining my relationship with time, specifically the nuanced differences of chronos and kairos, two ancient Greek words that offer complimentary, yet polarized characterizations of time, I experimented with an adaptive leadership approach. Chronos is chronological and quantitative, measured by minutes, seasons, and quarters. Alternatively, kairos is unmeasured qualitative timing, enabling the interpretation of moments and allowing for intuitive choices. In examining and interpreting these concepts, I discovered that the chronos elements of logic and quickness have greatly governed my life and work. These qualities, which have made me an effective stage manager, can be potentially destructive when left unexamined and can derail efforts to manage time with equanimity as a person and leader. Throughout this process, my stage management style blossomed into a purpose driven and artistically focused approach, when I experimented with incorporating the listening and sensing qualities of kairos. By engaging with this kairos based method, I orchestrated the technical process with an adaptive style to the allocation of time. The process of letting go of a rigid approach to time management, enabled me to connect to the entire company and contribute to our shared culture. In fusing the yin and yang of chronos and kairos, I discovered a freedom in bringing my whole self as a leader to the collaborators and the work, courageously staying present throughout the process and playing with time efficiently and creatively.

The UC San Diego production of Man in Love was a collaboration between the two areas of the Department of Theatre and Dance, blending traditional theatrical storytelling with expressive dance interludes. To meet the show’s needs, I chose to think strategically about building a Stage Management team that could easily handle the challenges of this ambitious project. By focusing on awareness and being mindful of the human needs of the production, I was able to foster a team dynamic where each of us could stretch our skills in an environment of informal mentorship and friendly feedback, allowing us to lead with equanimity and grace. The cast and crew came from widely diverse backgrounds and levels of expertise. For many, this was their first time on stage. The show would also take place in the largest of the five theatres on campus. Part of my team had been assigned by my mentors, and I determined that we would need two additional members to meet the needs of the show. To ensure that the cast and crew found representation in their leadership, I was very deliberate about bringing diversity into the group. I established a nightly check-in where we could self-reflect and share our discoveries with each other and encouraged each of us to try new things. As we encountered challenges, I modeled transparency and authenticity in sharing our feelings. These considerations allowed us to thrive and gave us the cohesion we needed to be a group of highly functional leaders.

The combined thesisWORKS dance theatre productions provided me with the opportunity to explore my fundamental approach to stage management. By examining my relationship with time, specifically the nuanced differences of chronos and kairos, two ancient Greek words that offer complimentary, yet polarized characterizations of time, I experimented with an adaptive leadership approach. Chronos is chronological and quantitative, measured by minutes, seasons, and quarters. Alternatively, kairos is unmeasured qualitative timing, enabling the interpretation of moments and allowing for intuitive choices. In examining and interpreting these concepts, I discovered that the chronos elements of logic and quickness have greatly governed my life and work. These qualities, which have made me an effective stage manager, can be potentially destructive when left unexamined and can derail efforts to manage time with equanimity as a person and leader. Throughout this process, my stage management style blossomed into a purpose driven and artistically focused approach, when I experimented with incorporating the listening and sensing qualities of kairos. By engaging with this kairos based method, I orchestrated the technical process with an adaptive style to the allocation of time. The process of letting go of a rigid approach to time management, enabled me to connect to the entire company and contribute to our shared culture. In fusing the yin and yang of chronos and kairos, I discovered a freedom in bringing my whole self as a leader to the collaborators and the work, courageously staying present throughout the process and playing with time efficiently and creatively.

The UC San Diego production of Man in Love was a collaboration between the two areas of the Department of Theatre and Dance, blending traditional theatrical storytelling with expressive dance interludes. To meet the show’s needs, I chose to think strategically about building a Stage Management team that could easily handle the challenges of this ambitious project. By focusing on awareness and being mindful of the human needs of the production, I was able to foster a team dynamic where each of us could stretch our skills in an environment of informal mentorship and friendly feedback, allowing us to lead with equanimity and grace. The cast and crew came from widely diverse backgrounds and levels of expertise. For many, this was their first time on stage. The show would also take place in the largest of the five theatres on campus. Part of my team had been assigned by my mentors, and I determined that we would need two additional members to meet the needs of the show. To ensure that the cast and crew found representation in their leadership, I was very deliberate about bringing diversity into the group. I established a nightly check-in where we could self-reflect and share our discoveries with each other and encouraged each of us to try new things. As we encountered challenges, I modeled transparency and authenticity in sharing our feelings. These considerations allowed us to thrive and gave us the cohesion we needed to be a group of highly functional leaders.

Balm in Gilead requires a unique level of orchestration and scoring by the ensemble, similar to the specificity of reading and playing a piece of music. The play exemplifies the need for ensemble stage managers, who lead productions with an ensemble mindset, establishing themselves as one with the ensemble, demonstrating the same level of focus, attention to detail, and storytelling as the actors and director. I guided our production with this ensemble approach, earning the trust of the players as I embraced each artistic choice fully, voiced technical curiosities, and shared in the collective language of the storytelling.As I engaged the sensibility of an ensemble stage manager, I successfully integrated myself into the show’s artistic scope. I referenced the spirit and culture of ensemble we had pledged to uphold, regularly discussed character and story, and addressed issues while appealing to a sense of community. I used plural pronouns from day one. The play was ours, and I included myself and the stage management team when talking about the creative process. I stood and joined the ensemble for the opening and closing ritual of each rehearsal. I gave multiple lines when prompting, showing that I understood the actors’ needs within the complex text. When calling the show, I was one with the action onstage, fully engaged. Surfacing a group purpose resulted in discipline, community, and communal responsibility in both process and product. This ensemble approach to stage management contributed to a production driven by the company’s interconnected accountability.

