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Can Black People Culturally Appropriate?

A large group of people walking on a New York street with picket signs and banners reading Stop Murders by Police and Black Lives Matter.
A Black Lives Matter protest in NYC, October 2015. Photo by Makambe Simamba.

Black out. Dim lights slowly rise on the figure of a 17-year-old Black boy, as the remnants of Kendrick Lamar’s “King Kunta” fade into silence. He carries an iced tea and packet of Skittles. The boy steps into the center of the stage, intrigued by his surroundings. His demeanor is playful. His energy is bright.

“I didn’t know other people were gonna be here. Dope!” He sits in the house, studying his surroundings.

“Well…I must admit…that this is not all it’s cracked up to be. All that hootin’ and hollerin’ in church and heaven is just a black, awkwardly shaped room with a bunch of White people?”

The audience chuckles.

“Or am I in Hell?” He jokes. He is infamous – the unarmed Florida teen who was shot dead walking home from a 7/11 one evening by George Zimmerman. He is Trayvon Martin, and this past summer, through the portal of a black box theatre, I choose to bring him to life.

I am Makambe, a Zambian theatre artist who is currently based in Calgary. I am performing a ten-minute solo piece at the Summer Lab Intensive with One Yellow Rabbit. I play Trayvon.

I don his now iconic hoodie and baggy pants and bring this beautiful boy to life with a monologue that strongly resembles that of a stand up comedian’s. Trayvon learns that he is about to fully transition into the afterlife. He recounts bible stories, and remarks that he can’t wait to see his ancestors. As Trayvon, I make the audience laugh, and sigh. This monologue is sprinkled with truths of this boy’s life that I found in news articles – such as the sports he played, his favorite rappers, and his fond appreciation for Krispy Crème doughnuts. Trayvon has the audience in the pam of his hands, as he finds an instruction manual called “How to Lead Newly Released Souls on a Journey to the Ancestors.” He follows the instructions to lead his own soul, and the souls of those in the audience to the afterlife.

The piece ends with Trayvon reliving his last moments, as the final step towards fully passing on. In a fictionalized final phone call with his mother, he rolls his eyes as he mutters “Love you too,” and promises to be home shortly. Then, underscored by Kendrick Lamar’s unapologetic lyrics, we see Trayvon’s ill-fated walk home, during which he is followed and shot dead for no reason. The piece ends with his lifeless body center stage, his hoodie wet, and the lights of his ancestors circling around him.

I am touched by the comments of the audience, some of whom knew Trayvon’s story, and some who did not. Some who told me of their friends who died at the hands of police brutality, and others who remarked how easy it is to forget that the names we see in headlines like his belonged to actual human lives. My peers and mentors encourage me to expand the piece past it’s current ten minutes. “This topic couldn’t be more relevant right now.” I agree. I happen to have performed this short in the same week that social media is swirling with news of the deaths of Alton Sterling and Philando Castille, and the hashtag #blacklivesmatter continued to build even more momentum than it had before.

A close up of a young black boy's face, wearing a hoodie.
Trayvon Martin.

Weeks later, I am asked by a local Artistic Director how his company, for which I have great respect, can support my development of this project. He says the company would love to offer me time and rehearsal space to develop the piece further. Wow!

I immediately accept. I am humbled, energized, and already buzzing with ideas. The meeting ends. I grab my moleskin and just as I am about to put my pencil to paper, something hits me. It feels like confusion, tastes like fear, and makes me start to think about who I am.

I am African, Not African American. I am female, not male. I live in Calgary, not Florida. I trace my lineage to great chiefs and kings in my native Zambia rather than to those who unwillingly crossed the Atlantic on slave ships. Yes, I have experienced racism, but for the most part, my experience of stories like Trayvon’s, and all other reminders of the dangers of being Black in North America, has come from behind the shield of my computer screen.

I was raised in an upper middle class family with two highly educated and loving parents and a lot of privilege. One of those privileges is that although I have experienced racism, I have never felt my life threatened because of the colour of my skin. Another privilege is the fact that if ever I decided that living in North America wasn’t working for me, I have the easy option to move “home” to my country of birth and I would be happy to do so.
Telling Trayvon’s story comes with huge weight, because it is not just his. He represents generations – thousands of Black men and women who have been senselessly brutalized simply for the colour of their skin. He represents our present world in which men and women of colour have lost their lives for a failure to signal, or for reaching for a wallet at a traffic stop, for selling cigarettes, for simply existing. He represents the coming generation that is emerging into a world that continues to reminds us how far we haven’t come.

A close up of Makambe's face, hearing a hoodie.
Makambe Simamba.

Because Trayvon’s story is laden with so many experiences, realities, and fears that I may never experience first hand, should I be the one to tell it? Or is this cultural appropriation? Am I somehow cashing in on the painful and complicated stories of my distant cousins?

Several weeks have now passed, and I haven’t written a single word. I am scheduled to begin to develop this piece with a director and dramaturg in just a few days, so after weeks of pondering in my own anxiety, I am forced to answer my own question.

Yes, I should tell this story. This story is mine. I have chosen to accept it as so.

Yes, my circumstances are different than Trayvon’s and many other black North Americans, but we do not all have to have the same life experiences understand one another’s struggles. No matter where we come from, or which privileges we may or may not have, we are all affected by the injustice that the Black Lives Matter movement addresses.

My great, great grandparents were not slaves on American plantations, but my ancestors were still oppressed and abused through the colonization of their home, the effects of which are still seen today. And it is that same racist system that thought it a worthwhile venture to force black bodies into slave ships. These truths, as well as those of so many other oppressed groups whom I have not mentioned in this article, are intricately connected, and have resulted in a world where inequality is rampant and tragedies like Trayvon’s (not just his murder, but the lack of justice following his death) continue to be a norm.

