Why Difficult Conversations Matter in Making Good Work

I’ve been busy this past month, so my regular blog posts have taken a bit of a hit, but I’m back on track today. It’s good to be speaking with you again.

Recently I’ve been working with various artists and companies, often sitting in the room while projects are being shaped and prepared for audiences to see for the first time. One partner recently gave me the rather lovely title of “project eyes and ears.” I quite like that. It more or less describes what it says on the tin.

But a catchy title is one thing. The real question is: how do you frame the responses you may have in a way that is useful, constructive and fair? Because, ultimately, this is about the pursuit of quality. What makes something good? What makes something ready? And perhaps most uncomfortable of all – how do we say when something isn’t quite there yet, even if it’s being presented as though it is?

If you work as a programmer, producer or artistic lead, you’ll recognise that moment. Someone has shared a piece of work with you. They care deeply about it. You care about them. But your role also carries a responsibility to audiences, partners and the wider theatre ecology. That’s when what a respected colleague at a Manchester venue calls ‘courageous conversations’ become necessary. These are the conversations where stakes can feel high, opinions differ and emotions – if not handled well – can run close to the surface.

The first step, I think, is simply acknowledging the fear. Most of us worry about damaging relationships, knocking someone’s confidence or being seen as negative. But if we genuinely want the best work to reach audiences, we also have a professional responsibility to respond honestly.

A useful starting point is consent. Before launching into feedback, it helps to ask whether the artist is actually ready for that conversation. Timing matters. Sometimes people need space before they can really hear anything constructive. Even when you’ve been formally invited into the room to play this role, it isn’t always straightforward.

It also helps to separate personal taste from professional judgement. As makers, producers or programmers of work for TYA, we bring experience of audiences, touring realities and artistic context. That doesn’t mean our views are universally ‘right’, but they are informed and valid. Being clear about what we are qualified to comment on – and what sits outside our expertise – keeps the conversation grounded.

Structure helps too. I often start with specific observations about moments that landed well or had impact. From there the dynamic shifts slightly: rather than the room diagnosing problems, the conversation opens up by asking the creative team what they want to interrogate further.

Often this happens through neutral questions. Instead of embedding an opinion, the question might be: What guided the choices you made in that moment? or What were you hoping the audience might take away from that scene? Only after that comes opinion sharing – and even then, it’s useful to ask permission. Something like: 'I have a thought about the linear structure in relation to character arc. Would it be useful to hear it now?' They can say yes… or not yet. What this recognises is that feedback isn’t a verdict. It’s a dialogue. None of this removes the need for honesty. But it does remind us that honesty works best when paired with care.

Ultimately, conversations about quality aren’t about proving who is right. They’re about asking a shared question: simply, how can this work become the best version of itself for the people who will experience it? And that question, however uncomfortable it may sometimes feel, is part of the responsibility of making theatre together.

So, if you ever need someone to have that conversation with you – or would welcome some ‘eyes and ears’ while developing work and preparing it for audiences – please do feel free to get in touch. I’d love to hear from you.

Until next time.