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

"It's one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself, to forgive. Forgive everybody" - Maya Angelou

Me today (Well two weeks ago!) 

Maya Angelou's words never cease to inspire me. They distil my larger experiences, the one's I have difficulty being eloquent about. They help me to put meaning onto my experiences. With her passing yesterday many are re-visiting or discovering for the first time Maya Angelou's power and powerful work.

I've chosen the above quote to write about today. I have ulcerative colitis. I had a pretty traumatic year from 2009-10. I was so sick I was unable to leave the house most days. When I could, it was like a military operation;

1. Driver goes out and heats the car up
2. Calls me when its running for 10 minutes and properly warm.
3. I make the dash from the apartment to the car. 
4. Sit in the car for another 5 minutes in order to see if the dash from the front door was too stressful
5. Assess viability of situation: Had the cold gotten to me this time? Would I need to go back? 
6. Repeat above steps if necessary

Finally I got some decent care through CUH. I was due for my first appointment on the Monday but on Saturday the pain got so bad I could no longer cope. I came back into the room where my boyfriend was and he was crying. He said; "You can't go on like this. I can't watch you like this any more It's killing me". Finally I listened. I had been waiting patiently for my appointment and not wishing to jump queues. I saw how bad I was in his reflection. It was hurting him just to watch me suffer. I needed to take myself more seriously. 

I went to A&E and was admitted 20 minutes after triage. I was written up for morphine. Later that evening I was brought up to a ward. I was put on high doses of steroids and a week later I was discharged. I was better, so much better. I don't like being on steroids but at least I had some let up from the pain.

3 months later I had tapered down the steroids and had come off them completely. That week was horrendous. It was like the floor beneath me had been removed and I just continued to plummet. I was crying a lot and I just kept telling myself "It will get better" or the mantra of that year "This too shall pass". 

I had suffered from depression and anxiety in the past so I knew what that felt like. But this was worse. I describe it like this. Imagine there is a basement in your house. No one is allowed down there. There is a trap door that leads to it but over that you have a plush Persian rug. Over that again is a really heavy wardrobe. There is even a lock on the trapdoor.  Well every so often you go down there. No one knows you are there because no one can see you. You are hidden. And anyway people don't approve of basements so you do your best to hide it and your journeys to basement land. 

The basement is familiar. You know you can get out because you have gotten out before. Now imagine you visit the basement. But this time it has changed. Instead of the familiar surroundings there is no floor. You think there is a floor but then you step on it and it disappears. And you begin to fall. But there is no thud. There is no bottom just an endless terrifying descent into blackness. 

And that was the week I got pregnant. Unexpectedly and we were not trying. I didn't know I was pregnant of course. But that's when it would have happened. The week I came off the steroids. Obviously not the best time but like I said, we weren't trying. 

So there I was, suicidal and pregnant. Unless you have experienced that I don't know if you can really fathom what that feels like. There I was with a tiny baby developing inside of me and all I wanted to do was end my life. I was so ashamed, so much so that I couldn't even tell my doctor what I was feeling. I just pretended to be happy when she said congratulations. It wasn't like I didn't want the baby. I did, I just didn't want to be alive any more. I thought of all those people who struggled to get pregnant and here was I wanting to end it all. I hated myself for it and I felt it was unforgivable. 

I lost the baby 10 weeks later. And then my boyfriend broke up with me. I was utterly depressed and the only thing that was keeping me alive, the baby, was gone. I went into see my GP after I lost the baby but she was away on holidays. Instead I was offered another doctor in the clinic. The fortuitous moments of life! I walked into that room and into the arms of my saviour. I think how lucky I was that day to meet this amazing women who is still my GP. I felt able to open up to her. She listened with compassion and gave me my options. I'd like to say everything was great from there on in but it wasn't. Things got worse before they got better but I had a doctor who cared.

That was a long setting of a scene into which forgiveness arrives. I was angry. Hey I was everything back then - I still am. I was grieving; the loss of the baby, the loss of the relationship. I had been physically sick for so long and now when I was physically better I became mentally unwell. I've been fed so much bullshit over the years about mental illness that I felt in some way I should just "snap out of it". Somehow the mental anguish I was in was not as valid as the physical illness I have. I kicked the shit out of myself daily with self-disgust. "All you wanted was to be better, to leave the house and have freedom. Now you have it, you are wasting it by moping around. Snap out of it."

