The Cracking Glass

A dear friend and mentor, whom I have worked closely with at the theatre for nearly ten years, was given a ‘dressing down’ this week by one of the stalwarts of our company. She was told that she had not had the experience necessary to acquire the knowledge that this woman had.

She was really upset. Not just because the hours of hard work she had put into the production seemed to have been shattered into a million pieces in an instant, but because in an environment that requires teamwork and dedication, one person had claimed they were better. They knew everything. She knew nothing. 

It hurt. 

The shards dug deep into her skin and, for the first time in a long time, I saw my friend not as the strong fearless leader, but as brittle glass that had just withstood a storm - on the edge of cracking. 

Community theatre is quite the petri dish of odd characters. Like a church without God, we gather several times a week - singing, reciting, hoping, even occasionally praying that the show will come together. 

The old, the young, the left-out, the popular, the queers, the straights, the creepy, the fabulous, the always right and the groaningly wrong. And somehow it usually works. 

I’m not saying it’s without occasional tension, but that tension seems to be caused by a select few. We all know who they are. We all know who not to cross and who not to even ask. That’s human beings. That’s life. 

But generally it’s the word ‘community’ that should take the lead. Many times, I have witnessed the ego of a member, whether they are doing a good job or not, often get the better of them. The phrase ‘My Show’ takes centre stage and becomes a crack that will inevitably widen. 

What I’ve learnt from observation is that best practice is collaboration - where there is no authority to be adhered to at all cost. Nobody knows it all. There needs to be a blend of guidance and mentorship, encouragement of ideas, experimentation and the suggestion of others. 

A vision is just that - a figment of one’s imagination and desire. One person doesn’t have the skills to mould all the elements necessary to produce it as reality. 

And in community theatre in particular, we must acknowledge the voluntary nature of those who bring those elements to life. After all, none of those people have to be there. It is a wonderful hobby and, like church, a place to enjoy the company of others whose values and interests are similar to one’s own. 

There is no room for hubris in community theatre - its shimmer doesn’t hold true. The reflection in that glass is one of intolerance and an appetite for power - things that are now antiquated and belong in a time when we didn’t share knowledge, but rather dwelled in it in a stuffy room with the windows closed to outside influence. 

As my friend stood there among the shards, I could see her visualise all of the time away from her family - the hours of darning costumes and fixing wigs and mending props instead of holding her grandbaby or having a precious cuppa with her mum. In that millisecond she questioned it all. 

The strange thing is, when I think of knowledge and experience and expertise, I think of her. Yet she was reduced to a schooled child in that moment. 

And don’t get me wrong, as a teacher of twenty years, I think we all need schooling on occasion. We all need to see our own image in the lake of reality.

But the reeds do not have to pull us down. They shouldn’t. Our peers and our elders need to take us to the water’s edge and slowly guide us in so that we can feel the sensation of its chill, yet contentedly bath in those depths, luxuriating in the knowledge of others and floating around the knowledge we too possess. The pool must eddy and swirl with the experiences of all, not drain from the experiences of one. 

There are always lessons to be learned and there is always knowledge to share. I don’t believe anyone really stops learning. But we must prevent ourselves from stifling the confidence and willingness of others. Otherwise we will remain trapped in past experience. And not all experiences are worth dwelling on, particularly when mistakes are made. 

As a compassionate empath, my friend will move on. She will love and appreciate and give without hesitation as she always does. She will darn the costumes, fix the wigs and always show up for the love of theatre and her community.

She may have been ‘dressed down’ this week, but she has gained from the process. 

She is better for it.

The knowledge worth knowing is that we never know it all and we should never assume to.