For over a year now, I have been programming and producing a mix of events - from Nightwalking, an artist-led conference bringing into view the processes of artistic creation, to Crying Out Loud, London, an international season of dance and performance, and finally to Oogly Boogly, a project for toddlers set in a large inflatable tent. Each of these intense undertakings laid new challenges, and rewards, at my door.
Oogly Boogly was conceived and directed by Tom Morris, director of the innovative London performance venue BAC. It was aimed, most particularly, at babies twelve to eighteen months of age - old enough to be mobile but too young to be really talking. Through three periods of short research with theatre artist Guy Dartnell, we honed what the three of us were calling a 'theatrical non-event' to be presented in June 2003 at The Place as part of Crying Out Loud London, and the theatre's own strand of work for young people, OffSpring. Eight babies, four performers and a gaggle of parents made up each session, held in a round, brightly-coloured eight-metre tent designed by Nottingham-based Architects of Air. This close, unconventional performing space contained no toys or distractions. The babies took the floor, and the performers followed. That is about the sum of it.
But, as we had hoped, such a simple premise offered a powerful experience. The kids travelled, at various speeds, through journeys of disbelief, amazement, amusement and pleasure all related to the realisation of their complete influence on the movements and sounds of the adult improvisers around them. Their ability to learn and appreciate what Guy calls 'The Game' was as joyful as it was impressive, and revealed subtleties of temperament and movement language to their carers. I am convinced that Oogly Boogly, in its ineffably gentle way, helped this intimate gathering of babies, carers and performers to look at the world in a different light.
We are touring it again next year, and I am really looking forward to it. Einstein once spouted some wisdom along the lines that, if an idea did not initially sound impossible then it was not worth pursuing. Well, for me, Tom and Guy regularly come up with off-the-wall ideas that make me think 'We can't do that', which we then, and with equal regularity, proceed to do. Their creativity - for example, to even conceive of a show for toddlers - has taken audiences, including myself, through a new door.
Together with Rachel Clare in 2002, I founded Crying Out Loud. We produce, programme and commission work with a variety of artists, and presented our first season this spring in six venues across the capital. A good half of the work is the kind that is hard to pigeonhole, and much of it is aimed at audiences of all ages.
One of many issues that arises during the planning and presentation of that work, especially when pitched across the generations, was how we could remove unnecessary barriers and help our public to better 'read' the experiences we were offering them. This led to talks about ticket prices, brochure copy and images, box office information, ushers' awareness of what each event entailed, information in the venue programme, timing and siting of an event, pre- and post-performance discussions, plus buggy parks, nappy changing facilities and front-of-house entertainment. The multitude of considerations confronting us led to many insights and initiatives - for example, a blackboard upon which children could give their feedback after a show.
This anticipation of what an enticed and interested public may need when they arrive at a venue or site, enter it and view a work cannot be emphasised enough. It has heightened my awareness of the responsibility we as producers and programmers have to most imaginatively present the creativity of the artists we believe in. After five years in a single venue it's been refreshing and instructive to now look at work primarily according to whether it communicates, rather than whether it fits the space at hand.
The conference Nightwalking, subtitled Navigating the Unknown, is worth glancing at in this context, not least because it was that rare beast - a live art event aimed at learning. Held in London last September, this massive, three-day event was the brainchild of Middlesex University research artist and professor, Christopher Bannerman, whose programme is called ResCen (Centre for Research into Creation in the Performing Arts). Evolved over a lengthy period with Rescen research artists Rosemary Lee, Graeme Miller, Richard Layzell, Shobana Jeyasingh, Ghislaine Boddington and Errollyn Wallen, Nightwalking invited performers, writers, producers, students, academics and other interested parties to come and see, comment and participate in an incredibly rich, almost intimidatingly large programme. This entailed 26 events involving over eighty artists including those just mentioned - and spread over one hectic weekend between the South Bank Centre and Greenwich Dance Agency. One of the benefits of producing something on such a scale is the chance to work closely with artists on the process of, so to speak, the process. My memory is of the liberating effect upon the artists, triggered by the glorious fact that none of the work had to be 'finished'. Nothing presented was officially complete, as everything was either made in, during or specially-adapted for this one intensive weekend. This meant that whatever inevitable hiccups arose pre-performance were acknowledged as part of the process too, and therefore potential material. What has most stayed in my mind is the artists' constant questioning, a kind of enduring state-of-being refusal to take anything for granted. The response from conference delegates and general audiences to the talks, presentations and performances was overwhelmingly positive. Somehow, even in its severely compressed state, Nightwalking managed to both inform and inspire.
The question of how to frame new kinds of events like this is especially crucial. Certainly no one involved with either Nightwalking or Oogly Boogly had ever done or been in anything like them before. One of the great aspects of such a fresh situation is that you are free to make your own rules and define your own context. The danger is that if you get it wrong, you can sink a work or an event on its maiden voyage. While that possibility is undoubtedly part of the fun, and a most necessary part of it at that, it means we artists, promoters and venue managers are all learning on the job.
Writing in response to the themes of this issue of Animated, my knee-jerk thought was what odd bed-fellows creativity and learning were. Any work of art is about creativity and I do not believe people go to art to learn. To understand the world around them, maybe, to recognise themselves or others in it, to become familiar with the unfamiliar, or vice versa, or, heavens above, simply to enjoy themselves. But not to learn.
However that does not preclude learning as being part of the agenda for artists, nor for those who present their work. And learning is, I realise, an effect of good art. The more I consider this, the more connections I see in light of my own work on Oogly Boogly, Nightwalking and for Crying Out Loud. The question of education alongside creativity is always lurking somewhere, especially when art and children combine.
Emma Gladstone was associate director at The Place 1997- 2002, founding OffSpring, the programme for the young public, in 2000. She is now co-director of Crying Out Loud telephone 0207 401 8617 or email emma@cryingoutloud.org
For more information about Nightwalking or Rescen visit www.adpa.mdx.ac.uk/rescen/