I can find this time of year difficult, the shift between seasons…
I love autumn but I’m not ready for summer to be over yet. Sometimes, it takes me a long time to slow down and a stretch of space to remember how to play. The earlier, darker nights seem to impinge on possibility and suggest harder times ahead with less light and more layers to wear, plus the long shadow of festive expectations. I know when I revel in the joys of autumn there are many new pleasures to be had, but it often takes until Halloween for me to embrace and embody them, for my mind and body to catch up. In the meantime I pass through weary, restless, heartful, heavy places. Things land deeply and slip rootlessly at the same time. My sleeping shifts, and so does my dreaming. Thoughts and emotions try to burrow in before the den is built.
…change is afoot and in the air. And all change means letting go, as well as opening up, and dealing with now. So this Equinox I am being intentional. Noticing my resistance, my yearning and paying attention to the small truths of what is. The days the ground is a little drier and the days when it’s more muddy. The colour of the leaves, some already turned and some just ripening to their autumn palette. I’m resting a little more than would be my habit, and I’m going outside a little more than is my usual.
Nature is a good friend and it’s nice to just go see her.
In 2018 I made an autobiographical one woman show called ‘How to be amazingly happy!’. It looked at identity and reinvention through the lens of not having children. It’s personal, intimate and increasingly has enabled me to platform issues around childlessness.
But when you have a successful show how do you know when to stop doing it?
As a piece of theatre, ‘How to be amazingly happy!’ has done well – a successful run at the Edinburgh Fringe, tour dates all around the country and still in demand. It’s been a great ‘bread and butter’ show, flexible to tour, manageable to self-produce and, when making new work has been frustrated by the pandemic, it’s been a valuable way for me to stay feeling like a performer and connecting with audiences. It makes a lot of sense to keep projects like this ‘in repertoire’ – but for how long? There are particular things to consider when the work is auto-biographical or trauma informed.
First, the material dates. Not necessarily in its relevance to the audience but to the experience of the artist. It’s a true life drama but only at that moment in time, and life moves on. Relationships change and loved ones come and go. Performance skills mean things can be compellingly recreated and shows can be re-written but there’s a heartfelt balance in maintaining the integrity of the narrative alongside being oneself on stage when big things you’re talking about have changed. I experimented with replacing a monologue about a relationship, included to represent new beginnings when it actually ended very badly, but it just wasn’t as good. I spent a whole day of rehearsal angsting whether to change the word ‘is’ to ‘was’ in a sentence about my mum after she died. Narratively it would be an imperceptible change but the experience of performing it very different.
There are other ethical considerations that come up as auto-biographical shows age. In a piece that is largely direct address, talking to the audience as ‘myself’, about visceral life moments, deliberately invites connection. But the audience experienc of live performance is in real time and in post show talks and surrounding conversations I don’t want to disrupt that relationship, or burst the world of the play, by no longer being the me they just met. Of course everything in the show is still true but in a production which attempts to bring honesty, to subjects often not talked about, I’m concerned with maintaining my authenticity and honouring shared vulnerabilty. And what if I’ve changed my mind about something?
This brings me to my next point which is about the paradox of working from difficult personal experience. It’s so powerful to bring a story into the light to say ‘I stand for this’ or ‘This has happened to me, so maybe to you, or people you know’. So is the challenge, healing and joy of art. But how is the artist’s recovery from a trauma affected by both their sharing of it and the process of continually re-inhabiting it on demand? How do they get to outgrow it?
My own experience was that it was fearfully hard at first to disclose something I’d kept private, then it was unintentionally and wonderfully cathartic. As with most trauma, shame is an underlying problem and being increasingly open has enabled me to assimilate my experience in ways I never imagined, as well as to meet and talk to amazing people. Now as time goes on it feels important that new things can happen and old experiences can be redefined in a bigger context. There are other things to say, do and be known for. With auto-biographical work though you are permanently linked to the material. You can’t just take your token back to the cloakroom and get your coat of anonymity back. Labels about issues and identity can’t only be worn in front of the people you feel safe with – they’ll be marketed to everyone and this complicity with the content of the show is reinforced with every repeat performance.
I was really taken by an exchange with artist @nathanieljhall, when he finished performing the auto-biographical show ‘First Time’ which tells his story of contracting HIV. He said that right from the beginning, because it was a trauma informed work, he only ever planned to perform two tours. When COVID affected that boundary he made a new one of a set number of shows – so he always had an end point in sight. That struck me as a very sound plan. I never set a cap but I remembered that my ambition for ‘How to be amazingly happy!’ was to do 50 performances. Adding up the stats when writing this article I was delighted to find that my next show will be my 50th!
So, with all this in mind I’ve decided that, to the best of my knowledge, the performance of ‘How to be amazingly happy!’ this Saturday at @StoryhouseLive in Chester will be my last one. I can hang up my costume in the knowledge that I’ve done what I set out to do and done my bit in creative service to issues that have come to matter so much to me and many others. It feels fitting that it will be part of a whole day of events exploring the experience of people who don’t have children due to choice, or not by choice, or both.
