This is the second part of a 3-part series of blogs, charting my journey through the Glitter Heart performance lab, lovingly held by Liz Clarke and Company and funded by the National Lottery Heritage Fund, in summer 2025. 

To get some context, start with the first blog: Glitter Heart #1: Live Art + Collaboration.

This blog charts my progress through the first Glitter Heart weekend performance lab. Here’s what’s in the blog:

• A little musing about my journey since my last full-length theatre show in 2017 (a semi-improvised performance-lecture where I embodied many of my inner parts on stage)

• A description of how I found my way back into my performance process at the Glitter Heart lab.

• Notes from my first 10 minute solo improvisation at Glitter Heart, where I tried to bring my grief onto the stage.

• Thoughts around my 2017 constellation of parts and my newly discovered parts and how they might integrate and play together on the stage.

• Notes from my hour-long improvisation at Glitter Heart, where I continued to explore my grief, with support from my inner cast and a small audience.

• My afterthoughts - the joy of playing, my inner protectors controlling the content, the audience love my critic.

• Some IFS theory - the importance of working at the pace of the protectors.

• A whole bunch of questions around putting grief on stage.

The photos throughout this blog are by Vonalina Cake Photography.

The One That Got Away

After the previous session, we were given writing prompts to help us begin to explore what we might want to create in the Glitter Heart lab:

• Do you have an itching / recurring idea that you still want to make? 

• What could you make now that you couldn't have done previously? 

• Is there a new idea brewing that you want to explore in the Glitter Heart space?

As I mused on these questions, my Work In Progress shows from 2017 floated back into my awareness. I described those in my last blog, but to refresh your memory, I made and performed three semi-improvised, multi-character, performance-lectures over three months in 2017, exploring the themes of Stage Fright, Vulnerability and Connection.

I’ve since taken aspects of that format into my teaching and public speaking, but my Work In Progress project (2017) was the last time I performed a full length show in a theatre. (OK, I did a TEDx talk on the Bristol Old Vic main stage in 2019, but team TED wanted me to script it to within an inch of its life, so it wasn’t really using the semi-improvised format that I’d been developing). 

In the intervening years, I’ve experienced several major life-changing events (haven’t we all!), including weathering a global pandemic, making and losing several babies, breaking up with a partner, repeatedly working myself to burn out, having a breakdown, taking a year out to live at a meditation retreat centre, training in Internal Family Systems, travelling around for two years and finally beginning to rebuild my life.

I wondered, what might happen if I were to take these topics into my tried and tested improvised performance-lecture format? What might my performance look like, now that I’m this older person who has experienced all that? 

Weekend 1 - Saturday

We began the weekend by sharing our creative glimmers with each other. We were then invited to stick our requests and offers up on a wall - requesting ways that we would like to be supported by each other (eg I would like an artist to draw something for me, someone to photograph me, an outside eye, etc) and offering what we were willing to offer each other (eg would you like a walk and talk, facilitation / witnessing / etc?).

We then had 40 mins with a partner to discuss our ideas and to make a plan about how to get going. Feeling the need for a cosy and safe space, my partner, Amy and I made a den out of blankets and cushions and sat in it for the entire 40 minutes. We set a timer for 5 minutes and took it in turns to talk and listen for many, many rounds. We emerged with clarity and the first steps to exploring our ideas.

After lunch Amy and I decided to stay together and took it in turns to begin to stand our ideas up, with each other’s support.

Solo Improvisation #1: Who’s Here?

Feeling the need for a quiet focussed space, I found a little nook and mapped out on the floor my inner parts that had emerged through the morning’s conversation. Here’s who showed up and where they wanted to live on the stage:

• Patrica, my Inner Academic (front left)

• Inner Critic (side right on a chair)

• Clown (at the back of the stage, sitting on the ground)

• Childless Mother (centre stage)

• Despair / Gaza / The World Is Burning (back right)

• I Want To Be/Do Good (front right facing the audience)

I jumped in and embodied these parts for around 10 minutes, placing their name labels where the parts naturally showed up.

