I believe that each act in our lives is an act of accidental or considered curation. Curation is a selection process and the end result is that meaning is made – whether accidental or intentional. There is meaning in what we choose. Or meaning that we don’t choose (which, is, actually in itself, a choice).

Meaning is made, regardless.

Ontroerend Goed and Sydney Theatre Company joined forces for the Sydney Festival to present A History of Everything at The Wharf 2 Theatre. A company of young theatre makers (both Belgian and Australian) decide to embark on creating this dual-hemispherical reflection of history in 1 hour and 40 minutes.

And of course, there is failure inherent in such a project – there is no way EVERYTHING can be encompassed in one show. And the choice here, is to either accept the failure and delight in it: or the choice is to scrutinize the failure and question it.

I will, for the sake of discussion, not follow suit with my blogging/responding/reviewing colleagues – all whom delighted in it, it seems.

You can read them here:
John McCallum
Lenny Ann Low
James Waites

I will present an alternative response.

Deep in the realms of human experience, there is an innate awareness that emerges (I think in teenage years) that we are completely alone. At that point, belonging becomes everything – as goths and punks emerge with heavy make-up and a trembling sense of disconnection. Wa are absolutely and utterly alone. Alone in action, and opinion and life trajectory. No-one will live the life you will live. That uniqueness is awe-inspiring and confusing and sometimes very solid and sometimes easily crushed and completely overwhelming. Sort of like trying to track a history of everything.

It is at this point of identity formation – the teenage years – that curation or choice- becomes intense, self-aware and paramount to daily function. It’s high stakes. Choice is branding. Choice is everything.

On a giant map of the world the history of the world is played out backwards. And so here we are watching a backwards clock tick – we watch clever conceits fill the stage.

A group of people tell a history of the world. Despite there being seven bodies contributing to this performance (and that’s not including director nor designer) with a variety of background and nationality, but what we are presented with, is “A” history. Single. History. The 7 identities dip into the fast back-spinning timeline – but not significantly – only momentarily. And despite some attempts – we are safely nestled in the history of the western world (a fairly male focused history it is too) with momentary glances at the east. This history is dominated by war. Not medical advances. Not philosophical thinking. We are watching a fairly clear trajectory of a homogenized, western consensus history.

As such, it’s fairly dull.

Dramaturgically, we know where we start, and we know where it ends – and what is revealed in the interim is nothing new. And the journey is not particularly surprising or exciting nor is the way in which it is presented. After all the effort and the interest – what we are left with are two theories. Of us: evolution. Of the universe: the big bang. And for me those ideas are very contemporary (less than 200 years old). Such contemporary-ness roots us in the now – therefore reminding us of the performers context. BUT the performers contexts are still not fully exposed – we see only slithers of self. And as a result this history is fairly pedestrian.

Another failure for me is the linear nature of the dialogue. It is a form of curation – a linear structure which ignores multiplicity. Histories do not wait – they are formed and re-formed and re-written. The objective attempt to track history is impossible beyond one’s own life experience – plus, objectivity in reportage is always tainted by the teller’s individual perspective. The tellers of this history seem to make sense of things through lining up events as though countries were like a line of dominoes. To do this to history, is to deny the natural cacophony of humankind. We are a non-linear, non-causal mess – and history makes it look like there was a plan – but there wasn’t. And there still isn’t.

Other visual dramaturgical problems include the timing of when the signs which read “war” were taken away after being placed.

The timing of some events being enacted took precedent over other events – the dropping of the bombs on Hiroshima – but the reality is that all events are of equal importance – therefore they should be at equal pace. I suggest the a break neck speed is probably more effective.

For example -
Big Bang theory
\

Why I felt this show failed, and failed within it’s own “knowing failure” is that it did not reach beyond our (the audience’s) expectation, or beyond our understanding or our knowledge. This was a fairly safe list of events with only faint glimmers of unique and individual contribution from individuals. “This is when i was born” etc.

Devised work and this style of theatre making has an opportunity to be utterly unique and surprising. It is a difficult task – sometimes impossible to manage all the information, all the ideas, all the input. but when it is achieved – it is stunning – like nothing else you’ve ever seen. But the truly amazing work that is made is when we as an audience are elevated – or encouraged to be illuminated. This aimed at show-casing the performer – not showcasing the idea.

Versions of “everything” will always differ. My version, my timeline, is different to yours. My notation, my interests are different to yours. It is curated.

And that is why History is an art not a science.

History is completely subjective. This show was not. And yet it was.

But it failed to be as subjective as history is, even Herodotus had his prejudice, and that speaks to and of the time he lived in. Surely that is what the “youth” can offer us? It could have been a great view of “history” and “everything” specifically relevant to those who were making it – in their context and time. But this felt like history built on consensus, not uniqueness. And that doesn’t really interest me because it is without conflict (not war, I’m talking conflict) and histories conflict. They must because they are subjective. If they don’t conflict, there is something wrong, there is something missing – personal perspective, personal opinion – risk.

The content of this production is nearly completely without risk. personal or artistic. And this lack of risk gives it the over-riding impression of high school improvisation classes.

Contrast to this:

My favourite touchstone about art and evolution is Kaufman’s film, ADAPTATION. Which succeeds in examining the failure of tracking a “flower’s” story. Wrapped up in this piece of meta-film is the struggle with writing – how to encompass the simplicity and yet the complexity of things: of flowers, of people, or sex, of story, of success – all in the one film. It’s about art. It’s about story. It’s about self.

Here’s some segments I was thinking about whilst i was watching A History of Everything:

I can get that from the internet if I Google “key things that happened in history.” but I can’t get what those unique artists wish/dream/worry/understand/value of the history of everything according to them At THIS time. At THIS moment. As they understand.

BUT… This show needs to be applauded and appreciated for the attempt – for the attempt at an inconceivable, forever impossible and imperfect task. The Sydney Theatre Company is also to be applauded for it’s risk takng/bravery in programming such an audacious and ambitious project. Artists must have the freedom to try the impossible… and I think this is a brilliant notion: more artists should attempt the impossible. More artists should bravely face inevitable failure. More artists should be asked to interrogate what they know of the world and where they are and where they are from.
But there needs to be more.

