How My Experience Of Collective Unconscious’ Interactive Theatre Has Positively Affected My Self-Esteem And Body-Image
Collective Unconscious have produced interactive theatre since 2010. They specialise in one-to-one performance on the themes of sexuality, intimacy and social conformity, tackling issues that most of us are embarrassed about. Things we arguably shouldn’t be embarrassed about.
That was the reason I was initially drawn to their work. I have life-long issues with sexuality and intimacy and I’d be the first to admit that having these issues has impacted my life in a negative way. Failed relationships, a negative body image and a bucket load of confusion, I was looking to improve my confidence in any way I could. I hadn’t thought that interactive theatre could give me that chance.
Mark Ellis is the director of Collective Unconscious and he says in a 2015 interview in Slap Mag (page 18) how people seem to come away (from their performances) feeling, for a short time at least, more connected, more open, more secure in themselves.
I’m a big believer that interactive theatre can change lives - it changed mine. I’ve seen a few Collective Unconscious performances and I’m going to elaborate on a couple of moments of enlightenment as a participant that have led to positive changes in my life.
A woman lies naked on the table. She invites people - strangers, most of them - to decorate her body with sweets. I could never imagine doing something that brave, but I always wished to have that confidence.
Let me tell you a story - I’ve always struggled with self-image. All the way in to my twenties, I’d failed at relationships because of my negative self-image and feeling embarrassed about my body, always clamming up and running away at the prospect of being naked or seeing another person in the nude. What’s the big deal? Clothes are only scraps of material, but society puts so much importance on them.
I was only participating in the performance for a few minutes, but little did I realise that those few minutes would cause ripples in my life, slowly changing the way I saw myself, felt about my body, and how I felt about being intimate with other people.
I left feeling more confident about my self-image. I’d always wanted to have the confidence to stand naked in front of other people - in a performance setting and personal setting. Half an hour later I was performing my own piece - I had thought about the prospect of removing my clothes - but whether I’d be able to do it was anyone’s guess, and it wasn’t looking likely. But, inspired by one brave woman, I decided to confront my fear and started the piece only clad in knickers. As the first participant came in I felt nervous - until I realised that they weren’t judging me and picking out flaws. Soon I became comfortable being around people without clothes on. There is nothing like the freedom of feeling confident in your own skin. Fast-forward a couple of years and I’m far more confident in my relationships due to being more comfortable in myself, and that massive leap - well, I owe it in part to the lady with the sweets.
In an increasingly digital age, I sometimes feel that we have lost the art of communication and connecting to others around us. When we feel lonely, we’re more likely to go on Facebook than to go out and actually talk to someone in person.
We’re approaching the ‘blue hour’ - that time in the day when the light starts to fade and tiredness sets in. I’m in a big hall, full of people, but unsure what to do. I would like to talk to someone, but whom do I approach?
As I’m milling around, trying to force myself to come out of my shell, noise erupts from the speakers. David Bowie: Love Is Lost. Immediately I am transported back to my teenage years when I first discovered his music; it’s joyfully nostalgic and, ironically, a song about loss was just the thing to bring a group of lost people together.
A group of performers - Collective Unconscious - emerge from the edges of the room, weaving through the audience, wrapping people in some sort of black plastic, offering people a drink of Prosecco - not in a neat way, tipped out from the bottle (adding to the chaotic fun) - and encouraging people to dance. It’s difficult to categorise something that seems to cross the boundaries of multiple disciplines. It could be a performance, but also a party, perhaps even a rebirthing ritual. As audience start to join in, the lines are blurred even further - are we all performers in this space? It feels like we’re in it together.
The music is pumping through my veins and I grab an offered hand and dance with a stranger, spinning crazily; we throw caution to the wind and let the music sweep us up. On a random night out, would I ever dance with a stranger? Not a chance. I wouldn’t even dance in such an honest way, forgetting how my ‘moves’ might look to an observer and be perceived. The way the piece moved people was interesting. Even in nightclubs, with a far more intoxicated crowd, I haven’t seen people interact with each other to this extent in ‘real life’. Observing others in the crowd, a lot of people seemed a little hesitant to join in at the beginning, and it was amazing to watch people gradually come out of their shells. I feel the piece captures the spirit of art: to bring a diverse group of people together, and to help people interact and express themselves.
I believe that the beauty of interactive theatre is its diversity, and that audiences get to play an active role in the piece. This is not an opportunity you would often find in traditional theatre - think Shakespeare on a stage - where the audience are usually only spectators. From my own experience, I would say that interactive theatre is perhaps more accessible to the general public, and could potentially help people with social anxiety, like myself, gain confidence and connect to others.
