I’ve been on a few zoom chats where I’ve heard a quiver of fear from theatre makers scared of what the pandemic means for their work.

    This post is for you.

    What do the restrictions mean for thinking about your work differently?

    How can this unusual set of circumstances be turned into opportunities for exciting new projects and collaborations?

    How can it help you grow as a theatre artist?

    There are of course a huge number of amazing practitioners doing incredible work outside of conventional theatre spaces in numerous and exciting ways. I’ll make a list of companies you should look up at the end of this text who might inspire you but for now I’ll share a way into thinking about making work which might be helpful to you in the next few months.

    I start any project by asking myself three questions.

    These questions become my guide and  solace in times of uncertainty.

    I hope they can do the same for you.


    The Three Whys


    1. Why should I be the one to make this piece?

    Most of my favourite projects have been when the answer to this question has been that I shouldn’t, or at least it shouldn’t be just me.

    And it’s with that information that you go and find the people that you feel should be making this piece: the right collaborators / life experts to come along on the journey with you to be part of the work and teach you what you and perhaps an audience don’t know.

    In relation to the pandemic this could apply to finding new collaborators with skills you don’t have in order to make new kinds of work you’ve never made before. It could also mean working with community members or performers who know more about a subject you want to explore than you do. Be brave in seeking the right people out.


    2. How does the CONTENT meet the FORM and why?


    Why should it be a theatre show / dance piece/ installation / zoom chat roulette/ one on one performance (with masks) / flash mob opera / {insert your wonderful ideas here}?

    This is where the artist in me gets all excited.

    What form can hold the content in the most wonderful and exciting way to make it be most vividly felt by an audience member?

    Yes you work in theatre. But you are an artist and a maker of things. Time to raise the roof and get your thinking/dreaming hat on.

    And remember the pandemic and its consequences in terms of form is new to EVERYONE! We are creating the new parameters! You are the writer of the rules.

    If your work is about hope what does that do to the form? If it’s about beauty what does that do? If it’s about togetherness what does that do? What does a work about secrecy look or feel like? Let form be fluid – you can make ANYTHING.

    { The astute of you will have realized the crux of what the pandemic means for form – we HAVE to welcome in certain parameters around form in terms of social distancing. However this necessity doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t do the work to land upon where content and form can be the best bedfellows. In fact I think we have to spend more time on it to make really excellent art. No one wants to see sloppy films of theatre shows you wish you’d been able to make in a theatre. Think harder / dream bigger. }


    3. Why should anyone care?

    In times like these there’s a bigger question here around what stories / art does the world need right now? I personally feel like I need to spend time on this question for a little bit. I think the answers to it will change. Be kind to yourself if you don’t know yet. These are unprecedented times. For me this also branches into the territory of who is the work for?

    But if we wind back the clock to the time before I might have said this about this question:

    Try and think bigger than you.

    Bigger than even the project itself.

    If Freud was around what would he say the project was about?

    What is the hook for any human irrelevant of identity politics?

    The answer to this question can change as the project evolves. At its best it’s slippery and a little bit magic. Having said this I try to make it solid and unflinching at the start of the project and then when I know I’ve served the answer (even if that means realizing I have to change it) then I allow myself space to use it as a launchpad to go wildly off-piste to see what I find.

    The work doesn’t wear it on its sleeve but if you cut through any part of it, you’ll see it in its middle. Think of it like a stick of Brighton rock – break it apart at any spot and it should reveal the same rainbow.

    When you get it right I think of it like falling in love. The more in love you are the harder it is to say exactly why but somewhere deep down all the information is there. (But if you’re honest it all started because you liked his/her/their hair.)

    Ok that’s it for now! I’ve got healing to do from having C19 and I don’t know yet what that will do to the art I want to make. We shall see.

    Good luck.

    Make lots of beauty happen please. We need it.


    {Companies and artists to check out for inspiration: Coney, Action Hero, Anagram, Blast Theory, Jeremy Deller, Adrian Howells, Tania El Khoury, Ant Hampton… and many more!}

  • Leverhulme Reading List

    I asked fifteen performance makers (and two sculptors) I admire to suggest one book about being this thing called an artist. I am taking their recommendation into my year of Leverhulme endorsed reading and thinking time. There are so many good books in the world that choosing one was tough for most people, so here’s a wonderfully long list for you to get stuck into if the mood takes you:

