Black Dogs & Lamé - an tribute to Community Theatre.

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A black eyed dog he called at my door
The black eyed dog he called for more
A black eyed dog he knew my name
A black eyed dog he knew my name
A black eyed dog
A black eyed dog.

This was the song that I used to wake-up to in the early hours.  Hearing it on repeat in the next room when I lived with my ex-partner who most nights, like many of us, chose to try to drown that particular canine friend in a vat of wine.  Honestly, it quite literally drove me mad. But I understood it…  I understood it inherently from my own experiences with that old faithful friend: Depression.  I understood it from watching siblings struggle with, and for the most part, conquer theirs and I understood it from growing up with a parent who undoubtedly has had a lifetime dogged (pun intended) by it.  Hell, I even moved to China to try to avoid mine! But he still followed me there, the mischievous little shit… Man’s worst friend.  There have been times when he has led me to make royally poor choices, screw up relationships and sometimes even stop me from leaving the house or picking up the phone. But one thing is for sure, the only thing for me that has proved, eventually, to be a superior opponent to this bully, are the Arts; namely, Music, Literature and most significantly Theatre.  

In view of this, it's hardly surprising that I have ended up being drawn to working in Community and Applied Arts.  I have always been of the strong belief that when people end up working in professions that provide protective or supportive factors in the community, while doing so, whether they acknowledge it or not, they are also fulfilling a need for something of this in their own lives.  Certainly within the Applied Theatre field many of the people I have worked and studied with are not without their own amount of what I like to call "specialness".  As I have previously blogged, I believe that those who get in the way of our work, are our work.  Having been a lapsed, albeit slightly flakey, but fully paid-up member of The Awkward Squad over the years, I have often been the person who has got in the way of my work. Consequently, I have become my own work by default through my work with others:  my quest for understanding myself has become indivisible from my quest to understand others.  It has grown into a symbiotic relationship which stems from a quietly nagging feeling that I never quite fit in anywhere completely.   Now, of course I have come to realise that this feeling is by no means unique to me: no one really feels like they fit in anywhere and this is mainly to due to the nature of  the modern community.  Zygmunt Bauman writes most eloquently about the nature of community in our constantly shifting 'liquid' world.  He describes community as a 'cosy and comfortable' place in which we feel safe and understood.  However, he goes on to say that community is actually a 'paradise lost or a paradise still hoped to be found' as it is the concept of community which gives us these warm feelings rather than the 'really existing community'.  Now, that is not to say that we can't all find common ground and get along, but in the context of the culturally diverse demographic of London, our communities are in general terms more likely to be characterised by difference than our common bonds and equally, while communities can bind people together, they can just as easily exclude. These ideas are a major justification in my mind, for engaging "The Community" in the Arts.  

Old Vic New Voices community musical, 'Epidemic' is a turbo-charged, super-sized, all singing, all dancing example of such an arts project. Focussed on discourses around and experiences of healthcare, research and development for this production took in the views of over 250 Londoners and has resulted in the piece we are now coming into our last week of rehearsals for, before it opens on 20th May at The Old Vic Tunnels.  Beautifully written by Morgan Lloyd Malcolm, we are exploring issues around mental health and obesity through the story of a young man, Marlon, who in the midst of mental breakdown, manages to steal a Mobility bus with two other unlikely revolutionaries in tow and takes it on a joy-riding quest to escape the system and society which has prodded, poked, objectified and ultimately failed them. Throughout, the story is further brought to life through the infectious and witty songs of the marvellous Suzy Davies . Without giving too much away pre-opening night, our unfalteringly lovely Director, Alex Ferris has created a touching and very funny romp through our attitudes to our relationships, health, disability and the media.

I am sure that many things will be said about the actual show over the next few weeks, so I don't really want to focus on that right now.  What I would like to share is the experience of what happens before the show opens, the part that the audience don't get to share with us: the process of becoming a community.  We are a rag-tag bunch.  We are a veritable smorgasbord (one of my favourite words) of backgrounds, experience, cultures, ages, class, education, religion, politics... well, you name it!  You could not, if you were to cold-read it, bring together a more random bunch of 120 or so people.  However, there are universal things which remain indefatigably true.  

1/  We love to create.

2/  We have had disappointments, regrets and brushes with Black Dogs.

3/  We have experienced complicated human relationships. 

4/  We, drawing from a combination of 1, 2 and 3, have found ourselves able to articulate that which is often kept hidden and sometimes is just completely inarticulable.

There are so many angles I could have taken on this blog post, but after sitting in the pub post-rehearsals listening to a man’s re-telling of his near death experience, seeing so many misty eyes glistening after hearing a song or watching the scene of an old woman’s reminiscence of dancing with her young husband or sharing the joy and excitement of working on a piece of the set which involves a large piece of purple lamé and gold sequins, I am 100% sure of one thing:  Dr Theatre never fails to chase away those Black Dogs...  even if it’s only until the next curtain call.  What lasts beyond, however, is so much more: the feeling that you have been part of a community which is genuinely accepting of you at your best and worst, no matter where you are from, who you work for or whether you can survive John and Sophie, the Choreographers' warm-ups! 

Community Theatre... thank you. You are our paradise found. 

The 'Fuck It' Button

It has been noted in the past that I have a tendency towards almost psychopathic levels of enthusiasm when I am passionate about something.  I say psychopathic because I have discovered it is rarely dented, let alone de-railed, regardless of the strength of any barriers or detractors present.  Generally, I consider this to be a positive attribute, despite it meaning that I rarely say no to things, even if it means pushing myself to exhaustion.  

