To the Female Artists Before Me

Dear Female Artists Before Me:

I don't know your names, though I've probably met you.

I just didn't know that the sweet, 80-year-old on oxygen was the person who built this lamppost that I'm repainting for our Christmas production. It's been in a garage for at least 15 years, and this year it is getting a fresh life. Did you know it still worked when we plugged it in? As I repaint this, I'm just guessing why you made it or how it was used, but man, am I grateful I could just pull it out of storage and dress it up. But you dreamed it up and built it for me, all those years ago.

Maybe you're that lady who used to paint murals all over our city but whose hands shake now, and who has lost her vision completely. Do you know people still talk about your incredible work? I hear you made a new mural for Christmas every year; I've found a few of them on the backs of old pieces of plywood. You might not be making new art, but you should know that this artist is so grateful for the work you did. The fact that you were DOING IT, using your gifts as long as you could, is a thing of beauty. You left such a positive legacy behind that when I suggest a project to people, they nod and smile as they reflect on you. Their grandparents and parents remember the magic and mystery of your work, and so they don't view artists with suspicion but with joy.

I'm a playwright, and I don't meet many playwrights, but maybe you're the woman I heard about whose son always brings her to productions around here. I know you can't walk anymore and he brings you in your wheelchair, but I heard you wrote and directed children's plays for years. I've never met you, and I don't think I've ever seen one of your plays, but you're astonishing. You may feel invisible and forgotten, but please understand that when I walk into a space, it's evident that someone who knew what they were doing was here before me. And I'm so grateful you were here. I couldn't do this if you weren't. There's a long tradition around here of putting on massive Christmas events. I love doing them. But do you know how hard it would be to do them without the strength of tradition behind them? That's your strength enabling my hands now.

How can I thank you for thinking of and purchasing all those tools so that I could walk into a public space and turn it into a theater without starting from scratch? Did you start from scratch? Or did someone come before you? How can I thank you for that steel cable spanning the stage, or that rigged lightboard, or that attic of original costumes? You have left me with mountains of tools to choose from. I am not just standing on your shoulders, I've been launched.

I'm a woman in theater. I know I can't count how many of you have made it possible for me to be here. You have made it possible for me to be a maker of art. So, dear artists before me, thank you. Thank you for launching the dreams you dreamed, for painting, for writing, for assembling casts and performing original plays, and for laying a foundation of art on the ground I would walk someday. Thank you for doing it with children in tow, with tools on your belt that weren't typical for your time, and with imagination bigger than mine.

With Heartfelt Gratitude,

Me