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Welcome to The Revolutions

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A Live Performance in Physical and Digital Space Featuring Performers Across Canada

Tickets are now on sale for The Revolutions by Rhiannon Collett, created and performed using CdnStudio. The Revolutions unfolds live in a theatre and incorporates performers participating across distance in a shared digital space. The Revolutions runs September 14 – 16 in The Isabel Bader Centre for the Performing Arts in Kingston. 3 Podcasts will be released by Camila Diaz-Varela, featuring the entire team before, during, and after the production.

Directed by Kathryn MacKay, the audience meets performers Daniel David Moses, Jim Garrard, and Anne Hardcastle in Kingston, engaged in a meal and conversation about, “What is revolutionary?” Simultaneously, we become absorbed in a forest where we are joined by a family that includes Maddie Bautista (performing in Toronto), Christine Quintana (performing in Vancouver) and Dakota Jamal Wellman (performing in Montreal). Each member of The Revolutions family brings a perspective on change and movements as they gather to lay to rest a family dog. Generations, politics, and technology collide onstage and across Canada, as The Revolutions explores the nature of what is revolutionary today.

About CdnStudio

CdnStudio is an online ‘room’ that uses internet technology to bring collaborators from across Canada together. This digital tool takes separate video streams and blends them together in real time, allowing users to see and hear each other in the same digital ‘space’. It was created by SpiderWebShow through funding from the Canadian Internet Registry Association (CIRA) with technologist Joel Adria and SpiderWebShow Creative Catalyst Sarah Garton Stanley, with development at Queen’s University and the Literary Managers and Dramaturgs of the Americas (LMDA).

SpiderWebShow presents:

The Revolutions

By Rhiannon Collett
Directed by Kathryn MacKay*
Produced by Michael Wheeler
Featuring Anne Hardcastle* (Kingston), Jim Garrard (Kingston), Daniel David Moses (Kingston), Christine Quintana (Vancouver), Maddie Bautista (Toronto), Dakota Jamal Wellman (Montreal)
Dramaturgy and set/lighting design by Sarah Garton Stanley
Sound Design by Deanna Choi
Projection/Video Design by Frank Donato
Movement by Zoe Sweet
CdnStudio Coordinators Derek Chan (Vancouver), Rhiannon Collett (Montreal) , and Camila Diaz Varela (Toronto)
Podcasted by Camila Diaz-Varela
Assistant Directed by Mariah Horner
Stage Managed by Madison Lymer
Production Managed by Kristen Leboeuf

* Appears Courtesy Canadian Actors’ Equity Association

September 14 – 16, 2017
The Isabel Bader Centre for the Performing Arts
Thursday – Saturday at 7:30PM
Tickets: $15 student, $20 adult

For tickets please visit the Isabel Bader Centre for the Performing Arts Box Office in person or online at http://www.queensu.ca/theisabel/content/revolutions

 About SpiderWebShow

Established in 2013, SpiderWebShow is Canada’s first live digital performance company, led by Artistic Director Michael Wheeler who co-founded the company with Creative Catalyst Sarah Garton Stanley. A Company-in-Residence at The Isabel Bader Centre for the Performing Arts, SpiderWebShow began as a dramaturgical inquiry. The question that led the charge was straight up and complex:  What defines Canadian Theatre now? Over the past four years, it has developed an online magazine, podcasts and audio “thought residencies”, video interviews, and now a virtual rehearsal and performance studio (CdnStudio). The work is rooted in cultural diversity, and programming now asks a broader range of questions about political responsibility, identity, and difference.

Québécois Circus and the Global Stage: National Narrative or NOT?

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Québec, as a stateless nation, expresses its nationalism through culture and language. What is the national narrative of Québécois circus on the global stage and works commissioned for the Montréal’s 375 anniversary?

“Québec’s brand of theatrical, mostly animal-free, contemporary circus born out of French nouveau cirque, Soviet-inspired elite acrobatics training and American entrepreneurship and showmanship has emerged from a burgeoning nation preoccupied with its own singularity and distinctiveness. Paradoxically, however, its circus sometimes comes across as blandly ‘global,’ without local flavor, to audiences seated in front of its presentations of assumed cultural neutrality or, as Karen Fricker has put it, a ‘purposeful cultural blankness’” – Cirque Global: Québec’s expanding Circus Boundaries 2008

Fricker’s description of “purposeful cultural blankness” essentially refers to a culturally ambiguous narrative that lacks an authentic Québéois nationalism. There is a ‘standardized diversity’ quality that complies with a cultural model for efficient cultural distribution internationally.

Circus companies as cultural diplomats for a stateless nation

The major cultural exports of Québec circus are referred to as “the big three”: Cirque du Soleil (CDS), Cirque Eloize, and 7 doigts de la main (7 doigts). These three companies have achieved this status because they have the most successful cultural presence on the global stage. Their success would not have been possible without tremendous public funding and support. With their success, these companies have the unique opportunity to serve as unspoken diplomats for Québec nationalism. Do these companies have a body of work that reflects the national narrative with “local flavour” or does their work simply fall into Fricker’s description of a culturally ambiguous narrative”? Based on my intimate knowledge of “the big three” over years of attending shows and conversations with artists, directors, and programmers, I would agree with Fricker’s assessment. But why?

A glimpse from 7 doigts de la main’s, Vice et vert at the SAT (Society of Technological Arts): An animated human frescos brings to life a moment from Montréal’s complex history.
photo credit: Mikaël Theimer, Le Devoir (July 13, 2017)

Québec circus is a branding as well as entertainment culture. Branding is the business of commodification, the packaging of a product or service for the purpose of selling. The “big three” have achieved international success through their branding. A representative from CDS, Alex Bedikyan, explicitly expressed at a conference on Digital Technology and Performing Arts that CDS is in the business of entertainment and selling experience, not culture or art. Eloize and 7 doigts possibly have similar agendas as they have achieved international success with a similar branding that is culturally ambiguous. They are all nouveau style circus companies. Their primary differences are cast size, costumes, and music, but their narratives tend to be generic, not specific to Québec culture and apolitical.

375th Anniversary of Montreal

This year is the 375th anniversary of Montréal. During the Montréal Completement Cirque (MCC), there were two shows commissioned to celebrate this anniversary and in turn contribute to Québec’s national narrative. These include Cirque Alfonse’s Tabarnack; and 7 doigts’ Vice et vertu.

