There are a few moments in time when I have walked into a foyer, into an industry do with my only pair of high heels on (I usually am seem in Blundstones or scuffed mary-jane’s: to the point where a friend of mine is convinced I have been the foot/shoe model for City rail’s “mind the gap before boarding” poster) feeling like I am ready to pounce into sparkling action, dazzling all in my path with my razor sharp wit. Other times I feel I have as much charisma as a beige plaid sofa left in an alley way, waiting to be marked by stray cats or claimed by desperate students.

Regardless of my beige sofa-feelings I embraced the day, and ventured to the b- Sharp Launch at Belvoir Street Theatre. Sort of feeling safe in the warm cave at Belvoir… also a little cautious I was tragically on time and sat quietly before the event warmed up. I am not completely sure how/why I received an invitation: I have stage managed a show a year (bar my time in Canada) for B-Sharp but I am not one to question why, just gratefully excited to be able to celebrate a season of new shows and perhaps indulge in a few tasty little canapés as they circle around a room of ferociously hungry (yet coy!?!?!) theatre people.

There was something overwhelmingly relieving about the faces in the crowd… besides a few sparkling faces I know well, this was not like walking into my resume… there were plenty of unknown faces. And I tried to put the names and faces to projects flashing up on the screen… delighted that the season heavily contains new Australian content.

Before too long a very efficient photographer had snapped a quick happy pic of me, the gorgeous and talented Helen O’Leary and he demure but bright eyed Fiona Butler which later appeared in the Sun Herald. I totally unaware, struggled into the office on Monday morning…to the joyful chirruping of the managers and the CEO who had noticed my grin in the “social pages.” And the dark blue feeling inside me twisting around in my gut, didn’t come from a late night of vice, but the question “Am I a wanker?”

Now, I am not going to claim, to have never been a total intellectual tosser on occasion. That would be a lie. The truth is, I absolutely love the theatre. I am not the sort of friend or colleague or friend who will say they will see your show, and hen not turn up. I am not he sort of person who will not go to the theatre, if I hear that the show is crap. In short: I will see anything, I will pay money to see any piece of independent theatre. I will also attend anything I am invited to. Perhaps good manners? Curiosity? Perhaps the hope that I might meet someone new and fascinating? Perhaps I am a sucker for a beautiful canapé invisibly presented by an amateur super model? Perhaps it’s excitement of the unknown. I am an experience junkie: I prefer events over possessions and the theatre is the perfect event: ever changing, always different.

Recently I saw Jonathan Gavin perform in the “Day in the death of Joe Egg”. I had the great priviledge to work with a few years ago and upon hearing he was dazzling the audiences at the Darlinghurst Theatre, I promptly booked two tickets. Whilst in the foyer, I also chatted to an actor I hadn’t seen around for 6 years, an actor I had recently met through the Short & Sweet Gala and another actor who is brilliant in more ways than many: especially since she is a lovely person. Gavin’s performance was nothing short of exceptional, his foyer presence, nothing but selfless. It was whilst I was chatting to him that I realized how much the theatre community is interconnected… and perhaps if we played the 6 degrees of Kevin Bacon: it would ultimately show that we all know each other and will work with someone absolutely fabulous sooner or later… and we are destined to work in the same theatres at some time or another.

Another thing occurred to me. Recently I have had a new Canadian script I have been pitching called “F**k the Homeless” rejected nearly everywhere. (Yes, I can hear you laughing as you say “well, ummm Gus… the title is a bit… Well… COMPLETELY offensive!”) And though I was miffed that no one wanted to take this risk, I didn’t feel the need for unleashing my inner beast upon the artistic directors of these various companies. I did hear, however, that some people do. “WHY?” I wonder. “You want to work with these people, perhaps because you trust their judgement …why would you question it, just because their judgement doesn’t fall in your favour on this occasion?” Everything in the artistic world is based on opinion. And all good shows will have their time in the light (and even some duds too!)… but really, is it worth burning your bridge to understanding and new challenges, because of one little “no”? It doesn’t reek of longevity to me! After all, the arts community is what we make it. It’s what you choose to support on a day to day, week to week basis.

I choose to support people who are genuine and funny and kind. People who I will still like and want to talk to even if they never do another show again and s decide to buy a pretzel cart and climb the corporate pretzel ladder. I choose to support independent theatre which is new, Australian and made for an audience who is waiting to be entertained. I believe that many wonderful writers and performers and directors are no lesser people, just because they happen to be between gigs right now. Last year, one established director told me “don’t call yourself a director unless you are actually directing something.” Well I disagree. If you are a writer or director or actor, you have it in your very being you are preparing all the time. You can’t help it. Call yourself whatever you want, because you know what you are. And if you are truly an actor/writer or director.. your time will come.

And in so far is it wank or work? I offer this ambiguous answer (or is it?) from Mr. Shakespeare (I said I’d never quote him.. now I am .. what a wanker! But geez.. its perfect…and sums it up for me…)

“This above all – to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day
Thou canst not then be false to any man”

Being in the business of the theatre is not just a job, it’s a lifestyle choice. The choice results in a certain self-righteous smile when paying your rent at the bank and the clerk asks you if you want to consider a mortgage. “No,” you think to yourself… “I am not of the 2.4 kids/car/mortgage/$100 haircut every second Wednesday variety of person, ” and as you confidently stride out of the bank, your shoulders start to slope, your head bows and your heart feels a heavy dullness as you realize that, that in itself, shows something of the transience of what you do.

Theatre is like life itself, with a certain “now you see it, now you…” kind of aspect to it. The instant the light fades; the audience claps (hopefully), the actors take their bow: It’s over. It will never be the same as it was, even in a re-mount. “You can never step into the same river”, which is the brilliance of it. The creators of the theatre event, theatre (in a universal sense) and the audience are constantly moving/evolving / experiencing and to try to stop or preserve it would be against the very nature of the beast. It is the immediacy, intimacy, the “carpe diem” aspect of it, the “Now! See it now!” impetus that makes the active act of seeing theatre such a revitalizing force. That is its strength. That is its purpose: to remind us that “it’s now or never.” Theatre is not something that is a passive pastime.

The problem to returning home with a swag full of experience is that no one has seen anything you have done – no one knows what you do. No one, that is, but you. The memory of it is living in you. Only you know what you are capable of. As Tom Stoppard so eloquently expressed in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, “We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.”

