Interview with Alvan Colón Lespier, associate director

By Arnaldo Lopez

Arnaldo Lopez: I’ll begin by asking if you went into theater with the intention of working in ensemble or if you ended up in ensemble after another experience.

Alvan Colón Lespier: My first experiences in theater took place when I was young, high-school experiences. I had no idea of what an ensemble was. I did begin to understand what an artistic form was – the theater, in this case. I was attracted to form and, in that regard, I was also part of a community or group to be guided by a director (woman or man) in hopes of staging a particular story. I had no other interest or concern besides doing the work, and doing it to the best of my ability together with the other youth involved in the creative process. That’s how I begin. Later, in the university, I did have artistic experiences that were tied to a group and also linked to individual efforts within a group. For instance, with a group of students from the drama department who were putting together a sequence of agit-prop style scenes. I was not a student of the drama department at the time, but was interested in theater as a form of expression. We put together that project and it was emphatically issue-oriented. It was oriented around the issue of militarization in Puerto Rico, and more specifically around militarization on the university campus, about the ROTC and Culebra (which were very pressing issue at the time). Those were initiatives geared to creating something as a group.

AL: And your agit-prop was informed by what sort of theatrical proposal?

ACL: Latin American popular theater, I think that’s what was within our reach at the time. And it was the legacy being fostered in Puerto Rico by a group of multidisciplinary artists who took up in a project called El Tajo del Alacrán [The Scorpion’s Cut]. So, [we had] individual artistic initiatives (individuals had chosen to undertake them) and I remember about three occasions in which we put up installations on campus. That approach was already more formal, trying to satisfy an individual need for artistic expression and [also answer to] the aesthetic preoccupations of the four or five persons who were working and wanted to continue working together. We did interesting historical installations, poetry readings, and other things like that. You should know that our installations were influenced by trends active in the United States and in Europe. With regards to poetry, interestingly enough, it was the work of the Nuyorican poets from here. There was personal contact with Iván Silén, Pedro Pietri, those folks. We also did gatherings.

AL: Did it take on the shape of performance?

ACL: No, it didn’t take on the shape of performance at the time. It was more about listening to poetry and discussing the poetry, but it did not adopt the shape this type of poetry has adopted since. Back then we were not quite there yet, although Iván was getting pretty close. He was kind of the wild goose and he had his own performance, but he never called it that or presume that it was. Nothing of what we did in our gatherings was intended as a performance, rather we did it for the sake of our enjoyment and to have something to share with the others. [We were] also influenced by the circle of radical Puerto Rican painters residing in San Juan and Rio Piedras — the ones who later became singer-songwriters, like El Topo. Initially El Topo was a poet and he sang, but he was very interested in writing and composition. Carlos Raquel, a painter; Yuyo from San Juan, a painter; and people like that. After that, what happens? This group of young graduates from the drama department and I, who had not graduated from the drama department, stayed in touch. No, I lie... before that there was a project sponsored by the student council in which these and other students – and when I say "these" I mean those who will go on, together with some others – put together a production directed by Victorio Espinosa. It was titled "El archivo" [The Archive] and written by a Polish writer. And it was like nothing before it in experimental works. Of all the students who participate in the production – and I wasn’t in it – a [smaller] group stays together and continues to work ahead. Once graduated from the drama department, the members of this group [and I] form a theater group. [We] were group-oriented, collective and ensemble, working directly with the PSP [Puerto Rican Socialist Party], and briefly with the MPI [Pro Independence Movement], which later becomes the PSP. At that point, the work had a clear ideological focus, and was also clearly issue-oriented. We had the advantage of working with directors who had true political vision and ideological preference, although these were not the predominant elements in their work. What was predominant in their work was the theater craft. It was the amalgamation of two distinct and very interesting currents. Among them were Pablo Cabrera, Victorio Espinosa, also Johnny Miranda, may he rest in peace. Then there was us, directing each other and doing work that touched on very particular issues. For example, we did adaptations of the stories of Osvaldo Dragún [the Argentine playwright] and that was taken to Puerto Rico and toured around the island.

