ooh and...

Just remembered that we are on the Cambridge Folk Festival pod cast, http://www.cambridgefolkfestival.co.uk/interact/podcast.php. Click on Thursday and we are about 7 minutes in, just after Stornoway (which is a lovely place to be).

Music and Libraries

Just found this whilst browsing around for photos of The Tree of Lost Things on the interweb: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EjuosRo-LeE. Nice to know we've inspired at least one creative soul. If anyone else has written a song about the Tree then send us a tape and we'll start an official chart of Lost Music.

In other news, Allegra and I have been plotting exciting next steps for the Tree, we want to turn it into a Library of Lost Things. We've been thinking about libraries, databases, due dates and all things involving logical order (this has been particularly challenging for me as I have a interesting skill of creating chaos if left unattended in any area for more than 3 minuets). Allegra loves libraries, I love the idea of libraries. I have always wanted to be one of those people who seek sanctuary amongst the books, the hush and the cataloguing systems. But I am just too loud and too messy. I am terrified of breaking the peace by tripping over my own feet, knocking over a display of 'Recommended Reads' then cackling loudly at my own clod-footedness. This has happened before. But maybe The Library of Lost Things will be a compromise between ordered quiet and chaos. The filing system itself will have to be pretty esoteric given the subject matter. We will be using categories such as 'Love', 'Opportunity', 'Underwear' and 'Time'. How do you file the Opportunities section? From the biggest to the smallest? How about Love? By the name of the loved one? Or by the kind of love? All sorts of interesting and essentially answer-less questions to chew over in the coming weeks.

We have over 5,000 labels and will hopefully have double that when I come to spend some consolidated time sorting them all in the new year. I am actually really looking forward to this process. When running the tree, we don't get the chance to read all the new contributions, only those that are logged in the Ledger of Lost Things. It will be lovely to spend some time getting a feel for overall trends as well as individual losses - at least it will be lovely for the first 1,000 or so, then I will start to go loopy.

Secret Garden Party pics

I lost....

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Location:Cam Folk Fest

Hat and girl

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Location:Cam Folk Fest

I lost my fire engine

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Location:Cam Folk Fest

Tree of Lost Things

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Location:Cam Folk Fest

Stuff and Signage

What do Ben and Kirsty like to do untill 1:30am on a Monday night? Well, dear readers, we like to make beautiful signs and get excited about aging effects. There was a particularly good moment at about quarter to one when we discovered that painting very watered-down white paint over the top of a coffee-stained and varnished surface looks quite cool (the varnish must still be wet). This is the finished product of our labours. Beautiful typography by Mr. Farrell, filling in the lines and any weird splashes of coffee by me. The dappled areas on the tree and bird are copperleaf - another moment of surface-decoration-induced-ecstasy.











































Secret Garden Party Festival are sending a runner to collect all our bits for The Tree of Lost Things this morning (hence the spurt to make the sign). Its a strange feeling to be handing over all our bits and not to have to worry about packing them into the car with four people and a load of camping stuff (it is a small car). A large part of theatre making seems to involve lugging weird shit all over the country, and not driving means I have developed secret muscles, an innate sense of whether something will fit on a bus and a feeling of foreboding whenever someone says the words 'cant we just take it on the tube?'. Consequentially, my two top 'characteristics' to look for in a potential partner have become; 'can drive' and 'has a van'. Romantic huh?

Photo Gremlins

Having some issues getting the bulk of photos taken off a memory card which apparently ceases to exist when plugged into a computer. So here a the few I have found for the moment... W

We lost the wine bottle for the shadow show dress rehearsal so thought a petrol can could add a different angle to the story, practicing fishing for the moon, us, wine, and the lamb about to be pit roasted by Kevin (right) and Rodger (the WWOOFer).

