After four decades spanning major stages, film, and television serials such as El cor de la ciutat, Martí Peraferrer has found his creative model in intimacy and independence. During the lockdown, he transformed his living room into a theatre, and a decision born out of mere survival has ultimately become a way of life and an approach to the craft.
The actor champions the figure of the contemporary troubadour: carrying theatre wherever there is someone willing to listen – be it a bookshop, a winery, a private garden, or a church sacristy. This November, he presents his version of Van Gogh at Barcelona's Byron bookshop, and we sat down with him to discuss precarity in the performing arts, the necessity of decentralising culture, and the value of keeping the memory of the trade alive.
— You say the pandemic transformed you as a theatre practitioner. Why?
— Up to that moment, things were going relatively well for all of us making a living from this – because I don't know how to do anything other than theatre. Being locked up at home cuts off every avenue of financial viability. The idea came to me to stage theatre in my own home, right in the living room. I thought I would do five or six performances of The Secret Life of Tennessee Williams, which was a format that worked for me and lent itself well to home staging, in a lovely flat with a very generous bookcase.
What began as a matter of subsistence turned into a media phenomenon. TV3, Catalunya Ràdio, and RAC1 all dropped by, broadcasting live about this madman staging shows for five people in his front room. I ended up giving seventy or eighty performances. That experience of close-up, intimate theatre saved my life and reconciled me with the craft. It was like returning to our origins – to the ancient idea of being gathered inside a cave sharing a story. Audiences were mesmerised because they weren't used to having an actor two metres away; gone was the distance of the proscenium arch, replaced by an immediate encounter where no one could look away.
That experience of close-up, intimate theatre saved my life and reconciled me with the craft.
From there, I transformed Living Room Theatre into Garden Theatre, taking advantage of the extraordinary country homes and gardens we have in the Empordà. I am rediscovering the profession as an itinerant artist, reviving the role of the troubadour: pitching up with shows in churches, libraries, private flats, or rooftop terraces. I take huge satisfaction in this self-run model.
— Do you handle everything yourself? Is there no production company behind you?
— I do it all myself, which is both the blessing and the curse. Doing it alone gives me immense flexibility. I live outside the big capital, and across the regional counties (comarques) we organise things seamlessly because relationships are direct and we all know one another, especially after so many years helming the Girona International Festival. Working with local venues and community cultural centres is straightforward; but when you want to step beyond the regional sphere and break into large-format commercial circuits without a production house, it is an uphill struggle.
I don't necessarily want to play in the premier league of flagship theatres. To survive, you have to forge your own path; you cannot make a living doing a single production at the Teatre Nacional preceded by a month of rehearsals. I launched a website, Teatre amb Ales, to articulate this ethos, set out what I offer, and share this way of working. It isn't merely a personal brand, but an understanding that times have changed and large institutional structures can no longer save you: you can only save yourself by carving out your own road.
You can only save yourself by carving out your own road.
— You have worked in the industry for forty years. Is it hard to make a living in theatre today?
— I make a living from theatre, but things have undeniably changed. Years ago, two jobs were enough to live comfortably; television work and theatre companies paid very well indeed. Today, you have to juggle five. I spent five seasons on El cor de la ciutat, and the pay was substantial; nowadays, a television series doesn't pay a third of that. On top of that, there are far more actors competing for a smaller piece of the pie. I am an activist for our country's culture and language, and although I have done seasons in Madrid, Catalonia is small for as many of us as there are.
I am an activist for our country's culture and language.
My personal life has also shaped my path: I have neither children nor a mortgage, which affords me the freedom to preserve this bohemian spirit – packing my trunk and taking to the road. I see it in contemporaries from my graduating class who were household names and are now having a difficult time because the industry is simply not what it once was. We are the last generation of theatre romantics – a generation that could still find work and genuinely believed in this vocation. To young people entering the field today, I tell them they must invent their own work and not sit waiting for the big stages to call.
— What must a venue offer when performing outside conventional theatres?
— I have a golden rule for my productions: anything that fits inside my small van is fair game. I need spaces that can accommodate twenty, thirty, or forty people. If I'm booked by a town council, I charge a set fee; otherwise, we agree on a box-office split or a guarantee of 300 to 400 euros to cover petrol and the sound technician running the score. I'm not looking to get rich; I want to champion a message, a kind of secular ritual. I have performed in bitingly cold wine cellars or inside sacristies; as long as the set fits and there's a modest audience, that is all I need.
We are the last generation of theatre romantics – a generation that could still find work and genuinely believed in this vocation.
— You are now coming to Barcelona to present your version of Van Gogh, a piece you have lived with for many years...
