Clare McBrien, friend of the Festival and former team member, discusses her sometimes complicated relationship with her mind. Illustration by Danni Gowdie

 

Almost a year ago, while working for the Scottish Mental Health Arts and Film Festival, I promised myself I would commit to paper my confused relationship with my mind. I had witnessed so many explore their mental wellbeing (or lack thereof) and felt compelled to do the same. Unsure of why I have finally done this or who I think will read it, my hope is that you will stay with me to the end. What follows is an inadequate homage to friends and family, old and new, who have unwittingly, yet consistently, peeked through the fog and made me smile.

 

I was 21 when the first doctor looked sheepishly over his glasses and uttered the words ‘anxiety’ and ‘depression’. I rejected his stupidity immediately. What he didn’t understand was that I was going through a complicated break up with the love of my life (I can be a little melodramatic) and had just got back from a year teaching in Peru which had shattered a worldview and faith I had come to rely on. The fact that I couldn’t sleep yet couldn’t get out of bed was clearly a symptom of circumstance. I demanded sleeping pills and marched out of there determined; women in my family are strong, they are independent and they recover quietly. I would do the same.  

 

It was when the ache returned without warning or reason a little while later that I began to reconsider. When a second, then a third doctor suggested the same thing, I told no one - not my new boyfriend, my family or my friends. I didn’t and to be perfectly honest still don’t want people to know. The version of myself I like is smart, confident and fun; she’s the girl people look to for support, the girl that doesn’t shy away from a challenge, the girl who quit her job to go on adventures to foreign lands. I don’t want my friends to treat me differently, or potential employers to think I’m incapable. I don’t want my family to think I am weak or for future relationships to be thwarted before they have begun.

 

Worse than the fear of damaged relationships was admitting to myself that the confusion and sudden tightening of the chest weren’t circumstantial. When there is no longer anyone or anything to blame and you are forced instead to admit that there is something askew in the way you process the world, it can get a little dark. And much like when you notice an annoying trait in a good friend, that new discovery quickly becomes impossible to ignore. I became consumed by listening to my misguided ego struggle to silence the incessant jabber of a lost child, and in doing so, I got lost.

 

After a while I came to realise that for me all of it comes down to one thing. I take up space - and I’m wasting it. I oscillate between frantically searching for a way to earn my 5ft 3 inches and exploring ways of making myself as small and inconsequential as possible. At its most gentle, this fixation manifests itself as a desire to eat healthily; at its worst, as a desperate need to apologise for my presence in public spaces. I become acutely aware of the oxygen I misuse, the space I occupy and the time and energy people are forced to spend on me. Decisions become impossible, the future a terrifying nothingness and the past a tedious catalogue of errors.

 

Please understand, I am fully aware that to feel this way is in no way ‘logical’ and those of you who know me would be forgiven for thinking me ungrateful. I stand on the shoulders of a hard-working, supportive family and my twenties have been fantastic. I have studied languages I love, worked for terrific organisations and travelled to places most people only dream of seeing. I have experienced love, adventure and joy. My neurosis is not that I don’t have enough, but rather that I have been given so much and I have no idea what to do with it.

 

Except for when I sing, or when I bust out a guitar riff on my clarinet or when I finally find a combination of words to fill the blank page.

 

The paralysis subsides when you spend ages working out the perfect three-part harmony with me, or when you teach me to dance, or when you asked me to be in your band, or when you send me songs you think I’ll like, or when you cry with me at a gig, or when you sing Les Mis with me, or when you give me honest feedback on a song or article I wrote. In those moments, I don’t feel sorry - I feel proud to be contributing something positive to people I admire.  

 

I’ve spent most of my life convinced that I wasn’t ‘creative’, that it was reserved for those who received a secret sign in their teenage years. Now I have come to need it, because when I am involved in the process of creating a combination of noises, movements or words, my mind is still. I go back to the beginning and renegotiate my place. I give shape and form to emotions I don’t know how to express any other way. I have fun with my friends.

 

Maybe another wave of anxiety will hit next month, maybe it will be next year. I hold a secret hope it will not return at all. For now I’m enjoying the fresh air, humbled by the realisation that fantastic humans have repeatedly chosen to share space with me, even when I would have given anything to get away from myself. Thank you for showing me that I too am allowed to be ‘creative’ and encouraging me to give it a go. I wish I could find a combination of words intricate enough to convey all the subtle ways you saved me.

 

Arts lead Andrew Eaton-Lewis speaks to Debbie Robbins of A Blank Canvas about In Her Shadows. The piece is touring Scotland as part of the Festival from 22 Sep - 23 Oct. 

A striking new piece of aerial and physical theatre, with a memorable musical score, In Her Shadows would do any arts festival proud. It is, however, a particularly good fit for the Scottish Mental Health Arts and Film Festival, since its subject is aerial performer Debbie Robbins’ battle with depression.

