ORKNEY AHOY!

A good pal sent me a one line email in July 2023 that read, "This looks right up your street”, followed by a link. I clicked the link, read the opening paragraph of the residency listing and my mouth fell open. Sometimes friends know you better than you know yourself. I read on and it confirmed what I already felt. I have to go on this residency. It’s been a long time since I wanted something this badly, since I felt something was really for me, but this call out felt like that. 

Recently someone told me, “sometimes the things you need find you”. It felt comforting to hear that, whether it’s really true or not. Right now, it rings true. 

The short story is, I applied to this writing residency on Orkney (cue panic, soul searching, determination), I was accepted (relief, immense elation, shock) and then discovered I could not apply for funding in time (crushing disappointment, desperation, distress). A real rollercoaster of emotions. I experienced a short period of agitation where I felt like I was shattering, chasing each piece of myself in a different direction; how to find the money, who to ask for advice, what to do next, how to use my time, could or should I even go? It was the profound disquiet of seeing something you feel is infinitely important sliding away and feeling powerless to change course. 

In the past months I’ve not been sharing much on social media because honestly, I have been struggling. Making new work has felt near impossible, I’ve not had as much client work as I’m used to and my practice seems to be leaning in new, unpredictable and divergent directions. 

I’m also not even sure I want to remain (entirely) freelance, in part due to a couple of personal revelations that mean I’m seeing almost everything through a fresh lens. 

It’s been an exhausting time. But after a morning of disquiet and casting a wide net to find solutions, I had come up short. So I drew. In moments of extreme emotion, often I turn to creation as a form of processing; writing, drawing or making. In half an hour I made some quick drawings telling the story of the journey so far and asking for help. I was desperate. I could think of nothing else to do. I put the story on instagram and within an hour I had multiple comments of support, urging me to crowdfund. The folk reaching out to throw me a lifebelt were instrumental in building my confidence to officially ask for help on my terms. 

The crowdfunder (again) took a few days to pull together and think through. I designed a reward structure to tempt would-be supporters and to encourage me to consider making new work inspired by time on Orkney. Within a day, all the funding was there. ALL OF IT. I could not believe it - it surpassed any funding fantasy I might have entertained. I felt waves of gratitude and such a lot of strong emotion. Each time I checked, the numbers were ratcheting up and each incremental rise made several things evident to me: 

1. People are amazing. The power that even a small group of people have is immeasurable. Much good can come from believing in that and trusting that people have your back. Also it helps that I know some truly wonderful people.

2. I am worth something. I have a discernible worth as a person and as an artist (whatever that means). Often that’s not clear to me - I’m not angling for sympathy because I don’t need it - but for reasons I am still unpicking, I have a low opinion of myself that is debilitating and requires constant work to counter. 

3. Asking for help is OK. Sometimes we need help, and if people don’t know that, then how can they assist? Though it’s almost painful for me to ask, I know now I can do it and it can turn out fine. 

4. This experience is meant for me. Sure, that’s not a measurable, quantifiable fact, but this trip, this learning experience, this whole journey that began with that email feels like it is supposed to happen for me. 

The result is that - painful as it would inevitably be - even if for some unthinkable reason I don’t make it to Orkney, the gifts the residency has already provided have been manifold; renewed confidence in my creative practice, renewed trust in my instincts, belief in the goodness of people and the power of simply asking for what you need. Officially, THANK YOU to all the supporters. Without you I’d be on a different course. Next time you offer support or help to someone else, just imagine for a moment how much that might mean to the recipient. To this one it’s immeasurable. 

UNSUBSCRIBE

Things are often rather slow in the first couple of months of each year work-wise. I’m not bragging (haha) but often there’s a brief lull after the festive rollercoaster of solo business. Not always; sometimes I leave the tax return as a sticky, out-of-date treat for the last week of January instead of sensibly doing it when it’s fresh in May, there might be organisation and admin to catch up on after the Christmas rush, but generally it’s a time for catching up, doing jobs I have made myriad excuses not to do and looking hopefully at the year ahead. This year I even did a complete clear out of the home studio and did heaps of shredding, recycling, binning, reorganising and repairing. My laptop was sent away for two weeks to get a replacement battery and during that time I didn’t keep a close eye on my emails. The laptop returned and aside from the noticeable speed increase on my digital demands, 

I observed the sheer volume of subscriber emails I received. There were hundreds of them and they were almost all a complete waste of my time. 

I unearthed yet another generic email from a promotion company trying to furnish me with personalised plastic goods; mugs, four colour pens, cheap office equipment and other planet choking horrors. How have I managed to unwittingly sign up to so many of these companies that clog my inbox with trash I never even read? In fact, did I even sign up to them…? I feel like these emails are happening to me rather than I am choosing to receive them. The emails are almost invariably bursting with the promise of job opportunities, print deals, ‘unmissable’ products, workshops and petitions, but each one I clicked past made a tiny impression, left a micro-feeling that stayed with me and often stunk up my mood. It might make me feel guilty, harassed, stupid, behind the times, poor or just sad. Nothing kills my buzz like an urgent email about something I don’t want on ebay, or a depressing pesticide use petition update. OK, some automated emails are helpful, interesting and lead to positive interactions, but they are in the minority.

