Against the Wall
This is a continuation of "A Blessing and a Curse — On Being Too Individual" — part of an ongoing series about finding my way as an artist.
There's something quite true about me that I might not have been so aware of when I was younger. First and foremost, I love the act of creation — the process. Where you're making new discoveries, where you don't know how things will come together, but you trust they will anyway. What else can you do when you work this way?
Which means, once a show was created and fixed into its shape, I wasn't all that invested in playing it numerous times.
It's the same thing that made me hesitate over becoming an actress all those years ago — the thought of performing the same show, night after night, never appealed to me. Turns out that was never a passing teenage doubt. Let me guess — none of this is how you're supposed to do things.
When I was having a discussion with a friend of mine, the idea for my next show was born: Mind the Trap.
My main characters were my clown, Lillie von Lichtenfels, and her satirical buffoon twin sister, Dora Darko, who — to Lillie's great annoyance — would take over the show in the middle of it. I had this image of a spider catching a fly in her web. Guess who was representing who. And poor Lillie just wanted to find out what it means to be a woman.
Since I loved working with Ron, I asked whether he'd be willing to direct this show too. He said yes. This time around, I made sure to write the show simultaneously in English and in German, so it would feel alive in both languages.
A few times, I organised workshops for Ron in Hamburg and translated for the ones who didn't understand him. It was the best of both worlds — introducing others to this approach, while also getting to rehearse.
To one of those workshops came two actresses. One was my friend Jessica, originally from England. She'd had similar training to mine and used to have her own solo show, but between life events and looking after her child with special needs, she hadn't acted in years by the time she came to the workshop. The other actress was working at Schmidt's Tivoli, a big, well-known stage on the Reeperbahn, performing comedy nearly every day.
Those two happened to do a scene together that I'll never forget, and that surprised me too.
It was improvised, but with certain parameters — a scene about betrayal, someone finding a letter, the situation escalating from there. Jessica, to my amazement, played the other, well-versed actress against the wall. I could see how uncomfortable that actress became, letting go of what she was "supposed" to do and simply flowing with the scene. It taught me that it isn't always about experience — it's about how willing and open you are to explore. Jessica was clearly the champion of that one. She went all in.
In the meantime, I was trying to find sponsors, with no luck. I wasn't quite sure how I'd make it happen — only that I would, no matter what.
The last two months of rehearsals were set to take place in London, so I struck a deal with Teresa, the landlady from the Victorian house — remember her? I coached her for two months, and in exchange, I could sleep in her sitting room. Ron was gracious and generous enough to cut his director's fee in half. Unbelievable.
And once again, the whole house came to my premiere in London, which warmed my heart immensely. Everyone loved the show, and I was so proud that I'd made it through all the challenges and come out the other side.