Work That Lives And Pulses

I wake up at 4.30am these days. No alarm clock – just my body and brain suddenly alert, the opening invocation of Migritude running through my head. “Path-let, leaving home, leading out…..” (from Footpath, by Kenyan poet, Stella Ngatho). By the time I’m half-way through it, I’m also half-way down the ladder of my loft-bed. If I’m efficient, by 5am, I’ve walked the dark street to the rehearsal studio, and I’m creaking my body through warm-ups.

Every morning, I resist that climb down the ladder. Some days, I cheat. I lie in bed, run the script through my head, tell myself that visualization is almost as powerful as actual motion. But on the days I do make it into the studio, there’s always a magical half-way point where it all comes together – body, voice, feeling – shoots sparks into every corner of the room. I forget the floor burns on my elbow and hip, the aches in my muscles and brain. The endless litany in my head of the business of producing a show: Fundraise, Write Grants, Market, PR, Outreach, Contact Presenters. Design, Print, Copy, Post. Budgets, Timelines, Contracts. Fundraise, Write Grants, Market, PR, Outreach…...

When the magic kicks in, there is only the living work, pulsing around me, telling me what it needs to be. It is the purest kind of joy.