Places.

Places, please, for the top of Twenty Seventeen.

All you
Who seek and speak and study the living languages of spirit,
You, who listen to the Muses and twist the twelvefold tongues of music,
We need you in the wings, now.

Now.

We need you standing by.
All you
Who know how to break walls down with a slight side-eye,
And thoughts unspoken
You, who know the dying art of being broken-open,
All you
Who know how to
HOLD

And then how to shift focus,
How to draw the crowds’ attention to matters of importance,
You
Who craft tactual
Magic

Just by being
In The Moment,

And to all who can hear me,
All
Who know how to breathe…

Places, please.

I repeat,

Places!
PLEASE.

You
Who reach deep for motivation,
Who strip your Selves stark naked,
YOU who
Say
What needs saying
When (and because) it needs saying,
You who cause by-heart lines to ignite as revelations,
And who have the guts to trust
The trickster-god, “Improvisation”

And all you
Who paint with light, and render reality from dreams, and
You, who stitch miracles together when shit unravels at the seams,
To all you who make mountains
And move them on a cue,

To all
Who do
What We Do:

The time has come

To transport. To transform.
To turn the streets into our stages,
To pull the right words off their pages,
Or out of thin air,
Or out of old wounds,
Or from ANYWHERE
To flesh out the barest bones
And call down the ancient ones,
With sacred poems,

To make something

REAL.

Now,
NOW,
The curtain
Rises,

Let us commit
To our choices
(and to each other.)
Let us support
Our voices
(And one another.)
Let us
Now allow our hearts to lead,
and get this show on the road!

Places, PLEASE.
PLACES!
NOW!

And
Break.
A Fucking. 
LEG.

The post Places, Please. appeared first on Athena Hagen.

The bad news: Without a $2 million miracle, the Arizona Theatre Company could be shutting its doors- “winding down operations and cancelling the 50th Anniversary season.”
The good news: Those of us on this year’s Summer On Stage staff will not be affected. The program is fully funded and will proceed as planned.

I’ve been trying to write this ever since then and I still don’t quite know what to think or where to start. How do I describe the tangled relationship I’ve had with this company without just laying out my whole life-story? How do I speak to the heartbreak of this moment without recalling a hundred other hurts and heartbreaks that have come with working for ATC over the last twelve years? How do I speak of all that heartbreak without also speaking of the joys, the beauty, the sense of home this company has brought into my life?

The announcement did not surprise me. Anyone who’s kept up with ATC’s financial woes, (or the state of regional theatre in general), might have seen this coming. The news was shocking only in that, after all the strained insistence that “it’s fine, we’re fine, everything will be fine,” the company finally admitted what we in the family have felt in our guts for a while now… That is – We have come to the dying time.

As with the dying of a beloved elder, no amount of premonition makes the reality easier to bear. What makes it harder, though, is that this elder has not been handling these waning days with much grace; the memo that went out to donors on Monday read a bit more like an austere ransom note than a rally to action. As one editorial from the AZ Republic put it, “Arizona Theatre Company put the gun to its own head and said: ‘Stop me or I’ll shoot.’”

If this was a cry for help, perhaps it’s time for a little heart to heart…

So…

Listen, ATC,

* Debi Chess Mabie, Executive Director of Tucson Pima Arts Council (in the newsletter)

The post Dear ATC, We Need a Heart to Heart appeared first on Athena Hagen.

But why should we care so much for anyone we did not really know? Why should we feel such a loss when they leave? And why should so many great lights burn out “before their time” ?

Blogs and articles appear with every psychoanalytical or cynical or social explanation… Everyone trying to sort out the reasons why such a man would choose to make an early exit.
Some call the reaction “celebrity worship,” some call his great talent a defense mechanism and his depression a symptom of today’s disconnection, or the result of a failure to address mental illness in our society…

Here’s what I see:

These humans, these brilliant minds, they are dying out because we are not doing our part.
Each of us, each and every person on this planet has the potential to create, the potential to inspire and bring beauty and insight into this world. I believe it is why we are here.
And yet we are distracted, scattered, medicated, made complacent, insecure, and forgetful of this sacred task and our own innate capacity to perform it.

The genius, the spark, the creative thought that wishes to make itself known has limited options these days.

So we see this kind of exhaustion, this desperate mania and relentless depression in those forced to take in everyone else’s neglected genius. Our unwillingness to fulfill our own creative duties means that those who ARE willing, those who hone their skills to be a better conduit, who make it a priority to be open to the visions as they arrive, these people are flooded with every forgotten story, every bit of beauty, every thought and song and work of soul that WE have shut out or left unfinished or been too busy to take on.
These poor souls, whom we raise up like gods and admire so, are doing the work that WE should EACH be doing every day.
It is overwhelming and exhausting.
And UNFAIR.

Perhaps, the hardest hit by these tragedies are those also doing more than their fair share of the creating and, (I’ll wager), those not doing nearly enough of their own.

And so- if we wish to honor the passing of these incredible souls-
Then we must each take up the task at hand. We must keep our windows cracked when our own inspiration comes… And when that little spark of genius comes scratching at our doors, looking for home and a way into the world, we must answer.
For if not, it will travel on, travel until it finds a willing emissary.

