A New Chapter

I'm currently sitting on the train. This is a usual occurrence for me, but this time I'm on my way to a few days of induction at the University of Exeter, before I start my full-time PhD (funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council under the SWWDTP). It's the beginning of a new and exciting chapter, but - as someone who finds endings difficult - this train journey is not only a chance to start feeling those churnings of nervous excitement, but also to reflect on the previous five years of freelance life since I finished my MA at Central.

I'll be keeping a couple of my jobs on to start with, as the practice feeds into my research (and I might need some pocket money!), before the Big Move to Devon with my wife next year, but certainly my working life of 11 to 13 jobs (on average) is now a thing of the past. This won't be a comprehensive list, but here's a few of the highlights and low-points of my self-employed adventures...

LOW POINTS

• Anyone who knows me well or is linked with me on social media won't find it difficult to guess what I'll put first here. BLOODY TRAINS!!! It might seem like I go on about this a tad too much, but when you are as reliant on public transport as I am and trying to work jobs spread all over London and beyond, you are basically helpless to the gods of the trains and they don't seem to look too kindly on me. My life over the last five years has involved far too much time looking at the live departures and swearing as trains are cancelled, delayed, and generally screwing me over. For example, last week: I was meant to be running a two hour creative writing workshop in Folkestone for young people who are self-harming. I got to St Pancras station for my connection, just as they cancelled the trains for the next two hours. Leaving me to call work and say I couldn't get there, let the young people down, and lose a day's wages. Leaving me in tears, to be honest. I tweeted Southeastern trains, but it's hard to get across the significance of losing money I needed and letting vulnerable young people down in 140 characters. 
• Not getting sick pay. Cue thought-process: "If I can't get out of bed, I will lose £100... Oh, I really can't get out of bed. Shit." 
• Not getting holiday pay. 
• Feeling guilty when you're not working. Something I've been working on. 
• There aren't a lot of other low points, to be honest. Being paid poorly by some organisations. Last minute cancellations. Being offered a zero hours contract and then never receiving any work from them. Having a contract ended by email. Being made to wear a horrid, highly flammable uniform to go into schools (my wife told me I looked like a work experience student; I had flashbacks of trying to buy trousers for school when you're a 5'11'' teenager. No-one was winning). Setting up a project in a prison and going through security clearance and then never getting another reply so never running it. Worrying about the summer holidays, when all the schools work dries up. Worrying about money. Trying to balance it all. 

HIGH POINTS

• Doing a job where I was running one session a month at an addiction recovery service and, over five years, being gradually asked to come in more and more - once every three weeks, once a fortnight, once a week and finally twice a week - at the request of the service users. And when the service went up for tender, I was the only external contractor who was kept on, as the group wanted me to keep coming. One of my proudest professional achievements.
• All the little moments. The other week, from a sixteen year old girl, grudgingly: "That was actually really helpful." From a participant a couple of years ago: "I thought I was going to hate that and I didn't". 
• Laughter and tears. Chances for both. 
• After working at The Living Room, funded by St Albans council, they didn't want my sessions to end, so they fund-raised and paid for me to come back. Parkinson's UK did the same: the funded sessions finished, so they wrote to their local counsellors and got enough for me to come back for another 6 months. Felt really privileged. 
• When it's all going to shit and you have no idea what you're doing and then you have an idea and you pull it out the bag and it falls together like magic, like that's how you always planned it. And you sort of want to punch the air on your way out. 
• Running the Theatre for Change module at St Mary's University and watching the students grow.
• The people. The funny students. The boy who doesn't speak much English but his physical comedy has you rolling on the floor. The addict who quits. The one who always shows up.

OK, mustn't get emotional. The sun has just come back out and we are about to roll into Exeter, so must go. 

Singing David Bowie in my head and going to start the journey towards Dr Kate. Wish me luck!

2015: stepping up and looking back

2015 is drawing to a close. The world continued to get warmer, the Conservatives won the General Election, the House of Commons authorised airstrikes over Syria, people the world over were killed at the hands of terrorists... It's been an internationally frightening time. Yet, important political campaigns also started, there were also lots of amazing books, films and songs written and made, sporting events I have no interest in happened and people won them, same-sex marriage became legal in the USA and the Republic of Ireland, and scientists made amazing discoveries, including the first new antibiotic in 30 years. And the 'future' also became the past with Back to the Future day. What a year!

So, what have I been up to?

I married the woman I love and we went on an amazing honeymoon to Canada. We got some really bad news. We got some really good news. I sat with someone whilst they slipped out of life. I 'MC-ed' a funeral. I discovered that the reason we keep not having hot water is that the boiler was plumbed in with the pipes the wrong way round. I've taken THOUSANDS of trains, buses and tubes. I've done lots of jobs (old and new). I've made new friends.

