Thursday 19 August 2010

"Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going...

...but bid farewell and go" (Antony and Cleopatra - I,3)

Today is my last day as Practitioner in Residence. As my post comes to an end – sadly a change in funding means the role will be no more – I thought I would reflect on my time here.

 This being my first role out of my MA, it's been a massive learning curve in terms of the practicalities of running theatre workshops and project. From beefing up my bank of games, songs and exercises, to an arsenal of behaviour management ploys (nothing that works on year 9 boys though - anyone know what works on year 9 boys?) and even things I never thought I'd learn - like how to say 'is this a dagger I see before me?' in German and how to cater for an event with nothing more than a spare afternoon and the petty cash drawer in M&S.
 But the most important thing - why this year has made me love this work more than ever: Working with young people, through drama, is never the same twice. Different schools, different groups, different days bring new, challenging and amazing people into your life. It is endlessly exciting, especially on those occasions when the work they produce, the questions they ask or the comments they make truly knock you sideways with their quality and enthusiasm.

My best memories include the first time a member of youth theatre stood on stage and belted out a soulful solo opening to ‘Flashdance – what a feeling’ for a music performance and utterly electrified the whole place; a year two child asking if Romeo is black (a subject for a dramaturge’s MA thesis, surely?) and the glint in the eyes of a 12 year old summer school student when she told me Henry IV part 1 at The Globe was ‘the best thing' she’d ever seen.

It’s easy to draw on sentimentality in work with young people, particularly when you work, as I have often done in the past year, with KS1, early years and SEN pupils. I call it relying on the cuteness factor, and it is what happens when practitioners lose faith in the ability of the drama work of young people to shock, awe or inspire us; it’s a pathetic thing to see happening and thankfully something the Globe is very short on. But when you trust those people you’re facilitating – support, challenge, and empower them – no matter how hard that is, how hopeless some cases can seem, in my experience you will nearly always be rewarded.
 My MA tutor once described theatre as 'not medicine, but food' and over this past year I have seen the truth in that more and more. Drama for young people doesn't magically 'fix' their confidence, attainment or engagement. But it can nourish and enrich them and perhaps give them the interest to walk through doors that otherwise might not have been open to them. And that's not everything, but it's something.


In other news, I’m very excited about the dawn of my freelance life – with a smattering of training and workshops booked at The Globe, a digital mountain of CVs, cover letters and general twitches on the spider’s web of my contacts fired off and a few promising leads to follow it feels like the beginning of a very exhilarating time. And although I’ll sorely miss my in residence role – my very own desk (somehow a comforting badge of ‘a real grown-up job’ in an area of work that demands you spend much of your time running around school halls!) and the opportunity to bridge the worlds of practitioning, coordination and development – the idea of branching out after a year of working exclusively with one venue is a tantalising prospect.

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