At the time of the presentation of Oedipus The King, I was off volunteering at a nature reserve in the Atlantic Rainforest of Brazil, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me from attending. So I grabbed some bug spray, camped out on the covered patio, crossed my fingers, and prayed the notoriously spotty Wifi would hold. I was not disappointed.

The performers included some of my favorites – Frances McDormand as Jocasta and Jeffrey Wright as blind prophet Tiresias – flanked by a Chorus of Nobel Prize-winning scientists, Dr. Elizabeth Blackburn and Dr. Harold Varmus. It’s incredible what new insights I had while listening to this all-too-familiar play through a new lens. In the wake of the pandemic, the plague facing the people of Thebes suddenly took on a whole new weight, and, in my mind, the Sphinx’s riddle suddenly became a symbol of the oppressive curse of the capitalist system.

As I write to you from a small nature reserve in the Atlantic Rainforest of Brazil, I find my mind aflutter with semi-formed thoughts. It is hard to recall any place more spectacular than the one I am currently spending my time in. I’ve seen bioluminescent mushrooms decorate the nocturnal forest floor; I’ve fallen into a pond searching for tree frogs no bigger than my thumb; I’ve seen a butterfly fall fast asleep perched upside-down.

Here in the southwest of São Paulo state, I’m surrounded by locals who know the rainforest by birth, and biologists who know it through extensive study. Even the other volunteers — nature photographers, biology students, cannabis growers — seem eco-experts through my novice eyes. I try to shrug off the feeling of imposter syndrome as I respond (in heavily-accented Portuguese) to the seemingly simple question of what I do outside of this isolated, natural paradise: “Eu sou atriz”.

In Fall of 2020, I had the opportunity to research arts organizations engaging in sustainable artmaking as part of Agenda: Communicating the Arts’ inaugural 30 Under 30 initiative. My research partner, Anna Aglietta, and I had a wonderful time speaking with eco-art makers all over our assigned region of North America. This week, I am super excited to introduce 5 of these fabulous companies to you!

The past twelve months have been big in the public discussion of climate change. In December 2019, the New York State Supreme Court declared ExxonMobil “not guilty” of downplaying to shareholders the financial risks it faces from climate change regulation, despite evidence of misleading external reports. Youth have continued the Fridays for Future climate protests despite lockdown restrictions, and Democrat Socialists in congress have continued to champion a Green New Deal. For the first time in its 175-year history, Scientific American has backed political candidate Joe Biden, citing his plans “to protect our health, our economy and the environment”, further emphasizing that climate change is one issue the United States can no longer afford to ignore. High and low, organizations, businesses, and individuals are showing up and demanding sustainable change.

So, my question is: where are the performing arts in all of this?

"Gambiarra" is a term that has no true equivalent in the English language. A user of Urban Dictionary described it as "using improvised  methods [...] to solve a problem, with any available material". Some loose English equivalents are 'McGyverism', which another user defines as "the art of making household items into different contraptions"; 'kludge', "a quick, messy but functional fix to a problem"; and "workaround", which needs no definition.

Brazilian theater makers have often made use of gambiarra. In the absence of resources, well-trained professionals, and State support, we have become experts at making theater out of nothing. It was not a choice. It was a necessity. As a result, we've perfected the art of making more with less. American theater makers who want to incorporate eco-theater practices to their work, can benefit from a better understanding of the term, and its applications. 

The United States is the global leader in mass incarceration. Right now is the perfect opportunity to take a COVID-19 moment to determine how we can do better. We can address our own personal bias, and how it contributes to our ignorance of or resistance to the reforming and greening of our prison system. We can use this pandemic as an occasion to consider ways to reduce mass incarceration, and make America’s prisons more environmentally compatible and therefore safer and more humane.

COVID-19 outbreak prevention in prisons oftentimes focuses on protection for those on the outside rather than for those on the inside. Advocates and lawmakers alike take into account the bias most of us have toward the incarcerated: an often reviled, and certainly marginalized population of our society. In an effort to sway public opinion, calls to reform often evoke our feelings of superiority and fear: free people ought to care about incarcerated people not because prisoners' lives matter, but because infected inmates may get free people sick. Pragmatic calls for preventative actions -- lessening prison sentences, offering home confinement, reducing arrests, releasing prisoners who cannot make bail, as well as prisoners who are awaiting trial for non-violent offenses -- have provoked controversy and fear.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to play a supportive role in the organizing of a webinar hosted by Tishman Environmental Design Center, entitled “Coming Together: Gender and Privilege in the Youth Climate Movement”. Let’s be clear: we, the organizers, are three white women producing an event focused on knowledge sharing between Black, Indigenous, and People of Color. In this context, and many other other situations in the climate movement, the three of us are in a position of immense privilege. With this webinar, we hope to leverage the resources available to us by providing a platform to uplift those voices most worthy of a widespread audience and a wealth of support.

In solidarity with the upcoming discussion of privilege, I sat down with my co-organizers, Ludovica and Ariana to do some thinking around what brought us to this work, our role as artists and writers in activist spaces, and how to best acknowledge our individual privileges and support those on the frontlines of the climate movement…

What would “life in quarantine” look like without the arts? What would we watch? How would we spend our time? To take this a step further, imagine for a second that every item that an artist/artisan has touched suddenly disappeared from your home. What would be on your coffee table? What would you hang on your walls? Would you even have a dining room table to eat at or a chair to sit on? With this broader perspective, it becomes evident how much artistry, human labour capital, and environmental resources are integrated into what we use and what we do every day.