The Ubiquitous Moments of Theatre Blog 127

Good Sunday Morning!

Minack theatre in Cornwall

Got to thinking about how theatre is everywhere - imperceptibly as well as obviously. Those of you who have been kind enough to pop in for an occasional or otherwise visit to my blog will know that I have a certain predilection for things ritual and metaphorical. Indeed my daughter told me the other day that she thinks I live my life solely through metaphors and symbols. I hadn't thought of it like that but she may have a point. I certainly love the saturated power of images and poetry - how could you not?  However we experience our daily lives and our internal private spaces we cannot fail to understand that we make sense of ourselves and give meaning to things in apparent chaos. We tell ourselves stories, read, play music, write, talk with friends and many other ways that enrich and give meaning to this small time we have here. 

And yesterday was one such case in point - a gathering of my oldest friends to celebrate Keith's big birthday in Kent. It was pure theatre - ritual indeed.

I pause for a moment to consider dear old Wiki's definition of theatre and then of ritual - I think they will do for now to serve my point.

Theatre:

Theatre is a collaborative form of fine art that uses live performers to present the experience of a real or imagined event before a live audience in a specific place. The performers may communicate this experience to the audience through combinations of gesture, speech, song, music or dance. Elements of design and stagecraft are used to enhance the physicality, presence and immediacy of the experience. The specific place of the performance is also named by the word "theatre" as derived from the Ancient Greek θέατρον (théatron, “a place for viewing”), itself from θεάομαι (theáomai, “to see", "to watch", "to observe”).

Modern Western theatre derives in large measure from ancient Greek drama, from which it borrows technical terminology, classification into genres, and many of its themes, stock characters, and plot elements. 

Theatre today includes performances of plays and musicals. Although it can be defined broadly to include opera and ballet, those art forms are outside the scope of this article.

Ritual:

Rituals of various kinds are a feature of almost all known human societies, past or present. They include not only the various worship rites and sacraments of organised religions and cults, but also the rites of passage of certain societies, atonement and purification rites, oaths of allegiance, dedication ceremonies, coronations, and presidential inaugurations, marriages and funerals, school "rush" traditions and graduations, club meetings, sports events, Halloween parties, Christmas shopping, birthday celebrations and more. Many activities that are ostensibly performed for concrete purposes, such as jury trials, executions of criminals, and scientific symposia, are loaded with purely symbolic actions prescribed by regulations or tradition, and thus partly ritualistic in nature. Even common actions like hand-shaking and saying hello may be termed rituals.

Its a bit of a no-brainer that we theatre makers are steeped in a deep desire to realise rituals in many varied and unique forms of performance. Its both the simple and the sacred! its really the secret of our job (and yes we do sometimes even get paid for it!)

So to return from this momentary pause for definitions, yesterday was a ritual, therefore a small moment of theatre. It had all the elements - convivial atmosphere, a gathering of people, friends and family in this case. (Theatre as we know it of course is not limited to people who know each other). And then a journey from the beginning to the end marked by moments of retelling of old stories and making up of new, emotional moments including giggles and tears, a good couple of speeches that touched the heart, that make us know we are not alone, shared history and new dreams. 

It was all there in the sunny garden in Kent where Ali and Keith welcomed us all. Douglas, their beautiful son back from Australia with his girlfriend Tanya for the celebration  spoke movingly to the gathering about how he had learned so much from his dad - his musical education, his dad's passion for his work as a maker of decorative glass, his parents relationship - a powerful beacon for his own. It was beautiful - this young man taking the family story into his future and ours.

And to add to the pleasures - great food and wine prepared by Ali and Keith's niece Nushi. 

Of course for me the inevitable spilling of red wine on my new white dress! No wonder my friends think I am a danger to Barking on my new Brompton bike. All I can say is thank goodness for a bar of Vanish and a hot machine wash and my dress is resumed and on the line.

Bronwen the bike

So on with Sunday - no rituals or theatre today as far as I know - well just thinking a bit about and planning a new piece in fact.

Have fun today - and if you fancy it - pause and see what ubiquitous moments of theatre and ritual pitch up in your lives today!

See you tomorrow.

Polish Man with Double Bass Steps out of River: Blog 126

Good morning!

I have simply nothing to say other than life is exquisite and playful.

Get this  - I did, just. On my way back down Abbey Road yesterday I happened to glance towards the river. It was a sunny day and the London horizon including the dome always takes my breath away and lifts my spirits. (The sunset over London is spectacular also - seen from the window of the Malthouse Studios). 

