I believe a director’s job isn’t to hold every answer, but to cultivate a space where possibility can thrive and to help an ensemble find their way there together.
Trained first as an actor, my direction is fundamentally shaped by an endless curiosity about what makes a performer’s choices honest. I build my entire process around vocal and physical freedom, knowing that vulnerability and authenticity can only emerge when an actor feels truly free. Rather than dictating every detail, I view my role as a facilitator.
When actors and designers are trusted rather than micromanaged, they bring forth work far more alive than anything a singular vision could dictate. A strong rehearsal room is one where artists feel brave enough to take risks and make discoveries. I guide that process through careful questioning, resolving tensions between an actor’s instincts and my overarching vision through collaborative dialogue until we find an answer that honors both.
Trust never happens by accident; it must be built deliberately. I cultivate it through play, movement, and intentional shared focus. During one production where a large cast struggled to truly listen to one another, I devised an exercise where each actor drew a partner’s name to observe and celebrate a specific, impactful choice in their work at the end of the night. That simple practice shifted the room—turning a collection of individual performances into a unified ensemble.
For me, directing is about creating an environment where love and creativity flourish together, producing work that outlasts the run for everyone involved. Ultimately, that depth of human connection on stage is what reaches into the house. What I want an audience to carry away evolves with every story:
- With Cinderella, it was a belief in the impossible, validated when children left the theatre declaring that magic was real.
- With Translations, it was an intellectual and emotional lingering—asking audiences to grapple with language, cultural loss, and the thin line between revolution and terrorism.
- With As It Is In Heaven, it was evoking a feeling so profound that patrons still ask me years later what the curtains meant- they felt something whenever the curtains moved or were changed, but they couldn’t figure out why. While I have an exact interpretation, I let the question linger and require the audience to answer it for themselves. What matters most is that something touched them and stayed with them.
My growth as a director has been a journey of leaning into trust. I used to carry the weight of a production’s success entirely on my own shoulders. I have since learned that when I facilitate rather than control, leading with high love and high expectations, people rise to meet the occasion, creating something far richer than I could have built alone.