Growing up a creative, there was a myth that I often encountered, encouraged by the environment in which I grew. In community theatre, I didn’t usually see the set go up, the lights be focused, or the script be adjusted; in high school, cast and crew were largely kept separate, interacting with each other only once tech week arrived; when the choice for colleges came around, I was told that, though each school had its students dabble in a bit of everything, there was always a requirement of specialization and a separation between those specializations. Nowadays, following my graduation, upon telling another about what I’m trained in and what I create, they ask, “So, what do you want to do? Stage? Film? Onstage or off?” My answer tends to perplex them: “All of it.”
That isn’t overconfidence speaking, nor is it an ignorant conceit regarding how good I am in each of those pursuits. I know damn well that someone will always be better than me in one thing or another, just as I know I’m better in some regards than them. We all have our own innate gifts and inclinations. What I mean is much simpler than that, and comes in the form of a response query: why do we have to choose? What does that offer us?
In 2022, there isn’t a lot of intentional limitation remaining. It’s still there, don’t get me wrong (“Actors should just be actors,” “I can’t believe she’s writing a play,” “I just don’t know if they can sing, to be honest,” “God, is he seriously going to direct?”), but I firmly believe most aren’t consciously intending to limit others. This concept—of creative specialization—is one we’ve all absorbed through subliminal messaging and explicit education while growing up in America (or Britain, or France, or Germany, or Japan, or others, frankly: I’m simply speaking as a born-and-raised American).
It's a concept that runs back centuries. The first recorded conservatory—a college for the study of classical music or other arts—was founded in Venice in 1346. Only the wealthiest and most elite were allowed to attend; while there, they remained on one track, composers remaining composers, musicians remaining musicians, singers remaining singers, never allowed to intermix. It was a near-hermitage when it came to interaction or multi-hyphenation.
This conservatory structure continued throughout the years, spreading from operatic and classical music into other fine and performing arts: today, some of the most famous are the Sorbonne and Beaux Arts in Paris, Juilliard in New York, the Royal Conservatoire in Scotland, and the Royal Academy in England, among others. In each of these spaces, though the crossover is bettering, artists are relegated to one track. They are simply actors. They are simply directors. They are simply Impressionists. They are simply cellists. What have you. Exploration in other areas tends to be discouraged, whether that be in scheduling necessities, separation of classes, or active disavowal from faculty.
These thought processes, fermenting over the course of six centuries, seep into the public conscience. We can see this throughout history, of course. The Hollywood Studio System, wherein the Big Five (MGM, Warner Bros., Paramount, Fox, and RKO) controlled all aspects of filmmaking, crafting an abusive assembly-line style of production that separated creatives. Broadway pre-IATSE, Equity, and Guild, wherein artists were made to stay in their own lane and exploited within an inch of their lives. The heads of these non-unionized, exploitative business models (the producers) were white men. Conjoining misogyny, racism, classism, and capitalist ideals with the concepts of specialization and “artists staying artists,” these men created an environment that not only stifled creatives, but also had them working grueling hours without protection or pay, disallowed them independence and sovereignty, and ensured they were not protected from predatory behavior.
The idea of specialization came out of a closed-minded, elitist environment, one that touts da Vinci as merely an artist, not an inventor, or erases the versatility of Mary Pickford. This continuation is seen today (and consistently proven wrong, might I add). In the past decade, we’ve seen remarkable directorial debuts from actors, all of whom I recall many of the public doubting: Jordan Peele (“the comedy guy?”), Bo Burnham (“no way, the ‘Straight White Male’ dude?”), Olivia Wilde (“but she’s so pretty…” – yes, I did indeed read that one). We’ve seen instrumentalists come center stage in shows like Once, Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812, and Lizard Boy, all musicals that prioritize instrumental ability. Playwrights have been screenwriters and vice versa: Qui Nguyen, Quiara Alegria Hudes, Danai Gurira, and Adam Rapp have all bounced between the two, in addition to other hyphenates.