Tabarnack begins its homage to Québec with its title, paying tribute to the subversive language of rebellion against the church. The show celebrates many moments of Québec redneck subculture through high energy group acts, live music, and the use of iconic images in the scenography like hockey and knitting. The knowledge of—or lack of knowledge of—the many cultural references to Québec and the French language did not impede the overall enjoyment and accessibility of the show.

Celebrating another facet of Montréal’s complex and rich history was Vice et vertu, a show that commemorates the main actors of the complex political climate between prostitution rings, gangs, and the government of Montréal during 1940-60. It was a visually stunning period piece played by a large cast of incredibly talented acrobats and actors. In contrast with Tabarnack, the narrative of Vice et vertu relied heavily on the audience’s comprehension of the French language.

Tabarnack! Lives up to the Cirque Alfonse reputation of audacity and amusement while paying tribute to its Québécois roots.
Photo credit: Ivanoh Demers, La Presse (July 6, 2017)

Both shows could be considered a success in terms of national narrative with local flavour, but will these shows ever make it to the global stage as diplomats of Québec culture?

In Vice et vertu, developed and performed in the typical ‘human scale’ style 7 doigts is known for, the circus bodies are playing historically ‘real’ characters rooted in Québécois culture, but the narrative does not subscribe to their global brand. Our discussions with programmers and the director of Vice et vertu revealed that the show is not intended for the international market. On the other hand, Cirque Alphonse’s branding reconnects with the family dimension of the circus and draws on Québec folklore. Tabarnack fits with Cirque Alphonse’s aesthetic and collective body of work—it’s part of their brand. Tabarnack will tour the global stage representing Québec’s national narrative and Vice et vertu will not.

Why invest public money and commission 7 doigts to create work for the explicit expression of a national narrative only to have it live in Montréal, especially when the company has the notoriety to tour internationally? Is it simply to create work for the company? Why not approach smaller Montréal companies to do such work? There are several smaller companies who might benefit from such a commission.

A poetic moment of reflection from Tabarnack as the acrobats spin to breathe life into the symbolic bells of the church.
Photo credit: Benoit Z. Leroux

Currently, Québec’s major circus exporters are in the business of branding for commodification and their work lacks national narrative that genuinely reflects Québec culture. The two are not mutually exclusive. If culture is an expression of nationalism, why not do as Cirque Alphonse has done and creatively find a way to express a passion for national identity on the global stage? Instead, rather than creating work that weaves both Québec culture and entertainment together, the majority of Québécois circus continues to quote and conform to the normative forms of successful entertainment through branding that persists in this “purposeful cultural blankness” on the global stage. Circus is essential to Québec’s national identity. We look to the next generation of circus artists to be the voice of Québec’s distinctive identity by presenting authentic national narratives on the global stage.

Can you defy death with a little more artistry, please?

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You are watching a circus performance. The artists, for whatever reason, have a noticeable number of technical errors. The overall show remains cohesive, technical and artistic mastery are consistently displayed. Are you impressed by their ability to re-center and continue with the show? Or do you feel betrayed as a member of the audience, that you were witness to failed attempts? Participants in the Concordia Field Seminar were passionately divided after seeing Compagnie XY’s premiere during the 2017 Montréal Complètement Cirque festival.

These artists have trained hard to achieve enough skills to mediate the level of risk. Ideally, the skills and risk are balanced: not too much risk if your skills aren’t very advanced. At each step, the level of challenge should increase to a place where the artist, using their mental and physical focus, can achieve the harder movements. This is what creativity researcher Mihalyi Csikszentmihalyi describes as the experience of flow, an “ordering of the consciousness” because all resources (mental, physical, emotional) are being put towards the accomplishment of one task. When circus artists undertake exceptional tasks with focus and confidence, it permits the audience to enjoy the show because we see that the risk is mediated with expertise.

Imagine the traditional circus, where the whole audience holds their breath watching a tightrope walker prepare for their most difficult trick. Some performers include enacted mistakes at these moments, pretending to fall or slip (Hurley, 2016). Yes, it gives the audience a thrill because they believe they almost witnessed a grave accident. But it is also part of the writing, a reminder that what the acrobat is doing is so UNBELIEVABLY hard they have practiced failing nearly as much as they have practiced succeeding. Even with this risk, the acrobats have layered on musicality, choreography, and stage presence. Yet another layer, that they may be injured, tired, morning sick, jetlagged, food poisoned, or fighting with their partner, yet they are in the moment, fully focused in order to both provide performance and avoid trauma to themselves or the audience.

Teetering Trapeze Artist

The dramaturgy of contemporary circus has shifted away from an enthrallment with risk, however, and explicit virtuosity is less valued. The contemporary audience, it seems, prefers to focus on the art rather than the risk, even though risk remains ever-present.

In Cirque Global Charles Batson writes about the human factor of the 7 fingers: seeing someone you ‘know’ on stage increases the “wow factor” (Batson, 2016). But he doesn’t address what happens when you see them fail. Are you more empathetic? Or do you feel betrayed because they didn’t deliver on their confidence? Angry because they made you afraid?

CuisineConfessions: Les 7 doigts de la main

Watching my friends both succeed and fail, all those emotions jostle for their place. In Batson’s piece, as in most of Cirque Global, risk and injury have been erased from the discourse around contemporary circus. And yet, Francisco Cruz (Assistant to all Directors at the 7 Fingers) mentioned how in one touring year of Traces there were between 15-20 replacements due to injury. The failures may be hidden behind artistry, but they are never far away.

Have you seen someone fall out of the air, and not get up?

I have. Unfortunately more than once. For the trapeze flyer, he was tired. It was the last trick. He missed. He landed in the net, got up, repeated the movement. The show must go on, right? “We can get this,” I can almost hear him thinking, “we’ve done it so many times.” The second time he also falls short. When he hits the net, his body bounces like a ragdoll and he does not get back up. The show stops, the stretcher is flown in from its hiding place at the top of the tent, pre-set and ever-ready. I know he survived, but not much more.

We attend the show to see acrobats defy death, not succumb to it. I left the show angry because I don’t know if he pursued the trick for his own ego or because he needed to ensure he would not be replaced by the company.

In counterpoint, I saw a beautiful moment in Il n’est pas encore minuit. One of the flyers didn’t nail the landing as she was pitched up to stand on a two-man-high column. As she folded out of the missed trick, I saw: The two-high bases were prepared, they were not injured when the trick didn’t work. The people who caught her before she hit the ground were ready. They leaned in towards her, maybe asking “try again?” She shook her head ‘no,’ and the show moved on.

