Page 8

Reality Augments Theatre

By

This is the fifth in a series of articles capturing the planned conversations and discussions at the inaugural Festival of Live Digital Art (foldA), in Kingston ON, June 19-June 21, 2018. Patrick Blenkarn writes about a conversation between Laura Nanni, Trevor Schwellnus, and Daniele Bartolini that was presented in the Studio Theatre of the Isabel Bader Centre for the Performance Arts titled “Reality Augments Theatre”. 

A Castle on a iCloud. Photo by FunkyFocus is licensed under CC0 Creative Commons.

THE INVITED THINKERS:

Three Toronto-based artists—Laura Nanni, Daniele Bartolini, and Trevor Schwellnus.

THE THOUGHT TO THINK ABOUT:

How does reality augment theatre?

THOUGHTS ON THOUGHTS: 

Each artist presented and reflected upon the ways they have sought to infuse or engage their practice with ‘reality’. Nanni discussed her collaborations with Sorrel Muggridge; Bartolini his recent performances, The Stranger and Invisible City; and Schwellnus showed design-focused excerpts from Aluna Theatre projects that bring the live human body into dialogue with digital design. Nanni and Bartolini’s examples sparked a greater discussion centring on one-on-one performances, which was complemented by Schwellnus’ reflections on “resisting the power of the algorithm” within theatrical works—a wonderfully philosophical sounding expression that I see to be equally applicable to his design and media practice and the performance scores of Nanni and Bartolini.

Of all the ideas floated in the discussion, I was most excited to reflect upon Nanni’s and Bartolini’s reference to ‘reality’ as something that has the power to break some of the codes that have ossified our capital ‘T’ Theatre institutions—principally theatrical time and theatrical space. One can imagine including ‘reality’ in a variety of ways. For both Nanni and Bartolini, it seems most potent in the form of a participating audience member in the context of one-on-one performances. The unique quality of an unrehearsed participant enables a kind of special flexibility, spontaneity, and intimacy within a work.

Unfortunately, the ‘reality’ that a participant brings with them is up against the pragmatic ‘reality’ of how we as performance makers present our work. The pragmatics of presenting performances that incorporate that little extra realness, that unrehearsed component, can be incredibly restricting on how much we can bend and twist the medium of theatrical performance. Making one-on-one works sustainable (if one values such a thing) often requires a festival setting with many time slots and a gruellingly repetitive schedule. While there is usually a buffer time built between each experience, the restriction on time is always present, ultimately confining us (and our participants) within timeframes that feel ‘safe’ by Canadian standards. (Bartolini’s Invisible City directly challenges this by taking place over multiple days.)

Bodies in multiple realities in Lisa C. Ravensbergen’s Citation at foldA 2018. Photo by Naseem Loloie.

In my experience, that pragmatic restriction on time, for example, often translates to how much ‘reality’ the spectator/participant can contribute to a work. Some artists have made works that make me feel like I was filling a void in a structure (a variable within a rigid algorithm), others have made works that make me feel recognized, heard, and needed for the performance to be alive. In the latter, for example, there’s a chance that my response to a question from the artist might actually change the next question the artist asks me.

There was a time when even rigid participant structures were new and exciting, but, personally, I’m feeling pretty numb to them these days and really questioning the artistic desires they spring from. What are the values that underscore an artist’s desire to collect ‘real data’—you or me—in the form of audience members’ experiences/opinions/confessions? And how is that desire compounded with the ‘reality’ of a performance being prefaced by a transferring of funds from audience to artist? To some, the intimacy of the one-on-one performance can be a tiny utopia. To others, that dream of utopia is suffocated by the ‘reality’ of the spectator paying for intimacy and being a consumer of a pre-programmed theatricalized ‘reality’.

All of this brings me to Schwellnus’ ‘resisting the power of the algorithm’. There wasn’t enough time for Schwellnus to expound a master theory on the phrase, but to my mind the phrase connects all the concepts of structure, participation, and flexibility that I’m still chewing on. For me, this idea has come to mean refusing to put a performance score or structure on a pedestal. It means making the structure of one’s work—especially if it is one-on-one—flexible enough so that participants can be more than confessors in a confession box, so that ‘reality’ can really do the work of augmenting theatre in more ways than a pre-determined, artist-sanctioned one.

In light of that call for ‘more ways than one’, I’ll just say that the understanding of ‘reality’ employed in our discussion—though provoking—struck me as limited, particularly within the context of foldA. The ‘reality’ we described as an interrupting force in the one-on-one performances was still largely that of human life. The discussion did not consider, for example, digital ‘realities’ as equally real. If code breaking is of great importance to us as artists trying to work with this medium in this century, then I would argue virtual participants and their virtual ‘realities’, could similarly break these same ossified codes.

Kevin Kerr workshopping with VR at foldA 2018. Photo by Naseem Loloie.

Resisting the power of the algorithm could also mean resisting the script that suggests the only reality with which we can ‘augment’ theatre is that which belongs to human experiences/interactions outside of a traditional theatrical context.

Theatre has a great capacity to consume other art forms, objects, and events. Finding ways to digest the very real and very quickly developing technologies of video games, 3D design, VR, and more into one’s performance practice would spark new possibilities for breaking theatrical time and space, and these technologies should be seen as equally part of the constellation of real spaces, real materials, and real experiences we both inhabit everyday and traditionally exclude from theatrical contexts.

Early Adapters: Digital is Everywhere

By

This is the fourth in a series of articles capturing the planned conversations and discussions at the inaugural Festival of Live Digital Art (foldA), in Kingston ON, June 19-June 21, 2018. Stephen O’Connell writes about a conversation between Jillian Keiley and Brendan Healy that was presented in the Studio Theatre of the Isabel Bader Centre for the Performance Arts titled “Digital is Everywhere”. 

Extended digital bodies in public space in Lisa C. Ravensbergen’s Citation at foldA 2018. Photo by Naseem Loloie.

Our Friday morning Start Up Challenge, “Digital is Everywhere” is hosted by Jillian Keiley and Brendan Healy. I find this title particularly enticing because it sounds like a panicked exclamation from a 1973 post-apocalyptic science fiction noir film than a morning discussion about the future of theatre;  “Digital is Everywhere”. I imagine it with a subtitle like “Soylent Green is made of people!”

The morning session is starting with a notable wave of fresh voices arriving from Toronto. The room is buzzing with excitement about Luminato and the premiere of Liza Balkan’s beautiful verbatim play “Out The Window”. At least half of the audience had either participated or attended the opening in Toronto last night and made the 3-hour trip to Kingston early this morning.

Brendan greets us as we file into the room and enter our names into a “Randomizer” app while we take our seats amongst the increasingly growing circle of digital advocates. Fear sets in when I suddenly realize he is going to call on us to participate at some point in the discussion. I haven’t had nearly enough coffee and I foolishly thought that anything to do with digital would have definitely insured my anonymity.

Keiley talks to her use of digital world for casting and text work. Photo by Naseem Loloie.

