liberation and the dismantling of structures that oppress them. I also understand the value of telling stories that make people (especially people in positions of power) uncomfortable; I recognize the need to make groups of people with power, privilege, and complicit roles in legacies of harm and violence uncomfortable. And, as someone who has confronted my own harmful actions and mindsets through art, I honor the need for people to consume art that causes them to question their own actions, motivations, desires, comforts, privileges, and behaviors, and act on these questions. Lastly, as someone who strives to make art in service of healing, I understand deeply that we must bear witness to and confront the harm that we have caused in order to help heal it. So how do we hold all of these things to be true at once? From my experience working on Fucking A, I would say it begins with asking the right questions of ourselves and others, holding the knowledge that there is no neutrality in depicting trauma and violence onstage, and scrutinizing a work of artâ and the choices of artists presenting the workâaccordingly. When I first read the script for Fucking A, I was very nervous about staging the scene in which the sexual assault occurs. By the end of our rehearsal process, I was grateful I had the experience, as it strengthened my highly critical view of and gave me the skills to rigorously interrogate scenes of this nature. Reconciling all of the complicated dynamics in scenes with sexual violence requires self-reflection and accountability. Now, when I see an instance of sexual violence depicted in art I ask myself: Who made this piece? Who directed it? Who wrote it? Who is acting in it? What dominant/privileged identities do they hold? What marginalized identities do they hold? Who does it comfort? Who does it afflict? What gaze is being catered to? Who is the point of view character? Who is making money off of this project? What is the intention behind this depiction? What is its effect? (Shock value? To help people heal? To give voice to an experience that is silenced and erased? To empower? To tantalize? To exploit? To prevent people from perpetrating similar acts?) If performed at all, plays about sexual violence must be done with the goal of sensitively and critically interrogating the structures that create it, which begins with a rigorous process that involves answering all of these questions.
It begins with asking the right questions of ourselves and others, holding the knowledge that there is no neutrality in depicting trauma and violence onstage.
One way to begin answering these questions is by hiring what is called an intimacy director or choreographer, which we did for Fucking A. Intimacy direction was formalized by the organization Intimacy Directors International (IDI), founded by survivors and allies âpioneering the best practices for theatrical intimacy, simulated sex, and performance nudity for theatre, TV, and film.â Basically, intimacy directors advocate for actors 16
FEBRUARY 2020 SWARTHMORE REVIEW
in sex scenes of any kind, and demonstrate and enact practices of informed, ongoing consent. Intimacy direction is just one small way to be accountable to answering the questions Iâve explored above.
If art with or about sexual trauma is to be created at allâand Iâm stil not sure it should beÂâI think its goal must be its eventual obsoletion in favor of the art of a world that is more just and whole. The process of developing intimacy choreography was transformative for me; we discussed mental and emotional health and wellbeing, physical and emotional boundaries, and the social and political implications of the scene we were portraying, before ever setting a piece of choreography. I expressed my criticisms of trauma porn, stating that I did not want the scene to be sensual, romantic, or graphic in any way, and further, that staging the scene in this manner would be antithetical to Parksâ structural critique of the way the state perpetuates violence of this nature. Our intimacy director immediately agreed, deciding that we would stage a scene wherein assault was alluded to (for the purposes of honoring the events of Parksâ narrative), rather than actually embodied. This meant no nudity or removal of clothes, no lip to lip contact, and no body parts coming into contact with each other than hands, elbows, shoulders, and arms. Every piece of choreography was set with the consult of all actors involved, the director, and our intimacy director, honoring these boundaries, and serving the story we wanted to tellâa story that demonstrates that the criminal justice system perpetuates and sanctions sexual violence, seperation, and trauma, centering the humans that are affected by this dynamic, and resist and survive it in a multitude of ways. We staged a scene of which all parties were proud, but I can imagine scenarios in which this is not the case. Intimacy direction can reduce harm, begin necessary conversations, and move an exploitative industry in a more just direction, but it cannot transform the power structures that create and normalize sexual violence, which are the very same ones that serve as the foundation upon which the entertainment industry was built. Ultimately, if art with or about sexual trauma is to be created at allâand Iâm still not sure it should beâI think its goal must be its eventual obsoletion in favor of the art of a world that is more just and whole. It mustnât contain graphic depictions of violence but instead process and unpack a traumatic experience insofar as it might be necessary for healing. It must be made by and for people who are marginalized by the structures that create this violence rather than those that benefit from them. And it must be made with the political project of ending and preventing this violence. As an artist, my goal will always be to make work that does not rely on legacies of harm to exist, and that does not have to buy or sell trauma. u