Add into this the break-up. A short time after my boyfriend broke up with me he realised he had made a mistake. (No shit Sherlock!) I had promised myself that no matter what, I would never take him back. I was so angry with him. 

Time passed. I had one friend in  particular who really helped me keep my head above water. He would offer activities I could join him on. "Fancy helping me make cider" "Wanna go walk the dog in the woods?" "Want to come to a barbecue at my parents house?" "No pressure if you don't." Or when I was down on myself and tell him I had not got out of bed today, he would remind me how far I had come from the days when that used to be everyday.

I moved on. I started seeing other people. A year later I started going out with someone else. It was nice but something wasn't right. A year later we broke up at my instigation. That summer I had a chat with friend. She told me about an experience from when she was younger. I told her about mine. She asked me about how my ex was doing? How had he coped in the aftermath? My reply was probably something like "Why should I care about him? He left me when I needed him most!" And she did that wonderful thing of saying nothing, just listening and nodding. And in her non-judgement silence I saw myself. I saw my anger. I saw my bitterness. I saw how I had never forgiven him. I told myself I had moved on but I hadn't. How could I move on with all that anger and bitterness alive and burning in my chest. 

I saw how hard it must have been for him to watch someone go through months of pain and illness. To see their descent into suicidal depression. To lose the baby that he so dearly had wished for. To run away because it was all too much. And then to have to live with that decision, the anger from the person he loved, the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to rectify it. 

I let my anger go. I forgave him for doing the best he could by the light he had to see by. It took two years but finally I let it go. The past was the past and there was no going back. I see him now for what he was; hurt, confused, grieving. I finally found my compassion for him. Yes I wish it didn't take so long. But as a teacher of mine likes to say "It is what it is". I wouldn't be here today. I wouldn't have had these amazing experiences of the last few years without it. Somewhere in a parallel universe there is a version of me still in love with that man, holding our child who would be starting school soon. But I don't live in that universe, I live in mine. It is what it is. 

So to go back to Maya's words

It's one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself, to forgive. Forgive everybody.

And most importantly forgive yourself. When you "forgive everybody" include yourself.  I forgive myself for being angry and for carrying that anger for so long. I forgive myself for lacking compassion for others but most importantly, myself. I forgive myself for doing the best I can by the light I have to see by.

Final thoughts on the Art of Change-making

Experience of The Art of Change-making

A friend of mine introduced me to The Art of Hosting some years back. She explained many of the concepts. The one that stayed with me was "some of the best insights come from the conversations at the coffee station when people are taking time out during a session". I always thought this was funny. Here we are gathered in a place to discuss some important issues. We are in a structured setting, we are being facilitated, we are being given allotted time to talk, we are listening etc. But the biggest forward leaps happen when I am taking a break and having a chat! 

There are a few issues at play here. The first is around creating a space where conversations can happen. We bring people together who have various interests and their experience from their respective fields can help hone and develop another's. So simply putting people in the same room and giving them a chance to get to know each other can aid the path towards insights and future actions and collaborations.  

The second issue I see is focus. I've done a few creative writing workshops and one of the best ways of aiding creativity is to take away choices. "Write a poem" is one of the most daunting exercises anyone could hear. However brainstorm 20 words plus around an event that happened in your childhood, now use six of those in a six line poem. Bang - a few minutes later you have poem! Why does that work? "Write a poem" is panoramic - there are endless possibilities. Too many choices and we get overwhelmed. Narrow those down and, paradoxically, there is more freedom for expression. The same is true for creating a space for powerful conversations to happen. Another word for this might be focus. So if we have a clear question, we can have a clear focus. Too wide a parameter and it is daunting.

So to create a space for powerful conversations we need people and a focus. On a practical level it is good to adopt a user-led contract for working practises. And really that is it. 

I think for many of us who navigate, and still navigate,  traditional education we can get lost in what we think should happen. There should be someone at the top of the room leading. We should all face that way and appear to be listening. Day-dreaming and doodling are bad, that's what we were told in school anyway. Permission must be sought before we leave the room. Breaks are decided by the teacher. 