The conversation gets started with Jillian Keiley illustrating the benefits of Google Docs for any theatre director. She provides an example script full of written text, sound links, and visual images, as well as, designer and assistant director notes. Convincingly demonstrating the inclusive nature of digital documentation in a collaborative process. She goes on to explain the uses of TRELLO for casting and programming because it allows her greater objectivity without having to rely solely on memory.

Brendan Healy shared some fascinating insights and exciting news about his recent work in Brampton. A highly diverse city of 650,000 people and a population average age of 33. The city just completed a massive community consultation process. Looking ahead to 2040, the city leadership, along with significant input from the local community, aim to build a new vision of the City of Brampton.  

Healy on potential of digital tools in working with communities like the City of Brampton. Photo by Naseem Loloie.

Now the fun gets started. Brendan and Jillian introduce the RANDOMIZER game. It involves 38 questions about digital technology posed to someone in the audience RANDOMLY selected by Jillian shaking her phone. Yes, there is an app for that! Brendan tries to reassure us with, “Those who don’t wish to participate can simply remain quiet and we will continue to the next question”. Okay perhaps not so reassuring, but we let the games begin.

Jillian gives her phone a hard shake and announces the first name. “Aislinn”. One of the morning’s fresh arrivals from Toronto.

QUESTION # 21:  Have you ever used digital technology to instruct audience to participate?  

Everyone implicitly lets out a nervous little laugh.  

RESPONSE: “Why yes. Working with Michael Wheeler on the Section 98 piece.  We enabled text messaging on phones that was posted live during the show.” She continues, “The responses to the piece ranged somewhere between, ‘This is really fascinating’” to ‘This is so boring”.

Jillian gives her phone another hard shake and announces another name. “Julie”. QUESTION #1: What is your reaction when you see screens in theatre?

RESPONSE: “I am completely open to what is seen and how you show it”.

Jillian gives her phone a final shake and announces “Adrienne”.  

QUESTION # 5: How do you use digital for theatre creation?

RESPONSE: “It depends on the person I am working with. I communicate with Google Docs, organize meetings with ZOOM, track my activity with TRELLO and stay on time for the festival with the help of SLACK. I am interested in creating solutions for the largest number of people. For example, an apology generator with Simon Bloom and automated process with Dustin Harvey to rewrite and generate apologies. Did it make people feel better? I am interested in the body. Extending the body. Our bodies are expanding.”

Wheeler, Stanley, and Wong introduce the panel on the extended digital body. Photo by Naseem Loloie.

Interesting.  A further expansion of the human body into digital space? Hum… I have ambivalent feelings about that. I am writing this essay on Google docs while rendering 360 video on Premiere Pro and listen to Spotify on my 5 year old Macbook Pro, when I would prefer to be running in the park. I distrust most of my devices; and I am deeply saddened by the feelings of alienation I experience standing on a subway platform surrounded by everyone checking their instagram and twitter feeds.  

Yet I am currently collaborating on an iOS phone app for live performance. Why? Because I would agree with Adrienne. Our bodies have expanded. Technology is a tool not too dissimilar to a brush and canvas, that is only limited by the imagination of the individual who applies it. The future is quickly approaching and in the rear view mirror of time it is the early adapters that can and will make a meaningful impact on the future.

If you approach the conversation from a Darwinian perspective it makes reasonable sense that adaptation lends itself to evolution.  I am suggesting that paint and brush, although not irrelevant, are highly romantic tools to be working with. The larger question is HOW will theatre navigate extinction in the age of mixed reality and artificial intelligence? The essence of good theatre is storytelling and a good story leaves one wanting to know what happens next. I for one want to know what’s next.

Podcasts as Theatre

By

This is the third in a series of articles capturing the planned conversations and discussions at the inaugural Festival of Live Digital Art (foldA), in Kingston ON, June 19-June 21, 2018. Signy Lynch writes about a conversation between Jesse Brown and Michael Wheeler that was presented in the Film Department Lobby of the Isabel Bader Centre for the Performance Arts titled “Canadaland the Podcast, the Book, the Play”. 

Canadaland playing to a + 1000 house at The Hot Docs Theatre in Toronto.

An array of individuals gathered at the Isabel Bader Centre for the Performing Arts in Kingston, Ontario for a panel on Canadaland, the Canadian media and politics podcast. Attendees included theatre artists—some of them tech whizzes and some self-admitted technophobes (Donna Michelle St. Bernard said in an earlier panel on technology and disruption ‘for me the technology is the disruption’)—industry people and administrators, and academics like myself.

Canadaland founder Jesse Brown and Spiderwebshow Artistic Director Michael Wheeler met to discuss the relationship between the Canadaland podcast, the related book, A Canadaland Guide to Canada, and the live show, directed by Wheeler. For me this panel prompted several key questions: how can we understand the popularity of podcasts (and related live shows), and what tools might they offer to theatre/performance makers? What is the relationship between the live and the recorded? Finally, If the medium is the message then what messages is Canadaland communicating through these multiple forms?

A Canadaland Guide to Canada’s World Tour of Canada, described by Brown as, ‘a comedy show with an audiovisual treatment,’ was conceived of to promote the Canadaland book. It toured to several sold-out crowds at music venues and converted old movie theatres last year. Brown characterized it as part of an emerging circuit of non-traditional live performance (another example brought up was the popular ‘Drunk Feminist Films’ events) described as, ‘like theatre that people want to go to’.

 

To the envy of some theatre makers, live shows spun-off of podcasts are becoming a defining element of the podcast form, and will readily fill an auditorium. Brown reported that some media companies are now looking to develop podcasts specifically for the purpose of securing the revenue from an accompanying live show. So how do these forms relate? Do they provide audiences with two different yet complementary experiences, or instead offer one continuous experience running through two different forms?

Through Wheeler and Brown’s discussion, it became clear that the two forms are shaping each other. Live shows attended by podcast fans may in turn be recorded as podcast episodes. However, Brown said that he generally prefers to listen to episodes recorded in a studio over those recorded live. To maximize enjoyment, the challenge then becomes how to design a live show that is equally enjoyable as a podcast episode. Brown offered one suggestion: that ‘the audience has to do something more than just clap.’

A key difference between a traditional podcast and a live show is the move from solo listening to a collective experience. Those attending the show in person can experience this collectivity in ways that aren’t available to those listening in, so by incorporating the voices of audience members perhaps some of this experience can be transmitted to podcast listeners. Interestingly, this demonstrates how the development of these works happens on an intermedial level.

But what kind of experience is being shared here? An audience member at the panel mentioned that the appeal of podcasts lies in the intimacy they create for their listeners; perhaps satisfying what Walter Benjamin called “the desire of contemporary masses to bring things “closer” spatially and humanly,” (Benjamin 225). In their own ways, both the podcast and live show could be said to be working towards this end and chase different kinds of intimacy (or immediacy): the visual and spatial intimacy of the live show and the aural intimacy of the podcast.

Drunk Feminist Films has had success turning a prerecorded show into a live event.

