Artistic Statement
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Elan Garonzik
Artistic Statement
Great plays are instilled with two key voices or perspectives: the voice of the playwright’s own life and experiences, and the voice of the playwright’s view on society, its mores and dynamics. The personal gives the play authenticity and intimacy, and the view on society anchors the play with urgency and relevance. Two plays that exemplify this are Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie, and Lorraine Hansberry’s Raisin in the Sun. From playwright to playwright, these two voices may balance or one may predominate. Williams is self, Brecht is society, and both are utterly valid, yielding marvelous theater. (Also, these voices or perspectives may also vary within one playwright’s own body of work – think of Arthur Miller.)
When I write, when I plan my writing, and when I revise, I constantly remind myself of the importance of these two perspectives. I want my writing to be based on the authenticity of what I have seen, lived and experienced, and my plays should resonate with consequence and dramatic import. This is why I write.
My writing always begins with a spark, an initial inspiration so intense that its energy and emotional resonance feeds me throughout the first draft and the redraft/revision/rehearsal processes. For every play I’ve written, I can recollect instantly the spark that began the generation. The spark can be political, i.e., greed in New York City. It can be a short text within a book, when I raise my eyes and envision a full play. It can be an unforgettable woman’s face, fraught, exhausted by grief, as happened with The Harrowing.
Usually, I write plays with a strong central character who wants something, and that need or desire is in conflict with the story’s other characters, driving the play’s forward motion. But near the end, the story takes the main character to wanting something totally different, nearly a 180 degree reversal. Early in the play, the seeds of the reversal are laid out, so the audience doesn’t feel tricked or cheated, and the play concludes with a fuller, deeper and satisfying revelation of character.
When I write, when I plan my writing, and when I revise, I constantly remind myself of the importance of these two perspectives. I want my writing to be based on the authenticity of what I have seen, lived and experienced, and my plays should resonate with consequence and dramatic import. This is why I write.
My writing always begins with a spark, an initial inspiration so intense that its energy and emotional resonance feeds me throughout the first draft and the redraft/revision/rehearsal processes. For every play I’ve written, I can recollect instantly the spark that began the generation. The spark can be political, i.e., greed in New York City. It can be a short text within a book, when I raise my eyes and envision a full play. It can be an unforgettable woman’s face, fraught, exhausted by grief, as happened with The Harrowing.
Usually, I write plays with a strong central character who wants something, and that need or desire is in conflict with the story’s other characters, driving the play’s forward motion. But near the end, the story takes the main character to wanting something totally different, nearly a 180 degree reversal. Early in the play, the seeds of the reversal are laid out, so the audience doesn’t feel tricked or cheated, and the play concludes with a fuller, deeper and satisfying revelation of character.