Magic is what we are most afraid of and magic is what satisfies our fears. It’s a magical thing, magic. I can’t claim to know much about magic or theatre. One thing I know about magic: it doesn’t happen when you can see everything. And neither does theatre.

I’m interested less in the limitless than in the limited and am, in my practice, tending towards a theatre that reminds audiences of their limits and of the choices, however dire or arbitrary, that one has to make each and every day. I believe that audiences should be encouraged to make decisions about their attention when they watch theatre – I love televisions, phones, computers, dance, and spectacle on stage – really anything that could be labeled as a distraction I think is theatricality. Speaking from the divide of Gen-Z and Millenials, I’m of the belief that young people don’t have shorter attention spans. They have different ideas of what constitutes attention and immersion which I think is largely the result of a plethora of choice (whether those choices are real or fabricated is another discussion). I’ll be the first to say that I like looking at my phone while I watch TV and that I don’t see a problem with it. With possibilities for attention comes choice, with choices come serendipitous happenings and come action or at least contemplation.

These principles might allow me to work in a Brechtian or feminist-Marxist theatre of interruptions and defiance of expectation, but what’s ultimately more important to me than whether or not my play takes on the structure of a male ejaculation or is fundamentally anti-capitalist is that my play is full of room for play and for magic. The presence of choice and the distinction between physical, sonic, and imaginary spaces leaves an all too tempting negative space in which I want each audience member to spend a unique moment. It’s that moment that might unlock whatever meaning lies at the apex of their choices and is thus worth sharing. Maybe that moment produces a secret, maybe it reveals a joke, Secrets and jokes have to be told in order to be important – thus those who stumble on them will be chomping at the bit to tell whoever they dragged to the theater or met in the lobby what they discovered. True, many playwrights hope audiences find personal resonances in their words. Many playwrights want audiences to talk after their plays are finished. I cannot claim uniqueness in either intention, but I can say that I’ve thought a lot about how to do these things and will continue to do so.