Another way to understand their relationship is through Philip Auslander’s argument that live performance has become a way of authenticating and ‘naturalizing’ the mediatized: “according to a simple logic that appeals to our nostalgia for what we assumed was the im-mediate: if the mediatized image can be recreated in a live setting, it must have been “real” to begin with”  (43). At the same time, Brown speculated that people are attracted to these live shows in order to “be a part of the podcast”. In this way, the live show both validates the authenticity or ‘realness’ (and thus the listening experience) of the podcast, and is also a means to incorporate the podcast’s listeners into the recorded work.

Also interesting to me was what the discussion revealed about the role of place in podcasts. Despite the podcast form being ‘freed’ from the strictures of the local (unlike ‘traditional’ theatre), the local still plays an important role. Brown speculated that audiences may be drawn to live podcast shows by the feeling that something will happen that’s particular to a place (‘how will Toronto respond to the show?’). Travelling podcasts and live shows generally try to capitalize on this by integrating something local–for example, having audience members share personal stories. This act could be said to put the place back into the unlocalized podcast form.

When asked what strategies Canadian content creators can use to engage with larger audiences, Brown noted that creators should be hyper-specific rather than broadening their scope, and not erase a sense of place. To pitch to the United States, Brown would narrow in, making a podcast about a place (as opposed to just set in one), mentioning a Thunder Bay podcast in development and the hugely popular S-Town about a small Alabama town.

This point was particularly intriguing to me because of a comment in an earlier panel that podcasts are useful to theatre artists for their ability to break out of regional lines. Here we see how podcast content may travel across regional lines but still remain itself strongly localized. This trend towards the specific demonstrates another kind of drive to intimacy and immediacy, as the podcast creates for its audiences up-close experience of places that may be far away.

The panel finished with a few comments about how podcasts can be politically useful through their ability to challenge dominant narratives. I would have liked to have heard more, but the brief discussion left me with the question: how much does this possibility for subcultural expression inform podcasts’ widespread appeal?

Works Cited

Auslander, Philip. Liveness: Performance in a Mediatized Culture. 2nd ed. London ; New York: Routledge, 2008.

Benjamin, Walter. “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” Illuminations: Essays and Reflections. Ed. Hannah Arendt. New York: Schocken Books, 1968. 217-251.

Who does ATP belong to?

By
ATP’s Martha Cohen Theatre

Who does a theatre company belong to?

I understand the technical answer to this question. I know about the governance structures and fiscal responsibilities of not-for-profits. My question is existential. It’s being asked in the context of Alberta Theatre Projects’ sudden decision to cancel Without the Rule of Law by Michaela Jeffery, and fire the artists who were working on it seven months before opening.

In 2015, ATP, then under exclusively female leadership, collapsed under the weight of a global oil crash. I cared a lot about their finances then. I gave as much money as I could to help them through because of their principled mandate and history and only after other members of the community led the way. Obviously, that exercise didn’t give individual donors control over the future operations of the company, but it did compel them forward with our confidence. In political campaign terms, we gave them a mandate to continue. After last week, I’ll bet a lot of us want our money back.

I remember when Vicki Stroich called me to confirm that Vanessa Porteus had agreed to produce my play, The Apology. It was the biggest deal I had ever made. Moreover, the play was about transgressive sexuality. It was a risk. Like Jeffery, I had graduated from NTS, paid my dues, hoped and prayed, gotten into the Banff Colony and then struck gold when I met Vicki there. I imagine Jefferies felt just as blessed when she got the good news.

The spring before I was to participate in the Enbridge PlayRights Festival, I had been in Kitimat BC, literally campaigning on doorsteps against the Enbridge Northern Gateway Pipeline. Not to worry, Vicki assured me. ATP wouldn’t be censored by their sponsor in any way. In fact, they were producing an environmentalist play about the evils of big oil right now. She invited me to a fancy dinner with the oil execs. I was not told not to talk about politics.

A few months later, I told them I was pregnant. Not to worry, I was told for the second time. They would pay for me to have a bigger room so my family could help me with my five-week (!!) old baby. They would allow for any accommodation I needed. Diane Goodman would drive me places and cook me several pasta casseroles.  

On the evening that my play opened, Joan MacLeod was there, premiering one of her new works. She took me aside while I was nursing the baby and said: “I just want you to know that after my first play premiered at the PlayRights Festival, my entire career took off. It was a huge night for me.”

Joan MacLeod would not be Joan MacLeod without ATP. I would not still be a playwright without ATP. Countless female writers would not be where they are without ATP. Of course, I feel grateful, but I also feel we deserved the opportunities they gave us, the accommodations they made for us, and the feminist stories they told when they staged our plays.

Michaela Jeffery is entitled to those experiences. They are no longer how theatre should be made: they are examples of the treatment we are entitled to. Since then, I’ve demanded nothing less from any other institution I work for.

It was pernicious for APT ED Darcy Evans to exploit a diversity justification in his first of two announcements regarding the cancellation of WROL. Creating false distinctions between racial, sexual, class and gender justice is bad politics, as any intersectional feminist will tell you. In theatre terms, measuring the artistic “diversity” content of both plays is an offensive exercise in leveraging oppression against the value of the individual artists: Who’s weightier when quantifying diversity? An actor? A director? A designer? Both plays are written by white people. Besides, Evans and his board made this decision because of money.

Fundamental change is required to support racial diversification of Canadian theatre, including at ATP. What Evans wrote to the public last week was an unhelpful appropriation of that work and the language of equity.  

We should care, separately, that our theatres are underfunded, that big oil divestments from institutions are an example of why corporate capitalism and art are incompatible, and that crowdsourcing to keep a theatre from closing its doors is a sad failure of a dysfunctional artistic ecosystem. In this case, deprogramming the first big play of a homegrown young writer – one that was nurtured, developed and programmed within that company – is such unethical behaviour that it obliterates all rationalizations. Eleven local artists (three people of colour, and eight women for those who insist on counting) were fired. The play is already billed up on the marquee for the whole world to see.

More than most theatre companies, Alberta Theatre Projects belongs to the community. ATP has premiered more Canadian playwrights than any other company west of Ontario. (More than 150 of our plays have premiered there.)  It has seeded and grown a theatre-going audience of Calgarians that wants to see new Canadian plays.  Over the past decade, under the leadership of Porteous, Stroich, Goodman and Green, it has manifested a feminist practice rooted in their methodologies, the transformative political plays programmed there, and the very fact that they supported and paid for new work (sadly, a radical act in itself).  

A company like ATP exists in a mutual symbiosis between audiences, artists and producers. A change of leadership may have the legal right to obliterate this legacy, but it does not have the social or moral right.

Theatres are not like other businesses. (I know! I just said that!) They don’t only provide a service to the public, they also create the possibility of art in society. When they fail, they take the futures of hundreds of artists with them. I believe every person in every community has the right to art in their lives. I don’t think Darcy Evans should have the right to cancel it, with or without the rule of law.  

 

What is Digital Disruption?

