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Dear Friend:

I write this letter knowing that it’s hard to give in times of scarcity, or economic fear. But here I pause.  Because, actually, it’s always hard to give.  Even in times of plenty, of super-abundance, it’s hard to give.  One’s perception of one’s own wealth is not objective.

I was joking with a friend of mine that in times of economic peril, perhaps playwrights would be highly protected—we’re economically marginalized even in the best of times.  But it was a grim joke. The arts will be the first to go in times when we might need art most—to inspire us, to bring us together, to help us laugh at ourselves, and to experience beauty.  I recently read a study that proved that people who were poked with Tazers were less likely to experience pain if they were looking at paintings they found beautiful.  And so it seems objectively true that beauty ameliorates pain, possibly even economic pain.
 
Playwrights Horizons is one of the only theaters in New York exclusively dedicated to producing living playwrights.  They are one of our beacons, our ships of safety.  I was fortunate enough to have my play, Dead Man’s Cell Phone, produced at Playwrights Horizons last season.  I found that they emphasized process and the writer’s voice.  I’ve enjoyed gasp worthy moments at Playwrights—from Doug Wright's I Am My Own Wife to Lynn Nottage's Fabulation to Kathleen Tolan's Memory House to Tanya Barfield’s Blue Door. The plays that are produced here are challenging in their form and content, and the audiences here seem to crave such brazenness.  Playwrights Horizons supports heroic voices who continue to experiment and to stun us like Christopher Durang and Craig Lucas.  And, they nurture the next generation of playwrights—Adam Bock, Jordan Harrison, Christina Anderson, Rinne Groff, Kate Fodor—to name only a few.  The fact that the lobby is decorated with text—honoring words from playwrights—says it all: this is a place where the written word matters.
 
I believe that we need living playwrights to continue the great tradition of theater as a living art form, an art of the polis, a mirror of our political and personal landscape. And, we need you—we desperately need you—to continue this art form. Perhaps we don’t need scientific proof that beauty ameliorates pain. We have always known this.  It is one proof of our humanness—that beauty (immeasurable, unbuyable, unswallowable, distant, hovering, always constant beauty) moves us. Times of peril might encourage us to be more like animals—to clutch at survival, to edge others out.  But let’s soften the better light of our natures and come together instead.  Give only a little, give what you can afford, or give shockingly, surprisingly, more than you thought you could.  Most importantly, keep coming back to the theater.  We need each other more than ever.

Sincerely,
 
 Sarah Ruhl

P.S. Thank you for supporting Playwrights Horizons. Won’t you please consider giving a generous gift of $100 more this holiday season? Click HERE to donate online NOW!

Original artwork by Robert Risko for New Yorker Magazine.