AL: But the piece was put together here?

ACL: No, all of this takes place in Puerto Rico, this is all about my experience in Puerto Rico. Then there was this piece... There was a real serious rice problem in Puerto Rico at the time. We did an agit-prop piece dealing with the monopoly in the distribution of rice, and how rice was not grown in Puerto Rico but imported, despite the fact that Puerto Rico is perfectly capable of growing rice. That was a really interesting piece in which we used dolls. Gloria Saez did costumes, my god, she made this wardrobe out of foam and it looked like tomato sauce cans and bags of Sello Rojo brand rice. [The play] had to do with the increase in price on groceries sold at the local markets, and it was done by way of criticism and performed at political activities and activities in general. Then Pablo [Cabrera] directed us in "Pipo Subway no sabe reír" [Pipo Subway doesn’t know how to laugh] by Jaime Carrero and that was also very interesting, because the political denunciation was totally indirect and it encompassed themes like family and immigration. It was interesting to do that show, because that one was organized alongside political activists who were dealing with specific issues in their communities and this piece did not appear to address specific issues in the community. This effort was very successful. It was staged all over the country, on corners, street intersections, on the countryside in Utuado.

AL: Was the troupe already known with a theater name?

ACL: I think it was by then. It was already called Anamú. Then, at the same time, another group emerges. There was some sort of internal conflict due to political differences within the larger group, and out of that comes a smaller group doing parallel work. And what was curious about the whole thing is that here were two groups of Puerto Rican popular theater doing work on the street, in theater halls, and also doing residencies, which we did not know as [artist] residencies back then, but that’s what they were. We [Anamd ] did mostly playwright works and the other group, Moriviví, did mostly works of collective creation. It was an interesting phenomenon. I remember us being in a fishing town on the west coast of Puerto Rico, we had gone there to do "Pipo Subway…". We did the show and they really liked it. Since we were going to be there for the weekend, we got together and went to a meeting the local fishermen were having. The fishermen were talking about an oil spill out of an oil cargo ship called el Sol Colocotrones, I’ll never forget that name. The spill had a horrible impact on the community. The community’s well-being was ruined for a long time because the water was contaminated, the coast was spoiled, the fish were dying, the birds were dying, people lost their fishing gear; they were in a terrible situation. And in the meeting, when we’re introduced, and they already recognized us from having seen the show the night before, they said to us, "Why don’t you guys do a show about this?" Right then and there we spent about 20 minutes with the fishermen and improvised a show with them. It was very interesting because when we finished, one of the group members said that what we had done was what the group El Escambray was doing in Cuba. So, we started digging and found material to read about this group and how they functioned. The Sol Colocotrones story we later did as a radio play, and we were able to air it I think two or three times on a political commentary show that some liberal politicians had in Puerto Rico. And so, of course, we continued to do work along those lines. Playwright work and also works of collective creation oriented towards what I like to call discovery. Discovery in the sense of removing the veils that cover the issues of our time, and also offering an artistic outlet to the people. That on the one hand, on the other hand it was in order to create works with an aesthetic bent or focus, rather than an ideological focus. In other words, we were doing both things at once, but always within the context of the group, and that was very interesting. Later on, I’m left with that experience and that’s my formal theater training. When I join Pregones, I come with that [experience].

AL: The move to New York was a personal decision?

ACL: Yes, that happens because I get fired from my job and I’m put on three years probation, I was being harassed and persecuted [by the United States government] in Puerto Rico. My wife at the time obtains a scholarship to study in the United States. She moves first and I have to stay behind to finish up with court proceedings, and when that’s over the court does not approve my transfer. They [the United States federal government] wanted me to stay in Puerto Rico. But I finally manage to move here. Then I experiment with a few things, then join Pregones and once again find a collective working environment sustaining the two lines of work that I was familiar with.

AL: How did you approach them or how did you hear about them? Did you already know them in Puerto Rico?

ACL: No, I didn’t know in from Puerto Rico. I just started dating Rosalba [Rolón]. [Laughs.]

