This post is long overdue...

I must have started this some time in the week of the 22 August and it is now November. It is so long ago that I have no idea why I hesitated to post it at the time. Hmmm... Anyway. For all four of my followers - here it is!

Making The Reservation - we're in week two now so perhaps this post is long overdue. The deed is almost done. Tomorrow is the last day of rehearsals for now...

But it's been good, really good. Not easy but good. The piece has changed dramaticially since we scratched it at ARC and at Sunday Lunch Club in July. Many of the themes remain and the heart of the piece while having shifted is still an investigation in to grief, the sufferers of and the suffering from grief.

Will I still be dressed as an Elephant? Maybe, maybe not. Will I spend hours crying in a bathroom... No. Thankfully. I'm really not sure my throat could withstand it. Then again, I may not be 'in' it at all.

It will be a repectful and tender performance for one person at a time which I hope people will love. I am immensly proud to have been a part of it.

Flying solo...

It's not a new concept. In many ways I have been going solo for a long time. I'm just usually doing it with other people.

I know I'm not making much sense. What else in new?

It's just that I'm trying to get away from the day job, the daily grind. Especially now that my daily grind has nothing to do with what I know best. Theatre. So, how do I change that? I have already begun a little light freelancing for Theatre in the Mill and every week this is like a breath of fresh air. They are such passionate, creative and, dare I say, eccentric people. Just the kind of people I want to be working with. I'm also making The Reservation with Ellie in my 'spare' time.

These are the things that make me feel alive and so I'd like to do more. Of both if I can. More freelance work for theatres and theatre makers, more performance work with gorgeous, wildly creative people like Ellie and Pete.

The CV's (all three of them!) are up to date, the portfolio is being updated... And so begins the long and, I imagine, painful road of applying and applying for jobs, meeting people, networking and looking very hard to find that work which I so badly want.

Wish me luck.

Feeling scent-imental

I am endlessly fascinated by the link between the senses and memory. No doubt someone cleverer than I has written much on the subject.

I started to think about the links between music and memory last year with a performance action called Memory Jukebox where I put my music library on shuffle and as pertinent songs came up I tried to draw or scribe the related memory and send it to the person included in it - the action of their reading it becoming a kind of remote performance. It is something I have considered revisiting but I think the idea needs work. The driving force behind it remains with me however as I am rarely without my iPod and the soundtrack to my life. It is the specifity that always surprises me. The detail of the memories invoked and the emotional impact of almost reliving the moment.

Scent is much the same, and brings me back to the inspiration for this post. I am on a train to Bridlington to see family. At Selby station I was hit by the strong smell of turps and was immediately reminded of the boy I had my first 'proper' kiss with. Adrian Deveril was two years older than me and I was 13, hopelessly innocent and a little scared by his attention. The day in question his friends announced he intended to ask me out and were to take me to him. So of course I ran away and hid. In the art room where I got black paint on my brand new ski-jacket. I was gripped with a brand new fear now. My Mum was going to KILL me! So some bright spark suggested we wash it with turps. Which is exactly what we were doing when the boys found me.

The paint never came off and the smell of turps lingered for much of our 2 month relationship. Therefore turps equals Adrian.

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A virtual protest

I am not much of a drawer but this is my pitiful attempt at a #virtualprotest banner.

Uploaded to http://virtualprotest.org.uk/ in a show of solidarity for those who went to London today in an attempt to have their voices heard regarding the frightening cuts this government are imposing, across the board, that will have a detrimental effect on the future of our country and hit the poorest the hardest.

These are the things I fear the most for but I appreciate that the emergency services, local goverment and the NHS have also been hit hard and we must not give up fighting for any of them.

Hunting the elephant

Three days spent 'hunting the elephant' in the gorgeous (but freezing cold) shop units in the Corn Exchange with Ellie, a costume designer, a scenographer and another performer/video artist. The joining of four spaces allowed us to play with proximity and distance. Framing and reflections of self. Hidden and revealed. Public and private grief.

How do we share what we feel? And what is appropriate?

We are getting closer to discovering the frame for our investigation and a way of bringing the elephant out in to the open.

Next step - trying a different kind of space and see what that reveals.

I can't wait to see what we find.

The author of this post is responsible for this post

I saw The Author by Tim Crouch on Friday. Four nights ago and I still can't stop thinking about it. Which is good. I haven't been quite so interrupted by a piece of theatre in a long time.

I am unsettled.

