HOME. A place. A feeling. An item. A memory. A person. A concept.
Undereaves Theatre’s HOME has sparked me to consider what fits within this broad, overarching word that provides the foundation for this hard-to-interpret piece. Even as I write this now, I am still not quite sure on the best way to respond to or capture the ambiguity of the show.
The word ‘home’ for many has an intangible meaning, as this filmed performance has made me realise. This is what the show made me think and feel. I hope in part it can capture the sporadic, polysemous nature of HOME by Undereaves Theatre.
HOME is where the heart is. It is cups of tea from the freshly-boiled kettle and the cups of undrunk coffee left on bedside tables.
HOME is the sky-blue wall masquerading as baby blue.
HOME is two ghosts crossing paths again. Not destined to be.
HOME is the company we keep, the friends we make, the fleeting lovers who leave a permanent mark.
HOME is building bricks, balancing bricks, and breaking bricks. It is giving bricks even though it risks the house falling down.
HOME is wherever you are and all the places you visit simultaneously.
HOME is the memories we make and the life we create together.
HOME is the fish tank. It is the yellow door. The singular potted plant in the study. The oak tree in our garden.
HOME is Birmingham, Lincoln, and Hednesford.
A house is just four walls and a roof, but HOME is much, much more.