a field of crowns.

a play remembered.

2012-01-30T12:47:00.000-05:00

It's amazing to realise a play isn't finished. I'm currently revisiting a play I started, maybe four years ago now, and the characters are still as fresh in my mind as they were when I was figuring them out. It's amazing to be able to pick them up again as if I never stopped writing them. I feel this is the mark of in-completion; their story is not finished. Never was. They're still trying to tell it to me. And when I re-read the play last night, my first time in, I'll say about half a year, their voices were so clear and strong that they let me know right away what was wrong with it.

What didn't fit.

Now I'm re-writing. Changing. Creating new scenes. Now I'm listening to them again.

I'm happy as a wee dog.

a sense forgotten.

2011-11-03T12:44:00.000-04:00

Smell is all too often easily overlooked, as, for the most part,we prefer to surround ourselves with no odour whatsoever, or, if we are tochoose an odour to fill our nostrils, it would be one of a pleasant nature, oneyou would want to smell over and over: a smell so delicious you want it toconsume your body; every breath you take from that moment on you want to holdthat same, delightful and foreign scent (for it has to be foreign or else wewould get used to it and it would, therefore, cease to be a smell unnatural andnoticed by our noses).

But, as I said before, we prefer to surround ourselveswith no smell at all, or, one could venture to describe it the smell ofneutrality.

For this reason it is one of the senses more easily pushedaside, ignored or, even, repressed. Think of smell. What is one of thefirst things to come to your mind? Decay? If not the first, it should be near the topof the list. And this is frightfully disagreeable.

Imagine if we associated oursense of sight with dismemberment, death, horror. Or touch immediately withpain. Or sound with noise, offensive and hurtful (which would be a horriblereality as, unlike the other senses, sound is the one we cannot physicallystop).

If this were the case, we probably would repress these other senses aswell. It would come naturally. Easily. The only other sense that is as easilyforgotten as smell is taste. Not because it is mostly offensive, but because itis only used for a very specific purpose and at a very specific time (unless youare one of those people who go around licking everything in front of them). No,taste is usually only called upon when talking of food or drink. It isutilitarian, only used when absolutely necessary (there is another common useof taste that doesn’t involve eating or drinking, however it is linked to smelland usually, again, in a negative light, such as, “I tasted the tallow as soonas I walked into the room. Dim. I spotted three flames, burning so fierce theirsmell dripped onto my tongue”). Yet I will venture to say that taste is not“forgotten” the way smell is because, as stated above, smell is in use continuouslyand because of this our bodies find ways to overcome this continuous assault.

I believe, however, that an unexpected smell can be one of the mostjolting experiences your body can endure. What a great tool to use in the art of theatre-making? No?

In The Rats in the Walls we experimented with smell. Out of our four performances, only once did it work the way we intended. As the play moves on and De la Poer falls prey to the alluring call of man-flesh, we decided to have a crock-pot, slowly cooking a rather pungent pork stock; the idea being that by the end of the show the room would be overwhelmed by the smell of cooking flesh and boiling bones. The smell did not waft from the back room into the playing space for the first show, so we moved it rather secretively to the back of the playing room for the second. People noticed it then (one side of the room did anyway). Our stock wasn't the same for the third and fourth shows, so the smell was nonexistent for them, which is a shame. The idea, however, remains intriguing. Smell. A sense you cannot control. A sense that brings your whole body into the show and takes your mind out of it for a moment. You better believe we'll experiment with it again.

post-mortem at Exham.

2011-10-30T20:16:00.000-04:00

Peter Counter as DE LA POER and Andrew Gaboury as CAPTAIN NORRYS in The Rats in the Walls.
Photograph by Carla Johnston

A “Dramatic Re-telling.” This is how we billed our stage version of H. P. Lovecraft’s The Rats in the Walls. This is significant to us (Peter Counter, Carla Johnston and I – the Four Winds Collective). It isn’t a re-imagining of the story (some small aspects have been re-imagined, however, and some other liberties were definitely taken throughout it’s adaptation to the stage). At its heart, The Four Winds Collective’s version of The Rats was meant to showcase the style and writing of Howard Phillips himself, and not the writing of Counter and Gaboury. Lovecraft’s writing is a whirlwind of detective work and strings of abhorred adjectives. He knows every detail of his story intimately and tells it exactly how he wants to; only revealing enough for the reader to piece together that something is off, something is strange and altogether unexplainable (or unimaginable). He deluges his audience with an overwhelming amount of information, of stories and fables, or names and dates. Lovecraft wants his readers to experience his tales the same way his characters have to; as in real life not everything is immediately clear to the protagonist. The truth to stories are often presented only after the fact, upon reflection - something that is taken for granted all too often in this day and age (why do we need to reflect on anything when Wikipedia and Google, and therefore thousands of opinions and answers are seconds away?).

There are entire sections of the story we have left whole; held together the exact way Lovecraft wrote it out. We edited for flow and pacing and yes, we did take liberties in order to create the character of Edward Norrys (which, through examining his original story, we easily pieced together). But I would say the show we wrote/adapted is 80% Lovecraft, 20% Counter and Gaboury.

The three of us (the collective) trained and graduated from a devised theatre program at York University. The program, currently in it’s final year before evolving into something structurally different, used to be called the Creative Ensemble. It was three years of non-stop group devising; three years of starting with a common inspiration and developing an original piece of theatre while embracing methods outside convention.

So often, outside a classroom setting, the theatre I’ve been a part of since graduating has all been of the same mould: I get a script, a get a character, and I get called in to rehearsal while someone else tells me what they want me to do. I hate this mould. Or, rather, I used to. I still participate in this style of theatre mostly because I can’t really avoid it. But this year I’ve taken these kinds of productions as a way of forcing myself to get out of my head (one thing the Ensemble was bad for was an instilled sense of “my ideas are better than yours” and a lack of very specific, conservatory-style training to implement those ideas to their greatest potential). I am forever thankful to the training I received at York, for it has made me sure of my potential. But potential needs to be nurtured. It needs to be taken by someone else who can also see it and shape it towards, hopefully, a helpful end. This year I’ve been using these despised-theatre-moulded-productions as a way of making myself better. And less conceited. Ha.

As I said above, after graduating I found it hard, or rare, to become part of an original piece of theatre with the intention of being created in a similar way to those we created in university.

We had this thing in Ensemble called a “first pass.” After devising, we showed what we had to our classmates, received critique, then went off to retool our creations.