So yes, I am the one to tell this story… but I am not the only one on whom this responsibility falls. This is everyone’s story, because the fact that we live in a world with so much hate and inequality, that for some it is dangerous simply to exist – is everyone’s problem. This is the truth I continue to remind myself of, in order to feel empowered to create.

I look forward to the day that this play, and plays like it, can be presented with the qualifier, “This is how things used to be”, rather than “This is how things are.” But in order for us to get to that point, the stories must first be told. It is through these stories that lessons can finally be learned, and healing can begin, for everyone.

CdnTimes Volume 8, Edition 3: BLACK LIVES MATTER

On Sunday December 4th the US Army Corps of Engineers refused to approve an easement that would allow the proposed Dakota Access Pipeline to cross under Lake Oahe in North Dakota. Perhaps you, like me, have been following the increasingly violent confrontations between Water Protectors and law enforcement in Standing Rock North Dakota on your Facebook timeline – it’s only in the last couple weeks that “mainstream” news outlets have begun following the story closely (I’m looking at you CNN).

Social Media platforms communicate alternative narratives of conflict from around the world. But the algorithms used to “tailor” what we see to our tastes also tends to reinforce our patterns of interest, creating a skewed perspective on local and world events.

Every so often, something punches through the echo chamber. A story. A face. A movement. Some of these come and go, inevitable victims to the news cycle – and news consumers’ – endless grazing. But other stories hang-on, galvanizing subterraneous currents of thinking, analysis and critique. The Black Lives Matter movement is a robust example of a news story that gained traction and changed discourse since its inception in 2012 – in this case about the relationships between African Americans and police in the United States.

For this edition of the CdnTimes we welcome Guest Curator Donna-Michelle St. Bernard, a Toronto-based emcee, artist and arts administrator. Through the artists she’s curated to share their thoughts, Donna-Michelle positions the Black Lives Matter movement in relationship to a continuing narrative of activism and resistance here in Canada.

First up this week (December 6) is Makambe Simamba, a Calgary-based theatre artist who points to the heterogeneity of the African diaspora in North America and asks difficult questions about voice and ownership of story while working on her solo piece about Trayvon Martin, a 17-year old boy who was murdered in Florida in 2012, and whose death galvanized the Black Lives Matter movement.

Up next (December 13) is Vancouver artist Omari Newton, who untangles the personal, political, and racial narratives that led him to writing The Lamentable Tragedy of Sal Capone – seeking the territory where artistic excellence and political activism intersect.

Our edition will wrap-up on December 20 with words from Curator Donna-Michelle St-Bernard about the relationships and tensions between Canada’s Black liberation movements and those coming out of the United States. 

In the deeply unjust world we seem to be living in, that some lives matter more than others is a point of fact that requires relentless resistance. I have to confess that I care most about those who are most like me. The people who have people around them, who melt snow in their hands and hate wet socks, who like a breath of fresh air and might need a nap, who want to make it to tomorrow in the hopes that tomorrow will be a wee bit better than today.

From this Edition

Under a Shifting Gaze

A detailed collage of images of faces of murdered black folks, art, and graffiti with words like 'justice for andrea loku'.
We who work in the 'saying' professions must believe that there is value in the act of saying, and risk. We must know that there is meaning in the act of remaining silent, and intent. Repetition makes reality. Repetition makes reality. Repetition makes reality.

Black Words in the Hour of Chaos

Here’s a land that never gave a damn about a brotha like me, because it never did —Carlton Douglas Ridenhour aka “Chuck D” Great American poet...

Can Black People Culturally Appropriate?

A large group of people walking on a New York street with picket signs and banners reading Stop Murders by Police and Black Lives Matter.
Black out. Dim lights slowly rise on the figure of a 17-year-old Black boy, as the remnants of Kendrick Lamar’s “King Kunta” fade into...

Joey Tremblay

 

Hello my name is Joey Tremblay, and this is thought number lucky 13. All my life I’ve had this recurring dream.  It takes place in my home town, Ste Marthe, Saskatchewan, amongst all of my family relatives well the community in general, because we are having a family reunion.  And in the middle of the proceedings I discover that I have the ability to fly.  Well, It’s not really flight, it’s more like I take a deep breath and I become suddenly buoyant and I start to float and swim in the air.  And I’m able to float so high, that I place my foot gingerly on the tip of the cross that sits atop the Ste Marthe Church steeple.  “hey everybody look I can fly.”

 And far below my family looks up in horror. They find my newfound ability disgusting and start shouting, “Get down from there. That’s embarrassing. Stop bragging about your stupid float-flying. Stop acting like your gift makes you better than all of us.  Be humble. You’re embarrassing your mother.”  So I let go of my breath and I slowly come down.  Fully shamed – fully humbled.  And you know, all my life I thought this recurring dream was teaching me humility. “don’t get too full of yourself.  Be humble with the gifts you have.  In fact –  better to keep them to yourself.”

But I’m at the point of saying,  “fuck that. I don’t need to put my gifts away. I don’t need to hide my special abilities.  If I can suddenly fly, then hell that’s a great thing.  It’s not shameful.  It’s my gift.”  And that’s how I’m starting to think about my place in theatre.  I was born with the gift of being able tell my stories through the medium of theatre.  Whether, it’s by acting, or writing or directing or all three.  And I’m not going to be all prairie humble about it.  I’m not going to be apologetically Canadian about it.   I’m not going to be demure and shy.  I’m not going to be afraid of being too proud. I’m going to promote my little gifts.  They are what I have to offer the world and they are worth something.  They are worth giving.

