Subtle radicalism
There was no doubt that writer/director Laura Attridge knew what she wanted to do from an early age. She talks with us about clarity - of both vision and intent.
Photo: Benjamin Durrant
Who are you?
What a question! I am a human being who makes art and tries to connect with people through that art, tries to empathise through that art. I went into my line of work to make things and to empower others. I had, at a very early age, aspired to be an opera singer. When I finally got there, I discovered that I took much more pleasure in sitting in an audience and saying “I made that happen" – whether that be a piece I’d written or a performance I had directed. It was a sort of revelation to me to discover that. I was much more drawn to and, I guess, validated by this and drew much more of my artistic power and felt more of my artistic self - making things happen - than I did performing them myself.
How did you transition from singing to writing/directing??
I had previously done an undergraduate degree in English Literature, with the intention of going to Conservatoire straight after. I was doing a lot of theatre and a lot of poetry. I tapped into the creative writing scene when I was doing my degree and singing became very compartmentalised during that time. I didn’t apply for Conservatoire when I left. When I graduated, it was the height of the recession 2010 and I went into a West End administrative job for one of the bigger companies for musicals. I was so miserable. Someone said to me, “Why are you doing this to yourself?” I thought I’d do something sensible, sort of in the area I’m interested in, to see where it takes me – I need to make a living and be ‘sensible’. “What do you actually want to do?” “I’ve always wanted to be an opera singer.“ “Well, why don’t you?!” I spent two more years in administration, which were a wonderful foundation for my freelance career now, but eventually at age twenty-five, went to the Royal College of Music as a singer. It was there, during that year, that I directed my first opera. I had previously done a lot of ambitious theatre direction at school and alongside my undergraduate degree, with the wonderful theatre society at my university, as well as some small freelance things after that. I’d also always written - mainly poetry - but it wasn’t until that year at the RCM that I first directed an opera and wrote the libretto for another and my mind was blown. I was supposed to go back and start a Masters, having done a year of a Foundational Diploma. I called them, apologised and didn’t go back. That was just over six years ago. I went into freelance directing, writing - primarily opera but also a bit of theatre. I also continued with a bit of poetry and I just haven’t looked back. I don’t miss singing at all.
You spoke of directing in your undergrad years when you were doing English Lit. What made you think that you could direct? Are you that kind of person who says, “That looks cool! I’m going to try that!”?
I was that kid at school! I was in the privileged position of being in a school where there were two school productions a year, including one led by a Sixth Former. When I got to year 11, my GCSE year, there was no production. I said,” This is not on, this is absolutely not on!” I went to the Head Teacher said that I would like to put on The Importance of Being Earnest, produce it, direct it and wanted to play the part of Algernon please. And they let me do it. I so enjoyed the experience I then in Sixth Form went to a different school, did lots of performing but also made the effort to say that I wanted to direct something. I went to University and joined the thriving Theatre Society, waited a couple of terms and then pitched a play I wanted to direct.
The kernel was there early. You did a sideways dance to singing and then came back.
I’d always been singing. I did my grades at school, a lot of choral singing, recital singing but decided not to do undergrad singing. I wanted to keep my options open. I was very able academically and I wanted to do something academic, meet a broad spectrum of people and be a bigger fish in a smaller pond in terms of performance opportunities. But I think it started a lot earlier than that - the kernel was probably there from my childhood. There’s a really embarrassing home video of me, aged around seven, and three or four of my little friends and we’re all dancing around the living room to an old recording of the Ugly Duckling. Thirty seconds in I go, “HOLD ON, HOLD ON – let’s start again because we should make a group like this and I come over here and then you do this". Everyone is still dancing and I’m shouting, “STOP DANCING! WE NEED TO START AGAIN!”. I run to my Dad who’s filming and shout, “STOP FILMING! WE NEED TO MAKE A PLAN!” I think I was probably a director from then.
What would you do if you weren’t doing what you do?
All my school career tests said I should be a barrister or a librarian. I think I’d probably be a high powered lawyer or some manager of a company -something really high powered. And I’d probably have an ulcer from working far too hard. Something high powered, scary and power suits.
We’ve been recently speaking to people about the enforced hiatus that “magic “of the pandemic has given us. What has been your experience?
I’ve been reflecting on this a lot. The summer was a very specific experience. I had been lucky enough to escape from London to the countryside of Devon with my partner. I had several commissions on the go as a writer, a specific amount of time and a set parameter. I moved house at the end of August, away from London and more work was postponed or cancelled. (I should be at Glyndebourne right now. )We’re in this big sea of indefinite… I don’t know how to describe it. I’m really valuing the time to think about what matters. I’m also doing a lot of reading and listening, research into scientific studies of both well-being and happiness - what actually makes us happy, what makes us human, what brings well-being, life satisfaction. With a secular eye, I’m looking at some of the teachings of Buddhism and teachings about mindfulness, about how we think about the world. I’ve been doubling down on my yoga practice, (I liked yoga before it was cool!) on and off the mat. I feel like, if I get nothing else out of this time, I may well have sown the seeds for a lifetime where I see myself as a human being in a totally different way, see my place in the world and I how seek happiness. With another six months of this or however long it takes, I’ll continue my practice and study of these ideas both scientific and spiritual. I’m laying a foundation for a big shift in the way I live my life.
