7 THE ART OF ABUSE AND THE ABUSE OF ART by Betsy Shevey We have recently been reading about power abuse in the performing arts by Scott Rudin and Harvey Weinstein. What got lost in the Weinstein firestorm of sexual assault and misconduct is the awful reality that his emotional torture, physical abuse, humiliation, and degradation of his female assistants made Scott Rudin seem like Gloria Steinem. And even as horrifying as these stories are, they are the flashing red light of a deeper problem. Life in the performing arts for many is a nightmare of structural harm that some feel is necessary to endure as a sacrifice for the desire to create. I just finished reading The Copenhagen Trilogy by Tove Ditlevsen, a memoir by the brilliant Danish writer and poet. Because her writing was her reason for living, Tove married her publisher, a much older, impotent man who let her sleep on his couch in return for keeping house for him and being part of his literary world. Once a successful writer, she married a doctor who controlled her in isolation with injections of Demerol. She was on the brink of death when she finally called for help. There are many issues at play in this tragic story. One that screamed to me was the price artists feel we must pay for doing something for passion and pleasure that is not what society considers “profitable,” “proper,” or “productive.” In Tove’s case, being an independent woman poet and writer was considered selfish and arrogant in 1930’s Denmark and her working-class family. Throughout my many years in theater, I have witnessed reputable producers and directors act in disreputable ways. It was rarely called out and it was usually considered the daily order of business in a profession known for artistic temperament, eccentricities of genius, and difficulty of finding work when the supply of theater artists greatly exceeds the demand for talent. Given the struggles of typecasting, scarcity of roles for women, people of color and mature age; the prominence of rejection and inappropriate treatment, the lack of respect and remuneration, I wondered if my theater students reacted to this system like abused children repeating their trauma over and over. Creativity is not a problem. Creativity and abuse do not inherently go hand in hand. Not at all. In fact, they are diametrically opposed. However, the structure of the performing arts in a capitalist economy enables the dynamic of power and money to feed off each other in a closed circle that can trap the artist in a cycle of powerlessness. If we want to work, we must be silent about abuse and discrimination. Silence implies consent and eventual complicity. The abused becomes the abuser.
I have known excellent artistic directors and producers who, nevertheless, defeated inclusion. One, who was prodigious in New York theater, told me that he didn’t hire women directors because, “You have to wait your turn.” I asked him what he meant, and he explained that there is a “natural order.” Those not on the top rung of the ladder, need to wait until they are given permission to move up a rung. Another powerful producer asked actors if they were homosexual at auditions and interviews. When I asked him, was it necessary and was it right? He answered that he didn’t want a gay actor playing a straight character unless they could answer that question appropriately. I was never sure which answer he thought was appropriate. A producer gave more opportunities to BIPOC actors than most, but his hires of directors, playwrights and designers was biased. A revolutionary producer was impulsive, temperamental, and mercurial. Artists walked on eggshells around him and danced attendance for his favors. This was not considered an imposition or a problem. It was par for the course and nothing was said during his lifetime. When he died, he had