This follows on from how worthless I’ve been feeling as an artist lately, in not having much commercial success, and not feeling valued by British Theatre in general, and how worthy and not alone D&D4 made me feel, and how determined I am to find a language to describe the social value of theatre.
It also follows on from how the experience of theatre gives us the freedom to emotionally engage.
I had a revelation in the shower which can be summarised thus:
If my only skill is to give freedom to others, then I have done a great thing in life.
Here’s where it came from:
Through Mercury Musical Developments, I’ve had some amazing opportunities to work with some brilliant actors: a lot of drama students, and a lot of professionals. We’re either in my kitchen reading an early draft, or we’re in a drama school rehearsal room workshopping some specific moment from a new show.
In the last gods-know how many years, I’ve done a lot of that without having a director present, but having worked with directors, I always had some awareness of what they bring to the process and therefore what the process would be lacking by not having one there.
Although I can’t say I’ve found a way to make up for my lack of director – nor would I want to – I did have to find ways to stop being so possessive of my work that I couldn’t give the process room to breathe.
So I developed some techniques for letting go of my own work that were metaphoric in nature – as are most things I learn for myself, since I feel the need to be able to prove to other people that I do know what I’m talking about. Which is mostly about needing to prove to myself that I do know what I’m talking about.
Being metaphoric in nature, I’m able to share them, and I’ve been extremely lucky to have been allowed to do so with writers and actors, for which I am eternally grateful because it has helped me continue to develop my own craft and discover more about my own process.
(And honestly, it’s just lovely to be able to give something away. It makes me feel like I have some worth.)
Discovering the act of letting go has been, I think, the single most valuable writing tool I’ve ever encountered, although it’s an odd tool because its tangibility lies in the fact that it allows others in, which also allows me in.
It is an open space. A freedom.
It’s the freedom from control-freakery, but oddly, it allows me to have much greater confidence in my own creative existence within the work than I ever feel when I am control-freakishly clutching at the script.
As I said after D&D4: in this space, I feel that I matter. I no longer feel that I have to wave my arms and shout in order to be noticed, at which point everyone turns and stares at me so I am crippled with insecurity. I just feel that I am a part of the process, and as such, I matter.
It’s very important to me to give other writers that sense of freedom and that joy of quiet self-confidence that they matter. Writers, and actors. And directors. Designers. Everyone.
Audience too.
This leads onto society as audience and the notions of freedom, choice and responsibility.
