Tara Moses, Trinity Rep/Brown MFA candidate, on the direction of directing

We recently sat down with Brown/Trinity Rep’s MFA in Directing candidate Tara Moses. Although it was too late to include in our recent Indigenous Issue, the wide-ranging discussion included Moses’ thoughts on Indigenous directing and where that form can fit in modern theater. You can see an example Nov 9 and 10 at the Pell Chaffee Center at 87 Empire St, where Fugitive Songs is coming to theatrical life.

Mike Ryan (Motif): Fugitive Songs is a musical with little connective tissue or plot between the songs. Tell us a little about how you tackled this piece.

Tara Moses: I created a plot for it. We have a plot, we have complex connections, we have a story with all six of these characters and then a surprise seventh character in the course of the show. And also altering music so much. Our music director, Matt Relinkwa, who’s in the other room right now, he re-orchestrated the entire show to where it’s specific to 1997 in New York City.

MR: Will the added character be a surprise to the audience?

TM: This will be a big surprise to the audience. And especially for folks who have seen Fugitive Songs before, this is unlike any they have ever seen. Ever. Not only does it sound different and look different: The story itself is vastly different. So I’m really excited to hear from people who do know it. And then also, for folks who don’t know [the play], it’ll become really clear very early on who this seventh ensemble person is.

MR: What stood out about the process of putting the show together?

TM: I love this cast. The beauty of the Brown/Trinity program is that we tend to stay in a cohort of actors and directors. And so what’s lovely is I’ve been able to see the main six grow and change over time. 

The actors brought everything to these characters. That was sort of the ask from day one … when the show was selected, was: This is a generative process and we will be generating. These weren’t characters before in the score. They were just named after the original actors who played those roles … no character, no story. 

And so they brought everything, things they didn’t know they had, things they didn’t know they needed, things I gave them, things that were just discovered in the room. It’s truly been the most generative kind of process I’ve ever been in, which is quite different from how I’ve ever worked. And typically like to work. This has been fun.

MR: What was the biggest surprise, do you think, that you discovered during this process?

TM: I was most surprised by how much I had to create and put together. As an example, as a director, I work under the guise of creative sovereignty. This is a practice that’s existed for thousands of years, but I did coin the term. So to be specific where credit is due, I didn’t make it up, made up the words. But creative sovereignty is the inherent ability to self-govern how you create. And so that means each individual artist is a full artist. I’m not here to be like, “Cross-stage left at this point. I want you to do it this way, this way, that way,” like a lot of colonial directing is. Instead, it’s rooted firmly in each individual artist’s spirit.

So for me, what was most surprising was sort of juggling how I work, always with creative sovereignty, and how much formalized structure do I need to give. Again, this is brand new. I’ve never done this before. I’m just taking the opportunity to experiment, and it’s gone well.

MR: So you found a balance between the structure and the creativity that you were…

TM: Today. I found the balance today between that kind of structure and then the creative sovereignty of it all. Tomorrow could be different.

MR: Do you want to talk a little about the difference between an indigenous process and the…

TM: Theater as we know it in the United States is a colonized art form. It is what we’re taught, what’s in these fancy programs, these Ivy League institutions. And what we see everywhere is firmly rooted in the Western European model of theater. That is not the only one, nor is that the best one, in my humble opinion. But there are global ways of creating theater. And so as someone who lives in the United States, firmly rooted in this Western European model, that’s what I’ve been taught. That’s what we’ve all been taught – about the five-act structure, what’s going on with Uta Hagen, all of these things. It’s firmly rooted in one way of creating. And that’s what we’re sort of taught as students. If you want to be “good,” it’s good as defined by whom? “This is a good play:” Good as defined by what tradition? It’s always firmly rooted in that Western European tradition. And there are many artists who don’t do that kind of work, which is great. And they’re getting more and more commercial success, which is lovely.

So when it comes to indigenous theater, it is not about making actors or any artist turn themselves into an outcome that I as a director want. It’s not about, “Oh, I’m going to make this actor good.” Instead, it’s about stewardship. It’s “How do we tell the story together?” It’s not a hierarchical structure like what we’re typically used to, where the director is at the top and then everybody else kind of trickles down from there. It’s much more of a circle. It’s much more of a community. And again, that’s why I operate with creative sovereignty. Creative sovereignty doesn’t exist in the colonial theater. Because you as an artist don’t have the full autonomy. You can’t self-govern on what is good. What indigenous theater does, it uplifts the individual and it’s more of a one-size-fits-one path to create a deeper, more nuanced, firmly rooted in spirit, story.

MR: So how do you deal with it if an autonomous artist comes up with something that’s just not a fit for the project or the story?

TM: That’s my favorite thing. Whenever an artist, whether that’s a designer or an actor, comes in with a choice, that’s not necessarily my cup of tea. My favorite thing in the world. Because as a director, my creative sovereignty exists in that I’ve made the frame of this world. As long as what an artist is bringing in is within that frame, regardless if it’s to my personal taste, I stay out of the way. It is not my business to infringe on someone else’s creative sovereignty. And what has happened 100% of the time is that the end product is so much more nuanced and complicated and, for lack of better words, better than I initially imagined, because I’m not stepping on someone’s right to exist as a full-blown human.

MR: Can you think of a specific example?

TM: An example of when an artist brought in a choice that a colonized director may have shut down, during Fugitive Songs, is our mystery 7th ensemble member, Chingwei Patrick Sullivan, who’s also indigenous. They’re Shinnecock and Montaukett. That’s also very important for this show, that they’re a Shinnecock and Montaukett person in the world of [modern] New York City.

