The Visitor (Domestic Setting)

Hallucinatory Cabaret. Heavy Magic. 

Something that shifts between storytelling, spoken word, stand up, and song. 

I wear masks. I change accents. I let go. 

Most recently I’ve taken to wearing running shorts and a biker jacket combo. Maybe that will change. 

I used to make my own masks, when I lived in Belfast. Years ago.

I liked the stickiness, and obnoxious odour, of latex. 

I performed as a long-nosed clown. 

A kind of zombie disco priest.

He was my go to, after my father died. 

I think the character was my grief, and my father’s grief, made flesh.

In some performance documentation images, I see my father’s face in the mask that I’m wearing.

I performed in a good few performance festivals with that character: Fix Biennial of Performance Art Belfast, 2015, Experimentica Festival of Performance Art 2013/2014, Chapter Arts, Cardiff, Live Works Performance Act Award, Centrale Fies /VIAFARINI, Milan, 2014, MAC International Prize, MAC, Belfast 2014. 

He, I, it, we, got around.

I loved him. He made me feel strong. He made everything feel on fire around me.

He held my face.

Then he was gone.

After I became a daddy, I wanted to put all my love and creativity into being ‘Daddy’.

The mask was put away, into a box on the balcony.

The mask melted, that first Italian summer in Rome. 

I eeked out time to make art. Like pinching lint from the pocket of your favourite jacket.

I banged out performance to camera. Doing the doable.

Later, I set up a performance space, called School for Girls, in my living room. I could press a switch, and *buzz-hum* I had my own cabaret. It made things easier. No long set up. 

I live streamed when the kids were asleep. Especially during the pandemic. 

Sometimes I missed the luxurious days, before kids, flopping around in the studio. Hours spent staring at the wall. Cascading schemes. Hangover reveries. 

Now the walls are covered in children's drawings. 

There's so much more love in my life. I don't want to go back. 

I don’t miss the art world. 

Every now and again someone contacts me: ‘I hear you live in Rome now. I am in Belfast on Monday morning. Would you be interested in meeting me in Belfast for a coffee, to discuss a potential collaboration?’ 

Always entertaining, the Art World. 

In 2022, I was commissioned by Martin Carter, founder of The Lawrence Street Workshops, Belfast, to make The Visitor. 

I had spoken to him about wanting to make live art again, and Martin was driven to make that happen. We had worked together before. Back in the halcyon days. It was magical. 

The idea for this project was simple: domestic hallucinatory cabaret. By invitation only. Strangers opening their doors, inviting live art directly into their living room. 

With my two-month summer break from teaching, I spent July in rehearsals, enjoying the intense process of writing, and experimenting to find the voice and energy of each character. 

I walked around my studio, mic in hand, mask on head. 

Reciting, improvising, shaping the structure, understanding the beats. 

The vision? 

A clownish monkey performing surreal stand up comedy for the first part. A xenomorph delivering gentle and poetic spoken word as an interlude. A mournful and meditative visit to Kurt Cobain’s cabin in the afterlife as the final act. 

Then a song or two to wrap up. Easy. Right? 

By August, I was in Belfast, performing seven gigs in a single week. Each night followed the same rhythm: invite, arrive, perform. 

We’d document it with a Polaroid—one for me, one for you. 

Then, as the Polaroids slowly developed, we’d chat, unpacking the show. 

There was always tension at the start of the performance—me, a stranger, The Visitor, entering their homes in a hyper-realistic ape mask, a leather biker jacket, and bright blue satin running shorts. None of us knew what to expect, including me. 

After the first 'joke' landed, most people laughed. Tension was slowly released. 

I remember, one evening, during the post-performance chat, an audience member said 'For me, the whole piece was about depression. I don’t know why. But that’s what I kept feeling’. 

That has always stayed with me. I like that. I think it’s true. 

The project culminated in a one-off hallucinatory cabaret performance that was open for anyone to attend, at The Workshops, Lawrence Street. 

I performed in their showroom. It’s a big space. It was well attended. 

I felt gutted when it was all over. Belfast does that to me. 

Anger. Fortitude. Collectivity. You made me. 

We had a big afterparty in the old harbour master’s house, right by the river. 

A lot of singing and drinking. 

Not all of us are still around