Balm in Gilead requires a unique level of orchestration and scoring by the ensemble, similar to the specificity of reading and playing a piece of music. The play exemplifies the need for ensemble stage managers, who lead productions with an ensemble mindset, establishing themselves as one with the ensemble, demonstrating the same level of focus, attention to detail, and storytelling as the actors and director. I guided our production with this ensemble approach, earning the trust of the players as I embraced each artistic choice fully, voiced technical curiosities, and shared in the collective language of the storytelling.

As I engaged the sensibility of an ensemble stage manager, I successfully integrated myself into the show’s artistic scope. I referenced the spirit and culture of ensemble we had pledged to uphold, regularly discussed character and story, and addressed issues while appealing to a sense of community. I used plural pronouns from day one. The play was ours, and I included myself and the stage management team when talking about the creative process. I stood and joined the ensemble for the opening and closing ritual of each rehearsal. I gave multiple lines when prompting, showing that I understood the actors’ needs within the complex text. When calling the show, I was one with the action onstage, fully engaged. Surfacing a group purpose resulted in discipline, community, and communal responsibility in both process and product. This ensemble approach to stage management contributed to a production driven by the company’s interconnected accountability.

During the production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I expanded beyond my comfortzone of traditional production and engaged in a pre-recorded project to be debuted online during a global pandemic. While orchestrating this production, a compelling dynamic in the play resonated with me: the relationship between Peter Quince, a new up-and-coming producer, and Bottom, an experienced and seasoned producer and actor. In the play, there are collaborative challenges between these two characters and, after an enormous fiasco, they come together to make a captivating piece of theatre. This relationship reminded me of several rather complex collaborators that I have worked with during my academic career. I connected with the struggle of evaluating relationships, establishing expectations, and regulating heightened emotions. During this production, I learned the essential and lifelong takeaway: adaptation is necessary to grow and perfection is a myth. Adaptation takes many shapes, and for me, it means the shifting of expectations, asking for help, and assessing what is and what isn’t working. After an ardous few days of navigating uncharted waters at the beginning of filming, I discovered that I was holding myself and my collaborators to an unrealistic standard. I believed that we would get through the process with few, if any mistakes due to how much we had prepared. I realized this idea of reaching perfection was unattainable. The realization that I could loosen my grip on my expectations allowed me to ask mentors, friends, and collaborators for help and to rapidly diagnose the situation. Throughout my academic career, I have been taught in predominantly white spaces. I have been considered the “exceptional” BIPOC student, which has caused me to frame my worth around perfection and productivity. In my experience and research, I have found that perfectionism and exceptionalism are ideals perpetrated by White Supremacy and are related to other -isms such as racism and ableism. These ideals held by white-centric education systems (and often imposed on BIPOC students) leave little space for healthy fault or failure. As a result, I was conditioned to believe that failure was not an option. During my time at UCSD, I have found that there truly is no perfect outcome, no perfect collaboration, and no perfect product. What I have found is that there is constant room for growth, learning, and exploration. This production pushed me to thrive in the unknown and rely on the instinctual traits I have been building throughout my life, allowing me the space to fail forward. I have learned that what I do in the imperfect moments, the moments that require adaptation, are the breakthrough insights that lead to growth.

Knowing how to balance the perception of collaborators with the choice to be an authentic leader is what makes an effective stage manager. Growing up in hotels, as mirrored in the set of Movers + Shakers, I was taught that the perception of the customer was always right. In my work, navigating perception means more than making sure someone is happy. It is taking inventory of how everyone feels in response to my actions as a leader, and balancing how I take responsibility for my actions with defending my choices. When collaborators and I disagree, I work to help the group move forward as a whole in spite of the conflict.

The director of Movers + Shakers taught me that collaboration means sharing ideas and seeing where discussion takes us, whether that is agreeing or opposing and discovering an innovative third path, born out of a disagreement. Similar to the character of Dorrie, I practiced asserting my opinions and trusting my gut while having challenging conversations. Engaging my authentic self while stage managing this process also meant being open to feedback, and staying present with the evolving needs of a devised process. My work on Movers + Shakers was a continual negotiation between remaining true to my instincts and incorporating the insights of my collaborators. Like Dorrie, I was invested while staying curious about the actions and intentions of my colleagues. Ultimately, my successful negotiation of this process is what empowered me to be an authentic and effective leader.