Here's what I've been doing in my working life (this can now act as a crib sheet for my wife when I test her on where I work!) - in no particular order:

• Turning Point - delivering their bi-weekly 'Creative Space' for service users on an Abstinence Day Programme, who are all in recovery from substance addiction. I also recently ran professional training for the staff team on how they could make their sessions more creative, which I'm hoping will be rolled out to other teams in the new year. I got one of my favourite pieces of feedback of the year from a participant at this service the other week who, when 'checking out' at the end of the session, said: "Kate, you don't step back, you step up. And that makes us step up too." Gave me the feels. My other fav feedback that day was: "I thought I was going to fucking hate it and I didn't." 
• Attic Theatre Company - running weekly Drama workshops for young migrants to help them learn English and make friends, as well as developing communication skills, team work, mutual respect and empathy. I also delivered a week's summer school (for the second year running) for children who are preparing for the move from primary to secondary school, where we designed Drama-based activities to support them with this transition (such as a giant, interactive game I made up loosely based on Snakes and Ladders).
• Fearless Futures - a new job I started in the summer, as a 'Trailblazer', I first worked on their summer school and then worked with a small group of ten 16yr old girls to discuss gender inequality (locally, nationally and internationally), develop their leadership skills, discuss their aspirations and inspire them to be social activists. It was really moving to read their feedback at the end, as one young woman wrote that she had been being bullied since starting at the school and our work together had given her the confidence to tell her teachers about it. So definitely worth the early starts and three hour round trip to the school! 
  
• Equilibrium - facilitating a weekly group at Clarendon Recovery College with mental health service users, supporting them to produce a quarterly online magazine about wellbeing, with the help of our amazing graphic designer, Anthony. Check out our latest issue.
• 3FF - facilitating interfaith workshops in schools for their education team, including 'The Art of Asking', 'The Art of Empathy', and 'Encountering Faiths and Beliefs', where I facilitate the dialogue between our guest speakers and students; for example we might go into, say, a Catholic school and take a Muslim, an Atheist and a Buddhist speaker, and the students get to ask them questions about their beliefs (I love those sessions).
• Family Lives - continuing to work on their TeenBoundaries project, delivering Sex and Relationship Education in secondary schools - particularly focusing on sexual bullying, self-esteem, consent, sexting, porn, and healthy relationships.
• Future Creative - another new job, delivering Drama-based workshops, which has already taken me as far as Lincoln, to run a day of workshops on immigration, and Birmingham, for a Roald Dahl day.
• Inner Drive - another new one (one can't have too many zero hours contracts), running education workshops drawing on neuroscience to teach young people life-skills.
• 

  St Albans Arts - continuing to deliver Creative Writing workshops in St Albans. The project I'd started in 2014, first working with Mind in Mid Herts and The Living Room, then Albany Lodge (an inpatient psychiatric hospital, which proved a logistically challenging context to work in), culminated in May 2015 with the publication of an anthology of their work, Tell Me on a Monday. Then for the next phase of the project, I delivered 'Write it Out': workshops for people with/supporting people with Parkinsons, in partnership with Parkinsons UK (who are funding me to come back and work with them again in the new year - yay). I also presented at Creative Hertfordshire's 'Art of Wellbeing' conference and did some group writing with the delegates. I'm now really looking forward to working on an Arts on Prescription project in partnership with Trestle Theatre Company in the new year.
• The Living Room - after delivering Creative Writing workshops there funded by St Albans Arts, I was really pleased to be invited back for two sets of eight more sessions with the service users, all in recovery from various addictions. It's been really interesting working with people whose addictions aren't only substance-based, and has really made me reflect on my practice.
• Coopers Hill - I've been doing some consultancy in the form of Creative Direction and Partnership Strategy for the lovely Peter Rabbett, supporting the evolution of a new centre for Creative, Digital and Performing Arts at Coopers Hill in Bracknell. It also meant I got to meet one of my educational heroes, Sir Ken Robinson, at the Festival of Education.

  

  Me and my "new best friend", Sir Ken

• I've done a few more bits and pieces for the Southbank Centre, including running a two-day workshop for the Festival of Love, in the place of Jodi Ann Bickley (who was unwell), called 'one million lovely letters'. This is a project designed to send 'a hug in an envelope' for anyone who needs one, and so I spent a couple of days helping people write and decorate letters to strangers, old and young, near and far, who might need to know someone out there cares. 
  
  I also came back for a second year to do some early morning 'speed mentoring' in the London Eye for their International Day of the Girl celebrations, which was again a complete privilege. Watching the sunrise over London, whilst talking to young woman about their ambitions, worries and dreams, might be one of the very best ways to start the day. 
  