What makes people brave enough to engage in this thing called the theatre? What makes them invest so much of themselves in this art form? Theatre people may not have the material markers of “success” like other people do. They may never own a house nor have a really glorious superannuation fund or a gleaming gold nest egg. They may not reach the stardom that would encourage paparazzi to chase them. But its not fame nor fortune that drives someone into the theatre: and if it is, they may be sorely disappointed. If you want to be famous perhaps you might want to audition for a reality TV show or try out your best Jedi moves on You Tube. There are plenty of ways to be famous… and being a theatre person is fairly low on that list.

There are a lot of things that can stop you from doing what you love. You could be terrified of the competition. Of failure, of judgment (of others and even more terrifying your judgment of yourself). Lack of money. Lack of time. Lack of space? I have had many pitches rejected… more than I have had accepted. Rejection is apart of this game. And although I don’t like it… it’s not a deterrent. Everyone’s a critic, everyone has an opinion… And so they should. I am more excited by a critic who is brave enough to call a spade a spade… than one who sings platitudes to a company for their “effort”. But it is difficult to be brave. Its hard to put yourself out there to be judged and rejected, time and time again. Sometimes I don’t feel so brave. Sometimes I can’t see where or when
The problem to returning home with a swag full of experience is that no one has seen anything you have done.
my next show will appear: and the dread of being asked by anyone especially long lost “colleagues”, “so, what are you working on right now?” is enough to cripple me into a spiral of self doubt and into eating a litre of gelato.

A few weekends ago, I sat on the grass outside Currency Press. I was there as an anonymous and interested member of the arts community to honour the memory of Alexander Buzo who passed away last year.

For those not familiar with Buzo: he wrote many plays and social commentaries including such essential reading as: The young person’s guide to the theatre and almost everything else, Coralie Landsdowne Says No, Norm and Ahmed and Big River.

There were a smattering of people stretched out like school children on the lawn listening to a few readings of Buzo’s work whilst idly picking at the grass. I looked around, a few academics, a couple of actors and the legendary Katherine Brisbane co-founder of currency press. We went inside the currency press building and sat wooden folding chairs and settled ourselves for some readings of his plays. Sandy Gore read a section of Coralie Landsdowne. Of course I had read it before, in fact studied it at Uni under the careful mind of Professor Elizabeth Webby (who was sitting behind me at this reading).

But nothing prepared me for the precision with which Ms Gore pinned those words to my heart. She was just sitting there, with a photocopy of the script in hand as the sun streamed through the window of a room too small for this moment. She transformed those printed words on a page into a breathing character. And for that moment I felt it. The gravity of the scene. The world of the characters. Tears formed in my eyes and I thought “how beautiful, how devastatingly beautiful!” How amazing that I have had the opportunity to see this moment. That someone was brave enough to think those thoughts, then brave enough to write it down, brave enough to show it to someone else, who was brave enough to direct it, to publish it, to perform it.

How wonderfully brave it is to contribute to the ongoing conversation of art, of theatre. Despite the possibility of rejection, failure, financial collapse, art happens anyway. Sometimes in spite of and sometimes because of the struggle. Sometimes in the most unexpected places you can find inspiration and remember why it is you even bother. Being brave is really hard, and I guess that’s what makes it so worthwhile.

Arriving back in Australia is an amazing thing. Firstly, there’s the realisation with how much your accent sounds like a cartoon bushman with a mouth full of flies and how much the Australian lingo is a vernacular of similes (i.e. dry as a dead dingo’s etc.) Secondly there’s a hyper sensitivity to all things from the country you have just experienced. For me there is nothing as bright as a red maple leaf emblazoned on a backpack and nothing inflates my R’s like hanging out with North Americans. (Yes sirrrr!) And then there’s the curse of comparison.

When I returned I was expecting a lot of myself and of the Australia I had left behind. The Sydney Festival was about to start. “Great! I am ready to see what everyone has been up to!” I soon remembered why I hadn’t really attended much in the way of the festival before… It isn’t a celebration of Sydney artists… its an international festival of international artists which happens to be in Sydney. Where are the Sydney artists? Oh, they’re the ones serving coffee or the people staffing the box office. Australian content: what is that anyway? Should we, as our Prime Minister suggested in his Australia Day speech of 2006, be closing the door on questions pertaining to Australian identity?

The comparison starts: Why is this an issue here and not in Canada? Australia and Canada are both British colonies. Both artistically and culturally affected by the United States. Both are fairly new countries. Both have a multicultural base. But Canadians are fiercely proud of their arts, their music, their theatre; their identity. Canadians are so committed to the arts that they fight through snow and blizzards to get to the local theatre. The tiniest towns of southern Ontario have a theatre that is supported by the local community. Road signs along the highways not only indicate the next gas station and rest spot, but the next theatre! Why is there an audience for me there… but not an audience here?

Sitting with my favourite university lecturer overlooking the grounds of the timeless sandstone of Sydney University I asked, “What has happened to theatre in Sydney?” I was asking the man who had carefully explained to all of the bright-eyed Performance Studies students the constant “crisis” of Australian Theatre… the man who explained the nature of the “theatre beast” only to be greeted with my whimpers of “but why?” The man who encouraged me to attend as much as I could whilst explaining the fickle tendencies of audiences. He listed the successes of my peers who were overseas, who occasionally sent news of “Aussie does good in (Insert country here)” on the waves to our shores.

Don’t get me wrong. I loved and needed my time away. It’s wonderful and very important that we have artists on exchange having adventures and developing their craft. But what if you want to come home? Australians need stories too! There is evidence of audiences out there: audiences that are average Australians looking for a wonderful experience. Audiences that don’t just exist in acedemic circles, or just within the theatre community. The glimmers of this include Sidetrack Theatre’s “The Promised Woman”(2000) and Black Swan/Company B’s “Cloudstreet”(1998) and more recently the success of the Mead/Cowell initiative of Wharf 2 Loud. Australians love a good yarn! Surely this is proof that you can dispel the “you can’t be a prophet in your own home town” syndrome.

Recently in a playwright’s master class with the powerfully and impressively articulate Van Badham, she explained a few home truths of why she’s not living in Australia. She illuminated the imbalance of the funding for the arts and the funding for sports, she told of the speed and ease with which scripts are up and onto stages in the UK, she explained the importance of the arts in the cultural landscape and in attracting tourism to British towns that have lost their primary industries. She offered bright impassioned words of advice echoed by the wise and solid tim Daly, “just find some friends and put it on!”