Endings and Beginnings

Writing this from stifling London. The bright lights and loud noises are startling and it is bizarre seeing more people than sheep in a day. The final night at Old Chapel Farm began with me ringing the old church bell to call the merrymakers inside. From here we began to tell our story and lead around 70 people over the site for an evening of poetry, shadow puppetry, instillation and original music amongst other things. There were definitely some hairy moments; particularly being upstaged by a pooing dove in the barn on my part and there was a particular issue with timing in general - apparently 70 people don't move that quickly as a whole. BUT, there were also moments of pure joy and amazement; the full moon rising over the far hillside just as everyone left the chapel after the final chapter was particularly magical.
After the performance itself was over, the evening rolled on in true festive fashion. Kevin pit roasted a lamb which was apparently delicious, the musicians played on into the early hours (Cornelius the mandolin player even got on his bike and cycled home at 5am!) and Gary told some of his traditional stories by firelight. Bella and I fell asleep in a field at one point and I apparently fell off the bench after a bit too much whiskey. There was singing round the campfire, led by the beautiful Orla (who also wrote a song especially for the show) and I ate the best sweet potato of my life (and there have been some good-uns). Bella and I even managed to run a workshop the next morning despite the horrific hang-over beasts that were smashing around inside our heads. We even fitted in a trip to the swimming hole with the other women WWOOFers before the journey home.
I think the real highlight of the whole evening was getting the chance to meet the local community and hear what they had to say about what we'd done and hear their stories in return for ours. There is such a wealth of story there and I cant wait to return to find out more. The story we created was born out of the location and the reasons for celebrating the time of year. I for one have a desire to create a piece of work that finds story from the inside out of the community. This trial residency seems to have lifted some threads which are ready to be teased out and drawn together into a richer, more complex and more human piece of work. All thoughts are to the future now... I think we've started something rather exciting.

Feathers and Fleece

We are sitting drinking tea on the terrace. Bella is making a wreath for the Sun (played by Chris the Adventurer) and Shane is showing Andy Warren the recorder player our amazing words on the landscape. Kevin just walked passed with a barrel of elderflower champagne which is apparently ‘really fizzy’. Everything seems to be in place. We decided against another run through today. Maybe that was a bad decision but it feels like it might just run out our energy before tonight. We sort of know what we’re all doing anyway.

I promised I wouldn’t say this aloud but it looks like the weather is holding. At some point I shall stop making outdoor theatre but the plus points are too tantalising.

Bella is now decorating the wreath with pheasant feathers. We have decided Chris will be shirtless. And sombre faced. He will be slowly unwrapped from his binding to the massive monolith in the middle of the garden. The Blindman will unravel the chrysalis made from very thin sheep fleece (used for keeping the vegetables warm on frosty nights). This is the part where we stray into the realm of performance art/pagan ritual- not sure how it will be received in rural Wales but we thought it was worth the risk. It will at least give everyone something to talk about, or a reason to chase us out of town. We shall see…

One of my favourite bits....

This is seen from the dovehouse before I slam the window and tell the story of the Moon's inability to commit. The quote is a 17th Century welsh proverb.

Farm Life

Some photos from the farm; sunrise on the longest day, the yurt we are sleeping in (now refered to as 'The Ranch' by Shane), me walking to the swimming hole, swinging in in the woods.

Moon Magic

We have just stumbled our way thorough a 'walk through' with Kevin Fran and the WWOOFers . It was quite exposing but there were definitely moments of magic. And moments of total farce. Its amazing how quickly things can come together after a fist run and some feedback. We've already re-jigged the sticky moments to work better. One good thing is that the story seemed to come across well and that's the point really.

We had a wonderful moment of collective compromise in the pond earlier. Shane and I were trying to submerge our giant balloon moon under a rock-anchored tarpaulin so that it could magically be pulled free by the man fishing for the moon and rise up to the surface to every one's amazement. This was harder than we anticipated... whilst I stood on the pontoon in my underwear looking into the murky leach filled depths of the pond below, contemplating how little I wanted to dive in and sink the balloon moon (Shane had already stated he could not go in because he 'is recovering from the flu'), who should walk by but Chris the valiant WWOOFer. He dived in with aplomb on our behalf but proceeded to loose both the tarp and the bricks to weigh it down almost immediately in the 6foot depth of water. His struggle ended in failure, apparently it's quite hard to pull a balloon down under so much water, let alone cover it with a tarp and bricks. We came up with a much better way of the moon appearing which involves Shane drop kicking it out into the pond whilst everyone is looking the other way at the Gypsy puppeteers. No swimming required.

