High Ceilings

I wish there was a word

For that feeling you get

When your head is caving in

And your mind is narrowed

For when you peel away from the bed

And hide outside in shade in sticky heat

For when you step timidly into a library,

And climb into the lift to the gallery on the top floor

For when you rise up the building and your thoughts drum

And you step into the hall lined with frames and canvas

For when the air con feels fresh against your tacky skin

And when you’re alone and calm in the hollowness

And then you tilt your head upwards

And you see the high ceilings

And in that space

Your caved head opens, and your narrow mind expands

And the height between your shoes and the skylights dissolves the numbness

As you look up and let yourself feel grounded

And you’re aware of all that’s above you

And all you can’t see

And the great smallness of yourself

I wish there was a word for a high ceiling in an empty room and its peace.

When you don’t know how to get there… Creative Access Theatre Masterclass @ The National Theatre

• 5/7/22
• Lyttleton upstairs
• Lisa Jonas (finance), Juliet Gilkes Romero (writer-in-residece) Ola Animashawun (dramaturg, associate and diversity strategy) and Sara Bakhaty (deputy director of marketing and sales)

Wanting to work in the theatre sector means working with rejection, whether you’re wanting to act, write, direct, market, programme or sell ice-cream at intervals. All places are desirable as people are fighting to protect the arts in the current socio-economic crisis. This rejection is hard to take when you want to learn in the industry more than anything, and your previous academic qualifications make you feel ready to take on the roles you apply for. But you're not ready; you need to have experience for entry-level positions that give you more experience for entry-level positions. It's a tricky paradox to navigate. The free work, volunteering and interning needed is a huge privilege that so many cannot access. Most of the time, it feels like nothing is enough.

Attending this panel at the National was a great opportunity, but having just faced rejection in a marketing job at a local theatre I know well, I felt intimidated. It hasn’t been easy, but coming out of uni with an aspiration for the arts on stage has meant funnelling incessant rejection and rife intimidation into a drive to fulfil these aspirations. I’m currently volunteering and shadowing in the marketing department I was rejected by, and it has made me ferociously determined to prove myself: my capability and my love for the sector. I left ‘free'; work, got on the train to Kings Cross, ready to be inspired from those in the jobs people like myself dream about.

I think for all theatre lovers, the National is a brutalist site of sanctuary on the bustling, skateboarding Southbank. Entering the cool, beige atrium will always stir a pang of awe- it’s where you want to be- even if it isn’t. I am immensely passionate about the power of regional theatre in the north, but it’s refreshing to dip your toe in the spring banks of the capital.

The panel honed in the importance of finding your narrative in the industry- curating your discipline. Working in regional, northern theatre means I know the impact of understanding the nuances of your community: they are your audience so you need to be able to assess the impact you’re having. It was reassuring to hear this from top dramaturgs and marketing seniors, not just my own mantras.

I was the one of the very few northern accents sounding out around the room which unfortunately, in ‘London situations’, triggers a feeling of inferiority. I sat at the back, armed with notebook and pen, awaiting the speakers’ arrival on stage. I’m not sure if I’m right on this, but Londoners my age, in this industry, are born with an air of confidence and a feeling of deserving to be wherever the best is, as they're used to being around it. I find this hard to relate to. Their arms shot up in the air without hesitation; they stood up and asked obvious questions as if they were philosophical watersheds: ‘How do you get an entry level position?’ ‘Apply.’  I sat quiet, thinking up a marketing question that would benefit the team in Doncaster, but I wasn’t picked after plucking up courage. I'm learning my lesson- act like Londoner, think northern.

The evening was inspiring and it was a timely blessing to be reminded that even the writer of At the Gates of Gaza (Juliet) has been rejected for positions: many positions. The advice from the coveted professionals was not watered down. They instructed us, the future of The National, apparently, to get tight with our finances as things were only set to get harder; we were told the importance of having second jobs that cradle your creativity. Rejection, inferiority, part-time work and lack of money seem the criteria for this career, so I’m already kind of qualified in some ways. 

Amongst spiel of MAs and winding career trajectories, the best advice I took from the panel was simply to not beat myself up if I’m not doing what I want all the time. It’s about keeping faith and belief in what you want to do when no one else wants you to do it. And to be responsible; if told you don’t have relevant experience, ask who has the experience that you need. If that person doesn’t exist, be them and make them.

I know I’m taking knocks at the moment, and every person graduating in such uncertain times is too. It’s hard to stay focused, as the rejection is distracting, but events like this are helpful stabilizers and make you feel on track to being confident, and feeling like you deserve your place somewhere in the sector. I’m already grateful for where I am; I work with wonderful people in a wonderful box office and this inspires me more than empty networking can. We were told to look for love in what you do, and who you do it with- I think that, in times as bleak as these, that is what drives your fight.

Running with Rock, Paper, Scissors

•  Anthony Lau, Rob Hastie, Elin Schofield
• Chris Bush
• Sheffield Theatres
• 16/06/22 - 2/02/22

I started working in the Sheffield Theatres box office right on the cusp of their 5oth birthday celebrations. With this came the exciting, and slightly confusing, announcement of Rock, Paper, Scissors to celebrate. 

