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Here are some stills of the performance livestreamed from a church in Salford as part of Videoformes, a performance and film exchange between Salford University and Clermont-Ferrand, France. I think the video is coming out soon. This performance included an introduction to the piece in French and a more ambitious head dress. I used more oranges this time, and a roll of paper to catch the juice as it rolled down my face and the wall. This time round it was more spectacular, silly and sort of harrowing.

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Photographs taken by Karen Heald.

Was it Something I Said? by norfox and Library Theatre Company is one of the best pieces of art I have seen. It is anarchic and heartfelt. It is almost incidental that the performers are ten teenagers from Manchester, and that one of them has met Gary Lineker and several of them are deaf.

Yes, there is Bon Jovi air guitar, Lady Gaga dance routines and stories about grandparents, bus drivers and computer games, but it is refreshingly sincere and sharp; and allowed me to plop back into my own adolescence as easily as Alka-Seltzer. Was it Something I Said? is about communication and pieced together with the seven dictionary definitions of communication, and a frighteningly magnificent compere. It escalates to an unforgettable finale, in which the front row has to wear safety goggles and protective clothes. Think Bugsy Malone meets Jackass; think: ‘if I was fifteen what would I most want to do on stage’ and you’re probably half way there.

I really liked all the individuals in the performance; they perform as themselves, and they shone. They demonstrate a respect and insight that we rarely give teenagers credit for. They were warm, funny and wise. Astonishing stories of survival are blended with games of hangman that at times are incredibly moving, or darkly humorous. Liz Postlethwaite and the team who worked on the production should also be congratulated; for putting young people on a platform that was safe and sophisticated. To walk out after an hour of magic into the cold adult night, I felt a little jaded: we owe our young people much better things, world. But then with these bright sparks out there, I can’t help feel like these young people are going to be alright. Then I skipped off for a cider to celebrate. Well, when in Rome…

Was it Something I Said? demonstrates how social engagement, with imagination and integrity, can make an outstanding piece of art. There was no us and them, young and old, audience and performer. We were all in it together. This is art that meant something, to everyone.

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Yes, very good news: the Arts Council England are funding the first stage of development for my solo show, which is programmed at The Lowry next year. Work begins next month, expect lots more about that soon. In the meantime you may just want to save the 4 May and the 31 May respectively.

I am working on a happiness manual. This is an ongoing project where I will keep an anthology of ideas for finding joy at this particular time in my life.

Here’s the book so far. ‘How to Grow: The Manual’

Do you want to hide under someone’s coat? Yes, me too, sometimes. This is a manual of how to find pleasure in everyday life.

Idea Number 1: Run Away from your Problems

Put on some sensible shoes and run out of the house, down the street and into the world. I try and believe that I could run all the way to the sea if I wanted, and it is a very freeing feeling. Or, I make up a person (dead or alive) who is waiting for me at the end of the run and picture that person and run to them. If it is late, run westwards, try to catch up with sun, or if it’s early run to the east. I’m not sure why, but it is nice chasing the sun. By the time all of the above endeavours haven’t worked, you’ll have forgotten what’s worrying you and can turn back and run home, hotter, happier and with a renewed sense of freedom. Here’s me and my trainers after a run. I don’t own sports clothes because a).  they’re not flattering and b). I think it’s funny to run through life like you’ve forgotten your P.E. kit and are heading for Land’s End before the sun sets into the arms of a welcoming celebrity.

Idea Number 2: Take Yourself Out

Invite yourself out for a drink. It’s wonderful. Treat yourself to a cup of something and sit at a table, alone, like a mysterious stranger. Enjoy being quiet in the bustle of a busy bar or the breeze of an empty cafe. You should always order your favourite thing, because this is an act of kindness. Don’t be scared that you look stood up, even that’s often more desired, more glamorous, more inspiring then the truth: that you’re fed up. Enjoy this moment where nothing can let you down, because it’s just you and you’re favourite treat, that you can pay for by yourself and devour. Here is a recent coffee, and whilst I don’t want to endorse any places in particular, if you live in Manchester, you must visit Slattery’s Patissier and Chocolatier in Whitefield, Bury. On this instance, they nearly couldn’t fit me in, but the Maître d’ gave me a wink and squeezed me in (logistically much easier when you’re a lone-diner).

Idea Number 3: Don’t Save the Best Until Last

Don’t get scared of using your best things. Seize them the minute they’re yours and let them get soaked, broken, eaten etc. Whilst it’s not quite the same; when they put me on a water metre I found turning the taps on in my house became a nightmare, even though it was meant to save me money. I felt like money was literally pouring through my fingers. It wasn’t a good way to live. I had to have a word with myself: stop being thrifty and start enjoying life. Here’s a photo of my Grandmother’s best cutlery, that was in tissue, in boxes until she died, an unused wedding present. I admire the way she cherished them, and there’s something important about that too, but there’s something brilliant about treating every day like it’s a best day (in small ways). Perfect pearl handles and Sheffield steel cutting through beans on toast or a chippy tea.