She reclaimed agency on stage, deciding that her own safety and the safety of her partners was more important than proving she could do one movement for one audience at one particular moment. Even Olympians don’t always bring their best performance to the moment of competition.

I wish that the injured flyer had felt empowered to be an agent of his performance. I wish he had realized he might be too tired to achieve the trick. I wish I had seen him move on, instead of seeing him be lifted out on a stretcher, perhaps to never perform again.

Circus has evolved and audiences have evolved, and we want to see what else circus can express beyond the spectacular and act-based dramaturgy. And so, theatre directors, choreographers, producers, event organizers say to the circus artist integrated into their production: why can’t you just stay up there for 30 minutes, or hold that position longer? By the way, we changed your equipment so it matches our aesthetic, it is heavier, but we expect you to do the same tricks. Why can’t you wear this costume on that equipment? (All of these things have been said to peers in professional contracts, and sometimes resulting in injury or contract renegotiation).

These are all good questions. Questions which must be answered in collaboration with the circus artist. If the answer is ‘NO, that cannot happen AND provide the same quality circus,’ then the artist, who is risking their bodily integrity, must be part of the eventual solution.

Circus audiences, put at ease by the risk-assessed flow state demonstrated by performers, must bear in mind that the risk is real, ever-present. By accounting for that, they may experience the acute agency of a performer deciding when it is appropriate for a second attempt or when it is in the best interest of all for the show to simply go on. Experiencing this agency could offer another layer of enjoyment for the spectator.

Acrobat in Mid-air

Ultimately, the risk to a circus performer is much greater than the risk to a dancer or actor on stage. When the circus performer makes us feel confidence in their ability, confident enough to forget the risk, confident enough to focus our critique on their artistry, narrative, and performance choices, we must not forget that, at the foundation, it is because their circus technique is SO GOOD we are able to distance ourselves from the death-defying, spectacular narrative of the traditional circus.

Further Reading

Batson, C. (2016). Les 7 doigts de la main and their cirque: Origins, resistances, intimacies. In L. P. Leroux & C. R. Batson (Eds.), Cirque global: Quebec’s expanding circus boundaries (pp. 99–121). Montreal and Kingston: Mcgill-Queen’s University Press.

Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1990). Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience. New York: Harper and Row.

Hurley, E. (2016). The multiple bodies of Cirque du Soleil. In C. B. L.P Leroux (Ed.), Cirque global: Quebec’s expanding circus boundaries (pp. 122–139). Montreal and Kingston: Mcgill-Queen’s University Press.

Kliebard, H. (1975). Reappraisal: The Tyler rationale. In W. Pinar (Ed.), Curriculum theorizing: The reconceptualists (pp. 70–83). Berkeley, CA: McCutcheon.

Leroux, L. P. (2016). Introduction: Reinventing tradition, building a field: Quebec circus and its scholarship. In L. P. Leroux & C. R. Batson (Eds.), Cirque global: Quebec’s expanding circus boundaries (pp. 3–21). Montreal and Kingston: Mcgill-Queen’s University Press.

Connecting with Audiences in the Digital Age

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If circus is human, do circus shows lose their humanity when we force technology into them?

“Join The Circus?” the Quand La Foule Devient Cirque app on my phone asks me as the Les Minutes Completement Cirque performance begins. I click join. Error. I must first give the app permission to use my location, camera, microphone, and pictures. I furiously click into the settings as it instructs, while the performance goes on just ahead. The instructions said to find the permissions in the settings, but there is no option for permissions. I go back to the home page and click on settings a few more times, looking up briefly to see what I’m missing. The performers, wearing LED headsets and smart phone chest armor, look like they’re having fun. I want to join in. I delete the app and redownload it. It finally loads, but by now the performers have moved on. I scurry to rejoin them.

The app says to freeze, but everyone’s phone around me says to freestyle. I guess the only thing that froze was my app. I close and re-open it. It works now, but the instructions seem to be lagging. We freestyle, but the performers tell us to crouch down. Instead of carelessly having fun with the performers, we all look confusedly at our phones. The performers give us much better instructions than the app, but we all struggle to continue using it. The disjointed performance continues down the street.

The app tells me that it’s time to interact with an acrobat, I must scan them for a surprise. I use my phone’s camera on the performer’s hand. The design on the acrobat’s hand looks blue on my phone. I click it. Nothing happens. I click it a few more times. The performer asks me if I see it. I don’t know what I’m supposed to see. By now a child is looking on my phone too. I click it a few more times, but the performer tells me no. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Finally, a tiny acrobat flips on my phone screen. All of this effort for that? The performer thanks me. Probably because no one takes the time to figure it out. I feel that this was a missed opportunity for the performer to meaningfully interact with me as an audience member. I was technically engaging with the performer, but I was staring at my phone the entire time. The interaction felt completely meaningless.

Les Minutes Sample Design for Augmented Reality. Photo by Katalin Lightner.
Les Minutes Augmented Reality. Photo by Katalin Lightner.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the park, I sit down and wait for the Numeriques part of the performance to begin. My app tells me to add to the symphony with my phone. I flick my phone a few times as the app instructs, and noises are projected out. The app tells me to enjoy the show and tag my pictures with #qlfdc. I close the app to take pictures, only later realizing that there were additional instructions during the show when I saw other audience members following it. Ops.

Les Minutes Montreal Completement Cirque. Photo by Katalin Lightner

This experience made me wonder where the line between technology for enhancing narrative and technology for spectacle is. Besides the technical difficulties, it felt like the app took away from the experience. There were plenty of people that didn’t have the app that interacted with the performers the same way or better than those of us that did. Instead of watching what was happening, I was looking at my phone for instructions (which were normally not accurate anyways).

Despite listening to a workshop earlier in the week about the app and performance, I still didn’t entirely understand how to use the Quand le Foule Devient Cirque app. As someone who works with technology, I like to think that I pick up on how to use technology relatively quickly. I did not feel that was the case here. In the workshop, the creators of this performance told us that they had issues with people closing the app to take pictures. Even though I had heard this just days before, I closed the app to take pictures because the cues in the app made me think that it was the end. I didn’t realize it until later that this was the moment they were probably talking about. The app didn’t make me feel like I was a part of the performance. Even when interacting with a performer, I felt more connected to my phone. I’ve seen Les Minutes four other years during MCC. My previous experiences felt more authentic and had performers and audience members making meaningful connections.