    A Collection of Good Books From a Collection of Good Artists

    Leverhulme Reading List 2019/20


    • Artificial Hells, Claire Bishop
    • Stuff Matters, Mark Miodownik
    • Lao Tzu: Tao Te Ching, Translation Ursula Le Guin
    • The Patterning Instinct, Jeremy Lent
    • Just Kids, Patti Smit
    • Learning to Love You More, Miranda July
    • Hope in the Dark and A Paradise Built in Hell, Rebecca Solnit
    • Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes from the American Indie Underground, Michael Azerrad
    • Tell Them I said No, Martin Herbert
    • Haunted Weather: Music, Silence, and Memory, David Toop
    • Dancing In The Streets: A History Of Collective Joy, Barbara Ehrenreich
    • Faith In Fakes: Travels in Hyper-reality, Umberto Eco
    • City, Alessandro Baricco
    • And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos and Shape of a Pocket, John Berger
    • Certain Fragments : Contemporary Performance and Forced Entertainment, Tim Etchells
    • The Creative Habit: Learn It and Use It for Life, Twyla Tharp
    • Creating a Life Worth Living: A Practical Course in Career Design for Aspiring Writers,Artists, Filmmakers, Musicians and Others, Carol Lloyd
    • Rest in Power: The Enduring Life of Trayvon Martin, Sybrina Fulton
    • Verbatim Verbatim: Techniques in Contemporary Documentary Theatre, Will Hammond
    • Seeker!: Ken Campbell – Five Amazing Lives, Jeff Merrifield
    • The Art of Cruelty, Maggie Nelson
    • The Viewpoints Book, Anne Bogart and Tina Landau
    • In the City of Shy Hunters, Tom Spanbauer
    • Understanding Comics, Scott McCloud
    • Making Movies, Sydney Lumet
    • Zen in the Art of Archery, Eugen Herrigel
    • Fair Play, Tove Jansson
    • The Future of Feminism, Elizabeth Grosz
    • Different Every Time, The Authorised biography of Robert Wyatt, Marcus O’Dair
  • When For Britain marches outside your show which is on at a Quaker’s Meeting House  



    The producer of Jabberwocky Market, Caroline Pearce has organised for DAR, Darlington Assistance for Refugees, to be at the end of every showing of Now Is The Time To Say Nothing, offering tea, cakes and a chat about how to help with local refugee support in the area. It is almost the perfect blueprint for how I wanted the show to be held – come see the work, connect to a displaced artist’s story and then find out how to help refugees who are right on your doorstep.

    Tonight, I met two local women who regularly check in on Syrian families who have been placed by the Home Office in Darlington, as well as an elderly Yorkshire man, Paul, who up until recently had two men from Sri Lanka staying with him – they were meant to stay for two weeks and stayed for eight months. One day the two men said they’d received a text message that they were leaving the next morning but they didn’t know where they were being taken. Paul stayed home from work to be there when they left, questioning the van driver in order to get assurance that they were going somewhere safe.

    The show is in a Quaker meeting house right in the town centre. Around the walls are slogans ‘Quakers for Equality’ and campaign against arms trade posters. One lady in her eighties who works at the meeting house and is a practicing Quaker tells me she thought of WWII (which she remembers) while watching the show and kept telling herself off – ‘I’m meant to think about Syria’. Her words made me think about the themes a little differently – about the show a little differently – it made me think about war outside of Reem’s story, war as an imprint, a mark on people who lived in places and times where it took something from them and lives were changed. The same lady tells me about her neighbour Pam who when only five got sent out of London during the Blitz to Wales –  which meant she is now fluent in Welsh.

    A show about the every day of war is being performed in a Quaker Meeting House. As the subs rumbled it felt odd to be shaking the floors of this building – a building which stands so clearly as a statement against war. A sign on the wall says it was used as a hospital during WWII. In the very housing, the brick and mortar of this showing, is a shared set of values: war is madness.

    We all drink tea and share nods, stories, values and more nods. It is lovely and also a little sad – this isn’t a show that sends you skipping home. Yes war happens, it is sad but also as Reem says ‘we are lucky enough to be alive’ and we are lucky enough to be having a chat and a cup of tea.

    While nodding and feeling happy to meet these nice people and hear their stories I get told that on Saturday there is a Britain First march. It is scheduled in Darlington town centre, almost right outside the venue. This is a party that specifically targets Muslims and revels in Islamophobia. A party against multiculturalism in all its forms, who want to bring back the death sentence, ban the use of the word racist in the media, and bar followers of Islam from public office. I was told this while nodding and I noticed my head became a little heavier and a little more bowed.

    And yes my first, naïve perhaps, artist thought was those Britain First people they are the ones who should see the show – that’s the outreach we should all be doing – down with all this nodding, let’s have the difficult conversations. And yet today, even though I do advocate and believe in difficult conversations and for art to attempt to truly be less social acupuncture and more social dynamite, I feel that after a day of meeting beautiful people who are all made weary and heavy by the way the world looks right now I feel like maybe us nodders need to stick together right now and on Saturday.

