My run at the PBH Free Fringe came to an end yesterday, and this morning I am tired, I may have a cold (but it is not COVID), and feel a little bit lost with what to do with myself. There is no need to check that I have everything ready for a show, no coordinating the care that my disabled partner or our dog may need while I’m away for big chunks of the day, no worrying about my voice holding out for the show – while still smoothing out the parts of the monologue that didn’t quite go as planned the day before, no checking train/bus times, no social media posts to create or curate, no networking to do, no Fringe related things to do at all….well except for unpacking, organising and putting away all the show related paraphernalia that still sits in the cases. 

I’ve never done a big performance or show before. Like many people I did some plays when I was in school. I also did a few drag performances in my mid-20s. I was used to talking to groups of people in my social work academic career. I’ve always thought of good teaching as a type of performance, and I created and used stories to teach on a regular basis. I was good at role plays and enjoyed them immensely. I created short skits for a professional organisation that I was an officer for…the most memorable one was for the retirement of our longstanding general secretary. But I had never really written a real performance piece, nor had I staged a show. My blog entry Mona Mae Returns tells the story of how the show was born, so I won’t recount that here. For now, I just wanted to convey just what a beginner I am in this space and how new all of this is for me. Those of you in the performing arts will be used to many of the emotions I feel this morning, but it is new to me.

I feel a bit weepy as I write this morning, and it is a strange weepiness. It comes from a mixture of relief, exhaustion (despite a great night’s sleep), grief, joy, humility, pride, connectedness, feeling exposed, and being deeply moved. And though I do have a gazillion ideas about what I could do next…. I am not in that place to really dream and plan. I am sitting here with what has just happened to me…. with what I just did. At the centre of all those mixed emotions I feel a sense of peaceful joy because I just created and did something meaningful. As I was creating this piece I never once stopped to think of what the impact of this would be on me….I was focussed on creating something that might be meaningful for others. As the 16 shows occurred I could see the impact it was having on others…I saw the audiences laugh, cry, gasp in recognition, recoil in horror, worry if they really could laugh at what I just said, recall a memory of their own, point at the friend they came with in saying that you’ve done that too. I also had conversations with straight and queer audience members after the show about how they related to my stories. Though there are areas that need improving in the show, I could tell it was doing what I had hoped. But like I said, I wasn’t really prepared for the impact that doing the show would have on me.

I suppose I am a bit of artist cliché in that my show was born out of some of the traumas I’ve experienced in my life. However, the show was not about working out any of those issues. That work was done quite some time ago, and I didn’t put any unfinished business in this show. The traumas that informed this work are part of who I am, and I talk freely about them when appropriate…and I used elements of them in my humour with friends for decades and more recently in the standup comedy I’ve been doing for the past 18 months.  Those things no longer cause me any pain and the deep emotions that were once connected to them are gone. They are part of who I am and helped forge the person who now writes this blog, and I REALLY like that person today….I love who I have become. Sure, I wish I could have become who I am without having to go through some of that stuff, but I wouldn’t want to be any different than I am today (well except maybe being a bit fitter). And yet, I feel emotionally raw this morning – but as I said earlier – with a sense of peaceful joy. It sure is strange.

My rawness has several strands. The first began to emerge at the very beginning of the run. All those queer people who gave me life as a young queer person have been with me in brilliant Technicolor for the past 3 weeks, and they are all long dead. I’ve missed them terribly these past weeks. Where would we be, where would I be without those queer ancestors? Let us remember those who came before us, and helped create the more open world we currently have. 

The second strand of rawness comes from bearing witness to the pain, process, progress and healing of others. Mona’s stories surfaced these things from audience members. It is an honour to hear their stories and to know that Mona’s stories could offer hope to those still in the healing journey. 

I am also feeling a bit raw from being moved and touched by the stories of other queer performers during this Fringe. Kelli Dunham’s Second Helping: Two Dead Lovers, Dead Funny was a powerful reflection on queerness, faith, love, dying, asking for and needing help, and learning to love oneself. Rich Watkins’s show, Happily Ever Poofter, was joyful and moving reflection on queerness and learning to love ourselves despite the homophobic/heteronormative worlds we live in. This outrageously funny story made me cry for little Timmy – who needed these messages as a wee boy. Even the Dollhaus Productions’ very naughty burlesque show – Naughty Every After moved me deeply. I’m not sure burlesque normally makes one cry, but the queering of Toy Story, the decoding of the queer codes, once again made me wonder about little Timmy…and what a difference it would have made to his life to have queerness be part of his formative culture. I also saw David Scotland’s I Never Met Anyone Like You Before. This moving queer show again reflected on learning to love who we are, becoming whole. This time, the kicker wasn’t about little Timmy, it was about how much my father meant to me…. how alike we are, and how much I miss having him in my life. The story was told through traditional theatre, with the addition of gorgeous movement. The movement scenes took my breath away. I literally could not breath and they still haunt me (in a good way). Non-queer performers also really moved me this Fringe. Steph Manton’s Bag Lady particularly hit me. It was a story about other types of marginalisation… class and homelessness. The rage, the fire, and fight that emerges from being othered can provide the spark and energy to survive, thrive and create – but it can also consume and kill individuals and communities who are marginalised. All these stories show there is a way to survive…without glamourising the oppression or individualising the survival.

Finally, I am feeling a bit raw because of the entire PBH Free Fringe Experience. PBH Free Fringe felt like a utopian anti-capitalist socialist and inclusive little bubble. It was a community of artists coming together to support one another and enable people to see and experience art. I was a complete newbie to performing and this collection of strangers became a community of mutual aid – providing support, kindness and help to each other as we created art for 3 weeks. I learned so much from this community and connected with so many amazing people. I woke up this morning already missing that created community. We need to build these type of communities whenever and wherever we can…especially in light of the regressive forces that have been unleashed around the world.

I will forever love and cherish the PBH Free Fringe and especially all the artists and staff at CC Blooms – you helped get this old queer’s story out into the world. It means the world to me. I will be back.

I am particularly grateful to the young queer who discovered me and made me put on this show. If Corvis.Oleader tells you to do something, well…you just better do it!  Thanks my love.

And thanks to all the people who came to see Mona Mae share her trashy stories of sanctification. I’m glad the stories meant something to you too.

Please support the arts, especially the queer arts. The arts in general need support, and the queer arts desperately need support in the current climate. Our stories are important.