• Another little, but very moving, work-thing I did earlier this year was for Jennifer Lunn at Culturcated Theatre Company, when I spent the day at Evelina Children's Hospital with three other actors, performing stories the children on the ward had written to them at their bedsides. I got to be a giant bubble floating through the sky, a robot warrior, a naughty cactus, an Elven King, and plenty of other bizarre and amazing characters. It was such a wonderful and inspiring day; I really hope I can go back sometime and do it again. 
• In May, I made a brief appearance on CBBC's 'Vote for Me', a programme designed to engage children in democratic processes. I was doing a Shakespeare assembly in a primary school in Lewisham. I had a wooden sword. Next stop, fulfilling a life-long dream of being on Jackanory??

So, that was all the paid stuff (I think; I may have forgotten something). As a volunteer, I also did:

Talking to Yr6s in Lewisham about my wife

• Diversity Role Models - I've been volunteering as a 'Role Model' with DRM for four years now. They're such an inspirational charity, working tirelessly to prevent homophobic and transphobic bullying in schools. I've only volunteered in secondary schools in the past, but a few weeks ago was invited into a primary school to talk to the young people about being bisexual and my recent marriage, which was super fun and the children asked such brilliant and interesting questions.

One Yr6 child's promise after the workshop

Feedback from another Yr6 child

• Action Breaks Silence - this is such an amazing charity, working internationally to combat and prevent sexual and gender-based violence. I supported them in the development of their new programme for 7-11 year old boys, designed to build empathy and prevent abusive or violent behaviour in the future. Like them on Facebook if you want to watch the most AWESOME videos of small girls being empowered to kick the shit out of violent attackers!
• I helped make a Fun Palace in Streatham (and you should all make one where you live too next year!)
• Female Arts - continued as a reviewer for an online magazine focusing on female creatives
• Women's Equality Party - I started off as a volunteer Branch Maker (helping set up local branches across the UK) for this new and exciting political party, whose ambition of bringing gender equality to the mainstream political agenda is, I believe, hugely important and well overdue.  I spoke at the Youth Branches' first meeting (you can listen to it on Soundcloud) and am now supporting their education outreach group. I'm also planning on putting myself forward as a candidate for the GLA elections. Watch this space!

I think that's everything!! In other work-related news, I'm currently applying for funding for a PhD, and I'm also co-editing a book with Annie McKean (to be published next year) on the work of Playing for Time Theatre Company in HMP Winchester. I think January is going to be pretty full on.

The new year can be a good time to look back and reflect, as well as look forward and plan (as long as we haven't eaten too much cheese, spent too much time with family, and slip into a 'what am I doing with my life' panic!). Parts of this year have been truly amazing and other parts have been genuinely devastating; we never know what life is about to throw at us (sorry if I'm starting to sound like a motivational fridge-magnet) - so I only hope 2016 brings us some luck, a bit more money (being a grown up can be shit), and I keep getting the chance to work with amazing people in inspirational places. I'm going to keep stepping up...

Arts for All

Jennie Lee

Wednesday 25th February marked 50 years since Jennie Lee's white paper: A Policy for the Arts - First Steps. Lee was the arts minister in the 1964 Labour government of Harold Wilson, and it was the first (and is so far the only!) white paper that had been written on the arts. In it, she argues that the arts must occupy a central place in British life and be part of everyday life for children and adults, be embedded in our education system, recognised as an important industry, widely accessible, properly funded, and valued by society.

 

So, 50 years have passed. How far have we come? Mid February saw the publication of Warwick Commission's report on The Future of Cultural Value, which - although demonstrating that the arts are a significant contributor to the economy - also shows that arts and culture are being 'systematically removed from the UK education system'. Under our current government, the Education Secretary, Nicky Morgan, has said that 'Arts subjects limit career choices'; we've watched  Arts subjects being devalued, undermined and squeezed out of the curriculum, and at the same time provision outside of formal education reduced and dismantled due to funding cuts (from a regime of austerity which consistently harms the younger generation). As Paul Collard, Chief Executive at Creative Culture and Education, recently said:

'What is clear now is that young people, especially those in the less affluent areas, are not getting any opportunities at all, because arts... access for young people has been swept away. And it will only get worse.'

Cheerful reading. So, what shall we do? Make some noise! Make some art! DO SOMETHING! That was the call of Devoted and Disgruntled, spear-headed by Stella Duffy. With a twitter handle #ArtsPolicy50 ready to go viral (which, YAY, on 25/02/15 it DID!), the mission was clear: mark the anniversary; let people know why you think it's important; make a fuss.

I think it's important, so I celebrated, discussed and responded with two groups I was working with that week: a group of adults in recovery from various forms of addiction, who I do Creative Writing with at The Living Room, and a group of young migrant/refugee teenagers in South London, who I do Drama with for Attic Theatre Company. 