The play Dance Nation explores the ferocity, vulnerability, and discoveries of middle school students on a competitive dance team. After a feral dance under red strobes and a self-aggrandizing monologue where she grew impossibly tall and impossibly loud, one character, Ashlee, asks the audience, “What am I going to do with all this power?”While Ashlee struggles with how to embrace her beauty, intellect, and confidence, I struggled with how to use my authority as the stage manager of this production. I was afraid to use my voice, to speak directly and confidently, because I did not trust my collaborators to respect me. My fear of disappointing others prevented me from owning my authority and confidently leading my team. In order to overcome that fear, I leaned into the discomfort and worked on monitoring my tone of voice, avoiding upspeak, and using direct language. I realized that I had the power and ability to do my job well, regardless of how others felt, and I could do so with kindness to both the company and myself. As I practiced using my voice, I was able to trust my collaborators to listen to and support me. My fear slipped away, and my belief in myself grew. I prioritized meeting the community with compassion and used my authority with kindness. I confidently led Dance Nation to a triumphant run of performances with the knowledge that my use of my power had contributed to the development of a courageous process.

In Everybody Black, the Black Historian says, “Everything is just a story. It’s a choice. And ya learn from it and change. Or ya don’t.” This play examines historical narratives within and about the Black community in America, and, as a Caucasian person, the process led me to examine the way I view myself, and how my life experiences have influenced the person I have become. Growing up, “good” and “bad” were dictated to me through religion and were determined in judgement as a representation of my character. I learned to live my life governed by a value system that had no middle ground. Society dictated how I should behave, and I stifled myself in order to conform.

In the play, the Black Historian places the actors in roles that are oversimplified representations of real life. This choice felt like an analogy for the ways society and religion have expected me to behave. In the same way the characters challenged how their stories are told, I confronted my own history. In order to connect, I chose to reveal my feelings and risk rejection. I engaged with my collaborators on a personal level, and made an effort to hear their individual histories, actively forging relationships outside of rehearsal. As I addressed my need to behave in certain predetermined ways, a weight from my past lifted, and my leadership as a stage manager evolved into invitations to collaborate rather than snap judgement.

ABSTRACT OF THE THESISEstablishing a Caring Community within the Everybody Process by Allison Bailey Master of Fine Arts in Theatre and Dance (Stage Management) University of California San Diego, 2022 Professor Lisa Porter, Chair “Also, really listening to each other, and maybe being less judgmental and more forgiving but, also, owning up to our mistakes and being open to changing our own minds. Lead with our Understanding. You know: just being nice to each other. For once. And I’m talking about Everybody.” USHER, Everybody by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins I am drawn to theatre because I value the opportunity to create a culture of care within communities that create art. My thesis production, Everybody, was about the uncertainty of life and death, and what humans do with the opportunities and relationships that we have during our existence. My opportunity to lead in the collaborative creation of an embodied community was disrupted by COVID-19 and four quarters of virtual learning and production work. This led to frustration and angst when I was crafting my thesis ix intentions. Still, I seized the opportunity that was offered, and committed to nurturing a community in which care and support are at the forefront of its shared values. I ultimately referred to the script to articulate my intentions around cultivating a supportive environment, and aligned my objectives with what I consider to be the necessary components of such a community. Trust and camaraderie are essential for supportive and caring community building. These elements were built with the stage management team by creating a structure of feedback that held everyone accountable. Every week, I asked the team a question, and I shared a query I had been reflecting on for the week. By exchanging this data throughout the process, I received authentic feedback, and built upon the team’s relationships to cultivate interdependence and accountability within the entire rehearsal process. When there were moments of rising tensions in rehearsals, I had an empathetic overload - I was receiving and holding onto the negative emotions that others were feeling or bringing into the room. I felt that I had disappointed my community, and that I had failed to create a space where we could all be truly open and radically honest with each other. This failure and emotional burden I was carrying led me to realize that I was struggling to embody the intentions I had been working on throughout the past year: I can only control my own experiences; I can feel empathy without overloading; I want to let go of the desire to eradicate conflicts that exist within collaboration and community. During a particularly difficult week, I wrote in my rehearsal notes: “why am I putting the well-being of everyone on my shoulders?” I communicated how I was feeling to the stage management team, and they suggested that I check in with the creative team about their expectations. The stage x management team helped me realize that establishing a culture of care needed to extend to myself. I then encouraged self-advocacy to those who were struggling to communicate their authentic feelings, and I let go of the self-imposed obligation to smooth things over and foster a conflict-free environment. This process clarified that, for me, being in community means that there is space for honesty and open communication, along with empowering everyone to self-advocate. Community also means growing a culture of support and accountability, especially when there is conflict. As one team member described the process during our final check-in: “It was never a lonely show. There was always support, somewhere in some capacity. We never had to figure it out on our own.” While it wasn’t easy to accomplish, this is the culture of care that I strive to establish as I approach each production process.

In The Grapes of Wrath, the character of Ma exemplifies many traits I incorporate into my work as a stage manager. Ma keeps the family moving forward by carrying the weight of the family's journey on her back while holding space for challenges along the way. She is the stage manager of the family and her unique fusion of authority with vulnerability is something I have incorporated into my work.