My ambush

There on the horizon I saw a man with a double bass walking down the steps from the river. He was slightly eclipsed by the sun. Its true. No doubt about it - I had to stop him to ask for a photo. He kindly obliged in slightly broken English. I felt 'the' question on the tip of my tongue - I already knew the answer. 'If you don't mind me asking ......where's your accent from?"...........exquisite pause and then he uttered the word 'Poland'. I nearly let out a squeal of delight but decorum got the better of me. I just knew it. He went on to explain to me that he was on his way to a gig in Covent Garden where he plays in a six piece band with other Poles. The conversation lasted no more than 3 minutes and I had booked him for an event later this year. I then went home and unpacked my shopping. Ah life.

The unsuspecting Marco

That's it for this morning - I am still relishing it. The universe has a great sense of humour if only we stop to notice.

I am off to Keith and Ali's in Kent for Keith's big birthday - really looking forward to lovely times with friends.

Have a great day.

Procrastination, Outputs and Hardcore Fundraising. Blog 125

Morning.....

Ok so this is going to be a very sparse blog post today. I have to pull my finger out and apply myself to hardcore fundraising application writing today with a target of completion by Sunday at the latest. And its for a lot of money - over 200k. I have been putting it off. I am not sure what's happened to this week, but I have not been working at the top of my game - possibly a variety of reasons - not least the call on mortality's door by my dear old pop. I need a holiday - don't we all (and don't we all say that at the moment of procrastination - I certainly do) Although the gloriousness of the sunshine on my patio this week does echo foreign climes  - ah maybe that's the cause of my procrastination.

One of the jobs of keeping an organisation afloat is of course the raising of money for projects. I don't often blog about it because my dear readers might fall asleep if I present them with GANT charts and SWOT and PEST analyses, endless spreadsheets, soft and hard outcomes and outputs. You see - you see  - bet you have switched off already. 

And there's the rub, this bit of the job is the vital engine for realising the space for creativity - and indeed its the essential rigorous process of birthing an idea so that it can have a life. Maybe not such a sexy pursuit but its an organisation's life blood frankly. The best ideas in the world struggle to realise themselves without a little bit of dosh or in-kind support. Money is a powerful life force and we artists can be a bit snotty and precious about thinking that the creative idea force is everything (isn't it?).

I am naturally rebellious, or unconventional as I was recently called (mm - thesis on the nature of convention to follow I feel sure) which gets in the way sometimes of the systematic and concentrated imperative of writing a compelling funding bid. Loads of people are so much more accomplished than I am at this and have the staying power! 

My most natural suit is to sit and muse on new theatre projects as I did for a couple of hours with Tim Major yesterday. Living a bit too enthusiastically in the land of the dreamer. Think we are on to something though. Indeed my naughty inclination would be to abandon said application writing in favour of more 'justified' research into Tim's and my new project. Sorry Tim - dammit - application wins. 

I am going to ban myself from all social media activity until 3.30pm this afternoon. There - said it. Tied to the desk till then.

Hope you have fun too if you are planning to stare at spreadsheets - or clear up outputs. If not - its Friday - have a siesta and enjoy the sunshine. Be back to you.

The Power of Community: Blog 124

Good morning.

I was mightily relieved to get the news yesterday that my Dad was home, stable and in good spirits. And a lot of other people expressed this too on Facebook - we were grateful for that -hugely.

Although I am a great fan of social media and use it extensively, I am also wary of the dangers of exposure or misinterpretation both personally and organisationally.I guess if you choose to put yourself out there then you have to live with the consequences. 

Will Hutton

A few years ago I had the good fortune to be a fellow school governor with the writer and journalist Will Hutton and one day we were in one of those rather boring discussions about the merits of social media. Twitter hadn't really got off the ground at that time and people were still mystified by what it was for. But Will who is a skilled player of the political and media worlds said wryly "Everytime you post anything on a social media site you have to remember that you might as well be putting it on the front page of the Daily Mail " (I hasten to add that the Mail was not Will's paper). And of course its sound advice - look how its got people into trouble with partners, employers, friends and more.


So it's more often than not with Will's words echoing in my head that I make my choices about what to post. The golden rule for me in deciding what to post is whether I consider it might be of use or interest to other people, may contribute to a debate, share a perspective - a joke or an opinion or simply be a way of supporting others which after all is what makes a community. The latter is very important to me and I really felt it strongly this week when my Dad went into hospital. Simply posting this on my Facebook page elicited such warmth, kindness and support that it touched me deeply.