As my garden-gnome-esq vice principal in high school said, “Ten little words can change your life: If its meant to be, it is up to me.” Aristophanes, Strindberg and Ibsen made theatre happen. (Not that I liken myself or my style of theatre, level of success or style of facial hair to these dead men in anyway except to say: they made it.) They took a risk. They confronted the tastemakers and the stylists of the time, the conventions, the institutions and did it anyway because they thought they could and someone should. And why shouldn’t we? Doesn’t the Australian Audience deserve it?

All of these questions and thoughts lead me to where I am right now:

Somehow, through a friend of a friend, I was approached to direct a short play for Sydney’s Short and Sweet play festival. After chopping and reshaping and re-modelling the script, we had a sweet romantic comedy performed by two lovely actors. No props. No set. No costumes. No special technical demands and functional lighting. Despite a few misadventures (including a fractured heel of the leading man) the show went on as it always does. To my delight, there was thunderous applause, hooting and hollering and show stopping laughter! Somehow we won judges choice for week 4 at the Newtown Theatre and somehow achieved a whopping 36% of the audience vote! That’s bigger than the ratings of a popular Channel 9 TV show!! Even with my friends and colleagues voting… that would only account of 6% of the audience vote! So what does this mean? Well it meant our show was in the Gala Final of Short and Sweet at the Seymour Centre in Sydney and received “The People’s Choice Award” for the festival… and I have restored faith in myself, in theatre: the ancient art of storytelling and most importantly the Australian audience.

There are already pots on the boil… a night of new One Act plays in June/July perhaps? A world premiere of a new script from Canada in August/Sept… What are your plans?

My name is Augusta Supple. Known to most as Gus. I returned from living and working in Canada as a full time theatre director and playwright: all my successes (and not-so successes) are unheard of in my native land of Oz. This column is about coming home. Returning or should I say re-starting? Reintegrating and re-inventing oneself into the Australian Arts industry after being in self-imposed exile in another country’s arts industry. I will start off writing about me… about trials tribulations and then other perspective from friends and colleagues who have returned home and have struggled to find their feet or voice in a new version of their old country.

I decided to leave Australia in 2003. An easy decision, though I choked on the mantra I had since my late teens “see Australia before you see the rest of the world.” Uni friends would disappear for a while in the wilds of South-East Asia exploring cultures and dodging exotic diseases; a good friend was off to the US sponsored by a big engineering company; other friends made their Contiki tours a part of their lifestyles and some sat around lazily numbering the countries they have been to.

Not me. I stayed in Sydney. I was working here and there in theatres and day jobs, believing the “only as good as your last show” stuff. Directing short plays, writing bits and pieces, stage-managing and set building. I was the friend that helped shows get off the ground and did whatever I could for the good of the cause: Theatre: the perpetually dying art. Immersed in independent theatre, drowning in its gaffer tape and budget limitations… aggressively passive smoking while worthy actors waited patiently for a big break (of a celebrity kind.)

I had emailed my CV and a bright enthusiastic letter of introduction to several theatre companies in Canada (a childhood dream to head to the great white north!) with an open mind and a huge amount of trust to places I wanted to see, theatres with a strong history and an innovative websites. I was trawling the internet finding all sorts of things… And then I found it! A show that I thought would broaden my horizons. A “Community Play” to be developed written and performed in, of, for and by the people of a Canadian community. An English director and English designer, a professional team and local people of all persuasions: a cast of 200… of amateur actors… yep… that sounds as far from here as I could get: count me in!

Within a few months I had my ticket, travel insurance, a free place to stay for 6 months (courtesy of the theatre company’s assistant designer) and the rumour of a job. What a job! The only Aussie on this huge, tight budgeted show. I collected curious Canadians, who flocked around me like tourists at the Big Banana, looking and listening to me, asking questions: what did I think of Canada? Where was I from? How long am I here for? and of course the usual questions about Australian weather, vegemite and kangaroos. I was the myth dispeller and the unofficial ambassador for Oz, I was just like Bindi Irwin, but without my own exercise video!

In my first 2 months in Canada, I appeared in “The Kickapoo Indian Medicine Tent Show”: 5 characters, 4 accents (which weren’t my own), 13 costume changes, 6 songs and feigning explosive diarrhea: all in 63 minutes! Not easy money. Especially considering the “afflicted by explosive diarrhea” part of my performance.

Then the show which was the reason I was there. I directed several scenes, created eight ball gowns out of different coloured plastic bags, wrote a couple of songs, edited the script, performed as a frog and was in charge of taking care of the 200 kilogram blind tourettes disorder suffering native man in the cast, who would yell and bite himself when confused by what was happening, which was often (and who could blame him?).

Within 2 months of the show finishing I had founded a lucrative youth theatre. I was also working with a group who made musical instruments for children out of recycled and found objects; co-wrote a show for a theatrical choir for children. I was fast becoming known about town as the children’s theatre expert (and on some occasions Mary Poppins) and scored a much-coveted job at a local arts centre. There were offers and jobs flooding in from a huge music festival to direct their opening and closing ceremonies, a play to direct and dramaturge for the mental health community… I was busy! Working in the arts and popular for my writing and directing (with professionals and amateurs from 5-93years old) who could ask for anything more? Then came an offer to be sponsored for the next 2 years! Decision time!

I thought seasons were somehow regulated in 3 month cycles. 12 months, 4 seasons, Right? 12 divided by 4 is three. Winter starts in December and ends in February. Right? WRONG! The Canadian winter begins in November and continues sometimes until May. When I was finally told this, I cried. Little ice cube tears chinked as they hit the pavement, (which was also covered in ice.)

Two days later it was Australia Day 2005, I was in my office with thick fluffy snow fringing the windows, encouraging me to eat and sleep more. I was occasionally pecking out a script for another show. It had been -33 degrees all week. I hadn’t been outside in days. Then, a phone call. Happy voices of my friends who were barbequing, getting sun burnt and listening to triple J’s hottest 100 bubbled over the phone as I pictured them wearing Australian flags as capes and playing lawn bowls barefoot in the sun and slowly getting drunk on Aussie beer.

Decision time. What to do? Stay in the land of eternal winter where Mr Tumnus and I can drink 8% Quebec beer and make snow angles for most of the year whilst working as a youth theatre director/playwright? Or frolic with my friends whilst getting by on bits and pieces of independent theatre shows: the life that has only existed in my memory and in the responses to curious Canadians?

In my deliberations, my best Canadian friend and designer (who had lived in several foreign countries) said, “the longer you stay, the harder it is to leave” and she suggested any more than 2 years, things start to get difficult. That deadline was fast approaching.