Within the production process of Mother Courage and Her Children, I discovered parallels between the character of Mother Courage and myself. In the play, Mother Courage trudges forward with her cart, facing difficult decisions with unpredictable outcomes. She relies heavily on her ego for protection, which results in the loss of all three of her children. Mother Courage is resilient, however she lacks the ability to actively acknowledge, accept, and engage in challenging situations without falling victim to stress, self-judgement, and self-doubt. Resilience has always been one of my greatest strengths, but during the process of Mother Courage and Her Children, I observed how my own resilience can negatively impact the production process. Mother Courage and her cart symbolize self-imposed expectations, personal baggage, and the destructive qualities of ego. She is resistant to engaging with her authentic self, and lacks presence. I relied upon my resilience to weather the challenges of the process, and this behavior distanced me from my fellow collaborators. I became Mother Courage and her cart, operating solely on resilience, without its counterpart, equanimity, losing the connection to the cast, director, and stage management team. However, in the technical phase of the process, I rebuilt those connections. By detaching from my ego, accepting the situations for what they were, and engaging with my authentic self, I found the balance between my resilience and equanimity. My experience with the Mother Courage process helped me to live in the mess with equanimity, while accepting and acknowledging my own resilience.

In Everybody Black, the Black Historian says, “Everything is just a story. It’s a choice. And ya learn from it and change. Or ya don’t.” This play examines historical narratives within and about the Black community in America, and, as a Caucasian person, the process led me to examine the way I view myself, and how my life experiences have influenced the person I have become. Growing up, “good” and “bad” were dictated to me through religion and were determined in judgement as a representation of my character. I learned to live my life governed by a value system that had no middle ground. Society dictated how I should behave, and I stifled myself in order to conform.In the play, the Black Historian places the actors in roles that are oversimplified representations of real life. This choice felt like an analogy for the ways society and religion have expected me to behave. In the same way the characters challenged how their stories are told, I confronted my own history. In order to connect, I chose to reveal my feelings and risk rejection. I engaged with my collaborators on a personal level, and made an effort to hear their individual histories, actively forging relationships outside of rehearsal. As I addressed my need to behave in certain predetermined ways, a weight from my past lifted, and my leadership as a stage manager evolved into invitations to collaborate rather than snap judgement.

Through my work on A Beautiful Day, I recognized my default of assigning my collaborators different levels of worth, creating conditional and transactional interactions. The production highlighted the toxicity of one family’s expectations as they permeated through a collective attempt to create the perfect Thanksgiving meal. The unattainability of the endeavor lowered their worth as assigned by the announcers, two men who shared a running score-based judgment of the play’s characters and their actions. This play was a metaphor for my experience as a production stage manager. I recognized my pattern of withholding my trust and engagement until collaborators proved themselves worthy. Following my guarded assessment of the worthiness of others, I frequently withheld complete engagement, preventing me from fully connecting to the production, my environment, and the people involved. Upon this realization, I began leaning into uncomfortable relationships and reframing my cycle of expectations. Throughout this process, I evolved into an authentically engaged leader, dedicated to nurturing collaborative relationships. I have transformed my feelings about connection as an earned privilege into the liberating insight that I want to unconditionally trust the process and those involved. It is with inspiring self-compassion and self-awareness of my need to judge and label that I saw mistakes as learning opportunities in A Beautiful Day. I transformed my style into one of confidence and truth, resiliently engaging with the process and recognizing the intrinsic and vital value that all collaborators brought to A Beautiful Day.

In Everybody Black, the Black Historian says, “Everything is just a story. It’s a choice. And ya learn from it and change. Or ya don’t.” This play examines historical narratives within and about the Black community in America, and, as a Caucasian person, the process led me to examine the way I view myself, and how my life experiences have influenced the person I have become. Growing up, “good” and “bad” were dictated to me through religion and were determined in judgement as a representation of my character. I learned to live my life governed by a value system that had no middle ground. Society dictated how I should behave, and I stifled myself in order to conform.In the play, the Black Historian places the actors in roles that are oversimplified representations of real life. This choice felt like an analogy for the ways society and religion have expected me to behave. In the same way the characters challenged how their stories are told, I confronted my own history. In order to connect, I chose to reveal my feelings and risk rejection. I engaged with my collaborators on a personal level, and made an effort to hear their individual histories, actively forging relationships outside of rehearsal. As I addressed my need to behave in certain predetermined ways, a weight from my past lifted, and my leadership as a stage manager evolved into invitations to collaborate rather than snap judgement.