As well as my friends and family all over the world checking in and sending best wishes, my contacts and colleagues through Facebook groups I belong to shared theirs, even people that I do not know. In Barking and Dagenham the CVS recently set up a Facebook Group to serve the community and within weeks it has a membership of over 240 and is established as a virtual meeting place. Its early days but its working well, people are sharing what they are up to and bits about themselves which are leading to new opportunities and the sharing of ideas in the real world. Indeed I had two meetings yesterday with extraordinary women who were brought together through this group - and we are already planning creative projects together! We may not have got the hang of Twitter a few years ago but most people are engaged at some level with the social media now even if they don't have access to it at home and are begrudging attenders!

In the busy maelstrom of our lives Facebook and the like can offer us moments of real connection with others, snippets about lives and the exchange of stories, images and ideas that may sometimes lead to concrete action in the 'real' world. 

At the heart of community is relationship and Facebook simply reflects this back to us with a virtual mirror. So what is good is good and what is not so good - well.......

If we fail to understand how it works and get ourselves into trouble then its our own fault really. And just like in the 'olden' days when people gossiped across garden fences, so it is with these sites -  in the light its positive and reaffirming as it has been this week for my family, and in the shadow it can ruin careers and relationships. So I guess its just a question of remembering to proceed with caution - and keep Will Hutton's words close to mind too.

I am blessed with living and making theatre in a fabulous community who support each other and demonstrate little acts of kindness on a daily basis. 
Thanks to my friends and colleagues in Barking and Dagenham! 

Barking Market

Have a good one.

Edgar, Anne and Caring for the Soul in Hospital: Blog 123

Morning!

So my blog holiday since Friday was timely. My dear old dad Edgar got rushed into hospital on Sunday just as he and my mum Anne had sat down for their usual Sunday Lunch at The Hadlow Manor in Kent.

Regular setting for Sunday lunch at Hadlow Manor

The ambulance was there in no time and the young managers in the restaurant remained calm and laid Edgar gently on the floor whilst they waited for the paramedics. Of course for my mum the wait was excruciating. Soul mates from the time they met when they were 20 and 18, they are also vibrant, connected and ever profoundly present in the world at 81 and 83. Edgar even teaches a weekly class in the use of the internet to 'old' people! ... at the University of the Third age. To say that Anne and Edgar are an inspiration would be to sell them short. Don't get me wrong - we have had our many ups and downs like most kids and their parents, and I wasn't always easy - but fundamentally they have never been afraid to tell me it 'as it is' - and sometimes, no often -  the 'as it is' bit is not what I have wanted to hear!


They have always supported me unconditionally as an artist (they knew this about me many years before I did!) and as I was growing up often made it possible for me to circumnavigate frequently choppy waters. Hard as this might be to believe for anyone who has known me as an adult but I was a rather solitary child, odd and slightly on the edge of things, eager for acceptance and yet living pretty much full time by myself in my imaginary world. (Not much changed there you see - just better at being with real people now I hope!)  

So on Sunday after he collapsed - Edgar was taken to hospital by a crew of great paramedics. He was 'made comfortable', and although the consultant said he was critical, all the family said at least 'he was in the right place' (?). I felt reassured by this and waited until Monday to do the practical things my mum needed and to take her to visit him.

I haven't been to this  hospital for many many years - its changed a great deal  from how remember it. I nearly died of pneumonia there when I was six (even got the last rites from Father Heggarty with his musty smelling funny dress) but it didn't cross my mind that of course it would now be a very different place from the rather ramshackle set of huts it had been in the sixties.

Arriving in the car park and seeing the huge white and glass building in front of me I felt that I had arrived at some NASA space station.

You can't deny the clean lines, the uncompromising statement of a modern temple in which to do illness. It has an austere beauty in many ways. I can imagine the architect imagining it as he designed it  -  a perfect-germ-free-anonymous receptacle for the treatment of the diseased body - oh and a place to be born in and to die in, managed expertly by men and women in white starched uniforms. In some ways this modern idea of living chimes with other public buildings and spaces, airports, universities, shopping monoliths, even down to the Costa Coffee and the WH Smith's.

Friendly, chirpy receptionists kindly directed us with a map to the Medical Assessment Unit (even that sounds faintly sci-fi). The walk to the unit involved several long corridors, and vast expanses of white walls. Not an image, painting sculpture or photograph to be seen. Just white barren walls. I commented on the absence of anything artistic on these walls which to me just begged for exhibition. My mum disagreed and said a hospital needs to be clinical. It slightly surprised me to hear her say this, as she was a nurse in her professional life and regaled me growing up with stories of how the 'bedside manner' was fundamental in healing. The neat corridor of the ward with identical white and metal ensuite rooms lining one side, struck me intensely in their uniformity. All lined up and efficient. As I passed, I can only admit to a certain voyeurism, peeking into the rooms I saw people lying quietly in their beds - although they are not really beds like I think of beds. They are more like flexible contraptions for lifting, turning and attachment to machines. The beeping noises of monitors marking for some a soon-to-be departure. 

