Interview with Dianilú Cora, former ensemble member

By Arnaldo Lopez

Dianilú Cora: [interview recording begins]...and that for me has been critical, the concept of community theater. The concept of community theater, for me, in my career, was what defined the use of theater in terms of my function as a human being in relation with everyone else. And of Pregones, the theater that gave me that vision and gave me that schooling in practical purpose, if you want to call it that.

Arnaldo Lopez: Yes.

DC: And it was through that, [through] the importance of reaching the theater artist and the person who walks by our grounds, [the person] who we bump into at the bodega, who comes to the church. And [that’s] how we set forth from a collective consciousness that [says that] this has to be for everyone. That for me has been critical because out of it comes the spiritual part of giving and receiving, and [the idea] that this is ours to give, and in the measure that we are aware of it, then our work has significance and a meaning. So there. So, the context of that in my work here is in the fact that I understand that I’ve been given a great opportunity to visualize this work, and the theater in Puerto Rico, from the perspective that it is for the whole world, for the whole world, for the whole world. And that the satisfaction of the public is as important as the satisfaction of the producer and the satisfaction of my colleagues, in knowing that what we do here is quality, is a contribution to our culture, our growth, our healing. And I told the people when they came to talk [at the museum] and we would analyze the structure, and the museum, and the whole thing, [I told them] that I understand that it’s not a coincidence that what once was a hospital to heal the body now is a space for the healing souls, which is how I see the history of the Museum, where you go and you see all that art, and you come out new! Then you stand by the garden and, forget about it, you leave this place floating, because the truth is that person who walks in the Museum does not come out walking, but floating. And that for us is so important. And, obviously, the theater fits into this collective vision. Initially the theater department was envisioned as a department that would [just] run a physical space. Then, unfortunately for them, I showed up [laughs] –fortunately or unfortunately, I’ll leave that to whomever is listening— [I showed up] thinking that these four walls are just a small part of what the theater is. Since then, it’s been about creating a collective conscience about where we’re going with it and what it is that we want to do. It has been a real process.

AL: A question, incidentally, about when you first started out. If you can tell us a little about the journey, because I want to know, for example, if you had any interest in ensemble work when you began working with Pregones or if you got there some other way. Then, once you leave [Pregones], what do you take with your from the experience of ensemble work?

DC: Oh, my God! Everything I am as an artist I got from Pregones. And it’s not the first time I say this. Every time something big happens I send an e-mail to them and say, "Friends, if it hadn’t been for you—"

Look, I am at NYU working on my second year towards my bachelor’s [degree] when a good friend tells me they’re holding auditions at Pregones in South Bronx. I basically laughed in her face, "What, are you crazy? How can you think of sending me up there?" Obviously I’m pretty new with all this stuff, and the truth is the transmutation took place at all levels. I’m being very honest because the truth is that Pregones changed my life, and it’s very important. Because if that had not happened, I would not be sitting here right now. So, I go and audition, they convinced me, so I auditioned. An experience. When I walk through the door they realize that I’m practically the twin of the person who’s on the way out, Sandra Rodriguez. And at that moment she’s just struck dumb, like, "Wow, look at this." [Laughs.] I could not sing and Jorge did this trick on the keyboard and I don’t know, they sort of said, "Yes, let’s take her."

Since I hadn’t finished my bachelor’s, the university allowed me to take this as an internship. They give me eight credit plus work and, before I graduated, I was working pretty much as a professional in the arts, all thanks to this experience. And I’ll be very honest, I arrived at zero, I came in to see what was what, and to learn. It was like my first professional experience in the arts because the first two years at the university they don’t want you to work, they want you to focus on your studies.

Ensemble experience… the first was "Migrants! cantata a los emigrantes" [Migrants! Cantata to the immigrants] and that was something wonderful. It was a delight, out of sight, to do "Migrants." Playing the castanets in that show was a major challenge, I’m still working on it! [Laughs.] But the truth is that’s when we started to really engage collectively and then we go on to create "Voces de Acero" [Voices of Steel]. We created a really important piece for my growth at every level, "El abrazo" [The Embrace]. It was a piece that dealt with AIDS and, honestly, it’s in that piece that I learned about human suffering. At no other point in the history of my life had I been face to face with other people’s reality. Because things are peachy in Puerto Rico, everything is happy, I say that Puerto Rico is the happy country. We don’t know the reality of the disappeared, nothing bad happens. And I grew up with that skewered perspective on the human reality. "El abrazo" was very intense and very, very potent. After that it was "Voces de Acero."