— It is an extraordinary experience to mature alongside a text, understanding it differently as you navigate the successive stages of your life. I premiered it back in 2005 at the Versus, revived it in 2012 at Teatre Gaudí directed by Òscar Molina, and now I bring it back directing myself in a leaner, more adaptable format.
This solo piece forms part of a trilogy on artistic creation and misunderstanding: Van Gogh, Tennessee Williams, and Rudolf Nureyev. My ultimate ambition is to perform all three monologues back-to-back. I'll go down in history as the actor who only ever staged three plays! But I relish exploring the same text, digging deeper into it over time.
I'm not looking to get rich; I want to champion a message, a kind of secular ritual.
The core message of Van Gogh resonates deeply with having faith in yourself even when nobody pays attention. We are far too governed by what others think, and that message is urgently needed now that culture is being dismantled and public administrations all too often act as bureaucratic hurdles to creative work.
— You are staging the show at Barcelona's Byron bookshop. How did that partnership come about?
— I noticed they hosted an array of cultural gatherings – music, cinema, even dining experiences themed around films – and I thought I had to speak to them. These are spaces that depart from conventional theatre, yet allow people to engage with culture in an intimate setting. I had already staged Tennessee Williams there and it went exceptionally well. We will run six performances at six in the evening, woven into the bookshop's wider calendar. Since we don't have a large production machine behind us, I rely on personal relationships, contacts in radio, and spreading the word through direct rapport.
— Beyond performing, you sit on the board of the Association of Professional Actors and Directors of Catalonia (AADPC). What is your primary priority there?
— To champion the fact that not everything happens in Barcelona, nor do all productions need to originate in the capital. The real challenge is persuading the Barcelona scene that there is life, immense talent, and exceptional craft across Girona, Tortosa, Manresa, and the Costa Brava. Often, when regional companies travel to Barcelona, they face an overly harsh eye. We need to demonstrate that one can be a theatre professional living and creating outside the metropolitan area, and that regional audiences respond brilliantly when presented with high-quality work.
I'll go down in history as the actor who only ever staged three plays!
— Your overarching philosophy seems to be that theatre is not defined by the four walls of a venue...
— Precisely. Nowadays, people seem to think that without an extensive technical rig, spotlights, and digital projections, a play simply cannot happen. Theatre goes far deeper; it is the story and the shared act of telling it. To articulate this philosophy, I created the website teatreambales.cat. It lays out my approach to the craft and features a booking form so anyone can commission my shows – from an awards gala to a private function or a performance in a wine cellar – always with the commitment to delivering theatre of the highest calibre.
The name draws on a brief exchange from Santiago Rusiñol's L'alegria que passa, which runs: “I don't want to be rich, I just want an open road all to myself.” That is my declaration of intent. I believe we have to invent our own path rather than wait around. Naturally, if the Teatre Nacional or a major commercial company rings, I will go; but I like being the driving force behind my own livelihood.
Theatre goes far deeper; it is the story and the shared act of telling it.
— You are also revisiting a deeply personal biographical trilogy: Van Gogh, Tennessee Williams, and Rudolf Nureyev. What binds these three artists together?
— They are three monumental innovators in their respective art forms – painting, literature, and dance – who radically transformed their fields, often without fully grasping the magnitude of their triumph. What unites them is that behind their genius lay acute anguish and contradiction.
I have come to see that creation cannot stem from comfort; the great artists are those who doubt, suffer, and confront adversity head-on. They are three figures from entirely disparate contexts – the old Europe of Van Gogh, the glamorous America of Tennessee Williams, and the Cold War Europe of Nureyev – yet in all three, the creative engine springs from a wound. And the final link connecting them all, of course, is me.
The sense of family and collective sector consciousness has been lost.
— Looking at the contemporary scene, what do you miss most, and what do you appreciate about theatre today?
— What I lament most is that the sense of family and collective sector consciousness has been lost. In the 1980s and 1990s, we all knew one another, we went on strike together, and there was an atmosphere of deep unity and immense respect for the masters and the craft. I miss that shared memory. Today, everything is experienced in a far more individualistic way; everyone seems eager for instant stardom on the latest streaming series rather than understanding where we come from.
What I admire most about theatre today is the rigorous training and sheer courage of the new generations.
— Conversely, what I admire most about theatre today is the rigorous training and sheer courage of the new generations. We started out almost on sheer nerve, with very little hesitation and scant technique, but today's young performers are extraordinarily well prepared. Despite having lost part of that collective consciousness, an astonishing surge of creativity and talent is sweeping through Catalonia. We will forge ahead – individually, perhaps, but we will make it.
Martí Peraferrer returns this autumn with his solo show Van Gogh, running from 8 November to 12 December at 18:00 at the Byron bookshop, with six confirmed dates so far. It offers a rare opportunity to experience up close, in an intimate setting, one of the most distinctive actors in Catalan theatre.