Above the stage, above the lights, above the scenery and the drops and borders and legs is a platform. Depending on where you might be that platform has a few different names…the jump, the pinrail, the mid stage rail, the fly floor. It’s in the dark for every performance, almost never seen by performers, often forgotten unless something goes wrong - the haze isn’t working, a pipe full of lights suddenly isn’t responding. Then it’s a quick run up there in the dark to try to find and fix the problem as quickly as possible.
It’s also - in my eyes and the eyes of a few others - an ideal spot to photograph people, and since December 2025 I've been photographing theater folks of every stripe up there...stagehands, stage managers, choreographers, designers, artistic directors, amazing dancers from companies like Martha Graham Dance Company, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, Dance Theatre of Harlem...Tony winners, Emmy winners, and even Broadway icons like Harvey Fierstein and Billy Porter. I've captured them on "tight fives" during rehearsals, in and out of makeup, in costume and in rehearsal gear, just before the curtain rises on closing night, on lunch breaks, during loadins...wherever I can grab just a couple minutes. My cameras and lenses and one light live up there. I retouch images during shows and on my breaks.
Unbeknownst to a lot of my photographer friends and followers, I am also a third generation Local One IATSE stagehand, working as lighting programmer and general all around genial lighting mook. For me, this means different things in different places….in TV it can mean babysitting a lighting rig and doing ad hoc programming and focusing for a show that changes lighting positions every day, or changing levels for different complexions on camera. On Broadway it can mean lots of “ins and outs,” basically installing and removing lighting setups for different shows, or it can be running the lights for a show 8-10 times a week, trying to stay on time with the music, or working as a sub for someone else who has that spot permanently.
In other theaters, off-Broadway or those that host dance/opera, it is definitely a lot of ins and outs. The thing that most people don’t see in a theater, because it happens before the productions open, is that installing a show can be pretty intense and rigorous. Lighting folks are all over the theater - not only on stage where one might expect, hanging lights from the pipes that fly overhead; or out in the house installing the lights and cabling that you see in positions visible from the audience seating - but far overhead the stage, or under it, or in the ceilings above the seating areas. Depending on the theater and the production, the power for everything overhead has to come from somewhere, and different houses and gaffers will put them in various places…some from directly over the stage, in the grid. Some will be on the jump, some will be just offstage, and some under the stage. Or it can be a combination. There’s no formula, no right or wrong way, it’s just sort of how it winds up depending on the space and the requirements of the show.
In my current spot at the theater where I lately seem to be spending the majority of my time, I’m on that jump, which in this particular theater is a platform/catwalk thirty-five feet above stage right. It’s where the lighting cables from the pipes and booms and ladders all land and meet up with the building, whether for power or data for the lighting network. For some productions there’s very little up there, and for others it’s packed with power distribution gear and hazers and fans and cabling running in every direction. Sometimes it’s almost impassable. On this particular jump there’s also a pinrail, and to that pinrail we tie off the ropes with which we haul up all the various cables that need to be connected, tying them off as needed. They can weigh anywhere from 5 pounds total to 5 pounds per foot, and at the end of the “in” we can have an veritable forest of rope and rubber and copper.
My father and grandfather were both theatrical carpenters, mostly working in either carpentry or prop shops. For years, my father worked on the fly floor at the Metropolitan Opera House, working the ropes to move drops or drapes or scenic elements or lights or whatever was necessary. Growing up, I heard endless stories about his being up there, how calloused his hands were, how full of hemp splinters, how he could stub out cigarettes in his palm. It sounded terrible, and as a someone working in lighting, it sounded like something I'd never do.
But rigging for lighting is a thing, and the jump is a spot where that happens quite a bit. I started this particular gig after my father passed away, and I often think about how many conversations we’d be having about it, and how much learning I missed out on.
It’s also a really fun spot to watch the proceedings on the stage, and a place that most people don’t get to go, for a variety of reasons…generally the jump can be tough to get to, accessed by a 30 foot tall ladder or a rickety winding spiral stairway. In this particular theater, one can take an elevator and walk through a locked doorway to get out onto the walkway, so it’s somewhat accessible, and thus this project was born.
If you know some of my work, you probably know that I’m very interested in photographing not only the people who appear on stage, the faces most people know, but also the people who work backstage and who make the shows happen. Happily, the jump can be a great place for this. So, perhaps inspired a little by Irving Penn and his corner portraits, perhaps a little by Marc Seliger, I started making portraits of people in my own tight little workspace. Here you’ll see not only onstage talent, but also the extraordinarily talented and very often unsung folks who make shows happen all over the world…faces you would otherwise never see. And you’ll get to see me, doing two of my favorite things…making photos and being up on the jump.