Bella and I went down to the stream for a sunset dip last night, slightly pissed on honeysuckle wine. We walked home up the valley through a tunnel of trees, found a glowworm to guide our way and watched the moonlight illuminate the valley around us. Sickening isn't it? It is a privilege to be making work in such an incredibly romantic place with such inspiring people, but hopefully we are paying for it in sweat and stress as zero hour approaches. We ticked off lots on the mega list today which feels good. Perhaps we should burn the beast when we are done, though that amount of paper may be better used mulching the onions

What the Hell is Going to Happen - the List

As promised, the mother of all lists.

Lists

Today began with a mother of all lists. There are cross references for locations, props, costume and people involved at various stages (video to follow). When something is covered, it gets circled. Simple. We are crunching on through and some lovely moments have been devised.
I personally had some fun developing the character of the flighty moon who tells her side of the story from a cage in the dove barn. I think I found it easier once I identified the aspects of her that are in me; not being a natural performer I think she has turned out alot like Kirsty As The Moon who enjoys the falling in love more than the earth-bound reality. I also get to reference this Florence song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vPLrqKrnYts which makes me happy. I countered this dramaturgical genius with some very shonky dancing with Gary under the Rhododendron tree, but hopefully people will be looking at the beautiful setting and Gary's perfect poise more than my two left feet at that point.

Shane has cooked dinner with Abraham tonight. Abraham has never cooked before but has the most amazing smiley face we have ever seen. He is volunteering here on the farm as a WWOOFER (volunteer through an organisation called World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms) along with Pauline from France, Yvonne from Switzerland, Alex from the US and Rachael and Chris from the UK. Its an amazingly varied bunch and they are all up for helping with the performance (we didn't really give them a choice about that). Chris will even be mummified and re-born as the Sun at the end of the piece. What a joy to have such a smashingly enthusiastic bunch of people to work with! Fran and Kevin had about 100 WWOOFers come trough the farm last year and they are vital to the running of the place and loads of other similar projects over the world.

Allegra visited last night and this morning and gave us some of her ever brilliant advice. It was invaluable to have an outside opinion from someone who is familiar with performance practice. She also had a few inspirational pep talks up her sleeve (as ever) which I would be lost without. Thanks for that.

Off to drink a bit more honeysuckle wine and to tackle how the blind man will fish the moon out of the pond. We have a giant white baloon and a digereedoo to hand to acomplish the task....

Lovers' Music

Peter Timmins (on fiddle) and Andy Warren (on recorder) are local musicians who came round for the evening and played us some music. We thought this would work wonderfully for the lovers who nearly kiss under the rhodedendron tree. Or possibly to lead the audience from there to the pond where the old man fishes for the moon.

Exploring the Barn for Bird-Moon Lady Encounter

This is us going for a wander in the barn, where the doves live. Thinking of putting me in the cage construction on the wall above the shit-filled bathtub. The Moon is a flighty thing and easily flustered.

Questions Questions

Yesterday was a day of questions; who is this man? Why do they say that? What’s the point of that bit? What’s happening again? When’s dinner? It was a long day with some sticky moments but we now seem to have arrived at a story and a journey. We walked it thorough with Kevin, Fran and some local musicians who came up for the evening and it felt like an important moment.
We are telling the story of a man, blinded by the light of his son, the Sun. The man shows us his memories and we see how he fell in love with the Moon when she fell into a lake. She gives birth to a Sun but we all know the Sun and Moon cannot share the same sky and she leaves the man with their brilliant child. The man cannot bear to look at his beautiful child as he reminds him of his true love too much. The man kills the sun, but as he is a star and now a dying star, he bursts in to a supernova of light, blinding his father as a last act of justice. But there will be other Suns as other men fall in love with other Moons and the sky and the wheel of the year turns again.
So that’s the nub of it. There are 14 locations, poetry, song, puppetry, a bird/moon woman in the dove barn, an eggspert hatching new life in the kitchen, a wake in the cellar, shadow-play snogging in the tree house and words written on the landscape in flour. We will cover life, death, celestial orbs, love so painful it leads to murder, murder so poetic it might be myth, hope, loss, memory and mourning, flighty lovers and the beauty of the Sun and Moon rising. We have four days, four players and no budget. Challenge Anneka has been blown out of the water.
So we will keep asking questions and questioning our selves because that’s how you make work and move forward. One question we shall not be asking is; can we do it? It’s better not to ponder that one too long, lest we give the wrong answer.

