Dryland For The Unemployed, Uninsured, and Unstoppable by Makaio Toft
- Mar 9
- 3 min read
For the last year, I’ve found myself prematurely grieving the “death” of my ability to create freely. Throughout my senior year of college, there was a feeling of impending doom that once I graduated, this magical bubble of creativity would pop, and I would no longer be able to spend my days bouncing from project to project. The warnings I was told about being an “unemployed starving artist” were going to take their place. So I guess I tried to preemptively “pop” it myself in order to prepare myself.
But now, nine months out from graduation, I am experiencing the most fulfilling, most joyful, and by far, busiest creative season of my life yet.
I am still far from having my life together, let’s be real– I’m not exactly making a viable income these days. Obtaining my own health insurance is not within sight. And I still have yet to cook myself a proper meal that involves more than four ingredients.
However.
I think I am realizing that my dreams of being a “successful” artist are not millions of light-years away like I once felt like they were.
At the start of November, I had just wrapped a play of mine and decided I would take a break from leading productions over the winter. Instead, I told myself, I would focus on finding a “real job” in the industry. The morning after I made this declaration to a friend, my fellow Tisch grad Isa Barrett texted me. Which led to a phone call. Which led to me reading Dry Land for the first time. Which quickly led to us agreeing to co-produce it—and for me to direct.
So, needless to say, that “break” or “real job” did not happen. And thank god they didn’t.
What initially struck me about Dry Land was how honest and compassionate it is about the experience of coming of age as a teenage girl. Dry Land follows Amy and Ester as they struggle to navigate the obstacles involved in getting Amy an abortion. Set in Florida in 2014, the play remains strikingly relevant today. The characters show vulnerability and tenderness rarely seen in media. These girls aren’t sexualised, they don’t exist to be the object of someone’s desire. They are present during a time of real crisis, and they have to get through it together, while hiding it from the rest of the world.
Growing up, I never felt like I had a voice. I wasn’t the best student. Not the greatest athlete. I didn’t feel like I brought any particular value to the world until I wrote and performed my first one-act play in 11th grade (it was called “Just Zoo It,” and yes, it took place in a zoo, and yes, I played an ostrich at one point, big flex). The week after the show, students and teachers I’d never met before would stop me in the hallway and tell me how much they loved my show. It was the first time in my life I felt like I had found a source of value that was completely my own.
Directing Dry Land has reminded me why I can never and will never quit doing this.
Working with an all-female-led creative team on a play that holds such a heated, socially provocative theme that affects the lives of young women has quieted all my doubts of whether or not I am bowing to the right altar at this moment. We all connect to this story. We want the voices of these characters to be heard.
Maybe being successful in this industry doesn’t have to require being plucked out of a crowd by some higher-being, given a prophecy, and embarking on a life-or-death quest in search of a mythical golden treasure.
Maybe it looks more like exactly this. Working with people who believe in the shared goal, making it happen with whatever resources you’ve got (no matter how small), and giving each other your all.
This project has served as a reminder that I don’t need anyone’s blessing to continue to create meaningful work. I am, and I will be, a successful artist simply because I will get up each day and I choose to continue to do this. I am excited to finish rehearsing this show, I am excited to share it with an audience, and I am also excited to close it and see what is next.
