For those of us who choose to pursue the arts as a career (collegiate and beyond), there is one huge question we have to answer: college or conservatory? BA or BFA? It may not sound like a huge difference, but there is one. To put it in the simplest terms: a BFA is more like a professional training program, preparing you to shoot directly into the highly specialized workforce of your choice (acting, directing, playwriting, etc.); a BA is more generalized, letting you dip your toes into a bit of everything. There’s more to the differences than that, but that’s the easiest way to describe them.
For those of you who don’t know, I went to a conservatory program in New York City; my BFA is in Theatre Arts, with a minor in Writing. I chose to be in one of those insanely rigorous programs, the stuff dramatized in many a film (Whiplash, anyone?). I spent four (technically five, if you count my wellness year to heal an injury) years eating, drinking, and sleeping my art, donating blood, sweat, and tears to my program. There were soaring highs; there were mind-shattering lows.
I’ve been trying to think of how to reflect upon my time as a conservatory student in a way to both process the beautiful and the ugly of my experience and to assist others who may be heading into the college search themselves. This list is the most easeful way for me to talk about it all in absorbable snippets. And it’s only scratching the surface: I’m sure I’ll have more to say in the future. :)
Here are the three biggest pros and cons of The Conservatory Experience.
And disclaimer: this is my experience. I am writing from my own my mind, my own emotions; I’m sure any one of my classmates would feel slightly or massively differently. Please, please don’t apply this to every student out there. This is simply one person’s opinion.
Pro: Highly Focused and Specialized
One of the weirdly frequent, horribly annoying questions I’d get about my schooling was: “Do you take any real classes?” Worded just as scathingly as that. Yes, my friend. All of them were real. They just happened to be in my art form, not something as universally understandable as math or history. I mean, yes, I had some general education classes (though not many, as I transferred in AP credit – highly recommend) and I have a minor, but the majority of my classes were in acting, voice, dance, and the variety of other topics that are involved and help with the art of the theatre.
I loved that. I loved how highly specialized my studies were. I got to wake up and go to Contemporary Musical Theatre Acting, Voice and Speech, Acting for Chekhov, Ballet, Theatre Dance, Shakespeare, Acting for the Camera, and Private Voice, among many others. I got to write musicals and plays, got to direct one acts, got to do both weird, abstract nonsense and classic verse. I spent my days doing what I love most: creating art, educating on empathy, concocting ways to make the world better and kinder. My minor was full of that, too, with classes such as Creative Writing, Linguistics, and Screenwriting. Even on the frustrating days, my soul felt fulfilled. I knew my artistry was growing, and it brought me joy.
That’s not to say there wasn’t versatility. Take a look at any good performer and you see how versatile and well-rounded they are and need to be. Though my alma mater is known as a musical theatre training program, they pride themselves on crafting the actor, not just the “MT performer.” I’ve studied everything from Elizabethan theatre to Tennessee Williams to Caryl Churchill, R&H to Wildhorn to Morrissette. We did straight plays, musical theatre, new works, and film and TV. Nothing was boring, ever, even the classes that weren’t quite my fave.
I will fully acknowledge that this amount of focus isn’t for everyone. Many people want more generalization, and I respect and see the beauty in that. For me, though, the specialization was wonderful. I did what I loved every day, and pushed myself to incredible improvements and discoveries.
And, y’know. No math outside of one Stats course. ;)
Con: Burnout, Burnout, Burnout
This was and is painfully real. With the amount of classes we packed in, rehearsals we attended, and shows we performed, the burnout could have horrible mental consequences. My days often stretched from 6:15 am (wake-up before commuting) to 11 pm (returning to my apartment after rehearsal). Throughout the day, we had breaks: five minutes between classes, half hour to an hour for lunch, an hour for dinner, and maybe one 20 minute break. Our classes were typically broken down into 3 hour dance class intervals, 90 minute to 2 ½ hour acting classes, hour voice lessons, 90 minute dialect and movement courses, 90 minute history/writing/directing classes, and about 3 - 5 hour rehearsals. On Saturdays, rehearsals were somewhere around 8 – 10 hours, dependent upon when you were called and what we were doing. Physically, it was exhausting. Mentally, it could very much take a toll.
Some days, it was fine. I would be on the train with sore legs and an exhilarated soul, beaming from a breakthrough that had happened that day and excited for what was to come. Some days, it absolutely wasn’t. Running on a severe lack of sleep (because, remember, there’s homework in between all this, because it is college) and feeling the emotional toll of acting connection, panicking about notes I had gotten from a professor or a director that day, I would lie in bed and just cry. The burnout creates a megaphone for the whispers of not good enough, you can’t do this, absolutely worthless, did you hear what they said?