1st day at Old Chapel Farm

Today we woke at 4:30am to see the sunrise. I was the official wake up call for the rest of the company who are here; Bella, Gary and Shane. It was worth the curses and the sight of Gary stumbling about in a sleeping bag. Violently pink sky over the hillside that slowly diffused through orange and gold on this the longest day of the year. We are staying in a beautiful Mongolian yurt in a sheep field next to the farmhouse. We had to chase the sheep out from under the raised platform on which it rests before settling down for the night.

We have been brainstorming since then, mostly fuelled on the inspiring places on site and tea. We have been playing with shadow puppets in the tree house, fishing a moon from the pond and comic strip bull fight (where the bulls are played by lambs in capes). We have also watched chicks hatch and tried the nettle beer (which is lovely after a few glasses).

Today has been a day of quantity; we have documented ideas all over the farm and have too much material already, but this feels like a good place to be. It’s too early to be editing , right now we want a messy mass of material which we can fish the best bits from. A story is starting to emerge from the chaos but it will take a bit of eking out.

This will be something different for the area and the audience and we are having to think carefully already about how far we push the weirdness. Can we expect people to follow a blind man by a spool of yarn reeling out from his back with their eye closed? Can we be sure they will want to have an intimate encounter with a man in a bathtub full of rose petals? Probably not. But that’s not to say we’re going to shy away from pushing a few expectations. If what we create is compelling and entertaining then we can get away with the off bath tub brief encounter. So that’s the challenge.

We’ve spent a lot of time talking, walking round the site and scrawling our ideas on a massive roll of mulching paper (used to cover the space between the 3000 onions planted in the top garden earlier in the year – as Fran says: “If you can see earth, weeds can see light.”). Somewhere we found time for picnic lunch on the lawn with salad and strawberries from the polytunnel- funny how we fitted that in! After supper, we are heading out to look at light. How it changes over the course of the evening and how this will affect the ideas we’ve had. We’ll be playing with torches, candles and lanterns and making shadow puppets. We shall also be drinking a few bottles of wine in the tree house, maybe to watch the sunset from there and end the longest day in the tree tops looking out over the vast stage we have to play in.

Lucifer

I have just been told that there are 40 people buried under the chapel in which we will be based during the residency. There was also the story of Lucifer the Jackdaw who turned up on 06/06/06. He knocked on the door, so the family let him in. He then sat at the dining table for a week, refusing to move until eventually he snapped out of it and began to behave in a more civilised manner. I have no doubt we will have some difficulty in deciding which stories to tell here. I think the trick will be to reach a common theme and work from there; weaving in anecdotes and moments along the way.

The wind turbine has stopped moving. I spent the morning planting sweet peas and a bird just flew into the window.

P.S. Excuse the out-of-sync font on this post, some blogging gremlins are preventing me from towing the company style.

Sheep and opportunity..

I am writing this from a beautiful 17th century farm house in mid wales. I can safely say I have seen more sheep than people in the last weeks I have been here. The nearest town is an hour's walk away, the wind turbine is currently generating energy for the house and this afternoon I am going to be picking a huge bucket of dandelions with which to make wine. This pioneering small holding is owned by Fran and Kevin Blockley (www.oldchapelfarm.org). They are artists, archaeologists as well as small holders and a host of other things. I am volunteering here to learn about sustainable living and building a community as well as getting some perspective on London life. Well, that's what I intended to do. What has actually happened is I have ended up planning a trial residency for performance makers and mini-festival in June.

