The Practice of Ensemble
Several people have asked me, "What do you mean by the practice of ensemble?" I love that question because ensemble is one of those words that has shaped my life, yet it’s difficult to capture in a single sentence. Yes, the dictionary describes it as a group of people working together as a single unit. The word itself comes from the French for "together," ultimately tracing back to the Latin insimul, meaning "in company" or "at the same time." But that doesn't explain why my soul lights up every time I hear the word.
Ensemble is beyond simply “a group of people.” It’s a mindset. It’s a way of behaving. It’s practiced, in our context, through games, exercises, movement, improvisation, observation, conversation, and the work of paying attention – to one another, to the room, to our own bodies, to silence, to rhythm, to space, and to Him.
Many artists have written thoughtfully about ensemble. Something I want to highlight is Anne Bogart's commitment to long-term collaboration and shared responsibility. She believes—and I do too—that great theater emerges from relationships cultivated over time, not simply from talented individuals assembled for a single production. Trust allows actors to take deeper creative risks. Over time an ensemble develops a shared language, shared instincts, and a heightened awareness of one another. Eventually, performers no longer have to consciously negotiate every moment; they respond almost instinctively, creating work that feels deeply alive.
Peter Brook describes an ensemble as becoming something like a living organism. Jacques Lecoq similarly emphasizes the physical dimension of ensemble, believing a company must learn to breathe, move, and respond together. Jerzy Grotowski pushes the idea even further, seeing ensemble as a path toward radical presence, “holy vulnerability,” and human connection. He wanted to move away from the commercialization of theater and move towards theater as a tool for crossing “the frontiers between you and me.”
In Ensemble Made Chicago, Chloe Johnston and Coya Paz Brownrigg say that they “tend to describe ensemble processes with a kind of starry-eyed optimism - they are democratic utopias that radically reimagine the structure of the world! But the dirty secret of democracy is that it works only if you commit to it, putting the whole above the individual.” They go on to describe how this work can be very costly and slow and messy and often requires a lot of reflection to succeed.
So what does all of this mean for Witness Theater Lab? My hope for Witness Theater Lab is that it can be a space to explore art, faith, pain, joy, embodiment, and our own interior lives in the context of a community of people who can hold space for one another just as we are. To me, ensemble is about being committed to each other. It’s about discerning whether a room full of people would benefit from you amplifying or softening your energy; it’s about taking up space and broadening our shoulders and then quieting down enough to hear our neighbor speak. It’s about listening. Anne Bogart calls listening "embodied respect," and I think that's exactly right. It’s about accompanying and celebrating others on their journey. It’s about co-creation. It’s about valuing our own story as well as one another’s stories. It shouldn’t be something to over-think or overly evaluate, but when the intention is there, it’s beautiful. All in all, I think it’s about love. In the end, ensemble is one way we practice loving our neighbor. We learn to listen, to make room, to rejoice with those who rejoice, to bear one another's burdens, and to create something together that none of us could have created alone.