THE LESSONS OF SETTING UP CHAIRS - BY CRAIG JOSEPH

As a member of an itinerant theatre company, I do a lot of setting up and taking down of chairs. In fact, there’s a running joke about my obsessions with how straight the rows of chairs are, the precise degree at which they’re angled, where seats get added or removed (depending on audience size), and much more. I plead guilty; I love designing spaces, especially thinking through the relationship between our patrons and the action happening onstage.

A few weeks ago, as is my habit, I was in the performance space early on a Sunday morning, right before we began tech for ELEPHANT’S GRAVEYARD, playing around with lots of chairs – by myself – trying to figure out the exact orientation between the audience and the story. This has become a bit of a habit; I love the silence and solitude before other artists arrive and everything gets busy.

In the midst of my arranging, I got a call from another Artistic Director who needed a favor. I told him that I’d be able to help him out later, but that I would be busy all day with tech.

“Well, is there time to send me the file before tech? What are you doing now?”
“I’m setting up chairs.”
“Setting up chairs? Seriously? You’re the Artistic Director; you shouldn’t be setting up chairs.”
I politely reiterated that I would help him later, and got off the phone.

I could offer him the benefit of the doubt and assume he meant that my time could be better spent doing things only an AD can do, but the statement had a sense of elitism to it. Setting up chairs: that’s for the people beneath you.

I absolutely disagree. In fact, I think setting up chairs is one of the things that has made me a better Artistic Director.

When I’m alone in this room, setting up chairs gets me out of my head - out of the swirl of administrative details, evolving vision and strategy, worries and anxieties - and reminds me that theatre doesn’t exist primarily in the realm of ideas and concepts, but in the world of folks doing and acting and making and fabricating and dealing with concrete, tangible stuff. Theatre is WORK - like setting up chairs - and it’s helpful for me to get into my body and remember that any brainstorm I have has to be tried and tested in the crucible of actual, physical manifestation in space.

Setting up chairs also forces me to think about our audiences and patrons - the “guests” I’m inviting to my “home” for an hour or two. I want them to have the richest, most magical experience possible, so I sit in every chair, try to experience what they will experience, and determine if it’s wanting and could be enhanced. As a person of faith, I often conjure up specific names and faces of folks who’ve been supporting us and say a little prayer of gratitude for them and how they’ve helped Seat of the Pants evolve. It’s an act of humility that reminds me I started Seat of the Pants, but many other dear people have helped sustain it and grow it.

Sometimes, other people join me in this task - and even though I love my introversion - I love setting up chairs with people even more. Because this mundane task allows for some wonderful conversation. Often, it introduces me to volunteers for our organization with whom I might not otherwise come into contact and gives me a chance to know who they are, learn a bit more about their story, and almost always helps me remember a name and pertinent detail when I see them later around town. And we all love to be remembered. It’s also a wonderful opportunity to share some unprogrammed, unstructured time with other ensemble members. We work our butts off and are often very driven and intense. Setting up chairs provides an opportunity to share funny stories, catch up on life details, and sometimes just sit around after the task is done, deepening our relationship.

Maybe it’s my my history of setting up and taking down chairs every Sunday as a church planter, or the fact that I’ve moved a million times, or possibly the fact that I re-design my living space every season like I’m a window dresser at Macy’s, but I’ve never once thought of setting up chairs as a menial or lowly task. It’s something that keeps me grounded, keeps me properly humble, keeps me connected to others, and keeps me “on mission” for Seat of the Pants. And I hope it’s something the company continues to do long after I depart.