So I booked my ticket home to arrive in the Australian summer. That’s no coincidence. But the weather was not completely to blame. I had a new-found validation. A renewed passion for theatre and new writing. I felt ready to be re-introduced into my native land. If I could make a living in Canada… surely I can make a living in Australia? So here I am. And I’m going to share it all: my history, disappointments and failures, observations and experiences returning to Oz.

When Dorothy returned from the bizarre coloured world of the munchkins to her black and white world on the farm, she burst into tears. She was grateful to be home, and in her own room, in her own bed, with Aunty Em calming her down. She learnt when looking for adventure, she need look no further than her own back yard.

No on can deny the value of appreciating where you are: as the adage goes: “where ever you are, be there”. But there is something amazing about being elsewhere. It makes you appreciate what you have at home, it forces you to reckon with your definition and connection to “home.” And upon my return, I appreciate all I had there… And at the heart of all great experiences and places are the people that you meet, you know, you rely on and you help.

Before I headed to Canada, I saw an exhibition at an Art Gallery that quite affected me. It was an installation/sculptural piece: a bridge made of a thousand little jelly baby type coloured people with their arms up above their heads as if they were supporting a crowd surfer. A thousand little people… multicoloured, palms to the sky, anonymous, faceless and yet important in the structure of the bridge. The message of the piece was that to get anywhere: perhaps even over troubled waters, that there is a thousand people who will support your journey.

Sometimes, this is the most inspiring thing to me as I walk down the street. Notice the buildings, notice some Christmas decorations, notice a tree, a scabby poster peeling off a wall. All of them put there by someone. Someone put something there. Old buildings were once new, and put there by someone: someone who was at a point in their career that they were working on this building. Even right now: banners lining the city streets of Sydney with festive messages were put there by someone, someone was hired to design them, someone facilitated, some one else approved the design and the specs and someone printed/ made them.

This is the reason I always stay to the very end of film credits. Watching the reams of names skip past reminds me a film was made because all of these people, and the people behind these people said “yes”.

For anything to exist, someone must say “yes, this is worth investing in, participating in, working on.” Sometimes this “yes, this is important” comes from the partner or family behind the person who dares to contribute, dares to offer something, create something that may suffer the slings and arrows of a thousand “NO’s.” A “yes” from someone close is the medicine for the onslaught of “no’s” that are so easily dispensed.

It’s a comforting thought: that it takes a lot of people to make things happen. It implies responsibility: we share the success of creating the world around us. We also share the struggle and the disillusionment and the heartache. One thing made… many people contributed. It’s a nice reminder that nothing can be created in isolation.

Every play I have written is because of someone else: a conversation. A problem, a miscommunication, a joke. Every column I have written this year has been in response to someone else’s email or conversation. Every play I have worked on is because someone said “yes”, at some stage: to me, to my writing or to my direction or my enthusiasm or something.

And since returning to Oz, there are a whole lot of things that have been really difficult…. For every “yes” there are 20 “no’s” and I sometime feel like my career is not being steered by my successes nor my triumphs, but by my failures, or as options and opportunities are shut off from me. Is that such a bad thing? What happens then? How do you know when to capitulate and when to retaliate? Which battle should be fought? And which victory would be worth the battle? And really, should I just go back to where I feel I can make the biggest impression? There is a different arts community here than in Canada. (by “here” I mean Sydney: I am told its different in Melbourne but who knows if that’s the “grass is greener” syndrome?).

Friends returning from visits to New York and Canada remark on the same things… “everyone is so keen to get on board with your project” and it does seem to be true. In my experience in the great white north there is a big push for new ideas, for new writing, new projects… there is a hunger for and an enthusiasm for the next new big thing… and I must say that isn’t the same vibe here. There seems to be a theatre community run on competition and exclusivity: there seems very little room to let anyone else in. And in such a limited and un-diverse eco-system as the current Sydney theatre foyers, I wonder about the sustainability of the theatre scene which seems a little bit “samey”: dare I mention the “Nidafication” of the Sydney theatre scene? Where training institutions are producing templates of “how to”… and I wonder how it informs creativity, or does it stunt it? Perhaps is it as David Mamet mentions in his book “True and False”, that ours is a generation obsessed with training instead of doing? There is less of a tendency to branch out, to take a risk or a leap or to make a huge disastrous public failure, nor to experience making theatre/art outside in the safety of an institution.

And colleagues returning from brief visits elsewhere say “I have to live there” and talk of being inspired, valued and challenged. We all feel it. And I look around and notice that there is a thousand people who are wishing for change: all feeling the same way. The main thing I have learnt from being back, is that we are all in the same boat, fighting the same fight…and the biggest problem is that we are all rowing in opposite directions, and occasionally slapping each other in the head with our oars. But hey, there is enough room in this ocean. I’m a part of it… and I hope anyone who reads this feels the same way too.

I am determined to encourage those around me, but I can’t do this by myself, and I haven’t done this by myself… there are many out there helping me along. And rest assured, that when things are particularly crap, and rejection letters are papering your letterbox with impersonal form letters, there is a whole bunch of people around you whether you know it or not who are wishing the same things. It is up to us to change the culture here. It is up to us to support each other… its our industry and we’ve got to take care of it: and by taking care of it, I mean taking care of each other.

Thanks to all those who have written, who have sent scripts, who have shared with me. Thanks to my partner and my friends and my colleagues and to Venessa Paech and the ArtsHub gang. Thank you to my supporters in Canada and here in Sydney. Just remember, whether you are contributing, capitulating, being rejected, being accepted, loving it, or hating it… there is no place like home.

Trying to unravel why some people in the theatre industry believe that bad behaviour is a synonym for “Artistic temperatment” and therefore acceptable. It completely undercuts professional behaviour and therefore the arts as a profession.

Bookstores and libraries across the world boast shelves and shelves of books on acting of theatre, of biographies and autobiographies, of people in the arts, advice offered by successful or celebrity figures in the arts. Covers with grainy photographs of clear faced people with crows-feet smiles, their hands touching their chin – looking whimsical yet knowledgeable, smiling into the distance. Advice, adages, anecdotes to soothe, and placate artists and novices in times of struggle, hardship, exhaustion, harsh criticisms, despondency and to excuse bad behaviour.

For a long time I have been thinking that there is truth in the sayings that surround the theatre/arts: about being tough, not taking no for an answer, being a creative genius yet a nightmare tyrant to work with. But something about them just don’t ring true and I believe that many of the clichés that paint artists as egotistical, selfish, loners, drunks, drug addicts and single minded arrogant people- users are useless, nonsensical, unproductive and completely untrue.

