Insecurity, Fear and Creation

What happens when you work as a collective?

Recently, I reached out to some former classmates to work on a devised theatre piece.

From Wikipedia:

Devised theatre – frequently called collective creation – is a method of theatre-making in which the script or (if it is a predominantly physical work) performance score originates from collaborative, often improvisatory work by a performing ensemble. The ensemble is typically made up of actors…

My classmates are all in New York.

I figured that we could work and create over Zoom. I was inspired by the work that emerged as artists collaborated during the pandemic.

My plan was to go up to New York once or twice a month in order to work on the piece in person since movement is involved.

As we know, that was thwarted by a certain ankle not cooperating.

We meet once a week on Zoom to build and strengthen our connection as an ensemble.

After I broke my ankle there was a discussion about whether we wanted to postpone the project.

I protested against it. My reasoning? The art that emerged from artists collaborating over Zoom.

Part of devising theatre is spending time together in discussion to see if themes emerge that could inform the movement and creation of the work.

One member of our group wants to meet and go to museums together.

Not possible for me right now.

Then they’ll go and share what they found with me.

My panic and anxiety start spiking (as they are even when I just type about this).

I am living in fear.

Old wounds are ripped open and bleeding.

I am trying to stanch the blood.

Unsuccessfully.

I am drowning in fear blood and anxiety and panic.

The gift is that I can see it and try to address it.

I try to talk to my fear but it is decidedly not trying to hear me.

The fear and panic are so far down the road I can’t catch them.

So I decide to articulate it all.

Going to the museum is not just going to the museum to my wounded places.

It feels like a method of exclusion.

It triggers all of my not being included stuff that has haunted me for much of my life.

(Yes, still working on this on therapy.)

Going to the museum is not just an exercise in going together to pick out works of art that resonate and sharing them.

The very act of being together is part of the devised theatre piece. It’s the discussion as you wait outside the museum for the final member of the group to arrive. It’s the waiting in line to get in. It’s the deciding where to go in the museum. It’s what happens when you get lost. It’s the playfulness and banter and camaraderie that comes from simply existing together.

I wouldn’t be part of that.

But it’s not just the act of going to the museum.

It’s what happens after.

Those that have been together have had an experience that bonds them. They have inside banter. Things that if said in my presence would have to be explained and… to me… that explanation is a living representation of what I didn’t experience.

Yes. I know I’m being neurotic.

Fear and insecurity and lack of trust infuse all of this.

Meeting at the museum together will result in them deciding to meet together… why don’t we just play around… those of us in NYC?

Before you know it, I’m booted out.

Yes! I know! I’m riding the train to disaster station, butcha know what? It is speeding and I can’t get off.

I vowed to share all of my artistic process when I started blogging.

Even the unpretty parts.

The ugly parts.

The wounded parts.

The scared parts.

The little girl sitting alone watching other people parts.

So I’m facing the fear. I’m naming It. I’m letting It out of the dark closet where It lives as a big scary monster into the light of day.

It sits in daylight.

I’m not yet able to look at It.

Too scared.

I know It’s there.

And for now…

… that’s all I can do

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