You’re probably here to learn a little about me, so I guess I should say … give me the job!
 
Here are some photos of me. I look like a combo of Lady Gaga, Dolly Parton fan art, and the lead singer of Spinal Tap. 
 
Upon meeting me people remark “you’re so short!” and I think this is because I am bigger every other way possible — bold clothes, curly hair, a booming laugh, and missing teeth. My old friends call me Stokely, my new friends call me Star, my family calls me Belly, and my partner never calls me back. 
 
I work with theatre and film from my home in Pōneke. These two artforms are like difficult former lovers. They like to ignore each other, but they are alike. I began in the theatre and I struggle to admit this because it is so sincere and often embarrassing. (Playtime for adults? yuck). But there is something about proximity to people that I can’t get enough of. I am all about it. If you ask me about a place I’ve visited, I’m much more likely to tell you about the bartender I met than the landscape. I love to make addictive processes — sets where people feel comfort and ownership; rehearsal rooms where we need time outs from laughing.
 
People often describe me as childish — they love to dress it up with words like silly, fun, playful, but I know what they mean. I like to make people laugh. I feel a deep power in this. We’ve put so many men front and centre in comedy, we’ve forgotten laughter is the divine feminine. When witches stand around a cauldron they cackle. They know laughter is the most powerful spell you can cast.
 
I’ve lived in Wellington my entire life. I’ve been told that it is a dying city. I’m still awestruck that on a particularly awful day I find the city as inspiring as I do; it still feels like the world headquarters of the verb.
 
I’m willing to move for the job though.