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Space for Transformation

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What Happened to the Seeker. Photo: Steve Lucas

In STO Union’s latest show, What Happened to the Seeker, I play, and in many ways ‘am’, the lead character: a woman whose multiple attempts at healing from a traumatic event leads her down numerous roads, which lead to more trauma, until she finally finds the space she needs in order to heal.

The “space to heal”… Space here is the operative word. Like air around a wound, empty space is the key ingredient in all transformation. It can be the empty space of the meditation hall, or the empty space of the theatre, but it is always found in the empty space of the breath itself, entering the wound, transforming it, almost miraculously.

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Photo: Steve Lucas

First, the Seeker must re-discover the trauma: it is covered over by multiple failed attempts at suppressing it: booze, sex, partying, you name it: we all have our demons. Those demons distract, cover over the broken heart. The lack of stability that most of us in the theatre world live with adds to the confusion: we give so much and are rewarded with the insecurity of not knowing where the next job will come from, and if what we do has any merit or value at all, at the end of the day.

So the Seeker must start at the beginning: the first step is the agitation, the subtle level of nervousness that feels slightly uncomfortable, that is always kind of ‘there’, right under our conscious minds. In the Seeker project, we have people moving around, from experience to experience, as the agitation propels us forward on the search. Eventually the search and the overwhelming pressure of too many distractions must make us stop. Stop.

At 29 years old I began the process of ‘stopping’. I was so frayed by a life on the run, spinning out of control, longing for a home to replace the one I had left at a very young age. My home was in the Ottawa-Gatineau region, on the Québec side of the border. I couldn’t wait to leave it so that I could go out into the world and find a better, safer place for myself.

The search began to end when, alone on a road trip through the United States, I parked in a Sedona mall, not knowing where I was going to go next. I saw a sign that said ‘free healing session’ and, because I was lost, I decided to try it out. I remember one of the healers just repeating, almost under his breath, “so much pain, so much pain”. When I got back into my car, I burst into tears – I felt so sad for myself… how had I come to this?

WH BLONDE PHOTOLife then led me to a meditation teacher, whose initial comment to me was: “you are hanging onto life by a thread”. And it was true, I was ready to leave this world of suffering – I saw no way out of it. Then began the years of sitting in meditation halls, becoming familiar with silence, stillness, and eventually peace. I worked with many teachers who taught me the critical role that breath has in the process of transformation. They showed me how to empty the well of sadness I had carried for so long.

I recall weeping in the arms of a fellow meditator, an older woman, who held me in her arms and rocked me like a baby. I stayed in her arms for hours, so deep was my well, as fellow meditators took turns giving her water and supporting her back as she held me and gave me the motherly love that I had so little experience with. My well emptied out and what was left was space: beautiful, peaceful space.

For fifteen years I sat in those halls, heard the most tragic and beautiful stories from people who had come there too, to find some kind of way out of the burdens that life had brought to them. The similarities in between those halls and the theatre space were in no way lost to me – they are close cousins, both spaces for healing, both fully dependent on the power of space, both know, at the core, that space itself is what does all of the healing.

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Photo: Austin Lui/Barry Padolsky architects

Through healing, I was able to make peace with my past and let it go. That peace allowed me to return to my home, the Gatineau hills, the very same landscape where the wounding had happened in the first place. The land no longer terrorizes me, but rather has transformed into the net that now sustains me. hat I ran away from, I return to, as if returning to the scene of a crime, no longer looking for clues to solve the mystery, but rather to plant a garden in gratitude for everything that it has taught me.

The space of the meditation hall, the theatre, and the breath merge together: space holds life without judgment or fear. My first home was the theatre – that is where I got my first inkling of the power of space. My second home was the meditation hall: that is where space took over my being. My final home is here, on this planet, no longer the walking wounded, but the wounded held by a peace and stillness that is always right here and now. I am deeply grateful for whatever forces that led me here and even more grateful that I have the opportunity to share this story with others.

 

 

 

 

#CdnCult Times; Volume 5, Edition 5

This edition consider art, artists, and change.

When I became Executive Director of STAF I insisted on having a double title that included “Transformation Designer”. I wanted it to be super-clear change was coming and that it was my job to make sure about that. Over the past ten months I have worked with artists and arts workers within the organization and the broader community to make a lot of changes with the aim of strengthening independent theatre. The positive nature of this experience has reinforced what I have known for a while:

When we set our minds to it, artists are really good at making shit happen.