In a room full of people who are attracted to something like The Art of Change-making there is no need for control. These are all people working at the forefront of their field, trying their hardest to improve the lives of others, the environment, to bring awareness issues important to them, to fight to have quieter voices heard. They don't need to be controlled and told how to comport themselves. They just need a space and a focus. 

And if we create a space where people must behave like children in a school then those wonderful conversations at the coffee station wont happen. Why do we think we need to control outcomes? We are conditioned that way by most institutions we come into contact with. Control and Fear are two sides of the same coin. We control because we are afraid. 

I see this in my dealings with educational institutions and their lecturers/teachers. During my time in UCC we used a system called "Blackboard". It was a way for lecturers to communicate with their classes about lectures and assignments. One suggestions was that the lecture notes should go up before a lecture. That way we could read the lecture notes before, do any pre-reading that might help, and then spend the lecture time in conversation around the topics. Most lecturers refused to do this. Their argument "If you had the lecture notes why would you come to class?" Intrinsic in this is the fear that they would be come redundant, that no one would turn up. What we wanted was to have a richer educational life, not furiously taking notes about a brand new subject we had never met before. We wanted to have conversations, to be able to ask informed questions based on our research and fill the gaps in our knowledge. We wanted an education and the lecturers, for the most part, were afraid they would make themselves redundant by informing us about what would be coming up. 

My experience over the last few years

I have had a tendency to do everything to be polite, to not hurt others. I think about their needs, how will this effect them? And then because I am so worried about how what I feel might effect someone else I take NO action. I am virtually paralysed by my worries for others. Now this is very noble - that I care so much. But it is leaving a big and important part out of the equation. - My voice and my action. 

An Indian friend of mine listened to my travails over the last few years. He put it simply to me in terms he understood and explained it to me. 

Orla you are too obsessed with Karma - with the consequences of your actions. The other side of the coin to Karma is Dharma. One interpretation of Dharma is "Right Action" If you act from right intention, good Karma will follow. 

And that is why it is so important for people like me to speak and to take action. I believe that every community has the answer to its own challenges within it. We don't need NGOs, banks or politicians to come in and tell us how to fix things. We have the knowledge in our community. And that is why I think we need dissent as much as agreement. This is why I think we need to hear objections first and not a round of bobbing heads agreeing. It can be so easy to get carried away by an interesting proposal, yet the dissenter can have an insight or re-shape the proposal that will help us all to make better decisions. 

My experience in Amsterdam

One thing that happened for me in Amsterdam was finding the courage in me to speak up. That was a sweaty palmed, beating heart, trembling voiced, teary-eyed affair!  I had clarity, I did not want any more of what had gone before. 

I went to talk to Floris. I asked him how I can be a better leader? He said, "You take the first steps towards leadership when you say how you feel, like you did the other day". Leadership isn't about dictatorship, we just think it is because its how we see it in the world most commonly. It's about saying how you feel. It's about saying "I am not comfortable with X." 

When you say how you feel, its leadership. When I don't say how I feel, we miss out on valid voices. The very voices that might hold the key to a challenge we face. We don't need to apologise for our feelings, we don't need to premise everything with "Now this is only my opinion, but...". Everything that anyone says is a feeling or an opinion. It's not sacrosanct. 

The second thing Floris said to me about leadership was "Propose an alternative". In that moment I realised I had totally understood the concept of walk out but had totally missed the walking on bit.  I find it hard enough to speak my truth (what ever I believe that to be at any given moment) never mind to offer an alternative!

So what am I saying here? When I speak from the heart and from the position of Dharma, (right action) I am showing leadership. I can let Karma take care of itself.  If your opinion and someone else's are in conflict, that doesn't mean that you are in conflict personally, you just have a difference of opinion. And we need that. Or else we end up in big stadiums cheering on dictators! (Okay maybe not straight away, but fascism can creep in if we don't hear other voices)

Leading through vulnerability

I hide. I am sick a lot so not only do I hide but my body makes it hard for me to be visible. But I also hide away for fear of what people will think of me if they see me when I am not well. I met up with a friend when I was sick two weeks ago. This was quite an achievement for me as normally I just stay away from others. A week later we met again. The conversation went something like this;

Orla

 I wasn't feeling so good last week. 

