The building of a human-sized nest tucked into a precious corner of green space ties together a legacy of home-building, comfort-seeking, and welcoming the inevitability of Glaswegian rain.

 

In grand terms? This performance spins domestic meaning out of branches and duration and estrangement, all while challenging the capitalist gentrification of nature into a space of human comfort.
In reality? A very large nest will be created and sat in by a performer who watched far too many live-streamed bird feeders over lockdown.

Fledgling is a cry for a time in which one would be allowed to scamper into their back garden, cast off their societal, and set to work on some grand, childish caper. Making potions with berries and leaves, climbing trees to wage Tolkien-esque wars, splashing through brooks and scraping your knees. Or building nests!

Performed in an attempt to feel at home an ocean away from one’s roots, to feel private in an increasingly publicized world, and to poke fun at the government’s well intended mental health initiative of “go outside,” Fledgling appears provocative. It is, however, merely intended as an attempt to feel comfortable again. Come out of your rented rooms, your bank-borrowed flats, your mind-numbing jobs, and join as we make a charming, drafty little space for ourselves in this world! You are encouraged to bring something comfortable to sit on, or to prepare for a wee bit of standing, who knows how long building a nest might take!

This performance is a complex pas-de-trois between a human, wood, and the weather. No imposition will be made that this nest will be “good,” no sticks will be uprooted in an attempt for greatness. Rather, a non-avian will intreat you and the forest alike with a very genuine show, learning as she goes. As nest making is a very serious matter, quiet is preferred… but if you see a lovely stick, please do pipe up!