Idea Number 4: Do Nice Things for Others that are Free and Simple

How much does it cost to paint someone’s nails? Probably 5p of nail varnish, 4p of a nail file, 3p of a hand cream, free chat, free hand massage, free craftsmanship. How much would you pay? A lot more. I really like looking after people’s hands and feet because it gives so much enjoyment for a relatively a small input (you don’t want to be a martyr). It’s very simple, but your attention, care and conversation are free, yet priceless. Here are my grandmother’s hands, but I wish you could see her face beaming!

Idea Number 5: Grow Wild Things

Caring for things is satisfying. My lifestyle isn’t compatible with pets or partners at the moment, but plants are fine. In the warm spell we just had in March I sowed seeds for salads and poppies. I love getting my hands in compost, glugging water everywhere and wondering what might happen next. If you need a quick fix, and aren’t normally this way inclined, go for cress. Cress has a speedy turnaround (fully grown in days), is very resilient for such a small thing (it will even grow on cotton wool if you remember that from school) and is retro (as salad goes). Here’s my pots.

Idea Number 6: Have a (moderately impressive) Trick up your Sleeve

This is really an extension of Idea Number 4. My trick is poached eggs, I have no idea why, but people are always impressed or at least grateful for one. Perhaps it’s because they (the eggs) defy logic (normally you can’t chuck something watery into water and pull it out whole, never mind in a cartoon cloud shape), or because intrinsically people are lazy and like being cooked for. Recently I made half a dozen poached eggs for people at work and it was the greatest gift you could bestow a workplace. It was good to a). eat together b). defy the office kitchen limits and c). do something normal yet out of place. What’s nice about a poached egg is you can watch it cook and don’t need to time it, so it also restores faith in human instincts. God, it couldn’t be easier, but everyone thinks it’s a miracle! Here’s a recent poached egg (top) and a happy colleague (below).

Idea Number 7: Spend a Fortune in Charity Shops

Everyone wins! Plus, you can get a renewed sense of fate.

This caught my eye a few years ago as I crossed the river between Salford and Manchester. A grand plaque. With my name on. Bold as brass, clear as day, an L.C. Evans had been before. I felt a sense of belonging that neither city likes to give out too often and that growing up with very Welsh parents in a midlands town rarely instills in you. This is my equivalent of a blue plaque. I’ll take you!

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7.30pm 31st May 2012
Word of Warning, Contact, £5

In time for my performance ‘Live Letter’, I took some photos. It was chucking it down, a really shitty Manchester day with bad lighting- the perfect backdrop! So me, my wonky tripod and pink camera hung out by the derelict pub in front of my flat and shot some pics. Here’s an exclusive preview!

More details about the show here

10am 24 February 2012
Allerton Studios, Salford University

I am making a new experimental performance, which I will be videoing as it is at an unsociable hour.

The challenge is to make a new performance based on an orange. I like the juicy, stingy and squirty properties of fruit.

This is my influence:

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Today I gave a talk called ‘What is Performance?’

I tried to answer with a five minute performance, a navigation through the history of performance, an exploration of the edges of performance, theatre and art, and then talked about my work and where it fits into all that!

It was good to spend the sunday evening before to reflect on the journey of my work.

Back off maternity leave with baby Rosa in tow, we played our eighth birthday gig at Salford University. On a desk in a woodwork room. We played a shambles of the hits, and shared a heart shaped cake.

Photo by Steve Oliver.

15 February 2012
Islington Mill

A performance for one person. I got really fed up when on Valentine’s Day, of all the days, I couldn’t find my nail clippers. I found a pair of nail scissors and then realised I could only cut my left hand. There I was with long nails on one side and short nails on the other. Alone. I  hadn’t realised personal grooming could be so devastating. So the next day I took my nail scissors and waited patiently in a room with a sign that said ‘Right handed manicure wanted. Enquire within.’

Eventually a nice woman called Hannah came over with her boyfriend and cut my nails, she had never cut someone else’s nails before and thought it was strange. She was worried she might cut my skin by accident. I hadn’t had my nails cut by someone else since I was a child. We chatted about being alone and how a bus ran over her foot and destroyed her bike completely. It was a nice way to get to know someone and that the performance could only have happened then, though it might become a touring piece about every three weeks (based on average nail growing time). It was also an act of care and trust. I felt quite vulnerable, as I think Hannah did too. I am smiling thinking about the potential peril of nail cutting.

Thanks to Hannah, and to Roshana for taking photographs.

Yes I’ve been baking!