    So I am going to go to that march and stand with the others who’ve come to show support for the Muslim community. I know that some of the people I’ve met at the show will be there, people I’ve met who aren’t afraid of difference, who have housed people who are scared, who have known the scream of the Blitz and want Britain to be a place of refuge from places in the world that currently aren’t safe.

    I know people’s reasons for their political alignment is full of complexities and I don’t want to stand and judge but I also do want to stand fully in a place of saying no to racism and no to Islamophobia. While the work I spent five years making with my beautiful friend who happens to be Syrian, who happened to live through a war she didn’t plan, rumbles the floorboards of a Quaker’s Meeting House, I’ll be in Darlington town centre. If you’ve seen the show in Darlington and it moved you or if you just want to stand alongside some friends so you don’t feel alone in saying no to Islamophobia – see you there at 1pm.

    Whether in times of war or times of peace the Quaker is under peculiar obligation to assist and to forward movements and forces which make for peace in the world and which bind men together in ties of unity and fellowship.

    — Rufus Jones


  • IETM Munich

    IETM Munich 2018

    The main provocation of this meeting was: Res Publica Europa.

    In IETM’s words: ‘IETM Munich will take a fresh look at the idea of Europe. Is it a cultural entity? A geographical one?  What does the EU’s motto “United in Diversity” mean today, in the age of agendas driven by economics and eurosceptic tendencies? Is it a potent ambition yet to be achieved or just a tired phrase?’

    What is IETM:

    IETM is the International network for Contemporary Performing Arts. It consists of over 500 performing arts organisations and individual members working in the contemporary performing arts worldwide.


    MY IETM:

    It is fun being in an unfamiliar place with a group of people who share something familiar: a passion for making art of one kind or another. Munich offered up enough strangeness in amongst the architecture of its Neo-Classical and National Socialist past to be a little magic: one dusk we followed a pair of masked ‘Crypto-Scouts’ who took us wordlessly to a fire-pit and then onwards to an exhibition which offered a Digital Data Detoxification Process. Another day, after commenting on the strangeness of a man carrying a surf board through the Englischer Garten, we discovered his destination: an engineered surfing wave on an urban river frequented by locals in rubber wetsuits who either ride high for seven or so seconds (the river was not wide) or barrel into the river’s strong current and disappear downstream.

    I had never been to an IETM and had had advice that the best thing to do was to hang out rather than oversubscribe to a lot of sessions. I was excited by the provocation in the light of Brexit: what is Europe? Or rather for the English crowd, what are we walking away from? I was riding high on the buzz of a glorious cosmopolitan melting pot of artists, producers and arts organisations, reinforcing my feeling that we are fools to create hard borders that could shut any of this out.

    And then on the first afternoon there was…  (drum roll) … The Key Note. I don’t think I am well enough informed to say if the ideas of Robert Menasse (Austrian author, The Capital, 2017) and Ulrike Guérot (Head of the Department for European Policy and the Study of Democracy at the Danube University Krems) represent a fair and democratic Europe. All I know is that I sat in an auditorium along with five hundred other people amazed by what I was seeing.


    A large proscenium stage.

    Three white characters: two females one male.

    Three chairs stage left.

    In between the chairs, a small table with bottles of water.

    Two wireless microphones.

    Down stage front centre is academic Ulrike Guerot standing at the very edge of the stage holding a small laptop out towards the crowd. She is wanting to show us a trailer that explains her and Robert Menasse’s idea: Res Publica Europa.  Behind her a technician runs to try and figure out how to make the tiny laptop sound be heard by the large crowd. We definitely can’t see it. Robert Menasse is upstage left. He is pacing; getting increasingly furious. Finally he walks down stage and grabs the mic from the technician who is confusedly holding it to the laptop and says into it, directing his words out front, ‘This is childish.’

    A roomful of eyes, contemporary performance eyes, trained to construct and unpick meaning on stage seem agreed that this Key Note has an incredible start. We look at the program to see if Forced Entertainment or Dead Centre have in fact directed this?

    Robert Menasse has now taken the seat stage right and has the microphone. Ulrike Guerot dejectedly takes her seat stage left. She won’t speak again until the very end. Robert Menasse explains that he doesn’t want to speak in English. As poets have the right, he has the right, to speak in his mother tongue: German. He has the best translator who will translate.

    The translator, a blond English woman in her forties sits down with the second microphone and begins to translate. And now we know this must be directed by Thomas Ostermeier because very soon the translator can’t keep up with Menasse’s political philosophy lexicon. She begins to flounder. The audience begin to throw up words like ‘horizontal democracy’ and ‘democratic deficit’? She turns from the audience back towards the mouth she is meant to be a conduit for as if to say, there you go; will those words do? Robert Menasse is growing red, he is sandwiched between two women who haven’t enabled him to be heard in the way that he had planned or hoped for.