Through my work on A Beautiful Day, I recognized my default of assigning my collaborators different levels of worth, creating conditional and transactional interactions. The production highlighted the toxicity of one family’s expectations as they permeated through a collective attempt to create the perfect Thanksgiving meal. The unattainability of the endeavor lowered their worth as assigned by the announcers, two men who shared a running score-based judgment of the play’s characters and their actions. This play was a metaphor for my experience as a production stage manager. I recognized my pattern of withholding my trust and engagement until collaborators proved themselves worthy. Following my guarded assessment of the worthiness of others, I frequently withheld complete engagement, preventing me from fully connecting to the production, my environment, and the people involved. Upon this realization, I began leaning into uncomfortable relationships and reframing my cycle of expectations. Throughout this process, I evolved into an authentically engaged leader, dedicated to nurturing collaborative relationships. I have transformed my feelings about connection as an earned privilege into the liberating insight that I want to unconditionally trust the process and those involved. It is with inspiring self-compassion and self-awareness of my need to judge and label that I saw mistakes as learning opportunities in A Beautiful Day. I transformed my style into one of confidence and truth, resiliently engaging with the process and recognizing the intrinsic and vital value that all collaborators brought to A Beautiful Day.

Balm in Gilead requires a unique level of orchestration and scoring by the ensemble, similar to the specificity of reading and playing a piece of music. The play exemplifies the need for ensemble stage managers, who lead productions with an ensemble mindset, establishing themselves as one with the ensemble, demonstrating the same level of focus, attention to detail, and storytelling as the actors and director. I guided our production with this ensemble approach, earning the trust of the players as I embraced each artistic choice fully, voiced technical curiosities, and shared in the collective language of the storytelling.As I engaged the sensibility of an ensemble stage manager, I successfully integrated myself into the show’s artistic scope. I referenced the spirit and culture of ensemble we had pledged to uphold, regularly discussed character and story, and addressed issues while appealing to a sense of community. I used plural pronouns from day one. The play was ours, and I included myself and the stage management team when talking about the creative process. I stood and joined the ensemble for the opening and closing ritual of each rehearsal. I gave multiple lines when prompting, showing that I understood the actors’ needs within the complex text. When calling the show, I was one with the action onstage, fully engaged. Surfacing a group purpose resulted in discipline, community, and communal responsibility in both process and product. This ensemble approach to stage management contributed to a production driven by the company’s interconnected accountability.

Within the production process of Mother Courage and Her Children, I discovered parallels between the character of Mother Courage and myself. In the play, Mother Courage trudges forward with her cart, facing difficult decisions with unpredictable outcomes. She relies heavily on her ego for protection, which results in the loss of all three of her children. Mother Courage is resilient, however she lacks the ability to actively acknowledge, accept, and engage in challenging situations without falling victim to stress, self-judgement, and self-doubt. Resilience has always been one of my greatest strengths, but during the process of Mother Courage and Her Children, I observed how my own resilience can negatively impact the production process. Mother Courage and her cart symbolize self-imposed expectations, personal baggage, and the destructive qualities of ego. She is resistant to engaging with her authentic self, and lacks presence. I relied upon my resilience to weather the challenges of the process, and this behavior distanced me from my fellow collaborators. I became Mother Courage and her cart, operating solely on resilience, without its counterpart, equanimity, losing the connection to the cast, director, and stage management team. However, in the technical phase of the process, I rebuilt those connections. By detaching from my ego, accepting the situations for what they were, and engaging with my authentic self, I found the balance between my resilience and equanimity. My experience with the Mother Courage process helped me to live in the mess with equanimity, while accepting and acknowledging my own resilience.

OF THE THESISBreaking Down Walls and Cultivating Collaborative Connection: Exploring and Engaging Authentic LeadershipbyKasson MarroquinMaster of Fine Arts in Theatre and Dance (Stage Management)University of California, San Diego, 2018Professor Lisa Porter, ChairThe non-traditional process of Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again. was an ideal catalyst for exploring my authentic voice as a leader within the production environment. The director’s style and structure demanded constant presence and genuine engagement, which tested my adaptability. I faced internal walls of self-doubt, fear, and resistance that blocked my voice and hindered collaboration. Gaining awareness of the restrictive influence of the walls led me to call the barriers into question and commit to breaking them down. I courageously confronted my fear of judgment and embraced self-compassion and vulnerability. I regularly took risks, followed new instincts, experimented with communication styles, and pushed myself to take up space and speak in an exposed manner. I employed patience as I navigated discomfort until my new working style felt natural, beneficial, and productive.By expressing my curiosities, concerns, and excitement about the process to the director, our relationship softened. Space opened for trust, compromise, clear communication, and adaptive change, and our connection strengthened as I honestly engaged and reinforced my boundaries. Despite my fears, I diligently chipped away at the walls with each risk I took. They began to crumble, creating room for cultivating my untapped abilities and building productive, rather than restrictive, collaboration. Situations that I previously perceived as conflicts became merely challenges to investigate and integrate. The Revolt process was a culmination of years of work that showed me the capacity of my adaptability, potency of my leadership, and the power of engaging my authentic voice.