AL: And this happens through the relationship with the theater or informally?

ACL: Very informal.

AL: Nice.

ACL: Very informal. I had never seen her act or anything, so basically I didn’t know what it was she did until she explained it to me and then I saw it. I see it and I am interested, interested in what they are doing. At that moment [Pregones] needed technical support and I say yeah, I can deal with that. I find my way in a little bit at a time, until I join full-time.

AL: So, you see continuity in the work you did before and the work Pregones was doing?

ACL: Yes, definitely. Because it shared the same interest in aesthetic exploration, a work of a certain artistic curiosity, and playwright work, because "La colección" [The Collection, the first work staged by Pregones Theater] was playwright work. There was collective creation in terms of staging, there was collective creation in terms of the transition from scene to scene, but basically all the scenes were already written.

AL: What about the company’s mission statement in terms of cultural identity?

ACL: What about it?

AL: Well, I wonder if you have any thoughts or reflections in reference to the way in which it handles Latino or Puerto Rican cultural identity?

ACL: One thing that is interesting, you should know, is that I think the company, myself and the artistic directors of the company, we are pretty settled on a notion of national identity. That doesn’t mean we do not harbor doubts that go beyond that notion and that for other people it may be a contradiction to then lay claim to a firm national identity. It’s been curious indeed, because nowadays we are seen as part of the American theater panorama, but American as it is seen in the U.S.A., not Americano. And over the years we’ve had discussions about this with our colleagues in Latin America, with our Chicano colleagues, and with other Latinos too. The work that we do is born out of our experiences as Puerto Ricans living in this city, and also from the experiences we bring from our formative years in Puerto Rico, from the process of migration and from the experience of 20 years working in theater and getting to know different theatrical trends. Is this a part of the panorama of American theater? Yes, it is. Does it stop being Puerto Rican theater? No, it does not stop being so. But does being a part of the American theater make it American theater? Sometimes I question it, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes it’s like trying to prove God’s existence, or denying God’s existence. That’s how I see it.

AL: I wonder if you can comment on the experience of working with people who come from the island and working with people like Judith [Rivera] and José [García] who were brought up here but whose interests often coincide.

ACL: Well, a learning experience for all of us. Within the space we created at Pregones, I don’t know if consciously or [if] it emerges from our commitment and understanding, or if it was intuitive. I don’t think it was programmed that way. I do know there were instances when we worried, "Well, we really needed to have Puerto Ricans who are from here." But it wasn’t like in the case of audience development when an institution gets into the audience-development project because they have to have blacks or diversification or anything like that.

AL: For the sake of representation.

ACL: Or the issue of representation, no. I believe it comes out of a historical need and it is a way to satisfy a historical need, let’s say. That’s it. It’s an organic appetite that we have as a company.

AL: I’d like to ask you to think about one of your favorite pieces with Pregones, and see if you can summarize the collective creation process.

ACL: Out of all the works, the one I enjoyed the most was "Voces de Acero" [Voices of Steel], there we began with an idea, with some text, and we had a very specific issue to deal with, namely, what happens to a person when she or he is imprisoned under conditions of sensorial deprivation for extended periods of time. What is it that gives out, or doesn’t give out? And it was a really interesting process in terms of experimentation, [with] the search for images, the repetition of movement, the exploration of forms that are original to Puerto Rico as in the case of la danza, or el seis chorreao. [Also] how we used the language of dance, and how we incorporated it in the creative process. How we dealt with repetition was also important, because during the interviews and in the studies we made about the lives of the people who were in prison, and some of them still are, we were able to share very funny and very sad moments. The experience of monotony and continuous repetition, of a routine, was a dominating factor and also the common thread that linked their lives. It was truly interesting in terms of creative process. Also interesting in terms of process was "El último rosario de Medea" [Medea’s Last Rosary]. How to discover an event [and] a woman that we have seen in our own time inside an epic poem that at first glance could be considered a melodrama or apology. How that later becomes the story of a people. How this one woman will do things that society allows her to do, or even forces her to do, and how the people will then punish her for it. One of the more appealing aspects and that work was being able to set the action in a popular Puerto Rican festivity, the Rosarios de Cruz [Rosaries of the Cross]. A magnificent thing, and I used to go to the Rosarios when they had them in El Barrio back then. I used to say, "Caramba, there’s something here that might fit in, but I don’t know how. But it fits, it fits." That’s where it comes from.