    Then it breaks:

    Menasse is saying that Europe shares the same currency so why can’t it share the same laws. The translator pauses, breathes deeply, and then she does what translators surely aren’t meant to do, she stops translating. At first she mumbles and then says clearly into the mic ‘Um England doesn’t have the Euro. We have the pound. In fact, lots of European…’ Menasse’s chest rises, then his hands, then his voice loud and bellowing, ‘I don’t care what England does, it is out. That’s why I’m not speaking in English’. The Danish artist next to me open-mouthed lets out a kind of stifled half-laugh, half-wince.

    This is the moment the real drama would start. Perhaps clothes would come off or a heavy soundtrack would kick in but no… we sink into our chairs, sure now that this isn’t a radical show IETM have offered up as a treat, but it is a confusing piece of theatre that I can’t quite place. No director is taking care of meaning. I see a messy scrum of gender politics. I see notions of nationalism trying to meet notions of democracy. I see the holes Euroscepticism has made and how different people are trying to fill them. I see a lack of diversity of voice. I see a Europe trying to reimagine itself. I see fear and loss and anger. I see how language can be and is political. I see voices being lost, while others bellow. I see power at play in the act or refusal of translation.

    At the end Ulrike Guerot finally speaks. She asks us to, as artists, advocate and support their cause because we know how ‘to put music to things and tell stories’. I don’t know if they were aware of the stories they told us on that stage. I’m still trying to work them out. Also, I don’t know what music would go best with them – maybe I’m not a very good artist.

    The rest of the week was calmer but still fascinating. There were unexpected provocations like the anger expressed over what was named ‘queer erasure’ at the event. There were lots of moments where cultural contexts were excitingly different but also clear moments of shared concerns and hopes. It was a real privilege to be part of all the discussions and I have no doubt concrete outcomes from these kinds of meetings will continue to influence our sector for the better.


    Some of my takeaways:


    • We heard first-hand about the horrific situation for independent artists in Egypt and were asked what international solidarity can actually mean and look like for those artists.
    • It was agreed that we aren’t living in a ‘post-colonial’ world and that various forms of colonial suppression still occur but in a subtler form (cultural capital, power and money still influence across borders).
    • It was interesting how participatory work was seen to threaten the quality of the cultural sector in some countries while in others it is beginning to break through into mainstream institutions and become valued alongside ‘higher’ art forms. Discussions around why this might be were, for me, some of the most tricky, humbling and interesting cultural exchanges.
    • Discussions about cultural democracy, value-centric decision making, inclusion and diversity. Example of Contact Manchester as a venue who uses young people in high up decision making. Interesting that it was hard to name other sectors who use cultural democracy successfully.
    • Disability session named Britain as leading on inclusion for people with disabilities in the arts – with of course still a huge way to go. Heard from other countries in which it was only just starting to be on the agenda and was financially under resourced.
    • Overall focus in festival on participatory work. Some confusion between countries that participatory work meant participation, i.e. audience taking part in some of the action, rather than the sole genesis of the work being that it is performed and often made by non-professionals.


    There were a lot of brilliant sessions during the few days whose notes will be written up in detail over the coming weeks. Here are some notes from Art Making In Rural Communities which I particularly enjoyed:


    Art Making in Rural Communities

    This session picked up on conversations begun in Wales around how to make art in rural areas led by Henk Keizer, Rural Forum Denmark.

    Food for thought:

    • Rural areas are more volatile than cities.
    • You cannot understand the city without understanding the rural area around it.
    • There can be a culture of mistrust between urban/rural communities (from both sides) – economic, social and cultural divides.
    • One of the main issues noted by people working/living in rural areas was young people leaving. How can artists face this dilemma?
    • A general agreement that embedding artists in the community is more fruitful than parachuting urban artists in for short term projects.
    • Participatory practice methodologies relevant in rural areas around time needed to build trust and make meaningful work.
    • Discussion around the mutual benefit (or lack of) in creating art work in rural areas –most artists have social mobility (in a personal sense and in regard to the art they make) whereas local participants may not share that mobility.
    • How can the work be a fair and mutually enriching exchange?
    • Agreement that there should be stronger advocacy for rural arts.
    • Agreement that local artists should be given training and platforming.
    • Agreement that there are multiple notions of rural depending on cultural context and specific socio-economic contexts.
    • Desire for funding bodies to value participatory methods – predominantly the need for long term funding to allow for time needed.



  • Pervasive Media Studios residency

    Move to Bristol now feels complete with having joined the brilliant   Pervasive Media Studios.

    I couldn’t have chosen a better home for exploring what I do, alongside some amazing artists.