But there was a moment when we were blocking a particular song later in the show and they wanted to do a physical motion in movement across the stage that’s quite absurd, very silly, a little jarring in a way. And it’s so funny because we’re in rehearsal and I was like, “Chingwei, I hate it. Every fiber of my being hates this. It makes me uncomfortable. I hate it.” And then Ching-Wei was like, “Well, I can do something else.” I was like, “No, no, no, no, no. Keep it. Do it. Keep doing it.” And then we did it for the first time in front of the entire company and all of them dropped into understanding the rules of this space, because they’re in the seventh ensemble member’s space. And they made it really clear about how things work here. And so I was like, “Look at that. It all pieced in together.” And if I had just been like, “My personal cup of tea is that you did not do this,” we wouldn’t have got there like we did.

MR: What do you hope that audiences will take away from this performance?

TM: An invigorated excitement to go see Indigenous theater. Because while I am a Native person, we have a Native cast member who is orchestrating this whole space, and you’re going to be seeing Native words and imagery on the set, this is not a Native play. It was written by two white people. I would love people to leave and be like, “You know what, I want to see the real thing. I want to see a Native play written by a Native person, directed by a Native person, with a Native cast. And if you are in the Providence, Boston area, you can see four back-to-back starting in November.

You can go to Moonbox to see The Thanksgiving Play written by Larissa Fast Horse, directed by yours truly, with a cast of Native and folks of color. 

And then in January, you can go see Haunted, a world premiere at Company One that is written and directed by me. And you can see Chingwei, who is in this show, starring in that show. 

Then you can stay in Boston and go see Where We Belong, which opens in early March at the Umbrella, which is the first production outside of the commercial tour, written by Mohegan writer Madeline Sayett, that I am directing.

And then after that, if you’re ready for more, finally you can go to Ink Spot and see the world premiere production of a play called Sugar, written by also me, not directed by me. That’s also starring Chingwei as well.

MR: I feel like that’s probably not true most years. Is something happening in the community right now?

TM: Me (laughs)!

This is the first time in Boston’s history – and I like to put Providence and Boston in a similar community together – where there are this many shows, with this many Native artists, centered on the Native experience. This has never happened before, so it’s a really exciting time, and I feel really grateful and really lucky to be a key member in all of these things that are occurring.

MR: I mean, as wonderful as one person can be, I feel like there’s a different acknowledgment of other schools of theatrical production, or is that something you’re pushing into these spaces?

TM: Right now, I think a lot of folks are hungry for authenticity. For the very first time ever, we’re having Native, written, directed, performed shows win primetime — beyond primetime, winning awards. Within the cultural zeitgeist – and theater has always been a little bit behind – now, in the Boston/Providence area, I think folks are really hungry for, “Let me see authentic Native work,” for the first time ever. You know, it’s been really lovely to watch all of these different kinds of stories that have never been told before be told over [recent] years.

And especially as an individual with an intersectional identity. It’s really great to hear and see these things. And I’m thrilled that right now is the time when people say, “You know what? We’re ready. We are ready to do the intentional community-building work and the intentional work it takes to do a Native show.” Because unlike any other play, any other work, any other group of individuals you’re working with, we as Native people, we are a socio-political identity. We are not a race. And so we have complicated relationships with tribal sovereignty, with the federal government. Our identity is consistently politicized. It’s not as simple as, “Oh, we’re just telling a play to tell a play for a play’s sake.” This is a matter of tribal sovereignty. And so it takes more responsibility for a theater to engage in a meaningful way, in the correct way, with Native people. And there are now companies in this area who are ready to do it, which is exciting.

MR: In terms of continuing the Native traditions, many of those were oral traditions; to what extent is it a process of rediscovery? I mean, how do you get back to some of those roots?

TM: So decolonization is a lifelong journey. Getting to the place where we’re restoring the relational life ways, pre-colonialism, it’s a feat. And one that we will never go fully back to. We exist in the age of iPhones and the internet. We’ll never go to those before times again. But returning to those relational life ways to do that decolonial work is very possible. People do it all the time. And it’s about putting Native people in positions of power. It’s one thing to be like, “Oh, we’re going to program a play written by a Native person.” It’s another thing if that play is directed by a Native person. Because you’re putting a Native in a position of power where they can ensure that authenticity continues across the entire team throughout the entire process.

It begins in decolonizing our ideas of time, moving away from the white supremacist cycle of production that, “Oh, we just worry about our product, product, product, product, product.” There are already a lot of movements like, “Oh, what happens if we take more time during tech?” So we’re not all strapped and working on fumes.

But also it exists by frankly just getting out of the way and letting Native people create fully as human beings. And then also when in doubt, just ask. I think ignorance has a negative connotation. However, if one is asking because they generally want to know and grow, “Ask! Ask away! That’s my favorite thing!” I love walking to a theater and a person comes up to me saying, “Hey, you are the first Native director we’re ever interfacing with. What can we do to make sure this is a good experience?” Bless. Love. 

All institutions are colonized. Brown itself is a land-grant university that only exists because of the genocide of Native people and the enslavement of black folks. There needs to be some reckoning with that. But also, it’s like, who are in these positions of power? How can we look at the demands that are rooted in white supremacy, cultural productivity, being asked of every single artist here, every single person here, and how can we not continue to play into this colonized structure? Like, for example, the actors pull 12, 14 hour days every single day, which is ridiculous because they’re in rehearsal till 9pm with me. But they start class at 9am. And they’re expected to be memorized for the show, do all this memorization for class, all of these things. How about we prioritize the human? That’s sort of the first step in becoming a better decolonial space, is by prioritizing the human.