Hello my name is Joey Tremblay, and this is thought number 12 Theatre in Canada, is one of that last standing bastions of colonialism. Still, in 2016 we have not managed to shake off the specter of our colonial history.  And worse we are totally reluctant to tear down the colonial system of how we make art.  We insist on prioritizing work and narratives that come from elsewhere, and we have a suspicion and a deep disdain, or a tendency to dismiss work created directly from a Canadian experience.  Locally created work is still considered alternative to the colonial mainstream.  If you think I’m exaggerating, just take a gander and see how non-present First Nations work is within a Regional theatre’s programming.  As we know, the system of colonialism had never been that friendly and inviting towards First Nations people.  And, also, at the same time, it has never been that interested in the perspective of new Canadians or settler culture either.  In fact, New Canadian Plays, are still in 2016 relegated to the margins of the practice, as we again, prioritize and fund and stage the cultural accomplishments from Britain, from America and sometimes even from Europe.  And if you live in a small region like Saskatchewan, we even prioritize the work of larger centers within our own nation.  HEY! In 2017, I want to break free of colonial shackles. I’m vowing to prioritize and celebrate, and promote and create work that springs from the culture of Here. . . of this place. . . Of my home.

Hello my name is Joey Tremblay, and this is thought number 11. I’ve been working on a wee theory about theatre.  It’s my “go to” musing whenever I get disillusioned with the day to day practice of making art.  You know, when I lose the sense of meaning, or purpose or value of this particular art form.  In those dark moments when it all seems meaningless, and I think “I’ve got to quit.  Why the fuck am I still doing this?” My little musing is this. . . Theatre is the relentless forward moving ritual of the birth, life, death cycle.  Think about it.  We are in the business of birthing moments, letting them live briefly and watching them die and moving on. This is the ebb and flow cycle of experiencing theatre . . . the very heart beat and the breath of our practice.   Always moving forward, no time to sit indulgently in moments, no rewinding moments to re-experience them or to mourn them…. But one has to forever and forever, let go, and move to the next moment. And keep breathing and continue to experience.  Theatre is the art form of living.  This is its most important value.  Humans need to practice, need to relearn again and again, what it means to be alive.  We need to practice and celebrate the cycle of birth, life, and death.

My name is Joey Tremblay and this is thought #10. You know, the older I get the harder it is for me to be an actor. To perform in front of an audience.  I’m not sure why, part of it is because it is harder and harder to memorize lines at my age, and that is terrifying to think to go in front of an audience…. But I think the other part of it is, acting for me, was always an instinctual, fearless act, in that I just propelled myself by going into the unknown and not really knowing what I was doing, not really relying on any kind of technique that I learned in theatre school…but really relying on my intuition as I propelled forward in performance.  And you know the older you get the less sort of naïve fearlessness, maybe stupidity that I have. I always, sort of, in the middle of performing, look at myself and go, “oh my god you suck, you don’t have any technique, you spent your whole life drawing on the gas tank of instinct and your primal self and there’s none of that left. You don’t have technique to draw on.”  So it’s so frightening for me to go in front of an audience and hear that self-criticism running through a performance. So I just kind of avoid it.  I wish I was 25 again, and fearless and naïve and just doing it because I was stupid.

 

Hello, my name is Joey Tremblay and this is my thought, number 9. I was asked recently to define what I felt was successful about my practice.  Or, okay, more clearly how I defined success.  My immediate response, is that, you know, I feel successful when I’m not drowning.  When I’m somehow managing to stay afloat, in just attempting to keep my small theatre company buoyant and relevant and operating.  When I’m managing to move from a constant state of crisis to a kind of cautious calm.  Well, other than that. . .  success for me, comes when I tell deeply personal stories, in an engaging way, that takes an audience on a full journey.  I feel successful when whatever primal and personal material I draw from starts to resonate in a universal way.  I feel successful when my little stories, engage and inspire other narratives. . . and maybe awaken the personal and the primal and the untapped memory banks of every audience member.  For me, that feels like success.

My Name is Joey Tremblay and this is my thought number 8. Have you noticed that Theatre Critics are dropping like flies? Well the ones that work for newspapers seem to be going into oblivion. But, uh, my reaction is ambiguous to say the least. I’m not sure we ever had a culture of critical discourse when it comes to theatre and newspapers in this country. I think at best, the reviews, in papers were simply, a kind of consumer watchdog forum. Is it worth spending money on this show or not? Will you I get my money’s worth? I don’t think that kind of criticism is truly serving a legitimate engagement with the art. For one, reviews are one-sided one-offs of a single voice. I think to really engage a community; we need critical forums that are dialogues and discussions. A feedback loop between the artist, the critic, the audience. I think we need to create a milieu where new work is discussed in a manner that will deepen the work, and seeks to incite an interest and better understanding that the public has on how work is made? and what artists are attempting to do in making it? and how are they successful with their vision? and how have they failed? A review with a star ratings system, places the value of art in terms of the dollars exchanged. It does nothing to promote the great value of exchanging – oh I don’t know -empathy, exchanging ideas, and exchanging the creative act.

Hello, my name is Joey Tremblay and this is thought number 7.

I think people are losing the ability to empathize. For a bazillion reasons. I dunno. Pick one. The internet. Facebook. The increasingly digitized, digital world that we live in. My favourite pet peeve – Neo liberalism. Consumerism. But I really think it’s true. We are slowly losing our ability to feel empathy for other people. And, yet, in my least cynical way, I think that Theatre is the one place where empathy is encouraged, practiced and taught. Empathy is necessary for the creation of theatre and empathy is required in the participation of theatre. In this way, and everybody can discuss in more depth amongst yourselves, theatre is a place of hope. It’s a place that can I imagine the revival and survival of the human species. I can imagine it’s possible in theatre. That’s all.