So there I was, it was designated seating at of one of Sydney’s newer theatres – I say newer but really – it’s just one of the newer spaces converted from older industries sauces/stables/salt – you know this one used to house trains until some guy thought it was an awesome idea to give all the traveling gypsies of the performance scene a proper home – yeah? Well anyway, there I was, somehow seated at the top of the wall of heads ready to look at/listen to a show, when I noticed I was seated right in the middle of the row – with my date, yeah, my um… boyfriend can I call him that? Yeah, I can. He’s called me worse – and then I noticed that the people on either side of me was seated two seats away from me. Martin Portus from Currency House – you know it? Yeah it’s one of my favourite things in the arts – besides those mini pies you sometimes get at the Opera House for a post show/pre-review snack on opening nights. you know the ones? Green paste on top. Peas. yeah.I think its peas. yeah it’s ok. – Anyway. So there I was, James Waites seated right on the end – up in the heavens – me separated from everyone by two empty seats. I was like “woah, this could make me paranoid – I’ve I’ve been exiled by the publicist” – but I’m not one to be defeated by lemons, I’m makin’ lemonade , so I strike up a conversation with Martin – and Martin said something cool in response- like he usually does – yeah, he’s cool. Then I noticed James relocating to an empty row of seats closer to the middle so yeah, I just was like “carpe diem” and we crashed it. Whatever. So sitting there. E9. Row E. Yeah, I’m talking about E. Epic. Epic mid-row seating. And it’s all fine.Yeah, I’m comfy.

What?

WHAT?

What do you want from this review?

You want a structure? A nice turn of phrase?

You want to know if you should see it? Spend that cash you could spend on a case of Victorian Bitter? VB, yeah? The original VB perhaps – you know with the good-looking antiquey label – can you still get that in NSW or is that a metro-Melbourne only thing?

Or are you one of the artists who made it? You made it and you’re checking for your name to see what I’ve written about you? Simon Stone, Thomas Henning, Chris Ryan, Mark Winter, Claude Marcos, Govin Ruben, Stefan Gregory, Anne-Louise Sarks. There. There’s your name.

You know, this reviewing stuff – well it’s tricky… a bit like making a show – you think, “what have I got to offer that hasn’t been said by better, older, wiser, smarter, more scholarly, more caring, more patient people who spell-check their reviews – such as

Alison Croggon
Cameron Woodhead
James Waites
Jason Blake

So everyone’s trying to make sense of this show they saw. there are surtitles that sort of give you a heads up to the scene ahead. But WAIT!

There’s also a book you get so you can read along so you can see when Chris Ryan says the line the way they wrote it on that day they wrote it – or estimated it when it went to print… but I’m sorry, there’s no chime to let you know when to turn the page. And the performers will/might deviate from what is written in the book.

Hey, remember this?

READ ALONGS!

Yeah, anyway.

So, we all know – there’s lots to snigger at in the theatre. Penises often get a good giggle. Look, they’re fun. I like them. I like people who host them. But though they may make some feel powerful or important – to me I think under some lights I start thinking about the muppets. Especially this one.

Also, quite nice to note that no women were exploited in the making of this piece of theatre.

Now, let’s talk about art for a second. What’s it there for? Well…

Um…

To keep artists employed and non-artists baffled?

NO! WRONG ANSWER.
(Though that does happen, sometimes)

It’s to reflect the world and ideas in/of/about the world.

Does The Hayloft Project’s Thyestes do that?
SHIT YEAH.

SO THE PLAY…
Is it about Thyestes?

Um no. But who cares. It’s lots of fun. It’s a show which is a bit naughty – a bit surprising a bit provocative. A bit clever. But it’s more about art – the ambition of/toward unique bright ideas. It’s about making fun of the establishment/challenging it – and Opera – funny how this work is MADE by the Establishment (i.e Belvoir’s Resident Director, SIMON STONE) – so he’s um … sorta making fun of himself, ain’t he?

And why not?

A true artist in his position would. Only a bureaucrat wouldn’t.

And so audiences are impressed – not sure how or why – looking to reviewers for answers.
Well, I reckon the most important thing I can offer you is this:

NOURISH YOURSELF WITH…
Jenn’s Out Of This World Spaghetti and Meatballs
(Check out the original site – I think it’s fun – I like how Jenn is thinking intergalactically about her meatballs, don’t you? But hey, don’t get stuck on the international measurements/terminlogy – we’re Aussie, don’t you know? We can translate – we’re used to it- in fact we LIKE foreign stuff.)
http://allrecipes.com/recipe/jenns-out-of-this-world-spaghetti-and-meatballs/
Original Recipe Yield 8 servings
Ingredients
* 3 tablespoons olive oil
* 3/4 cup chopped onion
* 4 cloves garlic, minced
* 2 (16 ounce) cans crushed tomatoes
* 3 (6 ounce) cans tomato paste
* 1 cup water
* 1/2 cup sugar
* 1/4 cup chopped fresh oregano, divided
* 1 dried bay leaf
* salt and pepper to taste
* 1 pound ground round
* 1/2 cup Italian seasoned bread crumbs
* 1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
* 2 eggs, lightly beaten
* 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
* 1 (16 ounce) package uncooked spaghetti
Directions
1. Heat the olive oil in a large saucepan over medium heat, and cook the onion until lightly brown. Mix in 2 cloves garlic, and cook 1 minute. Stir in crushed tomatoes, tomato paste, water, sugar, 1/2 the oregano, and bay leaf. Season with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low, and simmer while preparing meatballs.
2. In a bowl, mix the ground round, bread crumbs, remaining oregano, remaining garlic, parsley, eggs, and cheese. Season with salt and pepper. Roll into 1 inch balls, and drop into the sauce. Cook 40 minutes in the sauce, or until internal temperature of meatballs reaches a minimum of 160 degrees F (72 degrees C).
3. Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil, and stir in the spaghetti. Cook 8 to 10 minutes, until al dente, and drain. Serve the meatballs and sauce over the cooked spaghetti.