I don’t believe that the cliché of the tortured artist or financially irresponsible artistic flake is true or necessary. I don’t believe the casting couch is the main piece of furniture in most theatres. I also don’t think that to get to the top of your field you have to “use” other people. Early in my career someone told me that “theatre is about using people,” and he told me that until I realised we are all using each other to further our careers that I would always be a failure. My brow furrowed and I thought about this. I have often read about the fickleness of fame, the transience of the art form, about the superficiality of the entertainment industry. And it made upset me horribly to think that the industry is driven by a bunch of fair weather friends and opportunists who are “using each other” to get to the top.

I don’t believe that theatre practitioners are using each other to get to the top nor do they need that attitude or perspective to achieve great work. I believe the truth of the matter is that there is a mutualistic symbiosis in the artistic community which is based on needing each other, not using each other for individualistic gain. I believe we are contributing to an ongoing conversation about who we are, where we are and what we think in the era in which we live. I believe that directors need the passion and vulnerability of actors to reveal the fragility and comedy written down by playwrights. I believe actors need the playwright to provide them a frame work of creation. Actors need the director for guidance and suggestion and support. The actors need the lighting designer so they can be seen and can see on stage. Playwrights need directors to negotiate and to champion their words… what I am trying to say is, that theatre is a collaboration. To act or believe that it is every artist for themselves and to search out people to “use” is to deny collaboration. To deny collaboration in favour of getting what you can, when you can, from who you can to achieve success, is the saddest thing I can think of. It destroys the possibility for creation, for conversation: and THAT is failure.

I don’t believe in success at all cost. I don’t think that success should be at the expense of other people. I don’t think it has to be like that and I don’t think there should be. And I don’t believe that to be in the theatre, to “get ahead” you need to exclusively hang out with “theatre people”: after all, surely we are writing for and about the wider population, not just for our colleagues and peers?

Recently I was directing as a part of a collection of new works and during a break in the tech rehearsal I approached one of the other groups of actors who were visibly tired after a long and difficult night. I went over and offered an enthusiastic congratulations for a highly energetic and compelling performance: A courtesy I believe they deserve. By and large they greeted me with appreciative thanks. But I did experience a few silences and a few harsh words and a failure to engage with a key member of the group… I had the distinct impression they didn’t like me. Was I being too friendly? Did they think I was being insincere? Did they suspect I had ulterior motives for offering congratulations? Or perhaps I am being paranoid? After days of similar treatment I began to avoid this person after receiving some random expletives, I thought this is proof that I should probably avoid the unpredictable firing line of this person. I was confronted days later by this person blurting at me “By the way, I don’t hate you Gus, you need to toughen up or you’ll never get anywhere.” Now, its nice this person doesn’t hate me… after all I like to think they have no reason to… and I wasn’t devastated or losing sleep about their bad behaviour towards me. Just conscious, aware and wanting to avoid any uncomfortable and unnecessary acts of aggression.

Usually the most aggressive and abrasive people in this industry have claimed that I am “too sensitive.” And the old adage of “you have to have the hide of a rhinoceros to survive the industry” rears its ugly head again. I am sensitive. I cry in plays/movies/at the news. I feel for people around me: sometimes I am hurt by other people. I am sensitive and this isn’t something I am ashamed or embarrassed about. I cry. I laugh. I think about criticisms and rejections and I move on. It is more about resilience, than being “tough”. It is about “confidence,” not “arrogance”. It is about being strong in what you believe in. About offering on stage and in rehearsal the best circumstances to which make your colleagues work shine, not to use or compete with them to get where you want to go.

But there are certain standards of professionalism and interpersonal conduct which are sometimes ignored. Is this because of the myth of the artistic temperament? IS this because of the intense stress that may be experienced at different times during the creative process?. I would not expect any co-worker in any job easy to work with if they were rude, inconsiderate, hot tempered, selfish, egotistical etc. We wouldn’t tolerate this of our plumber, we certainly don’t tolerate it in our mechanics. Why should it be tolerated in the entertainment industry?

What this has encouraged me to understand is that I am not interested in working with badly behaved people. Divas? Prima donnas with artistic temperaments who are after what I can “do for them” not what they can do for their industry/art form. I don’t care how “talented” any one is. There is nothing good that comes out of being vicious, selfish and insensitive nor badly behaved.

I am interested in a fulfilling artistic exchange: is that naive? I also think that the most fulfilling creative processes I have been involved in have contained highly sensitive people. Not “self-indulgently sensitive,” but definitely in touch with their fragility, limitations and humanity, as opposed to being egotistical, overly abrasive, arrogant and badly behaved. I find that things are created in spite of those people not necessarily because of them. Talent and professionalism are not mutually exclusive. Arrogance and selfishness is not a pre-requisite for being in the arts. In fact, I think it’s the opposite. The pre-requisite is sensitivity. Being sensitive to the need of actors (and fellow performers) to fellow directors, to people in your industry, to the tenderness of a playwrights first draft, to your fellow designers, creators and collaborators. It is also being sensitive to the needs of the audience: to their time, money, attention. In short, being sensitive to the needs of others.

All art is an offering to another person: an audience, a viewer, a collaborator. It is an act of generosity in and of itself. I believe that artists have to be sensitive in order to create. The responsibility that comes with this right is best exemplified by a phrase the director Lindy Davies has in her rehearsal room to offer each other, at all times, “unconditional positive regard.”

This covers a few things: my 27th birthday: and what that means for applying for grants, Garret’s policy for the arts (pre election), and the idea of government subsidized productions (ie not depending on audiences for sustainability).

October is a funny month. Its spring here in Australia: things are budding and blossoming, bees are out investigating flowers, there’s cleaning to be done and plans to be made. In Canada it is the opposite, things are shutting down, turning colour, being harvested… is a time to batten down the hatches coz the winter is coming. It’s also the month in which my birthday appears: which sometimes falls on the Canadian Thanksgiving long weekend… a concept we don’t really understand here… but I celebrate my birthday with thanks anyway and I try to invert that dismay which comes from general birthday-reflection. I realised that my 27th birthday last year was the marker that separated me from youth/emerging to adult… the marker that the Australia Council and other funding bodies have sometimes marked as “26 and younger”. I am now 28 and in a different application strand… I am now theoretically old enough and experienced enough to play with the big kids… if I chose to do so.

I found a small tough wiry grey hair in the middle of my face framing voluminous locks. And I cried.

