The Post-Show Post

I've been avoiding this post. It's the post-show post. This particular post needs to be written during the post-show dip, but is so hard to write when you're actually in the dip. The post-show dip always happens, and can result in a myriad of emotions and choices and countless hours spent processing every minute detail of your life for the previous weeks you've lived in show-land. It's a lot. And it has been one of the most wonderful post-show dips I've ever had. 

For the past two years, I have been on a journey with my friends Lee and Tony to bring a show we've written to the stage. Walnut Ridge happened over two weekends at The Nebraska Communities Playhouse (NCP) in Hickman, Nebraska. It's the second time NCP has staged one of our shows - something we are incredibly grateful for. It's a big ask for a theater like NCP to take on a new work, and I do not take their investment lightly. I am also currently the Co-Executive Director at NCP, which can both compliment and complicate the process, but all in all, the staging of Walnut Ridge was a success and an experience I will never forget. 

Now, the work begins. What work, you might ask? So. Much. Work. There is the work on the show - always a work in progress, until a certain point I suppose, but for now, we refine, we record, we promote. There is the work on the organization I work for - again, always a work in progress. What can we do better? What needs a complete overhaul? What are we doing well? And there is the work on me - like the other things, always a work in progress. Which brings us back to the post-show dip. 

The season immediately following the completion of project in which you've invested considerable amount of time, energy, and resources, can be one of the most beneficial parts of the creative process. If we let it. The personal and professional growth that can happen during a post-show dip is unlike any other I've experienced. This potential for growth seems to be exponentially possible when you're in a position of leadership. I don't want to paint an unrealistic picture here 'cause it ain't always pretty. It can be brutal. The praise is empowering and inspiring. The criticism is deafening and defeating. It all comes with the territory, and if you can't find a way to deal with it, get out. 'Cause it will eat you alive if not handled with care.

As far as the creative work goes, the post-show dip always brings with it both a sense of accomplishment and the feeling that there is more I want to do.  I suppose that's the sweet spot for a creative - to simultaneously feel satisfied and hungry for more. To have your calling confirmed by both the glow of the embers symbolizing the completion of one work, and by the chance to chase the spark that escapes the dying fire, floating off to ignite a new one. 

The problem with the post-show dip is getting out of it. I've seen a lot of folks accomplish a creative goal and then are never heard from again. It's quite possible they were a one-and-done.  They had a goal, met it, and moved on to something completely different. And that's okay. What grieves me is when an artist has poured their heart and soul into something, unleashed their work, and then, in the aftermath, has decided it just isn't worth it. It's too painful. The pain might come from the physical, emotional, spiritual, or financial toll doing the work has taken on you. It might come through the hurtful and heartless critiques you've had to endure. It might come from the ridiculous idea that you probably aren't an artist creating anything that offers "real" value to the world. Wherever the pain comes from, it is real and deep and crushing. 

If you happen to be that artist today, may I offer some advice? It comes from over 40 years of unleashing creative work out into the world and living through the fallout, still alive, willing and able to talk about it. Here are a few things I've learned along the way. 

1. Your art won't be for everyone. Some people will love you, some will like you, and some are crouching at the door, ready to pounce. Be grateful for the first two groups, ignore the third. You will never make them happy. Remember, the response to any creative work is subjective. Some people are just blessed by the opportunity to enjoy someone else's art, plain and simple. Some people come because they think real art must compel the audience to dive deep into the emotional recesses of their brains, unearth some childhood trauma, or advance some big agenda. And some people just want to escape their own life for a bit and feel better when they leave than they did when they walked in to the experience.  No matter the reason they come, you aren't responsible for their reaction to your art. Stand by what you make, make it better if you can, and leave it at that. 

2. There is some truth in every critique. Read it, listen to it, take it in. Then do the hard work of figuring out what's true and what isn't. Try to determine who has your best interest at heart and who is motivated by their own insecurities. Like I said, it's hard work, but worth it. Have the conversation you don't want to have. While you might feel a little beat up at first, chances are there is a better, more beautiful you waiting to become, after the bruises heal. 

3. Your art doesn't define you. The world wants you to think that but it's a lie. Your art is an expression of your emotions and experiences, but it isn't you. The only way to be able to tell the difference between you and your art is to know who made you and understand what you were made to be and do. And knowing the truth about who you are is the best way to silence the lies. 

I'm four weeks out from the curtain closing on Walnut Ridge, and while the post-show dip has been challenging, I sit here today, sipping a smoked fig latte, working through my to-do list, grateful for this life I live. And while the work continues on a project or two, there is also new art to make. Yes, it's good to have crawled out of the dip, my feet now standing steady on solid ground once again, ready to make stuff up. 

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