It also feels good to pass the baton. Stories will always need re-telling and I’ve recently met Deborah Pakkar-Hull (@otherhoodarts) who’s researching a new play ‘Otherhood’ about people’s experience of not being a parent.
I’m so grateful to ‘How to be amazingly happy!’ for all it’s brought me personally and professionally. In the same way as we are all a product of our experiences, I have no doubt it will continue to inform me as a person and as an artist. Perhaps the material of the live performance will evolve into another format, maybe there will be a follow up show. Time will tell, but with autobiographical work, whatever I make in future will inevitably be a story of what happened next. This is definitely ‘An End’ rather than ‘The End’.
To everyone who has been a part of, supported, or shared the story – sincerely thank you x
This is one of a series of writings that reflect on my journey toward re-making a performance art work called ‘The Butter Piece’. I first made it in 2011 and I’m revisiting it now a decade later.
In the same way I might prepare a costume, or set, lighting, other things the audience might see
I am preparing myself. I am preparing my body.
I want to say ‘This is not about bettering my body’ – but that position isn’t cut and dried.
In creating a physical performance I do need to be stronger, I will want to access the full range of my physical expression. I definitely think about the aesthetic of the figurative form, how I am using my instrument.
It is possible that being more active might change my shape.
I might lose weight.
But, I have to check this rationale isn’t being ridden by a desire to be more attractive in a socially prescribed way. To check that my preparation isn’t masking a desperate dieting, gyming, tumbling race to the finish line of the show – where I am thinner and beautifuller and all my ex-girlfriends and artistic rivals kick themselves.
My way through is to think about being embodied. Grounded – where the ground is an internal surface. A place where I fill my skin, I am the right size, I can stand up inside myself with all my physical and emotional material.
And so I am training.
I’m training by spending quality time with myself
– sometimes exercising, sometimes not.
I’m looking at pictures of myself
I’m moving around
I’m being tactile when I can and noticing space when I can’t.
I’m eating
I’m noticing what pleases my skin
I’m attentive to tiredness, tenderness
I’m taking up space.
I’m noticing when I feel uncomfortable and not making it comfortable
I’m noticing when I feel groovy and not pissing on my own cornflakes.
I’m not hiding.
To be intimate with a lover, a friend, an audience
– you first have to be intimate with yourself
And intimacy is about honesty, clarity, vulnerability.
This blog was first written for Camden People’s Theatre when I was producing and performing ‘How to be amazingly happy!’. You can see the original post here:
So, self-care is being talked about all over theatre town but what does it actually mean?
For me I think about snuggly blankets, eating greens, sleeping well and (probably) exercising – and all that definitely helps. But self-care is a very personal business. It’s about knowing what you need to do to take care of your physical, mental, emotional, spiritual and creative self – and taking that seriously is probably the first step.
Over the last two years, I’ve been writing, performing, producing and touring a one-woman autobiographical show and even though everyone told me how hard it would be it still took me by surprise. Here are a few things I’ve started to clock along my way which I hope might help you to think about what you need along your way…
1. You have to be shit. You can’t ever be good or get better at something without being rubbish first. All the brilliant artists have the same feelings about failing that you do. Making mistakes and figuring things out is an essential and inescapable bit of every process. So as hard as it might be, don’t let the earworm about being not good enough stop you doing anything. The doing it means you are already on the way to being better.
2. Set your own measures of success. It’s very easy to compare and think that other people get better reviews, sell more tickets, have more followers, have better hair etc.. Think about what you want to achieve in each particular project, what your creative goals are, what you want to say to an audience and use that as your compass.
3. Don’t be afraid to ask – for help, for favours, for information. All the artists I have asked have been extremely generous and encouraging. Venues are there to support you and they need interesting work. Research what you can first – there’s a wealth of information online and then knock on doors for what you need. Also don’t take it personally if people don’t reply. It isn’t any reflection on you. They are just having their own nightmare days.
4. What you can do is enough. When you are self-promoting you can always hand out more flyers, send more emails, do another tweet. But even if you’re the artist version of The Terminator there is always more you could do. Let yourself off the hook when you need a break or need to unplug for a while. You are the talent that you need to look after. Sometimes it’s good to change gear. Sometimes it’s productive to have a rest.
5. Know your cheerleaders. Who can you ask to tell you you are brilliant on the days you feel wobbly? Or for feedback in the way you want it? I don’t think I have ever been more vulnerable than when trying to make work that matters to me. Being freelance can feel solitary – so you need back up and lots of affirmation. Keep all the nice things people have ever said about you and your work on your phone, in a notebook, on your fridge door – wherever you can see it when you need it.
That’s my top five but it’s just the start of the story. Why not give yourself the gift of time to think about, and action, yours.