We pushed ourselves to breaking points more times than I can count. We had to: there wasn’t really time to stop and breathe. You’re lucky if you’re busy in this industry, right? (Note the sarcasm: overwork is a horribly toxic trait of the theatre and cinema, one that the new gen is working to correct, but we’ve got a ways to go.) I had a breakdown in class at least once a semester, as did most of my classmates. You don’t really know bonding until you’ve sobbed in front of a group of 15, y’know? Panic attacks were frequent around the time of tech week and showtime. A relief directly after.
So, lesson from this: take care of yourselves, my beautiful artist friends. Your body and mind are your instrument. More than that, you need them to live a joyous life. And we need you, no matter what your brain may be telling you. Clock your burnout. Be careful.
Pro: Your Professors
I adored 99.9% of my professors (there’s gotta be a couple bad eggs, right?). Adored. Them. The wonderful thing about a BFA program is that your faculty are all working professionals, active in the industry: they have their finger on the pulse of what’s happening and how to best succeed as yourself. In my four years, my professors were on Broadway, starred in HBO, Hulu, and Netflix series, featured on award-winning albums, and traveled the country with national tours and concerts; they also wrote and orchestrated off-Broadway and Broadway shows, directed at major regional theatres, and choreographed internationally. They were and are an impressive bunch of creatives.
They’re also family. With the amount of time we spent with these professors, it was impossible for them not to be. We called them by their first names. Laughed with them. Cried to them. Confided in them. Cheered for them as they cheered for us. Shared aspirations and fears and accomplishments and downfalls in equal measure, all while receiving some of the best damn hugs you could wish for. One of my acting professors became like a second father to me; one of my directors like the crazy uncle I needed; one of my choreographers the nutso older sister I never realized I wanted.
It is impossible for me to put into words how much this family of accomplished artists meant and means to me. I don’t just have mentors: I have friends, colleagues that I can’t wait to work with again. It isn’t just the connections they offer to the industry at large (and, let me tell you, BFA faculty have incredible connections); it’s the familial bond we all share. I have three vivid memories, in particular:
My freshman year acting professor staying with me through and after a panic attack, sitting with me for upwards of ten minutes. He made sure to still the shaking as a therapist would; he kept talking in a calming manner, reminding me that “you are good enough just as you are.” He told me, “You have some of the most raw talent I’ve ever seen. You are good enough. We’ll just make you even better.” He was late to his next class. I’ll never forget that.
My sophomore year director sensing something was off during rehearsal, dismissing everyone but me, and enveloping me into a huge hug, saying, “Whatever shit it is, it’s gonna be okay, kiddo.” He was a sassy, snarky man, but you could always tell he cared.
My advisor of all four years taking an hour out of her day to eat lunch with me when I was having a rough time, just chatting and laughing. Rarely could I remember what was wrong after talking with her. She was and is a mother figure to all of us.
So, in short, my BFA faculty felt like family. And they gave us an incredible amount of industry connections, and knowledge that those who have been out of the industry for a while likely wouldn’t know (through no fault of their own). A major, major plus.
I teared up when, at our Zoom graduation ceremony, our head of program greeted us, for the first time, with: “Hello, colleagues!”
Con: Isolation
This one will sound so freakin’ weird sandwiched between the previous one and the one to come, but, paradoxically, all are true. A conservatory program as rigorous as the one I was in can feel incredibly isolating. In my experience, that happens in several ways.
The first is that the rest of the world usually doesn’t understand what you’re doing. You’ll get a lot of dismissive “Oh, fun” after someone asks what you do for school/a living, with no follow-up questions; oftentimes, it’s accompanied by a somewhat baffled or condescending look, dependent upon who you’re talking to. It’s a lot of “What’s your back-up plan?” or “Oh my god, I wish I could just have playtime for a living” or “So, like, are all of you weird?” or “Dude, that sounds so easy! Lucky!” You will get a lot of dismissal of your experiences. Don’t even get me started on the realm of “God, just act. Actors don’t get an opinion.” I may throw up in my mouth a little.
You won’t have much time to hang out with anyone outside of your BFA program. I think I became friends with maybe one person outside of my program at school: we just had such opposite schedules that it wasn’t possible. Skypes and FaceTime sessions with family, partners, and friends are thrown in haphazardly around rehearsal schedules and homework. The outside world seems like a myth, sometimes, only experienced through walks in the city to and from class. When Sundays are your only free day (and sometimes not even that), it becomes hard to have a social life.