By

This is the second in a series of articles capturing the planned conversations and discussions at the inaugural Festival of Live Digital Art (foldA), in Kingston ON, June 19-June 21, 2018. Madison Lymer writes about a conversation between Donna-Michelle St. Bernard and Andrew D’Cruz that was presented in the Studio Theatre of the Isabel Bader Centre for the Performance Arts titled “Disrupting the Status Quo”. 

Photo by Jerry Kiesewetter

It’s 2018. Doug Ford is Premier, Donald Trump is President, Stephen Colbert reports more facts than Fox News, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez could be the youngest woman elected to Congress, and in a couple of months weed is going to be legal in Canada. What is status quo?

Throughout foldA I was struck by two conversations.

The first was about how far behind we, as artists, are when it comes to technology. At the festival bar someone remarked, “Imagine a Silicone Valley theatre company, imagine what could be done with infinite tech resources”.

Another conversation was with Christine Quintana, a Vancouver based creator, who remarked at what a difference tech could make to protest. Imagine a sound company sponsoring a rally and everyone being able to hear the ideas and speeches clearly. It became clear to me throughout the week that disruption is possible, but it’s going to take a lot more resources and collaboration to effectively get there.

The truth is, it’s hard to disrupt something that’s non-existent. The world has changed drastically in the last 20 years and perhaps I hadn’t given that enough consideration when I first watched the Disrupting the Status Quo conversation with CBC Arts Executive Producer, Andrew D’Cruz, and Playwright/ Performer, Donna Michelle St. Bernard. It’s possible I took my life with technology for granted when I formed my first opinions on St.Bernard and D’Cruz’s conversation. As individuals, we’re running to keep up with the latest digital invention. As arts workers and organizations we’re struggling to come to terms with evolving our forms on unstable and unreliable platforms, often without resources.

The speed at which we adjust to change is dependent on the individual, but in a world that changes by the tweet, it’s safe to assume we’re all adjusting to something new. St. Bernard spoke about being uncomfortable with technology as she felt a lack of control. D’Cruz pitched that CBC Arts had revolutionized its practice by using a “digital first approach” which translates to creating content for the social media market and then working backwards to long forms. I felt confused. How was this disruption? Had there been confusion about disrupting the status quo under the guise of a digital arts festival?

Playwright and Performer Donna Michelle St. Bernard in conversation with CBC’s Andrew D’Cruz in a discussion of disruption as part of The StartUp at foldA.

The theme of the talk had evolved into a discussion about how both creators had disrupted their own practice with digital arts. What was fascinating was how both St. Bernard and D’Cruz agreed that a move towards digital was inevitable. D’Cruz remarked, “If we don’t engage with that reality (of cell phones taking over) then we’re missing an opportunity”. St. Bernard, while admitting to being uncomfortable with technology, agreed that using digital arts in performance gave information that she herself was not able to convey to an audience. In such uncertain times, it was clear that these creators agreed that we need to re-invent and push ourselves outside of our comfort zones in order to break the status quo.

Towards the end of the conversation, St. Bernard and D’cruz touched on “placing equity above style”. They were referring to their work with Tamyka Bullen an artist who speaks and communicates through ASL, but this overall sentiment may be the big takeaway from the conversation. Our digital lives can move at lightning speed, but we need to ensure equity keeps its seat at the table as we surge forward.

It’s clear that we’re living in a time of great uncertainty. The way things were is no longer, and a lot of us are finding life unpredictable. Whether that be politically, economically, or even, digitally. Status Quo in 2018 may actually mean uncertainty.

Perhaps in order to disrupt that uncertainty, we must find new ways to ground our own practices. If we shift our focus to equity and continually disrupt with the purpose of expanding our tables and collaborating with new voices, then a new status quo may emerge. One where the tech industry and arts world are not so separate. One where voices with a message can be heard, even if they are not accompanied by money. One where any artist of any ability can have the opportunity to create, to play, and to be heard. This may sound idyllic, but then instant digital connection with one another once did too.

 

Thought Resident: Mariah Horner

By

Hello, this is Mariah Horner and this is Thought #14, my last thought.

Today I’m thinking about rigour. I’m thinking about um…the…artists and the people and the peers that I look up most…that I look most up to are those who are rigourous.

And I think that rigor is so sexy. Finishing a thing all the way to the end of it and being relentlessly curious about something that you explore all the corners is, for me, one of the most admirable traits about people.

And I want to challenge myself to be more rigourous, be more rigourous in every aspect of my life. Be relentlessly curious. Do the thing all the way to the end. Just like this residency.

Thank you all so much for listening. If you did, it’s been a hoot.

 

Hello, this is Mariah Horner and this is Thought #12 (no it’s not, it’s #13).

And last night I went for a run having not ran in a very long time and it felt terrible but also felt amazing and um…I was thinking about one of the reasons I love running so much is that I love…I’ve never been a very athletic person and I love with running that you always get back exactly what you put in. You just have to show up, you just have to try and you just have to run and every time you run it gets easier. It doesn’t matter about your skill it really just matters about you showing up.

And…I think more things in life are like this than we give credit for? You know so many things just require you to show up and just putting yourself in those running shoes or putting yourself in that room….you’d be surprised at the output you get depending on how hard you try.

 

Good morning this is Mariah Horner and this is Thought #12.

And this morning I’m thinking about Patrick Conner. I didn’t know him before, but I know him now. He was a very celebrated artist – an actor, a director – he worked in Toronto but he also came from Kingston and he worked a lot here.

I’m thinking a lot about him…because…you know…I’m thinking about what it means to really change the world through your work. And I know we all think we’re doing that. We put something out there and it affects people and it affects imagination and it comes back to us and we see that the world has changed and you know…one thing I’m really moved by Patrick, and you know his work with Big Carrot, it’s about created a healthy society it’s about understanding that the work that you put out in the world can affect a civil imagination. It can affect more than just one person at a time, it’s about a society, it’s about a culture, it’s about something that is nurtured.

 

Good morning this is Mariah Horner and this is Thought #11.

And I don’t know if this happens to any of you but sometimes I wake up and I have an immediate thought about something that is gonna happen during the day. Often for me it is breakfast….immediately when I wake up I know what I want for breakfast. But TODAY when I woke up it was a beautiful fucking day, it is blue skies all around in Kingston.

And uh…I’m lucky enough to have an office that is very close to the Gord Edgar Downie Pier which is an awesome new public urban beach that the city of Kingston built. SO when it is a beautiful day that means I go swimming. At lunch! Swimming! at Lunch!

So today I woke up thinking how fucking lucky I am that I get to jump in the lake, the St. Lawrence, on a beautiful sunny day in the middle of August, in the middle of my workday. Have a great Thursday everybody.

Hello this is Mariah Horner and this is Thought #10.

And…this morning I’m very tired [laughs]…and I’m really tired because I stayed up very late with a friend of mine who is going through some very difficult stuff and as I was leaving his house I wanted to tell him how proud I was of him but I stumbled all over my word choice because….I feel like the word proud carries some patronizing tones…and I think about this all the time…that I wish there was another word for pride… for for being proud of somebody who’s like the same age as you or proud for somebody who’s in the same moment as you.

