Too many improv scenes are two people standing and talking in the centre of the stage. This system teaches performers to discover the expressive power of space, levels, and movement — without adding more to think about.
If you imagine the stage divided into a 3×3 grid — like a phone keypad — with squares numbered 1–9, and vertical levels labelled A (standing), B (sitting), and C (floor), then the scene you see most often in improv is 55AA: two people standing in the centre square.
There's nothing wrong with 55AA. But when every scene in a show looks like that, the audience is watching a radio play. The stage becomes dead space. The performers' bodies become delivery mechanisms for words, nothing more.
Stage Notation is a teaching system designed to break this pattern — not by adding rules to follow, but by giving performers a vocabulary for things they already feel.
The stage is divided into nine squares. Squares 1–3 are at the front (closest to the audience), 4–6 in the middle, and 7–9 at the rear. Every performer's position can be described by a single digit.
A two-digit number describes where two performers are. 19 means one person in the front-left corner and one in the back-right. 55 means both in the centre. 23 means side by side at the front.
Instead of a word as a suggestion, you give performers a number. They walk to their squares, feel what that spatial relationship creates, and initiate from there. No word association. No "ideas." Just a body in space and whatever that makes them feel.
Position is only half the picture. The other dimension is vertical: are you standing, sitting, or on the floor? These are the three levels, labelled A, B, and C.
A two-letter code describes the levels of two performers. AC means one standing, one on the floor. BB means both sitting. Combined with the grid, 19AC describes a complete stage picture: one performer standing front-left, one on the floor back-right.
When someone changes level — standing up, or dropping to the floor — it carries enormous meaning. Status shifts. Emotional weight redistributes. The audience feels it before anyone says a word.
In physics, energy comes from difference. Opposing charges create electrical fields. A battery only works because of the contrast between its poles. The same principle operates on stage.
A scene with two people close together followed by two people on opposite sides of the stage. A scene where both performers are standing followed by one where someone is on the floor. Stillness followed by movement. These contrasts create tension, and tension creates interest.
Stage Notation makes contrast visible and nameable. When you can look at a show from the wings and think "we've had three mid-distance scenes in a row, I should do something different", you're not adding complexity to your process — you're giving yourself a faster, more intuitive way to diagnose and respond to what you're already feeling.
The workshop moves through three phases, gradually layering concepts so that students discover principles through experience rather than instruction.
Students are introduced to the grid. Scenes are prompted with two-digit numbers instead of words — performers walk to their squares and initiate from whatever that spatial relationship makes them feel. Movement is gradually introduced: first locked in place, then allowed only to swap squares, then through "chess scenes" where each performer moves like a specific chess piece. Finally, the training wheels come off and students make their own spatial choices.
The ABC system is introduced. Scenes are prompted with two-letter codes. Then the constraint tightens: whenever one performer changes level, the other must change too — creating a see-saw dynamic where every physical choice directly affects your partner. Students discover the power of movement between levels, and the weight of meaning that comes with standing up or sitting down.
Both systems merge. The coach directs a "called" show, dictating notation for each scene via a whiteboard to maximise visual variety across the performance. Then all constraints are lifted. Students perform freely, but now they carry the vocabulary of everything they've experienced — and the scenes are more dynamic, physical, and visually engaging than anything they would have produced at the start.
The notation system is compact, but the number of possible stage pictures it describes is large.
Most improv shows explore a tiny fraction of this space. The goal isn't to hit all 729 — it's to recognise that you have options, and that choosing differently from scene to scene is one of the most powerful tools available to you as a performer.
Stage Notation might look like a rigid, mathematical system. The results are anything but. What consistently emerges from these workshops is emotional, physical, intuitive, and freeing. Here's why.
When you get a one-word suggestion, you start word-associating, planning, constructing — the exact antithesis of improvising. A two-digit number bypasses all of that. Your only decision is where to go and what to do with your body. Character, relationship, and "ideas" emerge from those physical micro-decisions, which are infinitely easier to make than "coming up with something."
One of the most remarkable things about this system is the depth of post-scene discussion it produces. Students go from a hyper-rational prompt — a spatial coordinate — to reflections about feeling, emotion, physicality, and relationship. They discover ideas that coaches normally work themselves raw trying to articulate, almost automatically and organically.
Actors sit with a script and work out motivations at leisure. Improvisers have to do that analysis in the moment. Stage Notation builds the reflex: when your partner moves closer, you feel something shift. You ask "why did they do that?" almost unconsciously, and your response — moving toward or away, standing or sitting — becomes a physical answer that the audience reads instantly.
In the level-swapping exercises, every physical choice directly changes what your partner does. You have a remote control for each other. Within that mechanical constraint, stories about power, intimacy, and status emerge naturally — because you can't avoid affecting one another.
The goal is effortlessness. Once the constraints are lifted, students move with freedom, certainty, and intentionality — not because they've memorised rules, but because they've experienced what different choices feel like. The system offers a map without telling you what you'll see.
Use this tool to generate random stage configurations for your rehearsals or workshops. Toggle levels on or off, and use the contrast bias to ensure variety across a session. Works on your phone — bookmark this page and pull it up in class.
Levels can be challenging for performers with mobility restrictions. The exercise structure can be adapted so that everyone experiments with the core concepts within their ability — the principle of contrast and intentional choice applies regardless of the specific physical options available.
This curriculum has also worked especially well with neurodiverse participants. The clear structure and concrete framework offer a way into concepts that are usually taught through vague, ephemeral language. There is no "right" interpretation — only your interpretation, and the constant play of exploring what happens when you mix it with someone else's.
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