Selected Directing

Off Carolina Row*

Statements After an Arrest Under the Immorality Act                    

Twelfth Night                                                                 

Spookfish*                                                                                              

“Family”                                                                                               

Tea for Two*                                                                                           

Dad Shot Himself and Left Behind a Box of Kink Porn*                       

Hi. My Name is Wendy. And I'm in Love with a Lost Boy*          

Sorrows to the Stones*                                                                           

Open Wounds                                                                                

Three Laps Around the Ocean*                                                           

Rudy: An American Tall Tale                                                                              

Tape                                                                                                          

Bright Obvious*                                                                                       

 

Assistant Directing

Italian Market Project                                                                    

The Beauty Queen of Leenane                                                       

Time Paradox*                                                                                               

The Good Person of Szechwan                                                                                

     

Selected Production

The Live-Streaming Confessional of #stacylucky*

Shrew                                                                                                 

She Directs                                                                                     

Coriolanus: Shakespeare Roulette                                                           

Hidden*                                                                                                  

Women in Jep*                                                                                 

 

*World Premiere

 

2018

2017

2017

2015

2015

2015

2014

2014

2017

2013

2012

2011

2019

2016

2015

2015

2012

2012

2013

2012

Education

The University of the Arts, Philadelphia, PA. Graduated cum laude.                                                                              

Bachelor of Fine Arts in Directing/Playwriting/Production, minor Film/Digital Video.

Central St. Martins at UAL, London, UK. Performance Design and Practice.                                                                

 

Additional Training: Nick Parkin (Butoh), Sean Lewis (Lecoq), Julian Maynard Smith/Station House Opera (Experimental Theatre), Sophie Jump/Seven Sisters (Environmental Theatre), Atlantic Theatre Company (Practical Aesthetics), Louis Wells (Improvisation).

 

Skills

Proficient with: Bolex 16mm film camera, Panasonic DVC30 and DVX-100B and Sony HVR-V1U and NXR digital video cameras. Proficient at: Manual film editing, Final Cut Pro, Microsoft Office, Photoshop. Leigh would love to help you Kon Mari your home. 

Greg Nanni

Athol Fugard

William Shakespeare

Haygen Brice Walker

Various

Leo Koorhan

Haygen Brice Walker

Haygen Brice Walker

Devised

Johnnay Bradford

Rae Labadie

Haygen Brice Walker

José Rivera

Sharon Farrell

The Philadelphia Club

Philadelphia Fringe Festival

Manayunk Theatre Company

Philadelphia Fringe Festival

One-Minute Play Festival

Painted Bride Art Center

Philadelphia Dramatists Center

Philadelphia Dramatists Center

The University of the Arts

Philadelphia Young Playwrights

The University of the Arts

Catalyst Project at Dixon Place

The University of the Arts

Novus Productions 

Dir. Michael Osinski

Dir. Kathryn MacMillan

Dir. Rebecca Wright

Dir. Heinz-Uwe Haus

Writer/Producer/Performer

Producer/Dramaturg

Producer/Director

Dramaturg/Producer

Devising Artist

Production Intern

Bicycle Thief Productions

Lantern Theater Company

The University of the Arts

The University of the Arts

Philadelphia Fringe Festival

Reject Theatre Project

Reject Theatre Project

Reject Theatre Project

London Sinfonietta

Arden Theatre Company

2013

2012

2012

2012

2011

2009

Currently

With theatre on hold for the unforeseeable future, Leigh has concentrated on writing, editing, and saving.  Below is an excerpt of something she's been working on. 

There are certain objects in my life that transport me. While I fully endorse the idea of an object sparking joy, I also believe sadness, anger, and grief are necessary and valuable emotions (thank you, Inside Out). There is a hoodie in my closet from Atlantic City. The hoodie itself isn’t that important – I bought it at the boardwalk a few years ago because I was cold at the beach. But when I see its pink sleeves, I can feel the sun on my bare back. I remember my cousin begging for more saltwater taffy on the Atlantic City Boardwalk, which I refused to eat ever since a very unfortunate incident: puking hot-pink mush into the shoulder of the Garden State Parkway in the middle of August would traumatize anyone for life. I remember how my grandparents kept the hotel room so cold, we always had to ask housekeeping for extra blankets – and how walking into the humidity felt so good. We stayed at Harrah’s, on the bay, and would take walks with our grandfather every morning. We only went to AC once or twice, though: the real summer vacations were spent in Stone Harbor. We would walk to Springer’s, the ice cream shop, after dinner. Grandpa’s favorite was black raspberry. I would always get coffee and Leslie would always get something terrible like cotton candy, which she hated, of course, so Grandpa would let her finish his. I went back there a few years ago and got a cone of black raspberry. It was amazing. The man who owned the house we rented had an old Model-T or something and took us out a few times for rides. Grand living. We would walk to the beach and play in the sand and scream and cry. Whenever we went to dinner, Grandpa would grumble if we didn’t finish all our food - even though Grandma almost never finished hers, either. 

