Jannelle Codianni is a producer, theater tech, and sonic saw enthusiast. We met back in college where, among other things, she was an Art Cheerleader and ran Mass Art's women's group. As a storyteller she's won the 2012 MassMouth slam and was featured on WGBH’s Stories From the Stage. After a divorce at 35, Jannelle moved to a small cabin in the woods where she began a process of self-rediscovery that led to her current role as Executive Director of ātac, a local performing and visual arts organization serving MetroWest communities in Framingham, Massachusetts. No one knows what the future holds for small, vital spaces like ātac right now, but if there's a way out of this mess, Jannelle's the kind of artist who'll find it. Ben: So you’re in Providence now, when did you cross state lines?
Jannelle: I signed my lease just before everything [COVID-19] happened. Then we shut down the venue. I don't know how the hell we're going to get through this. Herculean things will be attempted. But yeah, I just moved to Westminster.
Ben: A classic local street! How is it up there?
Jannelle: Rhode Island seems to be doing a pretty bang up job compared to the rest of the country. There’s tons of testing. People have been told to not wait for multiple symptoms, just go. Every now and then I get a bout of anxiety, you know? But right now we're totally fine. I will likely be employed, miraculously, in the arts for some months, though I'm going to need to figure out how to make money for the venue in ways that are not at all what we traditionally do. This isn’t what we're set up for.
Ben: Let’s come back to the venue in a bit. What’s the Jannelle origin story? Did you have an artistic family? Teen years, that kinda stuff.
Jannelle: I didn't have family in the arts, which may have to do with demographics, because I come from poor people. Both of my grandmothers were artists in that they drew and painted. My mother's mother, who's in Western Pennsylvania, is a renegade builder and maker of sorts. Lots of home repairs. She would redo rooms, paint murals in the house, redo all the furniture or you know, take a door outside and put torches to them for effect. Crafting, but to the extreme. My other grandmother could paint, she had skill but didn't utilize it in a lifestyle way. I could draw as a kid and grew up thinking of myself as creative but not like I think of the word “artist” today...more just having a kind of natural ability that was present without practice.
“We had uniforms, did full stunts like basket tosses and pyramids and opened for cool bands like Le Tigre and the Butchies.”
Jannelle: I did a lot of photography as a teenager, but I was in North Jersey, slightly before the Internet. I wasn't connected to any indie music or art scene. Even though it's so close to New York City and I had friends who would like go into the city for raves at The Limelight and shit...I just wasn't doing that. I was like, “I dunno guys, that sounds very dangerous!” I was president of my class, on the field hockey team and tried all of the sports. I also had a terrible experience with depression and ended up leaving home when I was 16. I finished high school with a GED and I moved to Oakland.
Ben: You just up and moved? Who did you move in with?
Jannelle: I had an aunt out there. I got my GED and was applying to colleges at that point. I worked full time at a camera store, but felt very alone. I was too young to be hanging out with other people who had full time jobs, but other people my age were still in high school. I was independent, I had my own money but it was lonely.
Ben: Were you out at this point?
Jannelle: I had gone out and come back in a couple of times by this point [laughs]. I came out in high school and had the privilege of some sort of small-town popularity to back me up. I wouldn’t say I was popular per say but I was known, being class president and vice president of a couple of clubs. Then I fell in love with a dude who was in college and it was confusing. The generation we’re in, I don’t know if you feel this way but there’s some kind of internalized bi-phobia.
Ben: The 90s, at least where I’m from, didn’t have the language of queerness yet. Bisexuality was something men desired in women because of the possibility of a three-way or something right? But if you were a bi man, you were actually gay and just hadn’t come to grips with it yet. It was very regulated by heteronormative fears and desires.
Jannelle: Or somebody was bound to humiliate you by leaving you for someone of another gender...a bunch of garbage. I identify as queer but it took me years to even be able to say bisexual because of imposed feelings that it was somehow flaky and not real. Now my oldest daughter identifies as Bi. Her generation seems to have readopted it. I don’t know. I was just a little butch lady in California trying to do street photography with my Pentax.
Ben: That camera brought you back to the east coast, to Boston where you attended Mass Art.
Jannelle: So I applied to what felt like every decent art school in the country, and then I went around and toured most of them. I was so young, and it seems so wild that I just traveled around with a physical portfolio but, that’s what I did. I got into most places, except Parsons. I think I got in because of my essay. I had good grades but then this story of leaving school, moving, and how everything got fucked up. It was a story. But I couldn't get enough financial aid for most of these schools. Mass Art, I could afford.
Ben: We were in the same major, SIM, and co-produced the student-run series Eventworks. I don’t recall how that came to be, do you?
