Page 10

A Buck and a Half*

The Metis seize Fort Garry and form a provisional government L-R: Ambroise Lepine, a Metis Leader (Kevin Bundy), William O’Donahue, Irish-American Fenian (Jamie Cavanagh), Norbert Leduc, Metis (Kat Letwin), Louis Riel’s Mother (Linda Prystawska). C: Louis Riel (Michaela Washburn). VideoCabaret production of Confederation by Michael Hollingsworth. Photo by Michael Cooper. www.coopershoots.com

It’s that time of year when Indigenous performers become extremely popular for a day or two. True, “National Aboriginal Day” has become an entire month, but not many people have taken note of that. It’s the 21st that really gets congested for artists, with offers of underpaid work all over hell’s back forty. Annually, my art and life partner Andy Moro wisely ponders, “Why is it we’re asked to hustle every day this year, and never just get to enjoy it? Not the stupid fake holiday, but to celebrate the solstice.” The great light. Invariably, we find ourselves shuffling off to this or that venue, as our own PMs, wrangling a car rental, various props or set pieces and a performer or three.

This year is different. This year is Canada’s 150th birthday! Let them eat cake! Slather it with authentic maple syrup! Slap it with a beaver tail! BIRTHDAAAAAY!

This is not the first or last time Indigenous people will be asked along to celebrate something that lives in a very different place for many of us.

The commemorative events for the squabbling that happened in 1812-13 are fresh in the trenches. There was special funding and heaps of strange gatherings with union jacks and dudes in red coats. That year, I was serving as AD of ‘Canada’s’ oldest professional Indigenous theatre company, Native Earth Performing Arts. In our season brochure, I penned a message to accompany the aptly named “Treason Season.” It was a way to inform our beloved artists and allies that we would not be partaking in any commemorations, and would be opting out of accessing the earmarked funding. This, in spite of NEPA’s considerable financial struggles at the time. Some colleagues took offense and had words with me. These people had applied for and accepted the funding, and did not want to be judged for having done so.

At the heart of it is the reality that wars like the one of 1812 are much feted. Meanwhile, major homeland conflicts like the Métis resistance remain in the history books as ‘Rebellions’. This means an innovator like Louis Riel – who established a diverse provisional government at 25 – was murdered by the crown, and his so-called “crimes” are yet to be pardoned. A simple walk through Winnipeg makes it evident that ‘Canada’ will use Riel as a poster boy, but they still will not give him his due by granting him a pardon or offering an apology for his slaughter at age 41.

Louis Riel, carte de visite from 1884. Photographer: I. Bennetto & Co. Library and Archives Canada.

Meanwhile, in 2017, the Canadian Opera Company are partnered with the National Arts Centre on an opera called Riel, written by a deceased white man, directed by a vibrant white man who many identify as an ally, with the title role enacted by a white man. This production has several politicized, powerful Indigenous performers in its ensemble. So… what to make of that? I send love to the actors on the inside and hope the experience isn’t painful to them. I hope also that the theatrical industry is shifting so that great performers don’t feel they have to take such work. I hope more of us work to create opportunities that privilege Indigenous agency.

A young woman, her face painted white, dressed in a colourfully striped men's suit with blue hair and a blue mustache.
Louis Riel (Michaela Washburn)
Photo by Michael Cooper

As the COC/NAC Riel runs in Ottawa, VideoCabaret will be offering up their Confederation series in Toronto, starring Métis actor Michaela Washburn as Riel. As she writes on Facebook, “Louis Riel. A role of a lifetime! I have the abundant blessing of playing this fella from a young boy, plucked away to go to seminary school in Montreal, through to his last rites.” Somewhere inside me, I believe this is good medicine, striking a much-needed balance in a world where shit goes wrong every day. Washburn has always spoken her politics through doing the work, and she is in the position now where it is a benefit to many. I am reminded there are many ways to assert an Indigenous voice.

 

One arts leader who teaches me much, who is reclaiming not only her mother tongue but has also been at the forefront of Indigenous arts sovereignty throughout her career, is Santee Smith. Beginning in 2012 and running through to today, the magnificent Santee and her Kaha:wi Dance Theatre have created and performed The Honouring. Andy Moro is the creator of the fantastically striking video score that holds this work in time and space in any venue where it performs. He knew, at the time of creation, that this poetic piece would stand out from the bill it fit. At the time, I did not understand. Even when I saw it, I resisted.

The Honouring celebrates the way in which Haudenosaunee peoples have asserted their sovereignty by forging alliances that would best serve their rich culture. Colonization is inevitable. There was wisdom enough to see that within the Haudenosaunee communities, and they aligned with the British in order to land at what was hoped to be the best possible outcome for their families. The abundance of talented Haudenosaunee artists today is proof that this strategy was effective.

Production still for “The Honouring” by Kaha:wi Dance Theatre. Performers L-R: Nimkii Osawamick, Santee Smith, Emily Law, Montana Summers, Jesse Dell, Jason Gullo Mullins, and Jacob Pratt. Photo by Semiah Kaha:wi Smith

Santee is an activist who effects change through speaking out in her work, supported by Kaha:wi’s primarily Indigenous team, and dancing alongside several Indigenous performers. The Honouring continues to run today, as recently as May 2017. I am reminded that when a work is created and enacted by Indigenous peoples, even if colonizers consider it palatable, it may very well be a work that transcends settler anniversaries, reaching beyond the quota of the moment to be a greater celebration.