Hello, this is Joey Tremblay and this is though number 6.
What’s with all these musical reviews – you know, these musical biographies of famous pop singers? Like, Patsy Cline. Buddy Holly. Johnny Cash. Elvis. You know, like They are everywhere? Ok, I get it. They make money. They fill the big houses… they please the palate for baby boomer nostalgia… but ultimately, I kind of think they reduce the art of theatre to mimicry and cheap impersonations. Because the writing is always horrible. You know the talking parts in between the songs. They are never original. They are kind of paint by numbers. Ok. They are the cover bands of our art form. Is this the best of what theatre has become? A practice as unoriginal as a good ole cover-band? Yeesh, I hope not.

Hi, my name is Joey Trembly and this is my thought #5.

Theatre needs to veer toward becoming a truly subversive art form. In every way. I mean, how it’s made, to why it’s made and where it’s made. and who it’s being made for…it’s just that in this horrid neo-liberal hostile world that demands submission and compliance and a general numbness, theatre needs to be a rebel, it needs to be punk rock. Theatre needs to stop being an opiate that pleases the bourgeoisie. Pleases the funders. Pleases the patrons. . . the patrons of the arts. Theatre needs some teeth for god’s sake and it needs to start biting.

My name is Joey Tremblay and this is my fourth thought.

I hate Shakespeare. I hate watching it. I hate reading it. I hate studying it. I hate performing in it. I hate directing it. There I said it. Okay, I’m a Scrooge of Shakespeare. And I hate the way it’s force fed to us like a cultural tonic that we are forced to swallow but we are told that it’s ultimately good for you, good for your soul. Is it really good for me to sit for 2 hours bored and disengaged , rolling my eyes and wanting to die? Is it really good for me to bow down reverently to a culture of another country, from another era, from another dead white guy? Bah Humbug.

My name is Joey Tremblay and this is my 3rd thought.

I think that we need to keep repeating the mantra that theatre is essentially a live event. It’s ephemeral, it’s of the moment, it’s full of possibility and full of potential failure. It can’t be rewound but is perpetually forward moving. I mean despite the failure, despite the accidents, it just keeps chugging ahead. So, let’s make theatre that embraces this. Let’s not make theatre that requires a passive disengaged audience of distracted observers… you know, a T.V audience. Let’s make theatre that endows the audience with an essential role. Let’s make them an active part of this exchange. Let’s always be always aware of the essential feedback loop of between the performer and the spectator. And let’s please acknowledge that everyone in the room is shaping and altering the work.

My name is Joey Tremblay and this is my second thought.

I like to believe that the key to revitalizing theatre lies within the multitude of independent, off the grid, small-scale theatres that are cropping up across the country. I believe that it’s in these spaces.. these flexible and nimble organizations that Canada is seeing a cultural revolution in terms of innovative new work, you know, where authentic expression of our local narratives are possible…. and maybe even a direct and intimate community engagement can actually take place. I think the trend in Canadian Theatre is not a move toward large admin-heavy institutions, but rather towards the innovative indie theatres that can take on the burden of risk which is required to create new work.

Hello, this is Joey Tremblay with my 1st thought.

Process before Product.

Okay, lately I’ve been obsessing with the ‘phrase process before product”. It’s kind of become this guiding principle – a wee mantra that informs my theatre practice and it shapes how I try to approach every new project. Is it pretentious? Probably. Is it navel gazing arts speak? Ya, most likely, but I guess it is just my response to the dominant practice that seems to prioritize and enables the commoditization of theatre (NOTE: I meant commodification of theatre). You know, theatre has become a kind of consumer item to be produced and sold and consumed.

I think how we make theatre in Canada is very formulaic and cookie-cutter, and prescriptive and we’ve become these experts at the three-week rehearsal process that churns out plays that suit a consumers palate . . . sold, you know, in a 6 play subscription series. Process before product, for me, is a rejection of this notion and of this paradigm- It’s an acknowledgement that every work of art demands it’s own unique and messy process of creation. If we don’t honour process, then – I don’t know – I think we risk recreating the same dull play over and over again.

Behind the Scenes of “Make Love, Not Art”

article8-photo
Elaine speaking at PechaKucha Night Calgary in February 2016. Watch her PechaKucha here.

As a fine and performing arts artist born with Osteogenesis Imperfecta (also known as Brittle Bones), this puts me at a weight of 27lbs. at approximately 2’ ¾” in stature. To say that I am one of the smallest women in the world would be an understatement, but I have yet to discover if I am actually the smallest woman in Canada!

Last year, I was honoured with the privilege of becoming the first Playwright-in-Resident for Inside Out Theatre in Calgary, Alberta. This role would mean composing a full-length play alongside Col Cseke, the Artistic Director of Inside Out who recruited me. With Col’s professionalism and experience, he would guide me in this process of creating a play that would take the stage by January 2018! Sounds like a long ways away, but this past year has already flown by so quickly!

Upon our initial meeting, Col and I brainstormed plays I was familiar with, but in that brief moment, I could only think of musicals I had seen growing up in Whitehorse, Yukon and Vancouver, BC. I admit that my last recollection of writing anything theatre related was in my early high school days, so I never considered myself to be an official playwright until Col “discovered” that there was a lot more to me than just my life as a visual artist since I was three years old!

From my high school acting classes up north, to my time at Simon Fraser University where I wrote and performed my International Women’s Day speech /testimonial to Eve Ensler’s The Vagina Monologues in 2003 and 2004, as well as performing in public bi-weekly Blackbox Theatre shows, followed by my studies at Emily Carr University where I graduated with my Bachelors of Fine Arts Degree in 2010, I learned more about the process and physical experience of writing and performing live in front of crowds of up to 100 people or to sold-out shows in large auditoriums of up to 400 people each night! Suddenly, my body was no longer mine alone!