Since 2017, my standard cast; Patrica, the Inner Critic and The Clown, have been helping me to deliver theory during workshops and public speaking. Patricia offers useful framing and context, The Critic diffuses tension by naming any uncomfortable feelings that I am, or the audience is feeling and The Clown used to offer light relief, but she’s been on strike for a while (we’ll come back to this in a bit)…

In this improvisation, Patrica and my Inner Critic gave me structure and support to be able to begin to explore the connection between my personal grief (Childless Mother), global grief (Despair / Gaza / The World Is Burning), my rescuer (I want to be/do good) and my very sad and grumpy Clown. 

There was quite a lot of stillness as I embodied each part and felt into their posture / breath / emotional state. Once I’d got to know them through my body, I became interested in moving between the parts and feeling into their relationships with each other.

When I really tune into my personal grief, I get pulled into despair / global grief , when this gets too much, my rescuer pulls me out, finding many ways to give to the world, until I get exhausted and sink back into grief / despair. Underneath all this, my sad clown quietly sits, alone.

At the end of my 10 minutes, Amy said she wanted to see more of the physicality of the parts. She was intrigued by my Sad Clown and dared me to bring my clarinet the next day, so that my clown could play out her sadness.

This improvisation felt more like process than performance and I came away feeling like I wanted much more time to go deeper into this material; I wanted to understand more about each part through my body and I wanted to understand more about their relationships with each other. I felt like there were some important keys here for my healing. Plus I had a sense that fully accessing my personal material would help me to tap into a more universal quality of play - making it more relevant to an audience.

That evening, I plundered my recent journals for fragments of text that I could weave into an hour-long improvised performance the following day (Patricia likes to have a little something to hold onto).

Weekend 1 - Sunday

I spent the morning gleefully supporting two of the other artists. Facilitator is such a familiar role for me these days, I trust myself when I am facilitating and it feels so much easier than dealing with the vulnerability of being a performer. 

After lunch, I gathered in my vulnerability and made a bold request for some of my fellow collaborators to come and witness me play for a whole hour. It felt icky to ask, but I felt like I needed their eyes and hearts to support my unfolding play. Four people agreed to be my audience, including Von, the photographer. Phew!

Solo Improvisation #2: The Hour-long show

The following description is informed by notes I took the following day. They might not be in the right order, but hopefully they capture the flavours of the performance.

Pre-show

I chose a new performance space - in a cosier and more private part of the building. Here’s what I took in with me:

• The names of my cast written on colourful A4 pieces of paper

• Fragments of text that I’d plundered from my recent journals 

• My mini rig speakers and my vast music collection

• A red nose and a blanket for my clown

• My clarinet

• The Wise Woman tarot deck

I warmed up alone and felt into where each of my parts wanted to live in this space. As I was doing this, another part appeared on the windowsill at the back left corner of the stage. As I felt into the energy of this part, I realised it was Mary - she’s kind of a guide / guardian angel (I’ll write more about her in a bit). 

Mary smudged the space with sounds and actions to make it safe enough for me to play and she picked the ‘Blessed Yule’ tarot card from the Wild Women tarot deck, as guidance.

Introduction

I welcomed the audience into my space and introduced the concept of the performance experiment. I wanted to explore my parts and how they relate to each other. I particularly wanted to look for opportunities to drop out of language and into embodiment / movement. I let them know they could talk to me at any point throughout the performance experiment and I would answer in whatever character I happened to be in. I put one hour on the clock and I began.

I introduced my parts one by one, laying out their names in their spots and embodying them briefly so that they could introduce themselves directly to the audience. 

• Patricia was very excited to have the opportunity to discover more about the work of Holly Stoppit, as she has been studying Holly’s work for four decades.

• My Inner Critic sprawled in an armchair and told the audience to drop their expectations because this show is going to be shit.

• I silently embodied the grief of the Childless Mother for a moment, before tumbling back into the despair of Global Grief, rolling further back, I found myself in the Sad Clown spot. 

• The Clown wore a red nose and was wrapped in a blanket at the back of the stage. She was quiet and sad, comforting herself by rocking back and forth and not wanting to look at the audience.

• I Want To Be / Do Good sprang forward, in direct contact with the audience, wondering how she could help everyone. She had a lot of ideas about how she could help alleviate suffering - she lives in Bristol now, she has a home after three years of moving around, living in temporary accommodation. She’s growing roots which will allow her to do more good in the world - How can she help all the artists in Bristol? Who else in Bristol might need help? Could she organise a benefit night for Gaza? Or go to Gaza? Do some frontline work? There was a desperation to her desire to do / be good.