I write this, not to express my disdain for the 150 parties, a marker which has already been trumpeted. I write it to give thanks to those of you who live your truth differently than I do. I continue to learn through you. The gift of “National Aboriginal Day” might be that it gives us all that moment to consider what we can do to celebrate our voices, in our own ways. On the day that brings the longest sunshine, may you have a moment to turn your face upwards and take a breath of light.

*Beagan co-directs ARTICLE 11, who bring a new work A Buck and A Half to Theatre SKAM’s SKAMpede this July, in Victoria, British Columbia. Yes, that is an actual place name on unceded Indigenous soil.

When Circus Meets Theatre: A Tale of Two Lovers

A woman in a tan leotard leans at a downward angle with a wide split above her head, held mid-air by a teal fabric.
Léda Davies on Silks – Montreal, QC 2014. Photo by Dominic Brunet.

I have been having an affair… I’ve been cheating on theatre with the circus.  I began training in aerial circus (a method of movement in which the artist performs high above the audience suspended by different types of equipment) almost 10 years ago. In 2013 I put my career in theatre on hold and immersed myself exclusively in the world of circus.  While I loved the rigor and discipline required to perform circus, I deeply missed connecting with character, text and story.  Each discipline held a place in my heart and there was no point in keeping them separate any longer.  Now, both circus and theatre are integral parts of my creative process.  Instead of placing boundaries between my disciplines, one supports the other.

I decided to make my ménage-a-trois relationship with circus and theatre public 2 years ago when I began creating a solo show titled Persephone Bound – a multidisciplinary theatre performance that has a conversation with young people about sexual consent.  I chose to tell this story using the circus apparatus “aerial straps”.  Traditionally, aerial straps are used for conditioning and performing feats of strength.   The loops at the end of the 9 feet long cotton covered polyester straps are used for the circus artist’s wrists so that he/she can hang, twist, and suspend in the air.  In Persephone Bound I created a custom pair of straps, with loops wide enough to allow me to hang from different body parts (knees, torso, neck), and integrate more of a dance vocabulary. The effect of the straps in the play is very profound; from the moment Persephone is assaulted she remains attached, or bound in the straps, just as she is bound to her experience as a sexual assault survivor.

A woman with blonde hair in a braided crown, a wine-colored top, and denim shorts is suspended in splits in the air, her ankles bound by two straps of fabric.
Léda Davies on straps in Persephone Bound, performed at Cocktail Cirquantique, April 2017 in Montreal. Photo by Louis-Charles Dumais

Virtuosic movement is a demonstration of skill; a movement that the audience sees that they recognize as difficult, or that they themselves can’t do. Circus is almost entirely made up of virtuosic movements.  When creating Persephone Bound we were constantly asking ourselves: “Does this movement help to tell the story?”.  Sometimes the ego comes in and tempts you force a movement into the performance simply because it is difficult to execute – because it’s impressive.  It’s important to take a step back and ask yourself if the movement is enhancing the story or only bolstering your self-esteem.  One way I found helpful to overcome this tendency was to examine how I was discovering the movement.  Instead of superimposing a movement (randomly doing a cool trick without any other purpose or reasoning), I would use various movement improvisation exercises such as Authentic Movement and Viewpoints as entry points to map the physical journey of the character on the circus equipment.  This opened up my mind and body to new physical possibilities, which in turn were more genuine.

Another technique is to link the movement to a feeling or an emotion. It is common when doing a virtuosic movement to block out the feeling and to let the brain take over. This is especially true with circus for two reasons. Safety is top priority.  You need to make sure that what you are doing is safe and that takes concentration. In Persephone Bound there is a part where I am lifted in the air by my neck.  When I execute this movement need to make sure that I am engaging the right muscles, and placing the equipment in the right place so that I don’t seriously injure myself, or fall.  The second reason why circus artists might not consider the way a movement feels is because the circus equipment is often very painful, and you must train yourself not to feel the pain in order to keep going.

For a virtuosic movement to appear rooted in a character it’s very important that the performer feels the movement.  How does my body connect with the ground?  How does the pain of this movement inform my character?  When the performer connects with the feeling of the movement the audience is more likely to go along for the ride.

A woman with curly blonde hair arches her back as she holds herself in mid-air by two long fabric silks, against a black background.
Léda Davies on Silks – Montreal, QC 2014. Photo by Dominic Brunet.

We discovered the phenomena of saying one thing, and doing another by creating a movement sequence where the character of Persephone is refusing a drink, eye contact and physical contact with her aggressor, Hades, but in the monologue she expresses how much she is attracted to Hades.  This contrast has a profound effect on the viewer, because they are able to read the internal dialogue of the character through the body.