It’s not vanity… in fact I think I would look quite dashing with a white mane: like a Pegasus, or a girl-gandalf: after all, other white haired women of the theatre command respect. I’m just realising now what opportunities there were for me at 26 and under… but two of those years were spent in Canada. I now understand where I fit in. I am the “in between.” I am not young enough or established enough to successfully compete for funding. But then again, surely if I were interested in it: I would have done it? Or perhaps I am most interested in that which I feel I need to earn.

And in my birthday reflections I ask: why aren’t I further along than I am? Why do I persist in doing this: why am I working his day job… working that creative night job… writing, directing… talking… wanting… creating etc? Why don’t I just quit? What would be lost? What could I gain? Has everyone else been given the secret to succeeding but me? Its been 11 years since I have moved out of home and been supporting myself. If I am good at this, shouldn’t I have more to show for by now?

A couple of weeks ago, my mother called me up excited and visibly relieved at Garrett’s artist allowance proposal: and she asked me if I was happy with it. “I don’t know” I answered. I have never been on the dole and I know how difficult it is for friends and family members who have. And my impression is that being on the dole is, that it is a full time job: but with the possibility of lowered self-esteem. And I fear that the proposed allowance would cause the general public to disconnect and disrespect artists as the new form of dole-bludger. I worry that it would not help the real problem facing artists: which is a misconception of the value of what they do.

I have worked in many jobs and any job. Just to see what it’s like… to meet new people… to try things: to learn. I currently have a fulltime job which I love and believe in which I am at 40 hours a week and I write plays, reviews and columns on the weekend and after office hours. Currently I am rehearsing a small but beautiful offering as a part of new theatre’s Art is Not a Weapon (if you are in Sydney, I urge you to come along at the end of the month to support new plays by Australian writers! And come and say hello: to rescue me of my foyer fears!)… I feel sorry and embarrassed for Costello exposing his complete and extreme ignorance of what an artist’s life is like (as per “Who do you Trust on Arts Policy”: Garrett’s Artshub article) and yes sometimes I wish I could just concentrate on all the things I am driven and impassioned by… but I don’t want that life and those benefits at any price.

Although this proposal of Garrett’s seems utopian and I am extremely grateful for the discussion it has started it just seems like a simple solution: to offer artists a blanket wage to “create”. I don’t know if that’s the answer. I see the problem as larger and more complex than that. People create anyway in spite of their circumstances and though out time, it has never been easy or comfortable or financially stable: but all of us would quit stop tomorrow if safety and ease and comfort were why and how we found ourselves to be artists.

If they want to know how to stimulate creation, art, discussion there are three things all artists need: an audience, a community sense of appreciation and a place in which art can be seen.

Perhaps a part of the problem is that people aren’t willing to pay for the arts, which may come from a confused sense of entitlement. “Why should I pay for it if I can get it for free?” As the loudest argument at a recent dinner party: the argument in favour of downloading films and music off the Internet for free. So the punters feel the product is up for grabs. And then there is a righteousness of people within the industry who ask/demand/expect complimentary tickets for attending productions whether it be independent or main stage.

Perhaps the real problem is we don’t have an example? If more people were shown by our leaders: political or celebrity or even people they respect that theatre and Australian film, and galleries and dance are valuable and regular and constant parts of their lifestyle: perhaps then they would be more receptive. What if it were commonplace to see everyone you know at the theatre etc? And you barracked for a theatre company like you would at a football game. If there was an acceptance and culture of spending money on the arts, the creators would be buoyed both financially and personally encouraged by the interest generated.

Perhaps there is an expectation made around the creation of art: that everything created is a product: everything created is art (please refer to Williamson’s play/film “The Coming of Stork” where Bruce Spence as “artist” vomits onto canvas). The questions get harder:

But who can say what is and isn’t art? Who are the people that we put our faith in to assess what is and what isn’t, our politicians? Shouldn’t we answer: the audience? The educated/uneducated, the high brows and low brows, the haves and have-nots all have a stake in art. All need access to it. All need to talk and relate to it: all need to communicate with it. Art is for everyone: not just the rich, and the elite… and it is not only made by possible government funds it is made possible by the people who dare to be different, dare to be financially unstable and dare to dream: those who dare to create.

Even though I am too old for some forms of government funding: which I have never received. I’m not too old to be creating. Just because I am not hugely wealthy or famous or safe in the bosom of promised government funding I continue to create and think and exist. I have self funded all my productions and I am happy to do so, because I can. I will be putting up the money next year for two plays I believe in as I believe in the power and the integrity of the audience. “Popular” doesn’t necessarily translate as “low quality.” “Financially successful” is not a euphemism for “artistically bereft.” Just as “government funded” does not necessarily mean “more worthy” or “more legitimate.”

I will continue. Because the goal is not money but communication. The goal is not financial safety but creative risk. I can do this. It’s hard: but would it be worth it if it weren’t?

Its coming up to the pitch season for independent theatres across Sydney, and I am feeling that rise of panic in my chest as I start to assess my options for pitching something. I have been seeing shows all over the place, having a look at what’s on and what’s getting chosen… who are the independent players in this game… and it is surprising what’s on and where it comes from.. how its been supported. It becomes blaringly obvious that there is an ugly frightened figure, quivering in the corners of our theatres: cultural cringe. “Still!?!” I hear you shriek.

Whether we like it or not there is still a preference for plays from elsewhere… especially when its advertised with a 7-10 word starry eyed blurb from the New York Times or heavy with the acclaim of the UK critics circle award. Perhaps it is the provincial “grass is greener” idea… well we are “down under”(the arse end of the world: which I can’t help but wonder if the original cartographers were from Australia, would the world map still show Europe and America as the top of the world?)

Is it perhaps the fact that the Australian public and practitioners are exposed to contemporary Australian plays (of the 1970’s and 80’s) at School where they are taught in a time capsule: complete with “original production photos” of angry fat white men in Safari suits swilling Fosters? Perhaps the idea of Australian plays feel a bit archaic? Perhaps that “Australia” that is presented and spoken feels a little… Unfashionable? Perhaps a little simple? Perhaps a little bit irrelevant in the context of a shrinking world: a globalized villiage that we would stamp something as Australian when what plays seek to do is find a human experience? I don’t know if other countries label their plays as “new American Play” or “New British play”. Perhaps the labelling is a problem in itself?

