Week’s end

Top of mind: A Saturday full of making and creating at Brixton Village. This was the first time we – the umbrella collective of Brixton Village Idiots – curated a days-full of activities, and with the support (loaned furniture, suggestions, crepes) of Brick Box it went really well.  

Listening: Godspeed You! Black Emperor. Back from hiatus, brilliant, in the UK this December.

Reading: Finishing up The Case for Working with Your Hands by Matthew Crawford. I have a lot to say about this book – I agree with much of it and where I don’t, it’s forced me to sharpen my own position.  

Planning: Scheming the bones of a performing company with some improvisation co-conspirators. We hope to see this forming in the coming months. Now toying with a new format and thinking of when, where, and who else  to bring on board.  

Writing: impro – the uncivilised theatre, an article I’m hoping to submit to the Dark Mountain journal. Also, I’m ready to return to my political game, A Journey, thanks to a kind review of the rough draft I posted up online.  Stage one is to get it into a playable state and take it to a table. 

Street Training

This Wednesday I led a Street Training session at the South London Gallery. A practice developed by the artist Lottie Child, Street Training discovers and encourages different ways of being joyful and creative on the streets.

I came on some sessions this summer, where we walked on railings, used the bells from chained bicycles as an orchestra, hid in bushes and made human arches for pedestrians to walk through. I quickly became interested in how improvisation fed in to the principles Lottie was investigating; her living Street Training bibliography – a box of key texts, films and magazines – includes a copy of Impro. So I jumped at the chance to take this session, the first in a series with a group of teenagers living in Peckham.  

I put together some games and exercises focused on collaboration and agreement,  some of them tailored to face ‘out’ – at the environment, real physical space and objects – and introduced them to the dozen or so young people there. We then went freeform into the streets and estates, where I was looking to see if these impro principles guided certain patterns of behaviour.  

What I learned

This group quickly let me know when their interest was waning: with in-jokes, rough and tumble play or simply by wandering off.  

This made big demands on my attention and energy, but all in all I found this refreshing and really useful. My suspicion is that many times where the kids’ attention wandered, an older group would be doing the same, but are conditioned not to show it – at least, not at the earlier stages.  

They were comfortable messing about, breaking taboos, touching and getting inside each others’ space.  

For the purposes of impro, this is great; I’d say it’s great generally. It fits with Keith Johnstone’s insight that you start creative, and find that faculty stripped away by education (1). Johnstone is in fact critical of much of the civilising apparatus of society, which feeds a precarious and fragile egoic perspective, where failure must be avoided and elaborate social personas are needed to protect us from the judgments of others. We can’t fail, and failure is in the eye of our beholders.  

However,

There was still lots of blocking and avoidance going on. Only certain behaviours accepted.

I get the most insight from this through returning to Johnstone’s view, unpacked from a simplified ‘school blunts creativity’ to (hopefully) the truer rendition as ‘all social expectations constrain us in all manner of ways, including what we term creativity’. Teenage life may be one where we can disregard the social judgments of adults and authority figures, getting a kick from offence or daring, but the social judgments of peers? That’s a whole other thing. Consequently, acting edgy or knowing was a commonplace during the session, whereas exposing weakness or vulnerability was very infrequent. I suspect the opposite pattern would hold in other groups, eg those that hold values of pacifism, openness and revelation (2).

 The point is that whichever social environments we evolve in are reproduced within us as a social persona: it is this that is problematic for genuine expression. I would be really excited to explore these avoided areas with this group, hopefully later this year. To me improvisation is an emancipatory practice, and its joy comes from opening up possibilities and being truly free in action and thought. I believe that it achieves this via its medium of play, so the trick is to ensure that the fun never gets sacrificed in order to address the important, as this would be self-defeating.  

We had fun.

Which was great. At the start of the session I felt uncertain that everyone would be prepared to participate; this was an unknown quality to most of the group and I was a stranger to them. By session end, we had duelled in slow motion, worked together to get up and down safely onto garage roofs, and staged a record-breaking sprint, complete with medal ceremony.  

Did Improv translate to the street?  

I’m really happy with how things went. First sessions of anything have some work to do – to clarify what the practise is meant to be about, to allow participants to test the edges and figure out for themselves what they want from it. We seemed to do this pretty smoothly, and gave the group opportunities to safely interact, ways to reveal in a playful context, at your own pace. Even if the improvisation techniques only served to warm-up, connect and encourage a playful, safe mindset, then that’s a big success. Many improvisers argue that this is really all there is to improvisation in any case: be in a good state and the rest follows.  

I’m still thinking about how the games we played, of rehearsal room origin, translate into the wider world. I wholeheartedly want to avoid enforcing ways of playing that are counterintuitive and unnatural, that introduce a ‘thinking step’ to an otherwise effortless process of play. So I didn’t push it when the first thing suggested out in the streets was to just play a big hide and seek, even though on its face this bears little relationship to the ethos of building ideas and finding new ways of interacting by focusing on your partners. Hide and seek it was! We just kept adding stuff to it: relationships, agendas, specialist hunting weaponry, whatever excited us to introduce.

In this way, and others, I saw enough glimpses to reassure me that, used with the right lightness of touch, the techniques and philosophies of impro do port across.

So thank you to Lottie and the South London Gallery, and all the young people who Street Trained with me. I hope to see you all again soon.

Links:
South London Gallery

street training website

Lottie Child’s site

(1) ideas similar to those currently promoted by education advisor Ken Robinson.

(2) And in fact, I’ve heard evidence second hand that this is the case.
 

All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they act their dream with eyes open, to make it possible.

Laurence of Arabia

my friday night

If you happen to be at a loose end tomorrow, and you find yourself in Calgary, Alberta, come along to the Loose Moose theatre where I will be doing a show along with a bunch of other improvisers from around the world.