My polyamorous relationship with circus and theatre has been one of great discovery and pleasure.  Whatever tool is applied, whether it’s the way the gestures are developed, the feeling of the movement or the contrast the movement has with the text, virtuosic movement has the ability to enhance the theatrical experience.  When presenting Persephone Bound audiences have told us that they are stuck by the dichotomy of strength and vulnerability the aerial apparatus conveys, and that the image of Persephone in the straps is striking, provoking and “like nothing they have seen before”. As collaborative creations and devised theater productions are moving more into the forefront, there is an opportunity to challenge the existing structure of theatre creation and embrace the heighten form of movement the circus offers.  I love to tell stories, and I’m grateful that I’m no longer limiting myself to telling those stories through the traditional lens.  Now, I can tell my stories in the air.

This October, Léda joins the cast of E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web at Alberta Theatre Projects in the title role of Charlotte the Spider. She’ll use aerial silks as her character’s primary apparatus in this story of unlikely friendship, where having a big vocabulary can save the day. Charlotte’s Web runs November 21 – December 31, 2017.

 

Thought Residency: Dylan On

My last thought:

“If you can picture yourself doing anything else, don’t go into theatre.”

I think this is such a damaging thing to say to our young people. It instills this nagging worry that maybe we don’t love our art enough, and maybe we don’t belong here.

So, I just want to say – To other young people who are just starting their careers: We do belong here, and all we have to focus on is if theatre is loving us back enough in return.

Thank you.

Choosing the Internet as a performance space might be risky – especially for political performance, and specifically for audiences. We know that it is so easy to be tracked, identified, and surveilled online. So what is the artist’s responsibility to their audiences?

For example, what servers do they have to connect to to view your performance, and do those servers keep logs? What country are those servers located in, and what could the consequences be if the public or a government found out that a specific individual viewed your performance?


You are watching a performance. How are you feeling, in general? Are you enjoying yourself?

I was thinking about that today – how I might not actually use that word. I’m readying, I’m calming, I’m focusing myself. I’m opening myself. But I don’t know that that’s enjoyment…

So go see a performance tonight. You might not enjoy yourself either.

I’m not a big fan of being called “diverse” – It’s just not a great word for individuals. Diversity as a concept can really only be applied to groups. And there’s some weird, mixed-race existential anxiety that it whips up in me.

So the next time you’re about to say the words “diverse artists”, just think for a second: Am I just trying to say “not-white artists”? If so, there might be some value in just saying what you mean.

Today I’m thinking about how arts workers are people first.

I recently had a chance to sit down with a few early-career artists and administrators from across the country, and mainly what we talked about was the uncertainty of the future that we face. For some of us, it was looking six months down the line and not knowing what would happen to us after our artistic associate position ends. And for all of us, we were thinking about: How do we sustain ourselves on the meagre salaries that maybe only the luckiest among us might be able to secure by the end of our careers?

I’m stuck on the idea of spectatorship in online performance. I’m really struck by the link I feel between my body and my identity vs. disembodiment and anonymity.

I’m trying to figure out what ethics or politics come into play when I see you, but you don’t see me – when you’re playing to an anonymous audience.

I’m listening to a real-time audio stream of the sound a tree makes falling in the forest. If you hear it too, did we share anything?

I heard that at every moment, bacteria are just leaping off of our bodies and into the environment. I think I’ve got a little piece of everyone I’ve ever sat beside in a theatre.

I ordered lunch through an app. I don’t usually order lunch, but today I did.

I walked into the restaurant and I saw a bag with my name on it so I grabbed it. I said a quick thank you, but too quiet and to no one in particular so no one looked up. Then I left.

Today I’m thinking about the ways the Internet makes my body invisible in the real world in the name of efficiency, and how in my brain there’s many reasons why I should be concerned about this. But in how I feel, I guess I don’t really mind.

Did you watch the Tonys?

Today’s thought is about the art we love and what happens, or how it feels, when we stop loving it.

These days I sit through a musical the same way I think Kevin Spacey does – with a polite smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.

Hey, it’s Dylan again. Thought #4 is about sharing, artistic labour, and money.

I’ll be among the first to advocate for more openness, more sharing of artistic works, the ability to build upon them… I think that if art is a public good it should be freely available.

However, I have to wonder if sharing freely in this way undervalues – devalues artistic labour in an industry that already has problems being undervalued socially and with actual dollars.

 


Hey, it’s Dylan with Thought #3.

As scrappy as theatres can be, we use a lot of technology, and most of it is proprietary. Other people build it, and theatres pay to use it.

I’ve been dreaming of a world where theatres will have the money to hire technical people to be on staff to collectively build and maintain the tools we need as an industry, and make them freely available for anyone’s use. So, that’s the idea – Let’s do it! I don’t know where we find the money, but let’s open source theatre technology.

 

Hey, it’s Dylan and this is my second thought.

Today I’m thinking about Semantic Versioning, so for example, the process that governs our move from version 1 to version 2. In software, this is a huge shift introducing backwards-incompatible changes that mean you can’t use that software in the same way.

We can re-invent Romeo & Juliet into version 2 and demand a fundamentally different engagement with that work, but the important question is: How do we get to version 3 from there, and how far can we go?

 

Hi, my name is Dylan On.

Today I’m thinking about artistic and cultural institutions and their subjectivity. Namely – do they have one?

Can institutions exist in a real way where they can bear responsibility, or do individuals like me simply speak them into existence?

I guess what I’m wrestling with is:

When institutions fail…does the buck stop with me?