That hadn’t been the plan. For a while, Robbins explains, the show had no story at all, and was purely an exercise in combining her performance style with that of fellow aerial performer Rachael Macintyre, with whom she had just started collaborating. “Rachael comes from a puppetry background so that got us talking about working with shadow and projections, the idea that we would work with shadow and light,” Robbins explains. “Then we went into development at North Edinburgh Arts Centre and it was during that time that I had this scary surreal moment of…. I understand why everything is on this set. What have I done?”

As it turned out, Robbins had been channeling years of psychological trauma into her work, but subconsciously. She had started training as an aerial performer following a period of depression triggered by a long and painful family conflict – it was, she would later realise, a form of therapy. “My counsellor was an art therapist so she was getting me to work with drawing and pictures but I felt it wasn’t my outlet; aerial training was a form of expression for me. When I was learning tricks I was naturally putting my story into them without realising it.” She remembers telling her counselor that she felt she needed something bigger to work with than a pencil and paper – a big, blank canvas to express herself on. A Blank Canvas became the name of her company. Years later, the set of In Her Shadows is, quite literally, an enormous blank white canvas on which images – animation, film, text, the contents of its character’s head – are projected. It is, in a sense, Robbins’ mind on a stage.

When she realised how much of herself had ended up in the show, she says, “I was mortified. Why have I done this to myself? I don’t want to tell this story.” Once she’d reconciled herself to this, though, she knew what she had to do. 

“It’s been a real journey,” says Macintyre. “When I was growing up depression wasn’t something I knew much about so it’s been really interesting trying to transform Debbie’s story into this show. And we’ve had a lot of people coming up to talk to us about depression. It’s obviously triggered something.”

To help them give shape to the story, Robbins and Macintyre approached theatre director Cora Bissett, creator of Glasgow Girls and Roadkill, who had experience of combining different art forms with strong storytelling, through shows like Grit, her tribute to Martyn Bennett, and Whatever Gets You Through The Night. “Mental illness is a very amorphous kind of condition and I think that’s why we find it so hard to talk about and to live with,” says Bissett. “Depression is very different for everyone and I felt the physicality of In Her Shadows kind of allowed for that kind of ambiguity, it’s not a play with lots of words that debate what is happening. Sometimes there’s no reason for depression, so it opens it wider. People I know have said to me, ‘I’m just feeling black today, there isn’t a reason, you haven’t done anything, that’s just where the chemicals in my brain have gone today.’ I hope that there’s enough space in the show to allow everyone to bring their own experiences to it.”

The show does include one powerful piece of text, however – a poem by Jenny Lindsay called Today, in which the Scottish performance poet (and co-creator of popular cabaret night Rally & Broad) describes her own experience of depression. Lindsay first performed the poem at The Dust of Everyday Life, a conference organised by the Mental Health Foundation earlier this year at the CCA in Glasgow. Bissett was also speaking at the conference (alongside the Mental Health Foundation’s Amal Azzudin, one of the Glasgow Girls whose campaign against dawn raids had inspired her musical of the same name). Lindsay’s poem, she says, “moved me to tears”.

“We were working purely with physicality in this story, we had no words in it at all,” she says. “I think for a large part of the piece that’s a great choice and hopefully people will connect with those visceral things – the ascension, the feeling of release, the feeling of being trapped and spun. But then I saw Jenny performing that fantastic poem and I was just in that headspace of thinking we need something that gives us a hook, that clarifies, or lets the audience think ‘I know what this is all about.’ And I just thought, that poem is what we need, she has just summed up in eight minutes the entire journey. So I brought it back to the girls and they loved it.”

If depression is different for everyone, it’s an inspired idea to show two women processing their very personal experiences of it, in their own way, simultaneously, as Robbins and Macintyre perform a silent physical routine choreographed to Lindsay’s evocative and poignant poem at the climax of the show. Robbins describes how, when teaching pilates, she has found that her clients won't always admit how much pain they are in “because they want to be fine”. Their bodies, though, tell a different story. “The body’s always genuine, it never lies and it’s pure. So that’s my language.” This, perhaps, is why it took so long for In Her Shadows’ subject to reveal itself – Robbins’ body understood what the show was about before her mind did. Jenny Lindsay’s poem, in articulating what depression can feel like so vividly and with such self-awareness, seems to echo that moment of mental clarity.

That said, the poem - inspired by medical questionnaires that ask patients to describe how depressed they feel on a scale of one to ten – is also about how reductive it can be to try to put experience of mental illness into words. It is full of hesitation, contradiction and doubt, and Robbins and Macintyre’s movements reflect this, as they jut back and forth, all the highs and lows of the rest of the show condensed into eight minutes, a physical manifestation of traumatic mood swings. Afterwards I found myself thinking: maybe physical movement can describe depression better than words ever could? Go see In Her Shadows and decide for yourself.

In Her Shadows tours Scotland until 23 October as part of the Scottish Mental Health Arts and Film Festival. Andrew Eaton-Lewis will host post-show discussions with Debbie Robbins, Rachael Macintyre and other members of the creative team at the Traverse on 8 October, Platform, Easterhouse on 20 October and Dundee Rep on 23 October.

Even at the best of times, filmmaking tends to be an all-encompassing and exhausting process. But when people delve into their own life stories and present them for all to see on the big screen, it truly becomes a labour of passion.

