Hill Rag in 1984, as a wide-eyed novice to the local performing arts scene, I remember thinking, “How much theater could there be to fill a weekly column?” A lot, it turned out.I still mourn the loss of the companies I once frequented, among them Leslie Jacobson’s Horizons and Bart Whiteman’s Source, where the work was always challenging, insightful, and fueled by passion and purpose.By the same token, I marveled at the slow but steady growth of companies like Woolly Mammoth, who went from performing in a church on G Street to operating their own gorgeous downtown space.And I was frequently left in awe by the soaring works of legendary directors like Joy Zinoman, Zelda Fitzgerald, and Michael Kahn.There was even a point in my reviewing career that I was at the Kennedy Center so often — back in the days when Peter Sellars turned the nation’s performing arts center into a mind-warping experimental playground — I used to joke it was my second home.In 40 years, I’ve watched the D.C. theater landscape evolve and only get bigger and more consequential.