Technology is cold and emotionless. If a circus brings in someone who specializes in a technology, but who doesn’t have a background in performance and human connection, do we risk the technology being just that—technology? Technology in performance without humanity is just technological spectacle.

This left me wondering, was this Minutes performance created as a spectacle? The creators of the performance indicated that they wanted to include the app because everyone uses apps on a regular basis. Do we add these things to performances to give the impression that we’re relevant? Or maybe as a buzz word to funders?

The draw of circus is a suspension of disbelief and incredible human feats. Like it or not, technology has changed the ways in which people consume art and entertainment. The answer is not to shun technology in circus, or to randomly include it and build a show around it. One of the things that separates circus from other forms of art and entertainment is the human performer. Losing the performer to technology leaves circus shows as nothing more than what you can find at an EDM festival. Technology is a tool, not an end means. The success of future shows will be in using technology to tell new stories in innovative ways—but with the human performer always at the heart of it.

Digital D Day @ SummerWorks

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CdnStudio brought together panellists from Howlround and SpiderWebShow at the 2017 LMDA Conference in Berkeley, California. (L-R) Laurel Green in Berkeley, Jijay Matthew in Boston, Michael Wheeler in Toronto and Ramona Ostrowski in Berkeley

Not long ago I ran into a prominent Artistic Director on a staircase and we got into one of those *what are you up to* conversations.  I launched into an explanation of CdnStudio, how it worked, what it could do, and why we decided to create it at SpiderWebShow. The well-meaning, and honest response, which I truly appreciated:

“Michael I can not think of anything I am less interested in.”

This is an artist who is interested in live performance as a medium that engages exclusively with physical bodies that occupy the same physical space and finds technologies like Skype alienating and to be avoided. I don’t really share this sentiment, but i understand where it’s coming from. It’s the same thing that has Michael Healey and Daniel MacIvor writing funny tweets about how we’re going to fix theatre through live-tweeting. It is a sense that DIGITAL is pushing us away from art that is meaningful and towards a discourse that like a wasted evening spent scrolling Facebook is alienating, depressing and full of empty calories.

It is a decent worry, but it doesn’t match my experience of where the art is going what is exciting about it. We are in the dawn of an age where time and space are being collapsed as data can be instantly distributed and manifested. As beings, we are no longer confined to this mortal coil. The possibilities for story and experience are exploding. The holodeck isn’t possible yet, but it’s coming sooner than we think. It didn’t take long for everyone in society to carry a tricorder in their pocket.

Landline photo by Dustin Harvey

Tomorrow, August 11, at Pia Bouman as part of The SummerWorks Performance Festival, you can experience live digital performance in two ways. These experiences are illustrative of how the medium has developed so far, and where it’s going. Landline is a polished piece that has toured extensively. It is not a SpiderWebShow thing, but it was developed by SpiderWebShow Digital Architect Adrienne Wong with her collaborator Dustin Harvey. It uses multiple digital tools to pair audience members in different cities for a walking tour and performance. It’s a good example of how live digital performance has already become successful.

CdnStudio is our emerging rehearsal and performance tool which uses Skype-like technology and chromakeying to place performers in a shared digital space. Joseph Osawabine will be at The Debajehmujig Creation Centre on Manitoulin Island and Kevin Matthew Wong will be at Pia Bouman in Toronto as will Mirka Loiselle who will be uploading and manipulating original art work. They have been given three hours of rehearsal time to mess around and present a ten-minute piece using the technology at 330PM. It’s PWYW and we will see what they made, talk about how the tool works, and hopefully, there will be time at the end for others to play with it.

Our next step with CdnStudio is to create a full-length show with the technology – more on that next week. But this week, there are two opportunities to open your mind to live performance with digitally manifested collaborators. Even if you think these things are a terrible idea – come check them out. Let’s have a heated debate based on the experience of the work instead of our experience of the internet, which is notably not designed by other artists.

Landline runs until the festival is over on Sunday. More info here.

CdnStudio Demo is 330PM Fri Aug 11. FB event here.

 

Notes from a field school in a burgeoning field

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7 Doigts de la main. Photo copyright Montréal Complètement Cirque

This summer, I led the first international graduate field school in Québec Performing Arts with a particular focus on contemporary circus, but as it has engaged in dialogue with theatre and dance in Québec.

Circus as the focus of academic inquiry and scrutiny? Absolutely.

Contemporary circus—the non-animal, acrobatics and narrative-based one, is a hybrid form of artistic performance and elite sport. The particular case of Québec-based circus with its billion-dollar economy is a fascinating one as one can easily expand its study to include marketing, global business, creativity and experience economies, as well as its international reach through cultural paradiplomacy. Concordia University’s Dean of Arts and Science’s initiative for international summer field schools allowed me the opportunity to offer a graduate level seminar on the research I conduct and regularly present internationally, but never actually get to teach at my home institution where circus didn’t quite fit into my otherwise very literary home department.

In a world of hyperspecialization and more narrowly focused newsfeeds and interests, circus in Québec, circus from Québec and across the world —contemporary circus in general— have allowed me to create a fundamentally interdisciplinary research space, while slowly contributing to an emerging field with Montreal as its North American hub.

From July 7 to 17th, 18 students from Concordia, the National Circus School, and McGill, but also students from Toronto, Chicago, Mexico, South Carolina, and Italy came together to spend 12 hours a day together, every weekday, plus some weekend events, seeing, discussing, analyzing contemporary circus presented at Montréal complètement cirque festival, some magie-nouvelle, and two immersive large-scale multimedia experiences.

What did the field school offer? Access to an international circus festival and its professional programming of panels, discussions; to the National Circus School, Cirque du Soleil, and TOHU (the only permanent theatre devoted to contemporary circus in North America); and to major artists giving guest talks.

It also offered space for practitioners and scholars and some conflicted practitioner-scholars to discuss: a safe space for doubt, for challenging one’s assumptions, for learning, for creating a research community. It also offered a rare, prolonged opportunity for academics, practitioners, a producer and many guest speakers to exchange and to come to appreciate each other’s perspectives over ten long intense days.

Professional artists coming to the field school, many returning to school after a decade or more of work were challenged by “outsiders” trying to deconstruct, analyze, understand their art and profession but without actually practicing it. How can one stand in judgment without embodied knowledge of how difficult and complex the execution of certain acts or tricks (at a high technical proficiency and prowess)? They spent years in training to accomplish this. However, they came to understand that their academic peers came to a disciplined and methodological way of reading and discussing performance, artistic discourse, aesthetics, history, and after years of academic training. The practitioners were now learning critical thought and were confronted to many of the paradoxes that emerged.