With my group at The Living Room, I decided to challenge both them and myself, and worked with them to write a group villanelle. A villanelle is a poetic form that is supposed to be one of the very hardest to write, and I thought this would not only give my group a lift, knowing how capable and talented they are, once we had written one, but would also be a nice way of demonstrating that a community group, gathered together for the purpose of recovery (rather than because they had chosen to attend an arts-based class) could be damn creative, that the arts could be of value to ANY community. And they did bloody well, so I'm going to let their work provide all the evidence I need....

Arts for All

We feel as if we're up against the wall,

This generation is under duress.

Art is for everyone. Art is for us all.

So we shall answer our heart's secret call

With a tight grip or with a sweet caress.

We feel as if we're up against the wall.

We know we're got the gumption and the gall

The talent, deep inside us, to impress.

Art is for everyone. Art is for us all.

It's not as if the order's very tall,

We're tired of giving more and getting less.

We feel as if we're up against the wall

From Cornish coast up to remote Rockall

We will push for proper, fair access.

Art is for everyone. Art is for us all.

Inside our schools and every village hall.

Fifty year's since Jennie Lee's address,

We feel as if we're up against the wall.

Art is for everyone. Art is for us all.

Before they left, many of them said they had felt 'lifted' by the experience, that they were 'proud' of what they'd achieved, that they felt 'lighter', 'invigorated', that they'd had 'fun'. Arts for all. It does matter.

Then on the day itself, I ran our Drama group with my colleague, Rob Lehmann, at SCOLA, with the young migrants. Many of the students have very little English, and come from all across the globe. Some have come from war-torn countries, some have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, most are in foster care. All agreed the arts are a fundamental part of their lives. We we had some fun, took some photos, and celebrated the importance of the arts in all of their lives. 

Feedback

Everyone needs a little confidence boost sometimes. I certainly needed one this week - not due to work, just life-stress. And this fitted the bill perfectly:

I come for the educating, I stay for the compliments!

These general feelings of self-worth were also aided by the fact that two of my recovering addicts group on Monday skipped their one-to-ones to come to my session, feeling it would be more beneficial. I love my sessions at CRI (Crime Reduction Initiatives) - the adults in recovery are so insightful; I learn so much from them, and always appreciate their honesty, humour and integrity. I also laugh so much at some of their stories. And when they finish a session by saying:

 'I didn't want to come today, cos I thought it was going to be shit and not for me, but actually...it was alright, y'know'

 'This is the first time I've made eye contact with anyone in the group and I've been here two weeks'

 'I haven't laughed this much in ages; it's great just to be a kid again, or maybe for the first time, cos I never got to be a kid much when I was one'

 or

 'I'm going to play this game with my little boy on his next visit - I think he'd like it'

there is no feeling like it. What can I say, I'm a junkie for this shit. I need it. I love it. I want more. So I keep doing my workshops, and yes, sometimes people walk out or don't turn up, but when they do, my god they can astound me. 

Art in Hospitals

Throughout the year, Apples and Snakes run a series of Artist Development Masterclasses. I've been to a few of them (they're FREE), as I'm always looking to develop my practice, meet new people and learn from other artists and practitioners - and these events never disappoint.

Today, I made my way through commuter hell to Whitechapel, to the Royal London Hospital, for a masterclass on Arts in Health: WORKING IN HOSPITAL AND HEALTH CARE SETTINGS. The morning was split in two, with the first half run by Rachel Louis of Vital Arts, who showed us some magnificently inspiring projects that she had co-ordinated and facilitated a Q+A with us, followed by some more practical work with storyteller Sally Pomme Clayton, who ran some writing exercises with us, as well as discussing some of her past projects.  

I wrote my MA thesis on arts in health - specifically using Drama in inpatient psychiatric settings. Indeed the title, colon and all (you've got to have a colon, other wise it's not a real title!) was: 

Stuck in the middle with you: 

How can Applied Theatre help build personal and social skills that could assist young people in the transition between adolescent and adult psychiatric services?  

It was really nice today to think about it again and it's inspired and motivated me to try and source funding to actually do the work I wrote so many thousands of words about. I really care about this topic, and - hey - I got a distinction, so the idea can't be shite!

The practical writing exercises we did with Sally were also really interesting; I enjoy being a participant, not just because it's an important reflective component to facilitation, or because I like learning new tools, but also because it's nice to be guided as an artist sometimes, and to think about my own work - my own writing, my own performance - and to indulge in that a bit. We did a series of writing exercise, some of them based on memory and some imagined, and then we edited bits together. 'Cos I'm feeling a little bit impulsive this evening, I've copied what I wrote below. Feel free to mock me that my being impulsive results in sharing a little bit of unpolished creative writing, rather than doing ketamine and texting all my exes... 

  

Hospital. The word hospital to me means a secret. A secret I have to be very careful about telling.

Orange and green. Why orange and green? They're supposed to be fun and bright and happy, but really they are forced jollity or colours like puce. What would make me happy? Cool blues, calming colours, dashes of turquoise, of the sky, of the sea. Something that spoke of freedom. Not primary school bedrooms. Not 'we're making up for it', secret punishments. Not matt and shiny floors, and walls that look wet, and fake glass, so you can't slit your wrists. 