And as we sit at a thankless job or in our little rut on the couch and laugh wildly at a joke that rings a bit too true for comfort, or go to a bar to drown out the boredom, only to hear a tune that seems too familiar, sung by some great “talent” or other… We may feel it, in that moment, deep down in our guts and bones, that that particular tune, that punch-line was not meant for Them but for US…
And wasn’t it the one that came mewling to us in a dream or crossed our path on the way to work and went unnoticed, went unheeded, was shooed away and has now been (not-quite) forgotten?

It is up to us now… As it has been since the beginning.

If we wish to see this tragedy cease, we must take up the task of caring for our creative thoughts, our beautiful visions, and giving them the life they deserve… lest our familiars be left to wander like strays to any open door… And eventually devour the sweet souls who cannot help but take them in.

The post In the Wake of Fallen “Genius” appeared first on Athena Hagen.

And then, just when I was ready to devote my life to you, just when I thought you and I were about to “get serious,” I started hearing rumors. I met men and women who’d dedicated decades to you and the things they told me made me very sad. They talked about you like you were a sponge and they treated my deep passion like it was merely puppy-love. “It’s cute that you’re so excited, kid, but you’ll see soon enough,” they’d say.
Still, they shared your secrets with me and told me stories of good times you’d shared… and I was truly grateful to them. But somehow, there was always this hint of disillusionment and I was afraid to talk of my love for you, lest I should appear naïve or foolish.
I knew you couldn’t be as bad as they made you out to be. I tried to keep the faith, Theatre. “They just don’t know you like I know you.” I was determined to love you all the more, just to prove them wrong. I redoubled my efforts. I became obsessed. I hardly ate or slept and, when I did, I dreamt of you.
And when I’d get discouraged or vent my frustration, they’d say, “Oh, suck it up. You knew what you were getting into.” “ What were you expecting, kid?” “It’s hard, draining work just like any relationship.” “Be glad Theatre puts food on the table and allows you to show off once in a while. At least you’re not stuck with Walmart.” When I’d get burnt out or work myself to tears I’d hear, “Don’t kill yourself, kid. It’s not worth it. You can leave any time you want and the good news is: Theatre will just go on without you.”
I became heartsick and weary. I turned into a killjoy, a naysayer, a curmudgeon. If I felt exploited, I lashed out at those around me. Or, I awarded myself a little martyr merit-badge every time I held my tongue. I grew sour and cynical and smug; I ridiculed the enthusiastic and gritted my teeth and dubbed it “professionalism” and “loyalty.”
Yet, however much I questioned my devotion, I could not bear the thought of leaving you. I decided the best way to avoid getting hurt was to just stop caring altogether. I looked for other loves to soothe and amuse me. I engaged in passionate affairs with Painting and Jewelry but they did not make me happy the same way you once had.
Finally, I was too heartbroken and too miserable; I realized I could not keep it up any longer and I needed to take some time away…
* * *

I’m back now… and I’ve missed you, Theatre. And, now that I’ve had this time to reflect, I’ve come to see that it wasn’t you at all… You are as good and as worthy as you have ever been.
I should never have listened to the complainers and mud-slingers. They took you for granted and treated you like a burden and a meal-ticket. It wasn’t your fault they were bitter. It wasn’t your fault they were unhappy. They spoke ill of you because they’d forgotten themselves. They scoffed at our love because they didn’t understand it. Perhaps they were only jealous. And yet I do not blame them, either.
I’m sorry I lost my faith in you, Theatre; I know it was no one’s fault but my own.
You were, and always will be, my first true love. You’ve been there with me through good times and hard times. You and your kin and your other lovers raised me. You gave me a warm place to grow and a window to the wider universe. You continue to challenge me and teach me and inspire me, Theatre. Ours is the most fulfilling, most over-arching, and all-encompassing love I have ever known. I do not intend to take that for granted anymore. I promise to never again deny my feelings. I’m prepared to commit now; to give this thing a proper go; to keep up my end of the bargain. I’m ready to give this partnership the passion and energy and respect it deserves.
You know I’m not one for monogamy, Theatre. I can’t be the only girl in your life and I don’t intend to give up the good thing I’ve got going with Painting, Jewelry and others. I know that for this love to be sustainable and rewarding, it must be open and fluid and powered by the infinitely renewable energies of trust and vision.
I don’t want to “keep you to myself” or “settle down.” In fact, I promise to share you with everyone I meet! I want everyone to see how beautiful and inspiring and amazing you are! I promise to teach newcomers to fall in love with you, just as I did and to help those jaded old-timers fall in love all over again.
I know we can make magic if we go all-in and all-out and we’re all in it together. We can sustain one another and we can help each other thrive. We can keep each other young and endlessly evolving. We can promote compassion and incite transformation and bring vibrancy and poignancy and soulfulness to people’s lives! And doesn’t that sound good, Theatre baby? Doesn’t that sound like exactly what each of us needs? Like something the world needs right now and on into the future? Doesn’t that sound like what both of us were put on this earth to do?
Let’s stop fighting fate, Theatre my love! Time is a wastin’ and there are stories that need telling, brain-children that need birthing and seeds that need your fertile ground! I love you, I love you, I love you, as I have and will, always.

Yours,
Athena (AKA Valhalla Toadplant)

The post A letter to my first love… appeared first on Athena Hagen.

This was part of a larger, cocktail themed series. Each piece is based on a drink name.

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Wire was sown around the edge of the piece so that the paper can be curved.

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Wire was sown around the edge of the piece so that the paper can be curved.

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Photo Justin Haugen All Rights Reserved 2011

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