MOFAA Testimony
Senate Appropriations Committee
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Izzie Baldwin

When I arrived at the Missouri Fine Arts Academy last June, I expected to be surrounded by moody, black-wearing “artists” for three weeks.  I expected to go to classes that outlined Stanislavsky’s Method Acting, which would force me to “be an ice cream cone,” like in A Chorus Line.  I expected to gain 10 pounds on ice cream, pizza, and other delicious dorm food items.  However, when I arrived at MOFAA, I never expected that I would gain not only a set of lifelong friends and a greater understanding of my art form, but the will to help others and make a difference through the arts.

Walking in to check-in on the first day, my thoughts were: Will my roommate be cool?  Will I measure up in my theater classes?  Will my outfits be artsy enough?  And sadly enough, Will there be any hot guys?  Everything revolved around me, me, and more me.  And, in truth, these were not unusual thoughts for my 16-year-old mind, even before arriving at the Academy.

 
I have always been involved in the arts: singing, dancing, and acting in every musical I could get my hands onto since playing Tootie in Meet Me in St. Louis at the age of six.  However, my main purpose for acting was, like many young actors, I liked being in front of an audience and I liked transforming into someone else, but these reasons, yet again, are all about me, me, me.  However, I can sincerely say that MOFAA changed that for me.

It was two weeks into camp and we were shuttled into yet another evening performance, to be entertained and to learn for the next two hours.  However, this evening the stage was filled with not dancers in beautiful flowing costumes, not musicians passionately pouring themselves into a moving performance, but just some regular people in wheel chairs.  The auditorium was more hushed than usual and we waited, slightly uncomfortable with the situation, to see what was about to happen.
“Ewww…look at that retard!”  One woman wheeled to the edge of the stage.
“She’s so lame.  Dumb!”
“That’s retarded!”  The common, un-politically correct phrases shot through the theater and smacked me in the face.  I was so shocked to see “these people” saying such startling, and common things about themselves.  I looked around and everyone seemed just as uncomfortable as I was.  The skit went on for a few minutes and then the cast proceeded to introduce themselves.

 
It turns out that they were the DisAbility Project, theater group of both disabled and non-disabled people that come together to perform for people all over the country about having disabilities.  For the next two hours I was transfixed, not bothering to look for my crush or talk to my friends, but simply watching as the group acted out scenes about peoples’ disrespect, pity, and misunderstanding of disabled people.  I learned that some public places didn’t even have ramps, so some disabled people couldn’t even get their morning coffee.  Every day these people were scoffed at, frowned upon, and ignored so that we could go on with our every-day lives, oblivious and uncaring, and yet, here they were, giving up their time to teach us something.  One piece, in particular, sticks out:

Katie's Poem
I miss the me
I used to be
standing on my own.
But now wheels go round.
Freedom found.
Independence shown.

Katie Rodriguez Banister 1992

Suddenly I remembered each time I had smacked my chest and hollered “weetahd” to make someone laugh, to make fun of someone, or just to have something to say.  I never thought about whom I was disrespecting in the mean time, and pretty soon I was crying, silently.  Finally, I looked around to see a whole theater of shocked, empathetic, and tear-stained faces.  And it was at that moment that I realized that theater does not just have to be a place to get attention, have fun, or “put on a show,” but that the true purpose is to make an impression on people: change a mind, produce a tear, make a difference.

After I got home from MOFAA I temporarily forgot about that night, but soon enough that feeling came back and I realized that, while I had sharpened my acting skills, gotten pull-backs in tap, and learned how to have the perfect audition, the most important thing I learned at MOFAA was how to use my art-from to further society, and that was something that I vowed to do.  I searched and searched for the perfect outlet, and then, finally, I found it right in front of me.  After serving as the President of Performing Arts in Childrens’ Education’s Youth Board for nearly a year and a half, and really getting no more accomplished than a car wash and a party, I realized that this was the perfect place to use what I had learned about theater to make that difference.

 
So I found the play, The Yellow Boat, which is about a young artist who acquires AIDs after receiving a blood transfusion because of his being a hemophiliac.  Right then and there I decided to direct this play and donate all the proceeds to the Broadway Cares -Equity Fights AIDS foundation.  By using the Youth Board to produce, design, and act in the show, not only would we be able to put on our own show, but we would also be able to spread word about helping fight AIDs throughout the community.  However, the thing that inspires me most to continue to research AIDs and organize the event is that I know that each of my peers will learn the same lesson I learned every day at MOFAA: that the arts can be a powerful messenger, and a way to use our passion to benefit the community.  And now I finally feel that, while I’m acting on that stage, I have the chance to do something for that audience, and whether it is merely to allow them to enjoy an evening of entertainment or to teach them and inspire them to change someone else’ mind, acting is no longer only about me, and for that, I can genuinely thank the Missouri Fine Arts Academy.

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