Fringe is not for the weak of heart and today, we let producer and performing artist Julia VanderVeen write about the harsh realities of putting on a show in Edinburgh…

For self-producing performing artists, Edinburgh is on the bucket list, it’s a marathon, it’s the pinnacle.

As Artist Services emailed me, “the Fringe is an open-access festival, which means that anyone is welcome to participate and include their show in the Fringe programme.”

This statement seemed laughable months ago and is even more so now. Anyone can participate? Sure. Anyone who has access or the ability to raise at least £10,000 and the flexibility to either work remotely or take a month off from work can participate. There is also the work and politics of courting venues, and the hours upon hours of admin getting ready for the big plunge, and this is not even mentioning the work of getting the show ready. And do we do it? F*** yes, we do it. We do it willingly, happily, excitedly. We are artists. Working hard and problem-solving have been learned and cultivated until they are second nature to us. We want to do it. We can’t wait to do it. We’re thrilled to do it. We do it for the dream. The dream of Edinburgh. 

But as is the case for many dreams, as beautiful and vital as dreams may be, the reality is often much starker than what we expect. 

It’s not just the financial expense of being here that is so challenging. It’s also the mental toll it takes: being away from home for a month, selling yourself to patrons day in and out, staying up nights worrying that you are getting sick, and being stuck in a reality that feels like real life social media posts. All around us from the moment we leave home it seems everyone is doing better than we are, all we see are the very best things that are happening to others. The four stars, the five stars, the amazing reviews. What we’re not seeing is the other artists’ loneliness, their doubts, tears, the empty rooms, the cancelled shows. I have received one review so far, I was delighted to be awarded five stars and a glowing write up, but even the wins are tough to celebrate as you’re constantly under pressure to get another shiny thing.

Social interactions can be exhausting and strained. How much should we reveal to each other? This is hard whether it’s going well or not, which only adds to our feelings of isolation. Who can we be completely honest with? Who can we celebrate with? I’ve had a handful of locals ask me, “how are you going?” with obvious concern on their faces. Fringe is not for the weak of heart.

And then we must shrug off all the concern about whether the money and time and stress was worth it and forget the rejection we’ve had flyering for our shows that many of us have spent years crafting and do the thing that we came here to do, which is to play our show. It’s the very purpose of why we’re here: to play.

To forget the quick load in of props you flew overseas and the borrowed set you fixed 15 minutes before the show. To get your head on straight and re-find the joy in storytelling or making an audience laugh in a dark room. To forget the stress, the worry, the physical and emotional pains, and just be completely present and alive. I would say it is a challenge even for the most seasoned performer.

And is it fun? Fuck yes. And would I do it again? Yes again. I have a dream. And I’m stubborn AF.

Come along to see ‘My Grandmother’s Eyepatch‘ ‘at ZOO Playground- Playground 1 – at 12.45pm everyday apart from the 19th at the Fringe