We were lucky to catch up with Regan Linton recently and have shared our conversation below.

Regan , appreciate you joining us today. Can you talk to us about how you learned to do what you do?

This is an interesting question, especially about speeding up the learning process. I’ve always felt like a “slow and steady wins the race” kinda gal. And that’s how nearly all my artistic crafts have unfolded.

When I was a kid, I did take some formal theatre and acting classes, but it was always secondary to what I thought I SHOULD do…service clubs, athletics, chemistry, stuff like that. I initially went to undergrad for film production, but even then felt the pressure to study lots of things beyond film. So I left film school and cycled through other majors – kinesiology, religion, and American Studies.

But all the while I was taking theatre classes on the side, as my passion. And, I started to find that all of the various learnings augmented each other. In my 20s I did perform as an actor, but also trained as a social worker and thought that would be my path. I also began writing for a magazine as a side gig.

My first real formal artistic study wasn’t until I went to grad school for acting at age 29. But I never felt like I hadn’t been developing my craft all along, slowly but surely. In fact, after completing grad school and going on to perform professionally, be a theatre artistic director, and start directing and writing film projects, I still feel like all the other time I spent in different areas was PART of my training. My artistic perspective benefited from the plethora of experiences.

There’s no question that grad school was a catalyst, and I don’t think I would have become a professional artistic ANYTHING if I hadn’t taken that step. Which was hard…as a wheelchair-using artist, I had to design a lot of the training because it hadn’t been built yet. But that was also artistic crafting, right? It forced me to be creative.

I’m glad I didn’t rush anything. I feel the most essential “skills” or qualities were perseverance, curiosity, and a willingness to let the path unfold without forcing it. And now, as I find myself back in film, I think this longform approach was the best thing I could do as a filmmaker. It also means I’m still learning…I haven’t mastered anything to completion. Which is how it should be…because once you’re finished learning and changing, you’re finished. (I think Ben Franklin said that.)

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 think from the time I was young, something was written in the stars about me being a “creative”. I’m not the type of person who forgets to eat…EVER. So, when I do, I know it’s because something else is feeding me. And the main thing that detracts me from eating is creative work – performing, music, writing, directing.

I started theatre recreationally in high school and then got into social change theatre in college, on the side. When I was 20 at USC in LA, I was paralyzed in a car accident on the 10 freeway. Which basically started my life all over again. And I honestly NEVER thought theatre, film, etc. would still be in the cards.

I’m from Denver and returned home after I was injured, where I was lucky to get involved in a disability-affirmative theatre company called Phamaly. Once I started performing with them – as a wheelchair user – the facade fell of what I thought I knew up to that point, and it’s like my whole world opened up. I started to discover how my disability could be an asset in my work. It thrust me beyond the box into new narratives, a new sense of humor/tragedy/drama, and an entirely new perspective on life and existence. Which then I determined I wanted to explore and express via artistic means.

I am now very multidisciplinary. My work spans a wide gamut, from performing in professional plays and musicals, to audiobook voiceover, to writing for magazines and academic publications, to scripting and directing film, to advising around accessibility and inclusion on any number of artistic projects, to teaching and guest lecturing.

I’d say at my core, I’m a creator. My circumstances sent me in the direction of a life where I often have to create the path I will then tread, because it hasn’t been built yet…whether it’s being a wheeler at a top acting grad school, or performing at a regional theatre that has never hired someone with a disability, or advising film folks on how to incorporate disabled and neurodivergent practitioners in front of or behind the camera, or build a more human-centric, inclusive entertainment culture.

Overall, I’m driven to cut the bullshit, get messy, act with empathy, remove barriers, and make some cool stuff that MOVES people.

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

Definitely had to unlearn the principle of perfection.

When I was young, so much of my socialization was around getting things “right.” That there’s a “best” way to do things, and that’s what you should train your being towards. Whether it was how you delivered Shakespeare lines, kicked a soccer ball, or wrote a screenplay. Now, in some cases and disciplines, sure, a “perfect” approach might apply…like splitting atoms or designing a building so it won’t collapse. But not in artistic disciplines.

