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So this is what's happening...
Reflections of the present concerns, projects and thoughts of Sarah and Yew Tree
My lovely children
Peter ran to the top of the stairs of his very tall house.
They went up and up and up and round and round and round.
And at the top there was a place like no other.
At the top of the stairs there was the landing of adventure,
And on the landing of adventure there was the banister of invention.
Which was just as well as Peter’s house had no garden, instead there was a busy road right outside his front door so his Mum didn’t let him play out there.
When he got to the top he jumped on the banister and shouted, “Man the rigging!”
For today the banister was a pirate ship,
The landing was the ocean full of whales and waves and wrecks and wonders
And Peter was the captain of the ship.
So he spent the afternoon fighting with ferocious sailors and tackling tempestuous seas, until he heard,
“Time for tea Peter,” and he walked slowly down the stairs.
Peter ran to the top of the stairs of his very tall house.
Up and up and up and round and round and round.
To the landing of adventure and the banister of invention.
He got to the top, jumped on the banister and shouted,
“Watch out for that tiger!”
For today the banister was an elephant
And the landing was the jungle full of treetops and tarantulas and lions and lemurs.
And Peter was the bravest of explorers.
So he spent the afternoon grappling with gorillas and chatting with cheetahs, until he heard,
“Time for tea Peter,” and he walked slowly down the stairs.
Peter ran to the top of the stairs of his very tall house.
Up and up and up and round and round and round.
To the landing of adventure and the banister of invention.
He got to the top and jumped on the banister and shouted,
“Send in the clowns!”
For today the banister was a podium
And the landing was the big top full of acrobats and animals and trapezes and tumblers.
And Peter was the boldest of ringmasters.
So he spent the afternoon battling with big cats and dancing with damsels, until he heard,
“Time for tea Peter,” and he walked slowly down the stairs.
But he didn’t walk slowly because his fun was over for the day…he walked slowly so he had time to plan his adventures of tomorrow…
I’ve just got back from St Giles Church where eleven Yew Tree Youth Theatre members performed a piece of devised theatre, written and directed by Gemma, at the Miners Memorial service. They were the youngest and smallest cast to do this in the three years we’ve had the privilege to be part of it, but this didn’t stop them being an absolute credit to themselves and the youth theatre.
The remembrance of miners is of even greater significance this year as the industry has suffered 5 fatalities in this country in the last month…one of them in Yorkshire. As a consequence the bright and vivid colliery banners that are a familiar feature of the service were adorned in black in remembrance. Each year I am humbled by the fact that the material we create a play out of is a way of life for the people who attend the ceremony to pay their respect to loved ones they have lost. The sorrow and pride, often in equal amounts, is tangible in the atmosphere in the building and on the faces of all of those that gather together to remember, to find solace, to celebrate and to mourn.
Having Yew Tree as part of the service is a brilliant thing in a number of ways but one of the most important ones for me is that it ensures that there are young people engaged with the remembrance of miners and the mining community. In the creation of the piece and the attendance of the service youth theatre members are reminded of and learn about this vital aspect of their heritage and how key it is to the foundations of the community they live in now. Aside from Yew Tree there were only two other non-adults in attendance. I have a hope that in someway we are ensuring that the importance of this history is given a voice in the future and that those involved in the mining community see that the next generation genuinely care…
As the service ended and people made their way home we were asked if we would be happy to perform again next year (testament to the courage, talent and sensitivity of the cast, writer and director) and our answer was immediate and definitive as for as long as we are welcome we will readily be there…
By rights I should be writing this blog about Tuesday’s play in day because it’s the most exciting youth theatre thing that I was part of this week and because it was a brilliant day but James has done this admirably in his blog leaving me free to pursue a more tangential theme…
On Friday night I had the pleasure and privilege of watching an outstanding piece of theatre…it was thoroughly entertaining in the best sense of the word…the cast and company had taken the play (Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing) and used the full extent of their creative talents (which were many) and produced something utterly delightful…I left the theatre uplifted and inspired so I thought I might share some of the ways in which it’s going to influence this term at Yew Tree…
Firstly it was an affirmation that culture and company is everything in theatre, something I’m certain you’ll have heard me going on about. The cast worked as a true ensemble with an ease and smoothness that was unbroken throughout…the generosity with which they committed themselves to their joint endeavour was tangible…this wasn’t a place for ego or affectation and there was no room for uncertainty…this was a place where everyone worked together to produce brilliance and the aim was to do this as consistently as was humanly possible. What’s more it was backed up with direction that was both intelligent and aware…the directorial decisions enhanced every bit of the performances and gave the piece an infrastructure that made brilliant theatre possible. Equally the design did what good design should do and ensured that every aspect of the play had the appropriate setting and sense of place…it was simply ingenious and as such entirely in keeping with the rest of the elements making up the production.