The Rats in the Walls we performed over the last two weeks was in it’s “first pass.” Our focus was telling the story, relating it in the Gothic Horror style, and presenting it in one of the many historic homes that have been preserved across Canada. We put the show up, gave it legs and begun experimenting with methods of story-telling and staging. Now, like most pieces of theatre, we will allow it to incubate, to grow and we will re-examine scenes. We found what works, and what can work even better. Who knows? Maybe next time, a “Dramatic Re-telling” will not be a fitting label for it. Maybe next time, the show will be a little more even, 50% Lovecraft, 50% Counter and Gaboury. Who knows?

We don’t. But we’ll find out. Why not come along for the ride?
--

adapting the rats.

2011-10-14T00:21:00.001-04:00

How we came to be adapting H. P. Lovecraft's The Rats in the Walls:

"Let's devise a piece of theatre."

When Peter came to Carla and I with the drive to devise something we immediately lit up. Devised theatre is what each of us have trained in; it is the style of theatre that excites us most often, but the style that we find the trickiest to apply to the world outside university... until a simple phrase woke us up.

Yeah, we can do this.

Initially our ambitions were high instead of realistic. Good ideas, but outside our specialities. Thinking too much is a good way to create unnecessary roadblocks. So is patience.

Peter found a story and an idea to do a show for the Fall. Site-specific nonetheless.

Strange. I usually embrace patience. I still do, but sometimes you just have to pick your obstacles. The Rats in the Walls that we are performing on October 21st and 28th is just the first experiment in the never-ending pursuit of making a piece of theatre. It is a base coat. Peter and I have adapted the short story into a script and we are using this version to explore how best we can communicate the story to an audience. In the process we are delving into the possibilities of staging horror.

And then I inquired about a house at Black Creek Pioneer Village and was asked by the GM if this was something I could see being ready for Hallowe'en. I said yes. Two months. I've done more with shorter time, I told myself.

The Rats in the Walls is one of H. P. Lovecraft's earliest and lesser known works. Taking place in the region of Anchester, England, in the mid-1920s, it follows the jounral of a man known only by his surname, de la Poer, as he seeks to reclaim the seat of his ancestry. The War has left him alone, the last of his familial line, and, dealing with the threat of having a once glorious ancestry fade into obscurity, de la Poer seeks to chronicle the more obscure portions of his family's past.

The only thing is, no one knows the exact reason why his family left Anchester all those years ago although the mysterious incident has immortalised their names in local legend and folklore.

As de la Poer reclaims his name and digs deep into the foundations of his past the local superstitions seem to grow and fester in his mind. Do they actually have grounding in reality? Is it better to just leave what's forgotten remain forgotten? Are the sins of the father bound to surface again in the son? And what is that scurrying he keeps hearing at night?

Join me and my theatre group, The Four Winds Collective, as we uncover The Rats in the Walls.

For reservations email info[at]fourwindscollective[dot]com

a turn of affairs.

2011-06-14T23:03:00.000-04:00

In the last two months I have taken to writing by hand (it happened as I was travelling around Paris and Rome) and I cannot will myself to begin writing on a computer again.

This will probably change when I begin writing a new play (I love an automatic formatter. What a gorgeous invention) but for now I think I'll stick to the freedom of Moleskins and Sharpie pens.

Until we meet again.

inside out.

2011-04-25T22:39:00.000-04:00

I wish for you to stand up for what you care about by participating in a global art project, and together we’ll turn the world inside out.
- JR

The breadth of JR’s TED Wish is masterful: a global art project about the stories that tend to stay hidden amongst the crammed houses and skyscrapers of our cities, that tend to remain overlooked amidst the hustle of business and consumption of the internet. To be part of this feels wonderful; however solitary the project might be, being initiated from one’s home, from the very machine that has secluded more people than it has enchanted, the knowledge that there are, at this particular moment just above 3000 of us spread rather sparingly across the globe, allows a sort of admission of a new community: a community on the fringe; a community of expression; a community of those who want to tell a story (maybe even a story they never knew they wanted to tell) but have had no one to listen.

I find it remarkable that JR has been able to pull these stories out of so many people with nothing more than a simple request.

“You know you’ve been here for a few hours, trying to understand, discussing with your fellows. During in that time you haven’t think [sic] about what you are going to eat tomorrow. This is art.”

There are so many stories we should be aware of. Browsing the Inside Out website gives you a very real glimpse of this, but what’s more interesting is the awareness of how many stories you realise are not being told.

How many people who don’t have an outlet, or are unaware of those outlets available? How many people result to living in their own torment? In their own self-imposed exile?

What’s so important about this project is that it’s not about JR; his portrait’s not up there. It’s only you. And a trend I keep running into while browsing the portraits and reading their statements is that these are 3000+ people who believe in beauty.

And that’s a wonderful thing indeed.

Please check out JR’s INSIDE OUT Project. Browse the portraits. Read some stories. AND JOIN! It's not too late! It’s still only in its starting phases, meaning they’re printing the portraits and should be shipping them to us soon. I can’t wait to see them posted all over the place.

And here’s the link to mine if you can’t find it amongst the crowd.

…crooks in the Senate.

2011-04-13T21:29:00.003-04:00

Things I learnt about politics in Canada from Debate 2011 (the English one):

Saying something like “What Canadians need to understand is...” instils me with a rage and contempt for whoever the speaker is. Don’t tell us what we want or need to understand. Tell the facts and we’ll decide on our own.
TELL THE FACTS! We want to hear truth... which... I’m pretty sure is the reason we’re in an election in the first place...
If everything the other three (and all the citizens are asking you about) is “simply not true” I think you need to take a minute and ask yourself “Why does the vast majority keep spouting fiction? I think I’ll have a good look at what’s actually going on here. Maybe I’m not allowing myself to listen to what they’re actually saying.”
And, after you do that, if it actually isn’t true don’t just leave it at that. INFORM THE PUBLIC AS TO WHY IT’S NOT TRUE. We want details.
Our leaders have a hard time looking into each others’ eyes (Layton and Duceppe are better than the others). FOR THE LOVE OF GOD look at the person you are answering a question of. You’re not debating the camera (unless you’re the first to answer the question). You’re debating the three others in the room.
I’m glad the respect I gained for Gilles Duceppe in ‘08 continues its upward growth. He’s the most level-headed of the bunch. A shame his goal is to divide the country...
...although this brings up another important point: Gilles Duceppe is fighting tooth and nail to represent the Quebec people. That is his goal (or objective in theatre-speak). His passion is his people (and he’s essentially representing a whole nation). And that’s where he stands apart in the Canadian political climate. Mr. Duceppe hasn’t lost sight of why he’s allowed to lead; his people put him there and he is grateful. Harper, Ignatieff and Layton need to reassess their objectives in this election. It’s clear to anyone watching (at least I hope it is) that their top priorities are not to represent their people. Harper’s driving force is more power while Layton’s and Ignatieff’s is to oust Harper (and essentially obtain Harper’s objective). And while these are fine goals they just aren’t as grounded, nor do they allow the kind of impartiality that Duceppe is allowed.

a new enchantment.

