Ruminations on BUMP: A Tabloid Story

In an effort to explore the indigenous arts scene on campus, The News-Letter has decided to profile the previously unexamined student artists who have successfully showcased their works in the D.C.-metro area. "Portrait of an Artist" will spotlight students who have contributed to the Hopkins arts scene. The piece will be written by the student him-or-herself in order to preserve the artistic integrity of the work as well as to highlight the artistic process.

I wonder if you've seen any of the leftover posters on campus for the play I produced last month? They're the ones with the upside-down winking fetus on them? I should probably take those down now.

The play, which premiered on the Theatre Project stage downtown, was about a fallen-from-grace fame-whoring celebrity bitch, and by the end was called BUMP: A Tabloid Story. I produced it through the Hopkins Woodrow Wilson Fellowship grant and pretty much wrote the script in the rehearsal room.

It was totally offensive (on purpose) and made me some enemies (necessary sacrifice) and pushed boundaries that probably didn't need to be pushed (except they did, and that was the point) – and the experience has, I realize now that it's over, given me the confidence to keep making art in this city.

I was asked which was the harder, writing or producing, and I still cannot find an answer to that question.

Production in and of itself is difficult; producing for the stage is complicated, and without a picture-perfect grasp of what you're working with and what you need, it's almost impossible to predict what you're going to need.

But I don't know if it was harder than the act of creating the art itself, mostly because I don't really remember the late-night typing, and also because I don't like the word "hard". Because it kind of makes art sound like work.

The play's over now. Everyone involved in the play has moved onto new frontiers – our director, Jim Knipple, is now a professor at Loyola, I believe, and one of our actresses is about to start the eighth grade – and familiar frontiers, in the case of Emily Sucher, the deliciously omnipresent Hopkins actress, now a senior.

You can see her work by going to any on-campus student group performance (odds are, she's in it) but in particular she's a star figure in the Throat Culture sketch comedy group and the University Theatre in the Merrick Barn.

So, in the time I have left here, I realize I can either eulogize the show I closed nearly a month ago or I can talk about the ever-living question: what's next? Not for me, of course, but in general.

I'm not sure I could really describe BUMP here, anyway, and if I tried you might think I was a monster. (And I know the look by now.) So, what's next for the Hopkins artist? (And what I mean is, what could be next?)

I read an article recently about artists and that phenomenon where their professional lives are a sticky mixture of panic and, I think it was, boredom.

You don't have to be an artist to conceive this. The artist's career path usually seems to rely on luck, floating on changing tides and desperately baiting whatever that intangible thing – "talent" – actually is.

But I'm here to tell the artists of Hopkins, wherever you are, that this anxious pull (between "don't forget to breathe" and "how long can you hold your breath?") has much to do with the fact that, while you wait, you don't really know what you're waiting for.

And how could you? You're probably waiting for someone else to tell you. You want to be "discovered" and maybe you don't have fond memories of schoolyard pick-‘em. This is a perfectly legitimate way to start a career in art, but I've found an alternative I hope will appeal to you.

"Discover" yourself. In whatever you do.

From the student who wants to write a play and makes it happen; to the girl that writes poems in her spare time and arranges her own reading with some friends; to the group of friends that starts a band and plays their own show; it's completely possible to create your own opportunities. And when you do this, it's a lot harder to say things aren't going your way.

Remember that "making it happen" is an active construction.

Always take risks. I can't count the number of times I made a decision and said, "this is either stupid or brilliant." Those were the decisions I never regretted. I wrote the first draft of BUMP (different title, though) a year and a half ago, and not one of those words ended up in the final cut.

Assemble your perfect team of artists, because when you're part of a team you trust, risk-taking is the smart and obvious choice.

As for the material itself: Every project is different, and I can't help you make the art. You're the artist.

I encourage you, though, to find someone who can help you, then make a deal so that when it comes time for action, your artistic material is where it needs to be.

Basically: do what you must, be willing to take huge risks at any stage in the game . . . then do your homework and take risks early, so you're not crushed by the pressure of bringing your material up to your team's level at the last minute. (Writing in the rehearsal room isn't so much fun after all.)

Art aside, you've got the production aspect. This likewise varies from project to project. I recommend that all of you do your research here; talk to someone who knows about your field. If you want to shoot a film, find a film producer.

Money's always a problem ... do you need investors, or should you seek non-profit status?

Find a location, and secure it's availability, and keep in communication; this applies whether you rent a stage for a weekend, or approach a family in Montana about shooting a film on their ranch. There are hundreds of questions to consider, and you'll want to consider them all.

As for stage production, I don't know of anyone at Hopkins with significant experience in this side of the theatre.

Feel free, all of you, to contact me personally if this daunting and exciting path is one you might tread. I can, if nothing else, warn you of the pitfalls, and steer you to make choices that will cushion you from your mistakes – which you will make, and then some.

It's scary. Accept this.

It's risky. Accept this.

It's expensive. Accept this.

But take risks. Then, take more. If they don't pay off this time, they may not have been big enough risks. You can make it happen.