Soon, I’ll be returning to DunsPlayFest for the third year in a row and I can feel the anticipation building.

I’ve been reading through this year’s programme and once again it is exceptional. There’s a richness, a creative generosity that stretches across disciplines in writing, performance, improvisation and general storytelling. Inviting anyone with even the slightest pull toward theatre or expression to step in and take part. It doesn’t matter whether a person is an avid fan or simply curious. There’s something for everyone.

Three years ago, I arrived for the first time camera in hand because I enjoy photographing festivals, usually music or folk. I have a particular love of the stage lighting and how it frames it’s performers. Enjoying capturing fleeting moments, emotion, shared energy and the subtle language between people. Theatre photography, though, wasn’t something I had explored. What I walked into was something else entirely. I remember the feeling so clearly. A kind of awe at what I was witnessing unfolding. It wasn’t what I had expected, not even close. What I found was a concentrated, living pulse of theatrical creativity. Raw, intelligent, emotionally precise and completely alive. It caught me off guard in the best possible way!

That experience didn’t just stay with me, it redirected me, changed my life back onto a course I had once known but forgotten. It’s what led me to start writing and sharing about DunsPlayFest, it felt important to try and articulate what was happening there. There’s something rare and equally special about it.

Of course, comparisons might be made to large-scale festivals, but this is not about scale. What happens here is something more contained, more intimate and in many ways, more potent. It’s held. You feel that immediately.

The Volunteer Hall becomes something more than a venue. It comes to life! Warm, atmospheric, deliberately calibrated so that when you walk in you are not just an observer; you’re an integral part of it.

There’s a clear rhythm to the space. The main stage, the cabaret area, the flow of conversation and performance all interweaving so naturally.

Next door, the Cadet Hall opens up further possibilities in the form of workshops, talks, performances. All thoughtfully set up, part of the same ecosystem.

Somehow, across nine days, an enormous amount of work unfolds without any of it (as an audience member) feeling chaotic. There’s structure, but also ease. Movement without strain.

What stands out most is the range. It moves from storytelling sessions designed for children and families that are playful, imaginative, deeply engaging to performances that confront complex, often unspoken aspects of our human experience. Last year, two pieces stayed with me long after the lights went down: one exploring addiction within relationship and another centred on grief, the presence of absence. The weight of the empty chair, which to me as a therapist is a powerful tool. Both were handled with care and precision and both landed exactly where they needed to.

There are also performances addressing current social and political conversations head-on. Work around identity, for example was approached but not with blunt force, with thoughtfulness and nuance threaded with humour. It allowed the audience to stay open.

Then there’s the unpredictability. Moments where theatre steps off the expected path. Improvised performances where actors are handed scripts in real time and simply… begin. It sounds simple, but what unfolds is anything but. It’s quick thinking, presence, instinct. It’s play in its purest form.

That word, play, is important.

It runs through everything.

You see it on stage, in the rehearsal energy, in the interactions between audience members, in the conversations that spill over between performances. Not forced. Not curated into something artificial. It’s just there alive, moving and shared.

Last year, a piece invited the audience to draw a live model on stage whilst a performance unfolded around them. That kind of integration, blurring the line between observer and participant, creates a different kind of engagement. You’re not just watching; you’re inside of the experience.

For me, that resonates deeply. Improvisation and embodied expression are central to my own work, both therapeutically and artistically. I often rely on those same principles creating space for something real to emerge. DunsPlayFest operates on a similar frequency. It trusts the process. It allows things to unfold. That’s why returning matters.

Coming back for a third year isn’t just about attending a festival, it’s about stepping back into a space where something truly meaningful happens. Where you can meet yourself and others differently. Compassionately and honestly. Where stories whether spoken, performed, or simply witnessed shift something quietly but significantly.

If you have never been, it is worth stepping into. Not just to watch, but to feel, to engage, to be part of something that values creativity. Life. Not as spectacle, but as connection.

If you’re curious, take a look at what’s on offer this year. Explore the programme, see what draws you in and book.

Visit: www.dunsplayfest.org.uk or follow DunsPlayFest on social media and step into the experience for yourself.