2011-04-07T01:11:00.001-04:00

First, a video:

Next, an article by Michael Kaiser, the President of the John F. Kennedy Centre for the Performing Arts:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/michael-kaiser/the-millennials-project_b_844309.html

Lastly, a quote from p.69 of Daniel Clowes’ Wilson:

“When you imagine the future, you always think there’s going to be more stuff, but really there’s just different stuff. And it’s never the stuff you were hoping for.”

A small response:

As David J. Loehr states in his 2amt response to the article above, the phrasing of Kaiser’s question is inverted. The reasoning (in the question and, arguably, the entire article) is not quite attuned with the realities of his social surroundings. Art is constantly evolving; it needs to in order to remain relevant. So please, I guess this post is an invitation to Mr. Kaiser and anyone else who finds themselves in a position of artistic influence to go out and explore the world around you in a new context. Break the walls you’ve personally erected and experience something you wouldn’t normally experience because if you just sit there and wait for the next Vaudeville circuit to come along you’ll be severely disappointed. Everything has a time and a place. The same things that were relevant, astonishing and truly influential today are not going to be tomorrow (and sources of influence sometimes can’t even be recognized for their value until well after their time has come and gone). Loehr asks you to come and have a conversation with the missing artists and the absent twenty-somethings and I wholly agree. Come out and talk. Please. Don’t just advertise with us and expect us to obey. It’s real easy to see through dishonesty.

“While the conscious mind writes the autobiography of our species, the unconscious mind does the work.”
- David Brooks, The Social Animal

no cockamamie ornamental fluff allowed.

2011-03-25T12:36:00.000-04:00

I’ve been reading, and thoroughly enjoying David Mamet’s True and False – Heresy and Common Sense for the Actor. While some may find him harsh and arrogant there’s no denying the tone he sets in this book is no different than the tone Stephen King sets in his own memoirs, and guideline for aspiring and serious writers, On Writing. These two authors are talking common sense, Mamet going so far as to make it part of the title and King writing an foreword stating that basically all other writing books out there are full of BS. And while their common sense may dissolve into repetition frequently (in Mamet’s case, a little too frequently) both authors understand the most important thing they want to teach and are not afraid of using a power drill to teach it (even when you read the same sentence for the twentieth time in a slightly-over-one-hundred-page-book and you roll your eyes or instead read “yadda-yadda-yadda” you know that sentence’ll be the one you remember).

Both of these authors have realised there is no sense in sugar-coating the most important lessons. They have obviously become frustrated with the abundance of fluff and misguided, cryptic adjuncts attached to what could be helpful lessons. Mamet and King want to teach you in the simplest terms so as to require no deep, academic unpacking; they are writing of skill acquired through means of experience (honestly, what better teacher is there?). Now, some will have problems with this in-your-face attitude but you have to understand these authors are still people – not everything they say is perfect and not everything they say will work for you. This is what’s worked for them. Understand they aren’t afraid of insulting you (because really: they didn’t write this book for you. They wrote it for someone interested in writing and acting not for the emotional being that constitutes GIVEN NAME SURNAME).

With that being said, give both books a try. They come with my highest recommendation for anyone in either theatre or literature and I have every guarantee you’ll learn something.

thoughts on True and False:

Mamet’s talk about theatrical training in schools is somewhat misguided. He is correct when he states there is nothing a teacher anywhere in the world can teach you about “portraying emotions” because they are not you (I guess the exception here is if the teachers are actually abusing their students in some way or another... and if this’s the case I think there’s a bigger issue to deal with here). Emotion is something to be experienced first hand and unplanned. As Mamet states, emotion is a by-product of pursuing an objective; of taking an action. We don’t think about getting mad when someone hits us; it just happens. Emotion is completely uncontrollable. Any attempt to control it is false. And we don’t want to see false emotion.

Mamet does, however, miss the point of institutionalised studio-based training [I separate this from the academia of Theatre Studies as this course of education is not for the actor. It is, like Mamet says, for the English student. In True and False, however, he doesn’t even pretend there is worthiness to this stream of education. Academic studies in theatre are as necessary as academic studies in any field (maybe more so because one of the main functions of theatre is to provoke discussion)]. Institutionalised studio-based training is not designed to teach emotion but to make oneself aware of their bodies. It is not to stock up their mind with emotional reserves they can tap at a moments’ notice but to stock up their mind with the ability to relax and listen when suddenly told to perform in front of a roomful of prying eyes; to listen when something changes onstage. It is to make the actor familiar with the demon called “Stage Fright” so as to not force their actions in its presence. And that, to me, is so very important. Yes, I agree this can be achieved outside the classroom but the classroom focused on this task shouldn't in any way hinder an actors’ development.

Everyone has experienced that “feeling of being watched,” or actually has been watched before (by someone who maybe thinks you’re cute, for example). In this situation our bodies tense. We become aware of how we are acting so as not to do too much, or to acknowledge, or to try and heighten our attractiveness. ALL OF THIS HAPPENS BECAUSE WE NOTICED ONE PAIR OF EYES ON US. Imagine what would happen if there were one hundred pairs? Logically our bodies should freeze and become incapable of rational thought. This is fear (and Mamet speaks brilliantly about fear in True and False). In other terms, an institutionalised studio-based education should acquaint their students with situations of fear and, subsequently, bravery / courage and, to a lesser extent, this training may help naturally reclusive people with an interest in performance become more comfortable and extroverted in social situations. If a person can’t hold a mundane, day-to-day conversation there is no hope or luck that will allow them to act (if a socially reclusive person can hold a mundane, day-to-day conversation but chooses not to they are probably rather formidable actors because they are constantly listening to their surroundings unprovoked).

It’s interesting the very thing Mamet advocates for is, in my experience, the same thing most schools offer. Moreover, it seems he’s tailored his book to actors who have gone through or are currently going through the same kind of education he lambastes. In doing so, Mamet’s created a kind of retroactive, unintentional (? - benefit of the doubt given) hypocrisy in requiring a prerequisite in order to fully understand the heresy and common sense of acting.

---

Maybe, however, institutionalised training needs more truth in it. It doesn’t help anyone (except maybe the board members) to be worried about money, numbers and success (there’ll be plenty of time for that after university/college). We need more people that speak and teach like Mamet and King: to tell it how it is and not be afraid to slap some sense into people. After all, the one thing the greater population of today lacks is common sense.

