Dreaming Wide Awake

I OFTEN FIND MYSELF MARVELLING AT THE INNATE CREATIVITY AND CURIOSITY OF THE KIDS I MAKE THEATRE WITH. My own children also provide a constant source of inspiration – and it’s a relief to restore my sagging adult spirit with a dollop of their unwitting genius.

Today for example — my eldest son is creating his own version of Monopoly based on every theatre I’ve ever worked in (oh no, no, no — I swear it was his idea not mine — although I had to contribute by filling out a research form); my daughter just watched a movie — once — then not only recited the dialogue word for word (complete with accent) she also gave a joyfully complete character analysis, matched by a narrative summary notable for it’s generosity, accuracy and key plot points.  Meanwhile my youngest – while lacking his sister’s linguistic skills — is listening to a song and tra, la, la-ing it note for note. He uses his voice like a punk choirboy; yodelling and scatting his way through improvisations that are as natural as they musical; an uninhibited synthesiser of melody and rhythm. I wonder what will happen as he grows up and peer pressure kicks in. Will he give a toss one way or another; shrugging off teasing with a toss of his Viking hair; or will his song and dance evaporate in a vapour of embarrassment? I know I somehow made it through — but I grew up on a farm. Something tells me city life will apply different forces to the ones I dealt with. Life in the bush gave me time and space and yes, loneliness to fill with creativity. At the same time we were only allowed to watch TV between the hours of four thirty and six p.m. — if we had no homework. We didn’t have electronic toys, there were no computers, so it’s impossible to compare.

My eldest uses the computer as a tool. He remains removed at all times with a weird detachment that I can only ascribe to his unique brain. My daughter doesn’t gravitate to computers much at all and prefers imaginary play and drawing. My youngest will drink story in whatever form it takes until his eyeballs pop. Like most parents – I try and keep TV to a minimum, while owning up to it’s undeniable usefulness as a part-time child minder. Once the seven year old brain is consumed by the soma of ABC KIDS it’s not easy to wean him off and press the re-rest button. But when I do the pattern is always the same — as his mind gradually starts working again after the anaesthetic. Irritability followed by restlessness, boredom and  then… like magic… he plays… but not the kind of playing that demands attention. This is completely self-sufficient, focused, immersed. The kind of playing you could easily mistake for mess. Except it’s not; and I pride myself that, at least in this regard, I am teaching myself to let go; to watch and learn about young children, the complexity of their thinking… the limitlessness of their potential.

This was nowhere more evident than when we lived in Queens, New York – in a very small apartment. Here — having left the LEGO set behind in Australia – my youngest took to constructing cities from whatever he could find in the kitchen. To help, we kept all the boxes, toilet rolls and plastic take-away containers we used to recycle; instead creating a mountain of creative refuse in the corner of our very small galley kitchen. At first I was concerned because it formed the perfect mouse-penthouse, but relented when I realised just how brilliant my youngest was at taking these brightly coloured building materials and creating a whole new civilisation. There was – and still is —  no end to the permutations and combinations he would spend hours revising; of course he didn’t limit himself to cardboard; the kitchen drawer provided further inspiration as he emptied it of spoons, egg- beaters, knives, forks…

Then he discovered string; and over the course of a day the apartment now resembled a small city, submerged in a web of intersecting lines; each hung with paper, boxes, sticky tape, socks, teddy bears, shoes, toy cars; every single one of these items once again aligned with extraordinary precision. In a few hours you needed commando training just to cross the living room, let alone make the trek to the toilet, but we were all on Callum’s side, determined his creation will at least last until the end of the day.

“No you can’t use the meat cleaver Callum… because it could cut your fingers off… yes well I’m sorry if it’s going to make the perfect bridge… I SAID… good boy, stick with the saucepan instead. Yes, the BENDAROO’S are fine to use, knock yourself out”.

