(by Linda Coleman) Yesterday, we went to the biggest art opening of the year, the grand opening of the AT&T Performing Arts Center. Yes, our new Dallas Center for the Performing Arts is named for a product, following in the tradition of American Airlines Center, Smirnoff Music Center, Nokia Theatre and others who make big bucks by selling naming rights. (One notable Dallas exception is the Latino Cultural Center, which passed up the money offered to them by Cuervo for naming rights. Our admiration and thanks goes to them for taking a stand for integrity and dignity, and giving the city a facility that has their name on it instead of an advertisement for booze).Dallas artists have been promised an arts center since at least 1992, when James and I were part of a company that did an independent production of Brendan Behan's The Hostage. We were looking for a donated space as a performance venue, and someone suggested contacting Arts District Friends, boosters of Dallas' "arts district." At the time, the "arts district" was a bulldozed pile of rubble, which, the Friends insisted, would be a good place to put an outdoor stage. We passed on that offer, in favor of Poor David's Pub, then located on Greenville Ave., generously offered by David Card. It turned out to be the perfect venue for our production.
Waiting in line for half an hour for the promised backstage tour of the Winspear Opera House, I had time to think back over all the productions we've done in "found spaces" rented for little or no money, and how many times tourists from New York have found our little hole-in-the-wall spaces to enjoy an intimate, thought-provoking evening of theatre "just like the off-off Broadway spaces back home." To the true arts patron, the best stuff is often found in off-the-beaten-path venues, just like it is for food connoisseurs who insist the best food in town is in some dive of a place the rest of us would be afraid to go into.
In New York, future Broadway plays are fomented in basements and warehouses all over the city, and arts supporters understand that; in Dallas, there's a disconnect between artists and the people with the money and power to boost the arts, kind of like the disconnect between what I call "real Dallas" and the powerbrokers who run the place.
When I was president of our neighborhood association, I had my shot at trying to explain it to then-mayor Laura Miller. At a city-wide meeting of neighborhood organizers, she asked for suggestions about what to do to revitalize downtown and get businesses into abandoned buildings.
When it was my turn to make a suggestion, I talked about turning boarded up buildings into "incubator spaces" for the arts, donating them to our local playwrights and theatre companies until they could find a paying renter. I told her about our small, but loyal, local arts patrons who prefer hole-in-the wall theatre to the larger theatre venues, and tourists I'd met from New York who'd rather seek out a unique theatrical experience than go to big splashy musical that they've seen already on Broadway.
While I was speaking, I noticed that Laura Miller was staring at me uncomprehendingly, as if I'd suddenly started speaking Farsi. I tried talking slower, but it didn't help. I launched into an account of the times James and I had appeared in critically acclaimed productions in some out-of-the way place, only to have our "found" space discovered by developers, who then kicked out the artists to build expensive loft apartments. I figured it would probably work the same way with the abandoned buildings downtown; put some theatre in there, make it "cool," and buyers will flock to the place. And, of course, I pitched my idea for a corporate culture that would create a space for the arts when the places were fully rented. She did pull out her notebook and pen, but I'm convinced to this day that she was just pretending to take note of my comments.
As I stood in line pondering my encounter with Laura Miller, I was reminded of about another mayor who didn't quite "get it," since we were lined up in the plaza named for her: Annette Strauss Artist Plaza. She's known as an arts booster because she was so good promoting the arts and raising money for big shiny buildings to house the arts. But I didn't vote for her. When she was running for mayor and it was time to make campaign ads, there was no casting call for actors to portray Dallas voters, 'cause she went to New York to make that ad. I can't remember the name of the guy I voted for in that race--was it Max Wells? Or maybe Half-Price co-founder Ken Gjemre? Or did Ken Gjemre just support Max Wells without running himself? Can't remember, but the guy I voted for hired a local production company to do his ad, with local actors playing Dallas voters. That's what I call supporting the arts--local hiring. Staring at the picture of Annette Strauss, I realized that she's the best face for the disconnect I'm trying to describe between boosters of "the arts" and the artists who try to make a living in this city doing what they love. Very appropriate that they named the plaza in her honor. An inspiration for some, a cautionary tale for others. Well done!
Waiting in line for half an hour for the promised backstage tour of the Winspear Opera House, I had time to think back over all the productions we've done in "found spaces" rented for little or no money, and how many times tourists from New York have found our little hole-in-the-wall spaces to enjoy an intimate, thought-provoking evening of theatre "just like the off-off Broadway spaces back home." To the true arts patron, the best stuff is often found in off-the-beaten-path venues, just like it is for food connoisseurs who insist the best food in town is in some dive of a place the rest of us would be afraid to go into.