Last time was an all night job for an Agent Provocateur window display. A dozen ‘Pecker Tins™’ arrived on my doorstep one day and I knew it was going to be an overnight gig.

The window looked alright in the end, mannequins in underwear sitting at a tea party surrounded by these nuisance cakes- complete with a Betty Crocker semen fountain that my ex-boyfriend devised at four in the morning- I won’t take the credit for that, it was a gravity defying flash of structural and artistic brilliance.

Anyway, the pressure of so many sponge peckers going in and out of my oven (sorry) before sunrise & in time for the summer season, did put me off baking. It’s associated with mess, and stress, and those ridiculous tins. Which I took clattering to the charity shop, in a frightening mix of disdain and relief, into the arms of an old woman in a tabbard.

Another reason for my absence from baking may be that I didn’t have a cooker for a while (but that’s another story, quite a boring, depressing moment in time, actually).

So back to baking. Tonight I listened to a jazz cd that arrived in the post from a man in Munich. And I baked. It was bliss. To be absorbed in an activity, dusted in icing sugar, measuring things in cups. I found preheating the oven inadvertently preheats the whole kitchen, which certainly gives Economy 7 something to think about. Sieving sugar whilst the crazy shouting man outside is trying to ruin my jazz music and remind me I live in Manchester.

And guess what I did when I was needed to weigh my carrots? I don’t have any scales and my measuring stuff by the cup was working just fine, until the carrots came along. After the human scale didn’t work- you know, clutching carrots in one hand and something else in the other hand to see which is heavier- I referred to my Asda receipt and saw how much they weighed then divided that by the number of carrots. Yes it felt good. Like maybe I could survive on a desert island…

Really I just wanted to post the pictures not tangent-write. So: the ingredients;

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the heart shaped cake with passion fruit freckles (does it think it’s an unripe strawberry?);

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the kicking cowboy boot cake, if I could ice it I’d write ‘These boots are made for walking’ in swirly red letters;

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the left over runt of the litter cakes;

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the colossal washing up.

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It was a really good night for lots of reasons- drag queen dressing rooms and that cabaret might just be the perfect home for Eggs Collective. We did a short sketch using bad poetry, Tashika’s Kwongy and an unforgettable Boom Boom Boom (Let Me Hear You Say Wayo) rendition with hairdryer wind machines. Here’s a backstage photo:

“Eggs Collective blend ironically earnest poetry, with gender and sex issues and a flair for the hilarious”

Laura Maley, The Public Reviews

“Dressed in beatnik black they read poems about their ladyparts with an aching sincerity that is simply hilarious. They also give a truly alien point of view on sex from, well, an alien”
Dave Cunningham, What’s On Stage

Written and drawn around Brazil. Click on the image to open the book…

It’s really struck a chord with people, lots of good feedback:

“Made me cry – beautiful”

“Stunning”

“It’s beautiful…I was gripped”

“full of beauty”

“full of humour, heart ache and truth and beautiful drawing”

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Here it is: Vegetarian (presumably made from vegetables and not from vegetarians) Strudel, Mozzarella Salad, Soya Farofa, Rice and Coleslaw. Eaten at 1am on Christmas Eve / Day in Sorocaba, Brazil. Thank you Ani, it was delicious.

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I think there’s a universe inside a piece of fruit. Everytime I bite in I think; what colours to behold, what complexities and simplicities,what sweetness to salvate. The colours of this plum (and others) would make a juicy palette for a painting. A painting of the sun.

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Perfect afternoon, drawing and drinking in the breeze. I used to be scared of eating out alone, now I absolutely love it. It feels a real treat and somehow slightly mysterious.

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A page from my latest book of words and pictures made in Brazil. The telenovela continues…

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Look at these pomegranates growing in my friend’s garden! In my top ten things about Brazil is the abundance of fruit and seeing it grow and letting juices run down your arms.

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The unforgotten joys of drawing in the sun with chalk…

I seem to only write when I’m in another place. Well I’m back in Brazil after some 400 days away. Anyway, it’s back to business blogging wise for the next month.

The first few days have been epic like the mountains that I’ve been flitting around, with elephant highs and lows (Brazil is the perfect country to have an affair of the heart in by the way) (Also I will warn you right now this a post about love, not about a country).

Being with someone you love again. Ridiculous, rushing reunions that ebb into real life in waves of relief and disappointment. Being apart for long periods of time means that you have big gaps of experience that sometimes need filling in and sometimes don’t. Sometimes what you both imagined was in the gaps isn’t there at all.

So there you both are, constantly re-navigating a sprawling sea of two lives in a puddle of a month, in two languages you both don’t fully grasp, trusting that the other one is still searching for the same thing you are.

Maybe this is true of all relationships. Little leaps of faith in gaps of misunderstanding.

I’m making a book whilst I’m here too, a document of time unravelling.