My first time ... at the Maxim Theatre

A little awkward and slightly overwhelmed by the many layers of clothing one wraps oneself in on such an icy Friday evening in December, I weave my way through the people to the other side of the entrance hall to the bar. There is a friendly woman standing behind it. I hope that she will tell me something about the principle of the open mic, because I have never been to one. But it's not long before I hear myself blurting out that I'm going to write an article about this event. How arrogant was that?! I don't want special treatment. And what if this article turns out to be lousy? They'll want to read it when it's done. But I see eyes light up behind the counter. She calls two other colleagues over and I have to chew up my sentences again. In the course of the conversation I learn that this is the first time they have organised an open mic. A side note that immediately calms me down a bit. Because it seems as if the excitement is divided.

One of the organisers asks me with a matter-of-factness if I would like to perform something. As if shot out of a pistol, I say: "No, well, I can't do anything! At this point, however, I don't realise that such an open space, where everyone can contribute, has been part of the Maxim Theatre's DNA since the beginning in 2006. I also don't yet understand that this is not a theatre in the classical sense, but rather a place of encounter.

Soon, everyone is asked to make their way down the stairs to the basement of the former factory hall. There, you’ll find the stage, which is characterised by a large Persian rug and a cosy string of fairy lights running all the way round it. When it all kicks off, I can only marvel at the courage of the people who dare to step onto the carpet and behind the microphone. Whilst one person performs a poetry slam, another performs an expressive belly dance or sings Gnarls Barkley’s ‘Crazy’ a cappella. Have they ever thought, ‘I can’t do anything at all’? If so, they have overcome their fear. This touches me deeply, because art and creativity do, after all, have a vulnerable side. To put this creative vulnerability on display like this is like baring oneself in front of an audience. But within these walls, I feel a deep sense of trust and that this vulnerability is in safe hands here. It is an open yet sheltered space where guests are allowed to become artists.

Once the performances are over, I speak again with one of the three organisers. I thank her for the inspiring evening and even hear myself say: “Perhaps next time I’ll be standing up there on the carpet too.” On the way home, I think about what my talents actually are and whether they’re even enough for the Persian carpet. But the fact is: the intimate space at the Maxim Theatre makes you want to open up, get involved and show your vulnerable side. So I can share this article with the Maxim Theatre team with a clear conscience. Even if it’s absolutely rubbish.