Even though I was clothed in all of my earlier projects, I quickly realized that no matter what – both on and offstage, clothed or unclothed – society would always be watching and interpreting what they see and hear. By physically taking the stage, every performing artist essentially places oneself into a vulnerable state that automatically invites the audience to look at the physical being whether the person’s body fits the stereotypical Barbie doll figure “8” image or not. At this point, one may wonder how the viewer should interpret this vantage point. Naked or clothed, is the body a form of art, beauty or merely a spectacle of mockery and criticism?

Elaine sits infront of camera, arms outstretched away from her in a 'what?' position. Behind is a wall of photos.Knowing that inclusivity is the key focus and mission of Inside Out Theatre projects and activities, I felt that in order to make a statement and make our play memorable it needed to reflect these concepts as the foundation for our play. Throughout our writing process revelations about my personal experiences with my body as the main attraction became very prevalent.

By incorporating anyone’s body into any art piece or performance, one’s mind, body, and soul become even more vulnerable; therefore, one may say that the performer’s body becomes the highlight of the presentation. In my case, my physical irregularities and curves that society is not accustomed to, suddenly become objectified, just as they would become with any other person’s body. I tend to be very conscious of people staring at me in public as they comment on my identity, referring me to as an alien, a baby, and a disgrace to society, which could be due to cultural upbringing. I’d like to think that this is only because of cultural differences, but I have stopped trying to analyze people’s reactions to my unique appearance, which I also attempt to highlight in my play.

The premise of our play portrays the relationship between a petite female artist with a disability and an able-bodied straight Caucasian male gallery owner. The question lies in what kind of relationship these two characters share. Are they simply business partners or are they lovers? If they are lovers, how then do two differently-abled bodies fuse together as one? Not only are these questions of possibility versus the impossibility of being physically intimate with a person who is so petite, but the story line introduces the idea of two seemingly polar opposite characters coming together as more than just business partners and friends. Leaving it up to the audience to determine how well these characters really know each other increases the rises and falls in energy and dialogue throughout this play.

Camera hovers over Elaine's head. Her hair is held up by life-life butterflies and she's wearing a flowing yellow dress with flowers.It evokes a wave of constant emotions that expose very prevalent issues that exist in our society. The image of the body sustains a myriad of opinions as to what constitutes beauty, popularity, normality, and acceptance in today’s society. We are consumed by sexualized images of celebrities, body builders, and fashion models, to name a few examples. Not only does this lead to issues of self-acceptance, confidence, and self-esteem, but the underlying message lies in the questions of beauty and art from a disability perspective that tends to get swept under the carpet without the attention and education to teach society how to overcome this fear of stepping over boundaries to let love prevail no matter what barriers lie ahead.

As a skinny straight white male in North America embarks on a partnership with a particularly tiny woman of no mentioned ethnicity, Phillip and Dotty must make learn to adapt, communicate, make compromises, and often use one another where one sees benefits over the other in order to gain a notable stance in society. Isn’t this what every person wants in life? Love? Acceptance? Fame and fortune?

“Make Love Not Art,” really boils down to one objective to achieve a unity and equality without discrimination, stereotypes and the constant labels and categorizations of a person’s physical, mental, emotional state no matter who you are. It takes viewers on an eye-opening journey of power play, dis-ability and a love that holds no boundaries between the fictional characters and the creators of this play, themselves with eternal gratitude that speaks volumes to the world around us.

When You Tell Me I’m Pretty I Shave My Head

Donna-Michelle and Clare sit beside each other holding hands, smiling. Above their heads, friends with razors are at work shaving their hair.
Donna-Michelle St. Bernard and Clare Preuss get their heads shaved by Matthew Progress and Katherine Rawlinson. Photo by Kate Ashby.

Last month, artists gathered at Kabin Studio in Toronto’s east end to engage in a live-art ritual. Donna-Michelle St. Bernard and I had our heads shaved by Matthew Progress and Katherine Rawlinson while Merna Bishouty and Gray Rowan improvised on the piano and organ respectively. Ashley Botting and Reid Janisse provided live commentary on the event. Others came to witness, record and respond. It was our creative reply to recent and unexpected media attention.

In 2004, Mean Girls was released and soon became a cult favourite. I played Mathlete, Caroline Krafft, in the movie. Last month, an article was posted in Hello Giggles stating that I’m “actually crazy beautiful in real life”. A few similar articles sprung up online in subsequent days: Cosmopolitan, Self, Mashable, Daily Mail and others. The mainstream entertainment industry is fuelled by evaluating the appearance of actors, so I’m used to the unsolicited commentary that the Hello Giggles offered. But, the article referred to more than just my personal appearance: in judging me to be beautiful, the article infers that the character of Caroline was therefore ugly.

I played Caroline Krafft as a fiercely intelligent, confident, accomplished teenager who had the boys on her team eating out of the palm of her hand. She was on fire! That being said, I remember how I felt on the Mean Girls set dressed-up as Caroline. My experience was an example of what many of us have felt: the way we look affects how we are treated in the world. Mean Girls writer, Tina Fey, approached me during a break and told me that Caroline looked a lot like Tina did in high school. We talked about weight, female facial hair and more. We talked about the narrow view of beauty held up by the mainstream entertainment industry and the need for change. I was excited to play a character who inadvertently helps Cady Haron (played by Lindsay Lohan) understand that a woman’s value needn’t be based on her looks.

Clare staring right into camera with a freshly shaved head. Barber adds finishing touches with razor.
Photo by Sabio Emerencia-Collins.

