The Art of Self-Promotion
by Karen McKevitt, Editor-in-Chief

Self-promotion: If you do it right, you don't come off as cheesy. We talk to four up-and-coming theatre artists about how they land gigs.

Writer/director Mark Jackson scored a huge hit in 2003 with Death of Meyerhold, which was produced by Shotgun Players. He then landed a sweet fellowship in Berlin, where he studied theatre for a year. Since his return in late 2005, he directed American Conservatory Theater's MFA students in Caucasian Chalk Circle. He is directing Salome at Aurora Theatre, which opens August 25; is writing and directing The Forest War for Shotgun (opening in December); and is writing American $uicide (opening late January under the Encore Theatre Company banner), an Encore Theatre and Z Space commission. So, how did this onetime fringe writer and director get the attention of the area's midsize theatre companies?

"I think it was Meyerhold that really got my name out there," says Jackson. "The most major act of self-promotion is to do shows." He started Art Street Theatre in the late 1990s specifically to do his own work.

But, he notes, you also have to be persistent in contacting people. He sent Aurora a resume years ago, and artistic director Tom Ross saw Jackson's shows, but only recently did they find the right Aurora project to work on. Encore's Lisa Steindler saw Art Street's BANG in 1999 and remounted its Io: Princess of Argos in 2001. "[These shows] started a relationship," says Jackson, "so we looked for the right project. It took four years to find it."

What's more impressive is that Jackson cultivated his current projects while in Berlin. "I was worried about leaving the country," he explains. "Meyerhold went well, and I was skipping town. But I came back every three to four months to maintain contacts." His Berlin connection made him a natural choice to direct Brecht at ACT.

Before he went to Germany, Jackson worked as a conservatory associate for ACT's Conservatory. But he cautions, "The way into a theatre isn't getting a desk job, because they need you behind the desk." However, he did witness how a large theatre company deals with resumes. "I saw how many resumes with CD-ROMs came in, and they didn't mean much without a personal connection. It takes more than a fancy resume because you need to prove that the work is good."

So for Jackson, doing shows that are good equals bigger and better jobs. However, it doesn't stop there. He adds, "John Cady, who I went to SFSU with, said, 'It's not who you know; it's who wants to work with you again.'"

Scenic designer Melpomene ("Mellie") Katakalos recently returned to the Bay Area after a full scholarship to University of California, San Diego's MFA program in scenic design, where she designed Sarah Ruhl's Eurydice, directed by Daniel Fish, among other shows. She's a longtime member of Crowded Fire, and her specialty is new work. Since her return, she designed Small Tragedy at Aurora and two Hot House plays at Magic Theatre, and you can see her latest design this month in Octavio Solis's Lethe, a Cornerstone Theater (of Los Angeles) production at the Presentation Theatre in San Francisco.

For Katakalos, grad school was an integral part of self-promotion. "I was here for five years before going to grad school, and I was hitting a wall with who would consider me," she explains. "I couldn't get into the bigger theatres because I didn't have a portfolio proving I could design for a larger space." At UCSD, she designed in spaces like the La Jolla Playhouse. She made connections at grad school that eventually led to projects like the one with Cornerstone.

What was her strategy for getting jobs when she came back to the Bay Area? "I told [Crowded Fire artistic director] Rebecca Novick to tell everyone she knew that I was coming back," she says. One of her first jobs was, coincidentally, designing Mark Jackson's production of Caucasian Chalk Circle at ACT. "We actually worked on a show years ago at il Teatro 450, and I can't believe that he remembered me."

Katakalos is modest about her talent, and she considers herself shy. "My preoccupation with self-promotion is, Why would this person ever want to talk to me? I thought e-mailing everyone was so lame and it would bother them," she says. "But I've gotten over the fact that I have to promote myself. I'm not as afraid of it as I used to be." She adds, "It's like dating. If you never say hi you'll never get a date."

Katakalos's main promotional tool is a slick Web site (www.melpomenekatakalos.com) with beautiful photos of her designs. She also includes press quotes and show credits, and her online resume links each show title to the corresponding images. After she uploads photos of her latest show, she e-mails everyone involved, even the actors, letting them know online photos are available. Naturally, the site is also good for interviews and cold calls.

