Adventures of a Mask Workshop

I first heard about Steve Chapman when I was introduced to his amazing 2017 TEDx talk, Dancing with my inner critic.

I didn’t expect to cry when I watched it, but I did.  It felt unbelievably raw – cleansing, even – to watch someone else struggle so honestly with that person, especially after two years of on-off lockdowns and the creative paralysis they’d brought.

(You know who I mean.  That person who lives inside of you; who exists only to remind you that you aren’t, and never will be, good enough).

One of the most fascinating things Steve shared was that he’d made a mask of his inner critic, which he wore during his talk, so he could “think, talk, walk and feel” like him.

The surprising conclusion (for me, at least) was that masks can have superpowers.

And that’s what led me to a small studio in London last Friday, where Steve was running a day-long mask workshop.

Signing up had seemed like a fun and interesting idea… when I did it three months ago.  Now, as I made my way up the stairs, stomach churning like butter, I wondered what the hell I was letting myself in for.

It’s not like I’m comfortable with spontaneity, after all.  I wouldn’t say I was all that comfortable with fun, really, which I suppose is a weird thing to write about yourself, but hey… there it is.

Energised by coffee, I approached the table of masks – some of them made by Steve himself – with trepidation.  I knew I’d have to wear at least one of them during the workshop, but I had no idea what I’d be expected to say or do while I was wearing it.  That felt terrifying, particularly when the room also contained nine complete strangers.

(OK, masks may well have superpowers… but what if the person wearing them isn’t up to the job?)

Then the workshop started.

“This is a weird way to spend a day,” Steve said with a smile, and I felt my shoulders relax a tiny bit: it didn’t feel like we were in a really serious workshop, with key learnings and takeaways to remember, or else.

In fact, we were encouraged to leave all that behind, and focus only on the here and now (this is a component of gestalt therapy, ideas from which formed part of the workshop).

We did some improvisation exercises to warm up and build trust in our natural responses, which basically means we did things that made us all look completely ridiculous.

I would have recoiled in fear if I’d seen these exercises written down, which is partly why I haven’t written them down!  But as we performed them, there was a warm, completely genuine feeling of ‘we’re all in this together’ that I wasn’t expecting.  Instead of being scared of everybody laughing at you, you start to welcome it.  You even laugh back.  Then you start to feel as though if you can do this, you might be able to do anything.

Steve then asked us to pick a mask from the table, working with each of us to accessorise it (with a wig, or a hat, or maybe a scarf) to form a ‘character’ the mask-wearer would create and be, right there on the spot.

People seemed to embody their characters wholly; moving and speaking completely differently from who they’d been underneath the masks.  This was utterly mesmerising to watch, but I wasn’t sure if I’d be capable of achieving anywhere near the same.  That was until I approached the table and put on my chosen mask.

In a flash, I became ‘Tremendous Tom’ – a former kids’ TV star who had always wanted to be a ‘proper’ actor.

I became lots of other characters during the course of the day, and each one was a complete surprise.  I didn’t know who I was going to meet until I’d put on a mask and looked in the mirror, but once I did, I immediately knew who they were.

Weirdly, this didn’t mean I liked all of them, or that they were even nice people.  One character was a grumpy musician whose band-mates had sold him out; another was a heavily made-up ‘party girl’ whose mannerisms annoyed me.  I couldn’t wait to get rid of her!

Although we were, of course, exploring different parts of our own personalities through the masks, this point wasn’t laboured (no key learnings or takeaways, remember?)  We weren’t asked to judge or analyse anything we did, only to be present in the moment, which created a refreshing sense of both freedom and safety.

By the time we got on to performing completely improvised TED talks and soap operas in-character – yes, this happened: my own TED talk was about ‘my former life as a stripper’ – it seemed as though we’d each comfortably hit our stride.

Mask Class of April 2022

The jangling nerves that deafened the room at the start had vanished, and as we sat down to bring the workshop to a close, there were mutterings about using the day to look more closely at who we really are.

OK, so that is a takeaway of sorts.  But it’s an interesting and useful one that I felt I could use as I wanted: maybe starting to think about moods and feelings as ‘masks’, then gently questioning them as we had all gently questioned our characters.

The idea of this felt light and uplifting, and as I walked back to the train station I couldn’t help smiling.  I’d made a roomful of friends, after all… some real, and some part of me.

(If the idea of playing around with masks interests you too, Steve is running another workshop in June.  Don’t miss it).