So when the Hello Giggles article came out, I was angry that the basic premise of Mean Girls was being ignored. A few days later, I was at Kabin Studio with fellow resident artists Reid Janisse, Matthew Progress, and Kabin founder, Katherine Rawlinson. I brought up the articles and the growing desire to shave my head. The four of us hatched a plan to create a head shaving event. Around that time, I met with friend and collaborator, Donna-Michelle St. Bernard. We discussed the situation and she shared some of her recent media experiences with me: how her image was manipulated for promotional purposes. We decided to shave our heads together.

On Friday, October 14, participants and witnesses gathered in ritual at Kabin Studio. I can still hear the gasps that were released as Katherine cut the first big chunk of my long blonde hair. People continued to gasp, comment, laugh, and cry as Donna-Michelle and I were shorn by Katherine and Matthew while Gray and Merna played music amidst the dramatic lighting – the vibe was pseudo spiritual and super heightened. Up in the sound-proof booth, with a view of the studio, comedians Ashely and Reid offered their commentary e-talk style. As such, a meditative ritualistic event occurred in the studio while Ashley and Reid provided a more pop culture, main stream media response as they watched from their sound proof perch. As the shaving came to an end, Donna-Michelle and I popped open a bottle of bubbly each, drank from thebottle and shared with the crowd. We all gathered, drank and discussed. There was a feeling of communal freedom in the air – a sense of levity and rebellious glee.

Donna-Michelle and Clare hold camera themselves and take two joint self portraits, presented side by side. In one, they have long hair. In the other, they are smiling with freshly shaved heads.
Before and after selfies by Clare Preuss.

Since then, I’ve noticed how people react to my new look. The word “brave” has come up. It seems curious to me that something as superficial as cutting my hair can be deemed a brave act. Yet, I agree. It is brave for a woman to bare her head in our culture. I have noticed people’s gaze shift since I shaved my head. Maybe I have also shifted. People seem to perceive me as more “bad ass”, as a few friends have put it. Perhaps I am feeling emboldened by this new look. In the past, I’ve used my longer locks to help soften my image and the impact of my arty socialist politics and queer life choices.

As actors, we are often asked to conform to certain stereotypes. Yet, it is imperative to tell stories about humans from many walks of life who have a varied sense of politic and style. As such, we need performers who represent variety in all it’s manifestations. I’m grateful to the Hello Giggles article for the nudge to shave my head. This simple act of cutting my hair is an outing of otherness. It’s an ongoing experiment in the relationship between appearance and behaviour. It’s an experience in my multi-faceted womanhood. It’s a subtle live-art experiment.

And, hey, I just booked a commercial acting gig with freshly shorn head. The cut made the cut.

Vitals: Episode 2

Hovering above the face of a female paramedic laying on a stretcher.Vitals is a solo storytelling show about a paramedic.  Anna spends her days saving lives and dealing with the darkness, cruelty, and sheer incompetence of the people all around her.  How many 911 calls can she deal with, before she has her own emergency?

Vitals is written by Rosamund Small, and performed by Katherine Cullin. 

Vitals: Episode 3

Hovering above the face of a female paramedic laying on a stretcher.Vitals is a solo storytelling show about a paramedic.  Anna spends her days saving lives and dealing with the darkness, cruelty, and sheer incompetence of the people all around her.  How many 911 calls can she deal with, before she has her own emergency?

Vitals is written by Rosamund Small, and performed by Katherine Cullin. 

CdnTimes Volume 8, Edition 2: BODIES

Breathe in. One week ago: I am watching the CBC coverage of the American election and after 6 ½ hours Peter Mansbridge gets himself a chair and sits down promising we will stay with you till the very end. Results roll in and my stomach roars. Bood pulses, hands clench, jaw tightens, knees lock, cuticles bristle, forehead prickles, ears throb, and that map turns red. Breathe out. Fuck.

This edition of CdnTimes is dedicated to BODIES. This was not the introduction I had planned to write, but I can’t swallow these election results, can’t digest what has been revealed. As anti-Trump rallies ignite the globe, hundreds of reports of hate speech, death threats, misogyny, racist graffiti, acts of intimidation and violence are flooding the news and social media. The fear is growing – and it’s viceral. People are going to get hurt, expelled from the country, lose their rights, be grabbed, attacked, arrested, killed. They are afraid, not just afraid of an uncertain economic future, but of the dangers posed to their bodies.

While the body is what allows us to perceive each other, it is also how we perceive each other as Other. As politically divided territories: US and Them. For the next three weeks, our CdnTimes writers will consider the limits we place on one another based on how we regard each other’s bodies. As they tackle big questions of power and access, they will contemplate our corporeal forms as a place for personal action, change, and perhaps even a place for hope.

In our first article Making Stages Accessible, Dan Watson in Toronto picks up a thread sewn by Clayton Baraniuk when he asked Can Canada Unlimit Itself? Dan shares his experience in residence at The Theatre Centre where bodies in collaboration lead to new ways of making and performing work. A joyous and unflinching portrait of four individuals whose lives have been shaped, in part, by cerebral palsy, their show This is the point runs until November 20

On November 22, CdnTimes is proud to feature a response by Toronto actor Clare Preuss to a tabloid article written about her that she found published online. In detail, it juxtaposes her appearance as Caroline Krafft accomplished Mathlete from the cult film Mean Girls, with photos of her out of costume to demonstrate that she is “actually crazy beautiful in real life”. Clare’s creative reply to this unsolicited media attention is an artful ritual that brings with it surprising results.

An article by Elaine Lee will land on November 29, finishing this edition. The Playwright in Residence with Inside Out Theatre, Elaine, who was born with a rare condition called Osteogenesis Imperfecta (aka Brittle Bones)will share her thoughts on the performing body. She asks: is the body the art or the art the body, especially when society may deem it to be deformed, ugly or unconventional?

I invite you to take a closer look. Breathe deeply, and hold on tight.