It took me a long time to have enough experiences of failure, or imperfection, or deviating from the proscribed norm, to realize that the most rich and textured creation often came from the IMPERFECT, the mess, the wonky, the failure…and then balancing it with some measure of order that would hold things together just enough. Opening myself to that and giving myself the space to flail and **splurt** (which feels like an onomatopoeiac representation of non-perfection) took a long time. I mostly credit my injury from breaking me out of the fabricated perfection cell, and forcing me to tread into new waters where I risked a lot, but discovered much more.

Do you think there is something that non-creatives might struggle to understand about your journey as a creative? Maybe you can shed some light?

Hmmm, I’m not sure if it’s what they won’t understand, but maybe just what they don’t know.

I think it’s important to convey a lot of the very real, logistical challenges of being an artist with a disability. Because being an artist is hard for anyone, and there are unique additional challenges when you have a disability.

First, I will say that I have never received public assistance. That’s not to compare myself to anyone who does, or to denigrate people who are. Public assistance is a necessary support, and for many it’s the only choice. But I mention it because I also think there’s often an assumption that ALL people with disabilities receive public assistance, which isn’t true. There are folks with disabilities who not on social security, medicaid, etc. For me, SOME kind of consistent healthcare would be a godsend. I’m part of the theatre actors union (AEA), and sometimes I get enough work to qualify for the necessary weeks for health coverage, and other times I don’t. So, I’m constantly back and forth between my union coverage and the ACA health exchanges. Which, when you have a spinal cord injury and specialists are a necessary part of your life, it’s really difficult.

And disability costs a lot…I think estimates are that, in general, a spinal cord injury will cost no less than $1 million over a lifetime. So, when I’m gig to gig and trying to cobble money as a “starving artist,” there are a lot of additional costs. Wheelchair equipment. Personal care supplies. Accessible vans. Accessible housing. There are any number of additional costs to cover with the artist stipends I get, on top of the usual food, shelter, clothing.

Travel, too…I travel solo a lot for work. And I drive myself cross country in my accessible van, or lug my bags on my own on the plane, often to places that don’t have accessible transportation (like accessible options for rideshares). Housing is a big problem. Lots of theatres have artist housing, but the vast majority isn’t wheelchair accessible. Other creative peers can crash on a friend’s couch if they have to go to LA or NY or wherever for a project…that kind of network isn’t available when you are a wheeler and need a building with no stairs and an accessible bathroom. I often have to foot the bill out of pocket for an accessible hotel.

Rainy or snowy climates can be a big challenge. I usually fix my own equipment, and sometimes a flat wheelchair tire or gunked up caster risks preventing me from getting to a rehearsal. Or an elevator that goes out…I once had to be carried up stairs at a theatre because the dressing room was on a different level, and the elevator went out in the middle of the show.

And that’s not even scratching the surface of issues in the artistic environment. Only a tiny fraction of artist residencies (like 5 of hundreds) are wheelchair accessible. Countless theatres aren’t accessible, onstage, backstage, or in the house. Lots of independent sound studios and such aren’t accessible. Film processes aren’t often accounting for physical access or time access, such as to accommodate things like bathroom routines that have to stay as regular as possible for health, but that makes it really hard if you’re doing overnights or odd schedules.

And then the attitudes. All of the people who think you can’t do your job. Are subpar. Treat you like a pity case, or like your disability is the only reason you’re in the room (for the accessibility quota). Don’t think you deserve to be in a training program, or aren’t willing to adapt rote techniques for your body. Question whether YOU’VE done the work, or whether it was your collaborators. Or think that if you have a disability, then EVERYTHING you want to create is about disability, and then they expect you to follow the shitty formulas that have been established for disabled narratives.

‘Nuff said. It’s complicated. And I don’t say this to complain, just to enlighten. Lots of these factors CAN be changed…from logistics to planning to culture to attitudes. And changing them is the only way to get more incredibly creative folks with disabilities into the mix.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.reganlinton.com
• Instagram: @reganlinton
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/regan.linton
• Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/regan-linton-12773824/