Friend  

Yeah, you didn't seem yourself 

Orla

No that was me -  just a version of myself I don't let people see very much

Friend

(Laughing)

I know exactly what you mean

So this is me. I am in pain a lot. When I am in a lot of pain I don't want to go on living. I comfort myself by repeating the mantra "It will get better" I have to go through horrible procedures. I have difficulty getting out of bed some days due to physical and mental health reasons. I usually get out of bed. Some days I can't dress myself or do any of the basic tasks that most people take for granted. Some days I do a dance class. Yes, you might find that weird but you know what? That is your shit, not mine. This is my reality, some days are bad, some days are great. I cry a lot. People want to comfort me. Again that is their shit. They don't ask why, they assume it is because I am sad. It is often because I am really fucking grateful just to be in the room. I am happy - I am so happy I cry. 

My challenges for the future

• To work from the heart and listen for when it whispers "Something isn't cool, Orla"
• Lead through vulnerability. Show up and let people see other versions of myself
• Believe in my voice and its validity
• To propose alternatives
• To help others to express their voice
• To challenge ideas and stigma around disability
• To remember what is my shit - and what is someone else's "Not my monkey, Not my circus"
• Question everything 
• Be irreverant

Time is Money vs Time is Heart

I've noticed that for those of us who did not start out acting at an earlier age seem to struggle more to learn lines. Its like our brains are not as elastic as those who start out as young adults. No actor I know enjoys the process of learning lines - its a means to an end. 

One weekend I was visiting a friend and whilst I was there I spent time going over my lines for an up-coming show I was in. He spotted me a few times mumbling words, uncovering the page I was working on and cursing slightly. He watched me do this over and over again until I got the line. Then I started onto the next. 

From somewhere outside my line learning misery I heard his voice, "You know if actors put as much work into medicine or engineering as they do into learning lines, they could be really good at engineering, or medicine. Think of how many of the world's problems could be solved it they put their energy into something like that!"

I stopped. I looked up. I asked him, "What do you do in the evening when you finish work?" He started on with activities like opening the door, having dinner. I cut him off, "I know what you do. You watch movies. You watch television programmes. At the weekend you go the cinema with friends."

So? "And what do all those things have in common? Actors. And if they didn't act? What if they didn't put in the years of study? What if they didn't do the hard grind of learning lines? What if they all decided to put their energy into medicine or engineering? What would you be doing in the evening?"

He kind of got my point. Kind of. 

Anyway there was a subtext to what he was saying. I'll take his above sentence "Think of how many of the world's problems could be solved it they put their energy into something like that!" and re-word it. 

Think of how useful they could be if they put their energy into something worthwhile!

I could argue that this is an isolated incident. But its not. I come up against this attitude from people all the time. My father regularly asks me "Will you be able to become a teacher with that?" You see there it is. Will you be able to something more worthwhile than what you are doing now? And the crux of that is that doing Art is not worthwhile.

And why? Because the worth from doing art is not as measurable as when you get paid by the hour or by salary. Here are a few more examples. A man at a Cirque du Soleil show remarking on how great the performers were "and all for a hobby". A mother of a young girl at a workshop telling me she discourages her daughter from following her dream of a becoming a writer "Sure you can't make a living from that". 

And we don't help ourselves either. One of the problems is that we don't value ourselves as artists. When someone gets a job in another sector we say things like "Oh you got a real job" Like what we are doing is not real? And what about what we do is not real? We create real objects, put on real shows, compose real songs, write real stories. 

I've come on this journey over the last few years. I've finally come to a place where I can call myself an artist but it was, and is, a huge struggle. Not only do I have to do battle with "The enemies at the gates of the mind" I have to do battle with friends, family and society. I have to say to them, I do not have to justify my arts practise by doing something more useful, in your eyes. 

So here are a few points I'd like to make about artists.

Artists are Entrepreneurs

Yes that is right entrepreneurs. No they don't create tech start-ups - they work in a much higher risk area than that! They set up music bands, theatre companies, festivals. They put on plays and events that they have no guarantee anyone will like or come to! 

Artists are Risk-takers

They invest time and energy into something that they have no guarantee that they will ever see returns from.

Artists are Speculators

Artists often have to invest in materials etc months or years in advance. One friend of mine who is a potter will often have bought the clay for a finished item 18 months in advance of the item even appearing in a shop. (Don't get me started on the sale or return policy of shops or their 100% mark-up!)