Performance Studies-trained students problematized and found issue with representations of body, race, gender, as they are taught to do. However, they were also confronted by artists explaining their process and choices, elaborating on the context in which the work was either commissioned or presented (mostly Montreal’s 375th anniversary celebrations). They were also made aware of the nitty-gritty details of the artistry, craft, and of the physical demands particular to circus. Their absolute statements became more nuanced questions as the seminar progressed. But these essential questions had a necessary contamination effect on practitioners who hadn’t always questioned their own practice and the important symbolic weight many of their artistic choices can have in a society of constant representation(s).

More classically-trained literary or theatrical types were interested in meaning-making and the dramaturgy of bodies and spectacular feats. What are the tools for analyzing this, they asked. What is the language of circus creation? What do you mean by “disciplines of circus”? How is a circus act different from a theatrical act?

Others sought to understand the cultural context that allowed the unlikely rise and importance of Québec-based circus on the world stage of both circus and entertainment. How did the appropriate conditions come about for such an industry to emerge and thrive where there had been so little circus beforehand? What is the impact of a creative and entrepreneurial ecosystem in which one player is comparable to Disney, but where a diversity of practices and aesthetics do exist outside of that global company.

This plurality of interests and approaches signaled to all that we indeed were before an emerging interdisciplinary field and that for us to seriously delve into interdisciplinary study while keeping in check our own disciplinary biases, assumptions, and ideologies.

We each come to the object of study from a place of particular, subjective knowledge or, closer to the object, of expertise, like a series of concentric circles focusing on the object of study:

  • some of us had sociopolitical and discursive knowledge and methods of inquiry;
  • others a spectator’s gaze (production knowledge)
  • a few more referential knowledge through an experience of circus;
  • lesser still an intimate knowledge of the circus world and cultures;
  • the practitioners also had a precise disciplinary knowledge and expertise (in circus disciplines fit within larger families: aerials, acrobatics, balancing, juggling and manipulation, clowning).

Yet, a high proficiency and expertise in an artistic and athletic discipline does not necessarily mean a high level of discourse or analysis. Conversely, no matter how well trained the scholar, some intimate knowledge of circus-making has proven essential to avoid sweeping generalities and misreadings. Most of us know this, of course, but to realize this in a seminar setting is to acknowledge that learning and researching contemporary circus is messy and challenging and best explored in the field but with appropriate academic tools and scrutiny. This object of study needed the context of a field school, it needed to navigate between multiple spaces in order to better occupy and engage with them.

Québec Performing Arts – Edition Context

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Cirque Alphonse

This week we are turning our attention to the province of Québec.

What do you think of when you first hear “Québec” or “Québecois”? French? Battle of the Plains of Abraham? Tourtière? The Habs (or Canadiens)? Céline Dion? Québec’s cultural identity is often essentialized into large generalizations about the population.

For example, Québec is known for Cirque du Soleil. The circus scene in Québec, however, is much, much more diverse that this one company. Both Montréal and Québec City are homes to circus schools that attract students from all over the world. There are dozens of circus companies that exist in – or at least have their roots in – the province. Québec circus is also exported and produced all over the world.

But what do we know about circus from an academic standpoint? How do we study it or teach it? More broadly, how do we teach the performing arts, a field – or the point of contact of many fields – that is fundamentally immersive and embodied? Performing arts involves the study of creation and the creative process, narrative and dramaturgy, critical theory, and cultural studies. It’s never just one thing. So why are institutions sticking performing arts classes into the one-size-fits-all model? Is there another way of going about it?

In July 2017, Professor Patrick Leroux of Concordia University set out to do just that: launch the first ever field school in performing arts (first ever at Concordia that is). The ten-day intensive course on Québec Performing Arts brought together artists, practitioners, and scholars from all over the world to discuss Québec dramaturgies and in particular contemporary circus in Québec.

Over the next two weeks, CdnTimes will publish articles that will introduce our readers to the contemporary circus scene in Québec, as well as the challenges and possibilities that present themselves specifically in producing work connected to Québec history and Québec culture. The articles focus on performances and shows witnessed during the 2017 Montréal Complètement Cirque Festival, which takes over the city once a year for two weeks during the month of July.

This week we will hear from Professor Leroux on the inspiration behind and the development of the course, and perhaps get some insight into how we can think differently about teaching the performing arts. Next week, we will see articles written by some of the students from our course, some of whom are circus practitioners themselves, providing us with a unique inside-outside view into the world of Québec circus and the study of Québec performing arts.

Thought Residency: Adam Lazarus

By

Since number one I have thought about the ending.

Fleetingly, but it was in there.

I thought about quoting someone.

I had about 6 jokes.

I had an earnest observation.

I had a story I’d been saving.

I re-examined themes of literacy, energy, love, empathy and vulnerability.

I had a list.

There was a line about going from A to B. I thought it was very clever.

I thought I should talk about my family, my wife, my kids, my life.

I thought I should talk about my theatre and artistry.

I thought I should talk about opportunity and being grateful for this one.

Tonight, I think about never knowing how to end, not wanting to end, and so not ending.

À la prochaine.

 

I’m nearing the end of my east coast vacation and I find myself thinking about dictums of yore.

They say everything in moderation. I say, sounds controlled and boring.

I think excess gets a bad rep. Case in point, tonight over an open fire, I helped myself to 6 double marshmallow, double chocolate, perfectly roasted S’mores. I could have stopped at 2, or 3, or 4, or 5. But why would I do that? To adhere to the Gods of restraint?

My face was gooey, my stomach was aching and I wanted more. I could have more so I had s’more.

Tomorrow I’m going to a natural mud slide near the Bay of Fundy and yes I am going to frolic. Happy as a pig in mud. Now there’s a dictum!

In the quieter moments, I do wonder how my cholesterol is doing?

 

 We have a duty to hold our friends, neighbours and ourselves accountable for offending.

Currently, I’m revisiting an old play of mine from the early 2000’s.  As memory serves, it had a great central character, a strong narrative and audiences loved the play.

But, reading it in 2017, the show is not good. Some jokes don’t land, and some jokes are blatantly Islamophobic.

My intentions at the time were political. I was speaking to a mistreatment of women in the Middle East!