In the likelihood that those circumstances don’t hold for you, just wish me luck. I’ll be coming back from Canada well fed, well worked over and well ready to chew down buildings and spit out wildernesses.

With too much to tell, nothing gets told, so just a reminder of my movements: you can catch me in Edinburgh for our show at the festival 16-27th August – it’s at the Voodoo Lounge at 8pm and free. I’ll be back in London in September.

I’ll give an update about work soon, not now. This is time for the playground.

Back to your unscheduled program

– breaking news –

I committed a cardinal sin of blogging. I promised a series of posts on a technical subject before locking down what I was going to say. I decided to do some extra research before pressing ahead, and it was clear that the world of reward systems has gathered more nuance since I wrote grants on it 5 years ago… hence one vast block on me blogging. Bad idea. So we’ll return to this someday, but for now, render it inert ground. There’s much more, more immediate to tell!

Placeholder…

Dublin, still, as I write this. The city is cold, but the ache has ebbed from my face and feet. The thrum of sunshine has abdicated to the pretender of sound, from the road below and the aircon unit perpetually clearing its throat.

Putting yourself back into play I

I am writing in a hotel in Dublin. From time to time my eyes crease to the strum of sunlight, eking through the cloud-smeared sky. Below, the river teams with ripples, making their way east. Tomorrow, I travel to Belfast but today I am just here, in Dublin.

Being abroad shields me from daily obligations, and hands me a day to actually get something done. We know where those days normally go.

If you are like me, you are a sucker for procrastination. Items on your ‘nice to do’ list languish on the page as you spend your time on news websites, emailing or watching funny videos. When you send the keyboard skimming away in disgust you feel little satisfaction for these activities. You probably didn’t even actively enjoy them while you were experiencing them: you were skirting around BBC News looking for that one good article – just one more, then out – that proves quite elusive.

The maddening thing is, the much delayed activity (say, writing a blog post) would be providing a real pay-off at the end of the day. Moment by moment, it’s typically pleasurable in its own right. When you really hit your stride, doing something you aimed to do, the feeling is hard to beat.

So

We aim to do what
will be pleasant to do
and satisfying to finish
but end up doing what
leaves us unsatisfied
and we little enjoy

‘My own behaviour baffles me. For I find myself not doing what I really want to do but doing what I really loathe?’ St Paul’s letter to the Romans

Like St Paul, you may too wonder: why? I’ll put forward an answer – or at least, a gesture towards understanding this. It’s dopamine.

The dopaminergic system is a key reward circuit within our brain. It encourages orientation towards features of the environment by the mechanism of wanting: you aren’t forced to eat food, you want to eat food. So you eat food.

Recent theories argue that dopamine doesn’t give you all the goods. To understand this, know that there are a few things tied up in the notion of neurological reward. Pleasure, or liking something, may not be driven purely by dopamine, but rather by range of reward transmitters: opioids and cannabinoids for certain kinds of consumption, oxytocin for interactive pleasures such as social or physical contact.

The thing that dopamine is damn good at is anticipatory desire: that ‘I have to have it’ feeling. The dopaminergic system is very sensitive to a few things: novelty, uncertainty, and salience, for example.

As Tom has pointed out, many systems out there give us exactly this in spades – and his points about emails hold true of all sorts of facets of the web, checking your texts, updates in the football scores etc.

It’s also clear that these events aren’t massively satisfying: how can they compete with the feelings we get from bodily feedback, opioidal consumption, social synergies or cognitive accomplishment? It’s basically just staring at colours on a screen.

A neurochemical explanation thus goes as follows: there are many competing events in our environment that are pinging our dopaminergic system, tempting us with anticipatory desire but leaving us in the gutter without a satisfying pleasure payout. Hence, we are still hungry for our pay-off, and suckered in again and again by the carrots that the dopamine-friendly stimuli are dangling.

But, hang on. Isn’t there more to it than that? Sure. Lest we threaten to fall into an absurdly reductionist view of the issue, I’m going to take a step back and talk about happiness, and some ways in which society may have interfered with its ready flow. We’ll get into that in the next post.

2010: Happy Metanoia

Metanoia, changing your mind, going beyond your own perceived limitations. A word classically associated with repentance, and in the 20th C with psychic healing. Also, I just discovered, a rhetorical device: to retract a statement and express it in a different, better way. Metanoia is my hope, my wish for 2010.

Firstly, in order that our innumerable institutions shift course just slightly – a patchwork response to the perils of this decade – we will need to get better at expressing ourselves, and articulating what we believe may lie ahead. This is a duty, pure and simple, and will come in different guises; for myself, I know that I need to be ever more vocal about the state of play, more honest and challenging of false hopes, without falling into judgement or pessimism.

Secondly and more importantly is what follows, those manifold changes. I wish for myself the strength to do more of what is needed and less of what isn’t, and I wish the same to all of you. I’ll be documenting here what I do, which might be valuable to some of you, and hope this can be a space for you to spark ideas and spur me forward.

Third, and tied into all of this, is the absolute requirement to get our internal houses in order – otherwise we’re just going to chase our tails and replace one house of cards with another (albeit with nicer varnishing). I’ve believed this for a long time, never better articulated than through the practise of Soma and neatly summarised by E. F. Schumacher: “Only a perfectly clean instrument can obtain a perfectly clean picture.”
I’m hoping to travel a spell further down that road, by a variety of means, and raise a glass to you if you would do the same, whether it be through application of therapy, religion, conscious breaking of habits and reformation of thought, or a series of good long chats with those that you love. Truly, it’s all good, and the year will be better for more of it.

Oh! The best description of metanoia I’ve found is the simplest, and the best descriptor of what I’m wishing: A turning around. Happy New Year.