Adoration? Admiration? I don’t know.

 

Good morning this is Mariah Horner and this is Thought #….9!

And this morning I’m thinking about…well I’ve been thinking about it all weekend actually…um…I love this book by Sarah Ruhl. It’s called “A Hundred Essays I Don’t Have Time to Write” and it’s like a hundred little paragraphs unpacking little things very briefly um…and I generally like this kind of writing it keeps me squirrely.

Um…but in the book she talks about this quote that she uses with her son which is “it’s beautiful but I don’t like it”. And um…you know I’ve seen some theatre and seen some art this summer that I wasn’t exactly inspired by and I challenge myself to use that phrase every time I get backed into a corner of like “that was bad” or “I didn’t dig that” just because I didn’t dig it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t exist.

 

Hello this is Mariah and this is thought #8.

And uh…today I had somebody ask me what my favourite lyric was. And I was thinking about the fact that I’ve never really been good at having like favourite movies, or favourite plays, or favourite albums and I was thinking about the reasons and you know… I think it’s because…I don’t hoard things I love. I think it’s because I love to rediscover things that I love all the time, you know…and maybe that keeps me forgetful and um…but I feel like it always keeps me guessing it always…it also…I have…beauty forced upon me all the time. I’m reminded of things all the time, things that I love. I could catalogue them.

 

Hello this is Mariah Horner and this is Thought #7.

And this morning my favourite painter died, Mary Pratt. She…uh…was a painter from Newfoundland and I still remember the first time I ever saw one of her exhibits. I was at The Rooms, an awesome museum in St. John’s, Newfoundland and I was struck by her ability to make everyday objects look exceptionally and unimaginably beautiful. And I know that’s a silly word to use but it was foil and salmon carcass’ and cartons of eggs that looked like…you know…it could hang in the Louvre. And…um…I’m….I’ve always been really moved by the ability to remind us that um…everyday life is exquisite.

 

Good morning this is Mariah Horner and this is Thought #6.

And I went to bed thinking about it and I woke up thinking about it – Darrah Teitel’s brilliant article on what’s going on at ATP. I think she totally hit the nail on the head when she talks about the fact that communities own arts organizations. That there is a certain responsibility to look to the world you’re producing in to understand who you should be.

And yes I’m not saying that we need to have an AGM or a referendum for ever decision that’s being made within an arts organization no, but what I am saying is that I think the reason that this is such a disaster (what’s going on at ATP) is this dude parachuted in, made a decision like a traditional business without real context from the community and the community said no, this is not who we are, this is not the kind of work we wanna support, this is not who we believe we should be moving forward and I feel like I see this all the time.

 

Hello this is Mariah and this is my fifth thought.

And today I’m home actually in the suburbs visiting my parents and I drove around a bunch today and I was struck by how little everything has changed. I think because the burbs don’t change, I noticed how much my parents change. And you know…it’s an age old thing that everybody knows they should go home to visit their parents but…I should really go home to visit my parents more. I’m lucky that they’re so close to me and I’m embarrassed and I’m bummed that I don’t do a better job at staying in touch. And um….

Not the burbs though [laughs] I don’t miss the burbs. I don’t miss the suburbs at all.

Have a good weekend everyone.

 

Hello. This is Mariah and this is Thought #4.

And this morning I am thinking about mentorship…I know I’ve had a yearlong under the Metcalf with two organizations and although this mentorship afforded me SO MUCH professional growth in arts administration I kind of think that it’s um…also affected my abilitiy to trust my own instincts when it comes to making decisions.

You know, I value mentorship as a practical learning-based thing but I also learned that right now I feel like I am thrust into a sea alone and I can’t make decisions without talking to a lot of other people and maybe that’s a good thing in theatre, maybe it’s a good thing for my career path because I’m interested in collaborative learning but I also think it sometimes makes me distrust my own instincts and I wonder if there is a word for personal mentorship? Like if you could separate yourself into two people? I don’t know.

 

Hello this is Mariah and this is thought number three and this morning I’m thinking about Brian’s Record Option.

If you’re from Kingston, you definitely know that this happened and if you’re not I’m here to tell you about Brian’s Record Option. It’s the coolest place in Kingston. It’s a record store that has 80,000 records and 20,000 cassettes and even more CDs and books and posters and the coolest fucking dude in town and last week he had a flood and water rose up from his basement and up waste deep and books and records and posters came pouring out of the store onto Princess street and this morning I’m thinking about how you can possibly replace something that’s irreplaceable and what happens when you’re angry and mournful for the loss of something that was no one’s fault but it was an accident but it’s such a huge hole in the heart of the city and I am heartbroken and optimistic about my community’s ability to rebuild things that are precious.

 

Hello, this is Mariah Horner and this is my second thought.

This morning I’m thinking a lot about the difference between a company and an enterprise and the people that work…within it. So I’m involved right now in a transition with um…a company I work for and today I am tasked with transferring all of the contacts for the relationships and the stories that were told this year.

And I’m feeling really protective and stubborn about that and I think the reason is because I’m struggling with understanding that um, especially in a community-based endeavour with relationships that are mined and sweat for and cared for….I’m having trouble understanding that is owned by a company and that is not owned by the individuals that worked to nurture those relationships. Obviously I’m very protective of um…people that I connect with and I’m all for knowledge sharing I really am, but maybe this is my ego or my naïveté but I’m struggling with it. I’m grappling with it.

 

Hello. My name is Mariah Horner and this is my first thought of the August Thought Residency in 2018 with SpiderWebShow.  And today I’m thinking about…something that I think that I should be worried about but I’m not. And I always wonder if other people do this…and if your brain is tricking you into be worry – into worrying about that something you shouldn’t be worried about because you’re not worried about it in the first place.

I finished a year-long internship today. And I don’t really know what’s next for me. And I’m not worried. I’m excited. And I don’t know, maybe if I should be worried? And I’m sure my mother is maybe listening to this and she’s like…”you should be worried”.

But I’m not. I feel ready. And empty and full. And excited.

Many More Stories

By
A co-design activity in which participants were asked to create prototypes of an accessible web-based physical simulation using marble run toys. These prototypes were then used as the basis for collective sketching of user interfaces that were designed from the beginning to be inclusive of different ways of perceiving and accessing the simulation. Photo by Colin Clark.

This is the first in a series of articles capturing the planned conversations and discussions at the inaugural Festival of Live Digital Art (foldA), in Kingston ON, June 19-June 21, 2018. Colin Clark writes about a conversation presented on the dock at Thousand Islands Playhouse titled “Think Different” between Clark, Carmelle Cachera, Brett Christopher, moderated by Remington North.

Today, I’d like to talk about the margins. The margins of the book we dreamily scribble and sketch in, the margins we’re relegated or confined to, or the margins we commit to and find our communities within. Can we trace a network of marginal zones—to find the possibility of new intersections among these margins, productive spaces for collaboration and creativity? Could these margins be the source of new ways of thinking and being in the world with technology? A source of innovation and of thinking not just differently, but diversely?