Whatever the political intention then, today, I sound ignorant and paranoid. Who really cares about intention? Fact is, my content is bad and is grossly offensive.

Accountability.

And so for my part, my play should see the inside of a garbage bin and for the country’s part, it is time to remove from federal buildings across Canada the name: Sir John A. MacDonald.

 

Currently, I am at the top of Cape Breton Island. I have no cell service and the closest Wi-Fi spot is 10kms away.

Welcome back to 1995.

I love it. I have no longing to connect. I don’t care what anyone has done or said or blown up or threatened. It’s been a quick adjustment.

Removing myself from my life (out of the city, no kids, just my wife and I and nature) I once again think the following: We are tiny. We are fluid. We can change quickly. We can adapt. Sleep is a top priority. We’re two third’s water, we should protect it. We are made to move and climb and pull and push and jump. We are always looking to connect and share.

No one was lying about any of it.

 

Three days ago I did an 18 km mud challenge/obstacle course/ski hill climb and descent which ended in running through live wires. I got electrocuted twice, it really hurt, I thought I was crazy, but laughed so hard for having completed an 18 km mud challenge/obstacle course/ski hill climb and descent.

I did it! Holy catfish! I did it! And of course I did. Being an artist, this feeling is familiar.

We did it! Can you believe we made this thing? We said we would do it and we did it.

Unbeknownst to me, in athletics there’s a thing called DOMS – delayed onset muscle soreness. It is the physical equivalent to the emotional crash I feel after every show ends it’s run.

I like DOMS. It’s in the body, fueled with adrenaline and cries out for rest, treatment, love, massages. Proof of life.

 


There’s a passage in Adam Gopnik’s From Paris to the Moon where he talks about chicken.  When I lived in Paris, I recreated his experience of – In the morning, selecting and ordering a chicken.  Mid-day, checking in on that chicken as it started to roast. Late afternoon picking it up and brining it home to dine.

This delayed gratification was easy in France. At home, not so easy.

So tomorrow, I’m going to buy a delicious baked good in the morning, let it sit on my counter all day, and eat it in the late afternoon.

I will be okay to only look at the piece of cake.

I will remember that it is not a matter of restraint, but rather it is the joy of anticipation.

Even if the cake’s not all that great. The wait was everything.

 


I remember pennies being thrown at me.  Pick ‘em up Jew boy. 

I remember a teacher telling us, in shame, that her grandfather prided himself on his ashtray made of Jew bones.

I remember weeping at Yad Vashem – every time I’ve been.

I remember feeling at home as a socialist in Israel – every time I’ve been.

When I was five, I rememer I was at school playing in the sandbox and this boy told me he was glad Hitler killed all the Jews.  I shoved his head into the sand and held it there until a teacher pulled me off. We were both suspended.

I remember learning to remember.

 


In early November 2016, I went to a psychic healer. I remember ranting about time and my lack of it. The healer challenged me to split time in half: As many times as I wanted. Stretch it out. If you want, a day can be an eternity.

Remember when you could do that as a child?

Mid-August 2017, here I am at the just-past-halfway point in my thought residency, and I’m thinking about time again. Trying to slow it down. Feeling like I’m on the other side of things in life.

What do I want to devote the next 3 to 5 to 35 years of my life doing? How can I spend more time with my family, my friends, myself?

How can I find time to split time?

 


Today, I’m a worried husband, father, friend, Jew, artist, human, and I’m thinking about the monster.

My monster is filled with hate and vengeance. He’s mean.

He’s not obviously violent. Doesn’t throw punches or light fires.

Instead, my monster is devious and finds subversively violent ways to ruin lives, destroy families, and end friendships.

My monster works to make people feel bad. Make them suffer, mentally.

The monster is not positive, but he lives with me

 

Today my Uber driver did up my window and put on the air conditioning without asking.

I felt like my kids must feel.

In school, my acrobatics teacher would give us a rest and then say: ‘and every good moment ends’.

From early childhood I’ve been conditioned to accept fun and joy being given, and then taken away with little to no warning. “Shut off the TV now. Bath time’s over. Play time’s over. Five minutes and we’re going home.”

I’ve been in training for submission.

What a difficult thing to master.

 


Today I don’t want to work but I’m going to.

Today my body is asking for a break. I’m sweaty. I’m drowsy. My eyes are burning. My mind wants a break. I want to shower, putz around my house and then maybe take a bath. I want to feel bad for myself.

I was told that it’s probably the weather.

Today I feel bad for feeling bad for myself. I’m lazy. I should suck it up, take a pill, go for a walk, get back to work.

And so, I do.

Oh the disgrace of sadness! The weakness of fear.

 

Examination can be the great killer of experience.

But I will try.

I don’t know why I make or say or do at least 15% of my life.

This part of myself doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t analyse – my instincts, actions, emotions, desires, or how I can be bull-headed, grumpy, and flippant.

It is this 15% of myself that is in constant chaos, that keeps me curious and questioning everything.

It is my friend who invites failure and says that change is possible.

 

J’adore la langue française, et je ne parle pas très bien le français parce que mon grammer est terrible, mais je comprends plus.

My French is terrible but I pretend that I’m very good at speaking it.

When I’m in a French speaking place, I try to watch and listen. I talk to myself, out loud, a lot. I plan a few key phrases and then I engage as though I understand and when I don’t I ask: Qu’est-ce que c’est le mot (insert a French word they just said) en anglais?

It sometimes works.

It sometimes doesn’t.

Et, c’est tout.

 

At 27, some friends and I took a trip and drove the Cabot Trail on Cape Breton Island. A number of times I got stuck behind cars moving way too slowly, and every time, it stressed me out. Only me. Then at some point my friend Vlad – a circus artist from Los Angeles – set me right when he said: ‘Hey now. Where are you going?’

I am quick to impatience, I bore easily and I can be unforgiving while I’m waiting for progress in other people.

I’m consistently checking that.

 

I’m thinking a lot about literacy lately:

One – I read the final 300 pages of Hanya Yanigahara’s A Little Life, through a steady stream of tears and thought: at this rate, I will die having read only 100 books in my adult life.  That is tragic and unacceptable.

Two – I turned 40, and started training for a 15-mile obstacle course race. This kind of work is very new to me and very difficult. But I’m doing it.

