The Full Circle of Mentorship

During the run of COOKED, one of my favourite things happened in the foyer after the show.

I’d be speaking to someone I’d invited from my industry network, grab one of the younger women from the production and say: “Come here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

And every time I was able to make that happen, I felt honoured — because I was reminded of all the people who had done exactly that for me.

People who let me into rooms before I really knew what I was doing. Who read scripts, answered calls, directed my work, shared opportunities, made introductions and put my name forward before I had much of a track record.

Somewhere along the way, I’d become one of the people who could do a little of that for somebody else.

And it made me realise just how beautifully circular mentorship can be.

During my Masters, I had separate supervisors for writing and acting. Both relationships continued long after my degree ended: one went on to dramaturg my work, while the other directed my first two plays.

At the time, I knew I was lucky. I understand how lucky much more clearly now.

Those early productions made very little money — certainly not enough to properly pay an experienced director. And yet she gave me her time anyway.

Now that I know exactly how much work goes into directing a production, I understand what she was really giving me. Time. Labour. Experience. Belief.
And the chance to get a few runs on the board.

Later, through a formal mentorship program at NIDA, I was paired with a highly experienced actor, writer and director who let me shadow her work, brought me onto one of her productions and became someone I could call when I was navigating agents or simply didn’t know what to do next.

Another visiting teacher influenced me so strongly that, a few years later, I asked her to direct my work— and took the show all the way to New York to make it happen.

None of these relationships looked exactly the same. Some were formal. Some grew out of teaching. Some involved substantial unpaid creative work. Others were a conversation, an introduction or an invitation to watch.

But underneath them was the same generosity: someone made a little room for me.

Which brings me back to COOKED.

I came on as director, but my involvement extended beyond the rehearsal room. I supported detailed development on the script, shared producing advice and invited people from my own industry network to see the work.

I didn’t take on the project expecting a fee. The team later very generously tried to include me in the profit share, but I declined.

Not because I think artists should work for free — absolutely not – but because, for this particular project, I was in a position to offer some of my time, experience and connections in much the same way others once offered theirs to me.

And those foyer moments? Tiny, perhaps. But I know what moments like that have meant in my own career.

So being able to turn to one of these talented young women and say, “Come here. I want you to meet someone,” felt significant.

I think I’m only now beginning to understand the value of what mentors gave me.

Because now, occasionally, I get to give a little of it back.

A little thank you

There are so many people who have mentored, taught, backed, advised or opened doors for me over the years. You know who you are — but just in case you don’t, let me name a few:

Janys Hayes, Catherine Fargher, Helen Dallimore, Bethany Caputo, Linda Nicholls-Gidley, Sarah Odillo Maher, Kale Gaul, Kristine Landon-Smith, Amelia Ryan, Mary-Anne Vale, Raquel Benassey, Augusta Supple, Tracey Spicer, Marianne Arenas, Monica Davidson, Ineke Walker, Sandy Wagner, Les Chantery, Simon Burke, Andrew Ross, Robert Bertram and Philip Quast.

Thank you for your time. For answering my questions. For showing up to my work. For teaching me, introducing me, endorsing me and, at different points along the way, taking a chance on me.