Jannelle: We were both producing a lot of shows and it seemed a logical next step. I knew I wanted to run it. I had my sights on it from the beginning. Before, I didn't really know about producing shows. I’d been to shows, obviously, but the model of being able to explore a lot of things from one place, that was new and exciting.
Ben: Around that time you were also involved with The Art Cheerleaders. I remember going to see you open for Le Tigre at The Milky Way [original location].
Jannelle: Oh yes! Darcy from the Milky Way did that show. Actually recently I was talking to Lauriana [Zuluaga] because we both went to see Bikini Kill last year. She reminded me you’d done a bunch of stuff for The Art Cheerleaders. She was like, “Remember how Ben worked for us?” You made our buttons and stuff like that.
Ben: I did? It sounds like something I’d do but I have zero memory of that. Can you explain exactly what Art Cheerleaders was all about?
The main stage atac in Framingham, Massachusetts, where Jannelle is currently Executive Director. Photo by Dave Shrewsbury, courtesy of Jannelle Condianni.
Jannelle: The Art Cheerleaders were a satirical performance art troupe. We were mostly poking fun at stereotypes about artists—there was a cheer called “What can you be with an art degree?” and the call-and-response were things like “Cafe / Waitress!” There was another one called “Everything’s Been Done Before” where we would break out and say “I know! I’ll..” and describe a piece of art and the group would interrupt saying, “Thats been done before.” Mine was about William Wegman and those dogs. We had uniforms, did full stunts like basket tosses and pyramids and opened for cool bands like Le Tigre and The Butchies. Didn’t you do stuff for Live Girls, too?
Ben: Not so much. But the first events you and I put on were to raise $500 so we could buy a temporary insurance policy that let us do a few gigs at the original ICA on Boylston St., one of those was a Live Girls gig. So Live Girls was...?
Jannelle: Yeah, that's my memory, too. So Live Girls was a women's spoken word group formed in response to this wave of late 90s spoken word movement that was very, very male. This was our way of not going to battle over it, just bypassing those shows and doing our own thing. It had a range of performers, but usually about eight per show. Always sold out, always packed. Lots of them were free, but still...just packed.
Then I started W.A.I.L., remember? Women for Action, Integrity, and Learning. It was the women's organization at Mass Art and I used our budget to put those shows on. We put out a CD, and around the time of a second CD went on tour. We traveled all over. In New York we played a bunch of really well known places. Like, we sent a VHS demo tape around and got gigs at Brooklyn Arts Exchange, CBGB’s, Bluestockings, AIR Gallery. A VHS tape! It’s still wild to me that we did that. I have one of our original tour posters, made by Rachel Bookbinder, framed on my office wall today. It reminds me of all of the things that I did when I didn't know any better. When we didn’t know what it meant to be afraid.
Ben: It’s also a reminder of all the people who are rooting for you along the way. All those venue bookers, they watched that VHS tape, they took the time.
“I don't know how to run a live events venue in a global pandemic and economic crisis. They don't teach you these things in school. ”
Jannelle: Totally. That drives a lot of my current work. There doesn't seem to be many young people producing shows the way our generation did, but it doesn't mean there aren’t young people looking for a building to have a show in. I’m trying to find them and be helpful.
Ben: Jumping forward a bit, I was looking up this spot you worked more recently, The Rowe Center. Sort of a retreat and meditation camp yeah?
Jannelle: I'll try and do this quickly. So I got divorced. I had been married for 10 years and homeschooled my two kids. I was a home mom making stuff, baking bread, and raising my children. When I got divorced I hadn't been in the traditional workforce for a decade. Before that I did theater tech stuff but that was like a million years ago before LEDs were an all the fixtures. I’d been at the retreat center doing a volunteer program, I would take my kids every year. When I realized my marriage might be over and I needed to do a different thing, I was there and a job opened up as the maintenance person. I just asked for the job and they gave it to me. I went home, told my husband I’d signed a contract for six months, and then we’d see what would happen.
He then very quickly called a divorce lawyer, and I became head of maintenance. This is crazy, right? My job there was to like, fix the plumbing, the electrical, to take care of the grounds, to take care of all of the buildings. There were cabins, large buildings, a real mix. I lived in a cabin out there. I’d known how to do a lot of this from previously gutting and rebuilding our own home. Another job was to prepare the conferences...the chairs, the A/V stuff.
Ben: You were the grounds keeper and, also the A/V tech? Did the job description say “Must know how to test well water and also, focus a PAR light?”
The Art Cheerleaders practicing in Olympia, WA before Lady Fest in 2000. Photo courtesy of Jannelle Condianni.
