WRITTEN BY AMY CONWAY
The many hats of being a creative freelancer. And what do you do?… The question I most dread. And I know I’m not alone here. I know that there are many creative freelancers out there who wear many hats. Often more than one in a day, sometimes more than one at the same time. And when it comes to the question of ‘What do you do?’, I can honestly say I don’t think any answer I’ve given has been exactly the same.
I trained as an actor at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland but after graduating I soon realised that acting was unlikely to earn me a full time wage. And it hasn’t. I’ve been doing it professionally for over a decade now and I’d say it’s never made up more than 50 percent of my annual income.
So what do I do the rest of time? Well, that’s where I had to get creative. And to be honest, looking back, the necessity to fill the gaps between acting work is when my working life has become really interesting.
During the pandemic, the theatre world came to a grinding halt. It was a devastating time for so many in terms of creative projects and I know that we continue to feel the effects of that time. But if it wasn’t for lockdown and the gaping chasm in my work stretching out before me, I wouldn’t have trained to become a civil celebrant. A celebrant, for those not au fait with the term, is someone who writes and delivers bespoke ceremonies celebrating those significant life events; notably births, marriages, and deaths.
During lockdown and for a long time afterwards, weddings and naming ceremonies weren’t really happening so I made my first trepidatious steps into the world of funerals. Meeting with bereaved families, spending some time talking to them to learn as much about the deceased and their wishes as possible, writing a eulogy and service that everyone was happy with, and delivering that service to a room full of mourners (the numbers went up as lockdown was slowly lifted) in the space of about 2 weeks.
Catafalque, the show I’m taking with Scissor Kick to the Edinburgh Fringe this year, is inspired by my experience working as a funeral celebrant. It’s a show about death but even more so about those left behind and the way they tell and receive the story of those that are no longer here to tell the tale. And there are a number of parallels working as a funeral celebrant to being a theatre maker.
The quick turn around time for example. You spend a lot of time in theatre waiting – for an idea to come, for an application to be ready to submit, for a potential collaborator to get back to you, for the funding to come through. And then, when it finally finally does, everything suddenly accelerates and you’re left with whiplash from the jolt out of your usual patient reverie. Development days are booked, another draft of the script is due and there are suddenly so many more people who need clarity in order to do their job.
Similarly with grieving families, there can be disagreements about what Jim’s first job was, where he was posted during the war, or whether to mention the ex-wife in the Welcome. The Funeral Directors need confirmation of the music for the processional but the family haven’t decided yet, and you don’t want to push but time is ticking.
And then there’s the hats. The reason why there are so many actors and creatives in the business of celebrancy is that their skills transfer brilliantly. A celebrant must be a skilled storyteller of course, but also an orator, a stage manager, an active listener, a facilitator. And as with so many fringe artists, you’re often left wearing all the hats.
So many writer-performers, especially these days when the cost of Fringe participation is at such a premium, do their own producing, their own marketing, their own production management, as well as the writing and performing. This time though, it’s a bit different for me. I have a team: a brilliantly talented team with a budget and resources (including hard earned experience which is worth its weight in gold).
So this time I only have to wear 2 hats. For now I am just a writer (and this is actually my first gig as a fully commissioned playwright) and I only need to focus on telling the best and most fitting story. Then, when rehearsals begin, I will put down the hat of writer and pick up (and dust off) the performer’s hat. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be supported to only have to wear one hat at a time. It allows the luxury of focus and attunement that I know will make such a difference to the quality of the show and to my own job satisfaction.
But I remember the many times when I have had to wear multiple hats both as a theatre creative and as a celebrant. And I am keenly aware of all the Fringe performers that are doing so many different jobs to make their show possible this year. I see how hard you work, how adaptable and multi-skilled you are – and I take my hat off to you.
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