Long Form Math

Tara Cheyenne Friedenberg

Making dances with talking, and plays with moving does not actually feel like hybridization to me. It feels perfectly natural, even though I don’t see a lot of other creators working this way. My mentors Denise Clarke (One Yellow Rabbit) and the late Nigel Charnock (co-founder of DV8 Physical Theatre) have been talking and dancing for decades.

I get a lot of questions about how I work and what I make. People ask; Is it dance? Is it theatre? Is it comedy? Is it drama? Why do you have to talk? Why do you have to move so much? Why are you so weird? I never understood that I had to pick a team and stick to it.

What follows are four arguments to answer these questions.

Background:

I’ve always been like this. I made jokes in ballet class. I put a little Juliet soliloquy in the recital at The Royal Winnipeg Ballet Summer school. I choreographed my monologues in theatre school and narrated my choreography assignments in university. I like dance without talking when other people do it and theatre without much movement (although theatre could use physical literacy in general – just saying). But when I think I move and when I move I talk.

Argument #1:

When most people think about dance, they think of athleticism and form (eg: the ballet, and So You Think You Can Dance). But I don’t think about bodies and dance that way.

All movement is dance to me.

I try to meet the people I work with, professional dancers or otherwise, where they are. Including myself and my questions. When I work with other artists there’s a lot of talking a lot of asking them to improvise, a lot of “what’s your favourite song let’s dance to it” so they can find their own impulses.

It’s about finding our emotional connection to our movement.

Argument #2:

Stories seem to live deep in my body and I can only get to them by moving.

I don’t go away and sit and write. It all happens in the room (the studio) where I’m working, from improvisation, from what is interesting to me in that moment. I dance to songs I like and try to find what (sometimes who) is happening in my body. I talk to myself about the shit that’s on my mind – the irritating “other” moms at my kid’s school (who wears gold stilettos to pick up their kid?) for example.

I’m always relating everything I’m doing back to whatever the questions are that keep coming up, about whatever I’m obsessing about at the time (eg. Why do we all love crime drama? What is faith? Why do 40+ women feel invisible? Why can’t I remember the word for I can’t remember?). With, How To Be (my most recent ensemble piece/play/show), I’d been noticing how we all seem to ask in one way or another, how should I be? How should I speak? How much should I weigh? What should I wear? You know questions and listicles of answers that come up on our FaceBook feeds.

We all tell innumerable tales about ourselves and our experiences through our movements, gestures, postures, and physical rhythms and that’s also how I find words and characters and story.

“How To Be” The Cultch, Vancouver, 2017.  Created (choreographed, written) by Tara Cheyenne Friedenberg. Performers: Justine A. Chambers and Kim Stevenson. Photo by Wendy D.

Argument #3:

I trust that what I’m doing, that the way I’m working, is in service of story and character, and the body in “dance” or movement of any kind will say what it needs to say, with or without words.

Our bodies betray our words. We might say, “I feel great,” but our chest is collapsed and our fists are held tight. I believe the body is the loudest subtext we can have. Dance for me takes over when words fail to uncover what needs to be communicated or when what’s being said is messy and not straight ahead. Or words take over when the movement needs to be contextualized through language.

Most of my training and the messages from funders etc told me I had to choose: words or movement, theatre or dance. Words, and in my work often comedic words, open the doors with familiar meaning and references to the language of the body that we instinctually know but have been convinced by our body-phobic culture that we don’t know. I want to invite other people in, and the easiest invitation, for some to understand seems to be words.

“How To Be” Cultch, Vancouver, 2017. Performers pictured: Kate Franklin, background Marcus Youssef. Photo by Wendy D.

Argument #4:

Even after being swept away by it all and saying how much they have enjoyed my work, I encounter audience members or other theatre artists unfamiliar with dance, or abstraction of any kind, who want to know what the dance means. I usually just ask them what they think it means, or better yet what they saw and how it made them feel. It doesn’t take long for a person to realize that they usually assign their own meaning to the movement.

I usually just ask them what they think it means, or better yet what they saw and how it made them feel. It doesn’t take long for a person to realize that they usually assign their own meaning to the movement.

We are such a language-centric culture that I think we are afraid of anything that defies words to make sense of things. We are uncomfortable with questions that do not have concise answers, or that have mutable answers. We are even more uncomfortable with questions that we will never have an answer to and this is where the body is a truer experience of what we little humans are grappling with.

The body is never certain, it is moving and changing all the time, inside and out, it never lands in “this is it, here it is”. Maybe it moves from “I know this” to “I know this” but it can’t stop to explain.

We suffer when we try to make the body stay put to make sense of it all. You can’t publish the body of work that is dance, you can talk about it like I’m trying to do now but writing it down isn’t it. Maybe this is why dance is sometimes not taken as seriously and is filed under “ephemeral”, “feminine”, “decoration”, or “experimental”.

Conclusion:

We build from what we are in that moment in time, in that body in space. I’d like to tell you that I think a lot about the idea of the “specialized”, the “hybrid”, the “virtuosic” when I’m thinking of performance and my work in particular. I’d like to tell you that I grapple a lot with the questions: Is it dance? Is it theatre? Or that I argue every day that all movement is dance and every organization of forms moving in space is choreography.