---

Addendum – My perception may be a bit askew as my experience comes from Canadian theatre schools and education in the mid- to late-2000s. I don’t know how they do it in the U.S nor what the focus of acting schools of the late-1990s (or earlier) were like.

on delusion and new gods.

2011-03-23T22:23:00.003-04:00

Watching the four party leaders speak today in the wake of a half-assed attempt to stabilize democracy in Canada I realised something: the “ecomony” is bullshit; it is a tactic for fear-mongering: the new God. We don’t partake in rituals in order to favour an angry deity anymore but to appease an upset and unstable economy. The economy will do what it will because it is controlled by masses of humans who make decisions that eventually affect other humans because their voices were the loudest the same way the religious fanatics who claimed to be the receptacle of the voice of god were. It is great rhetoric because, just like the peasants of the medieval villages, there is no way to prove in the midst of number-crazed people in positions of power that it is not a force unto itself but is, essentially, controlled by “god”-fearing fundamentalists.

Now, as we enter a new era in Canada’s history, one of a government in contempt of Parliament and concerned deeply with playing the “game” of politics (meaning the gambling of the nation’s lives and beliefs), an era of yet another publicly funded election that will, most likely produce the same results with slightly different numbers, we will become witness to the passion play of economic appeasement in all its glory. This is delusion in its purest form.

that poor, poor man. UPDATED

2011-03-14T00:22:00.002-04:00

The conviction of the truly disillusioned is a frightening thing to witness. We’ve all had those moments watching reality television when someone truly atrocious is allowed to grace the panel of judges with their presence. This can’t be real, we think. They had to have set that up, let them through for comic relief because we believe no one is like this in real life, right? And as we watch the judges snicker and do everything they can to not hide the fact these contestants are being made fun of, the most important question passes through our minds: How can their loved ones allow them to make a fool of themselves like this in front of an international audience? Doesn’t anyone actually care about these people? And this gives us a sense of greatness: If it were one of my friends, I would never allow them to be subject to such ridicule.

But really:

How do we know when we’re stuck in the middle of it?

Sure, it’s easy enough to call attention to it when we’re watching through a television screen (it's like looking over the shoulder of someone using a computer - the onlooker always finds the links first). But what happens when we find ourselves in that position? Are we actually able to see how bad something is? I can’t edit a script until I’ve had time away from it. A new, devised piece of theatre can’t/shouldn’t/isn’t ready to be finished without the introduction of an “outside eye” in the rehearsal process (hopefully in the form of a director). All creative people know that when you’ve fallen too far into something you can’t see the forest for the trees.

This being said and in order to make sure you don’t end up being ridiculed in front of a brimming audience (unless that’s what you’re looking for – what do I know?) please, for the love of all that’s holy, take some time and ask yourself why you are doing this. Be truthful. It would also help by surrounding yourself with people that aren’t afraid to break your ego once in a while. These friends are probably the best friends a person can ever find.

The performing arts is full of the most deluded, egotistical, self-righteous people you will ever find. And, sadly enough, it has to be. The latter two of those three qualities are actually rather necessary for a person to succeed in this field (in the form of confidence – no one wins by being self-absorbed *coughSheencough*). But the first only and always remains an obstacle for every one of us to overcome.

Theatre is the heightened expression of emotions and daily struggles. If you have a hard time functioning in a mundane, day-to-day conversation I don’t think this is the right path for you. Theatre cannot and will not be a substitute for real life experiences. You actually have to go out and do those yourself. PLEASE GO OUT AND DO THOSE YOURSELF. Theatre is about society and community. It is about the present and why the present needs to express itself on stage. We cannot be deluged with our own greatness and expect audiences to shower us with roses. We need to actually interact with the world if we want the world to interact with us and in order to do this we need to learn how to listen. A conversation always has two parts. You can’t always talk.

Really, what I’m getting at is that too much of one thing is detrimental to the goal you’re trying to achieve. Please, take some time to refresh. Attack your passion from a different angle, with all new eyes. Theatre will always be here. Just because you don’t act or study for a few months - a year, who knows? - doesn’t mean you’re giving up your dream. If anything it will always be part of you and everything you’ve experienced in the interim will be sifted through unconsciously and stored in your mind into that file cabinet marked “Life Experiences” (or, as most people call it, “Memories”) to draw upon later. Honestly, it will only make you stronger and more self-assured.

---

Addendum: "...to draw upon later..." this may sound like an endorsement of The Method. It is not. My advice in this column is with the intent to make a more well-rounded, and ultimately more comfortable actor. I am not giving advice to allow an actor the ability to preconceive how they may react to the extraordinary circumstances of a play but to awaken the actor to their body so they can listen to what their body, and the other actor, is telling them onstage.

nothing more than a spectre, floating.

2011-03-04T14:42:00.001-05:00

It’s times like these I understand the melancholy anguish of Sherlock Holmes and why he resolves to whittle away the dead space between cases with drug. Cocaine. Transcendence. He brings his mind to another plane because anything, anything is better than the monotony of daily life arguing (paraphrasing): If your mind is not preoccupied with something of meaning should you waste and potentially damage it by being preoccupied with something mundane?

Or is it that, after a worthy cause, even the mind of the great Sherlock Holmes has spent all of its creative juices? I wonder how he would fare if his cases were one after another, back-to-back, instead of spread out, allowing him to recover in between and act at the peak of his power when a new one arises?

It’s been a week since I finished In All Kinds of Weather. Four days since I finished editing. With the close of this play, my reason for getting up in the morning (in a timely/productive fashion) has finished as well. My drive is deflated. For now, at least. I’ve created a cocoon around me, fallen into hibernation to prepare my mind for the change it’s undergone. I’ve picked up an old project and am slowly getting it to a place I’m comfortable with, but my drive isn’t there. It’s not immediate. In other words, I’m spent. I find myself catching up on movies and readings I’ve been meaning for too long. I’m consuming so much of this escapist entertainment and all the while leaving my own creative juices to recuperate you can almost see the track marks on my arms.

I’ve realised this happens every time I complete something. In the past I would become restless, impatient with myself during this period -

JUST GET UP! STOP WASTING TIME!

But now I understand it needs to happen, that my passion will come back. That my ideas will begin to generate again at a new pace, with a new vision. So I’m trying to let it go. I keep reminding myself this happens, over and over, and will continue to as I grow older. And I guess it makes me feel a bit better.

I’m still anxious as hell, however -

WHEN’S IT GONNA END?

they've stopped talking.

2011-03-01T01:50:00.001-05:00

I've been away. Busy busy busy, what with rehearsing for the New Ideas Festival, generally being unemployed and worrying about finances, and writing the ending of In All Kinds of Weather. Yes. That's right. It's done.