Secondly each person played to their strengths and was placed to make the most of these…however, and this is important, they also had an absolute sense of the boundaries within which their performance was framed…the result was a sort of safe anarchy, a knowing provocation…it was magic to watch and the atmosphere in the theatre was charged with the power of it…as a director it made me consider the brilliant individuals I have in my company and how I can encourage them to explore the boundaries of their potential further…so my next ambition is to find a new balance between freedom and discipline that can really push the possibilities of the company…
And thirdly, and this is where anyone watching would have learnt something vital about theatre, every single performer was giving absolutely every bit of their energy, talent, intelligence, heart, soul and anything else they could get their hands on to ensure they gave the play to the audience in the best form it could be…it was a joy to behold that much investment being offered in such abandonment…leaving the audience feeling exhilarated and privileged to have seen something unforgettable…
So yeah…that was my Friday night, an evening that made me anticipate the start of the new term at YTYT with even more joy and excitement…so see you all this week where I can start to put all of this inspiration into practice…
The girl opens her eyes and stretches, it is cold but she feels little, less and less every day and this aspect of her existence as is the case with so many other things in her life barely registers. As she crawls into consciousness she thinks about her day. Every day is a challenge; every day needs planning in the finest detail…
Her disappointment of 3 months ago was still to her irritation being processed but she was almost there. All that planning, all that thought. She had thought herself so clever, so superior. The crashing disappointment when she realised that her actions weren’t enough had hit her hard enough to make taking breath difficult for a time. Now her response was less dramatic…it would have suited her more if she had achieved what she had set out to do but in it’s impossibility she has learned to manage the factors that made it impossible…as much as it was possible to manage them any way.
Looking around her bedsit she identified the clothes she would wear that day by their proximity to her bed…the bedsit in which she lives in is characterised by an entire lack of cohesion…nothing fits with anything – furniture, curtains, bedding, all from entirely different places and times…their origins perversely disparate as if someone had meticulously planned the composition of the room to represent as many worlds as the objects that were in it. It was what had attracted her to the flat…not that she had that much in the way of options…a tight budget and a tight deadline…she’d only had this one and another to choose between…still not for nothing she’d looked at it and been able to picture herself existing here…just another disparate element housed in the same room as the rest.
Her acceptance that the removal of herself from her life had not given her the relief she had wanted had come slowly, painfully…unwanted and unanticipated as it was. She’d expected to walk down the street feeling exhilarated by the freedom of it, but no such high had been forthcoming…instead she’d become suffocatingly aware of the looks she got from strangers as she passed by them…she knew they were judging her…making decisions about her. It was just the same as it had been in the past that she had so deliberately left behind, she had achieved nothing.
This frustrating discovery had left her with only one option, a more extreme removal. Her challenge of seeing if she could remove herself from the world that she lived in was replaced by that of removing herself from the world…at least in terms of face to face interaction. Her work as her writer, her leisure such as it was, her requirements in terms of sustenance were all conducted from the two rooms that made up the bedsit…that part with the help of the internet had turned out to be relatively easy…her current challenge was to reduce the amount of people she was forced to speak to at her door when they delivered the things that were essential to maintain her health. This had proved infinitely more complex but she was gradually succeeding.
She made her calculations as she did every morning…it was now 2 weeks and 1 day since she had used her voice, since she had spoken to anyone. Her only communication had been made through the medium of the keyboard and that was with people she hadn’t ever seen in person. It would be at least another week before her next delivery and today she was going to work on a plan to extend that by another 2 weeks…it was just possible that she was going to succeed in this as she had in walking out of her home and school and all the relationships that had been part of that environment…so confident was she that she could achieve it that she had already begun to consider what the step after that would be…
Performing outside the Hepworth…
Performing in Black Cloud…
It’s the moment you feel a character assume an identity of it’s own…you’ve brought it into existence, nurtured it, developed it from a single thing…a name or an action, or a single point, an entirely one dimensional thing and then all of a sudden without any warning it starts doing things you never imagined it doing…failing at things you didn’t realise were threats, saying things that shock you, that disappoint you. Characters you adore do things you can’t forgive them for, characters you found difficult will do something beautiful…something truly wonderful…
I’m writing a scene about inspiration for the Hepworth Gallery launch…so please can you comment with what inspires you…it can be anything at all from something concrete to something abstract…any ideas will help me…
If you can ask other people you follow/that follow you and feed that back to me that would be ideal…
I have made no secret of
My wish for immortality,
My desire to suck each possibility,
Each aspect of life dry.
The certainty of that dark end
Casts insistent shadows on life’s light,
That stalker we must all accept
Follows ever loyal and constant.
Yet, despite acceptance of this wraith
There remains a glimpse of hope,
Some comfort in projected loss
That fills the expected emptiness.
Hope that within words spoken
Or words I have mindfully written
When no longer substantial, I’ll remain
In memories and through marks on paper.
I’d offer words of comfort to those I loved
Those precious, held in high regard,
To support and nurture in my absence
As I strove to when with life was blessed.