But mostly I just go into a room five or six days a week for a few hours and start from improvising and moving around with questions in my head and dance to songs I like and try to find out what’s happening in my body and if it has anything to say. My body always has something to say and my mind usually has something smart to contribute.

If not I do long hand math to recalibrate – it’s true I do.

Old Stories in New Ways

Left-to-right: Velmah Atieno, Sheilah Achieng, Collins “Apunda-boy” Ouma, Tololwa Mollel, Desai Ogada (background) Small groups work on small pieces of the story and present them to others.

We are two Canadian theatre artists working in Western Kenya in association with rural and urban community-based theatre, music, and dance performers. Some are committed to a social activist agenda as they make their art, and others are focused on building their skills and pursuing artistic career aspirations – many are involved with both. We are writing from the middle of a project that will be previewed within its originating community in two short months. This project raises a variety of interesting points for artists who make socially-committed performance.

The process we pursue involves a collaboration across several layers of difference – between individual Kenyan art companies, across art forms, and across artists from Canada and Kenya. The emerging play is an exciting mashup of traditional and contemporary Kenyan music, dance, and storytelling. Inspired by collective creation methods, a company of twenty investigated a local story theatrically and thematically in intensive workshops, spread over two years. There are three co-directors, two Kenyan and one Canadian, and a writing/dramaturgy team made up of the directors and two additional Canadians and one Kenyan. The process is challenging, but worthwhile. The gaps in our understanding require a commitment to revel in ‘not knowing’ and asking naïve questions.

Pictured: Members of the Old Stories in New Ways Company. A pause in physical exploration to contemplate where to go next.

We believe theatrical form and practice should emerge from intention, which must emerge from context. By entering a specific milieu – a particular cultural, social, and historical location – with open curiosity and high attention to seeing and listening, needs and aspirations of a community are revealed over time. When we are curious, patient, and open, we discover and invent meaningful processes and forms. Short-circuiting any of these phases – context→intention→process→form – risks undermining the others. Investing richly in each can create a vibrant theatrical event that is deeply embedded in the social fabric it is trying to serve. We attempt to avoid pre-selection of theatrical forms and pre-determination of the “issue” to be addressed. This creative engagement changes what is produced, including the forms, process, and how it impacts the audience and others.

This non-prescriptive and open-ended approach is often short-circuited by the relationship of agencies with specific social agendas to artists that they contract to meet them. This observation comes from Jan’s experience creating this kind of art in a wide variety of settings. While creating strategic alliances with organizations and agencies pursuing significant social and educational interventions creates opportunities for long-term interventions and demonstrably direct impact, it can also lead to instrumental yet thinner art than we dream of. With this project, we have had the enviable opportunity to take pre-determined agendas out of the equation. We are, however, driven to ask how art can play a vital role in much needed social change if we don’t go in a straight line after specific social problems or pre-determined interventions?

Our long term project is called Old Stories in New Ways. Situated in Western Kenya, we are looking at traditional stories as vehicles that express a specific cultural context. What are the stories that resonate and last and what might they say to the society today, particularly given the rapid globalization and urbanization the region is experiencing?

Left-to-right: Edward “Kwach” Otieno, Nancy Okuku, William Okumu, Velmah Atieno. Actors explore the “Great Warrior’s” approach to getting a wife.

Why an old-fashioned story? Yes, it is beloved in the community and evokes a deep sense of nostalgia, but it is also conservative in that it reinforces social values that are currently under question. For example, in the story we are currently working on, Lwanda Magere, divisive tribalism is reinforced and women as secondary citizens are normalized. So why stage such a regressive narrative? In order to progress culturally, we believe we need to start where the community is, rather than where we or anyone else thinks it should be. Through a collaborative adaptation process, adherence to tribalism is challenged, and women’s biographies, oppressions, and capacities are revealed. We hope that the community’s affinity and investment in the story builds high engagement and that when the story is both questioned and delved in new ways, a deep involvement with its challenges will occur.

Throughout the development process, questions such as “where did she come from?” “what would happen if she refused?” and “why did he behave like that?” were explored through theatrical improvisation. The play will invite the audience to join us in that exploration. It is called Kwe Kalyet: Lwanda Magere Revisited. The title represents three languages and includes the name of the original local story and a call for cool peace. As of writing we continue its creation and await the community’s response.

Artists’ responses are very positive. One actor, William Okumu, thinks that by “acting it out, I am a change agent, a change advocate.” Raphael Omondi, the Kenyan partner who was integral in bringing the artists together, has this to say: “We are using old stories as an advocate for peace and coexistence, especially at a time where we are experiencing a lot of social injustice[…] Using an old story, and not telling it just the way it is, but delving into it, will be very important for the community.” By starting from and challenging what the community knows, feels, and is familiar with, Omondi and many of the artist participants in this project believe crucial social issues will come to the surface.

Left-to-right: Pari Shalton, Vinzil Odour (foreground), June Rapsha, Tina Claris. Dancers and actors combine to tell a story in images.

The context gave us the story. Asking questions and theatrically delving beneath its surface exposed inequities in the community and the culture. That led to defining our collective intentions, to challenge unexplored gender inequities (despite current Kenyan rhetoric about equality) and to advocate for concrete, meaningful steps towards inter-ethnic peace that goes beyond generalized conversation about the importance of tolerance. The play reveals and confronts these conditions by exposing them within the radical adaptation.