Not sure where to start with this show, I randomly reached for some text. I chose Kae Tempest’s song lyrics (I’d recently seen him perform this live on stage):

Text #1 Grace (Kae Tempest)

“If you bring forth what is within you,

What you bring forth will save you,

but if you do not bring forth

What is within you, 

what you do not bring forth 

will destroy you"

The audience liked that and asked for it again, so I sang it a few times.

Text #2 Just Start (Holly Stoppit)

Still stuck, I grabbed another fragment of text (my writing from after the collaborative play experiment, described in the last blog)

“Start with something

Start with a word

Start with a movement

Start with not wanting to start

Just start”

Movement piece - getting started

I put on some glitchy music and started finding staccato movements, jerking around the stage, looking for the place to start. I started incorporating a stack of wooden stools, arranging them, sitting on them, standing on them, lying on them.

The Critic’s Show

The Critic called a halt to the movement piece. He did not like it. 

The audience disagreed with The Critic - they were enjoying it. 

The Critic warned them not to praise the performer - he didn’t want her getting too big for her boots, he didn’t want her to get ideas about touring again, he put a stop to all that years and years ago, for her own good…

The audience asked The Critic what kind of show he’d like to see the performer do today, if not the glitchy dancing? 

He said: “Something beautiful, poignant and funny, meaty yet graceful.” 

Like a swan? Asked someone in the audience.

The Critic said, “Yes, exactly! Like a swan!” and showed the audience what he meant, muscling his way around the stage, attempting to be a poignant meaty swan. The audience laughed. The Critic was baffled.

Who is Mary?

Mary appeared again at the back of the stage. 

I sat with the audience (as myself) and told them the story of Mary.

Deep in the pine forest at the back of my dad’s house, in the far east of France, is a golden statue of Mary (aka Jesus’ mum) on a high plinth. She has a swarm of bees living in her feet and she’s fine with that. I am not religious, but there’s something about the way that Mother Mary gazes down with pure compassion that gives me permission to have whatever human experiences I’m having. 

Mary has been bearing witness to my embodied, creative, reflective process since my dad moved to France, 25 years ago. Yes, for 25 years, I have been dancing in the woods for Mary! Over the years she’s left her plinth and come with me as an inner guide. 

Moving with Grief

I read out the description of the tarot card that Mary picked at the beginning of the show - Blessed Yule: “Though I may be currently enduring a difficult situation or season in my life, what rays of hope can I focus on to remind myself of my inner light and resilience?”

This made me cry and I followed an impulse to move through the Childless Mother / Global Grief / Sad Clown spots a few times to sad cello music. My tears flowed as I connected deeper and deeper with all three flavours of grief.

The Critic put a stop to this - far too sad and wanky for him.

What’s Happening With The Clown?

I had a little check-in with the audience to find out what they wanted to see next. They were interested in knowing more about The Clown so I stepped back into the clown’s spot.

Rocking under the colourful knitted blanket, The Clown found a My Little Pony toy that happened to be in the space and started playing with it - not in direct contact with the audience, just for herself.

Patrica popped in to explain some of what’s been happening with The Clown lately (offering context for the audience):

“Holly has been doing a lot of work with her inner child in therapy - helping her to let go of some of the responsibility she’s been lugging around. As a result, The Clown has also been relieved of her responsibility. She is no longer required to please people to make her/Holly/them feel safe, so now she’s a bit lost on stage. 

For most of Holly’s life, her clown has lived in direct contact with the audience, reading their needs and offering them something to delight, but now she’s all alone at the back there, all sad and grumpy.”

Someone in the audience asked “Where’s her mum?”

Mary floated down from her plinth to take care of The Clown. With Mary’s support, The Clown played with the My Little Pony and began tentatively approaching the audience, making the pony kiss them on their feet, but not looking in their eyes.

Text #3 Little Me (Holly Stoppit)

(This text came from some writing I did during my IFS level 2 (IFIO) training earlier this year)

“As a little girl

I learned to sense

potential explosions

long before 

the fuse got lit

I was everything 

that everyone needed

me to be”

Internal Family Systems theory

Patrica explained a little bit about Internal Family Systems (IFS):

“Some inner parts (managers and firefighters) protect other parts (exiles). For instance, I (Patrica) protect some of the little ones with my vast knowledge and expertise.” 