And just to be clear, my definition of an Australian play is not limited to splashes of traditional iconography: hats swinging with corks or lamingtons… or footballers storming around on stage saying “crikey” or “bloomin’”… it merely refers to a play that is written by an Australian citizen or a person that identifies as an Australian. And also, unlike one recent suggestion… I don’t believe that Australian writing is a genre within itself. And unlike a comment made in a recent AWG seminar titled “Are Australian Films Different”(which was a watered down title which originally was called “Are Australian Films Crap”)… I don’t think Australian films or plays are “boutique” or “arthouse.” Labelling them as such marginalizes the potential of the reach of such films.

Is it (as a fellow playwright mentioned the other night when I caught him questioning why a season of new English plays were being shown at a local theatre) for the reason that plays from overseas are often presented to us practitioners in bound published books unlike the unceremoniously stapled new untested Aussie script? Are directors and producers so simple that they judge plays by their covers?

If unproduced or minimally produced Australian scripts were published: would that inspire more confidence in the play itself and therefore solve the lack of new Australian plays being produced on main stage and independent theatres? But then again perhaps they are unpublishable? Publishers want to publish books that will sell and would a collection of new Aussie plays sell? Who would be buying them? Or perhaps it is the lack of development time for Australian plays: that playwrights are usually scribbling plays whilst trying to keep a full time job: to keep fed, and don’t have the luxury of time or space. But is that a uniquely Australian problem or a universal symptom of modern times?

Is it the fact that a contemporary Australian play has a living breathing writer attached to it and that fact in itself can be a terrifying thing to confront. If you are a director and producer or actor and you take on a new writer or a new play do you give the work the benefit of the doubt and assume that the work is complete and perfect (as you would a play from anywhere? Or do you know there is a long road of development and workshopping ahead? Can a play be “workshopped to death,” as Peter Kingston (who is, some say, the guru of the new Australian play) had said to me last year during a workshop? Perhaps the fear of getting it wrong and having to wrestle the writer to your way of thinking is impeding the choice of plays directors produce. I’m sure a writer is easier to deal with when they live twenty thousand kilometres away or if they have been dead for 400 years: there is a definite safety in that!

Is play development lacking in Australia? Is playwriting a skill to be learned as you go or at an institution or is it an ability which a person is born with? As mentioned in the recent Australian Writers Guild article by Chris Mead, playwrights often get their chance to develop and produce work through a partnership with a brave and trusted director. But I think it is quite difficult for directors to meet the playwrights and difficult for playwrights to meet directors. And once the meeting occurs, there is a leap of faith to trust them (whatever side of the fence you are on).

There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that audiences in Australia and overseas want to see new Australian plays. There is absolute proof that when a play touches the hearts of people, (as “people” more than as “Australians” –whatever that might mean) the play is a rip roaring success… I’m sure you can think of a few of these moments… for me it’s the first production of Cloudstreet. So really I think that if you make it… people will come.

A playwright friend of mine, Melanie Tait has had huge successes in the UK with a play called Vegemite Tales. It has become one of the most popular and long running fringe shows in the UK. Van Badham works as a full time playwright in the UK. Other Australian playwrights exist as writers overseas… while a few privileged handful of writers here hope to be noticed and programmed. Why is that?

I’m on the hunt for some new Australian plays. I’m ready to meet some writers with something to say. . I’m looking for plays about 70 minutes… I’m willing to read anything, anyone wants to submit. And I urge directors and producers of the independent theatres to do the same. Seek out Aussie writers as you would seek foreign writers, set them a challenge and a deadline. Start a dialogue about a play and lets start investing in the talent we have here.

There are many reasons why its difficult being a writer and/or a director but the biggest thing I have realised in the last month is that all those reasons don’t matter. They don’t matter for the express fact that it doesn’t stop that feeling in me that there are stories worth telling, and people worth making them with and an audience worth telling them to. The reasons why or how its difficult don’t matter because I continue to do it anyway. I continue to write, I continue to direct and I continue to support an industry that is forever moaning and groaning due to financial or (so called) cultural malnutrition.

Why not use all those skills: skills of analysis and articulate communication, not in the pursuit of complaining but in the creation of art? Why not re-direct that energy and time and just do it?

When I was little, I learnt a valuable lesson about survival. Here I will site a specific instance where I was huddled on my parents 1980s brown velvet couch watching “Flash Gordon.” This is the moment when I first fully understood the heart pounding effects of risk and danger and what makes it so amazing is that risk and danger heighten your sense of mortality and thus your sense of life. It was during a laser-ridden combat sequence when the bad-guy was pursuing Flash Gordon and people were running around getting shot at with neon coloured lasers that I really felt danger: my adrenalin started pumping. My instinct was to shout out at the television (not cool in an era of non-interactive technology) “PRETEND TO BE DEAD!” Surely all these people are shooting at the guys running around and wouldn’t bother with the ones on the ground: you never see a bad guy shoot lasers at a body lying on the ground. My older brother’s rational for this was “it would waste a lot of bullets if you had to shoot at lying down people too.” But I made a pledge to myself, that if I was ever being shot at, I would pretend to be dead. Bad guys are more likely to shoot a living person than a person who they think to be dead. But my 10 year old brother said something that day which has affected the rest of my life “but Gus, if everyone played dead, there would be no movie.”

Theatre is no different. If theatre was dead, if there were no audiences, if it didn’t matter or if it was too hard: none of us would bother. None of us would write for theatre, none of us would act in it, none of us would be directing it , none of us would discuss it, I wouldn’t be writing this article and you wouldn‘t be reading it. Are you reading this? But we are making it. We are talking about it. It is happening and it will continue for as long as we continue to make it. We are clever enough to know when it is better to play dead and when we should plunge ourselves in front of that bullet and go out with a bang. We are human and as such we have a survival instinct which demands that we preserve our own lives through fight or flight. This compulsion to fight or flight is as strong and inexorable for artists as the sun rising and setting everyday. Theatre and art is tied to instinct and that’s what fuels the burning passion which keeps me up at night thinking about my next project and keeps me believing in its importance and its place in the landscape of my life.

If I was to play dead, run away or choose the “flight” option in theatre: nothing would be gained and everything would be lost. And nothing is more painfully disappointing to me than lost opportunity. The easiest thing to do in the theatre is complain. It’s easy to bitch and moan and pick holes in the fabric of the industry. It’s easy to justify why you’re not doing work, or play the blame game or the victim or to try to belittle what has been attempted or contributed. But to do it… That’s brave. To make it , to put yourself out there to even go and see some theatre and support it as an audience member is also an active act. To push apathy aside, to put your money where your mouth is, knowing full well you could fail or not succeed… that is what it is about because that is what living is. I cannot and will not and I refuse to sit idle; waiting for change. No one is going to give me or any artist anything from complaining and waiting placidly muttering things about “not fair” and “that’s crappy”.