Each of these artists explores a different type of change: Raoul Bhaneja investigates whether theatre artists can make change for one Syrian family, Nadia Ross reflects on her journey to bring about change within herself, and Darrah Teitel on bringing about the change in arts activism Wajdi Mouawad called for seven years ago.

Change is in the air, if we want it.

Michael Wheeler
Editor -in-Chief: #CdnCult

 

The Pipeline Project

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About two years ago Vancouver-based Director and UBC theatre professor John Cooper approached me about a project he was interested in pursuing that explored the issues surrounding and questions regarding the Enbridge Northern Gateway Pipeline Proposal. The idea was to use a book, Extract, The Pipeline Wars, Volume 1: Enbridge, comprised of articles from the Vancouver Observer following the issue over several years, as the foundation for the project. John had already been in discussions with Sebastien Archibald and Chelsea Hamberlin, the two principal artists of Vancouver-based indie Theatre Company ITSAZOO.

He recognized very early on that in order to tell this story adequately it required an aboriginal perspective as the proposed pipeline directly impacted over a hundred First Nations.

So he approached me. John asked a very simple question: How are we meant to live?

I don’t know? But I knew if I am to do this project, my company Savage Society needed to co-pro with ITSAZOO, to lend our perspective and to explore this question together as partners.

To help us imagine and explore the stories with a visual sense, John also contacted Video Projection Designer and Photographer Tim Matheson.

I felt that it was essential that we have an aboriginal female voice at the table so I contacted my friend, actor and playwright, Quelemia Sparrow.

With our core company assembled, we started by examining the book. We met as a company, reading the book together, exploring and discussing it chapter by chapter. We pulled anything between quotations as potential dialogue and text. Our approach brought a number of challenges and discoveries. The articles read well, but they were journalistic in nature and didn’t immediately lend themselves to theatre. To play them required a lot reworking to make it dramatic.

This reworking had to be carried out with a delicate hand so as to not to manipulate the verbatim text and overly distort the sources intent or meaning. The scope and scale of the issues and personal stories were dramatic enough, but the voice of the journalists who wrote the articles needed to be included to make any of it make sense as a piece of theatre. So we invented a character called “The Journalist” that could contain that voice. We also explored media coverage, or “noise“, from both sides of this intensely polarized issue. The noise is all around us. Polluting the water. Nonsense and shitfaced opinions from demagogues and fear mongers. To search for any truth about this the issue you will quickly find that it is distorted by a discord between facts and feelings:

Do you feel that there is an economic benefit? Or you do you like water and everything that it sustains? Those are the arguments.

The facts themselves seem only to be useful as tools to understanding. Understanding requires experience and a connection to the story. So we began to explore our personal connections to these issues. Asking ourselves the central question: How are we meant to live? Like so many things about the Petro-Chemical Industrial complex, it’s just so fucking big.

Petroleum is in everything! We burn it, Play with it, eat it, wash with it, wear it, drive with it, sleep on it, War with it, fly with it, ship it, text and send emails with it, breath it, fuck it. Everything we do in this modern industrial technologically saturated world is made possible only by the wondrously complex hydrocarbon chains we call oil.

It is so ubiquitous to our civilization that we take it completely for granted. How can we possibly live without it? How can we possibly live with it? How are we meant to live?

Over the course of about a year and a half, we collectively wrote a first draft that initially read at almost 3 hours. Like I said, big. We were given an opportunity to present a staged reading at the 2015 Talking Stick Festival. So for the next 6 months we delegated three writers to take over that end of the project: myself, Sebastien, and Quelamia. We proceeded to knock it down to a manageable size. We cut it in half and read this second draft at the Talking Stick Festival. We received a ton of helpful feedback.

The evolving nature of this story has dramatically shaped our work (pun intended). Since we started this project, the world has gotten hotter. The Kitimat Plebiscite resulted in a no vote. The price of oil has tanked. The NDP swept the Alberta provincial elections for the first time in history. The Middle East is melting down. Vancouver experienced its very own oil spill in the Burrard Inlet. Burnaby Mountain became the site of a massive protest against the twinning of the Trans Mountain Pipeline. And the Tsilhqot’in Nation won a lands claim case in the Supreme Court of Canada, upholding their claim to their un-ceded ancestral territories.