AL: Yes.

DC: "Voces de Acero" was, really, my first ensemble experience, because when I joined "Migrants," the piece was already done. But "Voces de Acero" was another experience of, "Wow, what is all this?" We are working closely with the history of our political prisoners and with the baggage that is the history of Puerto Rico in terms of the struggle for independence, which for me was another hard chapter to join and to see from another perspective what struggle is. In reality, even after doing all those things and joining "Baile Cangrejero," which was my last performance [with Pregones], the truth is I still cry, because I still say, "I want more, I want to continue doing that." I never tire of working with Pregones, I miss it and I tell them all the time.

What I took away with me, well, there not enough tape. First of all, I walked away with a master’s [degree], because working with Alvan Colón Lespier, I realized that what I had yet to master was the technical work. And working with Pregones, I realize that my master’s needs to be in set design and technical work. That’s the most significant thing in concrete terms, or practical, if you will. That allows my career to become well rounded because now I have administrative experience, and I have my bachelor’s in acting. And then, well, they get me motivated. Because the truth is that Alvan gave me tremendous support in order for me to continue studying, and what that did basically was to complete my artistic experience to the point where, in terms of theater I can basically do anything. Even the stuff I don’t need to do, but I have the knowledge, and that was extremely important because it gave me huge personal confidence in my work and it helped me to develop in all areas. In terms of my conscience as an artist, it’s just too much, but to sum it up, I think, like I said in the beginning, it’s in the importance of [knowing] what is the use of theater, what is it here for? It’s here to give, it’s here to heal, its here to contribute to peoples’ personal growth even if we are talking about the crassest comedy. We are talking about looking at ourselves from the outside and seeing – in that responsibility as actors, as directors, as public artists – what it is that we are doing with our influence over the people we work with and the people to whom we give our art. That consciousness was critical, as was the importance of knowing that all of us are responsible for working with all sectors – the universal notion that theater is for everyone that can pay to see it, and that it has to be done for those who cannot pay to see it, and that it has to be done for those that are well off and happy, and that it has to be done for those that are sad, and that it has to be done. That is the vision. I was faced with the responsibility of all the things that can take place inside the theater and, aside from that, with my entire discipline. Knowing that you arrive at the theater two hours early, that you may be dying but if there’s a show to put on, then the show must go on. My entire discipline as an actor comes from Pregones. All of it. Absolutely all my artistic discipline. And if I’m an undisciplined actor I’m also going to say it’s their fault, but I don’t think I am... Though sometimes I do go wild…

AL: Very interesting, this last thing. If possible, I’d like to ask you for an anecdote, maybe something representative of [Pregones’] ensemble work, that is, about having to dialogue as a group. Do you have any reflections or memories about one moment in particular? It seems to me that the creation of "Voces de Acero" is one where you took on a leadership role.

DC: Yes, in fact, because the work was very, very intense and I think we had to deal with our prejudice and we had to deal with our preconceived ideas about why these people are or aren’t there. In this piece we had to learn not to judge. We had to learn to be objective and to give the facts, so that the people would have awareness. And that meant a lot of internal work. But in terms of collective work, and I have to go back to that experience, it was "El abrazo," because "El abrazo" was intense with yourself, in other words, you had to share from your own experiences, share your fears, share and draw from all your preconceived notions, and work with that and realize the support that came from the group, the collective support in terms of, "Look, we can tap into this from here, or do it this way or that." And for you to surrender to the flexibility of working with all the ideas in dealing with a piece that touched your most intimate substance. Plus the fact that the works were done in ensemble and that’s how they were taken to the public. When we collected the audience response, looking back as a way to process it all, and that was incorporated as part of the evolution of the piece. Because we were face-to-face with the people who were living these experiences, the people that were close to them. We faced the need to hug people with AIDS right then and there on stage, we faced the need to cry with [them] right then and there, we faced the need to forgive, we faced the need. In that sense [Augusto] Boal really nailed it. The kind of theater we did was that of putting ourselves in that place; and then it had to be teased out and processed, it was marvelous the way in which it continued to evolve and incorporate as part of a collective creation. And it’s very important [to know], [that] without ever, ever, ever sacrificing aesthetics. This is one of the things that distinguishes the work that Pregones does, as I understand it; because the truth is that even after I left, I still saw it. For example, [El último rosario de] "Medea," in which I did technical work from the outside, but I still saw the entire process and I still know that the setup and montage came from a collective effort, and, forget about it, no one can deny that – collective, it’s collective. All the way to the grave. You see it there, you see it in everything and that gives coherence to the ensemble. What that does, ultimately, is that it brings all the team together and makes it one, and inevitably it has to be a hit, [laughs] it’s like the secret for success, there’s no other choice. There’s no other way to go. You make it together. It’s your baby. You’re working "together." You’re creating this for your children’s children and their children. Even when you’re the new kid, because for "Baile Cangrejero" I came in after the fact – heck, that’s when I got to stir up my Blackness, it’s all their fault! Forget about it! Goodness, the things that still come out of my mouth! That’s being Black, too. It’s very important to be Black. I also discovered that in Pregones. It was and continues to be an important lesson because I have never really broken the ties with Pregones, I still consider myself Pregonera, no matter where I’m standing. [Laughs.] I’m getting the tattoo. Todavía soy pregonera y lo seguiré siendo hasta que me muera. Forget about it!