THE SUMMARY

And look, I’ll make a suggestion that you should see this work – because well… because… well… A case of VB can last you a couple of days, and this show may just haunt you for a lifetime.

(Did you like that tag line? Or should I workshop it some more?)

Currently the most talked about production in industry circles- Sydney Theatre Company’s production Of Blood Wedding by Federico Garcia Lorca translated by Iain Sinclair.

I note this production because though I saw it on opening night, I was not in attendance as a reviewer but as a handbag to Mr Waites.

So I am going to limit my response to 350 words -

This is the second production of Blood Wedding I’ve seen in 12 months, and I am now completely satisfied that I never need to see another production of it ever again. Not because of this production’s brilliance – because I don’t like the play.

I don’t see how a play that is so amazingly mono-tonal in it’s lusty hysteria is preferenced for programming over a deeply nuanced and relevant new Australian play.

If this play was written by an Australian writer (especially now) it would be discounted immediately for it’s obvious love triangle, lack of subtext or nuance and for the bizarre stylistic shift in the second act.

Additionally a really forced production. And I firmly believe perhaps I would have been more interested if Zindzi Okenyo was cast as the Bride, not the cousin.

Design by Rufus Didwiszus is nearly ridiculous (some may identify as European – And by this I mean I found the design to be visually excessive and therefore distracting. The design was as epic and as cluttered an Opera. And perhaps I am particularly referring to the inclusion of a bloodied child on a swing… ) – a clash and collide of styles – which felt clumsy and excessive.

Clearly not my thing. I was bored.

Try as we might, there is no escaping history. We carry it in our bones, our skin – the wrinkles, freckles, scars carry the impact of a life lived – a life of suffering, struggle that no one can avoid. This tender organ – the largest in our body – constantly shedding, in minute scales – contains our unique genetic information which we leave as a trail where ever we go – like Hansel and Gretel’s bread crumbs. Our organs contained within, our silhouettes are defined by our skin – the edge of the outside world touches us through it – and we, touch the world.

It seems a strange way to start a response to a play – but really there is a lot to talk about – and there is much I could talk about, were we at dinner – or even in a foyer. But here, online, I am only going to add small thoughts to this conversation that have already been well covered by others:
James Waites – always the top of my favourites lending his personal perspective and history to the discussion – if you don’t read him, you should… http://jameswaites.ilatech.org/?p=6583, Diana Simmonds my favourite official onliner who gives eloquent free-flowing reportage here http://www.stagenoise.com/reviewsdisplay.php?id=526 and of course the king of print Jason Blake http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/theatre/voice-of-experience-softens-the-edges-of-a-life-lived-rough-and-hard-20110403-1ct35.html…

It cannot be said enough how important it is to have a diverse representation of voices on stage. Of backgrounds, experience, of gender, race and ethnicity. Belvoir has a long tradition of seeking out and nurturing voices of indigenous theatre makers – and the alumni are impressive high-caliber artists. I still have Wayne Blair’s Conversations with the Dead ringing in my cells long after the event. Long after the event.

Here in 2011, we have in Jack Charles V the Crown – a story that is sadly unsurprising – a story of an indigenous man’s rise, fall and rise in white society. A story of abduction, addiction, incarceration, celebrity -everything a modern magazine would advertise of an American starlet’s claims to fame. A story (for those who saw Amiel Courtin-Wilson’s documentary film, Bastardy) that is a theatrical sequel – Jack Charles’ second coming, so to speak. And it is remarkable to be taken on that journey of dark and grubby Melbourne backstreets in the white lit landscape of a Sydney theatre. We are seeing, in the mere fact he is present – a story of hope, survival (of redemption). We watch as the history of this man is explained – enacted, projected, sung. A long confessional interspersed with song and story – a pastiche of experience co-written by Jack Charles and John Romeril and directed by Rachel Maza Long.

The personal part of this response comes from the skin that I have – my white-appearance skin – my skin that holds many lessons learned – and comes from a diverse array of backgrounds – mostly Celtic convicts, farmers, thieves, righteous tee-totaling country women, and (now recently discovered) indigenous Australians. My ancestry, like many Australians, is mottled with dark and light – my identity difficult and displaced. And it is my own. I have always held the view that we are all three bad choices away from being amongst the unfortunates – and perhaps that is why I talk to beggars, why I’ve worked in soup kitchens and for charities – why I refuse to look away or ignore those around me.

And there is a lot that I have questions about – questions that are not there to be didactic or to provoke or scold – these aren’t questions which are crafted out of an agenda. I start thinking about the future of indigenous theatre… I think about the absence of indigenous punters – in all theatres, and on the night that I attended. I wonder if this a black story for a white audience? Where is the indigenous community that live in the surrounds of the Belvoir building – what would seeing this mean to them – to those who have lived moments of a parallel life with Jack – what would it mean for a young indigenous man to hear this story from an elder – to grow strong and determined – to be empowered to be reassured? What does this play do if it merely preaches to the converted? What is the function of this type of theatre – is it to reassure the audience? Are they hopeful? Are they righteous? Are they saddened by Jack Charles’s experience of being trapped in society of white law – but delighted that he has over come it? Are we self-loathing as the audience who would turn on this man if it were our GUCCI glasses, motorola phone he had stolen – or does this offer us the possibility of compassion and understanding – will his story flash upon our inward eye? Will be make small efforts to understand and reconcile – which is sometimes hard to do in this meritocracy we live in.

How will this change or affirm us and our beliefs?

One thing is certain- Jack Charles is a remarkable performer, if for nothing else his stamina and breadth of bravery. Essentially this is what the story, his story is – it is a story of courage and bravery – and the act of appearing on stage, confessing and confronting the past is a tremendous thing. Which is triple what any of us, with comfortable lives, and theatre subscriptions, and well appointed furniture can even begin to imagine. He has lived it large and tough and on the edge – and in spite of it all, he continues in his skin- the skin that has seen so much, and kept so much within it.