Stenciled graffiti of a Judith Butler quote, “The point is not to stay marginal, but to participate in whatever network of marginal zones is spawned from other disciplinary centers and which, together, constitute a multiple displacement of those authorities.” Photo by Colin Clark.

Digital technologies have an uncanny capacity to reconfigure our social relations—to collapse boundaries while simultaneously generating new margins and exclusions, even as they claim to tell a universal and utopian story. But it seems it’s always the same story, told over and over again as if it were a new story. It is worrisomely easy to read between the lines of this story and see how technologies are amplifying disparities in our society. Work, for everyone, is increasingly becoming sporadic, precarious, uncertain, and underpaid. Here, too, artists have been at the forefront. Gigs have become a whole new economy now—”We can’t pay you, but it will be good exposure.”

It’s not all so bleak, though. There’s another story, too. In the twenty or so years I’ve been doing inclusive design, I’ve seen the way technologies have opened up whole new fields of expression and interconnection for people with disabilities—social engagements that simply weren’t possible without technologies like instant messaging, the mobile web, or the internet of things. Artists, too, have found marvelous new forms of expression, of seeing and hearing and being in our bodies with technology.

Technology, as Ursula Franklin defined it so simply and clearly, is a practice; it’s “how we do things around here.”* This is to say, and perhaps I’m pointing out the obvious, that the ways in which we create our technologies—the techniques and values and social dynamics that we practice with, and invest within them—will have fundamental shaping effects on the kinds of technologies we can create, and on what can be done and expressed with them.

So much of today’s extractive “innovations,” I feel, are being formed from a myopic design culture, one which too often assumes that everyone is the same—or at least can be modelled in the same ways. That difference can only be expressed by a choice between products; that “users” are just passive consumers that can be modelled and predicted as what Katherine Behar calls “personalities without people,” data points in a social network’s advertising algorithms, unlatched from their context and temporality, with a logic all their own*.

So, if technology is, at heart, an expression of social practices, then I think we need to spend some time thinking through what kinds of practices, what models of sociality, are most important to us. And it seems to me that artists and storytellers are uniquely and sensitively attuned to precisely these kinds of questions. We understand that a story simultaneously creates a new kind of abstraction—a new possibility for being in the world—and also has the capacity to represent people in their wholeness and specificity.

In contrast, I’ve noticed that most technology design methods that are practiced in industry today tend to adopt certain outmoded anthropological and ethnographic narratives without question. Like the idea that a design researcher can be an objective, impassive observer of real-world practice, and that their primary role then is to expertly synthesize, extract, essentialize, and then model the diverse people they observed into a “persona,” or fictional character. But this kind of abstraction is storytelling cliché—it’s retelling the same story over again. As Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie says, “The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story.*”

Artwork by Colin Clark.

Technologies today are predicated on a fascinating and fundamental dichotomy: of designers and users. In its defence, this dichotomy might be a productive one, and it certainly seems to be familiar to us here in the theatre or in music or cinema, where we have artist and audience. But increasingly, this distinction strikes me as one that aims to keep us in our place, to a establish a hierarchy of those who have the power to create, and those who simply “use.”

Yet technologists, as I see it, have to make room for these new stories—to make space for the creativity of the people who use our systems, who make themselves at home in our technology environments every day. Everyone can be a creative contributor to the design process if they want to be and are allowed to be. But it takes some new and different ways of doing things.

Co-design is the process of designing with, not simply for. At the Inclusive Design Research Centre, where I work, we have been practicing co-design for a number of years, learning the hard way and the only way—by experimentation, by making mistakes, and by always asking questions. By asking the people on the excluded edges, or simply those who might otherwise just be “users,” to be part of the design process from the beginning, by asking them, “What role do you want to play in this process, and how can I help you?” 

Co-design takes time; it requires diverse voices to be invited to the table; it needs to be tailored to the unique context and situation that a design intervenes into; and it demands that all participants have equal access to the information—plans and work in progress—that is essential for responsible decision-making and contribution.

Co-design has to be reciprocal. It isn’t about allowing people to participate, it’s about practicing in ways that are self-aware of the profound power and privilege that technologists have, and in finding ways to fully share and give up that power. It’s not enough simply to ask people for feedback—to “let us know what you think!” Participants in co-design need to know that their input, their ideas, have power and influence. Co-design demands the knowledge that your ideas will be heard, that they can have a direct influence, and that the mechanisms and processes by which they will potentially be enacted are clear and accountable. 

Public consultation activity by Sidewalk Labs, in which visitors to the opening of the 307 Lakeshore offices were asked to “Let us know what you think” by sharing their views on a variety of issues related to the Quayside project in Toronto. Photo by Colin Clark.

The other aspect of the “co-” in co-design is community. Technical practice needs to be situated within the context of communities, especially those in which the participants have an opportunity to continue to be involved in the process, to feel a sense of autonomy and stewardship over the work they’ve contributed to. Fluid, an open source community that Jutta Treviranus and I started in 2007, has evolved as a community to support the engagement of people who might not feel that they belong, or would be welcomed, in the traditionally technocratic environment of open source software development. Fluid has, over the years, attracted a small and dedicated group of designers, developers, artists, users, people with disabilities, and others who are dedicated to inventing new ways to design collaboratively, and new software tools to support what I call “material systems”—software that you can change and redesign yourself, in connected ways, without needing to be expert programmers*.

As I said earlier, I think artists can uniquely help lead the way toward new technological practices—new ways of “doing things around here.” Artists, I think, are the ones who can best think outside, connect the margins, who are willing dream and do the things that seem might too weird, inefficient, or impractical to others. Artists can tell many more stories, from different perspectives—stories that are specific and whole, rooted in history and materiality, yet still full of abstract possibilities for new forms and social connections.

*Franklin, Ursula. The Real World of Technology. House of Anansi, 1999. p.6
*Behar, Katherine. “Personalities Without People.” The Occulture, March 21, 2018.
*Ngozi Adichie, Chimamanda. “The Danger of a Single Story.” TED. July 2009. Lecture.
*Clark, Colin. Insignificant Surfaces: Cinema, Systems, and Embodiment. MFA Thesis. OCAD University, 2016.

Thought Residency: Rosina Kazi

By

So this is a prayer to the Creator and to the Gods and to the Goddesses and to the Ancestors and to my Mother who has passed.

I ask that you continue to look after us and our friends and our families and those who have um the least or who are the most marginalized and I ask that you continue to guide us to peace and prosperity.

 

My thoughts for today is that I’m really thankful and I feel so blessed that I’ve been able to pursue being a full time artist and musician.

I grew up in the Bangladeshi community in Toronto where art and politics went hand in hand that we weren’t…necessarily encouraged to become full time artists. But with…growing up with that community empowered me with such amazing people and arts practices that I just continued to do it. And being South Asian and Queer in an arts scene that doesn’t always show the diversity of Toronto um but yet it’s to be a part of it and to celebrate it is very humbling and I’m very appreciative and I’m tired.

 

Out the Window 2018.

