Some reflection, a projection, and a question

SOME REFLECTION

I've been working on a solo project called TigerFace. With the support of The Riverfront and The Bristol Old Vic I spent January making a 50min pilot piece that I was able to perform to an audience of about 60 people as part of Ferment Fortnight.

As a solo artist, working almost entirely alone, unfunded and looking for a place to share something,  Ferment exists as an almost entirely risk free platform, great for experimentation, and good as a space for mealing out your ideas to other alive people in the vein attempt of gleaning some insight into whether or not the show/idea works. Other than that, it's leaves me wanting a few key things, that I feel could be an important part of the onwardness of this work. The first thing (Dear Jesus) is a CONVERSATION with my audience. The second thing (Mary Mother) is FUNDING. The Third and final thing (Lordy Lord) is strategic SUPPORT... because as an Artist I am capable, but as a human man navigating my way through the tricky and sometimes invisible sticky strings of creating new work, I could use a little fucking help.

So here are some thank yous to all the people that helped make this work: George, Tone, Bob, Kirsty, Freda and her Mum Tamsin, Emma, Tracy, Aled, Sara, Liv and Leah. THANK YOU.

The sharing it's self went well and I got some insightful feedback from some audience members who attended. I do feel galvanised and assured, but I also still feel a trifle uncertain.

A PROJECTION

With TigerFace now in the fridge, slowly rising (or what ever dough does when you do that to it) ready for the oven (oven is a metaphor for "next phase"), I'm in the same state I'm always in, which is working on the strategy of one thing whilst developing the concept for another. Balancing my solo work with the, quite frankly, AWESOME work we're putting out as Tin Shed Theatre Co. right now, I find myself juggling multiple irons in numerous fires to 1) Keep passionate and 2) Keep living the luxurious *Bombay Beans life style I've become accustomed to.

As Artists I think it's safe to say we always want to make more work. We always want to create and explore, experiment and divulge. If it's an idea in it's very early stages, or something that's somewhat more fully formed, whether we want to talk it through to help make it make sense, or enact some of it live, unhinged, and in a warm atmosphere. To me these things feel very necessary for the growth of the work... and that's exactly how I feel rn. So on that note I want to briefly tell you about two ideas I have floating around in my brain... I'll explain later exactly why I've chosen that phrasing.

#IMBRUCEWILLIS

In a world of post-truth politics in which we live through digital avatars created from carefully selected self made art, where conversations about social politics are fraught with tension and difference, it feels like we're on the brink of massive change.

 Identity, history, and the truth are all up for grabs.

We can truly be whatever we want.

I'm Bruce Willis.

I'm exploring the idea that it is impossible for you to collate a reasonable amount of information that can act as evidence to disprove this fact if we accepted that nothing is irrefutable once we fully understand the solidity of 'truth' is actually non-existent... or something like that.

MACHO

I want to wrestle... I guess deep down I always have.

When I was growing up my heroes were made of muscle, and mainly existed in the vibrant and artificial world of Championship Wrestling.

Now Sting has retired, Hulk Hogan has been struck from the WWE Hall Of Fame, and The Ultimate Warrior is dead. I've learnt our heroes will eventually crumble or literally die.

Through the act of wrestling I want to explore themes of hero worship and masculinity whilst attempting to remember details from my blurry past.

You can see more about both of these pieces, and keep up to date with TigeFace happenings on my website: www.justinteddycliffe.co.uk

A QUESTION

Actually, I have a few questions:

- Where do we go to explore new work?

- Whose happy hosting half-formed experiments?

- What happened to all the scratch nights, and were they any good, anyway?

- How can we work together to better cultivate grassroots work in order to help it grow?

- Where's the safe space for failure?

- Is "opportunity" the only option for solo artists?

- Is space the only commodity on offer?

- Is funding fundamental?

- Can anybody hear me?

As it stands, the opportunities of space and platform offered to me by The Riverfront, and Bristol Old Vic's Ferment Fortnight will benefit me mostly in hindsight. They were opportunities I was afforded due to my long standing relationships, and pre-existing performance creds. They're opportunities for which I am completely grateful and it'll be interesting to see if they develop, and potentially support the future development of the work.

But what about the here and now? What about the people without those crucial links? What about the brand new ideas that need to be flexed, the half-formed-things that need form and shape, the almost completed concept pleading for time and space, the unarticulated thought that has the potential to be completely and utterly brilliant?

"Ideas floating around in my brain" is an interesting concept because unfortunately it feels like even after you've expended time, energy, effort and expense brining theses ideas forth into the real world, they don't float around any less.