My wish is that the stories continue to come – stories that are diverse in flavour and message and genre – stories that are from all people – of all ages- that we continue to learn and find compassion, understanding, bravery and inspiration from each other.

Two discussions in a week. Pretty big discussions. It seems Sydney is bracing itself for a change of government – a foregone conclusion considering the haphazard nature of our public transport system and the swinging voters of the west, so they say. So what happens when change is threatening? A small group mobilizes and others seem to sit on chairs and philosophize about art.

There have been two meetings in the last week -

One.Towards a Theatre Network NSW. The small- medium theatre sector is under represented/fragmented. David Williams (former Blogger and CEO of Version 1.0) and Nathan Bennett General Manager of Griffin Theatre Company have taken up Arts NSW’s offer to mobilize the NSW small-medium theatre sector and start the development of a NSW theatre network. This is in reponse to the Australia Council funding a National theatre network which needs a representative from each state – currently NSW’s representative is Arts NSW – not a very secure prospect given the upcoming election – and in my view not comprehensive enough as I am sure Arts NSW only are aware of artists they fund.

The proposal is that a Theatre network is started in order for the small-medium companies to have a presence for advocacy and awareness. the model would work under similar principals as that of the theatre Network Victoria http://tnv.net.au/ and perhaps lobby for more funding to the arts, more support for artists who work at the small-medium level.

Interestingly at this meeting – there was a few folk (I will loosely identify as baby boomers, male and what I would identify as upper ‘medium’ theatre sector) who were suspicious of the idea as it would take away from their potential funding their individual companies could receive for production. I suspect they did not read the meetings agenda or notes prior to their arrival at the meeting/are not aware of TNV – and thus are a case in point of why a network is needed – the problem with many theatre practitioners is that they just aren’t interested in anything but their own practice – they also don’t see each others work AND they are self-interested when in forums and talk about themselves and their own companies instead of having a wider perspective. In fact my opinion to those who are suspicious and regard such an investment in the creation of a network is – ‘that’s fine… you do your own thing… if you don’t like it, don’t join it.’ I suspect that the $90K salary mentioned that has been ear-marked for this advocate/administrator was one of the more contentious of the issues – as one person thought the salary would be around $15K.

Strangely, despite the discussion about “peak body or a network” discussion, all present at the meeting decided to say yes to a recommendation for ARTS NSW to fund the appointment of a representative who would be housed at Griffin Theatre Company offices. and the application is going into Arts NSW.

Two. SAMAG (SSydney Arts Management Advisory Group) State of the Arts: What is the role of Government in NSW Arts? “a lively discussion about the state of the arts in New South Wales, as we head towards a new era in State politics.”
Featuring Anthony Roberts, NSW Opposition Spokesperson on the Arts, Jan Barham, The Greens NSW Upper House Candidate and Mayor of the Byron Shire Council, Justin Macdonnell (Anzarts Institute), Dr Gene Sherman (Sherman Contemporary Art Foundation) and Katharine Brisbane (Currency Press). Unfortunately current State Arts Minister Virginia Judge is unable to attend. The session will be moderated by Patrick McIntyre, General Manager of the Sydney Theatre Company.

“Our state’s arts and arts policy dissected, discussed and contextualized; covering important and timely questions such as: At a time of shrinking public resources for all social expenditures, what should a government be doing to exert a leadership role in the arts? Why do governments tend to downplay the arts at election time and how can the sector best respond? Does NSW have different arts/cultural issues than other states? What does this mean for the proposed national cultural policy?…”

This evening was filled with a variety of arts organisations (not really independent artists – I suspect many artists were busy at their day/night jobs whilst the bureaucrats and politicians attempted to articulate the value of the arts.) Very quickly the conversation turned into a spruiking session from the Liberals and Greens candidates (and Virginia Judge wasn’t there – but sent in a wing-woman in her place who occasionally stood up to recite the Labor party line).

When James Waites stood to comment – saying that what everyone needs to remember is that artists have a hard time subsisting in Sydney as it is a very expensive city – and that the people who are always left out of the discussions are the artists themselves. And it’s true. We live in the age of the bureaucrat and the administrator – and that’s really who the meeting was for – the attendance list reads like a list of government funded organisations. james asked everyone to consider employing the artists – giving money to artists not just to the administrators…

In response, Patrick McIntyre from the Sydney Theatre Company bragged that the STC have 13 playwrights on commission at the moment “and we don’t have any expectation to produce any of them”. “That’s a shame,” I said. but really – who am I? An artist, an advocate, a young woman not on a raised stage, not on a panel of the privileged and without a microphone, without superannuation plan or an expensive suit. I am not an administrator. And again – this is also something that is desperately wrong with the arts in Australia. It is not good enough to have our writers and directors “working” at the STC as box office staff or in administration. How about the STC walk the talk about sustainability and give creative jobs to LOCAL artists instead of flying out their Hollywood friends to use our stages for YET MORE American stories with American accents and landmarks? And yet the STC gets funded by my AUSTRALIAN tax paying dollars…

I think it was Margaret Thatcher said something to the effect of “When artists don’t have much money you survive, and when you do have money you thrive” – which was an argument (repeated at SAMAG’s meeting ) that artists do a lot with a little. And yet it seems to me that bureaucrats often do a little with a lot. Just because artists love their jobs, are passionate about what they do DOESN’T mean they shouldn’t be remunerated for their work.

There is one thing that is certain- arts advocacy is at an all time low.

Is it because my generation are apathetic? Lazy? Overly obedient to their forebears? Or is it because we are so busy and exhausted from working all our supplementary jobs that we have no time/headspace/energy to lobby? I’m not giving up my fight yet – and nor should you. Let’s stop thinking as individuals and think and ACT strategically as a group. Let’s build a NSW Theatre Network – let’s put solutions on the agenda – not complaints and celebrate what artists are capable of – innovation, incredible transformative ideas- and let’s transfer that energy and skill to our industry/community.