In New York, future Broadway plays are fomented in basements and warehouses all over the city, and arts supporters understand that; in Dallas, there's a disconnect between artists and the people with the money and power to boost the arts, kind of like the disconnect between what I call "real Dallas" and the powerbrokers who run the place.
When I was president of our neighborhood association, I had my shot at trying to explain it to then-mayor Laura Miller. At a city-wide meeting of neighborhood organizers, she asked for suggestions about what to do to revitalize downtown and get businesses into abandoned buildings.
When it was my turn to make a suggestion, I talked about turning boarded up buildings into "incubator spaces" for the arts, donating them to our local playwrights and theatre companies until they could find a paying renter. I told her about our small, but loyal, local arts patrons who prefer hole-in-the wall theatre to the larger theatre venues, and tourists I'd met from New York who'd rather seek out a unique theatrical experience than go to big splashy musical that they've seen already on Broadway.
While I was speaking, I noticed that Laura Miller was staring at me uncomprehendingly, as if I'd suddenly started speaking Farsi. I tried talking slower, but it didn't help. I launched into an account of the times James and I had appeared in critically acclaimed productions in some out-of-the way place, only to have our "found" space discovered by developers, who then kicked out the artists to build expensive loft apartments. I figured it would probably work the same way with the abandoned buildings downtown; put some theatre in there, make it "cool," and buyers will flock to the place. And, of course, I pitched my idea for a corporate culture that would create a space for the arts when the places were fully rented. She did pull out her notebook and pen, but I'm convinced to this day that she was just pretending to take note of my comments.
As I stood in line pondering my encounter with Laura Miller, I was reminded of about another mayor who didn't quite "get it," since we were lined up in the plaza named for her: Annette Strauss Artist Plaza. She's known as an arts booster because she was so good promoting the arts and raising money for big shiny buildings to house the arts. But I didn't vote for her. When she was running for mayor and it was time to make campaign ads, there was no casting call for actors to portray Dallas voters, 'cause she went to New York to make that ad. I can't remember the name of the guy I voted for in that race--was it Max Wells? Or maybe Half-Price co-founder Ken Gjemre? Or did Ken Gjemre just support Max Wells without running himself? Can't remember, but the guy I voted for hired a local production company to do his ad, with local actors playing Dallas voters. That's what I call supporting the arts--local hiring. Staring at the picture of Annette Strauss, I realized that she's the best face for the disconnect I'm trying to describe between boosters of "the arts" and the artists who try to make a living in this city doing what they love. Very appropriate that they named the plaza in her honor. An inspiration for some, a cautionary tale for others. Well done!
By the way, the tour of the opera house wasn't worth waiting for. The promised "backstage tour" was just a guided walk through the lobby, through a stage door, across the stage, out the other stage door back into the lobby. That's it. All the way, our tour guide told us how big and expensive everything was. (Our guide told us that Margaret Winspear wrote a check for the first $30 million, which is why her name's on the building, and I tried to calculate how many small arts groups that would fund for how many decades). We were then invited to explore the place on our own, which we could have done without the tour. If I hadn't thought up this blog post along the way, the wait in line would have been a complete waste of time.
We didn't even try touring the Wyly Center, the other venue where Dallas Theatre Center will perform. The line for free tours wrapped around the building, and we weren't interested in spending any more time standing around doing nothing.
So we went to the Crow Collection of Asia Art, where they served tea on the outdoor plaza; inside, we watched Tibetan Buddhist monks
from the Drepung Loseling Monestary create a mandala with grains of colored sand. We both agreed that was the best part of the grand opening celebration.
After days and days of rain, it was perfect weather for the mostly outdoor event, too. The sun was out and there was a slight crisp coolness in the air, which added an element of excitement and expectation, even during the boring half hour we spent standing in line.
So we went to the Crow Collection of Asia Art, where they served tea on the outdoor plaza; inside, we watched Tibetan Buddhist monks
from the Drepung Loseling Monestary create a mandala with grains of colored sand. We both agreed that was the best part of the grand opening celebration.After days and days of rain, it was perfect weather for the mostly outdoor event, too. The sun was out and there was a slight crisp coolness in the air, which added an element of excitement and expectation, even during the boring half hour we spent standing in line.
As usual, I've got more photos at my Flickr Album. For a slideshow of the whole collection, plus a short video of one of the monks creating the mandala, visit this link: Dallas Center for the Performing Arts Grand Opening.
