One Minute Manifestos

Over the course of Forest Fringe, the truly wonderful Lucy Ellinson curated a daily project that we called One Minute Manifestos.

The idea was very simple – every night before one of the big evening shows (Kieran Hurley in the first week, Greg McLaren and Tinned Fingers in the second), we gave people the chance to speak to the assembled audience for 60 seconds. It wasn’t a soapbox or a debating corner. You didn’t need to impress or dazzle. Just say something that you meant, and have an audience listen.

It was an amazing project to be a part of, totally made not only by the quality of things people had to say but by the response of the audience every night, who were unstintingly supportive, generous, enthusiastic and just generally made you feel glad to be there and glad to be part of this, whether you were speaking or just listening.

We’d like to try and post as many of the things people wrote as possible up here in the next week and a bit, so that those folk who weren’t able to be around can have a chance to read them. Mine is already up over here, if you’re interested and below you can find one from the brilliant Tom Frankland, who was at Forest Fringe doing a fascinating first sharing of work on a new project with his dad, who also contributed a manifesto later on.

A true story postcard manifesto (by Tom Frankland)

I have salt in my hair and eyes.
I am burnt and tired.
I have paddled and hiked.
I am watching a (frankly second rate) sunset from the spot where, yesterday, my step-brother got married.
I feel the memory of waves on my body.
My tent is inviting me, but I want to see all of this second rate sunset – I want to see how it turns out at the end.
Yesterday, my brother was married in this place and I was reunited with two estranged step-brothers, who I have not seen in 16 years. Today we all shared beers and last night we danced together.
The sunset is improving. Its finale may be better than the opening.
It has been an emotional weekend, I have laughed and cried and danced and talked and missed my wife. I am full.
But this was life. This is now (yesterday). The salt is still in my hair, my eyes still sting.

These feelings and sensations, for today, this is what I want theatre to be equal to. To share all these emotions and thoughts in a single event.
To place somebody else on this spot.

Comment

  • Janet says:
    Aug 27 at 09:02

    This is beautiful – because it is so heartfelt, and so impossible to contradict: it’s what we all wish for in our work as artists.

    I can’t find it online now, but remember @hannahnicklin making a connected comment in a blogpost [cue appallingly badly remembered paraphrasing] something about wanting to take everyone she knew back to experience how she’d experienced a performance (think it may have been a subtlemob) but of course she can’t – and that singular & transient thing being part of the beauty of theatre.

    I didn’t get to Edinburgh this year so – (although I understand the ironic & contradictory nature of this request!) – I’d really really like to read as many of these 1 minute manifestos as possible.

    Please keep posting them…

    reply
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