Where I am, or where I may be. Nothing artistic is explicit.

I’ve been thinking about why I have not been taking many pictures. I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of years, and I’ve been not taking many pictures for more than a couple of years. I worry that I will lose skill, and by skill I mean familiarity with equipment and fluidity of technique, and yet this worry is not working as an impetus to shoot more. And now, with the imminent relocation to Tempe (USA), I do also need to think about what equipment I may need, what I should take with me.

Today, after work, I was tending to some maintenance and thinking. Something earlier triggered a memory.

In 2012 I went to see a performance with Poppy and Maïté, Songs of Lear by Song of the Goat Theatre at Summerhall. The performance destroyed me! It took me through all emotions, leaving me in tears after having fallen in love and lost everything during the performance. I think I went back two more times, and told all my friends to go, none of whom ever commented. I went through the same experience each time, being dragged through emotions, leaving in tatters. I concluded that everything I did was devoid of meaning, because I could never evoke that kind of emotion in anyone. Nothing I could do would ever have that kind of power.

Shortly after that experience I went on to do my residency at Soup Lab, and produced Tray – an emotionally challenging residency, working on a narrative I had been wanting to develop for years (Struwwelpeter), which became quite a dark series, bordering on deep self-mockery.

Two years later Song of the Goat returned to Edinburgh with Return to the Voice. Naturally I had to go, and take Lauren. The performance was in St Giles Cathedral, I was excited and apprehensive. What I experienced was what I’m used to: I was not moved nor transported. It was a decent piece of method acting mixed with music. And as that it is reasonably unique, as I have never seen another production company which uses method acting in musical theatre. But there was nothing more. I had no emotional response. Another of Grzegorz Bral’s creations, and Monika Dryl was just a proficient performer. I didn’t fall in love. I didn’t cry.

And now I realise that the greatness I’d felt two years previous was tied directly to my emotional state. Yes it was a good piece of theatre, but feeling that nothing I could ever do can rival something that—in a different frame of mind—is nothing incredible, may actually be the reason why I have not been taking many photographs. Nothing artistic is explicit.

Tobias Feltus: