"Where do all the quiet gays go?",
Hannah Gadsby asked.
"Where do all the quiet theatermakers go?",
I asked myself.
Theatre.
My place in the world.
A world that inspires and motivates me,
encourages and challenges me,
gives me hope before reality.
Directing has chosen me
like a magic wand chooses its owner.
It has given me a voice.
But directing is only half the truth.
The other half seems to be a socially invisible spotlight;
a chocolate wrapper with the slogan:
"extroverted, convincing, wow".
I stand by, in the shade
and feel like an uninteresting pickled herring,
learning to speak.
"And here I stand, with all my fishiness,
Poor fool, just as awkward than before.."
Still out of place?
First I was shown my voice ,
and then dependence .
Having to successfully sell myself ,
to people with opportunities in their pockets.
The vicious circle with
'No job without experience' at the start and 'No experience without a job' at the end.
And where does
'I want to let my work speak for myself' fit in?
For me, art is a gift.
But in life, as we all know, nothing is given freely to you.
So I guess I'll go into battle in this system
and hope that in the end this something is waiting for me.
Every one of us has a something.
The reason we stage, write, draw.
It's time to get off the waiting bench,
for the role of a lifetime.
Because I have a voice, motherfuckers.
And it is angry and loud,
even if you can't hear it.
"Where do all the quiet gays go?"
Hannah Gadsby asked.
- In a brilliant comedy special,
in which Gadsby's angry and loud voice
resonated with thousands of people.
"Where do all the quiet directors go?"
I asked myself.
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