Artists are Philanthropists

Artists spend their time doing a lot of free stuff. For community groups, for their friends and for other artists. And they don't expect to get anything in return. I cannot count how many times other artists have shared their knowledge and experience with me with no absolutely no financial gain for themselves. 

And yes artist's cannot live on air. We need money to survive like everyone else. My own experience is one of living a different life, of spending less money on things I don't need. I don't have a car. I don't own a house. I don't buy clothes if I can help it. I don't dye my hair and I don't keep up with fashions. This is more philosophical and values-based than simple frugality. I can't stand to see the waste and damage done by our current linear economic model. Its the same reason I take huge pleasure in composting, seed and plant sharing and re-using items that would otherwise have been land-filled. 

The world sends me a message that I can choose to listen to or not. It says if there is not a financial reward for an action than it is not worthwhile. "Time is Money". Whilst over at The Art of Change-making one of the Knowmads was exploring the idea that "Time is Heart". I've only got one go around on this planet and I don't want to spend my time justifying my existence to anyone. "Time is Heart" resonates with me and my mission is to live as whole-heartedly as I can.

He who works with his hands is a labourer.

He who works with his hands and his head is a craftsman.

He who works with his hands and his head and his heart is an artist.

- St Francis of Assisi

The craft of questions, the craft of stories, the craft of the hands

 - all these are the making of something, and that something is soul. 

Any time we feed soul, it guarantees increase. 

- Clarissa Pinkola Estés

Critical Thinking (and why we need people who piss on sacred fires)

"Troublemakers make the world go round"
On the wall at Knowmads Business School, Amsterdam

I am afraid of experts. Gurus, leaders, people in white coats, specialists, doctors, directors, teachers. Hold on a second. I am not afraid of experts. As I type those words I realise I am not afraid of those people. I am afraid of me and you. I am afraid of the power we give to experts. I am afraid of our listening without questioning.

Some years ago when I was entering adulthood I attended a counsellor. I went because a guy in a white coat told me that he had "3 year olds who could handle their diagnosis better" than me. I thought if this doctor is telling me I am at fault then I must be. I went to a counsellor. She spent our sessions telling me how great I was and I spent 70 euro an hour to hear this. Well one thing (maybe the only thing) I took from this was one piece of advice she gave me. "Take two people you trust and ask them for advice."

Well now this worked to a certain extent. I was entering adulthood and I felt dragged and pulled by every wave of advice, not knowing where to go and not knowing what I wanted. This advice gave me the agency to not listen. To say "thank you for your advice" and then to completely disregard it.

However even at that young age I knew there was something wrong with the advice. So I added my own clause. Take two people you trust and ask them for advice, and always trust them to be themselves. Now what do I mean by that?

Well I'll give my sister Aisling as an example. Aisling is my older sister by five years. We were never that close as children but as we became adults we have grown to respect each other and our differences. She is one of my go-to people. If I want some straight-up, honest to goodness advice she is there. I talk to her and then she tells me what she thinks, a rare attribute.

Do I then listen and act as she would advise? Hell no! I listen but with the knowledge of her frame of reference. She is trained as an accountant, she is a good bit more conservative than me and she is a mother. And these are just three of the many frames that she sees the world through. I listen to get another perspective than mine. Sometimes I take on what she says, sometimes I don't. But understanding her frames of reference helps me to make choices about what I do take on board.

So what's the point? Blind faith terrifies me. The unquestioning belief in any process or person terrifies me.

I've had an amazing journey this last year on "Arts, Participation & Development" in C.I.T. One of the key parts to this course was working on critical thinking skills. There are so many good arguments out there for one thing or another it can be easy to get swept away. But we need to stop and ask ourselves a few questions

• What frame of reference is this opinion/argument coming from? 
• What shapes this person's world view? 
• Why do they want me to believe what they believe? 
• Who benefits from me changing my beliefs?

Oh there are probably tonnes more questions I should ask when I'm faced with polemic or propaganda but this is where I start.

What happens when we don't ask questions? Here is a few trends I have noticed happening.