All of it.

This decision will pave the way for the rest of the First Nations who have never ceded their lands, to reclaim what was always theirs, redefining the relationship between First Nations and the Federal and Provincial Governments who have occupied, administered, and settled their lands for only the last 150 years.

Right now the First Nations are shaking the foundations of the province we still call British Columbia, and any pipeline to the Pacific has to pass through them.

So where do we go from here? We began this project thinking it was about a pipeline. We thought that the source for this story was a book of articles and our interpretation of second-hand accounts. What we’ve discovered is that it’s about us. It’s about our relationship to this land. It’s about rediscovering what is important to us as citizens of this one and only Earth. It’s about what it means to be a human being in this technologically saturated media frenzied world. As we move towards another draft and another workshop this summer at the Vancouver East Cultural Centre, we’ve cut the Journalist, stripped away the verbatim, toned down the noise, and listened to each other, and to ourselves. How are we meant to live?

The arts funding pipeline

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Sea Sick, written and performed by Alanna Mitchell

“The ocean contains the switch of life. Not the land, not the atmosphere – the ocean. And that switch can be turned off.” ~ Alanna Mitchell, Sea Sick 

* * *

In May 2014, I wrote a piece for this very publication called Why the Canadian Arts Coalition doesn’t speak for me. The CAC at that time had recently come out in support of the Harper Government’s 2014 budget, for “renewing key programs”. This essentially boils down to a big thanks-for-not-cutting-arts-funding, while avoiding mention of any other aspect of the government’s agenda.

In my article I argued that it was irresponsible for me – for our community – to support arts funding policies while ignoring so many other issues we examine/question/challenge as artists: the corrosion of civil liberties, draconian “tough on crime” policies, the treatment of our indigenous population, the list goes on. Among several other Harper-related issues I could not ignore, was the muzzling of scientists, and the blatant disregard for anything resembling environmental policies related to climate change.

“My priorities as a citizen outweigh my priorities as a cultural worker”, I wrote.

* * *

This May, I spent much of the month touring a show for The Theatre Centre that examines how the global ocean has come to be “warm, breathless, and sour”. Alanna Mitchell’s Sea Sick opened The Theatre Centre’s new home in March last year, and has been touring the country ever since, with stops in Montreal, Vancouver, and Calgary, as well as a successful remount in Toronto. Last year it was nominated for a Dora Award for Outstanding New Play. This play was getting around.

And so in May of 2015 – one year after writing about the Canadian Arts Coalition – I found myself taking Alanna and the show to the Uno Festival in Victoria. Prior to UnoFest, however, some of The Theatre Centre team, including Artistic Director Franco Boni, our Manager of Artist & Community Activation Tiana Roebuck, and myself, all made our way with Alanna to Ottawa to be a part of NAC’s Ontario Scene.

Not only did we have the opportunity to present the work three times to the fantastic audiences of Ottawa, we also had the chance to introduce Alanna and her stories and research on Parliament Hill. The World Wildlife Fund had caught wind of the fact that Sea Sick would be in Ottawa, and got in touch with Alanna and The Theatre Centre to help arrange a lunch meeting with the government’s “All-Party Oceans Caucus”. So we all marched over to the hill, where Alanna took the opportunity to teach the caucus the definition of PH, and Ocean acidification.

We even conducted a little experiment in which Alanna demonstrated (with chalk and vinegar) how hydrogen ions in vinegar “steal” the calcium carbonate out of chalk – the same process that is happening in our oceans. As ocean water becomes ever more acidic, hydrogen ions are grabbing on to calcium carbonate – the same stuff that makes up bones, and teeth… and the skeletal structures of phytoplankton. And phytoplankton supplies this planet with 50% of its oxygen. The ocean, after all, contains the switch of life.

Alanna asks MP Fin Donnelly, Co-chair of the All-Party Oceans Caucus, to drop the chalk into the pitcher of vinegar. (We had to smuggle the bottles of vinegar past security upon arrival at Parliament Hill.)