I took a stand. I started unsubscribing them. If they have no place in my life and only feel negative, they go.

 I think I have successfully jettisoned at least five or six since new year and I intend to continue until my inbox feels tidy. The best is yet to come. Now I have left those emails behind me, I have carved out little moments of time to be freed up for something else. I have created space, not only in my inbox but also in my mind, at my desk. There are so many things out of my control in life, but this feels like something I can have a say in and can opt out of. I’m attempting to escape the constant drain on my mental bandwidth and the leaking of attention into crevasses in my inbox. I want to cultivate my limited time and use it for good things. 

I’m clearing the deadwood of cybertrash to make way for the new growth of ideas, good moods, time away from a screen and just… not having to feel bad.

This clear out is a gift to my future self, a way of clearing things up so Rosie-two-months-from-now is unburdened by the micro-niggles of emails leaking persuasive junk. That’s the plan. Inevitably online purchases, petition signing and networking will lead to another infestation next year, but I’ll keep up my unsubscribing habit to meet it.  

3. IMAGINARY FRIENDS

The Glasgow International Comedy Festival 2017 lineup

Four years ago I didn’t know what improv comedy was. I understood the terms improvised and comedy but I didn’t know what it looked like or why a person would do it. Fast forward to mid 2016 and I am an active member of ‘Imaginary Friends’, an improv group founded by then boyf, now husband, Joe. When it began, he recruited friends from his uni days, many of whom had performed in student theatre. They started practicing these games and putting on occasional shows at a local pub. I helped in my own way by collecting the £3 fee (from our very dedicated friends) to get into the shows. Over time, folk moved away or didn’t have the time to devote to prancing about in a room

pretending to be Catman at a volcano’s edge, a lion with self esteem issues or a plum.

The improv died. Last year it was resurrected with some new blood. In my wildest dreams I had entertained the notion of joining in, but was deterred by my own lion issues, but also not wanting to attach myself to every aspect of my husband’s extra curricular life. It took a lot of encouragement to finally take the plunge. Mind you, eventually it was pretty difficult not to be involved since the sessions were often happening in our living room.

For the first practice I chose my clothes so carefully, did proper makeup, I was becoming increasingly nervous all day. These people - the Imaginary Friends - were already my actual friends but I still had to concentrate on looking like

I was playing it reeeeaaal cool

by the time they arrived to play improv games. I was terrified. Unnaturally and disproportionately terrified. Now a practice is something I look forward to and never prepare for, I don’t worry about how I look or what happens in the practice, I just enjoy hanging with my pals.

With improv performances I have to allow myself to fail, to relinquish control. I don’t like that. I hate failing and looking stupid (doesn’t everyone?), I need to be a team player and go along with the ideas presented, whether I like them or not. I suppose I don’t often have to deal with that. Usually I am working on my own, at my own pace, to my own rules and caprices. Sure, clients can surprise me or a job takes a lot longer than it should, but it gets done inside a framework I have some measure of control over.

I find improv tough. Every single time we perform I get myself into a bit of a fankle and say things to myself like

“I’m just not feeling it”

or “I’m not ready”. It’s never easy, despite our brave exteriors. We performed this month as part of the Glasgow International Comedy Festival and it was our most popular show. I actually lay down for five minutes before I left the house, just to try and quell the nerves, but after that first laugh I got from the audience (yes, it’s cliché) I started to enjoy myself. The audience is on our side. They’re our pals! There’s something about performing that allows for bigger risk taking and heightened creativity. That night I was Guy Fawkes on a dating show, I was an ancient Egyptian God buying sandals and an alien who had to come out to their friend after 32 years.

The fear of being out of control is the most powerful barrier to enjoying improv – but with a lot of other aspects of my life too. However it’s also that lack of control that creates the sassy new characters, wacky situations and amps up the creativity of the whole team. It’s taken me the longest time to realise that’s on me. It’s a job for each one of us. I will probably always be afraid of failure and I’ll almost certainly never stop worrying about being judged, but I realise more and more it doesn’t matter. It’s within my power to recognise it’s just my own perception and that it can change. It’s on me. I can be a hilarious sexy spacehopper or whatever I want. The great thing about improv? If it’s not funny, there’ll be another topic coming along in a minute.

Follow Imaginary Friends on Twitter here or have a look at the Facebook page.

1. WRITE ON

Writing is something I have always done since I could even do it. It’s part of who I am. I often go months without writing anything, but then I return to it inevitably. I have buckets of journals and diaries stretching all the way back into the early nineties when I used words like brill, doofus and ace and my biggest concern was my sister hitting me. I’ve more than dabbled in poetry in the past too. Haven’t we all?

My first (and until now last) blog was all about my early twenties and my travels in China, living there and experiencing everything I thought I knew anew. Now in my early thirties, it feels like time to blog again, but this time about living where and how I am now and experiencing everything I thought I knew anew, anew... What?

It’s not all going to be about work, but it also won’t be a personal diary (sorry to cheat you of gossip). I don’t really know what it’s going to be, but I’ve felt compelled to write about a few things already, so see this as the BIG INTRO, the first of many pieces to come! I’m going to use it as an opportunity to do a wee sketch or experiment. Like this gif of some pencils. I actually don’t get to play with images much anymore, but I’m trying to make it part of my job again.