One last question. I want to work towards developing a way/space/place in which this can happen for Wales based artists. Do you?

Mucho,

JTC

_________________

*Bombay Beans

1 teaspoon of curry powder
1/2 teaspoon of cyan pepper
1/2 can of baked beans
1/2 finely chopped red onion
2 freshly chopped chillies
1 table spoon of oil
1 tablespoon of pan bronzed sesame seeds
2 slices of wholewheat bread
A handfull of shredded baby spinach

Process

Setting the rusty hob at 6 (full heat) gently sautée the onion in an oil of your choice. Then add the baked beans and stir together before adding the chillies, curry powder, cyan pepper and sesame seeds. Bring to a full heat as your toast cooks.

Once your toast has popped, spread upon it a hippolyte mege-mouries of your choice, before pouring your delicious bombay beans evenly over the two slices, before finally sprinkling with the shredded baby spinach.

1 serving costs approximately £2.05. Eat once a day, two days consecutively, or as much as necessity requires.

TigerFace - Kid Wall

I've created a jungle inside my mind. A papermaché, felt made, technicolour dreamland of flowers and vines... But all I've got is a box with "rock" written on it.

This work has suddenly become about many things (maybe too many) and I thought I'd cathartically list them here in an attempt to both express and explore. Then, if you want, you can watch a 6min video of a kid running into a wall.

Expectation

Adulthood vs Childhood

German Yodelling

Kids TV

Failure

Dissapointment

Pretending

Alcohol

Depression

Joy

Cabaret/Variety Show

Anti-Comedy

Animals

Humans

Facepaint

Memories

Pain

Food

Whu?

Nah.

Um.

This was a tiny blog, so you can read a bigger interview with the Ferment doods by CLICKING HERE

Mucho,

Justin

TigerFace - £37.99

 QUESTION

Is £37.99 too much money to spend on one shit gag?

So here at am. Sat in front of the computer after Day 1 of my TigerFace R&D. (if you want to come see it click here)

Today I've been holed up in the Studio Theatre at The Riverfront, surrounded by kid's toys and empty alcohol containers, holding a burst balloon in one hand and a crocodile puppet in the other. "This is it" I say to myself, with a mild feverish sweat forming on my brow "This. Is. It"... And then I just stand there not quite knowing what to do.

Later, I spent an hour or so flicking through eBay listings, looking for a plush adult elephant costume, and asking myself "Is £37.99 too much money to spend on one shit gag?"... And it was then that it dawned on me. With a lightbulbesque epiphany I learned my first lesson from this process; Facilitation Is Fundamental.

If I didn't get buckled down I'd float away, and with no money to pay folk, I'd have to facilitate myself! And from there on out, I was wholly productive.

I decide to spend my first day planning the coming weeks, and try to detail each and every idea I've ever had about TigerFace. As I do it feels like I've been working on the show forever. Some of the material I have in my notebooks dates back to 2012, and as I look over my old handwritten notes and drawings, I feel like I'm time travelling back to when the idea felt very uncertain, but very exciting, and by the afternoon it occurred to me that it still is very uncertain, and still is very exciting, just in a wholly new way.

Back then TigerFace was about me experimenting with form. I wanted to pull myself out of my comfort zone and find new (and potentially better) ways of making work and connecting with an audience. Back in the days of Scratch Nights and Cabarets, 9/10 times I'd walk out on stage with only a few ideas of what to do, forcibly plunging myself into the gaps in between 'bits'. It was in those gaps, nervous and blind, frantic and over-energised, where I found my breath, and where the work started to make sense.

Because that's how I sometimes feel as an adult... In way over my head, sweat forming on my brow, into something I haven't planned for, expecting an opera and showing up at a rodeo, panicking whilst trying to remain calm and whispering to myself "they never said it would be like this".

6 years on, TigerFace, has found a way to make sense, me but also (I hope) the world around it. Beginning to form as a semi autobiographical piece, I begin to find ways to articulate my experiences of the world through him. He started off as a character I invented to tell jokes with; a miserable tiger man, recently fired by the BBC, stuck performing his children's show for cynical adults, and now I see so much of myself in him as a 30-year-old millennial experiencing something other than the bright and beautiful world promised me as a child.

And how does that feel?

Well, I'll keep you posted.

If you want to join my mailing list and get TigerUpDates please drop me an email to: mejustincliffe@hotmail.co.uk

Mucho,

JTC

Whose doing this Rise Propaganda stuff?

"Whose doing this Rise Propaganda stuff?"