Many of the valiant films in this year’s programme involve individuals who are willing to openly explore what mental health means to them, whether they are in front of the camera, behind it or both. These brave and generous people deserve our gratitude and attention. The Scottish Mental Health Arts and Film Festival is proud to provide a platform for this important cinematic work to reach wider audiences and spark invaluable conversations.

More than ever before, SMHAFF is responsible for screening film firsts. Good Girl and Ida’s Diary, two daring and revealing Norwegian documentaries, are being shown in Scotland for the first time. Dancing with Maria, an entertaining and instructive look at a dance teacher in her 90s, is having its UK premiere, as are Juanicas, Karen Garcia Casanova’s exploration of her Mexican family’s challenging experiences in Canada, and The Silence of the Flies, which examines a mysterious suicide epidemic in the Venezuelan Andes. Dead When I Got Here, set in a mental asylum run by its own patients, receives its European debut at the Festival.

Many of these films have been selected from submissions to our International Film Competition – the quality of the work received this year was so impressive that to pass it by for programming would have been to overlook some of the very best films available. That was certainly the case for Garnet’s Gold, from the producer of Academy Award-winning documentaries Man on Wire and Searching for Sugar Man, and The Closer We Get, which won Best International Documentary Feature at the prestigious Hot Docs festival earlier this year.

One of the most exciting aspects of this year’s core film programme is that half the features showcased are directed by women – a gender balance rarely found in a notoriously male-dominated industry. By screening films such as Rocks in My Pockets, Signe Baumane’s critically-acclaimed animation on five of her ancestors’ quest for sanity, the Festival has created an opportunity to observe female directors at the forefront of autobiographical and intensely personal filmmaking. 

Special presentations in collaboration with Document International Human Rights Film Festival – 9999 – and Southside Film Festival – Sunset Boulevard – round out a selection of films spirited in both content and approach. All are certain to stimulate vigorous comment and debate in post-screening discussions, which, as ever, have the potential to be as fascinating as the films themselves.

Every single title in the programme has taken a huge effort to create. These films not only have their hearts in the right place but glow with impassioned artistry. We hope you will be as moved and inspired by the selection as we are.

Richard Warden

Passions are running high throughout this year’s theatre programme, encompassing national tours and local productions. Our diverse selection features traditional plays, physical theatre, dance and music, exploring issues including the destabilising effects of mental ill-health, turbulent relationships, gender identities and PTSD.

Touring throughout October, In Her Shadows is a new collaboration between A Blank Canvas and Jabuti Theatre, directed by Cora Bissett (Glasgow Girls, Roadkill and Grit). Fusing aerial and physical theatre, stunning projections and haunting music, it tells the story of a young woman who is thrown into mental turmoil after being rejected by her mother. To celebrate the centenary of Arthur Miller’s birth, Rapture Theatre are also touring the country with a new production of The Last Yankee, one of the legendary writer’s last great plays. Another piece which focuses on a woman enduring severe mental ill-health, it is a classic depiction of the consequences of failing to live up to the American Dream.

Cultured Mongrel Dance Theatre return to the Festival with #Trans, an innovative production exploring gender identity, sexual orientation and personal transformation. There is also an opportunity to get involved in the company’s unique choreographic process #TheSoloFilter, which gives collaborators the chance to remake the work as they see fit. We have also joined forces with Luminate and A Play, A Pie & A Pint to bring Linda Duncan McLaughlin’s Descent to the Traverse Theatre. This unflinching piece explores a couple’s turbulent emotions as they struggle to keep their love alive against the raging force of dementia.

Interactive performances feature strongly in this year’s theatre programme. The Guessing Game is a drama about mental health carers which invites audiences to respond to the questions it raises; In-Filled-Her is a beautiful promenade piece that journeys through Dumfries & Galloway College; while A Time for Passion is a cast-devised play that asks you to sing along and join in. For young children, we have Cheering Up the King, an interactive storytelling session encouraging understanding of mental wellbeing.

Our regional programmes feature plenty of new productions which focus on a diverse range of issues. Edinburgh-based scholars and artists collaborate to present Purple, a theatrical fantasia that challenges the boundaries of gender and identity. From Lanarkshire, Lost & Found is a new play about a grieving father dealing with his son’s suicide, while Lanes & Doorways tackles the stigma surrounding homelessness in a tale of humour and survival. Al Seed’s Oog is an intense dance-theatre production exploring the lasting psychological damage inflicted by conflict. Mental Health: Getting Better and the all-abilities production Nine Lives Theory both use history to explore mental health and passion, while Fable is an inventive piece about physical and psychological disintegration.

As part of an effort to build an ongoing Suspended Ticket movement, Cultured Mongrel are inviting socially-conscious festivalgoers to buy a theatre ticket for someone who would not otherwise be able to attend a performance. Through connections with a range of organisations, these tickets will be distributed to those who are most in need, giving people from all walks of life a vital opportunity to engage with arts and culture.

For more information or to donate, please visit Cultured Mongrel Dance Theatre.

We look forward to seeing you at some of these special events across the country.

Andrew Eaton-Lewis