AL: I have one last question. Who was the audience that you met at Pregones? Who was the audience and who was the community of that theater?

DC: That’s a huge question, because when I arrived at Pregones the audience was really small, limited and [self-]selective. We were working closely with the South Bronx community and we were working hard at creating an awareness that it was possible to do good theater there. Thanks to the ensemble, and I have to single out the work of Rosalba Rolón, who is one of my models in this and in everything [else], the audiences at Pregones began to grow and the house grew fuller, people started crossing the bridge from Manhattan because they heard that there was an excellent theater doing incredible work in the Bronx. And also the local audience who were then just becoming a theater audience, because we’re talking about the transformation of a space where generally people are not accustomed to seeing this kind of work. [Pregones] became a magical place where theater festivals developed to such an extent that people stood in lines that ran around the corner in order to get in. And to see that line was very reassuring, because before that in the South Bronx people got in line only to see who was going to deliver today’s drugs. We got to the point where we were creating lines for something else, where people came with the hope that when they walked through the door they were going to participate in an experience so unique they’d come to the South Bronx to find it. Because it wasn’t happening anywhere else. I think that is the team’s transcendental accomplishment, a team that included Rosalba, Alvan, Jorge Merced and Judith Rivera, who are, in my opinion, the four pillars of this theater and who have been there throughout its history. The truth is I can’t say enough about their work. So much, so much.

AL: I’m curious about the works you’re looking at now for what you want to do here [at the Arts Museum of Puerto Rico], the nature of that work, what you are bringing in.

DC: To be honest, right now we’re in the middle of a process, a reorganization process. They’ve given us this sort of Disneyland. [Laughs.] We’re in the process of figuring the machinery, how to get people in and how to show them around. I won’t talk to you about content because if I talk about content I close my mind to the other possibilities and I want to avoid that at all cost. I really want to stay open to the possibilities. One of the things I’m beginning to see and that has been an interesting thing to talk about, I’m creating a poetry series at the museum. Once a month we’re doing poetry and we are opening with David Ortiz Angleró , who is bringing a fabulous poetry presentation, that’s the first in the series. The second one will be the best of this group of experimental poets that gathers at the Placita in San Juan on Wednesdays twice a month. I’ve seen them do open mike and allow themselves to be really informal in the middle of the plaza and share their poetry with everyone and see the response. That’s the second presentation. The guy that organizes the poetry reading at the Plaza de Armas was in shock to think that his poets will be read alongside David Ortiz Angleró, The fact that they feel this is their home as much as David feels this is his home, for the public to know that we can have the works of veterans like David as well as the works of those who are starting out now and need a forum to be heard, so that when they become the future David Ortiz Angler\ or Julia [de Burgos] or whatever .it is known that that there was a place in Puerto Rico where they were welcome and free to express themselves, and we make sure that everything is in place so that the community can receive them. Maybe we can go beyond the limited budget and facilities of Plaza de Armas with its little microphone and scarce publicity, so, we can help them and they can maybe have two homes, their Plaza de Armas and The Arts Museum of Puerto Rico. That’s what we’re aiming for. In terms of content, I can’t say, because the people of Puerto Rico will decide that, I think.

AL: Thank you.

DC: It’s been a real pleasure, this is your house and I hope to have you back many times.