A question came up in my thoughts today have been around how do we create collective memory.

 

We voted today in Ontario and Doug Ford still won. This is absolutely horrible and we gotta figure out how to get out of this provide.

God.

 

Working on a theatre production with diverse artists and theatre practitioners around issues around police violence and civilian casualties and the loss of lives of those who are deemed marginalized in our society has been really…has really been thought provoking and brings me some hope and some…some sort of…I don’t know how to explain this but…makes me feel a little bit better considering all the shit that’s happening in the world.

Out the Window 2018.

Thought Residency: Kim Senklip Harvey

By

Endings are the hardest to write…or at least that is what I was taught once..i.t was a teaching passed on to me. And this is it everyone, this it it…the end of my ah thought residency so if you’ve listened in from the beginning how generous of you umm.. if you’re just tuning in – til next time. Thank you umm, to Sarah Garton Stanley the Spider Web Show team and umm…really thinking about writers today and their journeys and creators in general and the compassion and love and generosity we need to give them all and I’m sending out love to each and everyone of you. Sechanalyagh, limelet, Kim out haha!

 

I’m thinking about the life of a play…and it’s stages and really trying to…relook at..what it means…to go on the journey of writing…and..producing and then the latter of how the play lives after that. Umm you know you have some playwrights who go on to their ya know draft 70 something and it’s always alive…and I’m just wondering and I think its probably different with each work, how long a play still lives and when do you let it become still.

 

How do we help…our fellow…practitioners, when they feel like their voices haven’t been heard? Or they feel like…kindness or generosity hasn’t been extended to them. I know it’s happened to me but I feel like I’m creating a career and positioning myself to have agency over the way I feel that I’m being treated. Especially when they are Elders, your Elders. How do we support them?

 

I’m thinking about the responsibility we have to serve, the public or the broader community umm as artists who are sometimes and or primarily and or um entirely funded by public dollars. How do we hold ourselves accountable to the public and what does that mean and what does that look like? As Indigenous artist I feel like knowledge sharing is embedded in my practice. I’m thinking about..I’m curious about um what others are doing.

 

The growth after a fire is really is really interesting me…ummm last summer in the Tsilhqot’in…there were really umm forceful and giant fires happening and a lot of my family helped and the community fought off the fires themselves and this is the first time that I’ve been back and I’m seeing the fires guards and the effects of what happened and I’m also seeing new growth and that’s really interesting umm me in trying to understand the uh impact of when a fire blazes through a community and what that means.

 

Origin stories…how does it happen?!….I have sooo many questions…howwww….hooowwww.. when we look up at the sky…and I’m looking at the clearest sky, how did we get here? Probably just a really bad scifi movie…but  that’s where I’m at right now…I’m asking my friends…I’m asking my family…on this long weekend…we had to like my families grave. Oooooof everyone out there is questioning how’d we’d get here…I’m right there with you!!! How do we get there?

 

Ottawa..is derived originally uhh from an Anishinaabe word which means to trade…because of the many and beautiful rivers they have in this territory…they established very sophisticated uhh trade routes, between Nations and for themselves and when I look at these rivers…I am reminded of the journeys, the water holds those memories, I ah- it’s really making me remember. Someone once told me that water is our oldest history book, it holds all of our stories and umm I feel really fortunate to be able to spend some time on the Anishinaabe territory. Sechanalyagh for having me.

 

Decolonial love……what is it? …A friend of mine’s been..giving me some of Leanne Simpson’s…passages and letting me read her books and I’m…falling..decolonial and colonially in love with Leanne Simpson…..what does it mean? Is it possible how do we do it? What did love look like..before the settlers came here?……………I really don’t know..but I’m so fascinated by it all….

 

When I was in my early twenties ummm bees use to follow me…or find me, I dunno one or the other. One time a bee uhhhh sat on my shoulder, for like two or three blocks and we just walked. And I’ve been in Odawa for about a week now and the bees have found me…and this one beautiful bumble bee in particular keeps saying hello and I want to say sechanalyagh to the bees, for reminding me about um the community, the people and the hive mind- and there’s one right here- awwwwww limelet animal world.

 

Having power is a privilege…and I’m interested in…when we all take an inventory of the power that we have…1. I think we always underestimate how much power we have, there’s a lot of points in various parts of our lives we can assert ourselves and then 2. How do we leverage it? How do we hold people who have power…to account to ensure they are deseminsting it equitably. How do we do that? How do we inspire people to be courageous enough to do that? I dunno.

 

My Great Great Grandfather Johnny Tselaxi’tsa was the Chief of my people and he was an incredible ambassador and representative for out peoples rights, sovereignty and for the equitable treatment of the Syilx people. He travelled all around the world, there are stories of him going to Buckingham Palace demanding to meet with the King, going down to Rome to meet with the Pope. Speaking on behalf of our people and I think about him often when I travel, and I hope that I accurately and passionately and rightly represent the voice of the people that I current represent today. So, headed of to PACT, safe travels everyone. All my relations.

 

There’s something about walking slowly that I enjoy so much. And some people say they walk slow, and they don’t. Cause I walk really slow, you could, you could almost say I’m walking backwards. But there’s something about the ability to, breath and think and contemplate at that pace that allows it…allows the thought to…resonate of off things, that I…love. So I’m slowing it down everybody, I’m kicking it down a notch.

 

In As You Like It, Rosalind says to Duke Frederick, “we do not inherit treason” but don’t we? Don’t we all inherit, whatever all our predecessors do and steward us? Don’t we all inherit everything that they do, treason, good, bad, the ugly? That line is really sticking with me right now. I think, if not, or if we don’t or if we do, whose accountable for it all then, how do we, compensate or recognize that? Whose accountable?

 

I was listening to Stop Podcasting Yourself on my lunch break, which is one of my…*car honks…favourite…omg Quelemia Sparrow I think just waved at me hahahah. Umm one of my favourite podcasts and it got me thinking about something I’ve been focusing about with my artistic practice, where for the past couple of years I’ve been trying to investigate, with Kamloopa, why living in sustained joy or happiness is so difficult.

And I was just thinking about how I think..I think..hahaha..laughing out loud is the doorway to it so I’m gonna..I’m gonna to keep doing it, and I hope ya’ll keep doing it to. Let’s do it more than um, more than we type it.

 

I’m walking home from rehearsal on the Musqueam, Tsleil-Waututh and Skxwú7mesh peoples territories. On their land and I’m looking out at a body of water, with a lot of people hanging around a lot of people on it and wondering if anyone is taking a second thought, or any thought to recognize whose land their on, what does it mean and how our presence impacts it all. That’s what I’m thinking about.

Thought Residency: Camila Diaz-Varela

By

Hello this is Camila and this is my eleventh thought.

I don’t really have any like, thought out thoughts about this but I just wanted to kinda of reflect on crying at work. In my last thought I said I almost cried at a picture, which is true but um, I mean like, just crying as part of the process. I mentioned I’m a recovering actor, meaning I’m trying to find my way in now having tried to recover from past difficult times when it comes to acting and performing. And I just find myself wanting to cry a lot more than I ever remember. And I mean just as I’m working, as I’m figuring out things. This is very emotional work I guess so the crying is a release? I don’t really know what else to say about it except that I’ve just been trying to embrace it and just allowing myself to cry and not shame myself for it. Yeah. Solidarity to those who cry.