I'm starting to feel well again. When I breathe in I taste air, rather than sickness. I never thought I would enjoy quiet like this. I'm learning to live with the world while it rolls by gently.

I'm well enough to walk to the lake. All the time I've been here I've looked out at it and felt it would mark the epitome of wellness to walk there. I'll collect some bread on the way in case there are any ducks. I'm disproportionately excited, like a child at Christmas. This is my present for being well. 

Feels a bit like the beginning of something I want to write. I must make myself write more. Doing the free writing exercise earlier, I discovered things I didn't even know I thought, and that my imagination was much more potent and fluid than I think it is. 

So, while I go away and muse on that-play-I-simply-must-write, I leave you first with a poem and then with a picture. A truly beautiful and powerful poem about hospitals and health. Written by someone who knew what she was talking about.

Tulips, Sylvia Plath

The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.
Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in
I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly
As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.
I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.
I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses
And my history to the anaesthetist and my body to surgeons.

They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff
Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.
Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.
The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,
They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,
Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,
So it is impossible to tell how many there are.

My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water
Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.
They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.
Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage ——
My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,
My husband and child smiling out of the family photo;
Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.

I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat
Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.
Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley
I watched my teaset, my bureaus of linen, my books
Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head.
I am a nun now, I have never been so pure.

I didn't want any flowers, I only wanted
To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
How free it is, you have no idea how free ——
The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,
And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.
It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them
Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.

The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe
Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.
They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down,
Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their colour,
A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.

Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.
The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me
Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,
And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow
Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,
And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.
The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.

Before they came the air was calm enough,
Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.
Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.
Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river
Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.
They concentrate my attention, that was happy
Playing and resting without committing itself.

The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.
The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;
They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,
And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes
Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.
The water I taste is warm and salty, like the sea,
And comes from a country far away as health.

And here is a picture not of tulips, but poppies. And a girl I will never forget, who also knew hospitals and for whom health never got close enough. 

Celebrating Performing Arts in Prisons

Wot is Justice - Ashworth Special Hospital, Mixed Media 
. 

Last week I attended the Arts Alliance's excellent 'Celebrating Performing Arts in Prisons' event, which reminded me that - other in than in my post about Massey-Chasing Boris - I haven't yet done a proper post about Free: Art by Offenders, Secure Patients and Detainees, the Koestler Trust 50th Annual UK Exhibition of Prison Arts, currently on at the Southbank Centre.

Other than obviously being a big fan of prison arts, free exhibitions and indeed the Southbank, this exhibition is of particularly significance to me, as I have my own very small link to one of the exhibited works. The back story to this is that my twin sister and I have a little competition every Christmas over who can get the best, cheapest present (which has to be under £5). Last xmas, she rather thought outside the box, and decided to not spend any money on me directly. Instead, she donated to the Koestler Trust and, as a surprise, named an award for this year's exhibition after me. Which was a lovely present and I even shed a little tear over it. So, this year, when you rock over to the Southbank Centre, look out for the Kate Massey-Chase Commended Award for Drawing.

I didn't choose the picture or anything, but it's still very exciting to feel part of an exhibition so close to my heart, even in just a small way. And this is the picture Sarah Lucas, the curator, chose to win my award:  

It's called 'The Moment', and you probably can't see it, but the title of the piece of music the subject is composing is 'A New Life'. The artist came from HMP Parkhurst. He says about it:

I wanted people to know that any form of artwork can be created anywhere by anyone and...change people's lives...by inspiring them...in some way that will make their world a better place to be. It is an incredible feeling as an artist when a work is completed, so I also tried to depict that moment. 

And here are my personal favourites from the exhibition (all images come from the Koestler Trust website): 

Wasted! - HM Prison Channings Wood, James Wood Q.C. Silver Award for Mixed Media

Sorrows to Follow - HM Prison Send, Margaret Wignall Highly Commended Award for Portraits 

The Pain I Cause - HM Prison Full Sutton, Gustave Courbet Highly Commended Award for Portraits

The artist of the last piece says:

I never did think I had anything to give to anyone not even myself, but through my art I find that I do. I now believe I can do anything and through my art I can express myself and I know I will not be coming back to prison. I know I have a future so I will be able to give back something to try to make amends.

The whole exhibition is fantastic, so hopefully these will have whet your appetite and you'll hurry down to the Southbank Centre before Nov. 25th, when it finishes, to take a look.

