So... That happened!

It’s difficult to know where t​o begin at the moment.  That’s one of the hardest things about storytelling, ‘Where to start?’.  In all honesty ‘the very beginning’ is never a fixed point in time, whatever the song might say.  Any good story co-opts protagonists with opposing perspectives, all of whom necessarily pinpoint competing catalysts for the tumbling of events. That’s what makes a story interesting.
 
For my own part, I suppose the beginning of this particular story began with Boris Johnson’s fateful Monday-evening request to the British public, imploring them to refrain from gathering in pubs, theatres, and public spaces.  Within an hour my social media exploded with friends and colleagues announcing their addition to the ranks of the unemployed.
 
Three years previously, Applecart, our small arts charity, took a risk and invested in the lease of a Community Centre in Newham.  The centre was due to close and we moved in to try and save the community outreach work whilst introducing a performing and visual arts programme.  Over that time, we invested heavily in developing a theatre and café space as well as refurbishing and decorating our rehearsal rooms.  Like any arts building we were walking a financial tightrope with no certainty that it was tied to anything at the other end.  Our story during this time could only be categorised as a thriller.
 
Then, Covid-19 wrestled our plans away from us and closed our centre down, robbing us of 87% of our monthly income.  You could say that the Corona Virus flushed Applecart’s future down the toilet, except we were in the middle of renovating our toilets and the plumber had to down-tools before they were useable. Everything was thrown into the air (including the spanner, which ended up in the proverbial works!). One actor friend of mine had expected to start rehearsing for a nine-month West End contract.  He told me just recently, that the last email he’d received from the producer of the show had asked him for his shoe size.
 
In normal circumstances, this story would be extraordinary – a catastrophe which most would look upon and think, ‘There but for the Grace of God go I’.  This time, however, the calamity has engulfed us all in so many different but all-encompassing ways.  I think we all know that things will not be the same when this is all over.
 
So, I’ll start my story with Boris’s request and the cold realisation that the charity was going to need a financial ventilator if it was to survive.
 
As Applecart’s Artistic Director, I’ve always seen my predominant role as being a storyteller, steering the Charity’s narrative toward green pastures.  All stories thrive on adversity and in the darkest times I’ve schooled myself to believe that ‘a problem is an opportunity with work clothes on’.  Forging a way forward is never easy.  Michelangelo claimed he never carved a statue, but rather chipped away the stone that was in the way.  With any defined narrative there is loss: the moving on from a place of comfort to a future of uncertainty.  Casting off the unnecessary is always married to the fear that you might jettison something vital for future survival.  Emergency financial measures left our enterprise battered and weary, but hope refused to go out with the lights of our now deserted building. There was still a statue lurking in the dark.
 
Apparently the most used line of dialogue in films across the decades has been, ‘You should get some rest!’
 
I wish I’d whispered this to our beautiful arts centre as I turned the keys in the lock and left it standing stoic; apprehensive of the herculean task that lay ahead.  Yet, even though we’ve walked away, the building doesn’t stand empty.  Like any great hero, it carries the vision, ideas and creativity of the people that depend upon it.  It continues to stand as a challenge to injustice and a championing of the underdog; revelling in the diversity of the community that fills its heart.  That evening, I looked back down the street at the Victorian tower squaring up to the gathering parliament of hooded clouds, ‘A little touch of Applecart in the night!’
 
These things are real: ideas, visions and dreams.  The creative spirit of humanity strains against the cable ties of Corona.  Individuals are reaching across space to sing together, to play music, present plays and to dance.  Communities are discovering super-hero powers in the face of restraint.
 
Ahead of us lies escape and, in time, the inevitable reclamation of our public spaces.  My inner storyboard pans the camera upward as we flood back into our parks, concert halls and theatres, cutting to a joyous plumber wiping away a tear as water floods back into our fully accessible toilet.  Then, before the final credits, a silence as sombre titling details the length of isolation, the financial cost and the lives lost.
 
But of course, our story isn’t a film.  Just as it’s hard to discern its beginning; the end will prove even harder to recognise.  It’s not possible to guess what the environment will be for our future narrative, nor who will succeed in fighting for the power to control it.  I suspect it will be for us to rebuild the infrastructure of our new life as a community, just as we fight to retain our newfound generosity-of-spirit in the face of growing calls to tighten purse strings.  Many of those we have depended upon the past will be looking to us for help, and some of those who have struggled might prove to find a voice.  
 
Certainly, it’s too soon to know what narrative will be needed in our dazed new world.  No decent storyteller would presume to suggest a predictive arc of events. But, having rested and reminded ourselves of who we have the potential to become, we will once again don opportunity’s work-clothes, square up to the imposing rock face ahead, pick up our small chisel and ask ourselves, ‘Where to begin?’