Think about it this way. With each new project you are not creating a character, more creating a new version of yourself. As if the you of daily life has a series of ghosts, partial surrogates….You, stood naked in front of a curtain. You, ‘drunk’ and talking nonsense language. You, answering impossible questions. You, wearing a series of animal costumes. …
You don’t create a fiction perhaps but rather, for each new project, articulate a version of yourself that can exist in that particular world, under that particular constraint, under that particular duress, a version of yourself that can exist in that particular unstable, strange, and semi-fictitious place of the stage.
You don’t make someone else. You make you, if different, if exaggerated, if distorted, if shrunk, if restricted. But you, nonetheless. It is you that you make, it must be you that you make, because, when all is said and done, it’s you that has to be seen, shown, encountered, revealed.
Starting from ‘nothing’ in the rehearsal space on day one, there is nothing to guide the work except desire. The group as a collection of people, who agree to drift openly towards topics, images, themes, actions, texts. A falling in love. The pursuit of a certain openness.
You make you, and because of this your instincts are vital, your interests, your passions, your phobias. Not because you’ll want to forget, hide or get over these facts of yourself in pursuit of the other, the fiction, the ‘character’ as perhaps they might have taught in other kinds of acting, but because…your interests, passions, phobias and instincts alone can guide you. They’ll be at the basis of what you do, from show to show, from moment to moment.
– Tim Etchells, Certain Fragments (p. 142)