Mentorship with Kaite O'Reilly

Thursday morning I awoke with a start! People say that but I don't know if they mean it. I actually jumped up in my bed. In the pitch dark I heard what had woke me "Where's Kaite?"

You see Kaite O'Reilly was due in that evening to begin our first major mentoring session. My mind must have been going through all the possible travel pit-falls that might befall this important meeting. I like to call this catastrophizing. All disastrous scenarios must be explored in my unconscious brain. I think this one was based around a fear that I forgotten her day of arrival. Some image of Kaite wandering the streets of a strange city was searing into my pre-waking brain.

Well there was no need for this level of fear as Kaite arrived that night and Friday morning we embarked on a packed day of mentorship. We had been engaging in a volley of emails the last month in preparation for this meeting. Kaite had developed a list of topics based on these emails which I added to as the day passed.

Intense discussions ensued as one topic melded into the other. All this was interspersed with writing exercises and a lot of questions. A lot of questions! Me to Kaite, Kaite to me and probably the most important, me to me.

What is mentorship?
I think it can be attractive to an artist to think that the mentor you have chosen will somehow drag the piece of artwork out of you. That isn't their job. That's the artists job. No one can write your play for you or paint your painting for you. Its down to the artist. It can also be attractive to think that the magic dust of success can rub off on you just by association with a successful artist. This is also a delusion. No one but me can do the hard work it takes to get up every morning and fight the demons that tell me I am no good and will be found out one of these days. No one but me can make me sit down in front a computer and make the clackiticlack happen.

Okay the above should be titled "what mentorship isn't". I can't say right now what mentorship is - I can only say what my experience has been so far. Its been about assessing my needs and communicating that. Its been about acknowledging when I am feeling vulnerable and what efforts I am making to hide that vulnerability. Its been about confronting my fears. Its been about   recognising when I have been trying to get the answer right rather than trying to "get down" what I have right now.

Its also been about getting to know this other wonderful artist, Kaite O'Reilly. Kaite has verbalised questions I was asking of myself but only in my head. She has asked ones I had not even thought of yet. This questioning has helped me to see possibilities I had not yet conceived for the project I am working on. It has helped open my view of the project to a full 360° view. She has also reassured me that its okay to feel overwhelmed at this point. Just keep writing!

The future
The next few months will be intense. We have plotted out deadlines for me to deliver work to her by for feedback. In the warm September sunshine I can feel enthusiasm for all these challenges. I am aware that as the days darken and grow cold, fear can strangle enthusiasm. Its up to me to keep writing. Even when the way is hard and inspiration feels like a gnarled tree stump, it is up to me to get the work done.

This mentorship is made possible through Arts & Disabilty Connect Awards Scheme and is funded by the Arts Council/An Chomhairle Ealaíon and managed by Arts & Disability Ireland

Kaite O'Reilly Writing Workshop

I spent this weekend in the company of the wonderful Kaite O'Reilly and fifteen other equally wonderful artists, as we explored creative writing for performance. It was part of a larger event run by UCC's ArtWorks in association with the Theatre Development Centre.

A few themes came up for me during the weekend. The first thing I was struck by was the quality of the writing being produced. Kaite worked with us using various exercises to get us writing. At different points participants could volunteer to read out their pieces. As the weekend developed we moved into performing the text. Participants came from a variety of backgrounds; some had never written before while some did not consider themselves to be creative. Others were theatre professionals; some experienced with writing and devising, others not. Across the board great work was produced.

Which got me thinking. I didn't think "Oh dear, why am I even doing this? Some of these people have never done this before and are producing stuff as good as anything I can do. I should just give up" No I didn't think that. Instead I thought about how innate creativity is to humans. How if individuals are given care, encouragement and a few tools that they can come up with the most wonderful creations.