AL: And then you present a directorial proposal to the group?

ACL: Yes, I present it. There are many questions, because, really, "What the hell do Fiestas de Cruz have to do with all this?" Boom! Another interesting ingredient. We’re having a conversation with Pepón Osorio [the Puerto Rican installation artist] and I say to him, "Look here, Pepón …" What do we tell him? The action takes place at a place that is public but private and we want to build that place that is both public and private. Where is that place? In the town plaza, it’s a public place and it’s a private place. Big town celebrations take place there, but people also have very intimate moments [there]. Perfect. So, once again, it was a perfect combination of the place, the fiesta, the music, the musicality. I’d say to Ricardo [Pons, then Pregones’ musical director], "See here, Ricardo, this is the music and we’ll dance to it, intact." And he’d say, "I don’t see it, I just don’t see how this is going to happen." And the I’d say, "You’ll see." I pretty much went on intuition, because I’m not a musician. But sure enough, once we started to work with the music [Ricardo] saw that it fit. We take part of the text and plug it into a musical number at the Fiestas de Cruz – intact – and it works. We used music to tie the scenes together, and we even lifted an entire musical number from the Fiestas de Cruz that was not written for the play. But it fit perfectly. I think all of Pregones’ plays have something. Because "Migrants" was something of a landmark in that it made us experiment a little with our bodies and in that we were using nontheatrical texts, which we continued to do in "Voces de Acero" – because not one text in there is written for the stage except for a blurb from Sophocles’ "Antigone." In "Migrants" the texts were entirely nontheatrical, they were historical, they were factual, like when you pick up a phone book. Then you take things and put them together and give them theatrical shape – add some music, experiment a little with music. It was a beautiful group work.

Another interesting one was "La otra orilla" [The Other Shore], because in that piece we dealt with a subject I was not very comfortable off the bat. All the balseros who left Cuba and who die at sea – that’s a tragedy, a tragedy. So, I started to do some research and I find all sort of analogies with what happens to all the other people who leave their country, the ones who are forced out and the ones who are drawn by the promise of a better future. And Regina García’s overall stage-set proposal helped a great deal; all the aspect of movement; the musical setting [that] was so rich; a really interesting ensemble effort. Those are works in which I was directly involved. [Another one] in which I was not directly involved but that are key pieces was "Wedding March," to give an example. "Wedding March" introduced a certain point of view in regards to our history and also introduced a salutary woman’s perspective. [It] was a learning experience for me and it was good to tour the country [the United States] with the play. "El bolero fue mi ruina" [The Bolero Was My Downfall] was one in which I was involved with set design, I wasn’t involved in its conception except for when we got together as a group to talk over process. I made a few suggestions about the staging, and that worked, and it was part of the piece. I’ve always said it’s a beautiful piece, because it talks about who we are. "Translated Woman," another piece that was difficult for me and I think difficult for all of us as an ensemble. The difficulty was in that here we are, a Puerto Rican theater troupe trying to do a play adapted from a text written by a Cuban woman about the life of a Mexican woman. Boom! How do you deal with that? Again, it has to do with a universality of certain themes, things people do, in this case it’s the persistence with which this woman forges ahead, the hope. And that was beautiful. And I was involved primarily with design.

AL: Now that you mention multiplicity in terms of origin or background, can you make any comments about community, audience, neighborhood or any of the pieces of that puzzle?