Gauging success in community-based, socially-committed theatre is not a cut and dried process. Change comes slowly and not without challenges from within and without. If we believe in art as a change agent, surely we must also believe in pursuing the richest possible expression of that art. Theatre can delve below the surface, embracing and exposing contradictions and tapping emotional depths. It behooves us to keep experimenting with how to best do that.

This team’s engagement with context first, and only then intention, process, and form, has taken us to focus on story adaptation as a driving force that can engage, inspire, and challenge. It is our hope, and we eagerly anticipate experiencing the answer, that this production and the artists involved will spark real, active, and important discussions that move the community forward.

Building Participation

Kids engaging with their first assignment as co-designers in "Me on the Map". Photo by Matt Reznek.
Kids engaging with their first assignment as co-designers in “Me on the Map”. Photo by Matt Reznek.

Every couple years I get malaise. This has happened enough times that I recognize the pattern, coming as it does between finishing one creative cycle, but before the next begins. The malaise is characterized by restlessness; do I still have time to become a physiotherapist, an early childhood educator, a sound engineer?

Most of all, I wonder: why make theatre at all? Does it even matter?

The first time I experienced malaise, I was fortunate to be taking a workshop with Linda Putnam, so I sought her counsel. Linda said that we will rarely see the impact of our work because it happens after the audience has left the theatre. Moments before talking to Linda, I was playing with a colleague’s 3-year-old son. Linda nodded at him in the corner eating snack and said, “what about kids?”

When kids are the audience, the impact is immediately apparent. You can see if they are in or out. In the words of Richard Greenblatt, the only truly political theatre is for young audiences. What surprised me over the years is the way my interest in working with and for young audiences would converge with my interest to create within a participatory aesthetic as a political and artistic choice.

To me, placing the audience at the centre of the creation not only means making choices that will create a positive experience of the artwork, it means that their experience is the artwork: where they move, what they see and hear, what they touch, to whom they speak and what they say. Ideally, these experiential aspects are balanced with elements that conventional theatre-goers might recognize, like story, character, and conflict.

Creating participatory theatre is a process of weighing and balancing all of these aspects to design and execute a coherent and unified experience. Ultimately, I want to make theatre experiences where the artists (myself and the collaborators with whom I work) agree to become invisible, conceding space to the participants, the audience. What began as an experiment, (best articulated by Dustin Harvey’s question, “can there be theatre without actors?”) is now a place where the dialogue is not only spoken by the audience but in some cases invented by them.

Jan Derbyshire and audience participants in “Me on the Map”. Photo by Matt Reznek.

One of the current projects I’m working on is Me on the Map, a participatory show for kids about urban design and collective, ethical decision-making. Together with co-creator Jan Derbyshire, we’ve designed a theatrical experience performed in the style of “classroom” that begins before the kids reach the performance space, and (we hope) resonates long after they’ve left. Structurally, the performance alternates between the facilitator introducing new information, moderating dialogue, then breaking the audience into smaller groups to solve problems together.

Through the process of making Me on the Map, Jan introduced me to the notion of emergent dialogue – what the kids say to each other through the course of the show. This, to us, became a critical throughline for the action of the play. We eavesdropped and projected the kids’ observations on screens, typed it into show reports, or simply tried to remember the nuggets of brilliance to share with each other post-show.

These were the kids’ lines. And this dialogue of theirs was, arguably, more important than anything we wrote.

They talked to each other and listened.

These two actions are the building blocks of our societies. The talking, the listening, and the human impulses they grow emerge from. Before the written word, there is the spoken word. Before the spoken word, there are the ears hearing, the eyes seeing, the mind apprehending the presence of the other – and sometimes The Other.

To design a structure or container that allows for the audience – the kids – to fully see, hear and feel each other is a manifestation of Jan and my optimistic vision of humanity. It is utopian design. It says, “I see you and it is critical, absolutely imperative that you are here. And you. And you. And you….” The presence of each individual audience member necessarily changes the course of what is happening, it shapes the meaning of the event they are experiencing.

We hope that the kids who participate in Me On The Map might be more willing to participate in real life, too. That what we do will be interesting and meaningful enough that it will make some of those individuals want to keep speaking up. That their experience of affecting the course of events in a controlled environment might communicate, without words, that they could have this effect in real life, too. That the world is mutable and we, the people who live in it, shape it.

Kevin Loring and Quelemia Sparrow in Act 1 of “The Pipeline Project”. Photo by Matt Reznek.
Kevin Loring and Quelemia Sparrow in Act 1 of “The Pipeline Project”. Photo by Matt Reznek.

These ideas are not ground-breaking, google “Augusto Boal” for decades worth of work. Nor do these principles apply to kids only. In her article in last week’s CdnTimes, Chelsea Haberlin wrote about Act Two of The Pipeline Project as a necessary opportunity for audience members to talk to each other about the pressing ideas and issues introduced by the more conventionally presented Act One. The artists involved created space for the audience to grapple with difficult questions, and then the artists stepped back and allowed that to happen. I can only imagine that Act Two was just as emotionally gripping as the first act, with its own ups and downs, and possibly a sense of unpredictability that is difficult to construct.  