• Putting people on pedestals
• Black and White Thinking (or the absence of subtlety) 
• Herd behaviour
• "Yes men" or women
• A lack of dissent
• Less voices being heard

The best teachers I have had have always made the point of saying that I should not take them too seriously. That they are fallible like I am. They have been open to learning and don't believe they possess all the answers. They welcome questions and welcome being questioned on their practises. They don't expect blind faith or ask me to trust in a process they wont explain. They don't claim to be alchemists. 

Why do we follow without questioning? I have a few ideas: It's attractive to feel like we are on a mission, that we share a common goal or adversary. There is a sense of belonging, of community. Most importantly though, it's easier. It's just so much easier to hand our agency over to others, to let them decide. "They are the expert" after all and they know best.

But by following without question, we create monsters. Yes we, the followers, create monsters. 

The other quality I think we need a bit more of in the world is irreverence. If anyone takes themselves too seriously we need to knock them down from their pedestal. If they are asking you to believe or to trust in the process without question, give them the finger. Shout "Boobies" at the top of your voice while all around people are shouting in unison. Press the red button. Piss on the sacred fire! And at any point if you take your role too seriously take joy when someone pisses on your sacred fire. 

Giving thanks to our teachers...

I'm just back from a week of Commedia Del'Arte for advanced players with Annie Ryan of Corn Exchange. This is my second time doing this training and like usual I went in terrified. I nearly didn't go until a friend of mine gave me a kick up the bum: "Go you crazy cow!" So I went. 

Training in "The Style" is highly technical. I feel like a plate spinner, by the time I feel like I'm getting the hang of one thing the other plates come crashing down to floor. Its a  practise that engages me on an holistic level. I use every bit of my physical and mental capacity. 

Annie leads us through a gentle yoga-based warm-up in the morning. "Grounding" is exactly what you need when you are about to step off into the unknown. "Who will I meet today?" Annie emphasises "the heart space". Last year when I heard this for the first time it struck a cord with me. As actor-artists we are always in battle with the negative sides of ego; "Me first/My reputation/I want to look my best". Or even more limiting; "I'm shit/I'll never make it/Why am I even dong this?" However if I can ground myself in the heart space I can feel compassion for myself,  for those around me and for the characters I create. This is a place of expansiveness where I can create and take risks. 

Annie finishes off the warm-up with a moment of gratefulness. Giving thanks always gets me. We give thanks to our teachers. I think of all those people over the years who have left their mark on me for good, and for bad. I think of the Hindi phrase, "When the student is ready the guru appears." I think how the roles of teacher/learner can switch in a moment,  how anyone can serve in the role guru in a particular circumstance. 

 I think of my teacher, Belinda, who mid-wifed me through my terror of being watched "The audience want you to do well, Orla". I think of the lesson from Keith Johnston through his book "Impro"; "You are not responsible for your imagination" and how this allowed me to drop down the well into the darkest parts of imagination without fear that it somehow reflected on me. I have too many great lessons to recount here. 

And whilst I am grateful for all these positive experiences, I am also grateful for the pain of harder lessons. The death of two of my young friends within three months of each other, taught me about the preciousness of my life. It made me appreciate the wind on my face and setting sun of each day as it drew to a close, something they would never experience again. I think of other losses that helped me understand that grief is a process and although the loss will be with me forever, it will not always be so all-pervading. 

The lines from The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel resonate

In the clearing stands a boxer 

And a fighter by his trade 

And he carries the reminders 

Of ev'ry glove that layed him down 

Or cut him till he cried out 

In his anger and his shame

"I am leaving, I am leaving" 

But the fighter still remains 

At times I have wanted to cry out "I am leaving" too but the fighter in me still remains. I am grateful for every every glove that cut me and every hand that held mine. I am grateful to all my teachers.  

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. 

How to save a life?

I saw a recent meme on Facebook shared by a friend, a fellow animal lover, and it went something like this; 

"When you choose a rescue dog you save two lives - that of the dog you choose and the life of the dog that  gets a place at the rescue centre" 

I agree wholeheartedly with this statement but I think whoever said it underestimated the effect that choice can have. I think these beautiful dogs that come into our lives can save our lives as much as we save theirs. 

This morning I talked to my Mam on the phone. She told me a bitter sweet story. Marley, my dog, has been living with her while I have been in final year of college. He goes to lots of places with her. Naas town is a favourite with visits to the bank and the animal rescue second hand shop being top of the list. Recently they have been visiting the local garden centre. After my Mam has finished her shopping there, she treats herself to a coffee in their cafe. 