Jannelle: I was able to do a good job, overall. Some things better than others, but nobody else was doing them anyhow. And when I say A/V I am talking like, a school classroom, not complicated. But I did my best and I loved that job so much. It was my favorite job of all time. I remember on Fridays the conference leaders would come in and the whole place would be like getting ready, there was an energy. Some of the guests were legit famous. Like a Ralph Nader. Fucking Patch Adams was there, you know? I was like, “Oh, this is day-of-show energy,” which I hadn't experienced in a long time. I just loved it.
Ben: It’s a very specific mix of adrenaline and calm.
Jannelle: Yeah, totally. Something I super duper enjoy about day-of-show is being really calm while everything is crazy. The practice of balancing priorities on the fly is one of my favorite parts of show production, hands down. I mean, creating a space that empowers people to do their best work is the main goal, but when there’s five things happening at once, and one of them going wrong, keeping it together and holding space for everybody, providing the grounding energy...that is me.
Ben: Do you think there’s any relationship between your desire to be the person who holds it all together, and being someone who had a rocky adolescence?
Jannelle: Yes, I do. day-of-show is basically a mini crisis. It's a thing that has to happen right now, with super high stakes, lots of people involved, and things go wrong. That's a show. I mean, back me up on that? It's a crisis. I think if you grow up in trauma, you're wired to manage. It feels very comfortable to me to be in that environment. Actually, when this pandemic began and I shut down our venue, I immediately started a fundraiser, notified everyone on our board, and kept it together. People thought I was handling it so well and I’m just like, “It’s childhood trauma time! My time to shine.” My whole life has been dealing with these moments. To finish that thought a bit more, I don't necessarily get an adrenaline rush from the potential of things going wrong. I don't prefer that. But I know that if they do, or if something is unexpected, that I'll mostly be able to handle it. When I'm in a situation where something has happened outside of my imagination of things that could go wrong, it's the worst. It's painful. I have an imposter syndrome, always.
Ben: Well, other folks have deemed you to be not-an-imposter, right? You’ve become the Executive Director of a nonprofit arts center in Massachusetts.
Jannelle: Yes. Okay, so because I still only had two years of job experience, I started my own business redoing home improvement work. Then I went back to freelancing tech and event production work, mainly lighting through High Output. I worked at the BCA doing production, too.
Ben: BCA...the Cyclorama?
“…you invite the audience, and you invite the performer. When you produce, you are inviting both into a home that you have made. It's your job to keep them safe.”
Jannelle: Yeah. The Cyclorama was my favorite building in Boston. Then I started taking classes through UMass Amherst’s online school for arts admin because I knew I wanted to get back in, but I was missing years of career development. I didn’t have the right language. You can get a master's degree in arts administration management, or you can take the same classes without credit but get their professional certificate. I don't need a master's degree for Christ’s sake...to pay for that. While I was taking the intro class, I had performed at this venue, Amazing Things Art Center, and I was like, “What the hell is up with this weird space?”
The theater was really nice, it’s in an old firehouse in Framingham. I was totally fascinated by the place but it was like, empty. That show’s producer told me they had a hard time with marketing. For my class I had to do a research project on a venue, so I called up the executive director there. After I gave her a copy of my final report, she offered me a job as the marketing and outreach coordinator. This was super super part time, but it was something. Then she very quickly resigned and said I should apply for the open position.
Ben: She wanted out, and in you, saw a way to hand the space off to someone responsible.
Jannelle: Basically, yes. But I didn't get the job. The board didn't hire me for a bunch of reasons, mainly that I'd never been an executive director before. They hired a woman who’s now a good friend of mine who worked incredibly hard and when she eventually resigned a year later, she basically told the board to bring me in.
Ben: And what’s the quick birds-eye-view of what happens there?
Jannelle: It's a small local performing and visual arts organization that serves MetroWest communities. It’s multi genre, and historically has focused on jazz, folk, open mics, and has three curated gallery spaces.
Ben: Okay and what happens to all that when Jannelle comes to town?
Jannelle: The organization has been around since 2005, and as I said it’s been focused mostly on music programs. The most recent gallery curator really elevated that program and the spaces look great. But no punk shows, no real rock shows, no hip hop. It was a static chair setup, and I’ve been trying to increase the venue’s flexibility. I immediately changed the name and the branding because the place had been in the same venue for a decade and the community really didn't know what was happening. There's like a lot of intersecting reasons but basically, it's not a place that's easy to just stumble upon.
Ben: Aside from the branding and chair removal though, what’s the big picture vision?
Jannelle: Here's what we're doing: making sure that it's a place that has a reputation for caring for artists and empowering artists. First, I want to help turn this building into a resource for artists to record their work, to have shows, to develop their press kits, put an album together and all that. But I also want it to be sustainable. I can't ask people to play for free. A lot of past events, open mics and stuff, people were working for free. This isn’t a charity, those are not my ethics. I want people to value creative work, pay for it, and ensure the funds are distributed appropriately to the people who need them most. One of the ways this is happening is with wider membership opportunities, more affordable opportunities to support at different levels. Well, before this pandemic anyhow.
