There is something very special about small scale experiences.

After the show, someone DM’d this to me:

“What really excited me about the Shop was seeing how small-scale immersive work can combine that kind of atmospheric language with a more text-led theatrical form and still create the magic. It really worked and sparked a lot of thoughts for me.”

We are trained to believe that great theatre only exists in large spectacles of mainstream productions. But I do not think that is always true. Sometimes the smallest spaces can leave the deepest mark. Let’s face it, we all crave one to one experiences anyway.

After stepping away from Punchdrunk for a while, I realised I wanted to explore immersion differently. I wanted to return to something more intimate, more fragile, more unexpected. At the same time, because I write, I became interested in creating theatrical experiences where text guides the audience like a conductor, leading people carefully through a living story. So I started searching for worlds where I could combine both.

Over the years, immersive theatre has often become associated with scale. Bigger worlds, larger audiences, more spectacle. Technology seems to be associated with the word “immersive” more than human connection. So I found myself longing for the opposite. Smaller rooms. Hidden corners. Spaces that feel discovered rather than advertised. I think there is something deeply exciting about finding a place that only a few people know exists, hidden in that little corner, where you do not even notice it as you walk by.

Yesterday, we had a ‘customer’ from Australia who was simply passing by, saw a sign, noticed that strange sign outside, and decided to come in. That moment meant so much to me. This was made for her! and yes, this place is odd, strange, unexpected, but beyond it exists another world. A quiet place for people willing to be touched, interested in the delicate, sensitive encounters, stories of change and power, games, and human connection.

While working on The Burnt City, I remember walking into one particular room and telling Felix (Punchdrunk’s Director), “One day I want to make a show in here. Just in this room.” It was one of those cute rooms at PD. Full of things from second-hand shops, broken objects, and full of a sense of the past. He laughed because it sounded absurd at the time. I am absurd anyways. And all my ideas do not make sense anyways. But years later… Here we are in the Shop. A precarious door, paint falling apart, as if time itself had left its marks on the walls.