In my last column I mentioned the show I produced… (actually they were 10 1 act/short plays which was about to be on.)… And I thought I would let you know how it went. It went beautifully. I was thrilled. Some bits weren’t ideal, I made some mistakes and I take responsibility for the bits that weren’t so good some bits could have been better and hopefully will be better as they continue to develop. I was surprised and delighted with the turn out and the overwhelming support from people (and three weeks on I’m still receiving fantastically supportive emails) The cornerstone of this project, the reason why I created it, was really to give writers a deadline, to create some tangible and meaningful networking opportunities and to foster an audience who is willing to come out to the theatre, and see some work in development. At 4pm on a Sunday I assembled half of the group which equated to about 20 people to move the seating so we could accommodate more chairs as we were 50 people over booked. Wow. Phew! The audience feedback talked about quality, about comedy, about freshness and originality. One audience member (who I am not related to in any way) pushed a $50 bill into my hand to buy the actors some champagne in congratulations.

What I learnt is there is no reason, no value in not being confident in my own country: even in defeat and failure. I was confident over there.. and my exotic Aussie accent helped that a long a little as people take more care in listening if there is an accent attached. But I have learnt, if your going to say something stupid or make a mistake, say it loudly so everyone can hear you… don’t mutter and hide and run away wishing later you had said something or done something. You never know until you try, and no amount of schooling, learning, lectures and qualifications will ever be a substitute for practical learning. I learnt some great things about myself, about theatre makers and audiences: and the great thing about this art is, every new project carries your experience from your previous projects and the burden of being new. And I swing between confidence and being terrified… but now I know this to be certain:

The easiest thing to do is to play dead: close your eyes, lie still, say nothing and restrict your breathing. But it’s not fun. Its not rewarding and nothing will change.

I’ve been on both sides of the fence. There is no “sitting on the fence”… you are either on one side or another. You are either working on a show, or you are not. Thinking about working on a show, wondering if there is a show you could work on etc, is in the category of “not.” But if you are in the process of approaching people, raising money and writing proposals: you are working. For me, it’s not just the luxurious 6 weeks (part time) with actors I enjoy and count as “working on a show”… It’s the deciding on the scripts, the selection of the team… the whole invisible process that starts months before.

Because everything is in a state of emergence, I am a little terrified of mentioning anything to old colleagues, theatre acquaintances and people I know in a theatre foyer in case somehow the mere mention of what I am about to do…or secretly working on breaks the spell and everything freezes for eternity in an eternal winter. I am not a procrastinator. It’s not as though I am lazy, putting things off, and not working on anything at the moment. In fact, its quite the opposite… but if I were to rattle off the projects on the boil right now… that familiar look drifts over the faces of the inquisitor… the look of excitement, then boredom, then envy, then disbelief, then haughty indifference. Yep, the list of things I am doing makes me look like I am lying or delusional or both. Then it then appears as if I was not in the midst of things at all, but desperately over compensating. So my thinking is… be polite and a little aloof and be more interested in them.

It’s a knee jerk response. “What are you doing at the moment?” And sometimes it feels as though you must recite your CV at people to defend or prove or to justify your label as (insert profession here)… And for some peers in the theatre/entertainment industry, the competition is what fuels them, their career is based on spite and envy.

Recently I was asked to meet a director, in order to be his assistant on a show. He had my phone number from an artistic director I know, and we arranged to meet, like a blind date on the steps of Sydney’s town hall. I bought him a coffee and talked about his project. And soon it became screamingly clear that I was not the right fit for this project. He wanted an assistant director who could read stage plots and tell actors where to stand. He sweated through interviewing me, complaining of stress and fatigue (2 months out of opening) and I thought, “No Gus. This is not the project for you” I rejected myself from his project, wished him the very best and we parted ways. I will be seeing his show (which other acquaintances I know are in) next week.

Of course it is hard to say “no”. Its hard to be the one to disappoint and to reject an opportunity… because “you can never know too many people” as a friends father used to say.. and you never know where you may be catapulted to due to a particular show…But I think of theatre in terms of canned tuna: “it’s the fish that John West rejects, that makes John West the best”. Sometimes by rejecting something you didn’t want/couldn’t do, you allow the person who DID want to do it and could do it, a wonderful opportunity to make something and experience something great. It’s the art of putting the right peg in the right hole. And not all pegs look the same.

Theatre is not a place to suffer or a place martyrs are created. No one has been sainted for repainting the set at 2am or for crying during bump-in. Theatre is a place for creativity, communication and community, and if you are not enjoying it… don’t do it. And you may not enjoy a role or process but someone else might.

I attended the Australian Writers Guild seminar on the role of the writer/producer. And the strongest thing I walked away from it understanding is to ask. It is a normal feeling to be a little on the back foot… a little shy when asking people to come on board a project for a co-op fee (a well known euphemism for “free” or “far less than an equity wage.”) Not having money for a project can make you feel powerless or insignificant.. or unworthy to ask. And I have felt like that on too many occasions. Its also easy to be afraid or someone saying “no.” I now ask out of courtesy. I ask people if they would like to be in a show I am directing, if they would like to have their script directed by me or if they would like to direct my latest play. I can’t assume that everyone is busy, or uninterested: that is the height of arrogance. There are actors I would love to work with and I hope to when the project is right. And the worst that can happen is that someone may say no.

When people say no, there are a million factors that it could be: an impending trip to Brisbane; they have freshly fallen in love and are wrapped in the fluffy arms of bliss; they are shooting a film; they don’t connect with the characters; they are in the middle of climbing a mountain in South America (all these are real reasons offered to me in the last 3 months). Also it’s important to let people know that when they have said “no” it does not mean they are forever cut from the “to ask list”. Something else might pop up later, that fits in better with their life. And despite popular belief, theatre people do have lives outside of and beyond the theatre.

There will be a time for all of us to be in a wonderful show, which had a lovely process, and magnificent people around, well received by all who see it and causes excitement. There will also be occasions when due to unforeseen circumstances, we are in a show we don’t like, or a part we don’t enjoy, a process that was difficult or that was dismissed by critics. But really, there will always be shows that you missed out on, said you say “no” to and there will always be people who miss out and who say “no” to you. But no matter what, just remember the immortal words of Mr Kenny Rogers:

“You got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you’re sittin’ at the table. There’ll be time enough for countin’ when the dealin’s done.”