I don’t know about you – but I am keen to see the result of the March 26 election…

Another night at the opera with James Waites… it’s a slow education. Three hours every so often, we venture into the right hand sails of the Sydney Opera House for the next lesson. Though I was once a musician in my early years, my Opera experience was limited to the occasional CD slid into my father’s CD player. My parents met at high school (in Coffs Harbour) performing in an operetta of Hansel and Gretel playing the mother and father, whilst their friend (now significant, trail-blazing Aussie folk singer Judy Small) played the witch. However – Opera is new to me (only about 3 years old) and so I consider myself a curious student. The likelihood of me directing or even reading an Opera is very minimal and so I attend as a punter, ready for the story and spectacle.

The Barber of Seville, or The Useless Precaution (Il barbiere di Siviglia, ossia L’inutile precauzione) is a comic opera in two acts – and the total experience is about 2hours, 45 minutes – which for a contemporary theatre goer is a big investment – but not as big as some operas (Mannon seemed ALOT longer from memory). This production – a remount of a production directed by Elijah Moshinsky in the mid-90s – is a fun and grand spectacle and centres around Love in all it’s fun and misadventure. Impressive sets, highly theatrical devices, likable characters (and even those you love to hate!), there’s everything one needs for an entertaining night out – bright chuckles and enthusiastic applause.

Most impressively the performances are strong in their cartoonish/vaudeville style and the design by (Michael Yeargan- Set and Dona Granata- Costume) is spectacular – a two storey house, puppets, rolling scenery, lush costumes, hats, moustaches, wigs -a complete design not only indicative of 1920s fashion, but turn of the century theatrical devices. Beautiful.

Some Operas are designed to move, some to devastate – this one is pure spectacle and entertainment. And comforting to know that after nearly 200 years, this Opera endures (beyond it’s popularization by Bugs Bunny).

My first visit to the Opera House for 2011 was for Madama Butterfly – one of the most popular Operas to have been staged in the early 1900s – and has one of the most recognised operatic tunes to be featured in contemporary culture – usually in the form of a television commercial advertising an expensive European car or perhaps an elegant brand of mineral water. This is the first time I have seen a production of Butterfly, thanks to my fairy godfather and colleague in arms Mr James Waites. Until now, my only exposure to this work was the Sunday afternoon sounds in my parents house by the sea, Madama Butterfly selected by my father. Listening as the notes climb and lilt and fiercely float into the air, watching my father surrender to the sheer exquisite beauty of the music.

At the Opera House that evening – a vast array of people. A young boy in hat and suit is being whispered to by a genteel father, the usual pearls and twead set shuffle their way around the foyer, James wearing his newly acquired brown pinstripe suit – me in my usual black uniform for the chronically undecided about fashion. For some this may be their third or fourth time they have encountered a live performance of this opera… and for some perhaps the second time seeing this remounted/revamped production directed by Moffatt Oxenbould.

There is nothing so magical as the start of an Opera – the mood set. The quiet hush as light melts into darkness, and even diamond earrings of the patrons are silenced -the sound of the orchestra – the moment before the strings are engaged. There, poised – the musicians bows hover lightly above the strings, like a moment before a kiss. We all wait. And it is this moment which I find the most relieving.

The first moment. Watching white paper lanterns bob and swing… as we are taken from Sydney and lovingly re-located in Japan.

The precursor to this has been watching the responses to this production:

I nod in the direction of Diana Simmonds: http://www.stagenoise.com/reviewsdisplay.php?id=500

Sydney Morning Herald: http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/opera/madama-butterfly-20110109-19jr4.html

And James Waites:
http://jameswaites.ilatech.org/?p=6437

Responses to the social and political climate of the themes in the opera in a contemporary context – what it means for a 15 year old to be married to an older American man (some may recall similar ideas in Miss Saigon or even in Rogers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific)… for some it is a reflection on the idea of what Opera is or what an opera singer looks like.

For me I reflect on what it means to hope, to wait for love, for something, for change.

The story of Penelope has always been more interesting and more powerful to me than that of Ulysses. It’s really easy to have adventures, to encounter new things and to be challenged by the newness of it all. But, what sort of personal strength or stamina does it take to maintain what you know, what you have and where you are? Is it strength of memory or imagination? Or is it faith or blind hope that keeps people alive whilst they are waiting?

And it feels devastating because it feel personal – I believe that there was/is not one person in that theatre who has not suffered at the hands of an unrequited love – or suffered in the act of being patient. I see my friends endure relationships without marriage or commitment confirmations – as my generation attempts to stay forever young and forever not-divorced by staying single, unmarried or childless… And I watch us all waiting, as John Mayer would sing “For the world to change.” And that is where the tragedy of Madama Butterfly lies. She could have waited for a marriage to a predictable suitor… sheltered by a nearby husband – but instead, the power of faith or imagination keeps her looking at the horizon, waiting for a sign that he will return as promised, to her.

I join the ranks of reviewers, praising the eloquent and heartfelt performance by Patricia Racette – a truly transforming experience to bear witness to the power and beauty of her voice – without the pomp and pretentiousness I have witnessed in some Operatic performances. In the presence of such a voice, I had no choice but to surrender.

I urge you to if not now, then sometime, somehow, see Butterfly, any Butterfly. But if you are lucky, see this production. Allow yourself to wait in the darkness like so many lovers do, for those who never reciprocate their passion… and allow yourself to reciprocate. Allow yourself to tumble into terrifying incurable love, with that incredible music.

As offices empty and sunscreen sales soar – the festive summer season has arrived with a seemingly endless carousel of parties and social engagements. Now the theatre’s have closed – there are a few of the industry who have a list of 2011 projects lined up… and the rest of us face family Christmas lunch/dinner gently quizzed by family “so how is your drama stuff going?” and “have you thought about an apprenticeship?” and other such brutal questions asked by well-meaning members of your gene pool.