Three – Every time I change. Every time. I feel embarrassment and regret

Reflections on Relaxed Performances

By
Postures when seated and relaxed. Originally published in Popular Science Monthly, vol. 42, 1892/3. PD-23

Theatres often presume an able-bodied audience member capable of following the spatial and social scripts for movement within most professional venues. But maybe you are someone who cannot sit in dark spaces. Or feel uncomfortable when people stare at your involuntary tics. Maybe sudden noises upset you and crowds are disorienting.

Relaxed Performances (sometimes called “sensory-friendly performances”) have emerged in theatres across the U.K., U.S., and Canada in response to these predicaments. These shows are open to everyone, but they are specially adapted for those who might find the normal conditions of a theatre prohibitive. As yet, there is no systematic set of changes or program of certification to qualify a performance as relaxed. Instead, there is something like an à la carte menu from which companies can build a relaxed show. Every iteration offers an opportunity to fine-tune and try out new methods.

I encountered relaxed performances when I started at the Sudbury Theatre Centre (STC) last fall.STC programmed its first relaxed performances for the 2016-2017 season, committing to one performance for each of the mainstage productions.* Modifications in its relaxed shows included: keeping the house lights dim and doors open throughout the performance, creating “chill-out” zones outside of the auditorium, and reducing the intensity of loud or sudden technical effects. We also extended curtain speeches to include a synopsis and to allow actors to introduce their characters. This was especially important for our holiday show, It’s A Wonderful Life. 

Photo of Sudbury Theatre Centre's production of "It's A Wonderful Life" by Robert Provencher. Actors from left to right: Richard Alan Campbell, Robbie O'Neill, Jessica Vandenberg, Mark Crawford, Richard Barlow, and Kelly Penner
Photo of Sudbury Theatre Centre’s production of “It’s A Wonderful Life” by Robert Provencher. Actors from left to right: Richard Alan Campbell, Robbie O’Neill, Jessica Vandenberg, Mark Crawford, Richard Barlow, and Kelly Penner.

It’s a Wonderful Life adapted the Frank Capra movie as a live radio broadcast set in the 1940s. Scenes jumped between the station and others that sprung to life from the “listener’s” imagination. Actors played multiple characters, sometimes performing quick costume changes on stage for comedic effect. All this might have been confusing for an average viewer, but even more so for patrons with certain cognitive conditions. The curtain speech also previewed a moment in the play where one character violently shakes another. The idea was to demonstrate that the situation remained safe despite looking otherwise. At the end of the performance, patrons also had a chance to meet the cast in the lobby.

STC had intended to, but did not, produce visual stories as tools to help patrons familiarize themselves with the building in advance of their visit. Visual stories offer a kind of tour, pairing photos with short descriptors and moving in order from the patron’s entrance to their exit. For instance, you could start with a photo like this welcoming them to the building:

Sudbury Theatre Centre Building, Photo by Haritha Popuri
Sudbury Theatre Centre. Photo by Haritha Popuri

followed by one of Box Office explaining how they get their tickets:

Sudbury Theatre Centre Box Office. Photo by Haritha Popuri
Sudbury Theatre Centre Box Office. Photo by Haritha Popuri

Recently, I presented on STC’s experience with relaxed performances at a conference. Thank you to the dramaturgs whose thoughtful contributions have helped shape this piece. One concern I raised was how relaxed performances can attend to the specificity of disability and the experience of individuals living with them, while also aiming to be broadly inclusive. Is the model too generic to actually serve its purpose? A first step might be consulting with local organizations that are more directly involved with the demographic one hopes to attract. This was another oversight on STC’s part. Had we worked more closely with these services, we might have developed relaxed strategies better suited to our local community. If in a larger city, another idea would be to borrow from Inside Out Theatre’s Good Host Program. The Good Host facilitates accessible performances beyond relaxed ones (e.g., ASL interpretation, audio-described, etc.) in venues across the Calgary. By coordinating with other companies and producing a calendar of events well in advance, the program offers more choice to potential patrons and greater scheduling flexibility.

Another concern of mine: what about the aesthetic possibilities of relaxed performances? The literature often stresses that, apart from minor tweaks, the performance itself remains immune to the relaxing process, thus protecting artistic integrity. But there is room to consider things differently.

‘Extra-Live’ is a term that has been pitched in lieu of ‘relaxed’ in some U.K. circles. As journalist Natasha Tripney writes: “…[‘Extra-live’ is] not just a semantic alternative to the word ‘relaxed’ but more of a provocation, something that invites theatremakers and audiences to question ideas of traditional theatre etiquette and create as open a space as possible….” Instead of instructing actors to politely ignore any unexpected movements or noises from the audience, what if they incorporated it into the performance to some degree? Acknowledging the shared space between performer and spectator can be exciting, perhaps revelatory. It honours theatre as an intersubjective encounter, a potentially unsettling event.

Finally, what better than the audience of a relaxed performance to point out that no two people experience any event the same way. If we take this plurality of experiences as a premise, then how can we better support artistic creation to reflect it? When discussing accessibility in the arts, it’s important to include artistic as well as audience development. On that note, I’d like to recognize the work that the Playwrights’ Theatre Centre is doing with ACK Lab, which could be said to “relax” the creation process itself, helping artists with lived experiences of disability to produce their work.

Much has been said of theatre as a space to challenge conventional beliefs and foster human connection. But the physical space and normal operations within can be coercive and exclusionary. Relaxed performances may shift the paradigm closer to theatre’s ideal. The practice continues to develop, with signs that attention is now turning to its artistic possibilities. As for STC, we will continue to provoke, to rewrite the script, acknowledging and amending the blindspots in our place of seeing.

*Edited September 27, 2017. The article previously stated that STC was the first company in Canada to commit to one relaxed performance for each of its mainstage productions. However, Theatre Passe Muraille in Toronto has programmed relaxed performances for each production for the past two seasons. –AW

First There Is A Mountain: Reflections On The Republic Of Inclusion

By
A photo of a blurry maple leaf taken at the Republic of Inclusion by Brad Rothbart.
Photo by Brad Rothbart.

A man with Cerebral Palsy flies to a foreign country to be part of an inclusion conference. There’s a joke there somewhere, and it was on me.

You see, my entire life I’ve been fighting for disabled folks like me. I think we should be found everywhere – the existence of people with visible physical disabilities should be undeniable. To quote the disability rallying cry, “Nothing about us without us!” That’s the story of me I tell to myself. That’s the person I like to think I am. So, as someone invited to the Republic of Inclusion, the end of a cycle about Deaf, Disabled, and Mad Arts, I should be home, right? These are my peeps.