Fran and Kevin are eager for their amazing site (encompassing the farm house, an 1820s chapel with church yard, sheep fields, ponds, 16 acres of woodland, an 18th century barn, yurts, a bus with a turf roof and a tree house) to be used as a place for artists of all sorts to make work in. This lead to discussions about my interest in creating a home for performance makers; a place that people can cook together, work together, drink together in a sustainable environment and generally call 'home' at least whilst making a piece of work.

The trial will take the form of a week long residency (based in the Chapel) for up to 7 theatre makers/artists/performers from London and elsewhere in partnership with local musicians. The first day's work will begin at dawn on the Summer Solstice (21st June) and end at sunset with a sharing of what we have created. This will inspire the rest of the week's work, like a huge brainstorm of ideas feeding and electrifying the project.

The week will culminate in a one-night festival for up to 50 local people (though this number keeps growing!). Everyone will bring food and drink for Midsummer feasting and the 'resident company' will curate a night of storytelling and music all across the farm. I have no idea what form this will take (that is for the week of workshopping to decide) but what ever happens it will probably be celebratory, unique and totally chaotic.

We will document the process throughout the week here and with video blogs so stay posted for that. Really very excited about this. The opportunity to make work with some smashing people in a beautiful, welcoming space is rare and tantalising and who knows where it may lead...

Witch in the Woods update

We have just finished two days of workshopping Witch in the Woods at BAC. Exciting to get our new people all together for some concentrated time. I drew a most excellent map of the site, we thought about the rules of the game, the world of the woods and individual characters... Now we are all off to do research on everything form extremism to e-harmony. First hunt on the 1st May!!

Allegra x

Tree of Lost Things at London Word Festival

Thank you to Alex Muller who took the amazing pictures below... see more pictures from the London Word Festival on his website: http://www.alexmullerphotography.com/

Tree of Lost Things at London Word Festival

London Word Festival - Photos

Thanks to all who came and made it such an excellent night in a beautiful venue...here's a few dodgy pics taken with my sub-standard camera. We should soon have a link to the photos taken by a very talented photographer...

London Word Festival

It's a wee while away yet but best to get these things in the diary early; The Tree of Lost Things will be at The Art of Storytelling as part of The London Word Festival on the 31st March. The night will be held at Shoreditch Church with performances from Terry Saunders, Matthew Robbins and more to be announced. Hurrah.

More info here: http://www.londonwordfestival.com/?p=1278

There's lots of other lovely stuff happening during the festival so check out the rest of the programme too.

To The Lighthouse

For my first post on our lovely Ignore The Forecast blog, I'm going to take a leaf out of the equally lovely Allegra's book - incidentally, I was fortunate enough to admire her extensive collection of novellas whilst housesitting her abode with Kirsty, where I made a lifelong friend in Jet the cat.

I'd been meaning to read Virginia Woolf's To The Lighthouse for quite some time, mainly thanks to the Patrick Wolf song of the same name, and and also because I'm in love with the imagery of lighthouses. I'm halfway through so far, and although I'm finding the style and language quite hardgoing in places, I've already been captured by a few quotes that I've decided to share here.


'Indeed, he seemed to her sometimes made differently from other people, born blind, deaf and dumb, to the ordinary things, but to the extraordinary things, with an eye like an eagle's. His understanding often astonished her. But did he notice the flowers? No. Did he notice the view? No. Did he even notice his own daughter's beauty, or whether there was pudding on his plate or roast beef? He would sit at table with them like a person in a dream.'

'And that's the end', she said, and she saw in his eyes, as the interest of the story died away in them, something else take its place; something wondering, pale, like the reflection of a light; which at once made him gaze and marvel. Turning, she looked across the bay, and there, sure enough, coming regularly across the waves first two quick strokes and then one long steady stroke, was the light of the Lighthouse. It had been lit...
...he kept looking back over his shoulder as Mildred carried him out, and she was certain that he was thinking, we are not going to the Lighthouse tomorrow; and she thought, he will remember that all his life.'