I utilized What of the Night as a leadership laboratory to experiment with tactics for building trust and establishing informal authority with my collaborators. I learned that I am most engaged as a leader when I closely consider the group’s dynamic and adapt my methods accordingly. My first trial was with the stage management team. I directly invited their feedback on my methodology, requested their perspective on production challenges, and practiced translating my direct language into indirect communication. This openness to feedback communicated trust, enhancing my connection to the team. However, it also provided an opportunity for the team to push hierarchical boundaries, causing me to increase my efforts in reasserting the structure. Next, I worked closely with the design team by articulating my expectations of self-advocacy. I spoke with pathos, promised to advocate for the designs, and provided concrete suggestions for how to improve group communication. Utilizing this authority during the transition into technical rehearsals prepared both the stage management and design teams for the shift into the theater and the challenges ahead. Finally, I built trust and authority with the director by offering myself as a guide to the UC San Diego collaborative structures and as a resource for a personal challenge outside of the production process. Ultimately, my risk-taking on the What of the Night collaboration enhanced my leadership confidence and intuition. I will incorporate these lessons courageously and continue to experiment with enhancing group trust and connection through this transparent, efficient, and adaptive approach.

OF THE THESISBreaking Down Walls and Cultivating Collaborative Connection: Exploring and Engaging Authentic LeadershipbyKasson MarroquinMaster of Fine Arts in Theatre and Dance (Stage Management)University of California, San Diego, 2018Professor Lisa Porter, ChairThe non-traditional process of Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again. was an ideal catalyst for exploring my authentic voice as a leader within the production environment. The director’s style and structure demanded constant presence and genuine engagement, which tested my adaptability. I faced internal walls of self-doubt, fear, and resistance that blocked my voice and hindered collaboration. Gaining awareness of the restrictive influence of the walls led me to call the barriers into question and commit to breaking them down. I courageously confronted my fear of judgment and embraced self-compassion and vulnerability. I regularly took risks, followed new instincts, experimented with communication styles, and pushed myself to take up space and speak in an exposed manner. I employed patience as I navigated discomfort until my new working style felt natural, beneficial, and productive.By expressing my curiosities, concerns, and excitement about the process to the director, our relationship softened. Space opened for trust, compromise, clear communication, and adaptive change, and our connection strengthened as I honestly engaged and reinforced my boundaries. Despite my fears, I diligently chipped away at the walls with each risk I took. They began to crumble, creating room for cultivating my untapped abilities and building productive, rather than restrictive, collaboration. Situations that I previously perceived as conflicts became merely challenges to investigate and integrate. The Revolt process was a culmination of years of work that showed me the capacity of my adaptability, potency of my leadership, and the power of engaging my authentic voice.

I utilized What of the Night as a leadership laboratory to experiment with tactics for building trust and establishing informal authority with my collaborators. I learned that I am most engaged as a leader when I closely consider the group’s dynamic and adapt my methods accordingly. My first trial was with the stage management team. I directly invited their feedback on my methodology, requested their perspective on production challenges, and practiced translating my direct language into indirect communication. This openness to feedback communicated trust, enhancing my connection to the team. However, it also provided an opportunity for the team to push hierarchical boundaries, causing me to increase my efforts in reasserting the structure. Next, I worked closely with the design team by articulating my expectations of self-advocacy. I spoke with pathos, promised to advocate for the designs, and provided concrete suggestions for how to improve group communication. Utilizing this authority during the transition into technical rehearsals prepared both the stage management and design teams for the shift into the theater and the challenges ahead. Finally, I built trust and authority with the director by offering myself as a guide to the UC San Diego collaborative structures and as a resource for a personal challenge outside of the production process. Ultimately, my risk-taking on the What of the Night collaboration enhanced my leadership confidence and intuition. I will incorporate these lessons courageously and continue to experiment with enhancing group trust and connection through this transparent, efficient, and adaptive approach.

The journey of finding my voice has forced me to show up and be seen in my work. I silenced my own voice at a dehumanizing call center, as a faceless target for frustrated customers. l discovered the power of connection by embodying advocacy and engaging my voice and body in my work. Primarily, I listen to my gut and trust my intuition. Secondly, I advocate by speaking up for those who cannot advocate for themselves. During the Streamers production process, when I felt the twinge in my gut, the stagnation of oxygen flowing to my head, or the tightening in my throat, I paid attention.In Streamers, Carlyle says, “That’s the black man’s problem altogether. Too much feelin’. He too close to everything. He is, man too close to his blood, to his body.” I am close to my body and previously chose to hide so I was not labeled as an “angry black woman.” Fear of that stereotype dominated my work and silenced my voice. I dreaded the dissonance that is necessary for dynamic collaboration. When Streamers placed the challenges of race relations, nudity and violence in my lap, I chose to engage by ensuring the actors felt heard and understood. This was a vulnerable place and I was their advocate while continuing to nurture the creativity of the process. Being close to my body and engaging my voice is my key to effective and inspired leadership.

