We recently connected with Amie Root and have shared our conversation below.

Amie, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. Have you been able to earn a full-time living from your creative work? If so, can you walk us through your journey and how you made it happen? Was it like that from day one? If not, what were some of the major steps and milestones and do you think you could have sped up the process somehow knowing what you know now?

I have been able to earn a “full-time” living from my creative work, but I feel compelled to say that the majority of the time we equate “success” as a professional artist to being able to solely work in the arts. This is a toxic lie. When I was finally working enough professionally as a performer, fight director, stage combat teacher, to be “full-time”, I quit my restaurant job. The day I quit, I felt like I had achieved something great, because this mentality had been ground into the very zeitgeist of being a professional artist. From the moment I quit my “supplemental income” job, I no longer had the ability to choose what projects I would take on. I had to say yes to everything, lest I risk not making ends meet or slowing my momentum. I quit having time or energy to write. I couldn’t say yes to performing in any more small puppet shows, or volunteering at the dog rescue. I had to work in male-dominated, white, storytelling, cause that is where the money is. I had to be a Fight Director and stage combat teacher, because it paid me the most. I could no longer afford to explore the whole of my artistry, only that which made me money. I was a “full-time” artist. I should have reveled in it, but I was too stressed out maintaining it for an image that was not even mine. I say this because, I could tell you the relentless millennial story of how student loans are devastating. How I moved, without a penny to my name, from Wisconsin to Washington, DC, and I probably should have known that would be rough. How I wish someone in college would have said, “Regional theatre is a legit career and you don’t have to move to a coast or massive city.” Pandemic life aside, the height of my artistry has been while working two nights a week at a bar, and one night a week at a gym (cause free gym membership is legit). Just that small boost in my income and expenses, doing things I frankly also enjoy, means I can take time to write. I can afford an apartment on my own. I can go on cruises with my best friend. I can write and invest in projects I want to explore. I have been able to divorce my artistry from the value external entities place upon it. I can set a standard of pay for my work, and securely advocate for myself in contract discussions, because I am not desperate for them to hire me.

So I finish with this, in my humble opinion, focus less on earning a “full-time” living from your creative work and more on what allows you to spend most of your time being creative. How do you bring your artistry to all that you do? Could earning an extra 600 dollars a week spending two night bartending, even though you don’t technically need it, change your ability to define what creative work on which you spend your time? Return to you your artistic freedom? It did for me.

Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers?

I am a storyteller and a teacher. The only thing that brings me more joy than creating a piece of theatre for an audience, is seeing my students find and express their own unique artistic voices. I recently got to see a production of my gay pirate adventure play (with music), “A Pirate’s Life for She”, at Western Illinois University. It was magical to have so many student artists working so hard to tell my story. Even against the odds of a swelling pandemic. I also founded and coordinated the Central Illinois Stage Combat Teacher Trainer this year. It is a two week intensive in which eight stage combat artists get to study and practice the art of teaching stage combat. This was a dream of mine since becoming a Certified Teacher with the Society of American Fight Directors in 2015. I got into the industry of playwriting and stage combat as a misfit without a home. A broke, chubby, queer undergrad who didn’t fit in any box. Who people didn’t know what to do with. It was educators that diminished my belief in myself, but it was also educators that are why I am so successful today. The right teacher, with the right belief in you, can change the world. Or, in my case, the right teacher with a sword or the patience to see a gem in a 100 page garbage draft.

Teaching is a great responsibility. I have the privilege of being hired by many theatres and universities across the country to choreograph and teach stage combat. The diversity of communities I get to work with is extraordinary. My passion for inclusive theatre, dismantling ableism, and supporting queer voices, is fueled by my students and the artists with whom I have the incredible opportunity to work beside. As much as I am a teacher, I am an eternal student. This makes me a better teacher and artist.

Stage combat may seem like a niche of nerdom theatre with little to offer outside of safety in moments of violence on stage. (Which frankly, to me, is already a lot.) However, I have taught stage combat classes to a group of 12 year old girls, who started class unsure, and ended as emboldened warriors of their own boundaries. Celebrating each other’s ability to say, “No. My body, my rules.” I have prioritized choreographing and fight directing women, young and old, in portraying rulers, villains, clowns, and gods. Not just the victims, and emotional motivators, of male characters. I continue this prioritization in my writing as well. I have seen it time and time again, the great impact representation has on an audience and its performers. As storytellers of violent narratives, those of us that work in stage combat, and the creation of these narratives, have a responsibility to show possibility instead of relentlessly reinforce toxic stereotypes.

You asked to help folks get to know me. I am a traveling artist. I carry with me swords, new works, a curious spirit, and convictions often mistaken for boxes of soap.

We often hear about learning lessons – but just as important is unlearning lessons. Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson?

I was taught very early on in my career that as a theatre artist you are your product. The thing I had to unlearn was that I had to make myself into the product that was already selling in order to be successful. I spent years erasing the things about me that were unique, trying to fit the molds that society told me were marketable. Be thinner. Be more masculine. Be more appealing to men. Be quieter. Be less opinionated. Be completely unoffendable. Don’t do anything that might turn someone off from hiring you. Oh, by the way, anyone that would hire you, or give you opportunity, is a man. Be the product someone with money wants to buy. This was and is wrong. It is also especially toxic for those of us who have been made into objects and products since before we were even born. The things that make you unique, the perspectives you bring that belong to no one else, is what will make you successful. For every moment I tried to be someone else, I was selling a knock off. There is no reason for anyone to invest in me, the full value of my worth, if I am selling them a second-hand version of someone else. Especially, when there are hundreds of opportunities to hire that guy. Introduce them to another choice. I do not pretend this is easy. Entire social justice movements have been birthed on the idea that who I am, who we are, is valid and need not change. But what I have learned is everyday, as an artist, I get to use my creative outlets to show how our differences have great value. How my life experience can make a classroom, a character, a rehearsal, breathe new air. People, especially artists, respond to such authenticity. I know many academic programs inadvertently, or sometimes advertently, teach you to find your type, your lane, your box. These lanes were built by people who do not represent you, to guide you to a world where you can be undervalued. I became exponentially more successful when I recognized my own branding. I do not morning well. I am not interested in shame tactics. I will speak up. I may be wrong. Every Body is valid and capable, including mine. Wear what makes you feel good. F**k the haters.

What do you find most rewarding about being a creative?

Collaboration!! The absolute most rewarding aspect of being a theatre artist is collaboration. Absolutely nothing that I do comes to life without a community. I write a play and it sits dormant until other artists want to join me in bringing it to life. There is no aspect of being a theatre artist that doesn’t rely on collaboration of some kind. Even if it is simply between one artist and an audience. It is wonderful and infuriating sometimes. As most incredible things are. I will never die alone. Each time I create, I widen both my perspective of the world and my community of people. People, at large, could benefit so much from the kind of collaboration found in theatre.

Contact Info:

• Website: amieroot.com
• Instagram: @mouseketeer_forge
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCT4qYcU5zoeEvnmeQF2JkqQ
• Other: https://newplayexchange.org/users/72681/amie-root

Image Credits
The Creative Raven, Todd Sharp, Collin Bressie