Normal folk – the ones with contented lives filled with relaxing weekends, 9-5 work hours, paid holidays, a structured career path and regular pay cheques – look forward to the end of the year as a time of snooze and booze and lavish materialistic rewards for their year of hard work. For theatre folk it’s a little different.

The two week gap whilst Sydney prepares itself for the Sydney Festival is a time of reflection as it is for others but it is also a time for administration. “To do” lists for artists may involve getting new headshots, tightening up one’s bio, getting a new agent, landing a major gig, invoicing for that last job… Those who think being an artist is a lifestyle of excessive leisure time, relaxation and being paid a huge amount just to sit and think – rarely last more than a year in the business. This industry is not a get-rich-and- famous-quick scheme. In fact as a teenager, I remember reading an article talking about Geoffrey Rush’s “25 year preparation for an overnight success” – a slice of that idea can be seen here: http://www.urbancinefile.com.au/home/view.asp?a=8189&s=Features. It is this time of year which asks us to reflect and evaluate for ourselves (informally) – and to also write acquittals (formally) to those who have granted us money.

In my career, though I have been employed by companies that have received grants for specific projects (The City of Sydney has supported Off the Shelf and Brand Spanking New in 2008 and 2009) – the only grant I have ever received as an individual was for Stories from the 428. I received $4000 from Marrickville Council – which covered the insurance, the “comp ticket allocation” for the Marrickville Council offices, the set design and materials and rehearsal space. The other $14,000 that went into the project came from my personal savings. That project in its first incantation harnessed the talent of nearly 100 artists – and provided entertainment for 1400 punters in 10 nights. I will now spend a good three days writing an acquittal for the Council to prove that the project was completed and money was spent accordingly. It’s times like this I envy actors.

There’s a lot of paper involved. There’s a lot of writing, spreadsheets… and it is due on the 31st December.

As the year winds up – aquittals are due and the news filters out of all those who are heading off to Drama schools. And I think about the luxury of study – how wonderful it would be to be housed in an institution for a year or three, just to focus on theatre. The people who are not heading to Drama school prepare for another year of production – grant writing, residency writing, fundraising, acquittals, contact lists, names, numbers, project descriptions. And if you have had a big year of production, if you have had a big year of making art/theatre – the thought of leaping into that mode of writing, pitching, presenting etc is enough to make you run into a school – or an arts admin job or prison.

It’s funny, schools don’t seem to prepare students for a life of unemployment – they prepare them for employment. Which is all very well and good when you are working – but, how do you deal with the feast or famine of this industry? How do you live a good and moderate life – without feeling seasick from the swing between elation/stress of work and the aching paranoia/fear that you may never do/make anything ever again? It appears that schools are a resting place – not a preparatory place for artists.

One thing that has often worried me is the well-known conversation about people who enter drama schools whilst being in a relationship. The Schools I have heard f warning or penalising those students or potential-students warning them that their relationship wont last. This is something I don’t believe is necessary. It gives the impression that all theatre makers have to be available – all the time. That you can’t maintain a healthy relationship and be in the arts. This is not true. This is rubbish, in fact. I think it is perpetuated by a certain generation. It has been one thing I have struggled with reconciling – as I had bought into that myth that I had to choose between a life in the theatre and a life with a partner. It’s rubbish. You can have both. Both takes work. Both takes time and attention. And I believe both inform each other. Many times in my relationship I have looked to the lessons and guidance of great plays to help me solve and inform my dilemmas. In particular plays (eg Airsick, The Return, The Bermuda Love Triangle, Black and White, it was raining all afternoon) I direct often speak of where I am at personally. I choose them because I am trying to sort out, discover or say something about a relationship. I worry that certain schools prepare our future dramatists by teaching them in a vacuum of emotional/relationship connection. What is theatre but the study of interpersonal relationship? From the subject matter to the collaborative nature of the artform – it’s all about the interpersonal. As I have said for many years – I am in the business of other people.

This year I have provided 31 opportunities for directors, 41 opportunities for writers, sat on two lots of Shopfront’s Artslab panels for emerging artists (providing 12 residencies),programmed 12 shows for the Fringe festival, sat on a board (which included recruiting an Artistic Director and being involved in strategic planning for the company), attended 118 plays, written 55 reviews and 2 children’s plays- all whilst maintaining a day job and my relationship with my partner, known to many as “the botanist”.

For me, there is one thing for certain: If there is one thing my botanist has taught me it is the importance of fallow ground. I believe in artists having a break – and a real break – time to think and digest and dream and develop their thinking. I am going to do as I say next year – and do less. I’m not saying I won’t be working on something – I will be – I just am not sure what that is at this stage. I hope I’ll get approached to direct a fabulous new Australian play… or two. But I’m going to have some fallow time to plan and dream. First, I’ll finish this paper work for Marrickville Council… and this play that I am writing… have a cup of tea…

AND send a huge hug, big kiss out to the people who have made a huge impact on me this year – those that have bought me coffee and written beautiful plays- the reviewers who have held my ego so gently, the actors who have broken and made my heart sing… the people who have abused me or been nasty, those who have attended, directed, designed, applauded, cheered, read, given feedback, told me jokes those that are brave enough to make work – and share themselves… all of you. Our community. How honoured I am to keep the company I keep…

James, Me, Maggie, Tim

BSN Week 2

Week 1 Stories from the 428

The Beautiful Lucy Goleby

Rosie Chase and Miles Thomas

Stephen Peacocke in Stories from the 428

Me and TK Pok

Blueprint at Fraser Studios (with my boss James Winter in front)

Luke Carson, Helen Tonkin, Deborah Thomsen - Off the Shelf

Ian Zammit and Jane Eakin - my directing buddies

Selkirk and Magi - 428 induction

Alli, Phil, Scarlet - OTSers

Hanging with some playwrights - Noelle Janaczewska, Tahli Corin, Donna Abela, Matt Edgerton, Jasper Marlow, Patrick Lenton, Lexi Freiman, Jo Pretorius