As both a leader and a collaborator, stage managers have the freedom to balance formal and informal authority. While formal authority can be inherently granted--like Ma's authority as a mother--informal authority must be cultivated. The collaborative nature of the theatrical process affords stage managers the flexibility to integrate various styles of informal authority. Stage managers can become more open, wholehearted, and courageously engaged leaders by putting aside protective armor and practicing vulnerability. Like Ma, who sings as her family disintegrates, I discovered that being vulnerable strengthened my bond with my own theatrical family and positioned me as a trusted authority.

One of the oldest sayings in theatre is "the show must go on." I realized, like Ma did, that the show only goes on when the people behind it keep driving forward. By embracing vulnerability, I found my place in the driver's seat, motivating the company to keep moving forward while creating a fluid collaborative rhythm. The show does go on because, in the words of Ma, "we're the people--we go on."

The central theme of the play peerless by Jiehae Park, based on Shakespeare’s Macbeth, is achieving success by any means necessary. The play emphasizes that sacrificing one’s humanity and integrity in pursuit of success will lead to suffering and loss. The production process of peerless revealed my default behavior of self-sacrifice. Throughout rehearsals, I denied myself the necessary space to replenish by giving all of my time, energy, and compassion to the process and my collaborators. Sacrificing myself for the production bred feelings of shame, disappointment, and resentment, which caused me to disengage. I began to question this response in order to reconnect to the production and identified a long-held and destructive belief that in order to be an effective leader, I needed to be completely selfless. I ultimately turned further inward to examine how I could navigate my emotional responses and lead with authenticity to bring myself back to the process. Several components of peerless reflected what I had felt and experienced during 2020 and 2021: loss, grief, cruelty, disregard for human life, and valuing the individual over the collective. I aligned my personal values of kindness, compassion, grace, and connection to my approach to stage management by leading conversations about the events in the play and themes of murder, arson, and death with care, empathy, and humor. I named and acknowledged when I was activated by these themes, and reminded myself to welcome the emotions rather than try to deny or suppress them. I modeled how to compassionately embrace my humanity by stepping away due to illness, overwhelm, and grief. These open and vulnerable conversations contributed to a brave space where all collaborators could discuss their honest reactions to the text. The eight weeks that I spent alongside characters who were embodying the worst of humanity revealed that my approach to stage management is centered on being whole and embracing authenticity while acknowledging that sacrificing myself leads to suffering, not success.

Within the production process of Mother Courage and Her Children, I discovered parallels between the character of Mother Courage and myself. In the play, Mother Courage trudges forward with her cart, facing difficult decisions with unpredictable outcomes. She relies heavily on her ego for protection, which results in the loss of all three of her children. Mother Courage is resilient, however she lacks the ability to actively acknowledge, accept, and engage in challenging situations without falling victim to stress, self-judgement, and self-doubt. Resilience has always been one of my greatest strengths, but during the process of Mother Courage and Her Children, I observed how my own resilience can negatively impact the production process. Mother Courage and her cart symbolize self-imposed expectations, personal baggage, and the destructive qualities of ego. She is resistant to engaging with her authentic self, and lacks presence. I relied upon my resilience to weather the challenges of the process, and this behavior distanced me from my fellow collaborators. I became Mother Courage and her cart, operating solely on resilience, without its counterpart, equanimity, losing the connection to the cast, director, and stage management team. However, in the technical phase of the process, I rebuilt those connections. By detaching from my ego, accepting the situations for what they were, and engaging with my authentic self, I found the balance between my resilience and equanimity. My experience with the Mother Courage process helped me to live in the mess with equanimity, while accepting and acknowledging my own resilience.

My leadership strategy on Tonight We Improvise was engaging radical empathy, advocacy, and the willingness to welcome the unknown. I envision this leadership style as cartography, mapping the path and walking into the liminal space with my collaborators. I illuminated the path through the uncertainty and guided the production with equanimity. Pirandello writes in Tonight We Improvise, "the play ceases to exist as soon as it comes into being." I compare this idea to my work as the stage manager and cartographer, as soon as the map is drawn it fades back into nothingness, the path only exists in the present. The soul of the play lives in an abstract creative space and in the spirit of the collaborators. I discovered my voice by advocating for the production that cannot complain, ask for help, or speak for itself.

Tonight We Improvise existed in a chaotic and unpredictable space that frequently felt destabilizing. Part of the director's vision was exposing my process from beginning to end, including sitting in the audience to call the show. While playing myself as the stage manager, I felt vulnerable, exposed, and excited to lean into the discomfort. The challenge was thrilling, and there was nowhere to hide. I have evolved into my role as a stage manager during my graduate studies, allowing my intuition and energy to guide me as I lead the group onward. I will continue to find bliss in creating art in liminal space and illuminating the unfolding path.