My next plan, although she doesn't know it yet, is to get my twin sister to donate a lump sum to Clean Break, so they can fund their Access course (which I volunteered on in 2011, and is a fantastic course, which enables female ex-offenders and women vulnerable to offending through drug use or mental health needs to progress through further education, to the point they could apply to a degree level course at university - which many do). It really saddens me that this course isn't funded at the moment, as it has the capacity to make a really meaningful and lasting change to the lives of women who aren't always given the chances they need and deserve. So, when Becca asks me what I want for my birthday.... The Kate Massey-Chase Access Course, please! Sadly, she works in the charitable sector, and despite growing vegetables, riding her bike, and wanting to change the world, she hasn't quite got the finances to fund all my arty social justice endeavours. Why did my parents encourage us to do meaningful jobs, that would fulfil us, and shit??! I live in a house with mould on my bedroom ceiling and damp coming through the walls, and Becca can't fund my predilection for supporting prison arts charities. What's that about? 

Anyway, on a more positive note, at the conference last week we had a bunch of practical workshops, with arts organisations working in prisons, and that included an EXCELLENT workshop with Good Vibrations where we all got to play the Gamelan! I'm all about the Javanese gongs right now. 

Networking or Not Working

It's very un-British to be proud of and share your achievements, but in the para-phrased words of Charlotte Bronte's preface to the second edition of Jane Eyre: fuck convention.

One thing I'm particularly good at is networking. Now, I know that conjures up an image of shiny suits and phrases like 'blue sky thinking', 'USP' and 'maximise potential', but I promise you I don't mean or do it in a wanky way. Or in a sycophantic, obnoxious, flirting, touting for work by laughing at your racist jokes and offering my boobs on a plate kind of way. My sort of networking is basically built on the fact that I'm very friendly, like talking to strangers, and I'm passionate enough about my field of work to want to talk about it to anyone who'll listen. So there. One of my male friends also told me I have a way of looking at you like you're the only one in the room (feel free to swallow the vom in your mouth, I won't take offence). I am the polar opposite to the guy Lisa Mitchell sings about in her delightfully whimsical video for Neopolitan Dreams - I AM IN THE ROOM (OK, she's not to everyone's taste -  and my sister's boyfriend would probably call it whiny white girl music - but check out her song Coin Laundry below if, like me, you like Edwardian nighties, bird cages and girls who steal buttons. And she's talking about meeting someone in the coin laundry - a fabulous example of networking in unusual places!!).

So, many people - hundreds, thousands, maybe - have asked me: 'But, Kate, how do you network so awfully well?' They say: 'I'm shy', 'I don't know how', 'I can't talk to adults' ('But you are an adult', I reply. 'I know, but I can't talk to them!' they reply, 'Not real ones!'). Now, as a freelancer, networking is fundamental to my acquisition of work (networking or not working - punalicious!), and at this fucking horrible economic time, it's becoming an increasingly intrinsic part of securing work. So, to be blessed with this talent is a very useful tool. And - because sharing is caring - I'm going to give out some much coveted advice on how to do it.

NETWORKING FOR PLEBS (as Andrew Mitchell might say):

Firstly, do you own a cute thing? Babies and puppies work best, as do kittens and bunny-rabbits, although these are less easy to transport.

If yes, this is your conversation hook. Spend a day on public transport, in a doctor's waiting room, or in a department store like Debenhams. Use your cute thing to ensnare passers-by. Baby twins are clearly a big win, but are obviously rarer and harder to find, steal or produce. Although their rarity does contribute to their awwwhhh-quota (although please do not dress them identically, even if this might make your task easier, as this may psychologically damage them and suppress the development of their distinct identities; not even a job with Clean Break or Safe Ground is worth that. And please don't dress up puppies either; that could alienate a number of potential networkees, and embarrass other dogs). Wave your cute things at passers by. Drop a cute little sock. Obviously struggle to get through doors. Be creative. Use any means legal and ethical to start a conversation. The cuter the baby/puppy, the easier this will be.

If no, have a little cry about the lack of cute things in your life. Have a little look at pictures of the Cutest Little Kitten in the World to cheer yourself up. Oh dear god, just look at it:

And again:

HOW ADORABLE IS THAT??? THE CAT IS IN THE JEANS! IN THEM!

Still, if you owned something that cute, you wouldn't want to go to work, would you?

Anyway, once you've got over the lack of puppies and kittens in your life, it's time to re-group and re-focus on how to NETWORK LIKE A PRO. So, you've got no baby to steal. Fine, you'll just have to strike up conversations with people who do. When getting onto a carriage on the underground, have a quick scour of the existing passengers. Does anyone have a baby? If not, Plan B: is anyone reading a book you've read? Or is there an old lady who's gagging for a chat about her grandchildren? You never know - one of them might be a passionate philanthropist looking for young people who need a cash-injection to their arts projects. Or a policy-maker who'd love to read your MA thesis. YOU JUST DON'T KNOW 'til you ask them what they're knitting. Go on, bite the bullet!