The journey of finding my voice has forced me to show up and be seen in my work. I silenced my own voice at a dehumanizing call center, as a faceless target for frustrated customers. l discovered the power of connection by embodying advocacy and engaging my voice and body in my work. Primarily, I listen to my gut and trust my intuition. Secondly, I advocate by speaking up for those who cannot advocate for themselves. During the Streamers production process, when I felt the twinge in my gut, the stagnation of oxygen flowing to my head, or the tightening in my throat, I paid attention.In Streamers, Carlyle says, “That’s the black man’s problem altogether. Too much feelin’. He too close to everything. He is, man too close to his blood, to his body.” I am close to my body and previously chose to hide so I was not labeled as an “angry black woman.” Fear of that stereotype dominated my work and silenced my voice. I dreaded the dissonance that is necessary for dynamic collaboration. When Streamers placed the challenges of race relations, nudity and violence in my lap, I chose to engage by ensuring the actors felt heard and understood. This was a vulnerable place and I was their advocate while continuing to nurture the creativity of the process. Being close to my body and engaging my voice is my key to effective and inspired leadership.

Knowing how to balance the perception of collaborators with the choice to be an authentic leader is what makes an effective stage manager. Growing up in hotels, as mirrored in the set of Movers + Shakers, I was taught that the perception of the customer was always right. In my work, navigating perception means more than making sure someone is happy. It is taking inventory of how everyone feels in response to my actions as a leader, and balancing how I take responsibility for my actions with defending my choices. When collaborators and I disagree, I work to help the group move forward as a whole in spite of the conflict. The director of Movers + Shakers taught me that collaboration means sharing ideas and seeing where discussion takes us, whether that is agreeing or opposing and discovering an innovative third path, born out of a disagreement. Similar to the character of Dorrie, I practiced asserting my opinions and trusting my gut while having challenging conversations. Engaging my authentic self while stage managing this process also meant being open to feedback, and staying present with the evolving needs of a devised process. My work on Movers + Shakers was a continual negotiation between remaining true to my instincts and incorporating the insights of my collaborators. Like Dorrie, I was invested while staying curious about the actions and intentions of my colleagues. Ultimately, my successful negotiation of this process is what empowered me to be an authentic and effective leader.

During my graduate studies, I have grown to understand the complexity of leading an exceptional stage management team. I am departing with a deep curiosity about how to nourish and cultivate future team collaborations. The Cherry Orchard team was the highest functioning team that I have cultivated during my time at UC San Diego. Upon reflection, there were many disappointing moments when I craved a higher level of performance from the team. My expectations of teams began to form at a young age through competitive athletics. I was a nationally ranked water polo player and was taught to embody the physical struggle and mental grit required of an emerging professional athlete. That mental and physical toughness has formed my identity and continues to inform my ideas about discipline, value, and working for a goal that is far larger than what I could accomplish on my own. While my approach to team dynamics served me well in competitive athletics, some of my ideas have failed me while working on teams outside of the regulated structure of sports. Live performance is the ultimate group collaboration and I have fought to form strong and trusting stage management teams. When I started graduate school, I had a tendency to do everything myself and continued to strive for improbable perfection, performing as an unstoppable one-woman show. My experience on The Cherry Orchard illuminated a path to cultivating resilient teams that is informed equally by athletic discipline and the deep curiosity of collaboration.

I have always strived to be perceived as the perfect stage manager. To me, perfection means never making a mistake or appearing vulnerable. Trying to achieve this perfection has meant avoiding moments when I could appear weak, or even worse, risk the possibility of failure. As a result, my attempt toward perfectionism created boundaries that kept me safe, but also kept me from authentically connecting with my collaborators. In The Venetian Twins, the citizens of Verona wear masks to tell the tragic story of Zanetto and Tonino Bisognosi, twins separated at birth. It is not until Zanetto’s death at the very end of the play that characters unmask themselves, revealing their humanity – their authentic selves. Throughout this process, I have strived to unmask my authenticity and become a leader who values mistakes as moments of growth, unconditionally trusts my collaborators, and cultivates connections amongst my colleagues. Asking for help, having difficult conversations, and embracing the disorder of a complex process has required me to courageously allow others to see my imperfections and abandon my rigid sense of right and wrong. I have challenged myself to take substantial risks by questioning my intentions before having a hard conversation, expressing my artistic opinions and concerns, and trusting my team with increased responsibility while allowing for the possibility of mistakes. In my journey to embody authentic leadership, I have actively made the choice to stay present and in response to the work, leading my fellow collaborators through this multifaceted production process.

During my graduate studies, I have grown to understand the complexity of leading an exceptional stage management team. I am departing with a deep curiosity about how to nourish and cultivate future team collaborations. The Cherry Orchard team was the highest functioning team that I have cultivated during my time at UC San Diego. Upon reflection, there were many disappointing moments when I craved a higher level of performance from the team. My expectations of teams began to form at a young age through competitive athletics. I was a nationally ranked water polo player and was taught to embody the physical struggle and mental grit required of an emerging professional athlete. That mental and physical toughness has formed my identity and continues to inform my ideas about discipline, value, and working for a goal that is far larger than what I could accomplish on my own. While my approach to team dynamics served me well in competitive athletics, some of my ideas have failed me while working on teams outside of the regulated structure of sports. Live performance is the ultimate group collaboration and I have fought to form strong and trusting stage management teams. When I started graduate school, I had a tendency to do everything myself and continued to strive for improbable perfection, performing as an unstoppable one-woman show. My experience on The Cherry Orchard illuminated a path to cultivating resilient teams that is informed equally by athletic discipline and the deep curiosity of collaboration.