And that's a weird feeling. I mean, I've finished plays before and usually feel somewhat regretful that it's over; I don't want to say good bye! There's so much more I could write about them!

But not this time.

I said good bye.

Rather: they said good bye. They grabbed the till and the most marvelous thing happened: they accepted their fate. They knew it was time to go. I saw them, each of them, that look in their eyes. As I was writing, I don't know where exactly but they would each turn to me, in their own time, and look straight into my eyes. Unquestioning. Almost nodding. This is it. We've had our time.

I have never been so satisfied with ending a play before (which makes me wonder if those other plays I finished actually did end...). Maybe it was because I knew the ending before I began. I knew their images: how I wanted them to be remembered and what I wanted these characters to stand for. Their images were already inside from the top, fermenting (an image which explains, pretty accurately, the story of writing this play, with all the unpredictable alleys it brought me down. It felt, at certain times, that something else was guiding me). The ending aged as I wrote. It was ready last Friday. I have never been so content.

I still have a lot of reflection concerning the creation of this play, but I think the most immediate, stark lesson I've taken from it is the importance of that final image (or those final images). You can't just pick an ending out of the air. You need to find a picture (not literally), study it, then figure out how to re-create it. All the ingredients are there, you just have to look for them. A picture has many layers and it's your job to explore each one. In time, you'll have all the ingredients to make really good beer.

Maybe now I'll stop writing about them like they're real...

a question for adults.

2011-02-15T17:55:00.000-05:00

As a kid I had tremendous focus.

I remember spending hours outside, watching worker ants gather food for their families; trying to capture that elusive mantis; marveling at the metallic sheen of the various dragonflies my brother and I captured (though, in hindsight, the means of capture were rather unorthodox) and nursed back to health (case in point).

I remember the toys I had, LEGO and any sort of miniature figurine, preferably of the robot variety (Zbots, various dollar store finds, Reboot), and spending days, weeks, constructing worlds, storylines and games for each that usually culminated in some sort of epic, world-shattering battle that took over the entire basement rec-room.

My imagination, like most kids’, was untamed.

This even bled in to the literature I read, although only recently has it actually become considered literature. I was a very visual child and to a large extent still am as an adult. All throughout elementary school, and for the first year of high-school, I did not enjoy reading. Books. Novels. Words. Too bland. Boring. My mind worked so hard during the day playing with toys and learning in school that if I wanted to unwind with a book it better have had pictures in it. Comics. Or, better yet, movies (don't have to read those).

It wasn’t until Grade Ten that I could successfully pick up a picture-less novel and actually enjoy it. I have a sneaking suspicion the main reason for this is because I didn’t care about reading description. Why can’t I just see it? Hear it? All I wanted was the dialogue. The voices. That’s it. Even the old comics with that yellow box of description at the top drove me nutty. I couldn’t do it. Just voices please. I can see everything else, thank you very much. And that’s the key right there.

I wanted a picture. I wanted to live in that picture. To study it. To give it the time it begs for but rarely gets. And I had the time. I had all the time in the world. No job. No worries about providing for myself. No worries about feeding myself. Nothing except playing and exploring my imagination.

As a kid I had tremendous focus. Because I had tremendous amounts of time.

I remember reading and re-reading the first, maybe three, issues of Jeff Smith’s Bone, evoking the small-town innocence of the Barrel-Haven and the mystical woods surrounding it. I remember studying each panel until the forested valley was all around me. I escaped into this world. It was so real to me. And still is. I can still remember living so intimately with these characters who weren’t even my own but of another’s creation. When I read through it now (and I do, often) I always find it remarkable that the beginning, those first three issues, go by so quickly – they are just the beginning of the story, after all.

But wait a second. That can’t be right. How did I find such life in something so short? Same goes for The Lion King. It’s only a ninety-minute movie and, upon adult viewing, certain aspects (like Simba’s exile with Timon and Pumbaa) are so quick now when I remember them taking so much time as a kid (in a good way). How can this be?

Time hasn’t changed since I was a child. It still passes with the same frequency and regularity. Perception and experience modifies it as we grow old, however:

Research suggests a person’s perception of how much time has passed between two points and how well memories are recorded onto an individual’s brain are partially dependent on the amount of new experiences that person has during any given day.

The above quote is taken from the About page on Matt Danzico’s 2011 project The Time Hack. He’s attempting to lengthen his perception of time by trying something new and zany every day. The result is rather whimsical and inspiring.

Which brings me to the onus of this post. It is the question:

Are we actually hurting our experience of the world with how much choice is available to us at any given moment?

I’m reminded of one of my good friends, a few years back, stating at a party: I have no time to re-read anything. There’re too many things to read.

And this opposing quote from C.S. Lewis: I can't imagine a man really enjoying a book and reading it only once.

As we grow up and transform into that wonderful and frighteningly awful word, adult, it seems we lose focus. I can say for certain I don’t allow myself the same amount of time I used to to live in a work of art. I look, consume, and move on to the next. Same with books (yes, I am on to reading actual, picture-less books now although graphic literature will always hold a special place in my heart. So will books that have drawings put at specific intervals throughout. I love this! Why don’t writers hire artists to do a series of woodcuts anymore? Is it too juvenile? All the classics have it. Maybe I’m just a fan of multi-disciplinarity. I love when a product of one medium inspires another). I, like my friend, rarely take the time to revisit my favourite books / plays / paintings / etc., and I’m not sure that I like this lifestyle.

I ask the question above not as a proponent of either side but with another question hidden firmly within the original:

How can we fully appreciate a piece of art without the appropriate time to experience it?

Art demands time. Why, as people at a particular phase of life, don’t we make the effort to spend time with something we like? Are we actually satisfied with reading / watching something briefly and then clicking the “Like” button and stumbling away? Is that enough to actually appreciate something? Or is it that we feel guilty spending too much time with any one particular thing when there are so many others awaiting us? It’s a mystifying conundrum and I’m as guilty as anyone for acting in this manner. I’d say about a sixth of the books on my bookshelf I haven’t read yet. And I keep adding to this because I keep finding books I’d like to read. But how many times have I said to myself that I’d like to read that again (“I’ll probably catch so much more the second time around!”)? Too many.

It's a thought that's been on my mind most of this year. And I think I’m going to work towards improving it.

It’s been too long since I’ve explored the woods around the Barrel-Haven.

these are the stuffs history, nations, cultures are made on.

2011-02-11T14:08:00.000-05:00

To watch Hosni Mubarak today in his late-night speech in Cairo, as he used every means of rhetorical deflection to delay his inevitable end, was to watch a man so deluded, so deaf to the demands of history, that he was incapable of hearing an entire people screaming in his ear. And it is almost always that way: the dictator, coddled in his isolation, surrounded by satraps and servants, immersed in his own sense of essential-ness, is the last to know.

