About Oliver 

Just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. 
- Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman, Good Omens

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When I was very small, I wanted to be a ballet dancer. Small Oliver was entranced by the flowy skirts and opaque tights ballerinas got to wear, and he was positive that one day he, in his own flowy skirt and pair of opaque tights, would undoubtedly look just as graceful as the grown up ballerinas did. Despite Small Oliver's confident prophecy, his interest in this career path quickly dissipated when he found out how much practice was involved in being a dancer. Now that I am big, I have grown to appreciate the importance of rehearsal, but Small Oliver was not in the least bit interested in practicing anything he wasn't already excellent at. Like making daisy chains and pretending to be a fairy, for example. 

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A few years after his dream of being a dancer was naught but a memory, Small Oliver decided that what he actually wanted to be was an archaeologist. Now, I know what you're thinking - Small Oliver wanted to be an archaeologist because of his passion for history! His keenness for anthropology! You could always find him toddling around museums! His idol was Indiana Jones! Any chance to read big wordy books about ancient civilizations, he took! Shockingly, you would be correct about precisely zero of these predictions. The truth is that Small Oliver really wanted to be an archaeologist because it was the first "big word" he sounded out by himself. So, naturally, it became a very viable career option! 

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You may now be asking what threw of this newfound and perfectly reasonable trajectory toward a future of digging holes and swiping dirt off bits of pottery with tiny paintbrushes? 

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One word: Weasel. 

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My first ever play was The Wind in the Willows and I, in my tiny and tempestuous form, was an Unnamed Weasel. My job - Unnamed Weasel's job - was to run on stage and wreak havoc amongst the friendlier members of the woodland via haphazardly choreographed dance sequences. I was part of a small group who wore red headbands to differentiate us from the ferrets (blue) and stoats (yellow), the other scourges of the Wild Wood. Ratty, Mole, and Toad never stood a chance against Small Weasel Oliver. 

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Ever since I donned my red weasel headband, acting has been an inevitability. Thoughts of other careers have come and gone, but I always come back to acting. 

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In the third year of my undergraduate degree, I had the immense pleasure of playing Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet. Mercutio, with his vigor and impulse, taught me many lessons, but the one that stands out above all else is: 

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"I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I." 

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As an out and proud transgender man, I find great power in acting. It is on stage that I found my footing not only as a performer but as a person, and over the years I have learned the most successful performances are borne of authenticity. For a long time, I avoided my transness because I thought that it might make my acting less palatable, but I eventually realized that my transness is going to be there whether I acknowledge it or not. So, why should I make myself palatable? I do not believe that we revive classical plays over and over again in order to continue making those stories palatable. 

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So, I do not budge. 

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One must not squash themselves in order to create an easy replication of a well-known character, but instead celebrate what makes their Mercutio, Dauphin, Thomas Stockmann, or Kulygin different. In my work, I celebrate my transness. I strive for generosity and joy, and hope to uplift not only myself, but the narrative, the emotion, my scene partners, and the audience. 

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