The first day the girls working there offered to sit with Marley while my Mam went for her coffee. Afterwards they came out with water for him. Yesterday my Mam went in and did the same. This time Marley was given water and a little bowl of chicken. The girl that brought him his treat was about to walk away when she stopped. She look at my Mam and said;

"You know the last day you were here? That dog sat with me the whole time. One of the other girls is mad about dogs and she couldn't get him to go near her. He just sat with me"

My Mam smiled and the girl looked like she was going to walk away. Then she stopped and said;

"I was only two days back in work. Two days back... after my mother died. And he just sat with me. Isn't that funny? And he never went near the other girl, just sat with me. Do you think he knew? Do you think he knew I needed him?" 

My mam nodded and said "Yes, he just knew" and when she told me all I could think was "Yes, he just knew". Don't ask me how - and I'm sure it can't be re-created in laboratory conditions but somehow, just somehow, that dog knew. Like the gazelle that can sense the lioness stalking it even though it has not seen it or smelt it, that dog could sense that that girl needed something, needed his companionship that day, needed to feel a little less alone in her grief. 

And how do I know? Because I have felt the power of that dog's instincts. Three years ago when I had Marley first he did one of the most amazing things I have ever seen or felt.  I had Marley a few weeks. He had been in the wonderful care of the Dog Action Welfare Group (DAWG). They, through their fosterer, had taken in this poor wretch of an animal and nursed him back to health  He was emaciated and covered in mange. He had been on the road so long that he had worn away the pads on his feet. It took a whole 10 weeks for him to be in any way ready for re-homing. 

He went up on their page and within minutes I rang and made an appointment to see him. I was so lucky because I had been the first and there was a waiting list after me. After a home check we were allowed to take him home. Marley had been through a lot  and it took him awhile to adjust. He would not even respond to his name he was so upset with being parted from his wonderful fosterer. 

Within a few weeks he was coming round. He was so obedient - he knew he was not allowed out of the kitchen even if the door was wide open. 

I was due in for my first scan for my first child on a Thursday morning. My partner said he knew it wasn't good from the moment the scan started. Then the horrible news that the baby had died a few days earlier. I'd had a missed miscarriage. No signs, just everything trundling on as expected. Except that the little baby was in suspended animation - with no heartbeat and had stopped developing. 

I was devastated. But in a very quiet way - there was just a kind of quiet acceptance that this was the way it was. My partner tried to comfort me but what do you say? What do you do? Especially when you are grieving too? 

That Saturday night I was alone. I was lying in bed trying not to smother. That's the only way I can describe it. I had been weeping up until this point but nothing big - something between stoicism and depression. This night alone in my bed I struggled to breath and then it came; something from the pit of gut began to release and it manifested in this guttural slow howl of pain. 

Within seconds this once obedient dog was beside me. He had bounded through two shut doors and over the invisible threshold of the forbidden "rest-of-the-house". He had never even been in the bedroom before! And here he was, lying on my bed, his big solemn head resting on my chest, softly making cooing noises along with my howls. He lay like that, just softly humming until my howling subsided. And then we just lay there for the rest of the evening; me slowly rubbing his head, staring into to his great big brown eyes and him gazing back from his endless pools of non-judgement. 

This has got to be one of the most remarkable experiences of my life. This moment of true empathetic doggie compassion. You can tell me this is anthropomorphising all you like but the above really happened. In one of my darkest moments this rescued dog came to my rescue. 

I sometimes think if we could all be a little bit more dog-like the world would be a better place. What do you do when someone shares their grief with you? Well I'm shit! I try my best but I really fall short of the mark. I think if I could just be a bit more like Marley I'd be a better person. If I could just sit with someone's pain and not try "hide it, fade it or fix it" I would be a better friend. I could even be someone's best friend. 

The Giant of Kinsale - Part 4

Foam Attachment

Cutting patterns for face

Here my patience was really tested. Everything started out pretty well. I was easy to cut the foam. I put in huge seam allowances. Then I began to work with the latex. 

