There’s a line in most job postings for Scenic Artist gigs. “Must be able to lift 50lbs.” It’s a matter of efficiency and safety. I’ve always prided myself on being an independent painter, as well as a helping hand to other departments. But on Thanksgiving 2025, at the age of 33, I had a stroke, followed by a life changing diagnosis.Now, I’m the one in need of a helping hand.
Before it All
Scenic Painting found me determined to make a living in theatre in any way I could. I went into college an actor, and came out an actor, director, designer, playwright, and painter. I have always been a visual artist. As a kid, I was constantly recreating Disney animation characters. I was more confident copying something that already existed, than creating something from scratch. While attending Boston College, I learned that I could get a job as a student employee in the scene shop. While I was primarily a carpenter, I most enjoyed the days when I got to paint. The first shows I painted were the student group performances, where I learned that my knack for recreating things was the skill set of a Scenic Artist.
After college, I got a technical direction internship with Company One Theatre in Boston, which led to overhire work. I met a number of scenic artists in town who brought me in to assist them, allowing me to learn the ropes on the job.
For about 5 years, I was a freelance artist, charging with companies and education programs across the greater Boston area, before the charge position opened up at the Boston College Theatre department. I worked there for 3 years, before I started to feel the lack of upward mobility. Also a playwright, I applied for my MFA at Boston University and took some time away from painting to earn my degree. Now, with my degree in hand, I’m 50% playwright, 50% painter. I’m currently charging at Wheelock Family Theatre, with some work at Gloucester Stage, Boston Playwrights’ Theatre, and smaller projects in between.
In 2017, I got my gallbladder removed. Recovery meant, “Don’t lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk.” So…a gallon of paint? During this time, I got lazy. Carpenters did everything for me. It took me a long time to lock in and get my strength back. Since then, I’ve been preaching to students and TikTok followers to stay strong on the job.
Freelancing is hard. Managing a calendar is hard. Balancing a budget on hourly work is hard. The sometimes chaotic, last-minute communication style of theaters is frustrating. I really enjoyed showing up to the same place every day during my time at BC. Working in different spaces, with different equipment or lack thereof can be unpredictable. I’ve learned to check in if I’m working with a new group. Does your sink work? Do you have quality brushes? What time does the floor need to be dry? Will I be working alone? As long as I understand what I’m walking into, I can be ready for anything.
Life Changes Fast
Shortly after completing my MFA in May 2025, my boyfriend Spencer asked me to marry him. I was ready for this. On Saturday November 22, I bought my wedding dress. That Monday, I did an at-home workout recommended by someone on TikTok to get the “best bridal arms.” On Thursday, I had a stroke. I was not ready for this.
During my workout, I had torn the interior lining of my left carotid artery. This is called a “dissection.” The doctor described it as a hangnail inside my artery. My body tried to heal this with a blood clot that, on Thanksgiving day, traveled to my brain. A 20lb free weight did that.
In the days before, I experienced neck pain, a migraine aura, and a brief but loud whooshing sound in my ears. It turns out this whooshing is a tell-tale sign of a carotid artery dissection (CAD). On Thanksgiving, just after dinner I was feeling tired so I grabbed a cup of coffee and took the dogs for a walk with my fiance and two of our friends. As we made our way around the block, my right arm fell, spilling coffee. My parents’ west highland terrier was lapping up the puddle on the side walk. Then I stopped walking. My now-husband Spencer asked me what was going on. I repeated “I don’t know…I don’t know…I don’t know…” I was looking at the clouds waiting for whatever this strange feeling was to pass. I’m a people pleaser, so I was smiling at Spencer, trying to convince him not to worry. What I didn’t realize was that half of my smile was drooping. They took me to Melrose-Wakefield Hospital. By the time I got out of the car, my right leg was completely limp. A nurse held up a pen, and said “Can you tell me what this is?” I said, “P….p….” They asked me what my name was. I said, “Miranda.” (Not my name.) They gave me a CT scan, and the powerful clotbusting drug TNK, and put me in an ambulance headed to Tufts Medical Center in Boston.
Throughout this phase, I wasn’t in pain. I wasn’t scared. I was uncomfortable. I was writhing around trying to get comfortable. I don’t know how to describe this feeling. It’s sort of like when you hold your breath for a long time. But instead of air that wants to move, it’s blood. At Tufts, they gave me an MRI and a thrombectomy, which is when they send a tiny vacuum to your brain through your groin to suck out the clot. Ideally, this procedure happens within 4 hours of a stroke to minimize permanent damage. Mine happened within 2 hours.
They kept me in the hospital for three days, which was frustrating and confusing for me, because in my mind, I was fine. (I wasn’t.) I couldn’t speak very well, so I couldn’t share this fact with my family. So instead, I gave them all a goofy, blank smile, which my husband lovingly calls “quokkin’” after the smiling rodent creature, the quokka.
