Copenhagen, London, Los Angeles

I’ve worked in London, trained in Los Angeles, and taped scenes from a desk in Copenhagen. The work has shown up in chunks— sometimes quietly, sometimes all at once — but never from one fixed place.

In London, I filmed a feature where I played the ex-wife of a gangster. Most of my scenes took place in someone else’s kitchen, out on location in Essex. I spent a day behind a counter, watching the rest of the scene unfold. It was all coverage, angles, repetition. Not glamorous by any stretch, but I learned a lot about tone — not in the script, but in how people hold space together.

In Los Angeles, I studied Method acting at the Lee Strasberg Theatre & Film Institute in West Hollywood. I still have some notes from that time — a quote from the wall, a page that just says “10 am, Starbucks,” where I was meeting Greg, a soft-spoken Australian actor from class, to run lines. We used to walk up and down Hayworth Avenue talking about acting, art, and whatever else came up. I was very sad to learn that he passed away early last year.

A page from my notes at Lee Strasberg Institute.

Our on-camera class was structured like a working set with lights, Sally's notes, and retakes. I remember folding a shirt during an emotional recall exercise, trying to hold focus while people watched. It wasn’t about showing emotion — it was about doing something ordinary and letting what’s underneath stay present. That kind of work stays in the muscle long after you leave the classroom. (Uta Hagen has some wonderful thoughts on this in this clip from HB Studio, which I still return to.)

Most of my auditions now are taped from my apartment in Copenhagen. It’s not a city built around screen work, but it’s where I live. I’ve recorded scenes late at night and early in the morning, depending on the light or the deadline. My setup shifts from time to time — different tape marks on the floor, new angles, another softbox. Some days I draw before taping. Some days, I record a voiceover in the same space.

In Canada, I worked on a project where I played a police officer. The camera was outside the vehicle, while we were packed into the back of an RCMP cruiser, barely able to move. Those kinds of scenes go quickly — they’re more about structure than emotion. You learn to fit into the shape that’s already been built.

With British director Naomi Soneye-Thomas during a production meeting.

I also filmed a project titled Born Evil in London, a short directed by Naomi Soneye-Thomas, which later screened at the Sitges Film Festival. I played a nurse caught in a moral stand-off between two angels. She wasn’t a pleasant character — at one point, she slaps a care home resident — and one of the angels takes her life. The story was stark, but the shoot was collaborative — one of those sets where the director is tuned in and present. Working with directors isn’t always like that, but when it is, it changes the work. We filmed in a single location over long hours, but it felt like a team effort. We had fun.

I don’t think you need to belong to a particular scene to keep building something. Some roles come from a taped scene recorded at midnight. Others arrive in your inbox months after a chance meeting. I’ve moved through three cities since my student days in LA, but the shape of the work has always stayed the same. You keep doing it from wherever you are. More notes from set (and the desk): I sometimes write about the overlap between acting, voice work, and illustration — the small roles, the home setups, the days that unfold between auditions and sketchbooks. 👉 Browse more Studio Notes