Leah McGirr - the face behind all my photos and a truly great friend

Me and The Botanist

Last Friday was a crazy day. I made the decision to do some life maintenance- you know, pay bills, clean the bathroom, make lists, look at the lists, then cross things off the list once completed. I thought I’d bake some muffins, my neighbour had handed over a hand of blackening bananas for me to transform into soft warm morsels- something I love doing. I bake muffins for a couple of reasons- one is the fact that I spent my teenage years in a banana growing region of NSW- so the banana recipe of my family is a sacred one, another reason is during times of stress and crippling workload- sometimes you need a task which has clearly defined and a conquerable beginning, middle and end (indeed an end which results in eating), another, I find it the easiest way to remind the botanist that though he is knee-deep in PhD writing- that I still exist and he deserves treats for tackling evolutionary science in such a rigorous/focused way. In fact, in a lot of ways I express myself through muffins. I spent last Friday, doing work- I wrote a review, had tea with two very interesting visual artists: http://timandrewart.com/ and http://www.bendenham.com/ , enjoyed the sound of aggressive rain on the leaves of the trees in my garden, had a scrumptious pasta dinner, replied to a metric tonne of emails, paid rent, answered enquiries of a theatrical nature… and bundled myself up, battling the elements to see Peter Brook’s 11 and 12 at the Sydney Theatre with Mr Waites.

Friday, Mr Waites and I arrived at The Sydney Theatre in a taxi which went slow through flooding gutters. It was really raining. Serious rain. Inside, in the foyer of the theatre, umbrellas stood to attention in the hands of many opening night guests- some well known for their film work and occasional theatre dalliances… A theatre director I know was on Box office- another theatre maker of my generation in charge of the cloakroom- my generation of practitioners a part of the corporate theatre machinery. A room full of established celebrity actors/theatre artists. And me.

Peter Brook. The man of legend. The author of a book “The Empty Space” which changed the way I thought about theatre (that’s what everyone says- and that’s fine- I’m ok to be cliche. And anyway cliche’s come from somewhere. They come from easily recognised – nearly universally recognised experience- which may be like a universal truth- but less arrogant)… Arguably the greatest living theatre director- a body of work behind him that inspires awe- a body of work in him which is undeniable. I’ve read reviews of Brooks work. I have heard people talk about his practice. Read his writings on theatre. Never seen a production. So it was all rumour to me. I wasn’t sure what to expect- perhaps a movement based performance in French with surtitles? Grand spectacle? Impressive design? A full orchestra? I don’t know.

The two pieces of theatre I have seen at the Sydney Theatre are Matt Cameron’s Poor Boy and Tenessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire. I had sat in seats in that theatre on opposite ends of the spectrum- once in the second row to the side and the other in the ceiling seats to the side… so I am aware of how much that stage/the space can feel like you are peering into a tiny diorama- or looking up into the fly tower. On this occasion, three rows back, centre. Previously I have been overwhelmed in that theatre- overwhelmed by the set design and creative undertaking (which was Poor Boy) and overwhelmed by the celebrity which is Cate Blanchette and Joel Edgerton. Both theatrical experiences that tried really hard – that felt like lots of effort to prove production over story.

11 and 12 is the opposite to those experiences.

I am not writing a review but a response- please check out thesereviews http://www.guardian.co.uk/stage/2010/feb/11/11-and-12-review , http://www.stagenoise.com/reviewsdisplay.php?id=451, if you are keen on plot/ traditional review forms- I may leave you unsatisfied if that’s what you are wanting. Ifyouare keen for another reponse from a seasoned theatregoer- check out Mr Waites’ splendid review: http://jameswaites.ilatech.org/?p=5627

No celebrity. No giant set. A story. Actors. Something to say. And this “something to say” is not a cultural crusade. It’s not a righteous rant about religion. It is a meditation on learning, journey, adventure- detailing how experiences changes a person- how people influence each other. No explosions- no sound effects- no pyrotechnics- no actor celebrity (the closest thing to celebrity is the invisible director- which I doubt anyone outside the theatre community/industry would know/have heard of). All production elements handled simply and as lightly as possible.

As the last moment fell upon the audience- there was true silence in the theatre. Long sustained silence. No cough. No phones. No noise. Silence. As we sat in the warm hum of the thought. That feeling- resounding, reverberating. The story teaches us of humility, of patience, of acceptance, of generosity, of kindness, of fickleness and forbearance. But it doesn’t teach through didacticsm. It invites us to let go, to listen and digest.

AS I sat paralysed in the auditiorium- I felt utterly relaxed and reassured. I felt refreshed and ready. Mr Waites and I caught up with old friends/colleagues of our respective generations… and then talked to the performers. Conscious that my night should ed with muffins, we left at 11pm in a taxi. Delighted with the experience I went home.

Upon arriving home, I found my apartment had been broken into- smashed window- broken toilet- water everywhere. “God please , please not my….” My laptop – stolen. My back up drive – stolen. My camera- stolen. Ten years worth of theatre work – gone. A play I had nearly finished writing- gone. Only emails and this site hold my works now. Sad. Resigned to the fact it is gone. The police called. Me consoling myself with the idea that somewhere there are theives reading my plays about love and yearning. My neighbour offering condolences in the shape of a loan of his large handsome laptop. PLaywrights far and wide- across the world sending me condolences and swear words on their behalf. And I must admit- that I doubt I would have handled this as well as I have, had I not been philosophically prepared by Brook and his actors who told me the story of 11 and 12.

PS. I didn’t make the banana muffins last Friday night. I made them on Sunday- and shared them with the botanist and my neighbour.

