Time, Which Is So Often

Theatres, Actors, Critics And Public Are Interlocked In A Machine That Creaks But Never Stops. There Is Always A New Season In Hand And We Are To Busy To Ask The Only Vital Question Which Measures The Whole Structure. Why Theatre At All? What For? Is It An Anachronism, A Superannuated Oddity? Surviving Like An Old Monument Or A Quaint Custom? Why Do We Applaud And What? Has The Stage A Real Place In Our Lives? What Function Can It Have? What Could It Serve? What Could It Explore? What Are Its Special Properties?

A Word Does Not Start As A Word – It Is An End Product Which Begins As An Impulse, Stimulated By Attitude And Behaviour Which Dictates The Need For Expression.

I Can Take Any Empty Space And Call It A Bare Stage. A Man Walks Across This Empty Space, Whilst Someone Else Is Watching Him, And This Is All That Is Needed For An Act Of Theatre To Be Engaged.

One View Of Photography Is That It Is A Zen-like Act Which Captures Reality With Its Pants Down - So That The Vital Click Shows The Anatomy Bare. In This, The Photographer Is Invisible But Essential. A Computer Releasing The Shutter Would Always Miss The Special Moment That The Human Sensibility Can Register. For This Work, The Photographer's Instinct Is His Aid, His Personality A Hindrance.

Reality' Is A Word With Many Meanings.