When you were young – Do you remember drawing a house, with a (yellow) sun in the corner, a roof with tiles, and a chimney? Maybe flowers in the garden, a path, birds in the (blue) sky and green (luscious) grass.
Sometimes, you may have drawn stick people – in the picture – with ‘scarecrow-like’ hair, and hands.
Did you use lots of vibrant (rainbow) colours, to awaken your imagination?
Children teach us to ‘keep it real’ with their art.
“Every child is an artist, the problem is staying an artist when you grow up” – Pablo Picasso
“You are one of those girls, that arrives from nowhere and departs the same way. You seem present but removed?” Will, ‘pURe’
Love that line. I am drafting my next work, which is again different, to my last 5 plays. I enjoy the intimacy of the stage with my characters, however I like to mix it up with film. Thinking about their interests, and back stories, and their secrets. We all have them. Looking forward to a play reading, in a month or two, nothing like seeing the work take shape.
Language is like oxygen – but so is silence. Sitting in an empty room, brings a wild imagination, and thoughts that wonder on for miles.
I am not one of those people, who write everyday. I write when I want to. This brings depth and colour to my work, when writing from the heart.
What is your experience with writing plays?
Normally my most cherished thoughts, randomly arrive when I am driving, having a shower, or talking to someone about something else. I ponder a lot, when I write a play. The story needs to marinate in my head for ages, developing, and changes daily. The characters need to have names, and personalities. No faces.
Writing can be perceived as selfish – as you need space, and more space. Probably that is why I can be aloof, buried in my imagination. Creating ideas, that become a story, then a reality. Or not. Depending on the storytelling.
I love theatre.
“Good writing excites me, and makes life worth living.” – Harold Pinter
Attended a great play tonight about a man who had an imaginary friend, who happened to be female, a younger version of his wife. He was collaborating with this invisible woman to write a book, initially to the surprise of his spouse, so she suggested therapy to resolve these issues. Was he committing a wrong, by entrusting in a woman that he only spoke to, and had a friendship with? There is also the fact, that he would share the creative process of writing with her, and not his wife, who loved him unconditionally. Then the tables turned, and the wife could then see the imaginary and/or invisible woman too, they then built a sisterhood, that over rode the relationship with the husband, so then she (imaginary person) disappeared, or had an accident, maybe? I had a few invisible friends when I was younger. This creates a world outside reality, that is magical and safe. Imagination has no prejudice.
There is no like-for-like, when it comes to theatre. I prefer the old fashioned writing style, pen and paper. My shelves are bulging with notebooks, full of thoughts, poetry, extracts and potential material for the stage and screen. Presently, penning my new play, potentially a ‘playreading’ of my script will occur next month, informally. Two people, that meet by chance and explore their existence in seven hours. Incubated love. It is a true adventure, discovering the essence, of these characters through the platform of writing. Consumed with how they think and what they feel, whether it is an (action) stage direction, or text. I see them in my imagination, becoming more real, as the dialogue deepens. Solitude is heaven, when you are lost in language.