This growth - how does that relate to your work?
I don’t have a straightforward answer to that yet as I feel that I’m at the very early stages of this journey. I had a late start in theatre. I’ve gone past the point of berating myself for not starting earlier but I think I’m a better artist for it. All the instincts that I’ve had thus far to respond to our society today. Opera is a weird profession to be working in if you want to respond directly to “now”. But as a director and a writer, directing canon work, bringing a new perspective to that and writing new work, I’ve become more and more aware of always wanting to be socially engaged, challenging to an audience. There are artists and directors now, who take the perspective (rightly or wrongly) of the only way to do that is to deconstruct something or raze it to the ground and create something that “resembles" the original piece. I value that sort of experimentation when it’s done with a knowledge and respect for the art form. I want to take it out of its chains of the patriarchal and capitalist - the systems that created these particular conditions that this art was made in. I find it hard to quantify my work, it’s subtly radical. It’s completely radical! I’m learning to figure out, maybe come to terms with, the way I work.
You say radical and subtly radical. Which one are you?
I find it really hard – maybe it’s a female thing or an early career thing. I find it hard to talk about my work because I don’t talk about it in big brush strokes. I think I’m a subtle worker.
There’s a way I aspire to direct that it should feel so simple, so straightforward, so clear, that you’re able to have immediacy, accessibility in a way that lets you access all the different layers you might understand as an audience member, that you bring your own story over to it. In the rehearsal room, I talk about clarity all the time. I aim for clarity in storytelling which includes depth, which includes a feminist message most of the time, which is usually saying something pretty darn radical! A reviewer came to my Don Giovanni two years ago and said “I was really worried from all the publicity that this was going to be a big, feminist lecture and it wasn’t. It was a delight in storytelling and there were these little feminist aspects that told you about a woman’s experience.” My thought was that they had been slapped around the face with a feminist message but they had gone away thinking about it in a way that is much more insidious and much more subtle than if I’d said ,” I’m deconstructing Don Giovanni so it’s unrecognisable.”
I’m a reasonably strong willed, intersectional feminist. I’m not perfect but I’m doing my best. It’s something that I care deeply about - it’s just the way I see the world. I don’t sit down with a piece and wonder how I can get my agenda into this, how can I make it a feminist piece? I bring myself and my story to how I direct and the way that I write. One of my favourite philosophies about making art is from Declan Donnellan, who differentiates between originality and uniqueness. And for me to trust in my own uniqueness is enough for me to come to a piece, new or old and bring my artistry, my perspective, myself and my story, as opposed to striving to be original.
Tell us about the Isolation pieces. How did they come about?
I’d spent the first two months of lockdown feeling decidedly uncreative. I had mixed feelings about what was being produced online very rapidly. I couldn’t and didn’t want to contribute to the noise that was going on. I was feeling disconnected, helpless, powerless, passive – forced to be passive. Two months in and I thought that maybe I should do something, make something that responds to this feeling because it wasn’t just me. I went on a series of walks in the countryside with my partner and there was one walk when the spark of something came to me, and I kept asking, “Is this a thing? Is it an idea?”. Essentially I came up with a plan, took it to my regular collaborator, Lewis Murphy and asked how he would feel about the project, the idea being that we commissioned ourselves for a series of songs, for a series of performers where we brought to life their experiences of lockdown. In these miniatures, we were aiming, not only to showcase their talent, ability, artistic output but also to showcase their unique humanity and humanness as well as their human and artistic experiences of lockdown, capturing in both words and music. We set up a series of interviews with the artists and made an extraordinary discovery. Three or four interviews in, I noticed that every single conversation, no matter what they were going through or the difficulties in their lives, at three-quarters of the way in, they started talking about a moment of joy, of hope, optimism, of something wonderful that had happened or the thing that was keeping them going. This was it - the common thread that best showcases the humanity in all these people. That shift in everyone’s demeanour and everyone’s storytelling was so profound and so beautiful that these were the moments I wanted to focus in on. It was an extraordinary discovery and for me, solidified why we were doing the project and why it was so important in this time of division and fear and also physical division. The final aspect of that was that we asked each singer to nominate a charity to champion with their song because as well as their artistic feelings of helplessness, of their identity crises, it could give them a moment of feeling that they were doing something real in the world.
What was your ‘moment’?
I think it might have been on that first walk where I turned to my partner, thinking that maybe I had an idea.
Where are you in this work?
I feel like I’m in all of it - the text, the relationships with the performers, the liaising with them. I sent the scores, they fed back on all the texts and I’ve seen it through from beginning to end and helped as much as I could on the video content. I think at the heart of my work is a desire for connection and empathy, of reaching out and storytelling, human to human. I think empathy is radical and it is as powerful and extraordinary to create connection as it is to create an explosion.
So what has the magic of the pandemic brought you?
I think it’s made me more certain that I have something to offer and even if I don’t know how to talk about it yet, that it is as valuable as the voices that might be louder, or more declamatory than mine, in terms of the work they or I make. My instinct is to help, empower and that excites me.
Who is Laura Attridge?
I am an empathetic storyteller, maker, empowerer of others. I think ‘storyteller’ is the best one and I know that encapsulates empathy and all the power that storytelling brings.
Photo: Jamie Wright