Laurel Green

Co-Editor, CdnTimes

P.S. Thank you to Adrienne Wong my co-Editor for working with me on this, my very first Editor’s Note for CdnTimes. It’s exciting to be here to promote dialogue around topics of performance in Canada. In our new format, you can join the conversation in the weeks between each article being posted by following us @SpiderWebShow and using the hashtag #CdnBodies

From this Edition

Behind the Scenes of “Make Love, Not Art”

Elaine sits on a comfy white chair on stage, speaking into a microphone. Behind her is a projection screen with an image of a couch on it.
As a fine and performing arts artist born with Osteogenesis Imperfecta (also known as Brittle Bones), this puts me at a weight of 27lbs....

When You Tell Me I’m Pretty I Shave My Head

Donna-Michelle and Clare sit beside each other holding hands, smiling. Above their heads, friends with razors are at work shaving their hair.
Last month, artists gathered at Kabin Studio in Toronto’s east end to engage in a live-art ritual. Donna-Michelle St. Bernard and I had our...

Making Stages Accessible

For the past 2-years we’ve been making a show at The Theatre Centre called This is the Point. It’s about love and sex and...

Making Stages Accessible

A man laying on a long couch, with words projected above him on the wall behind. Words read: People may assume that I can't have a sexual relationship. It's as if they think I have no penis, or it.
Throughout the process, we searched for ways that Tony could communicate his passion, and battle assumptions people may make about him. Photo by Dahlia Katz.

For the past 2-years we’ve been making a show at The Theatre Centre called This is the Point. It’s about love and sex and disability, and was created by a team of disabled and non-disabled artists. In my experience, most people aren’t so interested in hearing about disability, but they are interested in hearing about people. So let me tell you about the people involved.

Tony and Liz are a couple. They’ve been together for 13 years. They are funny, passionate, dedicated, and if you asked them, they would tell you they are horny. They both have Cerebral Palsy. It affects them in different ways. If you met them, you might not know that Liz had CP. In Tony’s case, it’s quite visible. He uses a wheelchair and is non-verbal. He communicates by spelling out his words on a letter board. When you speak with him, you read along, and you speak his words.

Christina and Dan (that’s me) are a couple. We’ve been together for 13 years too. We do not identify as having a disability, but our lives are very much shaped by it. We have two children Bruno and Ralph (and a third on the way!). Our son Bruno is 7. He likes music and wrestling, and he has Cerebral Palsy as well. Like Tony, he is non-verbal. Unlike Tony, he is still looking for a reliable method to communicate. We are working with him to do that.

The Theatre Centre’s stage is accessible but that doesn’t mean the building is. The rehearsal hall is sunken down two feet, so they built a ramp. And it turns out there’s a 6-inch step in the hall that leads from the dressing room to the elevator. So they built a ramp. How do we know that there are all these accessibility challenges? Because The Theatre Centre invited us in, and they accepted the responsibility of providing an accessible stage. If you make a space accessible you have to commit to making all the spaces in your building accessible. And the best way to do that is to actually invite artists with disabilities to work in your space. To see how the space works for particular people with particular needs. To make a commitment, for better, for worse, to figure it out together.

Man in a wheelchair on stage, performing with a live feed camera and letter board.
With the use of a live feed camera, Tony can speak directly to the audience with his letter board. Photo by Dahlia Katz.

I met Tony through another project called What Dream It Was. Christina and I were interested in using our theatre practice to create opportunities for people like our son Bruno to create art together. We invited Tony to participate in the project. He said no. He wanted us to produce a play he’d written about his life. And we thought, here’s a guy who wants to express what’s inside of him through Theatre. This is exactly the kind of opportunity we’d want Bruno to have. We have to do this. So we met up and began to play. And he arrived with his partner Liz who would be assisting him. She said she didn’t want to be on stage, but here she is two years later rocking it out on stage.

When we started working with Tony and Liz, we knew we wanted to be on stage together. We wanted to find ways where we could be equally responsible for each other. I was not there to serve Tony. I was there to make a great show with Tony. We are responsible for each other, and we must disagree, discuss, and come to a path that we are inspired to pursue.

We started with Tony’s script that he wrote along with our director Karin Randoja. We tried to create scenes with dialogue between us. We made some really awful work. I say awful because we were trying to fit ourselves into something we’re not. Tony’s way of communicating is much slower than verbal speech, and we were afraid to take the time needed for Tony to communicate. We were playing by the rules of a verbal world. So we tried something different. By using a live feed camera and projector, Tony could speak directly to the audience. We would tell the stories this way. The length of time that it took to speak, suddenly became incredibly engaging. But where did that leave us folks on stage who communicate verbally? So we changed again, exploring how Tony’s communication could live on stage along with our highly physical approach. We began to find a form that fit for all of us. It’s a continuing process. We are never able to get it quite right, so we keep trying, we keep listening to each other, and arguing. It has led to a really interesting creative process and a deep friendship between us.

There’s a show called Kill Me Now by Brad Fraser. In its London production, the character of the disabled son was cast with a non-disabled actor. There was of course much discussion and controversy over this. In an op-ed in the Stage (which is also the forward in the printed play), Fraser defended the decision by writing in part:

That is not to suggest that disabled actors can’t do theatre, but that the way in which it is done will vary greatly by individual and role, and – in the commercial theatre at least – this will always come down to a question of time and money.

Unfortunately, I think Brad is speaking a truth. In my experience, people like the idea of inclusion, but aren’t always as keen on the reality. Theatre processes and structures aren’t built with disability in mind, so changing them can mean time, money and hard work. And these processes and structures can be so ingrained that one can’t even imagine how they could change them to be more inclusive. The perception is that there’s nothing they can do about it. It’s just the way theatre is made.