Article by Georgie Bull.
That was the reason I was initially drawn to their work. I have life-long issues with sexuality and intimacy and I’d be the first to admit that having these issues has impacted my life in a negative way. Failed relationships, a negative body image and a bucket load of confusion, I was looking to improve my confidence in any way I could. I hadn’t thought that interactive theatre could give me that chance.
Mark Ellis is the director of Collective Unconscious and he says in a 2015 interview in Slap Mag (page 18) how people seem to come away (from their performances) feeling, for a short time at least, more connected, more open, more secure in themselves.
I’m a big believer that interactive theatre can change lives - it changed mine. I’ve seen a few Collective Unconscious performances and I’m going to elaborate on a couple of moments of enlightenment as a participant that have led to positive changes in my life.
A woman lies naked on the table. She invites people - strangers, most of them - to decorate her body with sweets. I could never imagine doing something that brave, but I always wished to have that confidence.
Let me tell you a story - I’ve always struggled with self-image. All the way in to my twenties, I’d failed at relationships because of my negative self-image and feeling embarrassed about my body, always clamming up and running away at the prospect of being naked or seeing another person in the nude. What’s the big deal? Clothes are only scraps of material, but society puts so much importance on them.
I was only participating in the performance for a few minutes, but little did I realise that those few minutes would cause ripples in my life, slowly changing the way I saw myself, felt about my body, and how I felt about being intimate with other people.
I left feeling more confident about my self-image. I’d always wanted to have the confidence to stand naked in front of other people - in a performance setting and personal setting. Half an hour later I was performing my own piece - I had thought about the prospect of removing my clothes - but whether I’d be able to do it was anyone’s guess, and it wasn’t looking likely. But, inspired by one brave woman, I decided to confront my fear and started the piece only clad in knickers. As the first participant came in I felt nervous - until I realised that they weren’t judging me and picking out flaws. Soon I became comfortable being around people without clothes on. There is nothing like the freedom of feeling confident in your own skin. Fast-forward a couple of years and I’m far more confident in my relationships due to being more comfortable in myself, and that massive leap - well, I owe it in part to the lady with the sweets.
In an increasingly digital age, I sometimes feel that we have lost the art of communication and connecting to others around us. When we feel lonely, we’re more likely to go on Facebook than to go out and actually talk to someone in person.
We’re approaching the ‘blue hour’ - that time in the day when the light starts to fade and tiredness sets in. I’m in a big hall, full of people, but unsure what to do. I would like to talk to someone, but whom do I approach?
As I’m milling around, trying to force myself to come out of my shell, noise erupts from the speakers. David Bowie: Love Is Lost. Immediately I am transported back to my teenage years when I first discovered his music; it’s joyfully nostalgic and, ironically, a song about loss was just the thing to bring a group of lost people together.
A group of performers - Collective Unconscious - emerge from the edges of the room, weaving through the audience, wrapping people in some sort of black plastic, offering people a drink of Prosecco - not in a neat way, tipped out from the bottle (adding to the chaotic fun) - and encouraging people to dance. It’s difficult to categorise something that seems to cross the boundaries of multiple disciplines. It could be a performance, but also a party, perhaps even a rebirthing ritual. As audience start to join in, the lines are blurred even further - are we all performers in this space? It feels like we’re in it together.
The music is pumping through my veins and I grab an offered hand and dance with a stranger, spinning crazily; we throw caution to the wind and let the music sweep us up. On a random night out, would I ever dance with a stranger? Not a chance. I wouldn’t even dance in such an honest way, forgetting how my ‘moves’ might look to an observer and be perceived. The way the piece moved people was interesting. Even in nightclubs, with a far more intoxicated crowd, I haven’t seen people interact with each other to this extent in ‘real life’. Observing others in the crowd, a lot of people seemed a little hesitant to join in at the beginning, and it was amazing to watch people gradually come out of their shells. I feel the piece captures the spirit of art: to bring a diverse group of people together, and to help people interact and express themselves.
I believe that the beauty of interactive theatre is its diversity, and that audiences get to play an active role in the piece. This is not an opportunity you would often find in traditional theatre - think Shakespeare on a stage - where the audience are usually only spectators. From my own experience, I would say that interactive theatre is perhaps more accessible to the general public, and could potentially help people with social anxiety, like myself, gain confidence and connect to others.
Article by Georgie Bull.
Collective Unconscious are conducting research into the potential transformative benefits of interactive theatre. If participating in interactive theatre has helped you to gain confidence or had any other positive impact on your mental health we'd love to hear about your experiences!