And how is the ocean becoming more acidic? We’re all pretty familiar with how an excess of carbon dioxide is affecting our air and our atmosphere, but I think we’re less familiar with the fact that approximately a third of human-created CO2 finds its way into the ocean. As the CO2 dissolves into the ocean, carbonic acid is formed, leading to higher acidity. Alanna pointed out to the room that over-fishing may not be our biggest problem in the ocean anymore, given that we’re actually facing a situation in which the oceans’ organisms are finding it more and more difficult to survive in ocean waters at all.

Whenever Alanna performs the vinegar experiment in the show, there are always audible murmurs throughout the audience as they come to realize the relationship of chalk and vinegar to bones and carbonic acid. But the loudest gasps can always be heard as she spells out the timeline for all this acidification: it all dates back to just a few hundred years – to the beginning of the industrial revolution when we started burning fossil fuels.

* * *

After the closing performance of Sea Sick at Ontario Scene (which was attended by some of the MPs we’d had lunch with – including MP, and leader of the Green Party, Elizabeth May), our team returned to festival hotel. As we passed by the festival’s welcome table, we realized we’d forgotten to pick up our Ontario Scene t-shirts. I’m not usually one for event t-shirts, but these ones came in women’s sizes, which is too rare to pass up.

Here’s the back of the shirt:

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I had a moment when I saw the logos of the festival’s major sponsors. It reminded me of a moment I’d had several months earlier while attending the premiere of my husband’s play Butcher at Alberta Theatre Projects. A group of us were attending a Q&A session with Butcher’s director and playwright. Upon arrival, attendees were given welcome bags, and lanyards to wear.

Halfway through the Q&A, while sipping a coffee, I looked down and finally noticed I was wearing advertising for Enbridge around my neck. It was an Enbridge-branded lanyard. But of course the event was sponsored by Enbridge… we were in Alberta after all. The ATP new play program, of which Butcher was a part, is called Enbridge New Canadian Plays.

The ethics of arts funding is an issue I (and many others long before me) have considered and questioned for some time. So many of us in Ontario make our art through funding that comes straight out of gambling proceeds – you’ll note the OLG logo right next to Enbridge’s on the t-shirt.

Within the last few decades, new federal legislation was enacted, eventually banning all tobacco sponsorships of art and sporting events, forever changing the landscape of arts funding in this country.

In the end, despite the huge impact that tobacco sponsorships were having on arts and culture in this country, it was decided personal and public health outweighed these artistic benefits. And it was argued that the arts would go on to survive without this funding. It was more important that we make strides in ridding society of these addictive and unhealthy products: “By ending the export of tobacco advertising, Canada will be a more responsible global citizen”.

But don’t we, as a society, have an unhealthy reliance on oil? Aren’t we being told, internationally, that we need to rid ourselves of our dependence on fossil fuels? That our current activities are unsustainable, that we’re destroying the planet, that it’s the world’s most vulnerable populations that will be the hardest hit by oncoming impacts of climate change?

The Canadian Government may not be able – or willing – to acknowledge it, but hell, even the President of the United States is calling climate change deniers “stupid, short sighted, irresponsible…” The science is clear, he says. What about our children, he asks.

But these questions are always asked (and I ask them myself): what if the art can’t be made without the funding? If oil is going to continue to be a major part of our national and world economy, shouldn’t we take advantage and benefit from these activities? Shouldn’t we make these corporations pay in some way for some good in this country? Can’t we do good things with this money? Educate our audiences? Make change from within?

* * *

Alanna’s Sea Sick doesn’t offer solutions – those are up to us. Sea Sick tells us the story of how we came to be in our current situation… and about Alanna’s own personal journey of uncovering this story, the fear of telling it, and the strength to forgive and move on. We learn that the way forward may come down to each of us recognizing what we personally have to give to the world, and offering that.

In some cases, that’s going to mean writing a play about the ocean becoming warm, breathless, and sour, and touring it around the country. The world, perhaps.

I didn’t ask Alanna what she thought of the t-shirts at Ontario Scene. And I find it difficult to talk to my friends at ATP about the lanyard I found hanging around my neck. But it’s a conversation I think we need to start having. Openly and honestly… knowing that there may be no good and right and obvious answers.

But in the end, I have to wonder about those values of mine: do my priorities as a global citizen truly outweigh my priorities as a cultural worker?

 

#CdnCult Times; Volume 5, Edition 4

Climate Change is real and a major threat to life on earth.