Knowing how to balance the perception of collaborators with the choice to be an authentic leader is what makes an effective stage manager. Growing up in hotels, as mirrored in the set of Movers + Shakers, I was taught that the perception of the customer was always right. In my work, navigating perception means more than making sure someone is happy. It is taking inventory of how everyone feels in response to my actions as a leader, and balancing how I take responsibility for my actions with defending my choices. When collaborators and I disagree, I work to help the group move forward as a whole in spite of the conflict. The director of Movers + Shakers taught me that collaboration means sharing ideas and seeing where discussion takes us, whether that is agreeing or opposing and discovering an innovative third path, born out of a disagreement. Similar to the character of Dorrie, I practiced asserting my opinions and trusting my gut while having challenging conversations. Engaging my authentic self while stage managing this process also meant being open to feedback, and staying present with the evolving needs of a devised process. My work on Movers + Shakers was a continual negotiation between remaining true to my instincts and incorporating the insights of my collaborators. Like Dorrie, I was invested while staying curious about the actions and intentions of my colleagues. Ultimately, my successful negotiation of this process is what empowered me to be an authentic and effective leader.

I have always strived to be perceived as the perfect stage manager. To me, perfection means never making a mistake or appearing vulnerable. Trying to achieve this perfection has meant avoiding moments when I could appear weak, or even worse, risk the possibility of failure. As a result, my attempt toward perfectionism created boundaries that kept me safe, but also kept me from authentically connecting with my collaborators. In The Venetian Twins, the citizens of Verona wear masks to tell the tragic story of Zanetto and Tonino Bisognosi, twins separated at birth. It is not until Zanetto’s death at the very end of the play that characters unmask themselves, revealing their humanity – their authentic selves. Throughout this process, I have strived to unmask my authenticity and become a leader who values mistakes as moments of growth, unconditionally trusts my collaborators, and cultivates connections amongst my colleagues. Asking for help, having difficult conversations, and embracing the disorder of a complex process has required me to courageously allow others to see my imperfections and abandon my rigid sense of right and wrong. I have challenged myself to take substantial risks by questioning my intentions before having a hard conversation, expressing my artistic opinions and concerns, and trusting my team with increased responsibility while allowing for the possibility of mistakes. In my journey to embody authentic leadership, I have actively made the choice to stay present and in response to the work, leading my fellow collaborators through this multifaceted production process.

In The Burial at Thebes, King Creon uses the metaphor "ship of state" to describe his kingdom. He emphasizes the importance of focusing on the community of Thebes instead of the desires of individuals, just like a group of sailors must prioritize arriving at their destination without overly identifying with the needs of the rest of the crew. I have learned that the theatrical production process can be compared to the running of a ship, including a group of sailors, or collaborators, working toward a common goal. As the Production Stage Manager of Thebes, I played an important part in navigating the ship towards the goal of a fully realized production. Much like Creon states at his inauguration about making choices "in the interest of all citizens," I was challenged to act instead of react and intentionally focus on the big picture. During my graduate studies, I have been challenged to sustain an embodied presence when triggered by production challenges. I have learned multiple tools to assist in refocusing my energy to the demands of the overall production. My ability to remain present, without judgment, to the needs of all collaborators, has empowered me to make wiser choices. This insight has provided me with an awareness and heightened clarity that will be vital in future endeavors, and the knowledge that subtle choices have a significant impact on the production process. In moving forward, I plan to continue build upon this strength of awareness as I embark on my next voyage.

Toward the end of Mr. Burns, Bart is confronted by death and reaches within himself to find the hope and courage necessary to defeat his biggest fear, Mr. Burns. This newfound courage propels Bart to fight back and lead the citizens of Springfield to safety. Many times throughout the production process, I felt like Bart at this moment. Circumstances arose and I had to choose to face my fears or step aside and be defeated.As Bart realizes in the play, courage comes from a genuine need to protect and defend those you are leading. Throughout this process, I faced many fears and like Bart, found inspiration from my team and colleagues. Courage became essential in leading this production through the many fears and doubts of the unknown.During my graduate studies, I have been committed to developing a more assertive approach to my leadership style. I have challenged myself to trust my intuition and take courageous risks to create a safe space without fear of judgment and where trust and respect are given freely. I have learned the importance of building trusting and respectful relationships that support and inspire my team to do their best work. By being more assertive, I demonstrate to the collaborative team and the company that I am looking out for their needs. Moving forward I will continue to challenge myself to courageously follow my intuition and be assertive while supporting my collaborators and the production.

In The Burial at Thebes, King Creon uses the metaphor "ship of state" to describe his kingdom. He emphasizes the importance of focusing on the community of Thebes instead of the desires of individuals, just like a group of sailors must prioritize arriving at their destination without overly identifying with the needs of the rest of the crew. I have learned that the theatrical production process can be compared to the running of a ship, including a group of sailors, or collaborators, working toward a common goal. As the Production Stage Manager of Thebes, I played an important part in navigating the ship towards the goal of a fully realized production. Much like Creon states at his inauguration about making choices "in the interest of all citizens," I was challenged to act instead of react and intentionally focus on the big picture. During my graduate studies, I have been challenged to sustain an embodied presence when triggered by production challenges. I have learned multiple tools to assist in refocusing my energy to the demands of the overall production. My ability to remain present, without judgment, to the needs of all collaborators, has empowered me to make wiser choices. This insight has provided me with an awareness and heightened clarity that will be vital in future endeavors, and the knowledge that subtle choices have a significant impact on the production process. In moving forward, I plan to continue build upon this strength of awareness as I embark on my next voyage.