Clearly, there’s quite a few multi-hyphenates out there. Most artists don’t do one thing. Specialization emerged as a power play, a way to keep artists and creatives (especially women and Global Majority) in their place and maintain control of the art made. Rationally, we know this. So why do we tell ourselves and burgeoning creatives that they have to be one thing? Why is it so deeply ingrained so as to require podcasts like Michael Kushner’s to convince us it’s okay to be otherwise? Whether implied or explicit, the message told to me growing up was that I had to focus on acting, give up being a writer, or I had to focus on writing, give up being an actor. When I discovered dramaturgy and devising and directing, it felt as if I had to make a choice.
That’s simply not true.
I do not know a single creative who doesn’t excel at more than one thing, and it makes them all the better for it. I shan’t speak for them, though. I will speak for myself.
I’m a writer, dramaturg, actor, singer, and director. I write novels, plays, musicals, and screenplays, accompanied by the occasional poem. As a dramaturg, I’m most often drawn to oddities, to retellings, to adaptations. As an actor, I look for a challenge, and love straight plays and film work; as a singer, I’m a mezzo, a belter. As a newbie director, I love immersion, collaboration, and research. I am just as passionate about theatre as I am about film. I love animation and gaming and voiceover. There are endless stories inside me that I want to create and explore and get out. There are endless stories inside of others that I want to help craft and expand and tell.
My work as an actor makes me a better director in my communication, a better dramaturg in my intentionality, a better writer in my inner work and outer observation. My work as a dramaturg makes me a better actor in my research, a better director in my analyses, a better writer in my wisdom. My work as a writer makes me a better actor in my understanding, a better director in my choices, a better dramaturg in observance. My work as a director makes me a better actor in my big picture comprehension. a better writer in my necessity, a better dramaturg in depth of knowledge. Writing novels, screenplays, plays, and musicals all feed into one another: it’s simply knowing what medium fits each best.
And, of course, all of this makes me a better human. A better activist. A better educator. A better sister. A better daughter. A better partner. Creation in multiple facets encourages—nay, requires—knowledge, learning, growth, empathy, and understanding. If the intrinsic multi-hyphenate nature of artists had been allowed from the start, instead of the elitism, classism, and unequal power of conservatories and studios, our industry may have grown the better for it.
We’re improving, but we have to stop telling people they must be one thing, whether it be well-intentioned query or blatant assumption. It is an inherency in the human being to be more than one thing, especially for those of a creative nature, the ones who are driven to craft a living out of creation. The conservatory structure of yesteryear isn’t working: though I’m grateful for my conservatory training, I acknowledge that it is still designed to be elitist and runs the risk of limitation. I had one directing course, one playwriting course, one screenwriting course, none on the work of a dramaturg or script supervisor; I would have loved the possibility of further exploration within an academic environment, a safe place to play and learn. I read books, of course, watch interviews, work on my own, explore on my own, but to explicitly see that we are not one thing would have been remarkable.
Outside of academia, we in America live in a world backed by the history of limitation, wherein the American Dream was given to those already wealthy or well-known, and acknowledged versatility with it. Where connoisseurship of the arts is not as well-respected as it is elsewhere. Where the female directors and producers of the silent film era were kicked to the side. Where “low art” forms are only just now gaining critical traction. Where 62.7% of those produced in theatres are white men, emerging from producers that are 93.6% white and usually male; where around 75% of the stories told in cinema are created by white men, chosen by producers composed of largely white males. Where we publicly consider Dali only a painter, Fornes only a playwright, Wiles only an influencer. Limitations act not only as barriers to art, but also to representation. These well-intentioned questions of “What do you want to do?” should be considered internally: who are we limiting, and why?
And frankly, my friend, why are you limiting yourself?
None of this is to say that focus is unnecessary, or that you should stretch yourself too thin. We absolutely must work on our craft; we need to know which projects to undertake and which to leave for later. It’s just that, quite simply, adopting other hyphenations (while, again, getting rest and recovery) can only help, never hinder. It allows for wholeness both within and without, for a fuller representation of the human experience, and for the flourishing of understanding and empathy.
Truly, the biggest problem becomes what project to work on right at that moment. Toss a coin, perhaps?
A non-exhaustive list of my favorite contemporary multi-hyphenates (L to R): Zendaya, Angela Strauman, Taylor Jenkins Reid, Rhianna DeVries, Cheyenne Barton, Greta Gerwig, Danai Gurira, Anita Castillo-Halvorssen, and Regan Hicks