When I arrived, as I signed in I, like all the other delegates, was asked whether I identified as an older person. I paused. The biro of the inquisitor hovered over optional boxes. I considered whether I was ready to be put into that box. Well, yes I thought, I am older than most of the people I encounter, but no, I thought, I don't identify as an older person. And then, as you do, I got irritated with the options, and sort of expressed my dilemma. And instead of a tick, or a cross, words were written. 'He's not sure/doesn't know/doesn't accept the terminology/wants to remain'. That was the first 5 minutes of the day.
What I didn't expect was to meet a load of old/older artists. I had envisaged companies, and project leaders. I hadn't expected to run into Mike Kenny, Alan Dix, Gil Graystone and Alan Lyddiard and that was just the first table I came too. Of course it makes sense - these are old/older emerging artists - this is where we're going to wash up. Flotsam. All a bit wave beaten and rounded off - and we sort of laugh at our history, show our scars and honour each other as fellow travellers - which feels a bit smug until the talking and presentations start.
People cheat at the 10 word intro. If we're serious about doing 10 words - and some of us have been agonising about it all week, then we need a klaxon. People shouldn't be allowed to use 10 words to explain how difficult it is to only use 10 words. And no erring or erming please. There are presentations and provocations. There are pieces of theatre and discussions. Is not paying performers ethically compromising etc, and Kate Organ brings in the Vaughan Williams v Maynard Keynes bifurcation of the Arts - which is not discussed.
I'm surprised how orthodox the reference points are - we see plays, there is a script reading, there is hardly any questioning of process. Even Entelechy's Bed project is presented as a 'piece' with images, interspersed with questions and quotes. The process and the ownership of the project remains unexplained (and unchallenged).
In the afternoon I go to a practical workshop. Alan Lyddiard (Director), Choreographer, Tamara and Composer/Musician, Chris, take us through an accelerated version of their work. We sit in a line on chairs up-stage. We are a exhorted to close our eyes, to breathe, to empty our minds, to connect our energy points from feet to head, then eventually to stand and walk slowly to the front of the stage - thinking 'I am me, I am here, I am fine'. I've got lots of problems with this. First of all I'm experiencing a reflection of myself - older male director, dictating to participants. Secondly, I'm not fine - I am me, I'm just about here, but I'm completely knackered and I don't want to lie. And I don't want this work to be based on a lie.
Anyway I continue, no... I enjoy the exercise - we walk to the front, we change our minds, we return to the chair, we change our minds, we come back forwards we look at our hand, it rises slowly above our shoulder, we look away from it and it falls. Then Alan says we must say, 'I wish' or 'I remember' - we don't have to complete the sentence, but we do have to be me, to be here and be fine. Alan's script is much practised - like me he has done his exercises many times and has a schtick. But I question the emphasis on how we present ourselves confidently. Why can't we present with doubt? With fatigue? With not being fine?
Tammy steps in and we start to learn a simple (ish) sequence. Supplication, search, flight, hiding. As I write this I feel these intentions/gestures are a bit tired - universal perhaps but a bit tired. It's a bit Pina Bausch. Anyway we make a nicely flawed chorus - and Alan asks one or two to step out from time to time, to stand alone and say something to the audience. So while the flock continues to turn and flow, one stands separate and speaks directly to the audience of whatever they choose.
There's a point in the process when it jars with me. Tammy instructs us to be tall, to walk around with pride. I've heard these instructions before - I'm 6, in school, it's music and movement. I hated it then and I hate it now. It's false - don't tell me to motivate my body with an emotional recall I may not want to own/delve into. We are more interesting than that. The music is beautiful - Jarrett-ish, with Meredith Monk type muttered vocals. It allows everything, salves all. Don't know if it's cheating or therapy.
All of this is related to the show we will see later - 'Anniversary', which has been made by Alan, Tammy and Chris, using these techniques. But there is time for a chat with Alan beforehand, and accompanied by David Slater and Dominic Campbell we chew the cud over chips. I feed back my opinionated notes to Alan and graciously he takes them. This is rare. It is unusual to be able to talk honestly to someone who is making work with a performers from all walks of life, as I do. There are very few places or spaces where we can challenge and discuss our practice. I recently saw a sharing of work between elders and teenagers which was held up as an example of good practice. The audience admired the 'bravery' of the participants and the endeavour - some even stood to applaud. However I felt what had been presented was poor - unfinished exercises, no unifying artistry and sloppy editing. To me the work let participatory performance down - but where are the spaces to talk about this and where are the spaces for existing practitioners to critique participatory methods?
So to the show. An audience of 'real' people, a healthy house, multi-aged, not your usual suspects. The framing of the piece is non existent to start with - only the fact we're in a theatre lends artifice. But from the beginning there's Chris's music, plus a saxophonist, oh now there's percussion - and here come a signing choir. But within it we have people - humans. Some are experienced professionals - they've done their time with Lindsay Kemp Mime or London Contemporary Dance. Some are from the West Yorkshire Playhouse's Heydays company - one this morning explained to us that before doing Anniversary she had called herself a community performer, now she calls herself a performer.
The show is light - and very heavy. Downstage are microphones which Wooster Grouplike, are used to address the audience with interpretations of the word anniversary. Some stories are funny, some bittersweet, some raw and painful. Between the stories the company dance/flock/move in patterns/schmooze and grind. We laugh as the oldest lady - a scot in her 90's, picks up and then dumps Namron (ex LCDT). Later this will be reversed - he abandons her - but only after she is lifted and held.
I am very moved by the piece - the choreography, staging, music and choices I find beautiful. There's a moment five minutes in when two stage hands wander on to balcony above, up-stage they look down at the bare space below and seem to decide it needs something. And they head off to find some set and lighting to give ambience to the party below. Then slowly the theatricality is dripped in - a bank of house lights goes out, some balloons are fed on to the bare stage, then a bit of side-light. Slowly we transition into full theatre - not quite smoke machine stuff, but towards it.
Is this an eloquent explanation of what a theatre kit, like West Yorkshire Playhouse, can do for this work? What their role can be? Not necessarily starting from making theatre, but from catching life then platforming it, framing it, lifting it up for our attention?
It was the exploration of this intersection that I found most useful about the conference - considering
it not just through discussion, but through conversations interwoven with examples of work. But this territory is different to mainstream theatre. It places new demands, offers new rewards and asks for new consideration. First of all whether we are 'old' or 'older', humans are not always 'fine'. The action of presenting autobiographical stories, whatever they may be, requires a compact of trust not only between the audience and performers, but between the community and the artist (or whatever words work for you). When this compact works, as it clearly does in Anniversary, we see new and brilliant work emerging with humanity sitting at the centre of both content and style. Not hidden or flattened out, but celebrated.
Secondly, this isn't the theatre of pretending or make-believe. This is theatre as a platform - sharing experiences, confirming, celebrating, empathising with humans. But there is more. The performing of the show consolidates the trust - and in performance the trust that has been fluid in rehearsals sets like a jelly, to be eaten with ice cream at a party.
Anyone who wants to broaden the base of theatre-audiences and theatre-makers should note that through this trust strong relationships are established which ripple outwards to friends families and networks. And they should come along to the next conference, be they old or older.
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