Hey, this is Camila and this is my 10th thought.
Yeah, I just saw a picture of yarrow – this beautiful plant – that my friend posted, just popping through the snow and it’s beautiful green leaves – you should look up it (?!!), it’s so delicate and gorgeous – and it just popped up, through the snow, and it’s bright green lime self,  and I almost cried. And the show I’m working on is just about the open too, and I think all of us are feeling that shoot bright green through the snow feeling which is so special.
And I just really love… just to expand more on the spring thoughts, it’s like: these seeds were planted in the fall. They were dropped, they incubated, and now they’re here. Shloop. But you know what I love about seeds? Seeds are ancient. There are brand new seeds that come every year but I always think that they’re an amalgamation of everything the plant learned that year. So they just add what they learned and then they drop another seed, and there’s just so much. So this is this year’s try. What are we gonna try this year?

 

Hi! This is Camila and this is my ninth thought.
Today I’m thinking about, I don’t know, the stories we tell each other. The stories we tell each other casually. I think theatre is so beautiful as a way to highlight stories and bring them into a (sometimes literal) spotlight, but there’s always these mini stories we tell each other right? You know? About what happened in our day or something we heard, and I find those endlessly fascinating.
And I guess a source of a lot of interesting times and fascination for me is this garden in the Citadel Theatre building. It’s this humid conservatory of tropical plants and I’m like “what is this doing in the middle of this theatre?”. And I’ve heard some stories. Like it’s actually a public park and the guy who built the McLab Theatre – this big theatre, this thrust theatre – just put it in there. That the plants come from the Muttart Conservatory. That there are cockroaches. But also it’s so beautiful. Yeah. Just a bunch of stories hanging around the leaves of that place.

Hey! This is Camila and this is my 8th thought.

It’s kind of expanding on something I was thinking about earlier in the month, about force and ease when learning new things, and this is kind of building off of that. I have new words now. I’m talking specifically about an example in circus – there’s a bunch of circus in the show I’m doing, like aerial stuff and tricks and parkour – and we were talking about the adrenaline rush you get, the healthy respect you have for the work, because you could literally die. It’s very dangerous.

But the play between adrenaline and skill. You can’t – yes, there’s going to be adrenaline, but you can’t rush anything. You actually have to be so still within the rushing, and that takes skill and craft.

And I feel that way about acting too sometimes. Sometimes you manipulate yourself emotionally into these states and it’s just adrenaline and pushing, but the skill is maybe not that. Yeah.

 

Hey. This is Camila and this is my 7th thought. Consent is the bomb. Consent is the shit. I swear in every single situation. Not just in the rehearsal hall, but, in the rehearsal hall it’s amazing. Because, basically, when you really connect with your scene partner and are on the same page, and agree to push boundaries together, that is magic.

And it’s not just a sexual thing, it’s not just like when the scene is getting intimate, or you have to get in there, or whatever. Any kind of scene partner, because you’re building a relationship with someone. You’re building a relationship as a professional artist but also as the characters, and it’s just so liberating. It’s so liberating.

And just basically: when you assume and you push things, push emotional states, manipulate, and are alone in your pushing, that’s scary for you and, guess what – it’s scary for the other person. So pro tip: don’t do that. Consent is awesome. Try it out.

Ooh and just to clarify, affirmative consent. I’m talking about affirmative consent.

 

This is Camila. This is my 6th thought. They’re little thought snippets.

Thought snippert number one: Spring is a secret hustler. It starts off really cold and right at the end – boom – it blooms. And that’s only what we see. It’s secret because all the work happens underground, underneath the surface. There’s lots of activity right now but it’s just inside. And that’s badass.

Thought number two: Change is constant, but I am the seed and the soil of that change, so I can shape how it grows. And that’s important to remember.

And then, the last part is just: I like that my voice can change. I like that I can name a new chapter and the story goes on.

 

Hi! This is Camila and this is my fifth thought.

I mean, in a nutshell, I’m thinking a lot about perfectionism. This is something I think about constantly when I’m making… anything. Anything, point blank. But definitely when it comes to making art, making theatre. Perfectionism, as in my own. And today it manifested in a lot of thoughts that sounded like ‘well, a good artist would do this’, or ‘you should do this’ or ‘this is how it should feel’, and ‘this is how it should be’ and that’s the least fun way to make anything, right? But then there’s a balance. I know people can relate to this, but today that has been my day. Just really considering and being in conversation with my inner perfectionist little gremlin. Love you gremlin. Can we be friends?

 

Hey! This is Camila and this is my fourth thought.

My brain feels like total mush today because I spent the whole day writing for a bunch of different projects, and my brain is now mashed potatoes. And so it’s almost like a waiting room in a video game. And this is what it sounds like, also. Musically. (She plays the omnichord.) Yeah. That’s called the writing brain mush theme. 2018, April. That’s what it is. It’s official.

 

Hi, this is Camila Diaz-Varela and this is my third thought.

Yesterday in a fight choreography session, we were learning a new sword sequence and there was some really interesting thought that got dropped, some wisdom, and it was this: the first time you do a fight, or learn a fight, you usually just go full throttle, full energy, full grip into it and it’s not unusual to be sore the next day. But the more that you practice the fight, the more that you refine where exactly to put your energy, the less sore you become and the more strong you become. And I thought that was a good thought for life really.

 

Hi! This is Camila Diaz-Varela and this is my second thought.

Today’s thought is about the springtime. It’s the spring guys. It’s awesome. It’s awesome. I’m in Ontario – no I’m not, I’m in Edmonton right now. I usually am in Ontario in the spring, and the lands are very different. Edmonton is much more north, much more west. But they both have wild leeks that grow, which is pretty cool. Probably different varieties, but they look very similar. So something I’ve been looking forward to, a little connection to home, is looking at the ground trying to see if I can spot any wild leeks on my way to work. I do cross a number of forests so I’ve got a pretty good chance. If anybody in Alberta sees any wild leeks, hit me up, tweet me. I want to know.

 

Doo doo doo.

Hey, this is Camila Diaz-Varela and this is my first thought. It is about wholeness. I find it really easy to compartmentalize myself, and it’s a way that I’ve been able to survive for the part couple of years as an artist. Trying to separate the different things that I do. I’m a theatre maker, playwright, musician, arts administrator, recovering actor, and I’m realizing that part of my healing as an actor – which I’m doing right now, quite actively – is remembering my wholeness as a person. If my neck is stressed, it’s not just my neck. It’s my whole back, down to my legs. Never forget you’re a whole thing, and it’s actually really cool.

1...789...59Page 8 of 59
SpiderWebShow.ca is the first live-to-digital performance hybrid company in Canada. We are obsessed with cultural change.
© 2018 SpiderWebShow