ACL: It’s very interesting, because the first time I hear that term [community], the first time that I hear that term questioned, was about ten years ago at a National Performance Network conference where there’s a big to-do about community. I didn’t understand what their problem was, because to me my community was the working-class community, that was the broader community; the narrower community was the one ethnically identified as Puerto Rican, that’s how I saw it. And I could see something like circles or tangential contacts across multiple communities, and multiplicity within the boundaries of our own Puerto Rican community, many communities that may be defined according to interest, according to occupation, according to income, according to geographical location. We didn’t have a problem and don’t think we have a problem now as a theater group who identifies with that community. It’s easy for us to identify with that community when we travel and it’s just as easy when we are here. That community turns into our audience. At one point we did work in a neighborhood that conformed a specific community.

AL: St. Ann’s [Episcopal Church in the Morrisania neighborhood of the South Bronx]?

ACL: St. Ann’s. And that community has an impact on our work, particularly a sector or subsector of persons in the community who were the parishioners at [St. Ann’s] church, and those who were close to the parishioners of the church, and those who were close to the ecclesiastical structures of the Episcopalian church and who were interested in this type of work [Pregones’]. The neighborhood was not the defining factor of the work itself. They did participate, but it was something totally, totally new. It was beautiful because people from the immediate neighborhood had their first and only theater experiences participating in the activities that we sponsored. These ranged from theater, to music and danza and even experimental projects, really interesting in that sense. On the other hand we had to face the fact that we are working in a neighborhood that was super oppressed, super marginalized, where people were not accustomed to this type of transaction, were not used to this thing called theater. Sometimes the church was a bridge, sometimes it was a barrier. We can go there because it’s open territory, or, we can’t go there because it’s a church and it’s private property and it’s denominational… I think those things had an impact on the way they perceived us in the community, in the neighborhood. Although we were pretty popular in the neighborhood because of our gregarious character, on the one side, and because we served a function, on the other. Because of the acknowledgement and the free publicity granted by the leadership of the church back then, when Father Morales, Father Cooper and Luis Barrios were there. Because there were members of the company who lived in the neighborhood, and there was some sort of approval.

AL: How does that contrast with the experience of this space [Pregones Studio], for example?

ACL: This space is similar to the church. We are in a neighborhood that has also been deprived and there are no antecedents for homegrown artistic activities in its history. There are those residents who do participate in artistic activities but they generally go outside the neighborhood for that. And now we have this, and there’s Hostos, where there are artistic activities and where the neighborhood participates, as they do here. In that sense these two [places] are similar. We are a bit more geographically distant [from the residential areas], and I think affects us. It is not a neighborhood like St. Ann’s, where you can walk along the streets and you also have the markets. Here [to the north] there’s a residential building for working families and for families without work, and they come home and they go in and they go out and that’s it. There’s not a lot of roaming around here. The fact that we are above the furniture warehouse is kind of strange. But we do get that sense of community, so to speak. When we have shows and presentations the audience comes in and they participate willingly in the exchange between artists and community. The audience immediately strikes conversation with the artists on stage, and the space itself makes post-performance dialogue between artist and spectator easy.

AL: Is that where the idea for the "Conversations" [Series] comes from?

ACL: The idea for "Conversations" comes out of necessity. One of the things that happens is that ideas come into my head, things I come up with, I think that’s where "Conversations" come from. I say, "Why not? Why not do this?" Our culture is so dynamic [and] so fluid when we think of it as a project. And we do not see it solely as model or set or pattern within which we operate. I see it as something more fluid and I think that we as a theater can contribute to the development and expansion of that culture and to the dissemination of that culture. I think the project responds to a demand and an appetite that it [also] strives to satisfy.

AL: How about a legacy?