All were told this was a theatrical event: 'three plays, three theatres, one cast'. We rambled our way through phone calls with customers, trying to explain the concept without fully understanding it ourselves. We knew the directors (Schofield: Scissors, Lau: Rock and Hastie: Paper) and the writer, our beloved Chris Bush. Rock, Paper, Scissors existed in the box office as a bundled cloud of energy and mystery- which made it an exciting risk to sell. The cast announcements trickled through in the last months, and word of the story began to permeate into our box office brains. Rehearsals began, posters were plastered up and the looming cloud in our office became a very real thing, happening soon. A-week-before-curtain briefing from stage management crystalised the story for us. A little…

Paying homage to the socio-economic fabric of Sheffield, Bush’s simultaneous triple bill set out to defy theatrical boundary, time boundaries, and tell the story of how people exist in the city today- all the bleak and romantic elements of a city ever reinventing itself after industrial hysteresis. In her delicate, yet honest, writing, she tackles robust themes and notes how past and future crumble, and enhance, the people of the present. The Spenser scissor factory is facing trouble as its owner Eddie has died without handing over a clear will. The fate of the factory, office premises and actual apprentices are uncertain and all pose heartbreak if not dealt with. Each play tackles a different element, a different voice of reason, as the multi-faceted future of Sheffield venues in real time rings true.

The logistics stood as follows: The Crucible theatre and The Studio theatre already stand under one roof, so our base building became the realm’s factory; The Studio as the workshop and The Crucible as the warehouse. The Lyceum existed as the factory offices, ‘across the yard’. Customers booked to see the plays individually, stayed completely seated as normal, as the characters travel from factory to workshop to offices as the stories instruct. The actors made the journeys of their characters, in real time. On one day, all involved Spenser Scissors parties seem to discover the fate of their assets and livelihoods, and we see the trilogy unfold. Does it make sense now? Three plays, three theatres, one cast? I hope so.

The Crucible staged Rock and told the story of Eddie’s sister Susie’s vision to transform her family’s factory into a music venue- Factory Records meets the Warehouse Project. The Crucible stage is the factory warehouse, so an assortment of characters congregate as they get lost on their travels. It’s fun and the most care-free and experimental venture. Paper is the most touching; laced with devastatingly sentimental truths of love and loss, Faye, Eddie’s daughter, and her ‘wife’ Mel set out to trail through masses of paperwork in the offices (Lyceum) to gain financial rights to the property and build housing. It’s the type of gentrification that draws upon Park Hill and pays notes to Bush’s stellar Standing at the Sky’s Edge. Scissors in the studio, the dark horse of the trilogy, is about Eddie’s apprentices- under paid with buckets of potential that sits wasted on making artisan scissors without direction,or profit. They’re confused as who is walking around, sifting though, their workplace and they suspect industrial espionage and go exploring.

Each play began and ended at the same time, doing multiple shows throughout the day. It was an absolute theatrical blockbuster and, as the biggest theatre outside of London, we were the place to do it first.

Show week began. The previews first, then press night, and then the week’s run. We spent the 23^rd of June hunched over laptops on our sales desks, waiting for reviews of our theatre’s passion project to be cemented in the press and minds of bookers. The five stars from The Stage broke out, then four stars from The Guardian and co. After the first shows were done, customers were in love with the story and the concept- gaining some personal experience from seeing the plays in whatever order. The story exists differently for each audience member depending on how much time is left between each play, and whose side you listened to first.

The plays were acted beautifully- with outrageous vigour and then sensitive emotional response. Bush masters sentimentality and subtle nostalgia without any sight of cringe or kitsch. Scissors stood out for this- you laugh and then cry with the apprentices, leaving feeling full of love, but sorrow too. Rock is loud, sounding out the Arctic Monkeys and echoing the beloved spirit of Sheffield: the city of its people. Paper is devastatingly hopeful- you watch relationships crumble and then be built back up again by love and sheer determination, mirroring the sheer determination of the massive team behind this theatrical marathon.

Rock, Paper, Scissors was a huge feat that was executed with undeniable triumph; I can’t help but feel lucky to have watched it blossom from a void of customer confusion to the true human experience it has become. The stories relished in grounded personal stories, and citywide themes. The vigorous momentum of the short run soared, and the next week became one of the most joyful and exciting to watch unfold. People that had booked for one, rushed to book all three. People that saw all three wrote to us or spouted loving feedback over the counter- wanting to discuss every aspect at great length. After lockdowns, we felt as alive as a theatre should.  

The box office was a frenzy and it felt like a celebration of all our teams are capable of. Actors dashed in and out of the foyer, some calm and cracking jokes, others in method. Relationships grew around the cast and all staff- between cleaning staff fixing hair dos and front of house assistants waiting with umbrellas to dry travelling actors when the heavens unleashed. This unison is what the place is all about and after a rest, I’m sure our next big birthday will only be better. I can’t imagine anything else.