Then I got to thinking again. (Oh dear!) If we are all so innately creative, or talented, what is the key to anyone's work being produced eventually, or not? And I came back to it again, like I usually do; Audacity! I like to call it being bold or boldness now for a variety of reasons. Or lets put it another way; Courage. If I have the courage to put my work out there or to take a leap and produce it myself then there is a good chance my work will be seen. If I leave my work on a hard-drive, there is no chance!

And that is a tragedy! I think of all the characters I write. I imagine them lurking about in soft-copy land, peering out through abstract file names, hoping that today might be their lucky day. "She will come back today, finish me off, or add someone in for me to play with. Maybe just maybe, she might print me off and let her friend's bring me to life!"

Which brings me onto to my other big insights from the weekend. Kaite generously shared not only her experiences as a writer but also as a mentor to other writers. She talked about working with a group of writers and a theme came up for them time and again. "I can only write when when I am inspired" I cringed; How many times have I heard myself saying that? Kaite advised that if you aspire to be a writer then you need to write even when you are not inspired.

Sometimes when I write it flows. Sometimes it feels like vomiting onto the page, like its coming out in massive violent spurts and I have trouble keeping up! That sounds unpleasant but its not, its just intense. I also experience writing where I start something with great intentions and enthusiasm only to become stuck. The "guards at the gates of the mind" (Quoting Kaite, quoting Seneca) rush in and ambush me. They whisper "It was a shit idea anyway", "This has all been done before", and eventually "Who do you think you are anyway? You are not a writer".

So what do we do then? According to Kaite - we keep writing! But how do we do that when the terrifying faces of our old blocks are closing in? We trick the mind, we out-manoeuvre the censor. Kaite brought us through a variety of exercises that could aid us in this area. She focused us on not worrying about perfection as we had such a limited time anyway. Kaite helped us to find inspiration, to work in ways many of us had not experienced before, and then to get it down on paper.

So to recap here are my big lessons from the weekend
1. Write even when you are not inspired
2. Trick the censor, find and use exercises to fuel your writing
3. Get it down
4. Keep it all
5. Finish it off
6. Be Bold: Get it out there!

My Mother's Brave Face - A Christmas Story

It's that time of year again. People are out being mean to each other, cutting each other off so they can take parking spaces. They are beeping their horns at articulated truck drivers who are delivering the supplies that the horn beepers want to buy. The streets and shops are busy with people trying to get presents for other people who, in turn, are also trying to get presents back for the other.

Yes its seems to me to be a bit of a pointless exercise. (Bah Humbug!!) In every culture, the world over, there are reciprocity traditions. They are there for a reason; to guard against poverty, to redistribute wealth, to bring people together as a community, to act as a kind of social insurance, etc. Our reciprocity festival seems to have been hijacked by card sellers and the like, but its all that we have.

What is Christmas for me? Well there is an image in my mind "The Ideal Christmas". Its all baubles and abundance. It's those advertisements by big brand companies that sell me on the idea of a perfect (and usually American) Christmas. It's Bing Crosby crooning "chestnuts roasting on an open fire".

However that's an illusion. For many Christmas can be the hardest time of the year. For some, pain comes in the form of attachment to the illusion of Christmas. They try to emulate the Christmas they have seen in the ads on a very tight budget. For others it might be the loneliness of Christmas; not being able to be with the ones they love through emigration, death or family feud.

For many Christmas is about sacrifice. It's about working late on Christmas eve even though you would prefer to be at home with your kids. It's about making do or anxiety over credit card bills due in January.

Today I want to honour the "Brave-Facers"; those who will wear masks in order to hide their pain this Christmas. Today I want to honour my mother.

My Mother's Brave Face

My grandmother died the night before Christmas Eve when I was 8 years old. We called her "Nana". She was a tiny, bell-shaped woman who we visited in Ranelagh in Dublin. She raised nine children in a two bedroom converted stable at the back of Ranelagh Road proper. Today these places have been converted into "yuppy" mews but back then they were pretty dire to live in. She was the only grandparent I ever met as the other's had all died long before I came into the world. That Christmas, she had been sick and in hospital. The hospital let her out just before Christmas and she had died shortly after that. 