Ben: This is going to maybe be long-winded so bare with me. Last October you made an Instagram post about weightlifting where you wrote, “Here's the thing about going back to light weights. You need to treat them like they're heavy and give them the same respect you would be impressive weights because they're the builders. They're the reality.”
Left: Program schedule for Lady Fest (2000) in Olympia, WA. The Art Cheerleaders performed at The Capitol Theater in the PM slot. Right: Flyer for W.A.I.L.’s Women’s Spoken Word Show and CD release at Mass Art.
Ben: You were a prolific producer at 20, 21 and— not to dismiss all of the domestic and other forms of labor you did over the next two decades —then you more or less left the events world. What are the equivalent light weights for cultural production? Like what did you immediately fall back on?
Jannelle: It’s that you invite the audience, and you invite the performer. When you produce, you are inviting both into a home that you have made. It's your job to keep them safe. You are a servant to both of those groups, and you honor their needs and keep them safe. That seems heavier now that we're dealing with a global pandemic, but that's essentially always how I’ve thought about it. It’s foundational.
Ben: In addition to producing, you’re a skilled live storyteller. What’s the relationship between the two? Do you think of events as storytelling or vice versa?
Jannelle: Being a performer with a background in tech really informs the way that I manage the venue. I’m more of a translator than author, and that's helpful in a very practical sense. While I don't think of individual events the same as I would storytelling, I do think of venue management that way...maybe not curation specifically but programmatic development. Running a small community based space, you are continually telling the story of the place itself. Within the building there’s an arts community, a music community, a theater community and those groups are not necessarily in conversation with each other. So to make the place cohesive, to make it alive, you're continually telling the audience the story of the whole.
Ben: This is a bit of a mode switch, away from production and into your personal artistic practice a bit. Your instagram is largely two things: you using power tools and doing repair work, and nudes. Could speak about that series for a bit?
Jannelle: I started my Instagram account when I was newly divorced, or newly separated, it takes forever to get divorced. I was living in the woods and working at Rowe Center, and was exploring a whole bunch of things related to my body, my sexuality, pleasure, and the other things 35 year old white women do when they leave a marriage. I was also deeply thinking about solitude, like essential solitude. I was really alone with myself in a way that was new.
Adjacent to that, something that was happening a lot at my work was people constantly commenting when I was doing building work, fixing work, or carrying heavy things around. They would say, “Oh, it's so nice to see a woman doing this work.” Or people often called me a “real woman.” I realized over time that what they meant was a femme woman. The thing that was interesting to people was that I was presenting as very feminine. It clearly felt incongruent to them. I'm pretty comfortable with the fact that none of my pieces “fit” together, but some people feel a need to comment.
Ryanne Hodson (left) and Jannelle (right) outside CBGB in 2001 for the Live Girls spoken word tour. Photo provided by Jannelle Condianni.
Jannelle: I started making pictures that were a mix of me out on the job, and then doing very quiet, intimate pictures inside my cabin. It took a while, but I got much better at just being in my own naked body. I was exploring my gentle new relationship to myself and my solitude. Having my naked body on the internet, even though it's very basic and a bunch of people do it, I had to interface with a ton of harassment. I had to sift through a lot of “You're asking for it” kind of shit, which brings up internal demons. I guess it’s about dual existence. What a body holding a hammer looks like, what a naked body looks like, and how they can grow together.
Ben: What's your favorite power tool?
Jannelle: My favorite power tool? Oh. Well I mean, it’s the compound miter saw. No! It’s the sonic saw. Those things are crazy. You can do anything with a sonic saw, it’s like a huge dremel. Cutting out holes in drywall, paneling to put around electrical boxes, or cutting shit out around fucked up doorways...these are all important things for old New England homes that have half settled into mud and rocks. Oh and sanding weird spots.
Ben: So how are you going to tackle the coming months?
Jannelle: I don't know how to run a live events venue in a global pandemic and economic crisis. They don't teach you these things in school. So, I’m going to do what artists do. I’m going to look for inspiration, and I’m going to try. We need our culture and this industry to find a new kind of strength, and I don’t know exactly what it will look like. I guess to your earlier question about what it is I’m trying to do here, I want to try and make this venue a toolset. It’s a cool building with good flow. I'm constantly telling people like, “Send your kids to me. Send me everybody, all your young people. I'm an adult with a budget and a building, and I promise to love them and help them grow.”
Ben: An adult with a budget! [laughs]
Jannelle: Seriously. Most people hate teenagers. I love them. I want them to fuck it up. I want to run a drop in after school program called “Fucking Around on a Light Board,” but first, we have to stay open.