“Possibility is not a luxury. It is as crucial as bread.” –Judith Butler.
Jay Hayden on their research trip to New York City.
This summer, I had the incredible opportunity to travel to New York City as part of my Emerging Leaders Fellowship with TYA/USA. In just a few days, I met extraordinary artists and leaders, experienced powerful performances, visited iconic places that ground the queer artistic tradition, and finally had a classic plain slice of pizza again. Here’s what I learned, and what I’m hoping to bring back to my practice and into our community.
Performances That Sparked Reflection
I made time to see Oh, Mary! where queer camp met absurdist history and delighted a packed house. Seeing Titus in the title role was a joy – bringing the house down with a rousing rendition of “She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain.” But the high ticket price reminded me of the accessibility gaps that persist even for “community-centered” work. Sitting in the nosebleed seats next to a men’s restroom indicating that folks may “please use the restroom that best fits your gender identity or expression,” and also being met as “sir” by every staff member highlighted to me the distinction between the claimed ethos of large theatre spaces and that ethos in action.
Later that week, I attended OPEN at the WP Theater, an intimate one-woman show exploring grief, love, and hope through the lens of a lesbian relationship and magic tricks. The talkback afterward emphasized that even in challenging political times, showing up for each other gets things done.
Learning from Leaders: Frankie Alicea, Max Raymond, and Adam Odsess-Rubin
My conversations began with Frankie Alicea, an inspiring voice in the field– Frankie is the Program Manager at co/LAB Theatre Group, where he develops and oversees programming for and with individuals with developmental disabilities. Frankie’s producing advice was clear and empowering: ask for what you need, even when it’s money. If someone can’t offer funds, they may have other resources: rehearsal space, a graphic designer, networks.
He reminded me that “no” doesn’t reflect your worth, and that cultivating relationships (with donors, audiences, collaborators) takes time. Frankie emphasized the power of specificity: tailor your outreach, name your asks, and think creatively about space…go where the people are. Most importantly, he challenged me to consider what the industry is missing: unabashed pride, vulnerability, and loud authenticity.
(Frankie can be found @frankie.j.alicea | co/LAB can be found @colabtheatergroup)
The next day, I met with Max Raymond, who recently co-produced Let’s Hear It For the Boys– a variety show highlighting the talents of trans men and transmasculine artists at Green Room 42. Max reminded me that indie-producing is like throwing a party for artists you love and admire—but you must also manage the creative process carefully. He stressed the need to give yourself more time than you think you’ll need, and to communicate clear, specific asks to your network.
We talked about the obligation of self-promotion; not as vanity, but as a responsibility to artists and audiences alike. Max’s reflections on representation and access struck me deeply: the idea of authentically developing trans representation onstage will always go deeper, and we cannot feel like we’ve reached an apex. We have to keep going to learn and grow.
(Max can be found @maxraymond_)
That evening, I spent time with Adam Odsess-Rubin, Founding Artistic Director of National Queer Theater (NQT). NQT’s origin story (rooted in a grad school grant proposal and a call to community) underscores the power of simply asking people what they need. Adam’s work on the Criminal Queerness Festival, including a successful lawsuit against the NEA over their ban on funding arts projects that ‘promote gender ideology,’ demonstrated how community support can fill financial gaps when institutions fail.
Adam shared moving stories about asylum-seeking artists and trans youth finding joy, visibility, and freedom through NQT’s programs. He also offered crucial producing advice: define success clearly, set expectations with honesty, lead with kindness, and recognize that true inclusivity sometimes requires careful gatekeeping to ensure marginalized voices are genuinely heard.
(Adam can be found @adamodsessrubin_92 | National Queer Theatre can be found @nationalqueertheatre)
What the Industry Needs Now
Across all three conversations, I heard shared themes:
– Radical access and affordability: If we claim to make art for vulnerable communities, they need to be able to afford to see it.
– Representation and authenticity: Audiences are hungry for queer joy, audacity, and loud authenticity; work by and for the community itself.
– Community-minded producing: Whether through clearer contracts, thoughtful front-of-house engagement, or designing shows with access in mind from day one, our industry needs to reflect the values it puts onstage.
Theatre as a Community Space & Public Space as History
These conversations were mirrored by what I experienced outside of formal meetings.
A visit to The Stonewall Inn reminded me that queer history lives in ordinary spaces. It was emotional – but it was more emotional that Stonewall is, today, still just a dive bar with a two drink minimum. The power of the place comes not from the bricks in the foundation, but the bricks in the hands of trans elders.
At the Leslie-Lohman Museum of Art, a free arts center that describes itself as “A home for queer art, artists, scholars, activists and allies, and a catalyst for discourse on art and queerness,” installations like ficciones patógenas and Young Joon Kwak’s RESISTERHOOD showcased art as a mobilizing force for queer and trans resistance. Did I mention it was free? Free museums are the best.
Visiting the Bayard Rustin Residence offered another touchstone. In an odd hour, I made my way to Rustin’s old place of residence; his invocation of “angelic troublemakers” continues to inspire my work with youth today. I reflected on how history and activism often exist quietly, as subtle as a small plaque on a brownstone.
And at sunrise on the Brooklyn Bridge, I thought of Walt Whitman’s Crossing Brooklyn Ferry (I was a member of UVM’s Dead Poets Society, and wrote my first play with inspiration from one of Whitman’s poems … I’m a bit of a fan).
Whitman’s Crossing Brooklyn Ferry invokes the idea of people of the future seeing the same sights, smelling the same smells, feeling the same feelings that he experienced at the same time. The poem concludes with the phrase:
“You furnish your parts towards eternity/
Great or small, you furnish your parts towards the soul.”
Uncle Walt posits the idea of a grand single soul (and wittily invoked the idea of the ‘whole’ with the rhyming word). He gives the idea of a timeless community, wherein the lessons of the past and the hopes of the future are one and the same.
Moving Forward
This trip deepened my belief in what the field of Theatre for Young Audiences and the broader arts sector must become. Theatres ought to serve as genuine community spaces, where affordability and accessibility are non-negotiable, where marginalized artists are not simply represented but celebrated and resourced, and where every audience member can see themselves reflected, welcomed, and respected both onstage and off.
As I return from this journey, I carry forward the generosity, wisdom, and spirit of everyone I met—and the responsibility to help build the future they envision: one that embraces vulnerability, audacity, and the radical power of authentic community.