It's the question I seem to ask most frequently right now, because last month I was scrawling through my social medias, and stumbled upon this:

A fan of the band, of Newport and of the grunge-tale-mythos of Kurt and Courtney's engagement, I instantly fell in love with this image. Everything it said, and everything it initially represented. I instantly wanted to know more, but first and foremost I wanted to know who made it.

So setting off on an Internet quest to find the artist behind the art, I very quickly, and very abruptly hit a brick wall, that had a window in the middle of it, and upon climbing through that window I stepped into the quasi-digital/physical world of RISE Propaganda. Like having found the secret passcode to a highly motivated, extremely cool, and eerily welcoming underground organisation I knew immediately that something exciting was happening.

Since then I have kept a close on RISE and have with vested interested trudged the Internet for as much information as I can gather; from their beautifully conceptual website that outlines their peace-through-art ethos, to the Intagram and Facebook feeds, all linked here, so you can follow, explore and get as hooked as I am. I've seen videos of people marching around Newport on the hunt for prized RISE art, and business's like Secret Garden Cafe filled with customers, all intrigued by this subtle, yet subversive protest movement.

 I've even been asked myself a few times if I know whose behind it all! And I've gotta say, as a foreigner to Newport who works to invest and protect it's art and culture, I am deeply honoured that people suspect I might have a single clue, when the truth is I haven't got the foggiest.

Of all the twists in this radical tale, my favourite happened this morning at 8am, when RISE posted this on their Instagram.

The releasing of more anon-art that yet again directs people to local independent traders in attempt to support, spread the love and build a buzz. This time they choose the brand spanking new Black Bear Vintage Emporium off of the highstreet. As a lover of vintage clobber and a seeker of information, I made my way to The Black Bear Vintage Emporium this morning and met the lovely Christopher who runs the place (check out this Argus article). After talking about his awesome stock, talk quickly moved to RISE, and with "the question" at the forefront of my mind I asked: "So... Whose doing this RISE Propaganda stuff?"

His answer? Well, he didn't have a clue. Apparently in the organisation of Friday's upcoming offer he had been communicating exclusively online with no other than ya man, John Frost. I asked who would deliver the goods. Christopher explained that John has got a few Newport cherubs who usually facilitate this kind of transaction; like some Stone-Cutterseque-Illuminarty-For-Good-Sub-Secret-Organisation that moves through the beautifully gritty shadows. I was blown away, and that was that. I had my answer, or more to the point I didn't have my answer and that, right now, is so much better.

In the vein of other influential art movements, RISE Propaganda seems to be working hard to remain anonymous, and simply put, I think that's rad as fuck.

So to you, who ever you are, one or many, I say keep up the good work, keep your yellow and red fist clenched, and remain anonymous. Because when you remain anonymous we are all implicit, the individual becomes the collective and the collective moves the individual. In this; a gesture void of ego or association you make us suddenly aware that we all have to work to achieve and attain peace, love and greatness, RISE Propaganda's job is to light the fuse.

Mucho,

JTC

Should I Bring Wine?

Should I bring wine?

Stephanie had never had a boyfriend. Never, at all, and it was not for want of trying. In secret diaries she kept as a child she would obsessively write the names of boys for whom she frequently earned. Micheal Stevenson, James Buckley, Harry Fishborn, Keith Reynolds, David Evans, Sam Shields, Chris Emery, Sebastian Drummand, the list goes on.

Oh how I would like to find that love, the kind of which you see in movies, like Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in the film about the bookshops she would write.

As is often the case for certain individuals like Stephanie, as she grew older, still did she fail to participate in relations with the opposite sex. Unlike all her school friends, university alumni and work colleagues who had seemed to romance effortlessly and successfully over the years, Stephanie had never experienced an intimate touch, and longed fervently to do so.

Now it’s not that Stephanie was unattractive in appearance or person. She was, actually perfectly charming and sort of beautiful. Her face was symmetrical, her skin unblemished, her hair full, and her body taut and curvy. She was, for all intense and purposes attractive, though you and I both realize this is entirely subjective. The only incongruity of Stephanie was the corpse of her deceased conjoined twin brother Matthew, still attached to her side, just as he was the day they were born. Although she could always easily explain this condition, and give reason to the fact why he was still attached, it seemed even civilized men could not accept her benign affliction; regardless of the detail that most of her internal organs were actually harbored inside his torso, like multicolored sausages thumbed carefully into a packet. In fact, the only organ, she could truly call her own, was her heart.

