On Friday 1 May, Sigrid Thornton AO was awarded an Honorary Fellowship at NIDA, recognising a remarkable career that has helped shape Australia’s stage and screen landscape as a performer and advocate for the arts. In her address to NIDA’s 2025 graduating class, Sigrid reflected with warmth and candour on a career in the arts, offering a series of guiding principles drawn from experience. Below is her deeply thoughtful speech on storytelling, resilience, collaboration and the responsibility of artists stepping into an ever-evolving creative world:
I would like to acknowledge the Traditional Custodians of the land on which we gather today, the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation, and pay my respects to Elders past and present. I extend that respect to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people here with us today.
As graduates of the National Institute of Dramatic Art, stepping into a life of storytelling, it is worth remembering that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples are the oldest continuous storytelling cultures in the world. That places us – quite humbly – in a long line of listeners and tellers. It is a privilege to do this work, and with that comes a responsibility: to listen deeply, to honour what came before, and to contribute with integrity to what comes next.
Congratulations to all of you. Truly.
And thank you to the extraordinary Liz Hughes and the entire wonderful NIDA board for many years of shared dedication to the future of NIDA.
This is an extraordinary honour. As someone who didn’t complete university, it feels slightly surreal – and deeply moving – to be recognised here today as a fellow.
I didn’t go to drama school. My husband did – he’s a proud NIDA alumnus from the early 70s – and I’ve heard many, many fond stories. I, on the other hand, dropped out of university after my first semester to pursue acting. Every decision has its consequences… and I suppose this one has taken a little while to come full circle.
I started working professionally at 13. On my very first day, I turned up having memorised not just my own lines, but everybody else’s, and every stage direction. I thought this showed admirable dedication. It did not take long for someone to gently suggest that my energy might be better spent elsewhere. That was my first lesson in the difference between effort and usefulness.
So today, rather than offering you a grand thesis on how to succeed – because frankly, if anyone had that, we’d all be following it – I thought I might share a few personal touchstones that have guided me. Take what you like… and ditch the rest.
The first is a genuine passion for the work.
This sounds obvious, but it’s surprisingly easy to lose sight of. There will be times when the work is sporadic, when auditions feel endless, when rejection becomes a kind of background noise. Passion is the thing that remains when applause, or validation, or even employment, is not immediately forthcoming. It’s what brings you back to the craft itself.
And over time, I’ve found that the real joy is less in the finished product, and much more in the process. In theatre, that’s obvious – it exists only in the moment. But even in film and television, the most meaningful part is often the making of it. The collaboration, the discovery, the occasional moment where everything just clicks and you find yourself in that elusive flow state. That’s the magic. The rest… well, many of us try not to watch ourselves too closely anyway.
Which leads me to the second: excitement at the prospect of collaboration.
This is not solitary work. It cannot be. At its best, it’s like jumping into the sandpit together -messy, playful, unpredictable. And that sense of childlike joy? Hold onto it. Protect it. It’s not only good for you – it’s infectious. It lifts the room. It makes people want to work with you again.
At the same time, and this is important… don’t waste too much energy trying to make absolutely everyone love you. It is an impossible task. I have tried. It does not work. You will be far better served by showing up fully, doing your work well, and allowing people to respond as they will.
The third is resilience.
You will need it. There’s no gentle way to say that.
This is a career of extraordinary highs and, at times, very humbling lows. There will be jobs you don’t get, projects that fall through, moments where you question everything. And yet, all of it is useful. The joy, the heartbreak, the anxiety, the rejection—it’s all grist for the mill.
Don’t be afraid of the side gig. Hospitality, uber driving, performing at children’s parties—these are not distractions from your career, they are part of your education. They give you material. They connect you to the world beyond the industry. And sometimes, they keep the lights on – which is also quite important.
Some people argue that in creative work you’re often defined by what you say no to. I think that’s true… but only to a point. Storytellers need to eat too, particularly in Australia where we’re swimming in a smaller pond. Sometimes work arrives like a gift, sometimes it pays the bills, and sometimes you get the rare joy of making something entirely your own. All of these choices are valid.
The fourth is authenticity.
Your voice – your particular way of seeing the world – is your greatest asset. It’s also the thing most under threat, especially in an industry that can, at times, encourage conformity.
I made a conscious decision, after working overseas, to return to Australia because I believe deeply in our storytelling voice. It is distinct. It is worth preserving. And it is enriched by the increasing diversity we’re seeing – here at NIDA and beyond. The industry has changed in many ways over the years, some challenging, some incredibly positive. The growing representation of First Nations voices, people of colour, trans and gender diverse communities, neurodivergent artists – these are not trends. They are necessary corrections. And they make our stories richer, more truthful, more human.
The fifth is curiosity.
Stay interested. In everything.
Read widely. Listen carefully. Observe people. Spend time in nature. Spend time with animals. Spend time with people who are nothing like you. Curiosity is what keeps your work alive. It prevents you from becoming stale, or overly certain – which is rarely helpful in a creative life.
And remember, everything is useful. Every experience, every conversation, every strange job, every difficult moment – it all feeds the work. Live a full and complex life.
The sixth is openness.
Be open to feedback. Be open to change. Be open to the possibility that you don’t yet know everything – because I can assure you, you don’t. None of us do.
One of the great luxuries of this profession is that you never stop learning. If you remain open, you will continue to grow in ways you can’t yet predict. And sometimes, that openness may lead you somewhere entirely unexpected. Some of you may find yourselves in different careers down the track – adjacent to, or even outside of, the performing arts. That is not failure. That is evolution.
And finally, empathy.
At its core, storytelling is an act of empathy. It asks us to step into lives that are not our own, to understand perspectives that may be unfamiliar, and to offer them back to an audience with honesty and care.
In a world that can feel increasingly divided, this is no small thing. It matters. The ability to help people feel seen, or understood, or even just less alone – that is powerful.
So, what is success?
I can’t answer that for you. Your definition will be your own, and it will almost certainly change over time. Mine has. Repeatedly.
But one thing that has remained constant for me is a deep sense of gratitude for being able to find joy in the work itself. Anyone who can say that – regardless of fame, or awards, or external recognition – is, in my view, a very lucky person.
Your careers will unfold in ways you cannot predict. They will be shaped by determination, ambition, and yes – serendipity. Or, to put it more plainly… a bit of dumb luck.
No matter what happens next, you will never regret your time here. What you’ve gained is not just training, but a way of seeing the world – a sensitivity to nuance, to human behaviour, to story. And that stays with you, wherever you go.
So go out into the world. Be passionate. Be collaborative. Be resilient. Be authentic. Stay curious. Stay open. And above all, be empathetic.
And perhaps keep a little bit of that sandpit spirit with you.
Thank you – and congratulations.