Reflections on masks that reveal
by Steve Xoh

In September 2012 I spent a week training with the theatre director and pioneer of performance improvisation Keith Johnston. At the time I was immersed in writing an MSc dissertation about spontaneity and Keith’s book Impro had been a huge influence on my work. So when I found out that Keith was going to be in the UK, I jumped at the opportunity to learn from him in person. The week involved Keith leading us through a series of weird and wonderful improvisation exercises to help build more trust in our own spontaneous self expression. We did exercises such as taking as long as possible to complete a simple task. We danced on the visceral edge of rejection with people we didn’t know whilst others watched. And we tried to hold the attention of an large audience who were instructed to leave the room the second they felt bored. It was a challenging, exhilarating and joyous experience. Towards the end of the week Keith dragged out a battered old suitcase and said “I think we’ll do some masks” and proceeded to place some freaky looking papier mâché masks on the table. “Who would like to try?” he asked. As hands around the room went up every part of me said “No ******* way!”.

I’m not sure what it was that made me so hesitant to try it. Maybe I feared it might be something that could upset the delicate balance of my own mental stability. (I wrote about the fear of losing my mind in issue #5 of this Substack). But the more I saw people put on a mask, look in the mirror and be utterly transformed, the more I thought this was too good an opportunity to miss. So I did it and instantly regretted it! The experience only lasted around 30 seconds and I hated every moment of it. I felt like I had done it wrong. I didn’t know what was going on. I was confused and disoriented and my body was vibrating in a way that told me my nervous system was going haywire. And, I guess deep down, I had wanted to impress Keith and be his best ever mask student - but he just seemed indifferent about what had happened and moved on to work with the next person. As I sat back down in my chair, feeling flushed and maybe a little embarrassed, I vowed never to do masks again. But, a few months later, I found myself thinking about the experience and wondered what it would be like if I gave it another try.

I liken that initial mask experience to eating a spicy food for the first time. Initially we think “Aghhh! What am I doing? Never again!” But once the heat and discomforted has subsided, and enough time has passed, we might think “Hmmm….maybe it was actually quite nice….I’ll try that again sometime.” So, to cut a long story short, I spent the next two years training with as many different mask teachers as possible - Keiths’ protégé Steve Jarrand who helped me discover a whole new character living inside me called Mormo. Trestle Theatre Company who helped me understand how archetypes and traditional characters can be channelled with the use of masks. And Russell Dean of Strangeface Theatre who showed me the crazy, playful and fun side of mask work and later taught me how to make them.

In autumn 2015 I decided to combine all of the things I had learnt from my different teachers, along with my interests in spontaneity and gestalt psychology to run my own mask workshop for the first time. It was an intense, nerve-wracking but overall magical experience. One that allowed me to stand on the other side of the mirror and watch parts of other people suddenly spark into life and grow in such a way that it transformed them. It was like witnessing people give birth to different elements of their personality in a way that simultaneously surprised, confused and delighted them. I have run mask workshops regularly over the last 10 years and have seen people who say they can’t sing get up and perform an amazing song. I’ve seen people who say they can’t do public speaking stand in front of an audience and deliver a faultless, eloquent and engaging improvised talk. And I’ve seen everything in between - people who feel they are not assertive suddenly tap into an assertive part of themselves, people who tell me they have forgotten how to play and laugh suddenly finding themselves channeling an infectiously impish way of being and people that want to develop more compassion or stillness or quietness dropping into a state that had been in them all along, but had been forgotten or locked away behind a secret door.

We often think of masks as things that we hide behind, that grant us anonymity and hide who we really are. And whilst this is true, the techniques I’ve learned from Keith et al — and have synthesised into my own process over the years — have helped me realise that some masks actually do the opposite. Masks that reveal even more of who we are. Masks that grant us access to different ways of being and thinking. Masks that allow a fuller range of our personality to flow freely from our bodies — so powerfully and intensely that we can still access them long after the workshop has finished. Charlie Chaplin spoke eloquently of discovering the power of stepping into the mask of his famous tramp character: “He ignited all sorts of crazy ideas that I would never have dreamed of until I was dressed and made up as the tramp. I realised I would have to spend the rest of my life finding out about the creature.”

Back in 2004 I co-wrote a radio comedy show that I would perform with my fellow writers. Whether the performance was a recording, a live broadcast from a studio or a live show in front of an audience, I would always transform myself into my character Cornelius Chapman. Clothes, make-up, accessories etc. I was never quite sure why it felt important to do this, especially if nobody could see me other than my fellow performers and the sound engineer. But modifying myself to look, feel and move like Cornelius seemed to help me access parts of myself that were less self-conscious and less anxious about performing. Cornelius also seemed to grant me access to a very surreal and uncensored stream of spontaneous dialogue that became a compelling part of his character. (He would say and do things that Steve would never thing of saying or doing!)

Over time, Cornelius permeated my being and we sort of merged in a way that meant I felt more confident, more spontaneous and less anxious performing, even when i wasn’t dressed as him. It was like wearing the mask of this strange and eccentric old man eventually trained my body and nervous system to find ways of accessing these parts when I was simply being Steve. I have since experimented with other masks in this way. I created a huge mask of a character called Len to help me feel less self-conscious about moving and dancing. Len went on to lead a dance class in a huge tent at a festival, something Steve would never dream of doing. (You can watch Len Dance here.) A mysterious and fluffy hat wearing guy called Huevos Rancheros became my alter-ego for recording and sharing my music - something Steve felt too self-conscious to do. And just like it did with Cornelius, the more I inhabited these characters, the more comfortable the embodied experiences became and I needed them less to access those ways of being. I like to think of these masks as stabilisers for my personality - allowing me to try something new and scary and, once I find my own balance, they can be removed.