The Doctors had always floundered, calling specialists and experts, fascinated and desperate to be the solution to her problems. As a child she was injected, plumbed into, microscoped and probed. Examined, transacted, portered and marveled at. As a teenager she was toured globally and featured on a veritable plethora of media from magazines to television. Then, finally, as an adult, when all the interest had well and truly troughed, she was simply told there was nothing that could be done. Medical science had apparently not yet caught up, and so she must learn to accept what it was about her that had always been a defining feature. And that is what she did. She began to accept this truth and in doing so found the courageousness needed to change it, for Stephanie had a plan.

The mitigating circumstance for her failure in love, it would seem, was Matthew, and as she couldn’t do without him, she would have to do with him. Though his mind had long been dead, his body was still plush and full of blood. His heart didn’t beat, but hers took care of that. His muscles were wasted, but she could still move each limb. In other terms, she would have to improvise.

Now, I don’t know if you are well versed in the world of online promiscuity, but through years of necessity, Stephanie was. She had never made an account on any website that openly advertised it’s cause to unite single people with various sexual desires, but she had been an outside observer, able to log on for hours at a time as a voyeur. She could look in on chat rooms, view various accounts and learn the ways of contemporary digital sex. These binary compilations of lonely human beings were completing tantalizing and oh so alluring to Stephanie. So, much so that now, after years of simply watching on, she took out her credit card and began to interact.

Now I don’t need to revel or divulge each and every version of all things that every hanky-panky site might have. That would be too crude for you and I, and I feel as though we’re mutually decided on that. But what you do need to know, if you don’t already, is that there are three types of account one can open on such sites: Single, couple, or group. Single means you are you, and only you, and you’d like to do what ever you might like to do with other humans of various genders in various volumes. Group means that you, and perhaps polyamorous friends and or partners may like to bulk up their numbers at the fortnightly sex-fest. Neither of these options were part of Stephanie’s plot. So she typed in her details and opened an account, for her, and Matthew, her “boyfriend”.

Romantic couple living in the West of England looking for casual fun and good times with like minded people. Open to suggestions, and interested mainly in men.

Having already dressed, groomed and opened Matthews’s eyes, she added false teeth, makeup and a celoptaped expression to his face. Once satisfied, she laid herself and her imagined lover onto their bed. Then, with iphone in hand she began to take photographs. She added filters, and lowered the contrast, not only suggesting of promiscuity, but aliveness in her corpse bait. And as unbelievable all this may seem, it would not do so if you could view her inbox but only 24 hours later.

118 Unread Messages.

I’m David. Slim, tall, blonde. Looking to hook up with a couple for good conversation and even better sex. I’m from Manchester, so not too far away! Give me a message back if you’re interested.

Hey. My names Steve, I’m open to all sorts, and you guys look like my kinda thing. If you’ve never had another guy involved, I’d love to be the first.

Hot. Horny. Ready. Call me. Number Attached.

Overwhelmed by the response, Stephanie beamed as she replied with additional details and requests. Forty-seven messages later, Stephanie had relished in preparing her honey and picking her fly. Until finally, she found François, a young French man from Blajan, visiting his sick uncle in Nottingham. He seemed a nice choice. Excellent in fact. In fact, perfect.

Dear François. Matthew and I would be very pleased to meet you. We live alone, and are fine with you popping down for a visit. If you’re available tonight, then we would love to see you ASAP. You might find this strange, but we like to play games. I noticed from your profile, you are of a similar persuasion. See the address attached below, and follow these instructions: The door will be open. Come into the house. Walk up the stairs and enter the first room on the left. By the light of the candles, we’d like to watch you undress. Then, if you’re as adventurous as you say you are, put on the blindfold, and climb into our bed.

A mere fifteen seconds later came the reply…

Should I bring wine?

TigerFace Day 2: What Did You Want To Be When You Grew Up?

What Did You Want To Be When You Grew Up?

This is the question I started off asking myself today. I ended up putting it out there on Facebook, and to my total surprise got a loooooad of amazing answers (all of which I will share at some stage, possibly in piechart form).

As an adult that works with children on a regular basis, it's a question I always hesitate to ask.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

As if there is but one almighty answer, and it should be practical, achievable and within the realms of your given talents and abilities. The tubby fat boy can't say Olympian. The speckie freckly ginger girl can't say model. The dumb kid should avoid saying Doctor and no one can say astronaut, because whats the point? Our adult cynical selves might think.

"A dinosaur" a child might respond, and we might reply "Aw that's sweet, but no, what really?"

