I’ve said it before, but the closer we get to the backside of this pandemic, where normalcy and the return of the things we love have been waiting patiently for our return, the more I realize how much I missed the human connection of live performance. I’ve always channeled inspiration from art and performance, and I’ve developed a profound relationship with theater over the years. It’s funny that the cliché of working your passion can be so true, it makes you work that much harder and that much more passionately. This career path has taken me to where I am today, as Senior Vice President for Strategic Marketing and Communications at the Kimmel Cultural Campus here in Philadelphia. In this role, I have the immense pleasure of advocating for the importance of live art and performance on a daily basis. I recently spoke on a panel for the Chamber of Commerce for Greater Philadelphia, where a few industry experts shared our expertise about reopening and welcoming back live, in-person guests. It was incredible to share with colleagues some of the challenges and efforts we are undergoing at Kimmel, but also to hear what others are doing to navigate this feat while we emerge a completely different industry in a completely different world.
I look forward to using this blog as a means of connecting with those of you who are industry veterans, art and theater professionals, and those of you who simply love the rush of a live performance. My hope is that you find something with which you can connect, giggle at, or learn from in each post, and that we can use Brewe’s Pub as a “neighborhood hang” of sorts where we can share thoughts, stories, and shared experiences, I mean…where else is “Art Is Always On Tap!”, right? :)
Being away from live performance catharsis and transformative power of togetherness has had a profound effect on me. I hadn’t completely understood this until I recently found myself ugly sobbing in a parking-lot circus as the lights went down and the audience collectively let out a “whoop” to welcome the ringmaster. Where else can a room full of strangers find such common ground…especially these days?
In a recent visit to Pittsburgh, it stood out to me how much the downtown businesses relied on the activity generated by its theaters- the area was like a ghost town save a few brave diners and displaced and drunk Mets fans there for a game against the Pirates. Philadelphia, Cleveland, Seattle, Chicago, New York, and other cities are no different. Theaters are often economic anchors that deliver more than just a good time- activity at the Kimmel venues alone generates $585 million in regional economic impact- delivering diners, hotel nights, shopping, parking, and other activity through our 1M+ annual visitors.
Theaters are my church, and it’s been heartbreaking to see these precious spaces sit unused and neglected all over the country for over a year. Though I’m grateful for the measures being taken to protect public health, it’s been difficult to see their lights out, seats empty, and stages bare in a time where we need the healing power of being together through art. The magic is returning slowly around the country and our Broadway mothership in NYC is making its grand return with some shows this summer and most by the fall. I couldn’t be more excited to make a pig-out pilgrimage! Some shows I have my eye on right now are SIX, because I’m fascinated by its fanatical following by an extremely young fanbase of little feminists (my daughter sings the entire soundtrack while in the shower). I also can’t wait to see how Diana does- because of my love for the real-life princess throughout my own coming of age. And finally, while I have already seen it, I can’t stop obsessing over the pure artistry of Hadestown…I’ve never wanted to actually eat a show but I just want this show in my belly- it’s THAT good and it’s just the medicine we all need coming out of the last year.
But it’s not just the enchantment of a live performance that I miss so dearly. It’s the human connection, it’s feeling the stranger next to you draw in a breath as something surprising happens to a character you both connect with for different reasons. It’s looking at that same stranger with wonder and a silent, “holy shit, did you just see that?” when that same character does something unexpected. It’s the wine from a sippy cup and the feel of a real-life glossy program between your fingers…it’s the sound the ticket scanner makes and the smell of stage fog… it’s millions of minute, sometimes mundane details that make the experience extraordinary.
In the past, there’ve been countless times where I missed a show I’d planned to see because of a report I stayed in my office to finish. For 16 months, I’ve chastised myself for not turning off the damned computer more and for not simply walking to the theater next door. Saying yes to the art was so easy for me that I took it for granted. My goal this year is to say yes to all of it; literally gorge my face with every show on our season. It’s what we’ve been craving and it’s finally visible on the horizon. I can’t wait to hear those glorious chimes, signaling that the show is about to start. I will gladly silence my phone (because sometimes my phone will just randomly play Abba out of nowhere), and prepare myself to get lost in the action, music, or story. I know it’s cheesy, but I hope you’ll join me because when the lights in the house dim to signal a pause to all of your troubles and cares, the ones on stage brighten to signal an escape and adventure is about to begin.
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