A flurry of text messages had been flying around. “Did you hear some playwrights have decided to hold their own night on Monday? Are you going?” “Are you going to the playwright’s thing?” “How do I RSVP?” In the past few weeks, I had been casually thumbing through newspapers at cafes when waiting for my coffee, to see if and when and how the topic of the absence of a play shortlist for the 2010 NSW Premier’s Literary Awards had been noted. Not really… one article from Bryce Hallet:
http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/playwrights-snubbed-by-award-judges-20100516-v6aa.html and this one from Marc McEvoy http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/playlist-for-judges-in-search-of-a-premier-shortlist-20100412-s413.html
No response from Kristina…

Every self respecting new Australian work enthusiast/ literary manager/ playwright/ director had been keeping their eye firmly on Joanna Erskine’s Cluster blog http://www.joannaerskine.com/cluster/cluster/playwrights-to-celebrate-on-may-17-2010/ … as the responses from around Australia and the world from Australian playwrights voiced their outrage, disappointment and vehmence towards the decision- and swelled the support for Australian playwrights.

The previous Monday at Belvoir St Theatre, I had been wrestling with a spinach pastizzi during a break in the WOMEN DIRECTORS ACTION PLANNING FORUM when Tahli asked me if I was free on the 17th. I wasn’t. I was scheduled for the Symphony-(the one night I hold sacred in my schedule- my dates with the SSO- where I can relax and enjoy myself without strings (so to speak) or expectations). But nothing is immovable. And especially this- THIS topic, which I spend most my waking hours puzzling over, planning for, fighting for, thinking about… This thing- which is so deeply rooted in who I am can not and must not be ignored.

Last Monday I arrived early. James Waites and I had anticipated the cluster of playwrights (my preferred collective noun) and had hoped to avoid the crush by positioning ourselves early amid the elegant lounge chairs of the Macquarie Hotel first floor bar. By the time I had arrived, a cluster of playwrights had already congregated- no less those who had organised this event- and whom all I had commissioned/worked with on either Stories from the 428 or Brand Spanking New- Joanna Erksine, Rebecca Clarke, Kit Brookman, Tahli Corin, Tamara Asmar, Rick Viede- set up on chaise lounge with a bucket of chilled Champagne and grins all round.

Downstairs multi-award winning, soon-off-to-London for a reading of his play Bison- Lachlan Philpott sat with friend and beverage, Kate Mulvany arrived, Matt Edgerton triple threat actor/director/writer arrived. Caleb Lewis in tie and shirt. when I looked up from my conversation with one writer, I realised- the room was full of the great minds of my generation- and the best of Australian Contemporary Performance writing.

Recently in a post by 5th Wall, he refers to playwrights as a “rivalry of playwrights”… http://5thwall.wordpress.com/2010/05/12/playwrights-posse-up/
The truth of the matter is that Australian playwrights I have worked with/for are generally very happy to band together, especially with a common cause. As someone who is in the position of reading nearly 200 plays/pitches/submissions a year from playwrights (often for colleagiate framed multi-playwright projects) I am well aware of the paranoia, competition and the nature of playwrights… playwrights (like all artists) at their worst (usually due to a lack of love/production) are vindictive, nasty, abusive, irrational, statistical machines who churn out lists of their accolades as proof of their legitimisation and their neglect by an industry that doesn’t care and doesn’t understand. But that is not the natural state of a playwright.

In my experience the natural state of a playwright is that of curiosity… of observation. They beleive in ideas. They talk about love. They talk about the hidden, difficult corners or our minds and hearts. Despite economic sense and career path ease, they are stubborn and idealistic enought to push on through with theatre (which is not the most lucrative of the writerly forms- the only writerly form which is less lucrative than theatre is possibly blogging… and sometimes (often) I question blogging’s legitimacy as a writerly form). They are brave and all have a sense of humour and humanity. And ALOT of time by themselves infront of computers, staring at the glowing screen wondering if what they have written is any good, or will it ever be finished?

And I love them… as a group… and as individuals. Sometimes playwrights are badly behaved- but that is the exception not the rule.

And they are a very good looking bunch of people. This is easy to forget as they are often not the topic of newspaper articals- they often aren’t publicized- and they spend alot of their time alone writing- but our playwrights are clever, funny and they have something to say.

As guest speakers three of the industry’s most respected champions of Australian Playwrights spoke. First the elegant and inspiring Katharine Brisbane- one of my all time favourite thinkers and doers- one of Australia’s most inspiring cultural leaders who gave us perspective on the history of the literary awards, the problems that have evolved and debated over the years- she told us of a famous literary bun fight which was sparked up over a dinner debate and at the centre of it all she spoke of the need to be vigilant and active. She encourage the room full of writers, directors, critics, actors and punters – to keep up the conversation. Secondly, everyone’s favourite bearded champion of Australian writing- John McCallum- Academic, reviewer and author of “Belonging: Australian Playwrighting in the 20th Century” who thanked the playwrights for their plays. He gave warm, enthusiastic encouragement. He reminded us to keep literate and articulate about writing for the stage- who reminded us that “playwrights have alot of friends and some of us are critics.” And thirdly, Leland Kean- the only Artistic Director who was in the room- who in a scruffy flanny and baseball cap read passionately an eloquent call to arms for all Australian Playwrights- and said that it wasn’t good enough how Australian playwrights are treated. It was a rousing and forceful speech that caught in my throat. I choked back tears several times as I felt his frustration, my frustration, and the frustration of all who have worked hard, who have actively contributed and risked, who have worked with honour and integrity- all to be ignored- or worse- offered an opportunity to apply for a development grant.

The major thing I noted were the absences- who wasn’t there. The Artistic directors, the artistic associates, the literary managers, the CEOs. I saw who wasn’t there. You know who you are. And I am fairly disappointed in those who didn’t feel like moving their prior engagements this ONCE for something as vital and important as a show of support and solidarity to those who are the source of text based theatre- the writers.

One of the first to arrive- and one of the last to leave- I am honoured to say I was there- and I am here silently supporting all those who are playwrights and yet to be playwrights: all those who dream big, work hard, fight, write, say the unsayable, confess their fear and their anger, embrace their vulnerability. I was there. I am here.