in person

with John Markland

January 5th - february 23rd

This is not a class. It is an experiment, and it runs one year.

You already know how to do this. You did it before you could read. Play is as instinctive
to you as eating. Then you learned to be good at things... and the playing stopped.

Watch yourself in a scene. The glance to see if it landed, the breath you hold after the
joke, the smile that waits for permission, the line you rush because the silence feels like
failing. That is you wanting something.

I have worked from this place for twenty-five years, first in my theatre company, then in
this studio. I have never isolated it. This year I am, and I am doing it with you in the room.

I will not tell you what works. If I do, you will try to do it correctly, and we are finished
before we start. You will be given a game. Then another. Some of them will feel beneath
you. Good. Jump in uninvited. Act before you think. No hows. No whys.

Bring nothing. Prepare nothing. You in the flesh. You enter eight weeks at a time. Leave
when you need to. Come back. The ones who stay will go further. The ones who return
will see how far the room has moved without them... and how far they have.

I am documenting this experiment for a written work. No names. Nothing of yours
without your permission.

I promise you nothing except the room. The part of you that played is not gone. It is hiding, and it is worth going to get.