So, you've gone for Plan A and you're sitting next to a baby. Where do you go next? Try something like, 'I wish the kids I teach were this well-behaved'. Or: 'I know this is a bit of a random question, but do you know a good children's toy shop where they sell cheap juggling balls?' Filled with curiosity they'll then ask why, and you can explain, 'Well, in my last Drama workshop with drug addicts in Hammersmith, someone threw mine a bit hard and they burst'. And Bob is your proverbial uncle. Bish bash bosh. Conversation OPENED. And if they look at you like you're crazy, rather than putting you in touch with all their friends and relatives who would be really interested in what you do and pocketing your business card, get off at the next stop. And go looking for the next puppy you can stroke (that is in no way a euphemism).  

DISCLAIMER: If you are the lovely man I met in Debenhams yesterday, with the baby with the big blue eyes, to whom I gave my business card and am genuinely interested in your work, I promise it was not all part of my plan for world domination. You were my muse, not a pawn in my great big networking chess game. I genuinely thought your baby was cute! I promise! 

H.M.P.

How better to celebrate the sixty joyous years of Elizabeth II's reign (I really want someone to work out how many days in that time it has actually rained - HOMOPHONE-BASED PUN!), than to reflect on the theatrical goings-on going on with certain gentlemen detained at the pleasure, or otherwise, of her maj? Actually, bearing in mind that to hold one prisoner for a year, it costs around £41,000, and the cost of each new prison place is £170,000 to build and maintain (apologies for 2010 statistics - lazy googling - please leave more update ones in the comment box if you have them to hand), I'd imagine it's not really at the pleasure of anyone. I mean, the only people who might be pleased about the number locked up (Hello, Mr Daily Mail bigot, sorry, I mean reader - OK, my political leanings and tabloid feelings aren't all that subtle) are the ones who think that the cost could be halved if we only could give them bread and water, cut the testicles off the paedophiles and have jolly well done with it. And god forbid we do DRAMA with them. Rehabilitation [scoff]? The only thing it might do is turn them into homosexuals, and then we really WILL need to rehabilitate them. OK, I'm sorry for the slight deviation (I'd never survive on 'Just a Minute'. And, yes, I am 24. And, yes, I am cool.), but I must just quickly further digress and point anyone who's never come across it in the direction of the Daily Mail-o-matic, a gorgeous little website which generates Daily Mail headlines, based on the most frequent words used, e.g.   

HAVE LESBIANS MOLESTED BRITAIN'S SWANS?

or

ARE IMMIGRANTS GIVING COMMON SENSE AND DIGNITY CANCER?

Oh, and if you haven't seen it, you also HAVE to watch The Daily Mail Song, by DAN & DAN:

Wow, I'm really heading off topic. Sorry. It's just I saw first-hand the impact of Jack Straw's dickish Prison Service Instruction in 2009, which stated that 'activities for prisoners' must be 'appropriate, purposeful and meet the public acceptability test', and we knew at the time what that meant, and who that public was. So shitting on the Daily Mail is actually less off topic than might be first conceived. I could totally argue my point to Nicholas Parsons....

ANYWAY, to try and back-track my way into a finished paragraph: I thought I would celebrate the Jubilee by waxing jubilant about some prison theatre I've been to in recent weeks. Most recently, on Wednesday night, just a couple of days ago, I saw an AMAZING performance of Mamet's Glengarry Glen Ross; a play I had, to my shame, seen neither on stage or screen before this week. The production was put together by Synergy Theatre Project, a company I have much admiration for in their work to rehabilitate through the transformative power of theatre.

I have now seen a number of productions in various prisons across the country, and each one has its own cause for celebration, reflection and admiration. What struck me most about Synergy's production this week, however, was the enormous talent of the men performing. I know from first-hand experience that the standard of the performances in prisons and the talent amongst the cast is not to be under-estimated, or dealt with patronisingly, however the cast of Glengarry this week were probably the most talented I've so far seen behind locked doors. Not out of place in one of our top national theatres. 

The other prison excursion I haven't quite got round to writing about on here yet is The Accidental Imposter in HMP Winchester, by Playing for Time Theatre Company, which I saw a few weeks ago. Also a fantastic production, it was very reminiscent for me of The Government Inspector (which I co-directed there in 2010), no doubt due to the overt themes of deception, crime and punishment, and corruption at its heart. With fantastically original use of multi-media throughout the production, by the talented LaunchPad Productions, it was great to see such innovative use of film employed throughout. Despite this, I personally hope next year the company think about returning to their more traditional theatrical roots, with a play set in a very different historical moment, like they did with Oh What a Lovely War! and The Convict's Opera. Just personal preference. 

Nonetheless, they all did Her Majesty proud. 