I’ve been diagnosed with fibromuscular dysplasia (FMD) in both of my carotid arteries. The artery cells are weak, and the interior walls are prone to tearing, or dissecting. This is an underdiagnosed disorder. 90% of patients are women. There is no cure.
Recovery and the New Normal
As a freelance theatre artist, there is no typical day. I left my MFA program and entered wedding planning mode, while trying to build back my painting work opportunities and teaching part time at a private high school. After my stroke, I did not return to that teaching job. I was in bed with the hiccups for a lot of December and the beginning of January. Hiccups are a common post-stroke symptom. I got the hiccups three times a day for weeks. In mid-January, I started teaching Playwriting 1 at Boston College as planned. I was honest with my students. “I had a stroke. It affects my speech and handwriting, and there will be some days where my energy is pretty low.” I still got good course reviews.
Now, 11 months post-stroke, I’m back to the usual 110% work life of a theatre freelancer. I still self-disclose my stroke before speaking publicly in class and at playwright panels and workshops. But it’s more a defense mechanism at this point. I have an Apple watch, which staves off the fear of it happening again. I can track my heart rate and easily call for help if I’m alone. And I weigh everything before I pick it up.
With my FMD, straining my neck puts me at risk of another dissection and stroke. I have a weight limit of 30lbs, and I can’t crane my neck back to look up. So, I don’t work alone. I work more slowly. I’m using wheels, scooting around on chairs and stools rather than maximizing my step count. I’m messier than I used to be, likely some lingering slower cognitive processing. So I keep a rag on hand, and practice patience with myself.
Advocating for myself is hard. I like to be independent. I liked being strong. I wish I could put that ladder away myself, or carry that 5-gallon across the stage. I feel like a needy painter now. But everyone I work with knows why I need help, and I’m constantly reminding myself as well. Fortunately, because of the relationships I’ve built through the years, I’m working with friends who get it and are down to help. For any new positions, I’m up front about it.
Before my stroke, I was determined to grow my TikTok following. I started my account, Scumble School, to share tips with folks who have limited time and resources for painting, like teachers and community theaters. With about 6,000 followers, I’m close to the 10k necessary to enter the Creator Rewards Program. I was posting every day. Now, I’ve left this goal behind. I have to protect my energy. Speaking on camera is harder. More of my content has been about my recovery, from the days I was barely making it through a 3 hour day, to being back to 8-10 hour days. It has been a helpful way of tracking my progress.
The fatigue for the first four months was really tough. It’s my nature to get right back to work, to follow through on my commitments. I had to parse out the difference between laziness and rest, always reminding myself that my brain is healing, and it’s okay to chill. There were weeks when I was back and forth between Boston and Portland, Maine for a production of one of my plays. Adding travel and rewrites to teaching, painting, and recovery was a lot, but I never considered doing less. I owe so much of the success of my recovery process to theatre. Teaching and being in rehearsals has given me speech and cognitive therapy. Scenic Painting has given me physical and occupational therapy.
Life Lessons
Through this experience, I’ve learned to take my time, and know my limits. Valuable advice for anyone working in technical theater. Work efficiently, yes. But if you have to work so quickly that you burn out, or injure yourself, then you never had enough time for the project. Every show is someone’s baby. No show is worth your health. Always communicate your expectations for a project with your team, including the number of hours and times you are willing to work. If your boundaries mean you don’t get hired, at least you determined that up front and you can adjust (or not) for the next offer. Always ask the question. For your safety and for everyone’s sanity, admit when you don’t know something or are uncomfortable doing something. Somebody else has done what you’re doing, likely hundreds of times. Find them, and ask. Theatre people work hard. Everyone is tired. But we are – in my experience – mostly good people, each trying to find the balance of making art and money while maintaining physical and emotional health
Right now, I’m painting Finding Nemo at Wheelock Family Theatre, teaching Playwriting 1 at BC, and gearing up for the second production of my play Like Flies at Pure Theatre in Charleston, SC in March 2027. 50/50 Painter and Playwright.
The only way to get a diagnosis of FMD, the condition that led to my stroke, is through CT scans and ultrasounds. People live long, full lives without knowing they have it. If you don’t have an incident, it’s often not found. This is why it’s underdiagnosed.
My left carotid artery is still closed. Putting in a stent to open it up would be a riskier procedure than just leaving it as-is. Did you know you only need one carotid artery? Actually, you don’t even need either of them. My blood is finding a way to my brain and (I’m told) it would if I experienced a dissection in my other artery. Life finds a way.
About the Author
Maggie Kearnan
Maggie Kearnan (she/her) is a Boston-based Scenic Artist and award winning Playwright. She’s painted for theater companies and local educational programs all around Massachusetts including Boston College, Boston Lyric Opera, Boston Playwrights’ Theatre, Company One, Gloucester Stage, and Wheelock Family Theatre. She holds an MFA in playwriting from Boston University, and teaches at Boston College. She also has a growing following on TikTok, where she shares tips for painting theatrical sets with limited resources.
