How to Organize a Props Table Like a Pro

by Chris Peterson

There’s a backstage ritual that never gets old: the moment the props table is finally set. For some, it’s just a mess of objects waiting to be used. But for me? It’s order, intention, and a small act of theatrical magic.

A well-organized props table may not earn applause, but trust me—it can save a show.

Let’s start with the basics. A good props table isn’t just a pile of stuff. It’s a map. It should mirror the show’s order—left to right, top to bottom, however makes sense for your space. If you’re lucky enough to have more than one table, assign them by wing or scene. And label everything. Sharpie on gaff tape works fine, but if you want to level up, trace each item’s shape on butcher paper and write the name inside. That way, when something’s missing, it’s obvious at a glance.

Props tables work best when they’re zoned. That means grouping items by actor, scene, or act. If one actor needs a letter, a pen, and a pair of gloves for Scene 3, give them their own little corner of the table. And while you’re at it, invest in some trays or bins—nothing fancy. I’ve used everything from takeout containers to drawer organizers. What matters is that things have a home.

Lighting is tricky. You want just enough for crew and cast to see clearly, but not so much it spills onto the stage. Glow tape is your friend. A dim red clip light can help in a pinch, but use it sparingly. Props should be easy to find, even in a blackout—but the audience should never know.

Now let’s talk about etiquette. The cardinal rule? Don’t touch anything that isn’t yours. That’s it. That’s the rule. I don’t care if you’re curious or bored or just want to hold the cool fake sword—don’t. Props tables are not communal playgrounds. They are sacred ground. If you're not using it in the show, keep your hands off.

It also helps to appoint a props captain. If you're lucky, your stage manager, or ASM, already has the bandwidth to keep an eye on the table. But in most cases, this is a perfect job for a trusted crew member or responsible castmate. Their job is simple: keep things where they’re supposed to be, and make sure everything is reset before each act. Props captains are the quiet heroes of tech week. They catch the things no one else sees. And they care deeply. Which, in this business, makes all the difference.

I’ve worked on shows where the props table was a dream—neatly labeled, sensibly zoned, reset with precision every night. I’ve also seen the opposite: a chaotic mess where no one knew what went where, or worse, things would “walk off” between scenes. Guess which shows ran smoother?

You don’t need a big budget or fancy equipment to do this well. I’ve worked in black box spaces where the table was a piece of plywood and the bowls came from someone’s kitchen cabinet. It doesn’t matter what it looks like—it matters that it’s intentional. The table should tell your cast and crew: “We take this seriously. We’re all in.”

If you really want to go the extra mile, make a checklist. Tape it up near the table. It doesn’t have to be elaborate—just a scene-by-scene breakdown of what should be where. Laminate it if you can. And yes, it’s okay if it borders on obsessive. Props people are allowed to be a little obsessive. In fact, it’s kind of the job.

A clean, organized props table doesn’t just support the show, it sets the tone. It says: we respect this process. We respect each other. We’re ready.

So, directors: take the time. Stage managers: delegate if you need to. Actors: respect the table. And everyone, say thank you to your props captain.

When the lights go down, the audience may never see that paper cup, that sealed envelope, or that perfectly timed flashlight, but someone backstage made sure it was there.