Once upon a Friday

VERY EXCITING NEWS: my first published article! I have been waiting for this day for a very long time (judge me, I don't care! I always wanted to have something proper - other than a shit primary school limerick - published by the time I was 21. And failed. So upped it to 25, and I have won! Kate vs The World: Kate in the lead....for once. It's all 'cos my bloody twin sister had something published in Philosophy Now when we were still at sixth form. Although I am NOT COMPETITIVE. I just have to win at everything.). Anyway, the beautiful day arrived on Friday, when Arts Professional ran my article for their special edition on the Arts and Wellbeing. Now, I know technology is such that you can just click the link, but I'm going to copy the full text of my article below, because they cut a few lines out and I'm silly and precious and want them in (look out for the Jeanette W quote I recently posted - you'd never know I just read her book). So, there we go. Enjoy!

Storytelling and Well-being

As a creative facilitator, working in Drama and creative writing with a diverse mix of community groups, story is one of my main mediums – an important tool in my practitioner tool-kit (bouncing around with the juggling balls). I believe recognising the importance of stories in all of our lives, and how we can explore, manipulate and extend those narratives, is fundamental to our well-being. It is not simply an artistic medium; it is a life-line.

I work with a number of groups who could be seen as pushed to the periphery, inhabiting a space beyond the societal centre, such as young refugees (with Attic Theatre Company), women who experience mental distress (for CoolTan Arts), and addicts in recovery (for a Crime Reduction Initiative), to name a few. When I enter their space to facilitate a workshop, I am, inevitability, entering into their life-narratives, if only for a couple of hours. It may sometimes resonate very little, but for some I hope the work punctuates, provides a hiatus, starts a new paragraph (or if we’re lucky a chapter), turns a page…extends a metaphor. We might shift the story a bit, or we might give them a space to write a new one; either way, we play in and with stories, and can explore and experience the enormous power of them. Thus, for those in the margins, the arts can facilitate the journey from beyond centre-page to centre-stage.

The social importance of storytelling, and its symbiotic relationship with cultural heritage, is neither a new nor an especially provocative topic. From Beowulf to The Boy Who Cried Wolf, hopefully we can all recognise the importance of sharing community narratives (for both communities of location and communities of interest). It is more than the thread that binds us together; it is an umbilical-like rope. If we think back to Scheherazade in the tale of One Thousand and One Nights, with a rich tapestry of stories as her only currency, we can see how storytelling becomes a life-saver. It is also more than just a cliché to say that literature helps us feel less isolated; as Jeanette Winterson remembers in her recent autobiography: ‘I had no one to help me, but the T.S. Eliot [poetry book] helped me’[1]. Stories can be communicated in forms beyond prose: they are hidden all around us; they might be infiltrating our personal bubble from the headphones of someone’s annoyingly loud music on the tube, or found in a poem on a postcard, or in our newspaper. Whether we are looking for them or bump into them, stories are everywhere.  

So, we can see that storytelling, and the told stories all around us, can both help us in our understanding of who we are and make us feel less alone. But they have more than a dual purpose. If we move to thinking about autobiographical storytelling, we can see manifold benefits to personal and societal well-being. In her book on Autobiography and Performance, Deidre Heddon discusses the opportunity autobiographical performance provides to allow the marginalised subject to ‘talk out, talk back, talk otherwise’ and to ‘engage with the pressing matters of the present which relate to equality, to justice, to citizenship, to human rights’[2] – integral to the well-being agenda. Indeed, autobiographical performance not only highlights the potential for sharing otherwise silent narratives with the community, in a way that can be revealing and enlightening, but can also provide a vehicle for self-examination. The act of telling an audience our story necessitates the act of self-reflection and demands self-selection on which parts we decide to disclose. It also provides the opportunity to analyse our life as a continuous journey, rather than reflecting on events in isolation; through this it may be possible to identify patterns in our behaviour, and whether there is a dominant narrative that drives us. We can thus gain insight into our own lives.

The power of self-constructed narratives has been recognised as epistemologically and psychologically crucial to the construction of our own identity; in fact psychologist, neurologist and author Oliver Sacks has stated: ‘It might be said that each of us constructs and lives a “narrative” and that this narrative is us, our identities’.[3] If we are aware that we understand the world and our self through narrative, then it becomes easier to see our identity as fluid, rather than fixed and inflexible; this could give us a greater degree of control over our perceptions of the world, as autonomous subjects who can mould the stories we tell of ourselves.  This is even before we consider entering the world of fictitious performance, where we experiment with role and metaphor, where we can take on a new character with a tilt of the head, and relay stories miles away from our lived reality, yet which we still feel could be about us. Or don’t, and enjoy the liberation of that. Where can’t we travel through story? Through story we can take amazing journeys. Through story we can also come home.

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[1] Winterson, J. (2012) Why be happy when you could be normal? London: Vintage, p40.

[2] Heddon, D. (2008) Autobiography and Performance, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp2-3. iogrn, D. (2008)  and author Drr Dr.

[3] Sacks, O. (1985) The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales. New York: Harper, p110.