- The New Yorker's David Remnick

What an eloquent, descriptive image of a man at his last moments.

Egypt, not only has your dictator heard you, the whole world has.

Your people are inspiration to us all.

the revitalisation of architecture and the decay of technology.

2011-02-08T17:50:00.000-05:00

Photo by Me!, 2011, Oshawa's Genosha Hotel

in which i explore two passions at once.

2011-02-06T23:49:00.000-05:00

Meditation on the Medium:
(Little Play #4)

A picture can tell a different story from reality.
Heightened.
(Did it really happen like that?)
It takes you on a journey,
THE Journey,
A perfect quest,
A scene already written.
A frame can hold intensity,
Its borders denote limitations:
The left side, just as we are taught to read,
Signals a beginning,
A past:
We are already running to catch up.
The top and bottom are like arrows
Guiding our vision across the image.
Movement.
That is the image itself;
We are thrown into a world in motion,
An action,
Life caught candidly,
A story so full of direction,
Of purpose,
It has no choice but to help us along.
A photograph understands its audience,
Just like a novel,
Or a play,
There is narration:
Your eyes are drawn Here
Now off, around;
A hand guides you by the eyes,
Never letting you leave the frame
But forcing you through it
Until you reach the end:
A wall
(What comes next?)
But a picture doesn’t end
(It can’t!) it’s caught,
Stuck in its movement,
A morsel of the whole.
It teases you.
Your eyes want more
(There must be more!)
That right wall of the frame becomes a gutter,
A Question,
That lingers on your lips,
And vibrates off the skin of your ears.
A Question that will drive you mad if you think too long;
A Question that can never be answered
Yet always comes up:
(What happens next?)

---

To accompany the above (as it was born from the memory of these pictures) this link will redirect you to a photoset on my Flickr! account [because I cannot create a photoset on blogger and, alas, cannot blog (effectively) on Flickr!]. (clicking the image below will also take you there)

---

As I've pretty well picked apart the rest of that old university blog o' mine for more Little Plays, it seems at one point I completely changed my blogging style and, really, it became unintelligible dribble very closely resembling a facebook wall. As there are no more unsuspecting Little Plays to be had from the old old strip mines, and because I rather enjoy the thought of the Little Plays, from this day forward I'll be adding to this title by making new ones. As before, they come in all shapes and forms. Meditation on the Medium seems a perfect fit.

And now I've written this I'm rather excited to start writing more.

Stay tuned!

how I’ve felt recently (in a creative sense).

2011-01-31T15:57:00.001-05:00

Photo by Me!, 2011, St. Lawrence Market

time for a little self-exploration.

2011-01-31T15:52:00.001-05:00

I am alive. Just drowning.

Seems I’ve needed to occupy my brain with amusements instead of puzzles recently.

I don’t want to say Act Three is overwhelming or scary. It is. That shouldn’t have to be said. They always are, aren’t they? What I do want to say is that my drive is... muddled. As my mind fills up like an unskimmed, neglectfully chlorinated swimming pool, I find the need to resort to the many other things I have seen as not worth my time, namely time-wasting.

As much as I pride myself on using the internet for productive means (watching TED lectures, keeping abreast with the theatrical blog-o-sphere, and the next art and design developments) I can sure as hell use these to no productive end as well as the next man (if not better because “I’m learning”).

And while exploring my own creative imagination requires intense focus, a focus I’ve come to love and welcome with a lover’s embrace, I find myself opting for the less regimented realm of another’s.

After all, how can I become a good writer if I don’t know what else is being written?

So I occupy my time with stories, with books, with images and music. Anything to overcome that bubbling voice drowning in my pool telling me I’m only hurting myself by postponing the inevitable.

And yet I can’t be too harsh on myself because I have been productive. I have seen theatre. I have seen movies. I am reading literature. And most importantly I am unconsciously picking up the parts I enjoy most and storing them in my pool house, in the toolbox right next to the pool skimmer so in a few hours when I skim and chlorinate the rotting thing I can feel confident the next time I want to go for a swim because I have new tools that will help fill up all those cracks in its damn foundations.

they're on to me.

2011-01-24T20:51:00.000-05:00

I had no idea my previous writings were already part of a legitimate field of study. Cyborg Anthropology.

Fascinating idea of the "second self" and the necessary time for reflection. It happens to me all the time. Only when I have time off, when those external factors are at a rest can I upkeep my online persona, can I tailor my second self to the rest of the world.

It's communication at a heightened degree - communication on multiple planes of existence - and the most exciting thing is that we can navigate life between them successfully! (most of us any way... let's not mention that Korean couple who let their baby starve... I mean... shit...)

...you can stand on one side of the world, whisper something, and be heard on the other...

It's odd to think of people interacting with you when you're asleep. Offline. Whatever.

the clear twilight of mind.

2011-01-18T15:57:00.001-05:00

So much time spent organising
With a day off thrown in,
Here and there.

Getting back into the mind of my others
(Sometimes I think of them as personalities,
Or friends even)
Is like I never left.

Like picking up a beautifully written novel,
And knowing exactly what happened
All those weeks ago.

The distance from here is great,
But the clarity is even greater.

I think I know how it all ends.

musings from another world.

2011-01-12T21:28:00.002-05:00

After connecting my living to a series of programs and devices, and while I was watching a particularly technically-troubled production last week (just missed cues which really embarrassed me; and I was only an audience member! The show itself really is something special and I will recommend it to all without mentioning it here) I began thinking about theatre’s place in the entertainment realm. My immediate response to the technical issues in the aforementioned show was: “Really? It’s opening night for God’s sake.” And then I looked around and realised, yes, it is opening night and the audience is full of theatre people (usually the norm, no?). As the play is of such a large scale that more people sitting in the audience probably have a hand in it than are on stage (or maybe about the same number, it does have an impressively large cast) obviously these little issues are more easily overlooked. I mean, it is one of the worst things to experience as an actor: when something completely out of your control goes awry. When we, the audience, see the characters flicker and the actor just standing there, powerless, trying not to let the red rush to their cheeks. After all, “We’ve all been there,” but how does this look to someone in the audience just trying to enjoy a show?

A few days ago while scouring my favourite theatre blogs and I came across this at 2AMt. Near the end of the post Gwydion states: “After all, we’re not making theater for each other… or if we are, we shouldn’t be.” I realise my embarrassment the other night came because I sat in the mostly-theatre-peopled-audience with someone just trying to enjoy a show. I was excited for her to experience the best of what local theatre has to offer. And those little technicalities were, as I said before, embarrassing. I mean, if the editors messed up the final cut of a movie and the credits started rolling over top the climax, or a blooper were accidentally kept in, audience members generally wouldn't be thinking, "Oh, don't you just hate when that happens? Better luck on your next film." In many cases they'd demand their money back and the film would be ridiculed.