This week I have been taking part in Forum Theatre training at St Mungo’s hostel in Willesden with Catherine Pinhorn and Tony Cealy courtesy of The Change Collective.  The course was something I’d been wanting to do for some time and so was really very excited to be beginning it last Sunday morning… (yes, I did say Sunday morning).  During the week we spent a good deal of time exploring the techniques which form the arsenal of the Theatre of the Oppressed, developed by Brazilian theatre practitioner, Augusto Boal.  We also indulged in a little Feldenkrais and later in the week, shared our stories in order to generate material for the performance due to take place for the hostel residents on Thursday.  The process definitely consolidated some things which I had questions about in the making of a piece of Forum, having studied Boal in some depth but having almost no practical experience of it. We also had a fantastic forum with lots of really brilliant St Mungo's 'spectators' intervening on the action of the play. On that front, I finished the course today feeling confident and ready to get cracking on using what I've learned.

However, what I wasn't prepared for was of a more personal nature.  What I discovered was The 'Fuck It' Button. Now, don't get excited, the FI button is not related to sex.  No, it is a button which once pushed, triggers disengagement at best and conflict, self sabotage and anti-social behaviour at worst. In my case, the FI Button has, over the years, resulted in numerous personal and professional derailments, negative risk-taking behaviour, not insignificant heartbreak and a raft of cracking hangovers.  Strangely enough though, I had never actually explicitly identified it until today.  It was named for me by a fellow participant on the course who works as a substance abuse councillor in a rehab facility.  During the evaluation session in the afternoon, I had expressed my growing frustration with the lack of energy and commitment to the work of some of the other participants.  Having trained rigorously as an actor several years ago and now working as a drama practitioner, the work is something I take extremely seriously and I am very aware of the importance of being 'present' in the moment. In fact, it is about the only time in my life, if I'm really honest, that I am completely mentally and physically committed to anything, preferring to spend much of my spare time in my own little world. Above all, I am horribly aware of the negative effect a lack of enthusiasm can have on a group. This was something I had discovered during my first drama training and rediscovered during my Masters; something which I think, at times caused some distance between myself and my fellow students.

The participants of this training week were from a range of backgrounds, but the common feature being that the majority were not from a performance background. Therefore, it turned out that my idea of physical commitment and theirs were certainly on different planets, if not in separate solar systems. This is where the surprise came for me... as a facilitator, I would have given my all to build the energy and encourage greater engagement and I would certainly have been a whole lot more sympathetic to those feeling challenged by the work. However, as a participant, the 'Fuck It' Button got pushed and thus began my descent into negativity, frustration and eventually, complete disengagement at certain points. Why should I bother killing myself to get the work done when no one else is? Of course, for the performance I summoned up the required energy to pull it off (as you do), but I'm interested in my response, as it feels so very alien to who I am in this work.  

The beauty of engagement in the arts is that through the work we are often faced with our own internal oppressions and consequently are forced to examine them in order to overcome them.  During the week, I had shared a quote, which has kept returning to me over the last year or so, although I have no idea who it was who originally said it.  'The people who get in the way of the work, are our work'. It's true. In the field of the Applied Arts there are numerous people who can get in the way of the work: the government, funders, councils, prison staff, religious bodies, school boards, charity workers, councillors, participants... you name them.  Often they are people who have perhaps never taken part in creative activities and so have no understanding of what it is we do, seeing us a being a bit 'artsy-fartsy' or in some cases they are ideologically opposed to what we do. There are many reasons.  However, what happens when the person who gets in the way of your work is you? 

How does one dismantle one's 'Fuck It' button? 

Like a stopped clock...

The New Year's spanking new shine is beginning to dull slightly, Christmas is packed away for another eleven months, we're back into our little routines, except what happens when you don't have a routine?  What happens when the new year hasn't really begun for you... it's just hanging around at the starting line, stalled?  Like the train announcer's lazy excuse, there is snow/flooding/leaves/a person on the line.

You start out with good intentions, you buy a diary, you make plans, you check the job ads and you try to establish a routine regardless.  But after a couple of weeks of looking at your lovely new diary's empty pages, you're still making plans, but you start to press that snooze button a couple more times in the morning.  You start to scale your plans down a bit.  You receive a rejection letter: it's good news, you're over-qualified. Or you don't match the criteria as well as someone else.

Or you just don't ever hear anything.

You start to consider jobs which you don't really want.  You know your heart's not in it and it will show at interview if you are lucky enough to get one, but you apply anyway, because a diary filled with job application deadlines is better than one filled with nothing at all.

You don't get an interview for the job you didn't really want in the first place.

The clock ticks.

The taps drips.

You start to talk to yourself.  You have those interviews anyway... in your head.

"Yes, I really love interacting with the general public and I found working in Customer Services really rewarding. You talk so many interesting people!"

"I'm passionate about participatory arts.  I really believe that community involvement can make such a difference in people's lives."

"I'm very keen to work with young people because so many of them are so talented and yet just don't get the opportunities they deserve."

"I was awarded a distinction for my Masters and my writing was consistently marked at this level throughout my course.  It was hard work, but it was worth it!"

"Oh yes, I do have a good sense of humour! I wouldn't be here interviewing for a minimum wage job in your cafe otherwise, would I?  Ha ha!"

Oh, how we laughed!

We got on like a house on fire, we really did... but obviously I still have other applicants to see.

Thanks for coming in today, Madelaine... I'll be in touch.