My mother would have heard this terrible news on the eve of Christmas eve. And yet my little brother, who was five, and I had no idea. She continued on. Maybe she was quieter; maybe with all the furore around Christmas we didn't notice the difference in our Mammy. She would have gone through all the preparations on Christmas Eve; putting out carrots for Rudolph and sherry for Santy, trying to get us to go to sleep even though we were super excited. She would been there when we ripped opened our presents. She would have cooked all the meals. She probably watched a Christmas movie with us all after dinner. 

On Stephen's Day she sat us down in the kitchen. That was the day that extended family usually came over. My mammy told us that people wouldn't be calling that day. She sat there and told us she had some very sad news. "Nana died the night before Christmas Eve". We went straight into denial. "No, mammy, no". Finally one of us said "You are lying, Mammy" With that my mother did something I had never seen her do in all my eight years on the planet: she started crying. We hugged her. 

Some of this story is the work of my 33 year old imagination. I don't remember anything special about that Christmas up until the point where my mother broke the news of Nana's death. That is why I am telling this story. We didn't notice. My brother and I celebrated a Christmas like any other and we were able to do that because of my mother's brave face. 

Now as a 33 year old I can only imagine what it was like for her that Christmas. How did she manage to hide that pain she was going through? The loss of her mother! How did she maintain her composure and not break down? I have no idea. It must have taken a great amount of will to do so. And it must have taken a great deal of love too; love for us, love for our innocence, love of our smiles, love of our joy. With that love she allowed us one of the most amazing gifts; the magic and wonder of a child's Christmas. 

This Christmas

This Christmas many will wear masks. They wear them for different and individual reasons. Behind smiles and cheer, they mask suffering and sacrifice. This Christmas I'd like to honour those brave people. 

I'd like to make an appeal too; "Go Gently". Take it easy in the car park. Smile from the heart when you deal with the girl or guy behind the counter. Say "thank you" from that same place; that place of warmth, compassion and love. This Christmas thing is pretty imperfect but maybe we can make the most of it. Maybe we can give little gifts of genuine love to everyone we encounter this Christmas. For we do not know the battles they face. We do not know what lies beneath their mask. 

"The Child" Mask

"The Child" 

Character Half Mask

Finished - Titanium Buff Base

Clay Mould

The Child was inspired by a set of masks in the Actor's Space. These were a family of masks designed for a theatre performance. I worked with the baby and I wished to explore the possibility of creating a mask which might go somewhere towards a pre-teen age group. 

I started with the basic plaster of Paris mould of my face which I had made the winter before. To this I added quite a thick layer of clay. I covered in the eyes as an experiment as I had not worked that way before. This would mean I would cut the eyes once it had dried. 

I used a picture of my niece and my own face as a primary resource for the structure. I was also inspired by a monologue I had written the year before. It is written from the perspective of an eight year old boy. 

Paper Layer

Discoveries

It was difficult to cut the eyes afterwards. It was quite uncomfortable to wear and needed a lot of foam to make it comfortable. Next time I will experiment with building the mask around the eyes in the design and so leaving space in the eye sockets for the eyes. 

The thick layer of clay produces a mask which is far too high and so again is uncomfortable for this reason. I will experiment with a thinner layer of clay all over next time. 

The painting is a joy. I went through "the fear" with this mask. "The Fear" strikes at the beginning of every creative project for me. With  mask-making it begins again with the painting stage. 

The fear seems to subside a little once I start to get a decent amount of paint on to it.  Again the use of finger blending on the masks produces the best effect in my books. Maybe it is the effect of human touch on an inanimate object that breaths more life into it. Or maybe it is the slow methodical obsessiveness that appeals to me. 

I decided to paint on the eyebrows so this was a new challenge for me. Again the fear surfaced somewhat here too but I continued on. I referred to the picture of my niece as support here. Her soft childlike eyebrows are very different from mine so it really helped to take inspiration from nature.