Stepping Down: Ellison Tan and Myra Loke

It’s the first day of work back at The Finger Players, also the first day of work for the next Artistic Director, Oliver Chong. This is the second cycle of a rotating artistic director system that we have put in place since 2019. Oliver’s onboarding overlaps with Myra’s and my exit, and we wanted to document our journey since 2019.

Before we begin, we would like to state that we are highly aware of the anomaly of our predicament.

In 2019, we became in Singapore theatre history, the youngest Co-Artistic Directors of a theatre company with a much bigger reputation, operating budget and legacy that the two of us can shoulder. On the financial end, we were in the red. On the personnel end, full-time salaried members of the company (both artistic and managerial) were off the payroll, with some coming together to form what would become the core team.

It has been four years since we were presented with this role in 2019, and while four years isn’t very long, we still wanted to document this exit on our own terms.

This exit feature will include: a conversation between Myra and myself over the duration of three months, from today until the end of our term – 30 March 2023, and a series of 10 images that we feel are indicative of all the trials, tribulations and traumas of our time as Co-Artistic Directors of The Finger Players. 

My first question to Myra would be, what were some of the memorable advice you got from mentors and friends when you told them about the possibility of you taking on this job, and do you think that advice has served you till now? 

Our late Chinese hand puppet shifu, Li Yi Hsien, kept reminding me about how I need to take care of my hands, because we need our hands to work.” 阿诗，你要继续用功，照顾你的手，要有力。“ (Translation: Ah Shi––how he addresses Myra, an endearing substitute for her Chinese name, Li Shi––you have to continue to work hard, and take care of your hands, they need to be strong.) He was referring to me in training, because my hands are too small for the hand puppets but while its small, as long as there is strength.

I think it applies to what we are doing, very much. 

There are also a lot of friends and loved ones who would reply me earnestly when I ask them questions about policies, programmes market research, and advice in general, while I gradually became a “bad texter” to them because I don’t reply them about meeting up etc. (Sorry, this response has became not about advice but what keeps me going haha) 

I went to look back at our WhatsApp chats from 2019, and marvelled at how our relationship has evolved, in a way that makes me more sad than happy at the inevitability of it all. In 2019 I was texting you with emojis and smiley faces, and a lot of check-ins. Our messages now are mostly about work, about updating each other on deadlines / budgets. 

I don’t have a memory like yours in that I am hardwired to remember unpleasant things (i.e the ones that affect me negatively) much better than the ones that move me, especially pertaining to this. I vaguely remember a few people saying something along the lines of this opportunity being a great experience, and that I will learn a lot.

I have learnt a lot, but I don’t know if what I’ve learnt are things that I necessarily want to learn. I’ll give an example – a friend wanted to produce her own show at the end of this year, and came to me for advice. I voiced my concerns from a producer’s POV, and offered various ways of staging the show in a way that would appeal to funders / sponsors / commissioners. One day she met a venue to request for a venue sponsorship, and over dinner that same night she told me she was very moved by how the venue’s Director was asking questions about her artistic intention, because to him, the motivation to embark on an artistic work supersedes everything else. And I realise I might have lost that – the empathy and curiosity to understand a fellow artist’s artistic desire.

But back to what you’re asking, I had to go back to my WhatsApp chats to look for advice from my mentors.

I know some were appalled that I had taken this on, some still feel guilty that I’ve had to shoulder this, and some said “Fuck them. Be kind to everyone.” I don’t have the gumption to “fuck them”, so I’ve only taken half of this advice on, and tried my utmost best to be kind to everyone, but it also became a vicious cycle because kindness is a currency that diminishes, and oftentimes I felt the need to reduce myself so as not to take it out on other people. 

There is a feeling that I know I will miss, but it can still be replicated even after our co-tenure, which is this cloud-like softness that descends upon us when some of us are at TFP together late at night, working and dreaming. There is a rhythm and ease, a sense of quiet content and acknowledgement that deep down in our hearts, we know we all believe in the same thing.

But I think I wouldn’t consider all these as loss, because I see these few years as teaching me to be less selfish. How to be a better person, how to be a better player in the industry. The only thing that I can’t do is to be a better daughter to my mother, to be a better granddaughter to my grandmother, to be a better supporter to my friends, family and loved ones. And so I’m ever so thankful for their patience with me, while I discover my own journey as an artist, as a director, as an artistic director.  

I can’t put what I have gained into words (hahahaha once again don’t box me). 

I don’t know how to. 

It’s like something so huge and so grand, that I don’t know how to dissect and carry it with me. 

(super abrupt change of topic because that’s how I think hahahaha)

I don’t know what  * I * would have became, but I think we’d have continued building The Wanderlings (for the uninitiated, Myra and myself formed a collective called The Wanderlings, and we shamelessly branded ourselves as the first collective in Singapore to do baby theatre. It’s not untrue, but it is still quite shameless). 

But going back to the “could-haves and would-haves”, I have come to realise that it is essentially, a manifestation of the ego, or a manifestation of my ego. It is truly such an unhealthy belief in my self-importance. When I first stepped into this role, I mourned the acting roles that I assumed I would have to miss out on. I mourned all these opportunities that frankly might never have been, when in fact, being on payroll during the pandemic helped me achieve financial stability. I don’t remember when I stopped being a victim of my ego, but I stopped mourning these could-haves and would-haves.

Of course I’m not blameless, there are times when I clench my fists and stuff my rage inwards. 

I do remember 2019 starting off really well for me as a freelancer, I had regular teaching gigs, a few exciting productions lined up where I was a performer, and a project under The Wanderlings that we really believed in. It’s a dream for a freelancer to have this at the start of the year, because so many of us start off the year with anxiety. But then came the time of having to step into a leadership role, and I remember so many sleepless nights that came with it, that mostly had to do with how it was no longer the self that was being put up for judgment, but the company. I remember rehearsing so many pitches / meetings with you / in my head, and went through so many seemingly casual conversations that I had with stakeholders that may/may not have went south because I wasn’t exacting / strategic enough with my words. It was very humbling to realise that years of being an actor taught me little about communicating.