Twenty-one years ago, I was living in the beautiful city of Edinburgh, in a shared flat opposite The Gateway Theatre on Elm Row. My mother had thought I was going to study English Literature in Glasgow and I was never quite sure whether she genuinely didn’t have a clue where I was off to for three years or whether it was because, as the first person in my family to have the opportunity to go to university, why drama school? Why acting? Because we ‘don’t go to the theatre – we got a colour tele!’ (True Dare Kiss by Debbie Horsefield). The only link our family had to the theatre was when my Irish immigrant grandfather washed in the River Avon behind what was then the New Shakespeare Memorial Theatre.
So, with a rucksack and a one way ticket to the windy city, I headed north and for three glorious years I read plays, studied Hagen, spent countless hours in semi supine and was convinced I wanted to be an actor. I relished the process, practically exploring and playfully discovering the character and world of the play – poised with paper and pen, ready for the note that would bring an unquestionable truth from my performance, to the stage! And then rehearsal would be over and the run begin and I started to recognise an emptiness that hadn’t been there during the weeks prior. So I did what any level-headed creative would do… I just ignored the feeling, graduated and set about finding an agent.
The electronic age was not yet upon us and neither were lick-free stamps! 10” by 8”s were black and white and show reels on VHS, the hustle was hard, but I was from the Black Country. Five years in, sitting in a hotel room in Manchester and eating a whole Soreen malt loaf that I’d tactically packed back at my flat because I had no money to order what was on offer at the 5 star accommodation – I phoned my mother: ‘Why are you crying?’ (she had been known for her sensitivity), ‘Just enjoy it!’ And the phone went dead.
Now admittedly, I hadn’t thought through what eating a whole Soreen might do to my body the next day on location when filming in Manchester but, firstly, I had no option and secondly, that’s not why I was crying. Something just didn’t feel right. Surely I was meant to be elated? But there was just emptiness. That’s why I was crying. That feeling of emptiness – the one I’d ignored years before, the one that had admittedly never really left – was now overwhelming!
Between acting jobs I had been freelancing as a ‘practitioner of theatre’ at a local college (I certainly wasn’t a teacher). I had no time for red tape or emails about ‘how to shape a lesson for Ofsted’. Eleven hours a week of reading and playing – and more importantly, paying the gas bill – I had returned to the study and observation of ‘the actor’s process’ – and I was…full! Brimming with ideas and adaptations, the pursuit now was to find a space, a creative place, to share. I was a director – of course I was! And with a dollop of luck, advice from those who I admired (director and playwright Lynn Bains and the late artist, teacher and all round creative Andy Mackie) and some incredible creative strangers willing to take a punt on the work, I have been privileged to bring theatre to live audiences, site specifically, in fringe, small scale theatres and open air venues across the Midlands and now thanks to BOLDtext, to Birmingham Rep! ‘Uncommon Wealth’ – four writers, three actors and me. Naomi Coleman
More about Naomi @naomicolemandirector.
Uncommon Wealth is at 8pm on 24th January at The REP, with our traditional Unwanted Christmas Gift Swap after the show – so come along and spread the ‘wealth’!
BOLDtext Playwrights 