Toward the end of Mr. Burns, Bart is confronted by death and reaches within himself to find the hope and courage necessary to defeat his biggest fear, Mr. Burns. This newfound courage propels Bart to fight back and lead the citizens of Springfield to safety. Many times throughout the production process, I felt like Bart at this moment. Circumstances arose and I had to choose to face my fears or step aside and be defeated.As Bart realizes in the play, courage comes from a genuine need to protect and defend those you are leading. Throughout this process, I faced many fears and like Bart, found inspiration from my team and colleagues. Courage became essential in leading this production through the many fears and doubts of the unknown.During my graduate studies, I have been committed to developing a more assertive approach to my leadership style. I have challenged myself to trust my intuition and take courageous risks to create a safe space without fear of judgment and where trust and respect are given freely. I have learned the importance of building trusting and respectful relationships that support and inspire my team to do their best work. By being more assertive, I demonstrate to the collaborative team and the company that I am looking out for their needs. Moving forward I will continue to challenge myself to courageously follow my intuition and be assertive while supporting my collaborators and the production.

In The Grapes of Wrath, the character of Ma exemplifies many traits I incorporate into my work as a stage manager. Ma keeps the family moving forward by carrying the weight of the family's journey on her back while holding space for challenges along the way. She is the stage manager of the family and her unique fusion of authority with vulnerability is something I have incorporated into my work.As both a leader and a collaborator, stage managers have the freedom to balance formal and informal authority. While formal authority can be inherently granted--like Ma's authority as a mother--informal authority must be cultivated. The collaborative nature of the theatrical process affords stage managers the flexibility to integrate various styles of informal authority. Stage managers can become more open, wholehearted, and courageously engaged leaders by putting aside protective armor and practicing vulnerability. Like Ma, who sings as her family disintegrates, I discovered that being vulnerable strengthened my bond with my own theatrical family and positioned me as a trusted authority.One of the oldest sayings in theatre is "the show must go on." I realized, like Ma did, that the show only goes on when the people behind it keep driving forward. By embracing vulnerability, I found my place in the driver's seat, motivating the company to keep moving forward while creating a fluid collaborative rhythm. The show does go on because, in the words of Ma, "we're the people--we go on."

In The Grapes of Wrath, the character of Ma exemplifies many traits I incorporate into my work as a stage manager. Ma keeps the family moving forward by carrying the weight of the family's journey on her back while holding space for challenges along the way. She is the stage manager of the family and her unique fusion of authority with vulnerability is something I have incorporated into my work.As both a leader and a collaborator, stage managers have the freedom to balance formal and informal authority. While formal authority can be inherently granted--like Ma's authority as a mother--informal authority must be cultivated. The collaborative nature of the theatrical process affords stage managers the flexibility to integrate various styles of informal authority. Stage managers can become more open, wholehearted, and courageously engaged leaders by putting aside protective armor and practicing vulnerability. Like Ma, who sings as her family disintegrates, I discovered that being vulnerable strengthened my bond with my own theatrical family and positioned me as a trusted authority.One of the oldest sayings in theatre is "the show must go on." I realized, like Ma did, that the show only goes on when the people behind it keep driving forward. By embracing vulnerability, I found my place in the driver's seat, motivating the company to keep moving forward while creating a fluid collaborative rhythm. The show does go on because, in the words of Ma, "we're the people--we go on."

My leadership strategy on Tonight We Improvise was engaging radical empathy, advocacy, and the willingness to welcome the unknown. I envision this leadership style as cartography, mapping the path and walking into the liminal space with my collaborators. I illuminated the path through the uncertainty and guided the production with equanimity. Pirandello writes in Tonight We Improvise, "the play ceases to exist as soon as it comes into being." I compare this idea to my work as the stage manager and cartographer, as soon as the map is drawn it fades back into nothingness, the path only exists in the present. The soul of the play lives in an abstract creative space and in the spirit of the collaborators. I discovered my voice by advocating for the production that cannot complain, ask for help, or speak for itself.Tonight We Improvise existed in a chaotic and unpredictable space that frequently felt destabilizing. Part of the director's vision was exposing my process from beginning to end, including sitting in the audience to call the show. While playing myself as the stage manager, I felt vulnerable, exposed, and excited to lean into the discomfort. The challenge was thrilling, and there was nowhere to hide. I have evolved into my role as a stage manager during my graduate studies, allowing my intuition and energy to guide me as I lead the group onward. I will continue to find bliss in creating art in liminal space and illuminating the unfolding path.

