Sarah Richardson
I started going to Winedale as an audience member, oh, ever since I can remember. It was a big family outing every year – my mom would pack a picnic dinner, and we would drive out to Winedale to catch as many performances as we could. The first play I remember seeing was the Scottish Play with James Loehlin and Steve Price in it. The tradition continued all the way through my college years. As I got older, my mother would ask me to prepare a “lecture” for the family about each play before we would see it. I would study my Arden and Riverside editions, and we’d sit under the trees by the barn eating my mother’s signature Winedale dish – a shrimp pasta salad and steamed asparagus salad – as I played the part of resident family Shakespeare scholar.
It was only when I was almost done with college that I actually started to meet some Winedalers through Don Brode, with whom I’d gone to high school. One summer when Don was there I helped make some capes. Every now and then I still see one of my capes crop up in a Winedale production, and it makes me happy. Through Don I met John White, who asked me to be part of a Winedale offshoot called the Barefoot Players. The first play I did with TBP was The Tempest, in which I got to play both Ariel and Miranda and to meet a whole pack of Winedalers. A few years later a splinter group of TBP formed the Boxtree Players and produced The Two Gentlemen of Verona. And in many ways, Rude Mechs was another splinter group of Boxtree. Ahhh, the genealogy of Austin theatre. So it was through these connections that fate brought the original Rude Mechs together: myself, Kirk Lynn, Lana Lesley, Madge Darlington, Kathy Blackbird, Shawn Sides, Kirsten Kern. I began to think that I really couldn’t contribute properly to our company unless I too spent a summer sweating in the barn. But my colleagues convinced me that probably wasn’t the case – I’d already absorbed the Winedale spirit in just about any way that mattered. I suspect they’re right, but even now I regret that I never went through that experience.
I was always drawn to Winedale because of the fierce, raw spirit in every performance. Even when the acting wasn’t at a professional level (whatever the hell that means), each play was infused with this deep, passionate intention and attention by all the people on stage. It was palpable. The students cared so much about what they were doing and poured everything into it. The commitment was infectious. Subconsciously, it set a standard for me that has had a profound effect on my work as a professional theatre artist. I’ve always sought that same level of personal investment and care for what was happening onstage. I was also instinctively drawn to the Winedale methodology: Everyone builds the set, makes the costumes, serves the food; everyone is responsible for every moment onstage. Despite Doc’s leadership, the Winedale experience really is a collective one. It led me to believe early on that a collective approach to art-making is the way to go. The other aspect of Winedale that remains so compelling to me is the huge sense of community. Every arts group talks about “community” these days, but few actually embody that idea in the deep way that Winedale does. The bonds between Winedalers across the years are intense. My family’s connection to the annual pilgrimage to see the plays and eat food together and share in the long tradition was equally intense, and shared by other families, I’m sure. – Sarah Richardson
This article appears in July 23 • 2004.