But, Katakalos doesn't march up to people and say, "Hi, I'm Mellie. Look at my site." She advises, "Don't say that. Ask them about their work." Her other advice? "Be patient. You may not be aware that people do know you and are just waiting for the right project." Finally, "Be really easy to work with. Build and sustain relationships."

Sometimes a simple calendar listing is the best self-promotion tool--especially if you're a theatre company in Vallejo doing Trainspotting. Irvine Welsh in Vallejo? Theatre Bay Area had to check it out, and that's how we discovered Darkroom Productions and its auteur director Jon Tracy. His upcoming projects include directing Richard III at Project Artaud for Lupine Events, and he's currently doing a stint at Lake Tahoe Shakes until September. He recently directed Ron Campbell in Aurora's Global Age Project and ACT's MFA students in The Rainmaker.

Tracy says he used to send e-mail messages until a well-known casting director replied jokingly, "If you send me another e-mail, I'm going to kill you," and he says his portfolios got mixed results. So he waxes philosophical on the concept of self-promotion.

"We spend so much time hoping we're what these theatre companies need and convincing them of that," he says. "I don't think we understand that we're the most unknown quantity and therefore the biggest threat in a time when we're all trying to survive. It's respecting this fact that starts the conversation."

Like Jackson and Katakalos, Tracy recognizes that your work is your best promotional tool. He explains, "As a director there isn't an audition process other than the work. That's your calling card." On the other hand, "When you're in the mode of having to prove yourself, you're already not at your best. And that's hard because people don't want to see work that makes them doubt you."

Realizing that a theatre company sees an unknown quantity as a threat to the bottom line--and that all your work is under scrutiny--is enough to paralyze many artists. After all, even the best artists sometimes turn in subpar work. So, how did Tracy get his start?

A North Bay native, he credits Solano College Theatre's actor training program with being his home for 16 years. "It houses good friends like George Maguire, Robert Parsons, Carla Spindt, Jackie Hill, Warren David Keith," he says, "who all look out for me. They keep me employed as they can, support my independent efforts and offer me a place to work when possible." He also credits Joy and Nancy Carlin with helping him get work; he first worked with Joy as her assistant director on Fanny at the Chez Panisse.

Tracy says the best way to overcome the unknown-quantity curse is to not only do good work, but also champion the work and successes of others. He adds, "Make sure you know what you want to do and why you're doing it. Meet with people as friends, not as business partners, and know when to be which. My biggest fear is to be the guy who walks into a lobby and the AD says, 'Dear God, there's that guy again. What's he going to pitch me this time?'" Well, if it's Trainspotting, we say go for it.

E-mail messages may not work for Jon Tracy, but they certainly work for writer Nathan Sanders. His Sugar Bean Sisters, which premiered off-off-Broadway, landed a Northern California premiere at San Jose Stage Company in 2005, soon after its author landed in town. It then went on to more critical acclaim in Sacramento, and thanks to the Fifi Oscard Agency in New York and Dramatic Publishing, which put out the acting edition, it already has more than a dozen productions slated in the next two years.

"Good box office and great reviews have given Sugar Bean Sisters a life," says Sanders. "It's a good single-ticket seller." He adds that the Sacramento production came from his e-mail messages, which are colorful missives full of glowing press quotes. Sanders's list currently boasts 300 people--basically anyone who's ever contacted him and companies he thinks might be interested in his work. "I do e-mails because they're quick and inexpensive. You have to be above the radar. Even if people know you, it's still hard to get your work done."

But Sanders has another secret. "Actors are the best promotion I've ever had." Through an actor's recommendation, Randy King at San Jose Stage read Sugar Bean Sisters, which has excellent parts for middle-aged women. His newer play, Della the Dwarf, features a little person and had an industry reading in Los Angeles in late 2004. After recently writing a one-act for the North Bay's Pegasus Theatre, he's been commissioned to write a full-length for the company next year. He currently has a sweet gig, thanks to his agent, as a co-screenwriter on a film about the Iraq war. "The main character is from the south," the Florida native says, "and they wanted someone who could write in that voice."

Not surprisingly, Sanders's agent is pushing him into writing for TV and film, and even though he's had success with Sugar Bean Sisters, he still feels frustrated with the theatre industry. "I don't get workshops, and I don't get awards, but I do get productions," he says. "But it's important to stay positive--even if people tell you to take them off your e-mail list."