During the process of Titus Andronicus, I asked myself: what makes a good leader? How can I implement adaptive solutions in an unpredictable environment? Similarly to the character of Titus, I had many traditional expectations of myself as a leader: independent, strong, hard working, honorable, selfless, and endowed with formal authority. We both shouldered the weight of our family of collaborators and persevered alone through every challenge. This unyielding strategy did not support my work on the project. I was confused about how to position myself as a creative partner, just as Titus was disorientated by resigning his standing in society. I realized that focusing on the technical aspects of stage management was not enough and I sought to engage wholeheartedly with my work. I was fortunate that the director engaged fully with his collaborators, and I felt comfortable being vulnerable with him. I took a risk by confiding in him that I felt lost in our partnership and needed help. That conversation was the tipping point that allowed me to be more flexible and relax into the flow of the rehearsals. I softened my rigid approach, integrating the creative, spirited, and passionate parts of myself into my work and allowed myself to cross between the formal and informal aspects of my approach. When possible, I stopped making unilateral decisions in advance and chose to respond in the moment. I finessed my leadership style by remaining in response to the needs of the process while allowing the space for change.

My leadership strategy on Tonight We Improvise was engaging radical empathy, advocacy, and the willingness to welcome the unknown. I envision this leadership style as cartography, mapping the path and walking into the liminal space with my collaborators. I illuminated the path through the uncertainty and guided the production with equanimity. Pirandello writes in Tonight We Improvise, "the play ceases to exist as soon as it comes into being." I compare this idea to my work as the stage manager and cartographer, as soon as the map is drawn it fades back into nothingness, the path only exists in the present. The soul of the play lives in an abstract creative space and in the spirit of the collaborators. I discovered my voice by advocating for the production that cannot complain, ask for help, or speak for itself.Tonight We Improvise existed in a chaotic and unpredictable space that frequently felt destabilizing. Part of the director's vision was exposing my process from beginning to end, including sitting in the audience to call the show. While playing myself as the stage manager, I felt vulnerable, exposed, and excited to lean into the discomfort. The challenge was thrilling, and there was nowhere to hide. I have evolved into my role as a stage manager during my graduate studies, allowing my intuition and energy to guide me as I lead the group onward. I will continue to find bliss in creating art in liminal space and illuminating the unfolding path.

During the process of Titus Andronicus, I asked myself: what makes a good leader? How can I implement adaptive solutions in an unpredictable environment? Similarly to the character of Titus, I had many traditional expectations of myself as a leader: independent, strong, hard working, honorable, selfless, and endowed with formal authority. We both shouldered the weight of our family of collaborators and persevered alone through every challenge. This unyielding strategy did not support my work on the project. I was confused about how to position myself as a creative partner, just as Titus was disorientated by resigning his standing in society. I realized that focusing on the technical aspects of stage management was not enough and I sought to engage wholeheartedly with my work. I was fortunate that the director engaged fully with his collaborators, and I felt comfortable being vulnerable with him. I took a risk by confiding in him that I felt lost in our partnership and needed help. That conversation was the tipping point that allowed me to be more flexible and relax into the flow of the rehearsals. I softened my rigid approach, integrating the creative, spirited, and passionate parts of myself into my work and allowed myself to cross between the formal and informal aspects of my approach. When possible, I stopped making unilateral decisions in advance and chose to respond in the moment. I finessed my leadership style by remaining in response to the needs of the process while allowing the space for change.

The 2011 dance theatre production of Space Between was a radical departure from the traditional production model for theatre and dance, and the first MFA dance thesis production for the department. As the stage manager, I was asked to pioneer an innovative process that necessitated a complete reimagining of expectations and unwavering trust in my collaborative abilities. I partnered with the choreographer to curate a malleable environment that welcomed all input and worked with and for every person's talents. Allowing my vulnerability to guide, rather than hinder, this creation launched my ability to be an active collaborator while simultaneously embracing the unknown.My approach to traditional work was deeply impacted by the experimental process on Space Between. I viewed my thesis production of June Moon from a new perspective and with the confidence that I could find a similar creative niche to the one developed on Space Between. I bonded with a professional director through constant and candid conversation and together we nurtured an atmosphere of fluidity that allowed room for everyone's creativity without the rigidity of procedure. I quickly developed into a valuable artistic colleague to the company and my close relationship with the director supported the dynamic structure and challenges we encountered in the production.The experiences of the past year created the space for me to take risks and connect more authentically to the people and the process. These discoveries will continue to support a deep intentionality to engage vulnerability and trust in my future work.

The 2011 dance theatre production of Space Between was a radical departure from the traditional production model for theatre and dance, and the first MFA dance thesis production for the department. As the stage manager, I was asked to pioneer an innovative process that necessitated a complete reimagining of expectations and unwavering trust in my collaborative abilities. I partnered with the choreographer to curate a malleable environment that welcomed all input and worked with and for every person's talents. Allowing my vulnerability to guide, rather than hinder, this creation launched my ability to be an active collaborator while simultaneously embracing the unknown.My approach to traditional work was deeply impacted by the experimental process on Space Between. I viewed my thesis production of June Moon from a new perspective and with the confidence that I could find a similar creative niche to the one developed on Space Between. I bonded with a professional director through constant and candid conversation and together we nurtured an atmosphere of fluidity that allowed room for everyone's creativity without the rigidity of procedure. I quickly developed into a valuable artistic colleague to the company and my close relationship with the director supported the dynamic structure and challenges we encountered in the production.The experiences of the past year created the space for me to take risks and connect more authentically to the people and the process. These discoveries will continue to support a deep intentionality to engage vulnerability and trust in my future work.