BWW Blog: Siobhan O'Loughlin - Bathtubs in Tiny Totnes

Eight years ago, I flew to the U.K. for the first time in my life. It was also the first time I left the country ever in my life, and the first time I ever lived in a place that wasn't in the state of Maryland. That place was a tiny town in south of England called Totnes.

Tiny Totnes.

In Tiny Totnes, I studied abroad for a term at Dartington College of Arts, an extremely contemporary art school that is so very modern it no longer exists. I had previously been studying "acting," (literally, to be an actor) at Towson University in Maryland. My transition as a student at Dartington was difficult for me. It was difficult to learn how to create a performance just by staring at a wall, or going out into a field, getting covered in mud after spending time with cows and returning with a word to repeat alongside some sort of physical gesture and vacant expression that was a final presentation. (That is what we did, and anyone who says otherwise is lying).

I met a bunch of very strange experimental theatre artists and musicians while I studied there for just one term, many of whom have turned out to be people who are actually life-long-friends.

And now I get to introduce you, readers of Broadway World, to a series of these life-long-friends from England, Scotland, Ireland, and the Isle of Man. We begin at the place where my artistic identity truly began for me, in Totnes.

I flew into Heathrow and bought a train ticket down south, only this time, I was not 19 years old. I was 27. I was not terrified of my surroundings, I was not shy about my accent or afraid that I would have zero friends and zero human contact for six months.

I was thrilled. Get me to Totnes.

Get me to the home of Jen Gorman and Andy Hopper, both of whom are Dartington graduates.

Performing in their Totnesian bathtub was healing in many ways beyond the initial healing nature of a bath: before the show, we watched the parade on the High Street from their window facing out into the town that taught me how to identify myself to other people, to stand up in a group of total strangers and speak with conviction.

The school is gone, and the reasons why are complicated, but Richard Vinecombe arrived with enough time to take me to the "Gutted shell of my former studies" for a rainy, chilly walk around what was once our campus. We stood in front of the campus pub (known as The Rat; a name that remains so horrible to me I still won't ask the origins) which is now an office space with workers inside. I had one of those fleeting instants of crowded memories and faces of the past colliding with the emptiness of the present, and I looked to Richard for reassurance. His eyes sparked as he shrugged.

"It's a bit like ground zero, isn't it?"

Culturally Sensitive Jokes are one of Richard's many strong suits.

Back in the bathroom, Jen threw an array of pillows and blankets down as she lit candles and Andy collected people at the door. Starting my UK tour here was like saluting my past, even though I'm not really a person who...salutes? It was like greeting it. Cradling it. Hello, Dartington. I hated you. And I loved you. I missed you a lot. The Rat was gross, but it was better than an office space.

Some of the Totnes audience consisted of more life-long-friends, or at least people I'll always know. Cue Carl Cashman, internationally acclaimed street artist extraordinaire with a shy smile and a better haircut since I last saw him eight years ago. Cue Joe Cassar, who I once lived with; who twice retrieved me from a Totnes train station; and who has more than three times taken a late night skype call because he must have signed a contract of agreement somewhere that binds him to a lifetime of that sort of thing.

When you are doing a participatory show, it's often hard to end it with Dartington-ites, including ones who graduated before my time (hello, Sarah!). We shared stories. They asked questions. I couldn't get them to stop. One man, who I didn't know at all, opened up to the entire group with a story about his father that was so moving, I didn't even have a chance to chime in-they all had him. I saw the community I once lived in thrive amongst themselves, look after each other, and in turn, look after me. I felt so grateful. Grateful to be back.

And then realized that summer in England is NOT summer in the USA and getting out of the bathtub was actually extremely cold.

Afterwards, we went to 90's night to go dancing at the Barrel House; which felt sort of surreal 8 years later, and we toasted the Bathtub as well as Cash's art opening in LA. And then a bunch of 90's songs started playing, most of which I had not heard before, because I was not an English kid in the 90's.

Thankfully.

Kidding. I love you.

90's night ended on the early side, because we are in a tiny town, after all. I remember looking up at the night sky and remarking to the group what a clear blanket of stars above had come to mean to me, after six years as a New Yorker. What a Devonshire sky has come to mean.

Cash gave his shy smile.

"Welcome back to Totnes." Jen said, "Welcome home."