Does anyone know who said this first? I’ll give you a clue – he was best known for Science, rather than Art, equations more specifically, and he was an undisputed genius.

You guessed it. None other than Albert Einstein. In fact, he said a lot of things in his time, that are worthy of repetition. I painted this particular quote on the inside of my office door at school. So why this one over all others? This quote acknowledges the fact that creativity can spread; that one person or group is able to pass on, share and inspire others, using only their own creativity. To me, that suggests something of a compulsive quality, with the potential to become habit-forming.

We often use the expression being bitten by the bug in relation to the after-effects of someone’s first foray into the performance world. I have certainly talked openly on here, about the bug bite I discovered as a three year old. I’m sure most of you will have experienced someone describing their love of the stage, or the rush that they get from performing, as addictive. Perhaps you have heard someone saying that nothing else creates a buzz quite like it. Client groups, using Drama as part of their addiction recovery programme, have reflected on the natural high they have felt during sessions being better than drugs.

Call me a cynic, but I would imagine there are plenty of people out there, who simply roll their eyes at such effusive descriptors. To many non-Artistic folk, it’s purely pretension that makes us gush so much about performing. Not to mention, the offence sometimes caused by using language that relates to drugs, or addiction; suggesting we are powerless to fight our passion. However, those are the same people who would use the phrase proper job, so I doubt they’re reading my blog.

Considering the concept of performance addiction, led me to ponder the genuine medicinal properties of creativity. Clearly I believe in the power of creative healing, given that the majority of my Freelance projects work on the basis of that. However, this was a slightly different train of thought.

You see, I have always known about the adrenalin from performing, and what it can do when it kicks in. I can still remember show week for Kindertransport, way back in 1998. I woke up, on the morning of closing night, with laryngitis; never ideal for a lead role in show week. I walked into the pharmacy at Moortown Corner (no doubt while mum was shopping in Peter Myers, as it was) and croaked my request for some VocalZones. The industrial strength lozenges certainly created an odd numbing sensation in my mouth, and their unmistakable taste made me feel like they must be medicinal, but I arrived at the Theatre still without voice.

Then something magical happened. Just as we were about to begin our warm-up, the adrenalin must have taken hold. I opened my mouth to explain that I would need to take it easy until curtain-up, expecting nothing more than a whisper to escape. But I spoke. Not even a hint of a croak or a wobble. No word of a lie, my voice was crystal clear and full of power from that moment, right up until our curtain call.

Then it was gone again. Almost immediately.

That experience is not an isolated one. Performing Therese Racquin (in a supporting role I never really liked) less than twenty-four hours prior to an urgent Crohn’s-related hospital admission, was actually a pivotal moment for me. It was on that evening, as the curtain went up and I stood in the wings, that I knew just how much I wanted to act. The agony I had been in, without respite, for the previous thirty hours dissolved. If the creative adrenalin could do that for me in a show I didn’t love, surely acting really was my raison d’etre!

It can’t be coincidental, that the only time I have managed to go a full year between appointments with my consultants, was the year I spent in Los Angeles. Again, the cynics would say that the 362 days of sunshine would have more to do with it than creativity. I, however, beg to differ. Of course, only seeing grey skies three times during the year was wonderful. As was the ease with which I could shop to accommodate my dietary restrictions, the scenery, the beaches and bla bla bla. But that really wasn’t all.

You see, in LA, I got up every morning, and my day’s purpose was to act. Every day, I celebrated my passion without justification. Every project presented new creative challenges, and I learnt from them all. And every single day, I felt the creative adrenalin coursing through me.

I could reel off so many other times when I have personally been carried through a seemingly impossible performance, by adrenalin alone. However, over the years, experience has taught me that creative adrenalin is not restricted to performers. It, and all its magic, is far more widely available than that. I am not sure why this has only dawned on me in quite such explicit terms at this time….

It possibly has something to do with my recent discovery, that even fiercely active Crohn’s Disease is no match for (*cue powerful music and suspensory pause, before booming voice resonates to say*) Creative Adrenalin. Hence my theory, that its healing powers are far more effective than any prescription drug on the market.

This week, I was involved in the Leeds City Varieties annual Summer Arts Festival, as I have been for the past three summers. I was booked to deliver two workshop sessions. The second of these was on Thursday. It was unfortunate that Wednesday afternoon had been a bad one, Crohn’s wise. That led on to Wednesday evening being an awful one, and Wednesday night, being positively horrific.

I won’t go into detail, as this blog isn’t about dealing with Crohn’s. I will simply say that, as the sun came up, I cancelled the other commitments I had booked for either side of the workshop. Anyone who knows me, knows just how bad things have to be, before I cancel anything. I packed my bag, morphine tucked safely away, and set off to meet my workshop support staff pre-session.

That was when the next uncharacteristic severity marker presented itself. I told my two ex-students, both fast becoming first-choice facilitators for all jobs I need support on, that they may need to step up their level of leadership, given how I was feeling. I took another dose of morphine, which didn’t even soften the edge of the pain, let alone remove it, and we headed to the Theatre.

It would be safe to assume that you know what’s coming. As the youngsters poured into the space, and we made a circle to kick off, I took a deep breath, and silently hoped I would be ok.

Of course I was ok. I was more than ok. The moment I began engaging with the group, the adrenalin swooped in, with its superhero cape, to carry me to the finish line. Everything but the buzz, disappeared. We had a fabulous session, each bouncing off each other’s energy, making use of Einstein’s theory, and instinctively passing on our creativity. All three of us naturally fed off the abundant zest of the participants, whose only complaint on feedback sheets, was that the workshop should have been longer. All in all, a success.

As the last person signed out, and we stepped out of the building and back onto the cobbled road, I said my thank yous – real, as well as silent – and walked in the direction of the train station.

Standing under the departures board, looking for my platforn instruction, I felt a stab in my innards, followed closely by a series of spasms, then a wave of sheer exhaustion. There it was. By the time I was seated on the train, I was in excruciating pain all over again. lasting long into the wee hours of Friday morning.

Of course I know that adrenalin alone can’t possibly remove the pain of something physical. That is why opening night of my GSAL swansong show, Lord of the Flies, was endured through gritted teeth and with stolen solitary moments to cry. The Crohn’s was winning that night, too. It didn’t triumph overall though. Why? Because the adrenalin helped me to escape its headlock sufficiently that I could appear supportive, present and energetic enough to keep the students motivated and firing on all cylinders, as well as painting a picture of professional positivity for our paying public.

I have always attributed my ability to push on through difficult periods, to the fighter instinct I inherited (and learnt) from my mum. I am still certain that accounts for a great deal of it. However, in the path I have chosen, there is also a saviour of sorts. Being creatively focused, and genuinely passionate about all my innovative projects and pursuits, means there is always space for Creative Adrenalin.

No matter what the philistines out there say, Creativity has worth that goes way beyond qualifications, points, accreditation and guaranteed wealth. Its benefits may not be measurable by data or statistics. The powers I refer to are, in some instances, only short-lived. Nobody likes the post-show blues or the creative come-down when a project ends. That does not, in any way, diminish their value. I strongly believe that creativity really can contribute to our well-being. Creativity, and the adrenalin that comes with it, can make a difference for anyone who is willing to embrace it.

So I will say it again: Creativity is better – not to mention safer – than any drug on the market!