But what if there was something they could do about it? What if they opened up the process, and vision for how the story could be told?

4 seated performers, with different visible abilities, facing out to audience.
From left to right, writers Liz MacDougall, Dan Watson, Tony Diamanti, Christina Serra. Photo by Dahlia Katz.

First, it would give a disabled artist an opportunity to be on stage. Someone from an often marginalized community, an incredibly diverse community that spans race, religion, culture, orientation, class, but a community that shares the common experience of being excluded from much in their daily lives, that often face great barriers in gaining access to employment, services, transportation.

But secondly, it can make the work better because you have to change the way you work, you have to look for different solutions, and you make new discoveries that you would never have made otherwise. What seems like a limitation is actually an opportunity, and that realization can lead to a richer, deeper and more meaningful performance. It can lead to new processes, methods, ideas, images. It can challenge artists to push beyond their comfort zone, beyond what they know. Artists should be doing this. To not do it is artistically lazy.

It’s not a new idea. Well-known companies like Back to Back Theatre, Graeae Theatre, brought here by presenters like Tina Rasmussen at World Stage or the folks at Luminato. And closer to homeTangled Arts, Picasso Pro, Cahoots, Dramaway and the list goes on including community engaged work from companies like Jumblies Theatre, MABELLEarts, ARTS4ALL, and more. Inclusion is about being willing to change. Sometimes it means you don’t get what you want, or at least what you think you want. But then you find something together, and it’s better than you could have ever imagined on your own. It comes from who is in the room, our collective imaginations, our beautiful limitations, and it comes from how we hear each other

CdnTimes Volume 8, Edition 1: ALLIES

This edition of CdnTimes is dedicated to Allies.

Organizations and individuals are being called upon to support and protect the efforts of those whose rights, voices and futures have been abused through long-term, systemic exclusion and oppression. These are huge, sweeping narratives and, I don’t know about you, I feel pretty small and powerless within them. What can I do to support the movement towards equity?

I attended the Secret Path album and video release on October 18th at the National Arts Centre in Ottawa. This is a project by Tragically Hip frontman, Gordon Downie, that puts voice, music and image to the Chanie Wenjack’s story. Chanie died in 1967 while attempting to walk from the Cecilia Jeffrey Indian Residential School to his home 400 miles away. Secret Path is an art project, but also a consciousness and fundraising project – attempting to push towards positive change and reconciliation.

As I watched the concert I weptweptwept. But I also ragedragedraged, for many of the same reasons Hayden King details HERE.

After the concert and a short documentary, project producer and elder brother, Mike Downie took the stage to introduce and thank the artists involved in Secret Path. As each artist came onstage, they were accompanied by a female member of the Wenjack family. The women waited silently as the men unwittingly reinforced the culture of the privileged – congratulating each other for their progressive actions speaking up for the marginalized.

When the mic was finally yielded to Pearl Wenjack (one of Chanie’s surviving sisters), she asked us to stand as she sang a prayer song. She said their father died not knowing why Chanie was taken and to this day, their mother still doesn’t know why. The room replied with silence.

There we were, standing as we had been asked, witnessing grief, and not knowing what to do.

This was the most authentic response I’ve witnessed by Canadians to the very real questions posed by reconciliation. The silence spoke for the collective uncertainty of the people in the room. How do we proceed from here?

In the words of Toronto theatre artist Ravi Jain, “an Ally supports your cause without taking it over, co-opting or pretending to lead it. It isn’t about championing, it isn’t about leading. Give your microphone to the voiceless.”

What would have happened that night if the producer pre-empted the celebration and instead handed the microphone to Pearl Wenjack and her family? If the evening was focused not on the accomplishments of the makers, but the voices of the survivors?

In this edition of CdnTimes, we ask you to consider Allyship and practical actions you can take to hold space and lend support to others.

This week Cole Alvis, Executive Director of the Indigenous Performing Arts Alliance (IPAA), calls for the National arts community to support the Awkward Call to Arms led by IPAA, the AdHoc Assembly and The Deaf, Disability & Mad Arts Alliance of Canada in response to the upcoming final deadline for the Canada Council’s New Chapter Grant.

The second article, (released November 1) by Becky Low, Managing Producer at Rumble Productions in Vancouver, offers some ways of thinking and practical changes to better support marginalized artists and voices in the creation of new work.

And the third article (released November 8) by the Spiderwebshow’s Associate Producer Clayton Baraniuk will relate tools and perspectives about supporting deaf, disability, and mad artists and arts practices that he gained while visiting the UnLimited Festival in London, UK.

Trying to answer Chanie’s mother’s ‘why?’ is futile. There is no answer that can satisfy or bring peace. But there is that silence, the void that asks, “what next?”

Now that’s a question we can begin to answer.

Adrienne Wong

Co-Editor, CdnTimes

PS: Let me also introduce CdnTimes’ new Co-Editor Laurel Green, a newlook for the Spiderwebshow website, and a new format for CdnTimes. We will continue to publish three articles on one theme, but will release one article per week for three weeks, fostering a national conversation in the space between.

From this Edition

Can Canada Unlimit Itself?

My job at Canada’s National Arts Centre allowed me to work closely with and learn from several artists in Canada’s Deaf, disability and Mad...

Trying to Learn More – Do Better

Peering over the shoulder of a man with braided hair. He faces a dejected looking woman with curly blonde hair.
Over the past four years, my priorities as a producer have changed dramatically. When I first started at Rumble my biggest question was, “Where...

An Awkward Call to Arms

NAC announces founding of a new department dedicated to Indigenous Performance.
  As the leader of the Indigenous Performing Arts Alliance (IPAA), a national arts service organization that claims space for all Indigenous performing artists, I...