Bendaroo’s are basically short pieces of coloured twine; covered in wax so you can mould them into different shapes. Cate considered them educational. Me? I’m looking at a box of string covered with wax selling for fifty bucks at ‘Toys R Us’ thinking this is what made America great; Jazz, The Declaration of Independence and the ability to sell something like Bendaroo’s for fifty times what it would take to produce them.  #

 I don’t know about you, but my physical health is always at its most vulnerable when my mental health falters.  Happiness stems from confidence — confidence we can navigate the obstacles that life throws at us. Confidence that we have — to quote Doctor Seuss: “brains in our heads and feet in our shoes”. How many football coaches have said the game is won or lost on one square foot of cerebral real estate? Life, in my experience, is no different. Which is why creativity and in turn, the arts, performing or otherwise, is so crucial to all of us. I’m not talking about talent. You don’t have to sustain a career to express yourself; that’s a whole other thing. I’m talking about the basic human need and right to explore your own story, anyway you choose. A story that is full of questions, rarely any answers; a story that is ongoing until the day we exist no more. A story that doesn’t have to be expressed through words but through the chance to meditate on the soul and share that meditation through the act of creation, regardless of social or financial status.

Too much? I can’t blame you for thinking that. Once they started handing out degrees in acting, painting, singing, dancing, creating puppets, experts pretty much took over the right to create; while everyone else was relegated to amateurism and apologising for their efforts. But if that’s true, it’s not helping. Because to advance as a healthier, more balanced society who can understand, communicate and engage with all kinds of different people; children, teenagers, educators, the unemployed, the elderly, the stuck up, the down at heart and the guy in the beamer who just stole your car-park; we need to shift the paradigm. Creativity encourages catharsis and reflection. It’s a chance to touch base with the person we are beneath the public mask; the self who guards all our secrets, fears, disappointments, hopes and self-recriminations; it allows us to express these things indirectly, gently, invisibly, through self-expression.

I have worked with literally thousands of adults and children who have become happier; more fulfilled human beings, just by expressing themselves through the arts. It’s not necessarily about having a literal conversation with other people. Often it’s about finding a way to facilitate a conversation with yourself  — that other people are allowed to witness and interpret through the prism of their own universe.

Have you ever sat in a theatre and felt just like the character has; or seen a painting that opens you up and releases something you didn’t even know was there? That’s the sensation I’m talking about; but also having the chance to express and explore your own story — in whatever way suits you best, which can be even more psychologically nurturing. It’s because creativity, in all its forms, is like dreaming wide-awake. It allows us to express ourselves and therefore understand others and ourselves better. Of course, I know this because I’ve experienced it countless times, in workshops, rehearsals — with amatuers and professionals alike. Proving it to the uninitiated is another thing altogether.

An alien from the planet ‘Obtuse’ lands near a woman driving a bright new red corvette.

            ALIEN: What is that red object you are inserted in?

            WOMAN: We call them cars.

            ALIEN: What is their purpose?

            WOMAN: To drive places. You know. Start at point A. Arrive at point B.

            ALIEN: That does not compute. I need more data.

            WOMAN: Okay, well I have a manual here somewhere.

            ALIEN: What is a manual?

            WOMAN: It’s a book that tells you what each part of the car is.

            ALIEN: That is not proof of point A to B  —

            WOMAN: Yes but the mechanics —

            ALIEN: What are mechanics?

            WOMAN: How the engine works —

            ALIEN: What is an engine?

            WOMAN: The part of the car that turns the wheels.

            ALIEN: What are the wheels?

            WOMAN: Okay look, I have an appointment to keep with my stockbroker…

I could provide a bible of explanations, data, anecdotal research; but nothing’s going to beat jumping in and going for a ride; because once you’ve had the experience you’ll realise the physics of creativity requires a person to invest something of themselves; and this investment; whether it be through art, dance, acting, design, music, motor-mechanics, sculpture, sheet-metal or fashion; enriches the soul.