The President of the United States, basically every scientist not on a carbon-producer payroll, and the United Nations are in agreement on this fact. This colossal, generation-defining challenge has naturally had an impact on theatre makers, especially in a country like Canada that is a major exporter and producer of carbon.

What is happening? What can we do? Who is it okay to take money from in this context?

Each of the contributors to this edition recognizes the answers to these questions are not black and white. We are each implicated in a system that contributes to climate change, and yet complicity does not equal powerlessness.

This week Canada joined with Japan to block a G7 agreement to reduce greenhouse gases by 2050, preferring to set a target for the rather ridiculous date of 2100. Meanwhile in Alberta, The Calgary Herald had engaged in a threepart series on how the decline of oil prices has changed arts funding in the province. The situation is fluid and now is a time where art and artists can play a part shaping new models and ideas for sustainability.

As Kevin Loring succinctly puts it in his article, “How should we live?”

What is the “IT”? NORTHBOUND 63 in rehearsal

What is the “IT” that we are trying to pin down when we talk about Climate Change?

When the NORTHBOUND 63 collective sits down to talk about this show, there is a lot of talk about “IT”. What is the “IT” that we wrestle with when contemplating the question of how to stop, or even reverse the path global capitalism has committed us to?

It’s difficult to define what we’re up against and who is implicated when we look at humanity in the face of climate change. The answers are much deeper and more complex than: Big Bad Oil. They are rooted in a system that implicates all of us. That is the rabbit hole we’ve jumped down with NORTHBOUND 63.

Sky Sounds pt.1: Rico’s Requiem

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In this our seventh episode, we talk to local artist and musician Kenna Burima who has created the deeply personal composition ‘Rico’s Requiem’ for the Carillon in the Calgary Tower – the city’s largest instrument.

This is our first instalment of the Sky Sounds series – you can hear all three episodes in the series now in the +15 System in the Arts Commons building in downtown Calgary. We’ll be streaming Sky Sounds 2 & 3 in early July and August both on iTunes and right here on SpiderWed Sound. So tune in and listen up…

The Deep Field in the +15 at Arts Commons

Reflections on The Study/Repast

 

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From Left: Jesse Wabegijik, Alanis King, Jeremy Proulx and Justin Many Fingers

“I was one of the first people here and I’ve been trying to join the discussion for a while and its hard….I do not have the experience that everyone else here has. I have not been as thoroughly trained as every one else has but…I know what its like to not be able to speak to wait for other’s to say what they have they say but it hurts to be sitting at a table where everyone is supposed to be able to speak…and to not be able to speak. I’m the youth at the table I’m one of the youngest people here. I’ve struggled with trying to speak because I feel that I do not have the wisdom or the strength to be able to say what I have to say…and honestly I know that there are other people out there who want to speak from their heart, from their soul, but its hard because you want your elders, people who have experienced more, to speak. So you your either silent or you stumble through your words, and its just its harder than I thought…I’ve struggled a lot just to get ‘here’ and I don’t even know where ‘here’ is.

In the past year I’ve given up my home, my family so I can be here and it was a fluke that I got to join this discussion and to be with the incredible people who have fought for our right to be here and to learn from our elders and all our teachers and mentors.  And it’s a gift that we’ve been able to stand here, but it comes with a difficulty it seems, because you don’t know how to contribute to the discussion that others have been in for years. It’s a divide between those who are joining, and those who have been here, and I can’t imagine what its like for them, because they’ve been waiting years to speak. I’ve just joined but I’ve been trying to speak since the beginning.”

Jesse Wabegijik The Study Student Participant

Jessie’s admission was a personally meaningful moment for me during the course of The Study/The Repast. There were many witnesses to his 90-minute struggle to find an opening for his voice at the table. And it was most poignant to watch respected Elder among artists and one of our ‘grandmothers’ Margo Kane take the honourable step of addressing it:

“There are a number of people who sit at this table and there is no space for them to speak. So I am concerned about that, and I would really like to hear from the people that have been here for a while, and ensure that we leave room for them to speak as well”.

This moment has stuck with me since. It is a metaphor of the reality of Indigenous peoples in Canada. We have been here since the beginning, constantly trying to find our seat at the table, yearning to have our voices heard because we have something to say.

