Tag Archives: english

Community Arts, Education, and the “Legitimacy” of Creation

“The unfed mind devours itself.” – Gore Vidal

My inspiration starts here: I spent my first St. Patrick’s Day as a 19-year-old University student at the local museum, sitting in on a lecture by award-winning Newfoundland director Jillian Keiley entitled How to Make the Performing Arts Thrive Locally, Regionally, and Nationally as a part of the “Public Matters” series (Museum London). Keiley has reached national audiences for years by bringing pieces of Newfoundland into every show she directs; right now, she is in the midst of producing a piece (reworked to be set in her homeland) for the Stratford festival. She spoke of LePage and Tremblay, and the importance of setting in art — to be universal, in the words of Tremblay, we must be local.

This hit home for me — enough, it seems, to take time out of my hectic finals schedule to write an extended blog post about it. First of all, I’d been interested in Tremblay ever since appearing in a production of Albertine in Five Times as a part of the Sears Ontario Drama Festival (we went to Provincials!) in 2014. I began thinking of all the renowned Canadian works that were set or inspired by a specific town or landscape… Stephen Leacock’s Sunshine Sketches…, Ann-Marie MacDonald’s Fall On Your Knees… Tremblay’s La Maison Suspendue… the list is infinite. Even the most celebrated of plays are set in a very specific atmosphere and location — think A Streetcar Named Desire. This got me thinking about my local environment, and the artistic communities thriving around it…

Keiley spoke a lot about popular arts, and how difficult it is to promote Canadian theatre to the masses in the shadow of “Ed-Mirvish-Toronto/New-York-City-Broadway-Musical” culture. This reminds me of a discussion I had back in February with Top Girls director Vikki Anderson after attending a lecture on campus about the play’s adaptation for the Shaw Festival. People go to the theatre to feel cultured — more or less promoting an illusion of being cultured — not necessarily to contribute to the ever-growing theatre scene in Canada. We come to the theatre for the experience — for the grand period costumes and intricate period sets, more like it — but we leave dispirited, with ignorant criticism and expressive distaste for the modernizing of Shakespeare and Wilde. As Canadian (and/or global) theatre-goers, we are constantly exposed to modernized adaptations of Shakespearean classics — just look at elements of the Benedict Cumberbatch Hamlet. The Stratford Festival takes especially creative liberties with its productions — I have heard many things about its past production of Midsummer Night’s Dream. I remember hearing about these modernizations — liberties with costumes, time periods, and gender-bending — and questioning the authority of the directors and producers to make such bold changes. Why? Easy — I wanted to think myself cultured and feel it in my blood and guts. It’s all part of the (I hate this word, but I’m going to use it) pretentious “know-it-all-because-I’ve-read-A-Doll’s-House” attitude surrounding popular theatre culture. I myself was included in this for a long while. Shame on me.

I also remember being in tenth grade and hating Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet (1996) which, despite its mixed reviews, is quite obviously a “fan favourite.” I looked down on all of these adaptations, as did most of the people I surrounded myself with at the time, and now here I am at University, writing and directing my own material for the first time, expecting artistic perfection and fearing anything but.

We so often think that “modern” adaptations of classics (or just modern works in general!) are not intellectual, or that they are not legitimate; we so often undermine the work in our community for New York City and travelling-musical-theatre-companies-coming-to-Toronto. But how can we ever expect the arts to thrive in our communities if we are not in constant support of them? I have come to realize, from all my years dabbing in arts communities, that creative competition is one of the largest threats to the ingenuity of local artists. If we do not dare to create in our home cities or use our immediate environments as inspiration, then how are we ever to achieve this universality in our art? Community support is something I strongly admire about the new and developing Theatre Studies program at my University (in which I will major along with an Honours Specialization in English Language and Literature). I look forward to learning more with each passing year, and sharing it here with an anonymous sea of internet-stalkers and blog surfers.

As artistic entrepreneurs in our schools, cities, and communities, it can become habitual to succumb to jealousy (or, in some cases, crazy Darwinian “survival-of-the-fittest” attitudes when it comes to competing for roles — I’ve seen it all, trust me) when there is so much competition in the field. I feel that I was lucky to mature in a school environment rich in arts education and promotion, however I also feel that it fostered a sense of entitlement in me, and perhaps in others in my program. I was guilty of over-competitiveness at times and, in some ways, still am. Auditions were always about who was the best, who was the worst, who knew the most, and who was the most “educated” in theatre. Ridiculous, I know, for a band of high school students, but hey — I’m not exerting myself from this! It’s not until you come to University that you realize how little you know, and how little you’ll probably always know.

At the end of my twelfth grade year, as I’ve stated before, I made the decision to abandon a possible career in the arts to pursue political science; this, as we know from my Love Letter to the Muse, lasted about three months. Whereas many people that I know have gone on to study the dramatic arts at nationally renowned institutions, I have gone on to study English Literature and theatre in a city with a strong sense of community where so many new and exciting projects/endeavours are being cultivated. I am so fortunate to be where I am, and would not want it any other way. My now-local community has secured a real sense of home in me, something that I’ve never before experienced in an arts environment, where people are encouraged to grow — critiqued but not discouraged — and where there is a secure sense of belonging, of wanting to contribute to a bigger picture.

It is so easy to be ignorantly critical; this is something I am still working on in myself. Let’s be real — eighteen and nineteen-year-olds have limited experience to just about everything; at this stage, all we can do is put ourselves into our learning and hope for the best. This reminds me of 1960s pop art and just postmodernism in general, people going into art galleries and seeing modern paintings and saying, “I could do that!” Well… you didn’t. You didn’t do that. So why not reward those who did, abandon this sense of artistic entitlement, and reward yourself for learning something new about a work?

