12:00 The Question

Questions, questions, questions.
I love them.
I start every rehearsal with "Any Questions?" Capital Kwa-
Artists new to me invariably look very confused at first and when I make doubly sure: "No?" we begin.
"Start the scene"
Immediately hands fly up or there is a polite cough: "Where are the doors?"
Creativity thrives on questions.
The word that gets bandied about is 'specificity', which, I think, is directly derived from asking, constantly, highly probing questions of the artistic ensemble during rehearsal.
We, as a group, need to know the rules we play by.
When the rules are established, we can play by them or break them accordingly, which is what makes playing so gosh damn fun.


Today we had another talk back for Romeo & Juliet.
The moderator, a very good friend, handled the talk back admirably:
The Rules:
1) Ask a question
2) I'll repeat the question into the mic
3) The actors will answer.
Great! We followed the formula for a while until one enterprising girl asked
1) "How tall/old is Romeo?" I chuckled and turned to the moderator.
2) "He's very tall. Next question."
3) O_O

My world came to a screeching halt. The question had not been answered, not truly, not deeply.  The rules had been broken, but no one else seemed to realize.  I searched the sea of faces hoping to find the girl. After the talk back I spoke with the other members of her school; they said she had already left. I told them my height and age and begged them to tell her.  I would never know if they did.

Five minutes later the girl walked back into the theatre. She came right up to me, looked me square in the eyes and said "Thank you for answering my question." We hugged and laughed about it and hope was restored to my tiny little cosmos. But I worry about that moment and moments like it; the unanswered questions, the kids who feel foolish for asking because they didn't get an answer. We all know that it takes a lot to be vulnerable. Asking questions is a vulnerable act: it reveals an ignorance about the world.  To treat that moment callously is cruel.

We should take care of them, both the questions and the children who dared to ask.

We penalize children for asking questions.


Children ask all the time and we don't listen. Not truly, not deeply.
Remember when you were young? You know that one time you kept asking "Why?" over and over. I know you did and I know why you remember. You kept at it for so long that eventually someone yelled at you to be quiet.
Questions became dangerous things that day, to be handled with care lest you upset someone with them.
Questions aren't allowed in class rooms until the appropriate times; questions aren't allowed in theatres because they disrupt the flow; nor in the workplace because it should have been covered in training.
Without questions, eventually the world will become silent.

Fight the silence.
Ask the damn question.
Ask it again until you get an answer or a better question.
Treat questions with respect, really listen to one another.
Because that is the only way we are every going to have a real conversation as people, as artists, as a community.
If we learn to live with the fear and ask the questions, bear a sliver of our soul as we do, and trust that someone will take the time to share a bit of their flawed and precious truth with us.
Because that is all we will ever truly have.