As a wider community of theatre-makers, we frequently argue that one of the theatre’s key properties is its ability to pull individuals into the room together, to share space, and an experience. Participatory theatre takes this strength one step further and acknowledges the many subjective ways the performance can impact the audience. There is no objective, singular point of view. There are only each of our individual, blood-and-flesh-powered, meaning-making brains interpreting what we see, and determining how it makes sense to our individual selves.

Good storytelling is about unearthing and playing out our worst fears and having a few laughs along the way. What is more fearful than other people? This is exactly why I make theatre. To contrast the subjectivity of my own experience with that of another. To create a safe (and aesthetically pleasing) environment to attempt expression, to misunderstand, to hear, to correct, to be corrected, to disagree, and to endeavor to find a point of agreement, however small.

When faced with news stories describing abuse of authority, the rise of the extreme right, and hidden diseases waiting to be unleashed by melting ice caps, these small instances of connection seem like very good reasons to keep doing what we’re doing.

CdnStudio Launches May 15 @ Theatre Centre

Rehearse, Converse and Perform Online

CdnStudio is an online ‘room’ that uses internet technology to bring collaborators from across Canada together. With a few key props such as a laptop with webcam, a blank wall, and a high speed internet connection, Canadian artists may “rehearse” in real-time and in a shared virtual space from anywhere in the country.

At a launch event on May 15, prospective users (as well as the generally curious) can learn more about this unprecedented tool for performance creation, and are invited to try out the groundbreaking new technology on their own laptops.

CdnStudio brings the rehearsal hall to you. Rehearse in real-time with your collaborators from ANYWHERE in the world.

CdnStudio challenges some of the core tenets of what theatre is”, says SpiderWebShow Artistic Director Michael Wheeler. “Do the physical bodies of audience and performer need to occupy the same physical space? Usually, but not with CdnStudio, where the a performance can occur live but the shared space is a digital one.”

Sarah Garton Stanley with two collaborators in the CdnStudio.
Sarah Garton Stanley with two collaborators in the CdnStudio.

This is the first phase of CdnStudio. Already, the team is considering ways to refine and grow its capacity, based on ongoing contributions and ideas from the Canadian performance community. From new work development, to technologically fueled experimentation, to reimagined definitions of live performance, SpiderWebShow invites the collective creative imaginations of Canadian makers to consider how digital collaboration will refine our medium.

 

Talking Forward

Kevin Loring and Quelemia Sparrow in Act 1 of "The Pipeline Project". Photo by Matt Reznek.
Kevin Loring and Quelemia Sparrow in Act 1 of “The Pipeline Project”. Photo by Matt Reznek.

“You’re a coward!” the woman in the back row of the theatre spat at Max Fawcett after the pipeline proponent stated that he wouldn’t wade into the issue of Indigenous land claims; he’d “leave that to the courts”.

Some audience members nodded enthusiastically, others became still as they realized that this was going to get real. I was thrilled. The debates that all too often take place anonymously online, or between politicians or ‘experts’ were now occurring between regular citizens – live – in the small studio at the Gateway Theatre in Richmond BC.

This was the first comment of the night.

This conversation happened during Act Two of The Pipeline Project. Act One is the play written by Quelemia Sparrow, Kevin Loring, and Sebastien Archibald. It’s a part-verbatim, part meta-theatrical exploration of resource extraction, First Nations Land claims, and first world guilt. Act Two is a community dialogue that allows the audience to unpack/process the first act. We call it a ‘Talk Forward’.

Each Talk Forward featured a different guest speaker who had experience relevant to the play. Speakers ranged from Clean Energy BC CEO Paul Kariya, to members of the Unist’ot’en clan from Northern BC, to Kai Nagata (Dogwood Initiative), to Caleb Behn (Eh-Cho Dene and Dunne Za/Cree lawyer and activist). On this particular evening, our speaker was Max Fawcett, a writer and former editor of Alberta Oil. Max is an outspoken supporter of the proposed Kinder Morgan Trans Mountain Pipeline Expansion.

Each speaker took 10 minutes to respond, connecting what they saw in the show to their real-life experience. Then I interviewed them for 5-minutes to jump start a conversation. After that, we widened the circle and engaged the audience in a 20-30 minute facilitated dialogue. Each night ended with the speaker suggesting an action the audience could take, answering the question “but what can I do?”. This was intended to activate the audience rather than leave them feeling defeated by the weight of the issues. Suggestions ranged from “donate to the Pull Together campaign” to “use your head and heart.” Calls to action that were sometimes tangible and sometimes more abstract. The Speaker responses were filmed and posted on Facebook and Twitter where the conversation continued online. 

We didn’t want the conversation to be about how long it took to create the play or the much dreaded “how do you learn all those lines?!” We wanted to dig into the meat of the piece, and hoped the audience would want to as well. Most importantly, for the conversations to be meaningful we needed to be sure they were occurring across cross-sections of the population. To that end, we secured a donation allowing us to offer 100 $5 tickets and hired a Community Outreach Coordinator to connect with and bring in groups of individuals who might not normally attend plays at the Gateway Theatre. This led to a diverse audience that had the more traditional wealthy boomers but also a wide variety of people who are less likely to attend theatre: youth, people with aboriginal heritage, environmental activists, millennials – to name a few.   

