We sat down for an exclusive interview with Paper People – an ensemble of three artists based in West Yorkshire, Manchester and London. Their process of creating the work usually starts by establishing a relationship – whether this is performer to performer or performer to an object or space. The Opposite of Distance is their 6th piece of work.
This show runs is at Playhouse East on Saturday 21st Feb 2026 at 6:45pm. Tickets here
The Opposite of Distance returns after a six-year hiatus and openly asks how a company comes back to a theatre landscape that may have forgotten them. As a maker in your 30s, what did that return feel like—emotionally and practically—and how did it shape the work we see on stage?
It was a weird feeling. Some of us had kept working on the fringes of theatre and never really lost touch with visiting a lot but the larger issue was that none of us were doing the making and performing which is where our hearts were. The nicest surprise was getting back into a room together that felt like meeting up with an ex you’d not seen in years except that once we started up it was like we had never left the room – the creating was the easy part, clearly a lot of built-up inspirations came pouring out and hours and hours worth of material was knocking about. The issue became the practicality and more of the question ‘okay, we have this thing and we made something why does everything seem harder to cross that barrier from my mates coming into a room to an audience of some sort?’. The search for opportunities is always happening but this seems way fewer and far between that even barely existed when we last made work. Being in our 30s and returning here though – as an active choice for us as artists – i think speaks more to the resilience of who we became and making work that reflects who we are individually, as a group, and war our inspirations on our sleeve making work we are actually passionate about as opposed to 10 years ago, where we had this rush to remain relevant and on the pulse of current events. Now, this is way more freeing and an honest joy to perform.
The piece begins as a kind of geology lesson before evolving into something deeply personal and meta-theatrical. What drew you to geological formations as a metaphor for artistic collaboration, time, and the slow, fragile process of growing together?
2/3rd of the company moved to the countryside and found nature and beauty in these things that form over such a long time. And I guess the longer as theatre makers spend outside of the heart of the work, and let’s face it; being in your 30s and avoiding the full mid-life crisis, become introspective and reflective of the pressures of time. We’re not trying to say our lives are over at this stage, but we just feel still too late to the game to continue being an emerging company competing with other (much younger) radical companies making great work. So we ask ourselves actually how can we use this difference as a catalyst, sure still emerging but also we have a maturity and experience to be true-er to ourselves. Acknowledge and use this time that we’re deeply reflective in and represent this as a through line for the performance – we’re not in a rush so lets collectively sit here and just take a bit of time to breathe in this space and highlight this process as a thing of interest and beauty.
Much of the show seems to sit under a microscope—examining the act of making theatre itself, particularly in a “moneyless” or underfunded landscape. What keeps drawing you back to the stage despite the precarity, exhaustion and repeated “deaths” the work playfully references?
In short – we have a passion for it. As on the nose as it may seem, this form of creative expression needs theatre (and in particular an audience to share it with). When we stopped working 6 years ago it felt like there was little hope in a future career in this sector and honestly, we thing it’s only gotten worse. However, the power of the energy that can sit in a room between us and an audience is vital for us creatively. It’s not exactly an act of resistance so to speak, but we keep making, others keep making, we all still go see, and that’s got to count for something still which keeps us going – even if building by building and funding stream by funding stream gets stripped down and killed off there’s still a cry for those of us who are here to make something happen and if we can’t do that together what do we have?
Physical endurance, repetition, and bodies under strain are central to the performance—dragging, stacking, cocooning, rebuilding. How does embodied physical work allow you to say things about ageing, grief and resilience that text alone could not?
We’re fascinated with this idea of how, as a physical theatre company, our bodies have changed over this time. It’s harder to see when you’re still around and working consistently with each other but coming back together after some time we feel the difference in energy using our embodied approach. It’s less that were getting old and our bodies can’t do what they used too (although, this is also true for some of it for sure), but more so how we can bring further learning forwards and evolve the physicality in new and more interesting ways for us. Can we still do what we used to creatively and physically? Yes but where’s the next level in that challenge? How does our practise continue to evolve? These are closer to what drives us to keep going. Especially considering without the text – these thoughts, feelings and physicality become a language human to human, for everyone to read without having to over explain ourselves.
The Opposite of Distance is heavily influenced by contemporary European theatre practices and resists a traditional narrative arc in favour of moments and images. How do you balance accessibility for audiences with a commitment to experimental form?
I think for us it’s less about balancing the accessibility, but more about ensuring that what we are choosing to represent can easily be read. Either you see this scene about human connection from person to person trying desperately to reach each other across the entirety of the space that expresses a need for us to have each other – or it’s an embodiment of how stalagmites are formed and find each other to become stronger – or its two people forcing thoughts to slow down – or any other interpretation of feeling you may get. For us we try as much as possible to speak in something universally understood by anyone in the room and sure, we have our reasons for the creative choices we have made and a purpose and a drive, but there’s no ‘correct’ answer. We give clues and signals towards what we’re trying to say but are constantly exploring and subverting these expectations to keep the work interesting, audiences not being able to tell what’s coming next, but never too seriously – this is experimental sure, but not just for those who know theatre. You think that bit was silly and want to laugh? Please do.
At its heart, the show presents three friends navigating time, change and shared history. What do you hope audiences—particularly other emerging theatre-makers—take away from witnessing that relationship unfold live on stage?
This was the original drive of getting back together: we missed each other and we missed this. So it’s no wonder that that ended up being at the heart of what was emerging when we were creating material – throwing everything at the wall and obviously the strongest thing that stuck was our actual relationship with each other. As we continue digging in this way it progresses into thoughts and feelings about actually, how difficult it is to navigate opportunities and take risks with the work anymore – but commercial safety also really doesn’t excite us. What we want really is to hold a space for other makers and artists in general – or in fact anyone who finds themselves stuck in frustration at the state of things – and to acknowledge that we are here, and you are here too, so lets collectively scream into the void together shall we?