There’s no art form that works with my brain quite like scenic design does. My brain works in a distinctly visual way. I crave details, a mass consumption of the little things around me. Scenic design embodies everything my brain needs to function: similar routines and logic, but also a constant flow of new ideas, creative spaces, and freedom. There’s nothing like it.

 

      I aim to create a space for disabled artists in theatre. My heart yearns to see disabled stories told, to see disabled actors on stage, to work with other disabled creatives, and to see the audiences filled with other disabled people who can at last see themselves represented. I want to see an onstage world of not just disabled tragedies and suffering, but disabled joy, disabled love, and disabled thriving. I want to work in a theatre where I don’t feel that I have to hide the natural function of my brain, the movement of my body, the manner of my speech (or lack thereof)—in order to be seen.

 

      In a world where so many of us are dehumanized, I want to make theatre that is human. I want to make theatre that is a booming declaration of “I was here. I was alive.” I want theatre that feels like the handprints on walls of caves– placed there for no other reason than to let the next person who sees it know that others were there too. The audience should leave acknowledging their existence and the existence of others– an acknowledgement of a shared humanity, and the rights and responsibilities that come with it.