So where does this bring me? Well, believe it or not, I'm not actually here to talk about my own standards for theatre (my seat-mate, by-the-way, loved the show and wasn't at all bothered by the technical miscues). This post is actually about something that really excites, and saddens me in theatre: the integration of new technology. If anyone has seen a Robert Lepage or an Electric Company production you'll automatically get my excitement.

My sadness however comes because so many theatre artists are of the mindset that less is more when considering the technical elements of a play. One main reason behind this is that of funding. Technology is expensive and takes time to do right. In such a rushed setting that most small, independent theatre finds itself having a show heavily depend on its technology will only tread rough water. And you're left with a choice: what should we do? Should we push through even if we know we will not have the necessary time to rehearse with it? Or would the show just be better without it?

Another big reason behind the less is more mindset is a lack of general experience with incorporating technology into live performance. And that’s understandable: a director’s main focus, especially of fledgling directors, is to the live, breathing actors in front of them. This is one of the reasons I, and so many others, fall head-over-heels for theatre: because it doesn’t rely on the “wow” factor the latest technology can offer; meaning you don’t need to shell out a couple extra dollars to rent a pair of silly-looking glasses to watch a play in 3D. Thank God (for more on theatre's "wow" factors read Howard Sherman’s article in American Theatre Wing).

Wouldn’t it be less stressing, though, if a director’s, or a theatre’s or an actor’s ability to utilise technology to their advantage came second nature? I have a feeling it would.

The accessibility of current technology (for integration into live performance) is extremely limited.

Now, I don’t mean to undermine the actor’s importance with the introduction of layers of technology; I mean to introduce another playing field, another plane of existence to interact with (and even this I don’t mean on, or with, all theatre. The diversity of performance styles is what makes this medium the most interesting on the planet). As technology evolves and becomes more commonplace in all aspects of existence theatre must grow to mirror it. If it doesn't how can it hope to stay relevant? The internet has created an amazing and inclusive interplay between artists of all walks in all corners of the world possible. This is 2011. This is the technological age. We need to embrace it if we want to expand and reach other audiences. Accessibility is key and the most accessible thing in the world, digitally speaking, is the internet. Let’s use it to our advantage to get new faces in our theatre's seats. Let's use it to create a truly unique performance style you can't experience anywhere else. Let's make this decade exciting.

---

To read more about the possibilities of all this there’s an exciting interview with Siminovitch Prize-Winning Director Kim Collier over at Praxis Theatre. I get weak in the knees just reading it.

---

UPDATE: Just found a symposium happening this Saturday, Jan. 15th @ York University on this very topic. It's an all day event and the best part is that registration is free! Click here for more information. Sadly enough I won't be able to attend but would love to hear about how it goes!

i no longer live (solely) in this world.

2011-01-06T22:54:00.000-05:00

2011 feels odd to write. But exciting to think about. This is the beginning of a decade and even though it’s young ~ 6 days old as I type ~ I’m very ready to start colouring it.

This past week has been hectic. Not in a working sense, or a no-time-to-think sense. In a building sense. For the first time my life has become thoroughly synced with not only this world, but through the various devices I now possess, with the online one. And now I’m speaking as if it were all over with… as if I were satisfied with the state of things… which really is a distortion of the truth: I still have far to go before I’m utterly satisfied with the synchronicity of my thoughts, words, images and, altogether, my persona. These past seven days I’ve been busying myself with new programs, with new devices (a digital camera ~ be prepared for a possibly annoying amount of PHOTOS!) and new outlets (this one, the one you’re reading RIGHT NOW).

And through it all I can’t help but marvel at how easily a new piece of technology, be it a program, device or the promise of such, can utterly consume one’s life.

Yesterday for instance I received said new camera. Then I lost the day. I had plans yesterday (personal plans but plans nonetheless) but instead I spent the time testing out the new device ~ figuring out all its functions, trying to get a feel for which ones I like best and how I can modify its settings to get the most artistic and visually satisfying images (to the best my day-old experience will allow). After, I began toying with imaging software to find which one worked exactly the way I wanted it to ~ which one’s aesthetics were most inline with my own. Miraculously after that I remembered all those other programs I wanted to test out, to upgrade to and to fiddle with. And oh-boy-did-I-ever.

Long after the sun was making its way to Australia, when an exterior force dared communicate with me, did I receive a shock: that shock what only comes when someone else, living a life independent of your own, asks you something. I snapped out of my digital daze, looked at the time and noticed it was nearing 9pm. Good bye Afternoon! (Like I said before: all my self-laid plans just disappeared yesterday!) When “forced” to respond to this external herald-of-the-natural-world I desperately began running to catch the few remaining “productive” hours of night. And the self-inflicted criticism began.

How could I let myself get so completely swept up, selfishly nonetheless, into another world?

An interesting notion itself; that there are other worlds, readily accessible. That we no longer live in just one world. That reality has layers. Very Matrix, I realise.

But tangible.

The acquisition of a new digital device is life-altering. We spend intimate hours exploring it, understanding it and testing its boundaries. I'm amazed to think that a device as simple and lifeless as a digital camera, or an mp3 player, has almost as many unique attributes as the person using it. What’s more, after a time, these objects cease existing as a device at all but become an extension of its owner; just as a pen is an extension of the mind and hand that wields it.

I do not have a camera, I am a camera. I am a blog. I am a netbook. A laptop. An iPod. An external hard-drive. I am a word processor. I exist in all these spaces at once, unconsciously, seamlessly.

I am no longer solely for this world.

p.s. Now I’ve meditated on this I find it amusing that every time I get a new, shiny doohickey I dub it as a king would dub his heirs: Andrew II, IV, VI.

a summation of 2010

2010-12-30T12:12:00.001-05:00

It is refreshing to surround oneself with non-theatre folk.

The last five years I've been constantly interacting with people who have had theatrical training, who strive to be actors and who are meticulous in uncovering the mysteries that make up character. This unending poking and prodding at the notion, and mystery, of character has unknowingly made my focus so singular and my faith so poor that I've believed the world to be nothing more than a fiction ~ it's characters all-knowing and conscious of the decisions that make them the personalities they are.

This year, however, I've fallen into a whole new world ~ one removed of the studious tinkering of scholars. I've moved into a world where this fiction I speak of, the world as story, is largely unknown. Yes like in any reality musings and rumours of its existence are to be found but they are rarely thought of. I've found in this new world, this world of reality, that people do and don't know why ~ or, rather, don't care why.