ACL: Sometimes I think there is one, sometimes I don’t. But I think that we have developed a very unique style, a way of doing theater, if you want to put it that way, that is very much our own. It has an imprint, a way in which we move on stage, a way in which we present ourselves to the audience, a way in which we learn to grasp an issue and deal with that issue in a very particular fashion. And our learning process and our dealing with those issues has evolved and allows for a frontal attack, very direct, like what we did at the Puerto Rican Day Parade. That was, Boom! No buts, no apologies. There’s something fantastic in this, because of the elements that are present, its theatricality, plus it could not have been more direct. Going from that to an infinity of other issues that we explore and that have to do with our identity. Very free-form, and I think no one does it the way we do. That’s why I think that we do have a very particular way of talking about things and of doing theater. A legacy? I don’t know. I don’t know if we have the years to have a legacy, a legacy is something historical. I daresay that if there is a legacy, and this is already a byproduct of our artistry, it must be in the way we as an organization relate with other artists. There’s a particular style there, because we realize that we – and it’s almost a Christian thing – "do onto others as you would have them do onto you." We establish relationships with other artists without asking for too much in exchange, with a lot of honesty and a lot of respect. I think there might be a legacy in that, or maybe not. But I certainly do see the rewards in that, because I see that those relationships continue on throughout the years and we’re interested in nourishing others so that they can continue on regardless of what our own aesthetic preferences may or may not be. I think that’s something that characterizes Pregones. It’s nothing new. There are other people in the industry who share that vision with us, and with whom we share a penchant for experimentation.

Aesthetic legacy? I don’t know. Maybe someone comes in and sees it. But I think we’re still too young, too early in our history to be able to talk about that in the way we can talk about the legacy of the Puerto Rican Traveling Theater. We assume that inheritance and we do it critically, through an informal process of evaluation, an evaluation on the go, a revision. Through a historical review of what Puerto Rican theater has achieved as Puerto Rican theater, and what it is that we should be doing vis-a-vis what they have done and are still doing. It’s something I find fascinating, and the best example I can give is the work we’ve done with the club Asociación Educativa Santiago Iglesias [Santiago Iglesias Educational Association], which is the Latino club of the local electricians union. Why do they approach us? Because they have a very specific project [for us], they want us to write a play about the life and work of Santiago Iglesias Pantín [Puerto Rican labor leader]. One heck of a job, one heck of a job. Because that man was, as far as I know, really complicated. It’s a gruesome tale, but, in short, it’s part of the history of Puerto Rico and part of the history of the labor movement in Puerto Rico. But since the persons in the club have a genuine interest– We talk to members of the club to see if we can find a way to get the project off the ground, we develop an ongoing relationship with them, and we end up providing a kind of service – or rather, not a service at all, but a theatrical experience – that they would otherwise not have. For instance, there was the case of the string quartet [Cuarteto Herencia performed for the union club]. I give credit to the amplitude and inclusiveness of [the club members’] vision. I tell them it’s a string quartet playing classical music, very heavy music, very dense music, difficult music. Difficult, I say, but very beautiful, and we are having them visit us and we’d like to share that with you. And what better time than their upcoming general meeting? Herencia’s visit to Pregones coincides with the Thursday when the club has its monthly meeting. All club members, over 100 of them, are expected to be in attendance. After work they will head to the meeting hall and go over their usual laundry list: What’s going on, what are the action plans, what are the activities, what are the fees, what are we doing and who’s doing what? Dinner is served, arroz con pollo [chicken and rice]. Time has been set aside for the string quartet to play maybe three or four numbers. They start off with a work by Piazzolla or Mendelssohn, I can’t remember, but I do remember that it was a very difficult piece. I thought, "Oh well, it’s over now." These people are going to start talking, shouting, they are going to get up and they are going to walk out. No, sir. They stayed glued to their seats and the experience was unbelievably beautiful. In fact, some of them attended subsequent performances [by the quintet at Pregones Studio].

AL: Does "Promise of a Love Song" also coincide?

A: They also attended "Promise of a Love Song." Our work with them [the Santiago Iglesias Educational Association] is great, not a novelty. It’s not a novelty for Pregones, because years ago, when we worked with the hospital workers union, we were doing the same thing. There’s continuity. And that may have something to do with grassroots, or maybe not. I don’t call it that. We may be able to call it something else. I’d say, hold that thought.

An ensemble-theater scholar born and raised in Puerto Rico, Arnaldo J. Lopez studied English literature, typography and letterpress arts in Pennsylvania, where he also lived and worked as a graphic designer. A Ph.D. candidate in the Department of Spanish and Portuguese at NYU, he likes to write on issues of identity, arts and politics.

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