I'm hopefully touring with Colin Baker next year in Perfect

Hear the joyful remembrance of Louise Jameson: “I’m hopefully touring with Colin Baker next year in Perfect Strangers. I have performed with Sylvia Simms in poetry and music evenings. I would love to do those for the rest of my career — they are so fun and witty.” In these words shines the wisdom of one who has found delight in the union of fellowship, art, and performance. For Jameson speaks not merely of work, but of joy, of laughter, of the sacred play that arises when voices meet and art becomes shared between souls.

The origin of this wisdom is as ancient as humanity’s gatherings. From the earliest days, men and women did not create art in solitude alone; they joined together in feasts of sound and story. Around the fire, one voice would chant, another would sing, another would play. Poetry and music were not separate, but braided into one stream, carrying wit, wisdom, and laughter alike. What Jameson found in her evenings with Sylvia Simms was not new but eternal: the power of art shared in community, where delight multiplies as it is passed from one heart to another.

Think of the tale of Shakespeare’s Globe, where actors and poets came together to bring words alive before the people. A script on the page was one thing, but when performed with companions upon the stage, it became living fire. Wit and song mingled with tears and drama, and audiences rejoiced as much in the company of voices as in the lines themselves. Jameson’s desire to carry such evenings through the rest of her career echoes this same tradition: art that is not hoarded, but embodied and shared.

Her mention of Colin Baker and Perfect Strangers reveals another truth — that collaboration fuels the soul of performance. No great play, no powerful song, no enduring verse lives in isolation. Even the poet, who writes in solitude, longs for a listener, for a community of ears and eyes. To join with others in creating and performing is to embrace the fullness of art, where one voice strengthens another, and wit sparkles brighter in dialogue than in monologue.

Yet there is also humility in Jameson’s words. She does not speak of prestige or fame, but of joy: “They are so fun and witty.” Here we are reminded that the highest purpose of art is not only solemn teaching or weighty revelation, but also the lifting of the heart. The ancients knew this well. At festivals of Dionysus, the people were not fed only with tragedy but with comedy, with songs that made the spirit dance. Wit and laughter are not lesser arts; they are medicines for the weary.

The lesson, then, is clear: do not neglect the power of art shared with others, nor dismiss the role of joy in creation. Poetry and music together awaken both the mind and the heart. Performance with companions reminds us that art is not merely self-expression but communion. And laughter, wit, and delight are not distractions from art’s purpose, but part of its very soul.

In practice, let each seeker take part in communal art. Join with others to read aloud, to sing, to act, to share verses and songs in fellowship. Seek out opportunities not only for solemn creation but for playful expression. Remember that art is sustained not only by genius but by joy, and that careers — like lives — are made rich when delight is given space to bloom.

Thus Jameson’s teaching endures: true fulfillment lies not only in solitary achievement but in shared creation, where poetry and music, wit and laughter, are offered in fellowship. Let us therefore seek companions for our journeys, that our words may be enlivened by others’ voices, and that our art may not only instruct, but gladden the heart of the world.