5Q4: Kari Warfield

For those who have wondered or suspected, yes there is a secret code among we who are tattooed. Be it a single inking on your wrist or sleeves full of adornment, wherever on the continuum you may be, you are one with the others. And so when I met Kari Warfield at last year’s Art & Wine Faire , each of us holding down tents for our respective theaters— Altarena Playhouse for her, Foodbank Players for me—and spotted her art, I thought, of course, it was meant to be. And then the theater talk began. There may be other sects that ramble as stage folk do, but I doubt with as much zeal. Every person who has ever produced, directed, acted, stage managed, or crewed has stories to tell, many zany stories, of mishaps, moments of heroism, and maladies. It’s as if every thespian operates like an NFL player who has popped an Advil or two, taped it up, sucked it up, and limped back onto the field of play, or stage.

Talking with Kari was a thrill because, forgive the bias, theater people have an extra zing to them, with eyes that sparkle, enthralling gestures, and voices you happily lean into to get it all. It is with great joy and generosity, then, that I introduce to you Altarena’s amazing General Manager, who provided answers to 5Q4: Kari Warfield .

At what moment did you discover that you wanted to be an artist?

In 9th grade I took an art class. We did clay sculpture, paint, pencil, and T-shirt printing. There wasn’t a genre I didn’t love. I already had a pretty quirky eye—my clay sculpture was a man screaming as a hand pulled him back, my painting was a Picasso-inspired self-portrait triptych, the pencil study was a fisheye picture of Dean Martin. My parents didn’t even try to understand me. They never tried to dissuade me, but they never quite got me. I auditioned for the school musical in 10th grade, and was cast as the lead. I fell head-over-heels for theater in that period. There hasn’t been an aspect of theater, performance, production, or design that I haven’t studied in school and done in a professional setting.

Who was the most influential person who helped you achieve your goal?

Growing up in Wyoming, art was met with “what are you going to do with that?” Needless to say, I didn’t really get a lot of active support. I have had great professors in college, and directors I learned from. Mostly I have been a ball of spite and succeeded despite the naysayers or those who would overlook me. I often find myself in situations where I don’t get artistic support beyond what I can bring to a production. I imagine a majority of artists out there don’t have unabashed support and favoritism/nepotism. I have found my support in peers along the way, like classmates from college, one who set me on my path to Alameda, and my proverbial bootstraps. I think if I had stayed in my home state, my beautiful and talented mentor there, Brenda Lyttle, would have been a great source of support. But Chicago was calling, and I am so glad I answered.

Tell us about the best—or a best—experience you had as a performer?

I played Josefa in A Shot in the Dark in Chicago. Not only was it an amazing cast to work with, but I received some of my favorite reviews. It was a completely validating experience that I put so much work into. I had never given thought to the word “moxie” before, and now I remind myself that I do have moxie, and it is an amazing tool to have in my kit.

Conversely, tell us about a pretty bad experience.

I can’t rightly say. All experiences are worth it—if you aren’t learning something about your craft, you are learning about your boundaries or your limitations. Maybe the worst involving a production was when I was diagnosed with bronchitis, but was really in an asthma attack. I was performing two shows a day, every other day, singing, dancing, and doing chase scenes, during Frontier Days in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and surviving on homemade lemon, ginger, and honey tea. I was on meds for bronchitis, and was specifically told I was not having an asthma attack. There is a weird and dangerous magic to “the character is not sick even if the actor is.” I definitely learned and changed my views on performance and health.

Any advice to folks out there hoping to pursue a life in the arts?

Follow your heart. And get a spine of steel. You will receive so many more rejections than opportunities. Each rejection is a chance to improve. Sometimes it means you have to improve, but sometimes it means you have to look elsewhere for your people. They are out there, and when you find them, it will feel like magic. When it isn’t magic, learn from it what suits you and move on. Don’t let the rejection define you as if it is the palate of color filling your canvas, but let it shape you like the shadows that are necessary in any fine art.

Read Gene’s review of the current production at Altarena Theater, The Night Alive .

Gene Kahane is the founder of the Foodbank Players , a lifelong teacher, and former Poet Laureate for the City of Alameda. Reach him at gene@alamedapost.com . His writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Gene-Kahane .

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