I look forward to devoting the next 3+ years of my life to learning, to expanding the environments that have given back to me so much over a period of just seven months, and to fuelling new projects and contributing to the arts on a wider scale. I only hope that others will continue to do the same because, together, our achievements can be limitless.

A Love Letter to the Muse/My Own Version of the “Coming Out” Story

I was thinking about writing this post in the middle of a lecture on Keats and romanticism, listening to the round echoing of my favourite professor’s voice chant the last two lines of Ode on a Grecian Urn in subtle singsong, watching the girls in front of me type away and sip at their Tim Hortons cups, watching the quiet boy near the right side of the classroom wonder what to say next.

Let me give you a visual: surprise, surprise! I’m in a sleek, navy blue turtleneck. My 1950s-rimmed glasses came in last week, and my unruly curls are just hanging out of all kinds of places. Let me tell you — throat infection aside, this has been the most emotional and important week of my time here at University. I’m about to tell you why.

It started with the closing of One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. After the show ended, we were all onstage taking our final bows and something just cracked in me and — conventionally unemotional-in-social-situations Camille — just started bawling. In my eyes at least, it was just the world’s biggest disaster. I tried to play it off by saying that I was crying because I knew I would miss the show and the people and I’d never felt so at home in my life, etc. etc. (which is true and partially it), but here’s the full truth: I knew I’d made a wrong turn somewhere. For half the cast party, I was all philosophical and miserable because of it. And I hate genuine misery.

By this point, it’s no surprise that I have devoted my entire life to the arts. I’d spent the last four years of high school lingering around the theatre, directing and performing and indulging myself in every artistic endeavour I could find. It was just something I did — I couldn’t control it. Without it, I’d go mad. I’ve always known that.

I came into University in the Social Science faculty with the dream of pursuing a degree in Political Science. I thought it was practical. I’d gotten very interested in law in high school, and figured poli-sci was an acceptable avenue to explore before applying to graduate programs. I imagined I’d get some government job somewhere, perhaps in politics, and wear fancy woman-blazers to work every day. I’d still do arts on the side from time to time, but they wouldn’t be my focus. And I’d be super rich, you know, and own lots of clothes from stores I’d never even think of going into now. That’s the kind of life I imagined for myself, again, because I thought it was practical. Let me get straight into the nitty-gritty.

This week, I dropped out of my political science module and social science faculty here at school to pursue a double degree in the arts. That’s the best way I can put that. If you want me to elaborate, I’m not quite sure how. I made the executive decision in this same English class about two days ago. I decided it was time to start being honest with myself — I hate political science. University poli-sci is just the worst. It’s boring and philosophical and makes me want to die. Four more years of that?! I’d go nuts. That’s the truth of it. I’m going nuts now.

So I figure I’ll double honours major in English Literature focusing on textual Theatre Studies.

Anyone and everyone that knows me could see this one coming. My teachers in high school, my roommate, my friends not only from back home but here at Western… even my mom. It was inevitable. The arts found me for good, god damn it. With this degree, I’m not only going to be able to study plays, directors, and forms of theatre, but physically perform (and possibly direct in the future — I hope so) in various productions every year. It’s the best of both worlds. It’s perfect for me and for what I want to do.

Furthermore, my parents have been nothing but supportive… however, I know that they feel this choice was a “step back.” They both think that I will never get a job in the arts; they’re banking on me applying to law school in four years. Which I still will, because my interest in law is and always has been genuine.

I feel so relieved. Mostly because, for the first time, I have no idea where I’m going to end up after graduating post-secondary. That excites me in a way. Having been raised by two travel enthusiasts has certainly widened my sense for adventure and uncertainty.

You know, when I was hanging out on Skype with my dad the other day telling him about my decision, I felt like I was filming one of those “coming-out-as-gay/lesbian/+-Youtube videos.” It was horrifying. I was sitting there ugly-crying, going “I’m sorry, I know you don’t approve or understand!/You don’t know what it’s like to wake up every day living and breathing all of this all of the time/I can’t shut it off, it’s like a reflex, like nothing else holds any importance/I can’t stand to be headed towards something I’m not completely immersed in and in love with when I’ve found my passion, found where I am mostly myself/I belong to this…” And, GOD, all this cheesy shit that sounds like I’m a delusional thirteen year old tasting love for the first time.

But let me tell you — if you’ve ever known what it’s like to live and breathe something completely, something that enthrals you and captures your entire state of being so much so that it fuels your whole god damned life and every piece of it — those are feelings you can’t repress. If you feel you were truly made to study something, to explore and indulge in something, to feed your soul with something, then that’s what you should be focusing on. Even if there’s a chance you might end up poor for a few years of your life. It should be a risk you are willing to take, to wake up in the morning and think to yourself, “I love what I study. I’m where I should be.” That is the kind of person I want to become, and those are the kinds of people that I admire with every part of myself. People with genuine passions, things that drive their minds forward.

Another thing I’ve learned: you can’t hide from your true self at University. Oh no, you’re completely on your own. Alone sometimes, with your thoughts and doubts and things that make you tick. You might as well accept them, because fuck, you’re just never going to change. I know I never will.

*Breathes long, heavy sigh of exasperation, looks around the University Community Centre wistfully at a group of tourists seeing the place for the first time. Takes in the air, watches the clouds roll by, hopes it doesn’t rain. Pathetic fallacy? Wonders how to end this blog post. Smiles to self. Things of emotional, inspirational quote to end this thing on, but for the first time there are no actual words.