Maybe You’re a Lighting Designer and Don’t Know It Yet

Webster University

by Chris Peterson

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how many people in theatre never truly see the thing that literally makes them see everything else. We talk about choreography, character arcs, costumes that sparkle under the stage lights, but we rarely stop and ask who’s responsible for the actual glow, the shimmer, the mood, the hush. Lighting designers sit quietly in the corner doing wizardry, and most people don’t realize how much of the show’s heartbeat comes from them.

And honestly, it’s time more people gave lighting design a shot.

What I love about lighting is how it turns feeling into something physical. You watch a designer sit behind a console for hours shaping color like clay, shifting angles by degrees, nudging shadows until a moment finally exhales the way it’s supposed to. It’s this strange combination of technical precision and emotional intuition, like someone who can speak two languages at once without breaking a sweat. Lighting designers don’t just decide what you see. They decide how you feel it.

And the best part is how accessible it all really is once you step into the room. The first time you sit through a cueing session, you realize how collaborative it feels. Directors throw out adjectives. Stage managers track the numbers. Designers chase references you didn’t even know you had stored in your brain. Someone says, “Can we make this more sunset-but-sad?” and suddenly there it is. That’s lighting. That’s the fun of it.

People imagine lighting design as a world of math and cables and expensive gear, and sure, that’s part of it. But the real gateway is curiosity. If you’ve ever been caught off guard by a color palette in the real world — that golden wash right before dusk, or the way your living room lamp changes the whole vibe when you dim it just a bit — congratulations, you already think like a lighting designer. You’re halfway there.

And theatre needs you. It needs more people who understand how light can tell a story without saying a word. It needs more designers who can make actors look like they belong in the worlds they’re standing in. It needs people who care about atmosphere, who get excited about the difference between lavender and deep indigo, who think a soft side light can be a love note.

Maybe this is the moment to wander into your school’s tech booth. Or volunteer to run lights for a local production. Or just ask the lighting designer after a show, “How did you do that?” One conversation can open a whole new corner of theatre you never knew you’d love.

Lighting design isn’t a niche. It’s a calling card for people who care about nuance, who love details, who get a thrill out of making a moment land.

And if you’ve been looking for a way into theatre that feels both creative and collaborative — something hands-on, something expressive — this might be exactly the door you didn’t know you could open.