fringe feelings

The grass squelches under my feet and the coldness penetrates my skin.

I move my 'picnic towel' back into the sunshine, making the most of the Scottish rays.

The local rugby team training to the left of me, the friends catching up over wine on the right;

festival creativeness all around me... I feel like I am an observer of something special.

The people are bold and committed to their work,

the fear of embarrassment or failure non-existant.

I envy them, yet am so excited for their accomplishment.

They are doing it: creating, producing, writing, acting, volunteering...

regardless, they are not observing.

They are participating.

This amazing opportunity has been grasped,

artists who are excited about doing what they love.

So I watch this year, immerse myself in the way the festival works without being a tourist at all.

I don't visit the Lochness or Highlands, let alone explore the castle.

I watch the actors; admiring their strength and talent.

I scout out the venues; exploring what would work to my advantage.

I observe the locals; testing what would interest or offend them.

I look at the writers; and draw on their bravery and composure.

I sympathise with the directors; their projects on the line to be judged.

This year, I observe and am in awe.

Next year, I will produce, act, direct, write or volunteer in it.

I will empathise and wait with anxious breath for reviews of something I am part of.

No longer an observer, but an artist who has faith.

One who has thrown caution to the wind.