On reaching my Dad's room at the end of the corridor, I was struck by the contrast of this sterility and the vibrant green of the trees and grass outside the window, some teasing reminder and echo of the natural world. This juxtaposition making the separation from everyday soulful life all the more palpable for me.

Now here's a thing that really strikes me as being so odd, no flowers allowed. Its all logical of course, flowers carry pests and germs and are out of our control. But flowers also carry innate and visible energy and most of all beauty. I know myself the power of beautiful flowers, I keep fresh ones on my dining room table year round. They feed my heart and soul and sometimes their smell transports. And I guess that this is at the core of it for me. 

My constant companions for over twenty years are the works of writer Thomas Moore. 
http://careofthesoul.net/  

Moore was a catholic monk for thirteen years - and then left the religious life to become a psychotherapist, and latterly he has been an adviser to the medical profession internationally. I revisit his book The Dark Nights of the Soul at key periods of change in my life, but only recently read his book Care of the Soul in Medicine 

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Care-Soul-Medicine-Guidance-Patients/dp/1401925642.  

For me his work is a revelation and contains many guiding principles on life, love and art that resonate profoundly for me.He says of his life purpose: 

“My life work is an attempt to ground the pure, visionary spirit in the imperfect, intoxicating sensuousness of worldly life.”

My experience of the hospital on Monday and my Dad's room and the way human beings are worked off their feet to treat their patients through machines, tests and measurements all point to the lack of understanding of the place of the whole human being at a time of personal and familial crisis. 

Don't get me wrong - the nurses were wonderful, real warm human beings with their own quirkiness and humour and doing their best. And they are second to none in their desire to help and care. Its the system that gets in the way of the healing ironically. This giving up of our everyday lifeness, the clutter and our individual signatures, food, work, family, the warmth of our homes  -  to relinquish ourselves simply as body-machines for mending. It just misses the point and worse than that I think it makes us more ill in the end. 

Moore's work is described like this.

Few experiences stir the emotions and throw a person into crisis as illness does, affecting not only the body but the spirit and soul. Yet the current health-care system is not structured around these considerations.Doctors and other medical professionals are trained to treat the body part or organ, not the whole person. Despite the scientific advancements of modern medicine, the hospital can be a cold, sterile environment—and for that reason alone, people are not finding overall health and well-being in many of our health centres. Care of the Soul in Medicine is Thomas Moore's vision for improving health care. Moore speaks of the importance of healing a person rather than simply treating a body. While sharing stories from his personal and professional life, he gives advice to both health-care providers and patients for maintaining dignity and humanity, providing spiritual guidance for dealing with feelings of mortality and threat, and encouraging patients to not only take an active part in healing but also to view illness as a positive passage to new awareness.

This book is a kind of manifesto, written by someone who is a reflective patient and not a doctor or medical researcher. It's a wake-up call and an initial charting of a new, all-embracing approach to medicine. It is not a grand detour into some New Age and esoteric kind of "healing," but a close examination of medicine as it is practised today, with suggestions from a layman for how it could expand and embrace the whole person. 

There can be no doubt now that there is a serious movement in our culture toward a new way of being. In all areas, including medicine, old philosophies are breaking up and a new vision is falling into place. Religious institutions are facing the challenge of a more personal and immediate spirituality. In the United States, a black man and a woman competed for the presidency of the country, and the black man became president. 

The turn of a century, to say nothing of a millennium, invites us to rethink where we have arrived and what we're doing here. This is a good time—this year, this decade—to imagine a different future for medicine. This is the time to move in a new direction and not merely expand on the old one. This is the time for us all to become healers of people rather than technicians of the body.

In recent months I have been working with a department in the NHS to look at just this too - through using theatre as a part of healing. This musical work is in its infancy at the moment but is called The Soulful Commissioner and if it comes to be will be directed for health care professionals in the new Clinical Commissioning groups. I am excited about it and hope it will become a reality - and I am grateful to Thomas Moore's inspiration in this.

I hope you have a good day - and don't have to visit a hospital! But if you do - remember to take you with you! 

PS; Edgar is doing really well - and his momentary meeting with his own mortality was powerful for us all - so until then - its back home today, family, good food and above all love.

Dad with the lovely Sister Jack

BLOG HOLIDAY TIME - Santiago - Chile?

Morning! Well almost morning.