Addendum (with Jorge Merced)

DC: I was so completely blocked [in the last performance of "Baile Cangrejero"]. I thought one lost concentration on stage because something happens. Someone sticks a foot in your face and a four-letter word comes out. Wrong, it comes from the inside. After that, I was like a zombie on stage. "Oh my God, what did I say?" [Laughs.] That day it was brutal, we’ve been told. That mob of people and we’re trying to act and Jorge’s in character and Alvan pulls me out, he said, "Get out the way and go behind." I sat down and was in shock. I noticed I was in shock when a song started that I needed to do the accompaniment for on the other side of the stage and instead I’m sitting here looking at the musicians with this look of, "Sorry guys, just didn’t make it on time." Jorge looked like Quixote at the windmills and he kept the action going until, at last, the mob settled down and we gave them "Baile Cangrejero." I don’t say it was my last performance with Pregones, because I have to redeem myself. And I’m going to call it "The last incredible presentation at Roberto Clemente High School." I can’t even forget the name of the school – that was three years of therapy. Oh my God! It was brutal!

JM: That was incredible, because that was a moment when the public claimed ownership of the cultural event. When the music starts, the whole Afro-Caribbean music and poetry thing starts. Something happened in them and they said, "This is ours, and this is a fiesta." And the uproar was unbelievable, and they felt free to shout out to Dianilú. They saw this beautiful woman coming out in this tight dress…

DC: The truth is that is was an incredible experience. I think the most interesting thing about the experience was the crowd’s transition, because when we finished the kids were in love. It was all of sudden a challenge. Like when you’re challenging the conga, and you hit me and I hit you back and the dynamic is strong, passionate and violent. Because to an extent it is violent, I think that’s the thing, too. We went in with the attitude, "Give me some, there’s plenty." Until finally—because the piece is so extraordinary that it takes you through all those feelings that are part of the Black experience. There was a Black girl with such beautiful eyes that I wanted to take her home. I wrote a poem and everything, because it had been extraordinary. I felt like getting inside the crowd, talking to people. It was tremendous.

JM: Something else that was really impressive was when Dianilú was participating in "Voces de Acero." Each one of us took on the task of creating a character based on the history of people who were still alive. Diani’s character was Wilma, and it was interesting to see how she, with her training from NYU, where the preparation is in performance, started dealing with how an actor gets much further through commitment, be it artistic, aesthetic or social. That ensemble work provides her [with the tools] and tells her, "Here, this is yours, we’re not doing anything for you, this is yours to create." It was interesting to see that change in Diani. She said, "Yes, these tools belong to me." And the stuff she began to write based on the testimonies! It was really interesting how she, for the first time, as an artist, finds herself in control when she starts to take possession, really, of that instrument. To this day that character is not the creation of an author, it’s the creation of an artist that comes out of a collective, someone who already understood what an ensemble means.

DC: In that sense, applying that experience to what is going on now, one of the things we have planned is that [the Puerto Rican performance group] Agua Sol y Sereno joins us for an artistic residency; we’re currently in the negotiations. One of the conditions is that Agua Sol y Sereno will create a piece based on the history of Santurce that comes from that liberty taken to create out of our own lived experiences – and I say "our" because even though I’m not from Santurce, my mother and father are. And to an extent this was a part of me, because I know all the stories about the kids of La Central in '56 when my mother graduated; and the odyssey of tearing down the 21st block, leaving people homeless and in search of a place to live; and the story of Liberato, the drunkard of stop 24, who died all alone at a bench in la plaza. So, based on the incredible opportunity that Pregones gave me, now I know that I can go back into history and bring scenes to life with artistic rigor, enriched on all levels, and that it’s basically up to us to explode and explore and take it even further. And I hope that piece, based on the history of this place that we are trying to build— Because the truth is that Santurce had a glorious past. Back then the history of Puerto Rico was taking place between Puerta de Tierra and Barrio Obrero. Right here is where everything happened, in terms of an evolution, because this is where country folks first came. They started the sociedades, what we know today as the metropolitan area came out of this place. I think that my daughter has to come to know these things. It’s really important that we never lose that. I want my daughter, who was born much later, to be able to sing the boleros that her grandmother sang, from beginning to end. I want her to know the songs of Felipe Rodríguez, Trío Los Panchos, Los Borincanos, etc., etc. All that needs to be rescued and kept alive in every sense, because I think that if I didn’t have that as a tool, I wouldn’t know how to do it today. That’s the truth.

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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