So why am I standing with my hand on the doorknob of the Shenkman Arts Centre, freaking out? Why do I want to run away? As I began to analyze my reaction I realized two things: 1. The person we say we are, the person we want to be, and the person we actually are are often three different people. 2. I had been programmed by years of societal conditioning to avoid other disabled people.

Here’s the big disability secret: If you can pass for non-disabled, you do it. If you can find others who can pass, they become your community. If you see folks who cannot possibly pass in the mainstream culture, you run like hell in the other direction, for fear of being found out by association. This idea is so inculcated in my being, so fundamental to my existence, that is hard to realize, much less speak about. It is, to quote David Foster Wallace in This Is Water, my default setting.

I was busy deconstructing my experience in real time because Laurel Green of SpiderWebShow (a group I’ve admired for a while) asked me to write this article. I was at The Republic of Inclusion because Sarah Garton Stanley had invited me almost a year earlier. When Sarah first mentioned it to me I didn’t give it much thought, as it felt a bit like “we should have coffee sometime” – one of those well-meaning things people say that have no chance of ever coming true.

One day, while feeling sorry for myself, I decided to drop Sarah an email to see if any of this was real – and, lo and behold, it was! I was absolutely thrilled and couldn’t wait to get there, until I was actually on my way. I was so actively avoiding what I was about to do that while waiting to pass through customs at Pearson Airport in Toronto I helped not one, not two, but three foreign grandmothers who were being held for questioning   connect with their worried grandchildren.

As I got closer to Ottawa, my brain started making “do not engage” flashcards and shoving them in front of my eyes.

FLASH: You are middle-class. What if they aren’t, and you say something offensive? DO NOT ENGAGE!

FLASH: You are horribly over-educated. What if  you seem pretentious? DO NOT ENGAGE!

FLASH: You are American and they are Canadian. In this Age of Trump, you can’t be too careful. DO NOT ENGAGE!

FLASH: They have been together for 10 days and you are only coming in for the last three. What if you act too chummy? DO NOT ENGAGE!

As the coup de grace, the arrogant part of the brain piped up with FLASH: You are a journalist (as if I’d just been hired by the Citizen, or the Globe and Mail) and cannot risk losing your objectivity. DO NOT ENGAGE!

Photo of the ceiling taken by Brad Rothbart at the Republic of Inclusion.
Photo by Brad Rothbart.

When I finally walked in the room, what I saw was truly remarkable. There were folks of all ages, sizes, shapes, and skin colours. Folks in wheelchairs, some with attendants and some not. There were ambulatory folks was with prostheses, folks with low vision and/or hearing, and even an artist with Tourette’s syndrome. The vast majority of these artists were in deep and passionate conversations with each other. Now, I’ve hung out in some freaky scenes, and this was the equal of any of them.

In the whack-a-mole that is my brain, the fear of inferiority suddenly popped up. These folks looked pretty serious. Could I hang? Was I good enough? Was my existence at this the event the exact moment that Canada became cooler than the USA? You already have poutine and Justin Trudeau – was I the American third strike?  My brain was now running down possible scenarios that would allow me to feel better about myself. As I looked around I saw a subset of better-dressed folks. Officials, perhaps? Management? Funders?  New plan: I’ll worry about the article later. Now I’ll network. I’m good at networking. I can do this. Goal: Pass out as many fancy business cards as possible. Stretch goal: Return to the US with a job. Go!

After schmoozing for a bit, I looked up to see a performance starting. The brain was split on this new development – half of it wanted the piece to be brilliant so I could say I’d spent time with genius artists, while the other half wanted it to be awful so I could feel better about myself. It was Erin Ball, and she was fantastic.

Erin is a circus artist who lost both of her feet while on a walk at night. Her feet got wet early in the walk, she sat down for a while, and when she tried to get up, she couldn’t feel them. Erin fell unconscious and 6 days later she was found. Ms. Ball gave an aerial silk performance on two 10-meter-high silks. Her act was literally breathtaking, as she removed both prosthetic feet while 5 meters in the air, and did the second half of her routine footless. Seeing experimental performance, the type of work I began my career with, I relaxed. Of course, the work was good and thoughtful. Canadian artists take their time to develop these things. After all, this is a country that venerates curling, said the brain.

That night there was a party at the “Inclusion Lounge.” It was one of the first things I noticed on the schedule, and I was dreading it. The image in my head I couldn’t shake was one of apple juice, graham crackers, and Anne Murray on the stereo. I have rarely been so wrong. These folks knew how to throw down. Not only was there a DJ / mixmaster working in the turntables, not only was the music so loud you could barely hear yourself think (just like in any good club) but there was an impressive array of snacks and drinks.

The next day was devoted primarily to panels, which allowed Mr. Thinky Judgypants to once again come to the fore. Was the subject matter interesting? Were the panelists well-spoken? Was the discourse as nuanced and high-level as that my fancy graduate school?  The answers, respectively, were often, usually, and sometimes.

Afterwards, there was another party, even more Dionysian than the night before. However, I went home to my hotel room feeling more alone than ever. Now I was with a very cool group of artists who I barely knew and wasn’t going to get to know, as the next day was our last together. If I had blown my chance to be part of the group, at the very least I needed to fully arrive before I had to leave, and I had no clue how that would manifest itself.

Photo of chairs, some with people in them, taken by Brad Rothbart.
Photo by Brad Rothbart.

That final morning had been presented as a chance to give feedback regarding one’s experience of the panels, and the overall event. It wasn’t. Instead, we were given the chance to revision the room, to find our own way to be most comfortable in that space. There were many objects one could use to attempt this task, but my eye immediately settled on a large sheepskin. After I acquired it and placed it in the section of the room that felt best to me, a man who I had never seen before and whose name I never learned, asked if he could share my sheepskin.

Once we both laid down, and without my requesting it yet with my grudging permission, he began the most extraordinary guided meditation, asking me not only what I saw and encouraging me to examine what I saw more closely but, as importantly, asking me what it meant. Something profound inside of me shattered. For the first time in 40 years, I felt free. Free from my own expectations for myself. Free from the expectations of others. Able to be at peace with who I was in that moment. After three days of emotional journeying, I had finally arrived. I was home now and I instinctively knew I would carry that home everywhere I went.

Photo of a maple leaf coming into focus taken at the Republic of Inclusion by Brad Rothbart.
Photo by Brad Rothbart.

First There Is A Mountain

 

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