[I’ll be running my crowdfunder for ‘To Rose on her 18th Birthday’, the show I am creating about my cancer for 5 more days. If you are able to support the project I would be endlessly grateful! More on this below…]
Artistic life can feel a lot like fishing. At least, that’s the analogy I like to think of when applying for opportunities.
You cast your line into the water, and you never quite know what is going to pop up.
Most of the fish will pass you by, but when you get a bite… that feeling is magic.
That’s how I felt earlier this year when I learned I’d been selected for this year’s Open Lab at the Barbican Centre.
This moment has been seven-plus years in the making. The love letter I started writing to my daughter Rose on her first birthday, when I was in the middle of chemo for the first time, has bit by bit grown into a show. Now it will be getting a full week of research & development - essentially, rehearsal without a production at the end!
Every creative work we make teaches us something about ourselves, and for this one, I feel like I am bringing in every part of myself, because I’m not just writing the story of my life during my cancer treatment, I’m performing it.
There is movement. There is singing. There is even live painting. (I know - crazy!)
How am I going to do all of this? I don’t know… yet!
But I have an amazing team working with me, and I can’t wait to build on the years of development that have led to this point.
The work that happens in darkness
I realise I’ve been quiet on this newsletter. When I got this Barbican opportunity, I reoriented my entire year around it, which broke the rhythm I had planned out. Some personal bumps in the road derailed things still further.
The longer the silence stretched, the more embarrassed I felt, and the harder it became to actually find the right words.
I wrote about four separate drafts before this email that you’re reading.
Sometimes we don’t realise we need to go into the cocoon until we’re already in it. We’re in the dark, things are changing and shifting, but we don’t quite know what’s going on or how it’s going to end up.
That’s been the place I’ve been living over these past several months.
But this week, it is coming into the light. I’ll be sharing the story and the skills I have been working on in the rehearsal room and building towards an industry showing on the last day.
This is the final development stage that will hopefully be a springboard to a full production next year, and it feels incredible that seeds planted so long ago are finally getting the chance to sprout.
Making it anyway
Alongside the joy of getting the thrilling news about the Barbican, I heard that the Arts Council Grant I had been applying on to fund it was not successful. It’s a hard time for funding in the arts, and wait times have grown so long I didn’t have a chance to reapply.
There’s always a decision in these moments. What do you do? Do you cancel the project? Or just decide to make it anyway?
I expect you can guess which route I chose.
I had about a third of my minimum budget provided by the Barbican - so I decided to take a leap of faith to crowdfund the remaining amount.
I’ll be running this crowdfunder for just 5 more days, culminating on the showcase day on 31 July. After launching on social media last week, I’ve already raised 70% of the money thanks to the incredibly generous donors who have chipped in. But I’m hoping I can find at least 10 more people who believe in this project enough to support it.
(Among the ‘thank you’ options is an online sharing I’ll be hosting later this summer, so if you’re someone who would buy a ticket to one of my shows this is the next best thing!)
I know times are hard for everyone, so even if supporting monetarily doesn’t work for you, I’d be grateful for any shares or likes if you see me on socials to help the project get as much visibility as possible.
If you’d like to learn a bit more about the project or contribute you can do so here:
https://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/p/to-rose-barbican2026
Crowdfunding as connection
I think it’s natural to feel a bit ‘cringe’ when we have to say we need help. It’s a vulnerable feeling. But the beautiful thing is witnessing who shows up.
And people have shown up for me so so generously - in giving financial support to the project, but also in sharing posts and celebrating this work.
There are too many people to name (you know who you are, and I could write an ode of gratitude about each one of you) but here is a little sampling…
The very first contributor - my friend who has experience as an oncology nurse. During treatment, she was the person I could text about any side effect, any time of the day or night, and nothing was too embarrassing or too much trouble. Her advice and support helped to keep me alive, and made me feel less alone when I didn’t know who I was anymore.
The friend I haven’t seen since my first cancer treatment during 2019, who brought me a plant which is still sitting on my windowsill. This little succulent stem is now nearly two feet long, but I’ve never been able to bring myself to trim it because it feels like such a beautiful testament to how life continues on.
The parent from my daughter’s class who sat around the kitchen table with me over tea talking about life.
My family - generous relatives scattered around the world - but particularly my Dad, who has already given me so much, but shows up again, and again, and again to let me know he believes in me.
The roommate I stayed up late with as teenagers, laughing and imagining the lives we would have some day - never guessing the ways reality would be more complicated and also richer.
A woman I have never even met from one of my mum’s groups who connected so much to this story she wanted to support it even though she didn’t know me.
Beyond deservingness
Being given so much, I found myself wondering - do I deserve this?
And honestly, I think the answer is probably ‘no’.
I don’t deserve it.
Because to me, something we ‘deserve’ feels like something we are entitled to - whether through our own efforts or the expectations we have been given by the universe.
But sometimes the things that come to us are not things we have earned.
All we can do is accept, with wonder and gratitude, that there is so much generosity in the world, and that we have been lucky to be recipients of it.
That certainly feels true for me.
There’s one line I had to cut from the most recent draft of this play, but I still carry it in my heart.
“Rose and I were loved into existence by the people around us.”
Seven years ago, I couldn’t walk normally because my nerves were so damaged from chemo. Three years ago, I was reeling from navigating the end of cancer treatment and the end of my marriage simultaneously. And today, I am getting ready for the most joyous and exciting creative opportunity of my life to date.
Thanks for being part of my journey, and the community that has kept me and my little girl going through all the ups and downs.
I can’t wait to show you what I’ve been up to.
Lots of love,
Alli