The Critic decided to take over the theory bit:

“My job is to protect everyone (all of Holly’s parts) by shaming them before anyone else (on the outside) can get a chance to. It’s a very effective way of keeping everyone safe!”

I suddenly remembered an image from a therapy session I had a few years back, so I sat down (as myself) and told the audience about it. 

It was at the half-way point during my year of living at a meditation retreat centre. My parts were very activated and desperately wanting to get me out of the retreat centre! My therapist invited me to look through her shelves of random objects and select small figures to represent my various parts and place them in a sand box. 

There were around 15 protective parts, all facing outwards in the sandbox, leaving a little crying baby all alone in the corner, fending for herself. My protectors were all trying to resource the little one in different ways, but no-one was actually paying any attention to her.

Movement piece - Bringing my parts together (to gentle piano music)

I invited my parts, one at a time, to form a supportive circle around The Clown. Mary, Patricia, The Critic, the Childless Mother and I stood hand-in-hand around The Clown. We reached out for the audience’s hands and they joined us in forming in a circle of support around the clown.

The Clown looked up at everyone and made eye contact for the first time.

Text #5 Ho’oponopono prayer

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.”

Audience Feedback

The audience all loved my Inner Critic - he serves a really important function in my cast - the pressure release valve. There was appreciation for my personal stories - especially the one about the statue of Mary in the woods. They also appreciated the movement and wanted more of it. Someone said they felt like a friend to all my parts. I wrote out a new name label, ‘FRIEND’ and placed it near the audience, adding Friend to my cast.

My Afterthoughts

I really enjoyed the luxury of playing for a whole hour! An hour let me get beyond the initial nerves and really dive into the material. I loved being witnessed. I loved how chatty the audience was - the whole piece felt like one long conversation between me, the audience and my parts. I loved responding to the audience‘s curiosity and concerns. I loved how they helped me shape the material as it was emerging. I enjoyed discovering ways of weaving poetic text and IFS theory into the play.

I didn’t play my clarinet - my Clown wasn’t drawn to it in this particular performance!

I was beginning to enjoy the movement pieces, both ‘Getting Started’ and ‘Moving With Grief.’ But my Critic seemed to have a very low tolerance for those bits - Too exposing? A fear of losing the audience?

My Critic took up a lot of space in this show - egged on by the audience who were appreciating how hilarious he is (even though he doesn’t always understand why). He was delighted to get the spotlight, performing his ‘dancing swan,’ but he was baffled by the audience’s laughter. 

I didn’t get into the Childless Mother, Global Grief, I Want To Be/Do Good, Sad Clown exploration as much as I’d like to have, but The Critic and the audience were really steering the content! I liked this! It felt collaborative and the audience were getting the show they wanted to see.

The final image - of us all holding hands around The Clown - felt really significant - it’s clear that my Clown (like my inner child) needs a lot of compassionate holding to feel safe enough to play. 

IFS Theory

In an IFS session, we’ll stay with the protectors for as long as it takes to gain their trust. We’ll approach them with curiosity and compassion, helping them voice their stories and gradually finding out the reasons behind their protective strategies. 

IFS invites a two way encounter between the person and their parts - so as well as finding out about the parts, the parts will be finding out about the person - the person they are now and not the child that the protectors think they are still protecting. It can take some protectors ages to really get on board with believing this adult version of the person, and IFS therapists are trained to work at the pace of the protectors. 

We don’t go to the vulnerable, exiled parts until we’ve secured a strong relationship with the protectors. If we try to go to the exiles too early in the process, the protectors will just shut it down anyway. 

So looking back at this improvisation, it feels like The Critic was not ready to let my non-verbal dancing parts or my grieving parts be seen by the audience. It did not feel safe enough for him.

However, Mary’s presence and the audience’s kindness and curiosity seemed to make it safe enough to explore The Clown’s story a little bit. 

Conclusion

I was left with many questions: What would help my protectors feel safe enough to let my grieving parts be seen on stage? Do I even want to put my grief on the stage? What would be the benefits? Both for me and for audiences? Is my grief processed enough to be safe to play with in the public realm? If so, what are the conditions needed to make it safe enough?

Tune into the next edition to find out how these questions continued to work through me.

Glitter Heart #1: Live Art + Collaboration

Glitter Heart #3: I Fell In A Shame Hole

Find out more about Liz Clarke and company

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