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In foreground: Joseph Osawabine To his right: Monique Mojica and Corey Payette

During The Study the U.N released its report on Canada’s treatment of Aboriginal people highlighting the ‘crisis’ for our basic human rights. When I shared the news of the report with the participants, nobody seemed overtly surprised by the results: distressing socio-economic conditions, inadequate funding, over representation of Indigenous peoples in prisons, high rates of violence, missing and murdered women, exclusion of Indigenous peoples from effective participation in decisions that affect their lives. After all – we had just spent the week reading plays and discussing these very issues. Art reflects life, reflects art.

The day the study ended here on Manitoulin Island, an incident took place that reminded me of the reality of the ‘crisis’ in our communities and why the work we do is important. On Sunday, community members were lounging around outside the Holy Cross Mission Church, waiting for the Bishop to arrive to perform the Sacrament of Confirmation. In the murmur of the crowd, people were casually discussing a murder/homicide that took place Saturday night in the community. In an instant, we lost 4 young community members, the young man who lost his life and the three who will probably spend the rest of their lives in jail.

There is just something about all these juxtapositions that is twisting in my mind and heart and soul. On one hand, we have this historic gathering that I was still coming down from, and on the other hand, the horrific reminder of the truth of our reality that I may never get up from – mixed in with the ceremonial activities of the of the day and the arrival of the Bishop.

At the Summit, we are filled with inspiration as artists, creators, writers and educators, who have an enormous responsibility to move forward with as much in our bundle that was left for us that we can – and share it among our children and youth. Our strengths are regained, re-imagined, relived – by telling and hearing our stories. They tell us of our epic struggles overcome by unconditional love, our courage to overcome in the face of impossible odds; our respect for everything that lives, watches over us and dwells below us and our role, living precariously in between the two. We have been telling our stories since time immemorial.

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From left: Justin Many Fingers and Joseph Osawabine

As Canadians, it is no longer enough to explore and critique the art and expression of Indigenous people, while remaining ignorant of the multi-generational and systemic complicity in their life outcomes. We are at the dawn of a new frontier in our relationship and one that is filled with possibility. If we have the courage to use it wisely, we can change the path we have been on.

At Debajehmujig-Storytellers, we are dedicated to improving the quality of life for the Indigenous people of this land through the preservation and the telling of our stories. We are guided by our traditional teachings, which tell us that we are born with a purpose and a mission. We are uniquely gifted to be able to fulfill our purpose and we must each understand our relationship to the teachings, so that we become the best ancestors that we possibly can for “The Preservation of Humanity”. Every one of us needs to contribute in our own way.

The stories that come from this land must be told by the people of this land if we are to truly understand one another. As Indigenous people, we bring awareness to all Canadians – that there is and always has been, another way to experience and view the world. A worldview that has emerged out of our relationship to this land, to these animals, under these stars. We need places where Indigeneity can thrive in its most organic forms, free of settler narratives and directly connected to its foundations in our cultural history and in our geography.

From this foundation of clarity, a truly equitable sharing with other Canadians will offer each of us the opportunity to up-level our vision to include the richness of the other.

 

 

 

Claiming Space at the Table

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From left: Joelle Peters, Brefny Caribou-Curtin, Jillian Keiley, Carly Chamberlain, Quelemia Sparrow, Darla Contois, Jani Lauzon, Margo Kane and Monique Mojica

My name is Cole Alvis and I am proud of my Métis heritage from the Turtle Mountains in Manitobah. As the Executive Director of the national arts service organization Indigenous Performing Arts Alliance (IPAA), it was exciting to be invited into a process led by Associate Artistic Director Sarah Garton Stanley of the National Arts Centre (NAC) English Theatre. For two years Sarah and Past-IPAA Board President Yvette Nolan were co-curators of the The Cycle, an NAC initiative that has shined its spotlight on performance Indigenous to this land. IPAA’s collaboration began leading up to The Summit in Banff (April 2014) culminating in The Study / Repast (May 2015).

Although many are hearing about us for the first time, IPAA celebrated ten years as a federally incorporated not-for-profit on March 16th, 2015. Our organizational ancestry extends far beyond this present form. Community held ad hoc gatherings began as early as 1990 with the event Telling Our Own Story: Appropriation and Indigenous Performing Artists. The urgency to tell our story remains, and it is essential as we navigate another wave of non-Native allies eager to collaborate with Indigenous artists and stories inspired by the Canada Council for the Arts’ new project grant {Re}conciliation.

