My first memory of Peter: early 1990, sitting with him in his office at the Bouffes du Nord in Paris, as he narrated the story of The Tempest and described Miranda’s character to me. More than what he said, I was struck by his luminous presence, his piercing blue eyes and his liveliness. It was the beginning of a new and grand adventure for my 14-year-old self. He opened the doors of a brave new world to me, full of the most wondrous people, spaces and stories.
A few months later, we had the first The Tempest workshop, with the chosen troupe of mixed ethnicities. Never once touching the script or the story, for a week we spent the entire day doing physical and vocal practices, and various types of games. We listened to each other’s stories and languages, we sang and danced together, we put up short scenes in imagined languages or without words. It was a space of infinite possibility, of exploration and experimentation, of no inhibition or judgement, of playfulness, and always of utter focus.
Read | The hidden afterlife of epics: Karthika Naïr on Peter Brook and the adaptations of the ‘Mahabharata’
