Yet more amazing writing from our group. This time, it's Josie Lambert's turn to write a poem inspired by the Butoh exercise. Josie is 10!
Walking through the smoke,
Covering my eyes,
Soft ash on the floor,
A civilisation dies.
Expressionless face,
A planet on my head,
Struggling with the balance,
Slowly being lead.
The planet's weight is painful,
My screams as silent as this night,
I cannot keep moving,
Not falling is a fight.
As I lay in the darkness,
The dust of a month, year, century,
My eyes are open but I cannot see,
This world was never meant for me.
The warm duvet of dust,
I'm as peaceful as a sleeping baby,
But still so tiringly awake,
Until a strange light hits me.
That light pulls me up,
From the point it touches me,
Getting lifted to the surface,
The light was the key.
Now I'm walking through a land,
Filled with blinding lights,
Weird machines called 'cars',
And people breaking into fights.
I ask where I am,
They can't see or hear me,
My answer is blank faces,
And the knowledge I will never be free.
Saturday, 18 February 2012
Saturday February 4th Of The Legacy of Fingerless Gloves and Improvisation
It was time for Butoh with the afternoon group. Overall they are slightly less experienced than the earlier group so we had decided to give them an extra week to bond before this exercise. It's fascinating to see how the new group is developing their own personality and how it differs from the morning group.
The morning group are larger, overall a lot more experienced, and it feels like you're working with friends. Some of the group have been together now for years and it makes such a difference to the feeling in the room. This sense of camaraderie was typified when our eldest student, Elliott, applauded one of the youngest and least confident members simply for getting up and having a go at performing. Elliott is a boy who has struggled at times in the group but this year has truly thrived and lead from the front. He sets a great example for the younger members and is really learning to relax in his own performance.
The afternoon group are smaller and therefore, it is somewhat easier for them to be more reflective in their work. Quite a few new students have brought more diversity and a different energy to the room. There is a sense of excitement and newness about the work we're doing. Having said this, experienced members like Anna Simmonds and Sam Salvage have grown in responsibility and supported the newbies with professionalism and character. Similarly, Ellen Boucher who wrote the poem that I published last week and sisters, Isabelle and Freya have really come out of their shell in this smaller group.
And so we look forward to the next stage of 'The Legacy of Fingerless Gloves'. Tanushka and I love to get our ideas from the work that the kids do but often when you give them a few rules within an improvisation they then go off and produce something which is rough at the edges, to say the least. It was truly groundbreaking this week as every group in the morning, without fail, produced simple, effective and dramatic scenes of which I could take numerous ideas for the writing of the next play. In my 10 years of working with kids in a drama I have literally never experienced this. Occasionally you'll get one or two nice ideas but today was astounding.
I can't wait to get back to it on February 25th!
The morning group are larger, overall a lot more experienced, and it feels like you're working with friends. Some of the group have been together now for years and it makes such a difference to the feeling in the room. This sense of camaraderie was typified when our eldest student, Elliott, applauded one of the youngest and least confident members simply for getting up and having a go at performing. Elliott is a boy who has struggled at times in the group but this year has truly thrived and lead from the front. He sets a great example for the younger members and is really learning to relax in his own performance.
The afternoon group are smaller and therefore, it is somewhat easier for them to be more reflective in their work. Quite a few new students have brought more diversity and a different energy to the room. There is a sense of excitement and newness about the work we're doing. Having said this, experienced members like Anna Simmonds and Sam Salvage have grown in responsibility and supported the newbies with professionalism and character. Similarly, Ellen Boucher who wrote the poem that I published last week and sisters, Isabelle and Freya have really come out of their shell in this smaller group.
And so we look forward to the next stage of 'The Legacy of Fingerless Gloves'. Tanushka and I love to get our ideas from the work that the kids do but often when you give them a few rules within an improvisation they then go off and produce something which is rough at the edges, to say the least. It was truly groundbreaking this week as every group in the morning, without fail, produced simple, effective and dramatic scenes of which I could take numerous ideas for the writing of the next play. In my 10 years of working with kids in a drama I have literally never experienced this. Occasionally you'll get one or two nice ideas but today was astounding.
I can't wait to get back to it on February 25th!
Friday, 10 February 2012
Monday, 6 February 2012
The Ash - By Ellen Boucher
Ellen, aged 9, is a member of the afternoon group of Windmill Young Actors.
THE ASH
The ash was falling, falling from nowhere. I stared into the nothingness. I didn’t want to walk but something was pulling me. Perhaps it was the restless spirits that lay under years - so many years - of ash that always fell, always would fall and always had fallen. I was carrying something, it felt important. It was on my head. I couldn’t carry it anywhere else. Something wouldn’t let me. But it was so heavy. It weighed me down. Then I was sinking. Now it wasn’t just a thing on my head, something was pulling at my legs. The spirits were luring me into the underground world, just the way my entire civilisation had been taken. Then I stumbled. I was on the ground. The spirits had taken me. I couldn’t get up. I just lay.
A light was shining on my face and my body was numb. An entire millennium under the ash and now I was free. I’d forgotten how to move. I managed to rise. I kept rising. I was in the air. But my body was as light as air. There was nothing left of me. I was a spirit like all the rest of my people. I wasn’t free. I was gone. Now I was just a spirit desperate for revenge on my evil death.
THE ASH
The ash was falling, falling from nowhere. I stared into the nothingness. I didn’t want to walk but something was pulling me. Perhaps it was the restless spirits that lay under years - so many years - of ash that always fell, always would fall and always had fallen. I was carrying something, it felt important. It was on my head. I couldn’t carry it anywhere else. Something wouldn’t let me. But it was so heavy. It weighed me down. Then I was sinking. Now it wasn’t just a thing on my head, something was pulling at my legs. The spirits were luring me into the underground world, just the way my entire civilisation had been taken. Then I stumbled. I was on the ground. The spirits had taken me. I couldn’t get up. I just lay.
A light was shining on my face and my body was numb. An entire millennium under the ash and now I was free. I’d forgotten how to move. I managed to rise. I kept rising. I was in the air. But my body was as light as air. There was nothing left of me. I was a spirit like all the rest of my people. I wasn’t free. I was gone. Now I was just a spirit desperate for revenge on my evil death.
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