Internally, too, attending a program that focuses heavily on the individual artist can feel somewhat isolating. Because, hey, acting as a craft is HARD. It involves sense memory and emotional embodiment; there’s a reason you don’t use recent trauma as a reference. It can very much screw you up. Focusing 24/7 on your brain and your own emotions runs the risk of feeling like an island. The amount of times I caught myself disappearing inwards could get frightening. There’s a lot of getting swallowed into your own thoughts. I mean, think about it: most of what you’re focusing on is How can I get better? How can this be better? How can I find my way into this character, especially when they’re highly traumatized? Striving for perfection can be a very lonely experience; when it happens every day, you feel like you’re the only one in the world who feels this shitty, this bad at what they do.
The good news is that you can clock that and find coping mechanisms to bring yourself out. Acting cooldowns are as necessary as vocal and physical ones, regardless of whether you’re doing comedy or drama. Please, please do that, artist friends.
In short: I felt isolated quite often during my four years, like I was entirely alone on this ride. That is partially my fault, and I will acknowledge that. I do find, however, that the rigor of a BFA tends to make this happen at a higher frequency than others.
Pro: Classmates Become Family
Like I said: a paradox. ;)
Again, the rigor: you will have next to no time for anyone outside of your program. At times, that’s toxic as hell, and you will get on each other’s nerves. However, the major plus side is this: you will become family. When you’re together twelve hours a day, seven days a week, that tends to happen. We see each other’s thrilling breakthroughs in class; we comfort each other when we cry during a particularly frustrating day; we help each other figure out what in the hell we’re doing. That is a nearly unbreakable bond, one crafted through both unending joy and trauma response. We are family.
That continues into the “real world,” too. It will be harder to catch up, of course, but graduation does not sever the familial ties of the conservatory. We’ve witnessed each other’s growth, know each other’s artistic strengths and weaknesses. We are the support system and the wake-up call when need be. I made some of my best friends in my conservatory, ones I know will be creative colleagues and brothers and sisters for forever. I would do anything for them, as I know they would for me.
If you choose a BFA, I promise that will happen for you, too.
Probably also in a BA. I just didn’t do that one. ;)
Con: No College Experience
On my weird nostalgia days, this is the one I regret the most. A BA will allow you to have what America knows as the quintessential college experience; a BFA will not. At least, in my experience, there was no way. You’re far too busy, logistically, to be involved with certain honor societies, extracurriculars, and sports. The likelihood of you rushing if your school has Greek life is very close to nil; if you think you’re going to football games, choir performances, or student council, you better think again. Most of them won’t let you in with the time constraints you’re bringing to the table.
Which is fair. Also, most conservatories don’t have sports teams, so there’s that.
My particular conservatory didn’t even have a study abroad program, which is something I’d been wanting to do since I was little. I sacrificed it for the excellent training I was getting; if I could change anything, that would be one of them. I would’ve metaphorically killed to study in London, Edinburgh, or Berlin. I’m so hoping to be able to work there at some point in my life. Fingers crossed.
Anyway: conservatory training does not give you the Instagram photos of college life. I didn’t get the travel, the nights out, the sports, the choir, the library study dates. I had homework over the summer and winter breaks; I worked to save money for the intense student loan debt (accessibility topic for another time, oof).
And yeah, I was in NYC. I love the city. It’s one of my favorite places on Earth. However, I didn’t even really get to experience that. I’m only just now getting to know the city I spent four years studying in. Late night rehearsals don’t exactly allow for exploration, establishing a neighborhood coffeeshop, or finding your favorite hole-in-the-wall. The rigors of the BFA strike again.
However, though this is a con, I don’t want to make this sound all “woe is me, don’t choose a BFA, boohoo.” 95% of the days, I don’t regret a thing. I loved my school. I loved my training. I am a damn good artist who will only continue to get better, my raw capability molded by expert, supportive professors. BFAs are freaking awesome. There’s just some things to mull over before you decide yourself.
And before I wrap up this little diary entry, I want to touch on one thing that I plan to cover in far more detail later, as it deserves it. I want to acknowledge the current toxicity of artist training programs: it happens more in BFA than BA, but the phenomenon occurs in both. I had professors (since dismissed) in my program who would line you up before class and criticize your appearance; I had professors who would push your body to tearful, injurious limits; I had professors who would make you relive trauma before the entire class; I had professors who would push you into uncomfortable intimacy situations without asking or preparing; I had professors so very ignorant on race, gender, and sexuality that they did some incredibly damaging, racist, sexist, transphobic things. (Of note: these were all the same three or four professors. None of them work at the school anymore, thank god.) I want to cover this in way more detail, as I said, but I want to acknowledge that it’s there. Advocate for yourselves, artists. And teachers: be better. Do better.
So, this has turned into far more of a diary entry than I anticipated, but here we are. That was nice. I hope you enjoyed, or at least gained something from it.
One more reminder: this is just my opinion. And I loved my school. I don’t have regrets, really. I just know that there are some problems that should be addressed.
I love you all. Thank you for listening. <3
Rhiannon