            Eventually, we stopped going to Stone Harbor. My aunt and uncle moved my cousins to New England when we were all very young and we took turns visiting. As we grew older, it turned into a summertime cousin swap – parents driving halfway down, meeting somewhere in Connecticut, and swapping kids for two weeks. Some summers, we were too busy for each other. I must have been twelve when I went to week-long sleepaway camp. Sacajawea was a Girl Scout camp tucked away in the Pine Barrens, guarded by the Jersey Devil. The first night was the worst night. I have arachnophobia and it was even worse back then; one can only imagine my horror at the daddy-long legs hanging in every corner. After sweating and crying in my cot quietly for hours, I tore up the mosquito netting as fast as possible and ran to the counselor’s tent, sobbing for my mother. I wanted to go home. I wanted my bed and my cats and my friends. They told me I could call home in the morning and decide then if I wanted to go home. In the end, I stayed the whole week. My parents probably refused to get me, honestly. That’s what I would do. Anyway, it’s always been hard for me to make friends easily, but when a group of adolescent girls are stuck together in the middle of the woods, it doesn’t matter. By the end of the week, everyone is your friend. 

            The only male I remember at Sacajawea was the archery instructor. In my head, he resembles the douchebag in The Princess Diaries, but I’m quite certain that’s my memory playing tricks on me. Even if you didn’t find him attractive, you pretended to because that’s what was cool. The showers were outdoors. There was no hot water and there were spiders in all the corners. More spiders; spiders everywhere. I took very quick showers. 

            We had swimming lessons in the pool and boated on the lake. I’m pretty sure I got to kayak-level, but I could also be giving myself too much credit. I have zero recollection of the food. There was never a food fight. We did have lots of campfires and sang every Girl Scout and camp song known to man. I still know most of them. After a while, you start to like the smell of campfire. It’s natural. As much as camp is different from real life, it is also very much the same. There was a group of older girls who knew each other because they had been coming to the camp for years. They ran Sacajawea. I can’t exactly claim these rulers were mean, but you know when someone is talking to you and you know they’re making fun of you even if it’s not obvious to others? That just the fact that they are talking to you is them making fun of you? If you haven’t, then you weren’t bullied growing up. It’s the same thing as liking someone’s bad photo on Facebook to fuck with the algorithm so it stays in people’s feeds longer. They were the ones who announced we were going to have a butt-shaving party. 

            Now, if you’ve never heard of a butt-shaving party, here’s how it goes down: a bunch of preteen girls without any access to boys, internet, TV, or alcohol who think the epitome of female beauty is someone who has silky smooth skin àla the supermodels in the Venus Razor commercials (Reveal the Goddess in You) rally the rest of the girls into having a wild, wet, orgiastic, indeed, ritualistic party in the showers in which everyone lathered each other up and shaved their cheeks. Kinda like a circle jerk. But, like, PG. I guess we thought the peach fuzz on our bottoms was deplorable. Perhaps it was a thinly veiled way of exploring sexuality without the prying eyes of grown-ups, or worse, boys. Or maybe they were just having fun. Oh, you thought I did it with them? No. I wish. Weren’t you paying attention? I was not a cool kid. I always ordered coffee ice cream at Springer’s. I cried for my mommy the first night of sleepaway camp. In middle school, I was the kid who was never picked for a volleyball team until the very end. After bedtime, I would sneak out of bed and read Edgar Allen Poe using the dim glow of my nightlight. I wasn’t cool. I wanted to join the girls, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was afraid of getting in trouble with the counselors; I was afraid of letting go. Now, as an adult, I know the idea of shaving your ass is stupid. Well, I knew then it was stupid. But I still regret not joining them. Not because I wish I were popular, nor because I wish I had a shaven ass – I just wish I had let go and done something wild and free and stupid. I worry my life is a terribly long laundry list of opportunities not taken. I can imagine the revelry the girls had in the woods, like they were a party of nymphs. They have let go of all constraints. It has to be the same feeling as when I charge into the ocean and the cold shocks through me and the waves overpower me. I am forced to forsake control because I have no other option. 

            Does the Atlantic City hoodie with hot pink sleeves spark joy? Nostalgia, sure. Regret, absolutely. When it smells like sunscreen, it brings a smile to my face. Perhaps someday, I will wear it and feel free to let it all go. It’s survived at least three KonMari sweeps; now, that’s saying something.