The question it's self also alludes a greater more philosophical view point that perhaps we shouldn't really be any one thing. But the obvious nature of our indoctrinated predetermination from gender (boys = blue and army. Girls = pink and barbie) to race, from sexuality (You're a male nurse... And you're straight, right?!) to nationality influence our place within the social and economical structures we live and exist in. Career planning, mortgages, lifestyle, location they all revolve around this predetermination. From being asked this question in Primary School to doing Work Experience in Secondary School.

Regardless of whether or not you think the question is a good one (and there is an awesome TED Talk all about it by Emili Wapnick, check it out here) it's one we've probably all been asked and all have an answer for.

I didn't want to be a "theatre maker", mainly because I didn't know what that was, but I didn't want to be an actor or a performer or an entertainer or even an artist really.

I wanted to be one specific man from an insert out of the Kays Catalogue. He was tall, blonde, roguishly handsome, clean cut and clean shaven. He was in a full grey suit with a blue tie, holding briefcase and was in mid-stroll down a busy high-street. I found a similar looking location in my local town of Oswestry and used to actually fantasise about being this man when I was older, to the point I almost convinced myself the man in the catalogue was my older self. I imagined and measured my future success based on how close to that image I would come. I wanted the smarts for business and the looks for lady hunting. I wanted the papers and files that would fill the briefcase, and one of those huge mobile phones I'd seen in a movie once. I wanted to be a man about town, a busy city slicker with leather belt and some extremely shiny loafers.

That's the thing I remember wanting to be most vividly, but the absolute truth is the answer would forever change. Sometimes I wanted to be a vet, sometimes an astronaut, sometimes a ballet dancer sometimes a cowboy. My friend Steph will tell you the very first thing I ever wanted to be (and I think we must have been about 4 years old when I said this) was a duck. Yurp.

This isn't me as a child, I mean, I fucking wish, right?!

I'm not a duck, I'm not a cowboy, or an astronaut, a deep sea diver, or a presenter on Blue Peter (that was more Mum's dream for me) and I am certainly not the successful handsome suave businessman from the Kay's catalogue. I actually just laughed a bit typing that. I'm a 28 year old male who is slightly overweight, unfit and out of long/full term employment. I rarely shave or get my hair cut because it feels like an unnecessary expense and I frequently have less than £80 in my bank account. I've never been able to buy myself a suit, unless it's out of a charity shop. I'm not married, I'm single with a string of failed relationships and I don't (and probably will never) have a mortgage. I have no savings, no real assets, no career path set in stone, no office and definitely no briefcase.

I am not what I wanted to be.

...

I've had such fun thinking and writing about this question today. I'd like to DEEEEEPLY thank everyone who put an answer on Facebook. It was really, really, really helpful and it's a strand of this research I'm definitely going to continue.

Without further ado...

Please enjoy this short educational video on the subject, and until next time: Heart and Star.

Mucho,

J

DAY 1 - TigerFace Residency at Chapter

DAY 1 TigerFace Residency at Chapter

TigerFace - Fuck You

I know right, I can hardly believe it either. Chapter Arts (big thanks to Alice Burrows) have actually given me two weeks of lovely space to work on my long time "in production" piece TigerFace.

For those of you who don't know who TigerFace is; he's an asshole. Really, a crooked, morally corrupt, miserable, nihilistic version of my inner self loathing self.

Presumably a former Children's TV presenter, TigerFace now spends his evenings re-running his old routines, telling the same old jokes and showing you what he made earlier, much earlier, in like, 1997. The problem is his material hasn't changed and for some reason he's stuck performing to adults, and audiences of people he really can't stand.

The truth is, I still don't know what TigerFace is.

It started off as an access tool for me to try unplanned, unorganised and drastically unrehearsed pieces of something in front of an audience at scratch nights, an opportunity to throw shit at the walls and see what happens as well as develop my reflex ability in the arena of unplanned performance.

I bought the suit for something Tin Shed Theatre Co. was doing at the time, and in a moment of thoughtlessness the photographer on the project (the awesome Dafydd Bland Eminent Photography) caught this image:

Upon seeing this podgy, miserable looking tiger man I immediately became compelled to tell his story and find out how someone with such a joyful exterior could really harness some truly terrifying feelings of bitterness and hopelessness.

Today I spent around 5 hours in the space and accomplished a lot in my head, but very little in the physical. I wrote a tiny bit and moved a tiny bit, but mainly juggled rubber eggs... With little success.

So this is me posting blog one of what will be many blogs keeping who ever is interested in the loop with a piece of work I'm really very excited to be finally making.

I'll be posting regularly on Instagram (it's my new favourite social media platform) so get me there if you're interested: Instagram

Or check out updates on my: Website

Anything else you can email me: mejustincliffe@hotmail.co.uk

For now

Mucho

J