Sometimes it feels like you are the first person to do something. Like a pioneer of sorts. There is no handbook - just a set of instructions for use on a bottle or some vague memories of the last time you did something like this. The instructions for Latex are pretty simple. I went with the instructions for two non-porous surfaces. The latex loved absorbing into the foam and really didn't seam to want to attach to the packing tape cover. Slow, frustrating work. 

Adding first foam section

After hours of work and only one cheek completed I re-accessed. The K.I.S.S. rule ringing in my ears. Keep It Simple Stupid! Go back to to what you know best; Paper Mache! So I covered the entire remainder of head in paper mache. This gave me two absorbent surfaces to deal with and made my work much easier.

This set me back by about three days as I had to wait for this rather large head to dry. In the end it was worth it as it sped up the process of getting the the foam layer on.

Decision to Paper Mache the entire head

Slow Progress

Foam Layer Continued

This was by far one of the scariest times of the project. Each piece felt like it could go wrong at any stage. I was also working with products like latex and foam and not my preferred medium of paper mache. The is something meditative about paper mache - there is something not meditative bout smelly latex and burning your fingers!

Foam all in place!
(Note the Toilet Roll)

His first showing

While I was waiting for paper mache layers to dry etc I got onto other parts of anatomy. Then with about two weeks to go to Patrick's Day, Dave and Brian came over to have a look. I was delighted to be able to show them this fella that day... 

This was when he began to be known by his stage name "O'Brien"

Ta Da!

Closer...

The Giant of Kinsale - Part 3

Drawing on the features

Building up features

Using a a DVD/CD marker I drew out his features. I also added another over-hang for his chin. Then I began to build up newspaper into features. 

This is an ingenious method passed onto me by Alicia Falvey. She used this method to create ornate woodwork effects for a 17th chaise lounge for a production of a Moliere play. It can be then paper mached over and can be sanded down, painted and varnished like wood.

Building up features

Sculpting the newspaper shapes

Once a rough shape for each feature is achieved they were covered in packing tape. The packing tape creates a kind of "shell" that helps you to see where gaps that need filling might be or where there may be too much bulk. If there is a gap it is simply filled with more newspaper. If there is too much bulk in an area the packing tape shell is sliced into. The excess is trimmed away either with a scissors or your fingers. It is then re-taped ready for covering.

Trimming/Slicing newspaper shapes

Finished base features

The Giant of Kinsale - Part 2

Willow weave

Willow Weave

Next step was the willow weave. This allowed the main circles fullness to be maintained when further layers were added.

I wove at various points; between the eyes, sides and back of the head.

In the opposite picture you can also see the addition of a chin

Packing Tape Layer

 Packing tape layer

This was a fun layer. The willow was secured in place by applying layers of packing tape. I snipped off the willow ends and then taped these to the structure.

Below you can see the inside the crown still exposed. These protruding willow sticks were woven back into the structure and covered with more packing tape.

Internal view with unfinished
crown

Close up of crown

And voila! - A structure to start adding features to! (Or C3PO as he became known after this layer)

Packing Tape Layer complete

Giant of Kinsale - Part 1

Below is the basic structure for "O'Brien" as he affectionately became known. It's funny to look at this now. This was the culmination of many days work and  sleepless nights. It doesn't look much just a weird amalgamation of multiple materials... but this is what everything was built onto. Hard work on this structure saved much work down the line.

Here are a few things I learned from this process

1. Never take a phone call whilst in the middle of complex scale equations

2. Work in small spurts with walks/nights sleep in between sessions

Basic Structure

Bamboo Frame

I used this website to calculate several complex circle equations. This equation which calculates the largest square inside the circle was particularly invaluable. 

I created the frame based on a series of circles (Beer Tubing) that would be supported by bamboo. These I decided would be the upper brow and jaw line. As the chin would come down further than this structure, the eyes needed to be lower than the centre point of the Bamboo structure. This is so the eyes would end up at the centre of the head on completion. 

I created two further supporting squares for the brow bone and cheek bones. Onto these four squares I attached beer tubing. At this point I decided on placing the eyes on one side and put eye-holders in place.

Structure with eye in place

Close up of eye

Side view of structure with eye in place

These eye holes were made using "galband" and cable ties attached to the beer-tubing frame.

There are also a series of "guy" ropes inside the structure to keep the head shape in place. These were all removed with the addition of later layers.