We tell our bodies to act, and when it doesn't perform the way we want we don't explore why: we find another route.

I find this exciting.

It has opened up a whole realm of character possibilities / realities.

As a theatre practitioner training teaches us we can control our -isms, our ticks ~ that nothing is out of our power to transform, to drop, or to write off as an unnecessary / abnormal bodily function. In this new world, however, some of my favourite things to hear are:

"He acts like x if y doesn't happen. It's just the way he is."
"I don't like z. I don't know why, I just hate it."

The reason hearing these rub me the way they do is because the speaker is not questioning what they are saying. The speaker has come to terms with the fact. That is how they are (or the person they talk about is). Simple as that. No ifs, ands or buts. And while I still question, poke and prod the new people I meet I tend to accept their quirks, ticks and -isms more openly than when I was constantly surrounded by people researchers. Sure, I can then move on and examine the causes, the traumatic experiences of their pasts and uncover exactly why they are the way they are but this year I've learnt to just... accept them the way they are.

After all, people are strange. Sometimes inexplicably so.

This is what 2010 taught me. And the best part? It has taught me to forgive the little quirks about myself. Yes. I am like x if y doesn't happen. Deal with it. I am.

Little Play #3 (March 9th, 2006):

2010-12-30T11:15:00.000-05:00

Here's a third performance I found hidden in my old university blog.
This one's more of a meditation ~ a soliloquy without context.
It raises, I find, questions as to where it could come from.
Maybe a spring-board to something else entirely.

Cart-Horse
Every time you think you've got It
It turns around and gives you a black eye
Then you're left wondering:
Why can't It stop, why can't It just stay predictable, just for a minute?
And if you're lucky It will,
It will, because if It puts you through so much,
You will finally be able to take the reins for once,
And put It through hell.
But... in order to do this... we must understand.
I do not.

Little Play #2 (November 21st, 2005)

2010-12-28T01:10:00.002-05:00

A struggle for everyone to join.

Pressure point 126.4... a lack of time... otherwise known as: a due date.

I work so much better when a wall is coming at me in the distance.
As it draws nearer I tend to get my best ideas.
Little by little I am able to chip away at this wall.
Eventually I find a way to dissolve the mortar and make its foundations shatter.
As it approaches me, I see it is no more than a pile of rubble.
Sometimes, however, I cannot find the solution.
Alternatives are key.
The construction of a door is useful;
when the wall draws near I am able to step through unscathed.
But the wall is still there.
That means I must work extra hard to topple it
because another one has appeared in the distance.
Trapped by two walls.
If I do not bring them down, I will eventually be trapped.

Sometimes the pressure is there.
Sometimes it's all in my head.

Always there is a solution.

stumbled upon an old blog of mine...

2010-12-27T23:56:00.002-05:00

...and, mostly, it's a collection of inane sputterings that act as a rather complex slice of life as I traversed the second and third year terrain at York trying to figure out who I am (something, I realise, is never-ending). But the thing that caught my attention is buried between posts I have unconsciously created a few "little plays," or online performances. I`m going to try and find them all and repost them to see how they stand independently.

From November 15th, 2005:

Little Play #1:

Turning a man into a woman has never been so easy!

Attention!

I hear groups of friends in other rooms, laughing and having a good time.

The smell of popcorn fills my nose.

And I wonder 'how the hell do they have time for this?'

And then I think, what if I just said 'fuck it'... what would happen?

It feels good to say it in my head...

but then I think about how it would translate in reality...

My hands are all wrinkled and rough.

I've found a release in... doing the dishes?

Yeah, you heard me.

Left! Left!

I think I'm going to need glasses after this week...

redundancy is key... redundancy is key... redundancy is key... redundancy is...

...what if?

it's been a spell...

2010-12-17T15:38:00.002-05:00

...I think it's about time I spruced this place up a bit.

In the coming days and weeks I'm going to be changing things here.

I started this blog a few years ago with the intent on having it as a sounding board - a place to bounce ideas and share with the world. Soon after I started, I got rather bored with it. I think it mostly has to do with the large changes, the transitional period I was entering and somewhat badly dealing with. But, now that time is over. School is done. My life is on track (a track any way...) and I feel I can effectively spend the time required to upkeep this thing. I've been longing for a place to write and share thought a bit longer than 140 characters and not as awkward as Facebook.

So why not clean a relic?

Staring at the Clouds: an excerpt from 'The Liminal Masque'

2009-06-22T23:47:00.004-04:00

This is from a new play I've been working on.

The play found its roots in the majesty of the St. Lawrence Market and the rich history of Market Square. The end product is an exploration into the things we give up in order to find temporary peace. This exerpt is one such example of a moment of peace that I felt the need to share because of the beautiful weather we've been having lately.

Scene Seven:
NAMELESS is standing in front of the market, looking up. SKY is at his booth. He keeps shooting glances at NAMELESS.

SKY What is it?

NAMELESS There’s something…

SKY What, where? A bird?

NAMELESS No, I don’t know, my eyes are clouded. It’s like… here, look right there, above the street. Do you see it?

SKY I don’t know what I’m supposed to be seeing. Clouds?

NAMELESS There. Just stare. Alright, now look to the left. Do you notice anything? Do you notice it being lighter? A different shade of blue? Like a shadow were laying atop the air?

SKY What do you mean a shadow? Like a cloud? There aren’t any clouds, but –

NAMELESS No, I… I need sleep. A full night’s. I swear I feel I’m standing in the shade.

SKY You’re not.

Image taken in July, 2008 by Andrew Gaboury

some sort of something

2008-04-08T16:07:00.003-04:00

The Ashley Plays is a cycle of site-specific performances the playwrights, with the help of the dramaturgs from THEA 4290 Playwriting and New Play Dramaturgy write and perform.

This year, due to an intense storm, we were all snowed out on the day of the performance. The university closed and all events had to be cancelled. Which was a shame, because I know a lot of people wanted to see them.

Well, thanks to Judith and her web-designer, the plays have been immortalized on the internet as a cycle of virtual theatre.

You can read the six monodramas at www.yorku.ca/thea4290.

I'd love to hear any comments on them.

a few poster designs.

2008-04-08T00:12:00.006-04:00

Here are the posters I designed with the help of my classmate Carla for the play we are currently working on:

The project initially started with the intentions of "staging" film and as such we decided to go with two poster designs, much like you see for a television show or film.

Also, here is the poster I designed last term, with the help of Vic, for our Fall site-specific production:

This one was absolutely striking on the walls, and just fun to work with. Summed up our piece pretty well too.