Artists’ shoestring life ‘draining’
Playwright Courtney Rose Brown looks at the struggle with having the right to share your work and insights on the stage.
Inmy last year at university, a lecturer told us that we were in control of our production and our future, and promptly left the room. The rug was pulled out from under our Doc Martens. We looked around with wide eyes, mouths open, desperately seeking a leader.
The Pa¯keha¯ men in the room seemed to jump at this opportunity. The rest relaxed a little, but slowly grew frustrated about being put in this position. To make the work we wanted, we’d have to do it ourselves.
I think of this often. I’m now 26, a playwright, publicist and performer. Making a career in the arts is hard. There’s no set path, no direct end line, and it’s up to you to reach goals that you yourself set. No-one cares if you wrote another page for your film feature.
I’ve had a lot of luck, in a time when those in powerwere looking for young women to showcase. Without playwrights’ agency Playmarket, I wouldn’t have tried, I think. Its Playwrights b425 competition got me writing my first play, and my second and my fifth. This inspiredme to domy Masters at the International Institute of Modern Letters.
My first play, The First Time, at BATS Theatre, got overwhelming support, with three seasons and two theatre award nominations. It was a whirlwind of sleepless nights, simple meals and long days.
The rush I got made me want to keep creating. Yet as much as I love the hustle, I became so very tired. A lot of this tiredness was due to iron deficiency – but also, making art on a shoestring is draining.
Showcasing your own work is peak vulnerability. You’re telling people to watch something you think is important. And then you realise this, and the shame sits and doesn’t leave.
As a writer, you strugglewith having the right to take the stage to share your insights. Then you’ll watch some white man do some crude, tonedeaf show that squashes down marginalised experiences, and think, that’s why!
I know to not expect amentor to seek me out; I can’t expect anyone else to want my job or to carry that load for me. I sit in an uncomfortable space. I want to give others the opportunities I got, but knowing I still don’t have the money or experience that could really make them thrive. I just hope that giving them stage time will also be a stepping stone on their yellow brick road.
I’ve seen reviews that rip young people to shreds, and praisemore ‘‘seasoned’’ practitioners, for doing the same old tired thing. It makes me want to scream. Where do we get to test the waters?
Then there are angels like Wellington theatre producer Jen O’Sullivan. She runs workshops, festivals and productions that are inclusive, and lets those who want to learn and grow.
There’s Barbarian Productions, living wage employers, joy givers and lifter upper-ers. They say they’re making work for the community, and actually are. They pull misfits together, and run Spring Uprising, amentorship programme.
Then there’s Kia Mau Festival, a space for Indigenous theatre and dance. They work hard to push through, uplift, honour and support. The festival is always a highlight to the year.
Now I’m working at setting contracts and terms formy roles. I’m trying not to undersell myself, and balance that with joy and selfexpression. It’s tricky. I’m still trying to figure it all out. Like a Rubik’s cube that gets close but never quite matches up.
Making a career in the arts is hard ... it’s up to you to reach goals that you yourself set.