I thought I was prepared. I knew a little about this play with no action. I knew I would be confronted, challenged and prompted to think about my place in it. I feared it would be more direct and in my face. I was anxious before I arrived. I knew that people had walked out. But were they plants? All of them? I knew the performers would be seated amongst us. What I could never have predicted is my reaction to the performance.

I was so removed. Uncomfortable, fearful but somewhat removed from the words (they're only words right?) for the majority of the show. Fascinated by the audience seated opposite me, by the artist (and director) in my eyeline waiting for him to speak (which he did not) who was watching us (me?) and the unfolding drama.

I won't reveal the conclusion but I will say that it was shocking. Perhaps I was extra shocked being wrenched from my comfortable distance? And I felt guilty. Even as I was watching The Author saying the words I knew to be un(real)true, I felt guilty. Could I have stopped this? Really? It's a play, right? I wanted to get my money's worth. Don't we all? We want to hear the story, from beginning to the gruesome end. That is the point. Not our fault. So the author's then?

Hmmm... interesting. Still thinking.

Here's one I wrote earlier

I just found this in a notebook when I was sorting out my life and I thought it was interesting enough to type up. Especially post-Wherever I Lay My Hat and a certain amount of audience 'participation'.

I am not interested in performances that pretend I am not there. Nor do I want audience participation in the traditional sense. What I enjoy is more of a 'dare' than a demand. Companies/artists who pose a question, who suggest an action... In Reckless Sleepers Spanish Train Mole says something along the lines of "if at any point you feel unsafe, raise your hand and we will comfort you". Do they mean that? What would happen if 30mins later I raised my hand? Would I be ruining their performance? Would they follow through or simply ignore me? They have the power but I could challenge it and the offer is tantalising... The control is yours for the taking, if only you dare to. But being a consciencious audience member, sensative to the needs of both company and fellow audience members I do nothing beyond my basic requirement. I laugh appropriately, I linger on the more poignant moments but I don't raise my hand. I feel like a coward.

These are the moments I love in theatre these days. The points where I am asked to reach out to a performer, to share a moment with another human being and step beyond a passive role. Not that I like being asked to jump through hoops or make a show of myself. I hate all that panto crap. Humilliation is not the name of the game. Uninvited Guests on more than one occasion have asked individuals to express a sentiment for another member of the audience. Asking us to reach out, not just to them, but to the people around us as if to remind us that we are not alone. This touches on one of the fundamental reasons for my love of theatre, gigs, attending a dance class. I am a herd animal. I need the shared experience. I want to belong. But in those situations we are rarely asked to acknowledge one another, the focus is usually on a third party - a company, band or teacher.

So what is so stimulating and attractive about making contact? And why does is scare, even repel some people so much? After one Uninvited Guests performance I actually heard someone say "There should have been a notice up warning people there was audience participation". Was there? Was there really audience participation? Or were we just being asked to ackowledge each other and actively listen rather than sit back and expect to be entertained?

I don't know about other people but I always find that the more I put into watching a show, the more I enjoy it. My biggest problem about technicians such as Goat Island, Deer Park and Bodies in Flight is that I left the theatre feeling that I might as well not have been there. They would have managed just as well without me. However shows like Susan and Darren by Quarantine & Company Fierce would be pointless, utterly pointless playing to an empty room (as, I believe, Wherever I Lay My Hat would). Not audience participation as such, just a step beyond the safety of that fourth wall. An offer extended. "Let me place you in my environment, then you will see that this is real." Perhaps some people just don't want 'real' in their theatres? It's too close in a studio? Too real?

Or perhaps I am a thrill seeker? I like the danger of not knowing exactly what my role is and how much they may ask of me. For me it is about connecting. Tell me your story. Talk to me. If you pretend I am not here, then why am I here?

To this day the memory of John Keats from Fecund telling Jill that the moment in icon, where Sarah went down on someone in the audience holding a lollipop (in reference to an earlier text about blow jobs told from the perspective of a child... which I still can't quite believe I wrote) while I filmed them squirming, was "hardcore" still makes me smile. We weren't trying to hurt or scare anyone. We wouldn't have called it 'audience participation'. For us it was a vehicle to solidify one of our characters - "This is what she is like" - and also to make the audience complicit in the affair of our central character. The accusation was that they wanted it too. They were just as bad as he was. Hardcore? I'm not so sure but we wore the badge proudly for a while.


Wherever I Lay My Hat is a little more evolved and a little less confrontational but the blurred line is there from the moment the audience step over the Welcome mat and are greeted by us. This is not audience participation but then you are not our audience. You are our guests. You are here with us and you are welcome.