Vancouver today, Whitehorse tomorrow
Vancouver. The sky is slightly ominous, with cloud cover fighting to eradicate a band of bright almost blue sky. Dark grey fighting with light grey bleeding into…oyster grey. Two incompatible weather systems duking it out. Can’t wait to see which one wins.
Just finished my stint at an academic theatre conference, presenting a paper on Common Plants. Now I’m turning my gaze north and giving in to the side of my brain that wants to make work not analyze work. Tomorrow I leave for Whitehorse, Yukon, to collaborate with Nakai Theatre’s David Skelton and artists that he’s selected. We’ll be creating an Ashley Cycle over five days. Checked the Weather Network and apparently the forecast for Whitehorse, overnight, is sunny. That is not a mis-type. We’re into June and heading for the longest day of the year, Midsummer’s Night, but even now the North has long, long days.
I’m looking at my suitcase which holds two wardrobes, just as my artistic and academic selves are the repository of two distinct vocabularies. The vocabularies intersect sometimes and I’m told that makes my academic papers “lively”. I tend to get offended when people tell me that, though I know they mean it as a compliment.
I am, always have been and always will be a border dweller, living on the line between two worlds that often don’t blend. I characterize the border as a bridge, a tightrope, an electrical wire sizzling with current.
I like it on the border. I am not an accidental inhabitant, but rather a willing citizen of the border. But living on the margins of established territories brings both privileges and sometimes problematic conundrums.
Like how to respond to “compliments”.
Today I heard a paper about my work delivered by one of the presenters at the conference. A bit unsettling. I didn’t always agree with the interpretation of my processes but again, I guess being the subject of academic interpretation is a “compliment”.
Could be worse, eh?
At this moment the swath of bright white light underpinning the waves of grey is widening. The Weather Network tells me that this will change tonight. But for now, I’m focusing on how the perpendicular rays of sun are bisecting both of them, punctuating their horizontal flow with a reminder that even disparate, seemingly exclusive worlds are vulnerable to…no, not vulnerable…accessible by bridges.
Tomorrow: Whitehorse.
Just finished my stint at an academic theatre conference, presenting a paper on Common Plants. Now I’m turning my gaze north and giving in to the side of my brain that wants to make work not analyze work. Tomorrow I leave for Whitehorse, Yukon, to collaborate with Nakai Theatre’s David Skelton and artists that he’s selected. We’ll be creating an Ashley Cycle over five days. Checked the Weather Network and apparently the forecast for Whitehorse, overnight, is sunny. That is not a mis-type. We’re into June and heading for the longest day of the year, Midsummer’s Night, but even now the North has long, long days.
I’m looking at my suitcase which holds two wardrobes, just as my artistic and academic selves are the repository of two distinct vocabularies. The vocabularies intersect sometimes and I’m told that makes my academic papers “lively”. I tend to get offended when people tell me that, though I know they mean it as a compliment.
I am, always have been and always will be a border dweller, living on the line between two worlds that often don’t blend. I characterize the border as a bridge, a tightrope, an electrical wire sizzling with current.
I like it on the border. I am not an accidental inhabitant, but rather a willing citizen of the border. But living on the margins of established territories brings both privileges and sometimes problematic conundrums.
Like how to respond to “compliments”.
Today I heard a paper about my work delivered by one of the presenters at the conference. A bit unsettling. I didn’t always agree with the interpretation of my processes but again, I guess being the subject of academic interpretation is a “compliment”.
Could be worse, eh?
At this moment the swath of bright white light underpinning the waves of grey is widening. The Weather Network tells me that this will change tonight. But for now, I’m focusing on how the perpendicular rays of sun are bisecting both of them, punctuating their horizontal flow with a reminder that even disparate, seemingly exclusive worlds are vulnerable to…no, not vulnerable…accessible by bridges.
Tomorrow: Whitehorse.