It was an experiment and we were more than a bit nervous. Would people stay for the second act? Would they talk? Would it feel relevant? The answer to all three of those questions was yes. On average, 90% of the audience stayed and the conversation was going on so passionately at the end of the night that it carried on for over a half hour in the lobby.

For the most part, the conversations felt vital. Like the night a young white man who had spent time in prison rejected the idea of White Privilege and his comments sparked a fierce debate with our all-female youth panel. Or when someone asked a very straightforward question like “what’s the NEB?” and another audience member provided the answer. It was clear that many people in the audience were learning this information for the first time. Several nights there were Indigenous audience members who shared their personal experience. I witnessed an older white woman go up to an Indigenous woman of about the same age and thank her for the story she shared about her history with residential schools. Two Canadians living in this country at the same time with vastly different experiences, connecting face to face. 

There is immense value in looking into another person’s eyes. There is great power in hearing a live voice and seeing a viewpoint embodied. Those of us who make theatre know this. This is why theatre continues to live on despite hundreds of years of being told it is on the brink of extinction. Because people in a room together is too powerful and too delicious to ever go away.

Sebastien Archibald in Act 1 of “The Pipeline Project”. Photo by Matt Reznek.

So now I am left with the question – how do I as a theatre practitioner do a better job of lifting the audience out of darkly lit obscurity? How do I shine a light on them and include them in the blood-pumping experience of real human contact in a theatre space? I think that Talk Forwards are a place to start. And I’m aware that I have only just started. There is much to be discovered about how to encourage uncomfortable conversations and making the theatre a place where debate can occur and not just be an echo chamber.

At the end of the night, after the conversation had shifted from name calling to pointed, informed questions, one of the co-creators Kevin Loring – a member of the Nlaka’pamux nation who is fiercely opposed to resource extraction on unceded territory – said he thought it was very brave of Max to do what he did. He respected Max for his honesty and his ability to stand in a room of people who disagreed with him and state his opinion. That takes guts and is the only way real change can occur. Kevin said he wanted to give Max a shot of whiskey to thank him. Then we stood together in the lobby drinking whiskey, talking about this land, and about what comes next.

See a full list of speakers HERE, and view the speakers’ responses on The Pipeline Project Facebook page HERE.

SWS Take Over: Exploder

A scene from Exploder at Western Canada High School
A scene from Exploder at Western Canada High School

“I can feel my heart, pounding away…”

So this is a first for us. We have had a lot of professional theatre artists work with us, but we have never had a company in residence, and boy has it been epic. I think we all feel proud to be joining forces with the award winning artistic team from Ghost River Theatre to present Exploder, an original devised theatre piece created with the radical young theatre artists that are part of the WCHS drama program. Ghost River Artistic Director Eric Rose, started us off with some basic question that vaulted us into some complex and exciting theatrical answers : “What does it mean to be a teenager right now?  What are the joys, thoughts, triumphs, fears, stresses, and epiphanies? What makes the teenage heart beat faster?”

A scene from EXPLODER at Western Canada High School
A scene from EXPLODER at Western Canada High School

The answer to this has developed into a high octane theatrical experience that explores the increasing pressures surrounding youth in the contemporary age, with the concept of an exam being both a metaphor but also an ever present source of stress. Rose notes “Do well on an exam and success awaits – fail an exam and it feels like you are a failure and your future suddenly grows dim. There is an awful lot of pressure to deal with when you are trying to reconcile the collision between the past you, and the future you in the present moment.”

Featuring dance, song, movement, and a punk rock freak out that we think makes you want to quit your job and start a band, Exploder will reminds you of when your brain was mixed with a cocktail of hormones so intense it feels like the world is a cherry bomb some kid threw into the cafeteria. Grade 10 student and creator Aideen Reynolds says,  “doing the show feels beautiful and it is so cool to hear the audience react to what we are saying.” Emalia Velasco, also in grade 10 and part of the cast says, “less than 4 months ago it was a concept and now it is a real thing, it is out of our brains and out there and that is so wild”.

A scene from Exploder at Western Canada High School
A scene from Exploder at Western Canada High School

We are pretty fortunate that along with artistic director Eric Rose, there is a large team of collaborators involved in the making of project – including an original sound design from Dewi Wood, scripting from recent ATP/Enbridge Playwrights Award winner Louise Casemore, and lighting design by Jessie Paynter. “It’s a chance to work alongside artists who will become our future visionaries,” says Casemore. “It’s been incredible to see the nerves from the beginning of our process melt away into something honest, bold, and raw.”

And it is raw because that is who we are right now.  You remember.

A scene from Exploder at Western Canada High School
A scene from Exploder at Western Canada High School

And can we say this? Dear Canadian Theatre Community, we know it is hard to be theatre artists. We know that sometimes you feel unappreciated and unacknowledged. We know that just the act of making art is revolutionary. We want you to know that we see you. We want you to know that Exploder would not exist without your inspired work.

We are listening and learning and grateful.

Exploder ran April 25 – 28 at Western Canada High School in Calgary and plays at the Calgary High School Drama Festival May 3rd at 7pm, University of Calgary Theatre. Tickets 10$ at the door!

The cast and crew of Exploder at WCHS
The cast and crew of Exploder at WCHS