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The Commitments Bundle

One such ally is the NAC. Former Artistic Director Peter Hinton recognized the importance of this bond and sought to include an Indigenous play in every season. This iteration of collaboration between the NAC and IPAA began with Sarah and Yvette strategizing how to usurp the hierarchy present in national partnerships by creating a unique structure for our initial gathering at The Summit where the Indigenous artists were the Leaders and the non-Native artistic directors were the Listeners. This intimate approach in Banff became broader in scope at The Study / Repast. Over forty Indigenous performing artists came through the Debajehmujig Creation Centre between May 5th and 16th and in the final days of The Repast artistic leaders joined us from coast to coast to coast.

The Study / Repast was an opportunity to dig deeper into the roots of Indigenous theatre in Canada by bringing Indigenous theatre students and recent graduates together with a professional acting company and other seasoned Indigenous performing artists, including Monique Mojica, Daniel David Moses, and Muriel Miguel. These artists were often present during the creation and production processes of the work we were exploring, and so could offer insight into the rumblings of Indigenous theatre.

Leading up to The Repast we read plays. Sometimes more than five a day! Starting with Tomson Highway, we headed out of Wikwemikong Unceded Reserve on Highway 69 for a big game of bingo (The Rez Sisters), and then onto more recent Indigenous performance presently touring across Turtle Island.

We explored these works together at Debajehmujig Storyteller’s Creation Centre and The Ruins. Artistic Director Joe Osawabine welcomed us to Odawa territory and made us feel at home. He provided teachings, ensured that we were well fed, and accompanied us on a hike to Dreamer’s Rock. Joe was in his element. Throughout our time at the Creation Centre, Joe was also supporting local filmmaker Matthew Manitowabi as he helped us document The Study / Repast, ensuring that those who could not join us physically on Manitoulin Island could still experience the work and the conversation through video. Joe and Matthew are now editing the incredible footage and artist interviews in the editing suite at the Debajehmujig Creation Centre – stay tuned to www.ipaa.ca for our videos!

The base of Dreamer’s Rock

The first day of the Repast was called the Day of Listening and saw the structure from the Summit be expanded into a conversation for four Indigenous leaders in front of a live audience and also streamed live on the internet. Four chairs were placed in the centre of the performance space facing inwards, allowing the participants to focus on one other. These conversations alternated between bursts of performance throughout the day and evolved without facilitation. The final day was the Day of Speaking and we employed a conversational structure created by the co-founder of Spiderwoman Theatre, a non-Native woman named Lois Weaver. Our community is more accustomed to circles and it was fascinating to see us take care of each other while respecting the etiquette within this structure.

Justin Many Fingers and Waawaate Fobister expressed the missed opportunity to include the work and stories of 2-Spirited people during The Study / Repast. (You can see Waawaate introducing this topic on the Day 3 web stream at 1 hour, 4 minutes and 30 secs.) Their ability to speak generously about this exclusion reminded me we all have blind spots that require our diligence and care.

Another systemic barrier is the disconnect between rural and urban Indigenous communities. Student Acting Company member Jesse Wabegijig beautifully addressed this divide with his extended presence at the Long Table. He was among the first to sit down at the beginning and found it challenging to navigate his place within the prescribed etiquette. You can hear him speak of that experience shortly after Margo Kane prompts him to share in the Day 3 web stream at 2 hours, 11 minutes and 5 seconds. The image of him with his head in his hands stays with me highlighting the huge responsibility I have when I speak as the leader of the Indigenous Performing Arts Alliance. It is a privilege to be able to address national funders, touring bodies and other groups of people on behalf of our membership and Jesse’s words of listening to Elders and community combined with his perseverance to express himself is an inspiration.

Joe Osawabine presented IPAA with a bundle containing people’s personal commitments and contributions to the future, past and present of the Indigenous Body of Work. We are proud to be the keeper of these commitments and this bundle.

In my closing speech I made a commitment to think critically about who is not at the table. I would like to further that pledge by addressing the systemic barriers that make it difficult for members of our community like Jesse Wabegijig to participate in the conversation.

Thanks! / Marsi for listening!

Cole Alvis
Executive Director
Indigenous Performing Arts Alliance www.ipaa.ca