I am off on one of my short blog jollies now for a couple of days - think I quite fancy Chile. I was in Brazil for my last virtual holiday in March- so just working my way around South America! Hee hee! I am prompted to go for Chile as my old friend Pascuala is a children's doctor there! My friend Maryam and I were chatting about her the other day and we haven't seen her for many years - so maybe a real visit is in order or at the very least a well overdue Skype call! A virtual trip will have to suffice for this week though! 

And as its Sunday - probably  - my favourite quote from Marianne Williamson's book,  A Return To Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles comes to my mind: (Often wrongly attributed to Nelson Mandela)

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Have a great Sunday - and don't burn the roast!
Header quote from Sylvia Plath

Friendship, Laughter and the Power of Personal Stories. Blog 122

This isn't Carol

Morning all. Its Lark o'clock - soon after a glorious time at Owl o'clock.

So -  I took my own advice from yesterday's blog and spent some one-on-one 'quality' (hate that phrase) time with a couple of friends. My day ended with a wonderful and convivial evening with Carol from Matlock. She arrived in Barking from Derby just in time for a glass of champagne and some morsels on the patio before sunset. We haven't had a chance to catch up for some months now, and I was touched that she made the effort to travel such a long way to spend time with me. Friendship is the glue that holds my life together much of the time, that and creative and artistic partnerships, and family of course too. But friendship and friends have a unique place - its that old cliche about choosing them. 

I love to laugh, and I mean to laugh so fully and deeply that the tears are pouring down my cheeks, and to do that in the glow of friendship seems to me one of life's most exquisite gifts.

And I have funny friends, who regale me with stories, real and imagined that most often result in shared squeals of delight and copious helpless tears! This is particularly true when I spend time one-on-one and our shared imaginations play off each other. Indeed for me friendship is a pure and uncompromising act of creativity and love. Sometimes the things my friends tell me are so hilarious I have to stop to write them down. There is often a minor quizzical look in the eye as they suspect I might 'out' them in my blog the next day - after all where does the daily material come from if not from the stimulation of such glorious encounters! Of course I have to be careful not to disclose that which is not mine - so innocent identities protected etc..........well when necessary! 

People's stories are the carriers of their identity, and how they tell their story the mood music of their lives. How is it that some have gone through dreadful traumas, the death of a child, or a loss of home and job and yet manage to find humour in the absurdity of life's twists and turns whilst others sink into despair? I have no idea what makes the difference. But what I notice is that the friends I have who face their own demons never become victims to them, and in that alchemy lies the foundation of their ability to laugh at themselves and even at the calamity of their situation! Its like an inoculation they give themselves. This doesn't mean their experiences are any the less traumatic or grief filled than someone who gnaws and gnashes. Its just that they have a way of wrapping a metaphor, story or image (poem - dare I say) around their experience that gives meaning and shape, and maybe even purpose.

A friend left me in stitches only the other day when she was recalling her early years as the youngest in a large family, living pretty much on the breadline in the late sixties. Her mother died when she was a baby, and for a while she and her siblings were brought up by their father, who himself died when she was still very young. She is an orphan and this has given a mood music to her life which is resonant, full and success filled.

G*** lived in the back streets of a northern city where her Dad did his best to keep a roof over his children's head in the short years in which he outlived his wife. G*** recounts that the sound of the rag-and-bone man was a regular feature of daily life as he scavenged the streets for unwanted household goods. And out of the memories of these early years jumps G***'s story of the goldfish and the goldfish bowl. The seven young siblings, often left to their own devices rummaged around and made their own amusement on the street and in and out of the house. On one particular evening their house reverberated with the angry declaming of their father's voice - he had returned home only to find that in the place of the old cooker in the kitchen was instead a goldfish bowl and a goldfish swimming obliviously around in it. This for the grinning faces of my friend and her siblings - seemed like a good swap really. The truth of G***s life experience of poverty lightened by this moment and others like it tell a deeper story of resilience and imagination that is a signature of her now adult life. It gives her a foundation as secure as any other

and enables her to live with humility and courage - although she would flatly deny the latter! And it makes her a great friend to share the ups and downs with, in the sure knowledge that there is never a hint of pity. 

And so for me my friendships renew and restore me, they herald intimacy and individuality and offer a safe space in the hardcore realities of the dark times.I am blessed by having wonderful friends who never cease to surprise me with their stories and imaginings. 

So breakfast soon when the still-owl-sleeping Carol eventually emerges  - and a day of more anticipated hilarity I have no doubt! 

Its Saturday - so a good day for restoring and renewing oneself with good friends I suggest.Enjoy it - I plan to!

Carol and I laughing!

Header quote by Sylvia Plath