Ottawa Arts Newsletter: What’s Wrong With Ottawa Arts?

I wasn’t in Ottawa when Jessica started the Ottawa Arts Newsletter four years ago. I was in Auckland, New Zealand, working on my Ph.D. in Political Philosophy.

In the early months of 2009, after working on the Hill in 2007 and 2008, I decided to engage more fully with the Ottawa arts scene (and theatre, in particular). I realized quickly — in no small part because of this Newsletter — that the Ottawa arts scene had grown considerably since I had left Ottawa fifteen years before.

Federal politics brought me back to Ottawa. The vibrancy and promise of the arts scene convinced me to stay!

Although much improved, everyone knows the Ottawa arts scene isn’t as vibrant as Canada’s other major urban centers. Why is that? I’m sure anyone who reads this Newsletter has a theory or two.

The Council for the Arts in Ottawa has recently released a report which summarizes a two-year study that examined the unique circumstances that artists and arts organizations face here in our nation’s capital. The summary offers a plausible diagnosis of what ails us and it offers some plausible remedies too.

For anyone who has wondered why Ottawa arts is as it is, this is essential reading.

MY TWO WEEKS IN PREVIEW

Hélène Lefebvre Draws A Crowd With Her Performance

On Saturday, August 21st, I braved the wet weather to catch Time 3, Gallery 101′s third time based art event, which included performance art and film/video work. In the market, Hélène Lefebvre attracted more than a bit of attention, as she made short work of an ice block with a pick and axe. Later in the evening, out behind the gallery, I watched Christine Messierin (from Quebec City I’m told) drink a bottle of wine and light himself on fire. Neat stuff!

On Monday night, I rehearsed with Sanitas Playback Theatre. We have our first public show coming up. Keep an eye out.

On Tuesday night it was off to the Enriched Bread Artists “Pop This!” event. I enjoyed some neat art inside and out. In particular, I liked “Dual” by Svetlana Swinimer.

"Dual" by Svetlana Swinimer

Wednesday night, I took in the truly glorious Seven Samurai at the Bytowne. They don’t make movies like this anymore. It was 207 minutes long and featured an intermission. Do you remember those! Intermissions are a dying breed in theatre too. Oh! There was plot AND character development. And you could make sense of the battle scenes! A treat. And no matter what you might have heard on Twitter, it wasn’t a date!

Thursday night, there was a wee bit of a reunion party, as more than a few pints were raised in honor of Jessica — the Godmother of the Newsletter — Ruano who’s back in town. She may only be passing through but she will be here long enough to promote the Canadian Festival of Spoken Word, October 12 to 16. Maybe you can be the first to spot her at a local arts event and earn yourself a spotter’s badge!

On Friday, I had a meeting with Peter Honeywell, Executive Director of the Council for the Arts in Ottawa. He’s recruited me to help build awareness about arts issues for the upcoming municipal elections. I will keep you posted. Curiously, I managed to schedule the meeting without realizing I was scheduling it on my birthday!

On Saturday, August 28th, I popped into Café Paradiso to listen to some Jazz courtesy of Renée Yoxon and René Gely. It’s always a pleasure to hear Renée sing. It was the first time I heard her sing with René, who played well. @dallaninvictus and I tweeted the show and René became the Mayor of Cafe Paradiso. I’m glad I made it out. The release party for their first album is October 1st.

MY TWO WEEKS IN PREVIEW
Once again, the dance card looks a little light. I will keep my eye out for more events to attend. If you have any events to recommend, feel free to post them here. NB: a site the Newsletter can call its own is in the works.

Third Wall has given me plenty of advance notice, so I can report I will be attending the opening performance of Blackbird on the 15th. I expect I will have more details to share with you next time (maybe I can scare up some tickets to giveaway).

Although I can’t attend Norse Mythology: Creation to Ragnarok, its sheer potential for awesomeness deserves acknowledgment:

On Labour Day weekend, storytellers from across the country will gather at the edge of Taylor Lake in Lanark Co (about one hour from Ottawa) for an epic week-end dedicated to telling fierce, compelling, and sometimes funny stories from Norse Mythology. Telling begins on Friday evening and, with many pauses for food and conversation and  a generally good time, continues till noon on Sunday. For information about tickets, accommodation, etc. please contact: Jennifer Cayley   jcayley@magma.ca or 613-256-0353

For an ex (?) – comic nerd, who loved Walt Simpson’s injection of the Ragnarok mythology into the Thor comics in the mid-80s, this sounds AWEsome!

READER RECOMMENDATIONS
My friend Bart, who sits on the board of Ottawa School of Speech and Drama, asked me to remind folks that now is the time to register for OSSD’s fall courses. Bart tells me,

“I’ve personally seen and heard the impact that their programs have had on children and I think that they’re doing some great work.”

Barb, a huge supporter of Ottawa theatre, forwarded me some fine praise for Swimming In the Shallows. She tells me,

“We very much enjoyed this funny, dark, and faintly bizarre play. Kudos to Marc Ouimet – it’s tough playing a shark but he carries it off swimmingly (sorry, I couldn’t resist the pun!). Joel Beddows does a fine job directing this talented cast. Applause to the props master roy Hansen-robitschek and the set and lighting designer Lynn Cox.”

The show has long since closed of course. But praise is praise and should always be shared! Opening or closing, please help me spread the word about the talent in our city.

Carolina, the publicist from SevenThirty Productions, has this to say about The Gladstone’s season opener on the 16th:

A Flea in her Ear has an indefinable, elusive quality, pleasing with a certain je ne sais quoi that will charm everybody. The plot takes hilarious aim at jealous lovers and mistaken identities, as a group of elegant individuals run into each other at a hotel of dubious reputation.

More importantly, she has a pair of tickets to give away for “Terrific Tuesday on the 21st or, if preferred, any other Tuesday during the run.” The first person to email me the title of his or her favorite SevenThirty production gets the tickets.

Alysa, from 1000 Island Playhouse, also has a pair of tickets to give away to Till It Hurts. Here’s the blurb:

On the eve of his retirement, professor Seymour Mann is asked to deliver a prestigious lecture on his life’s work. While preparing for his ‘great moment’, he is interrupted by a telemarketer’s solicitation, a desperate phone call that changes the course of both of their lives. A comedy that dares to raise questions about the nature of charity and the true meaning of a life well lived.

If you want the tickets, be the first person to email me the last name that would make Seymour’s name infinitely more amusing (Hint: Think, The Simpsons).

Please remember, I’m always eager to share your recommendations. Word of mouth support is the best way you can help a show you enjoyed. Tell me what you enjoyed and I will spread the word. Short (50 words or less), sweet, and personal is the way to go with your recommendations. Publicists should also follow suit.

SPOTTED!
Was that Arthur Milner at the Tuesday 17th performance of the well-reviewed show, Swimming in the Shallows. Perhaps?

The “Pop This” open-studio event at Enriched Bread Artists saw bloggeratti Ryan, Kate, and François from Apartment 613 checking out the Gladstone Street what-have-you. Also seen: visual / media artist, Sandra Hawkins. Also tasted: a delicious Sgt. Major Pale Ale brewed right here in Ottawa.

Was that Brian Carroll (of Third Wall Theatre) and Barb Popel trying out the Union Smoke Shop‘s new toasted panini service during the intermission of the epic full-length version of Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai at the Bytowne? Yes, it’s “outside food” but thanks to a new arrangement with the cinema’s management, patrons are welcome to bring the hot sandwiches with them to showings at the Rideau Street rep house.

Annie Hillies of the West Wellington BIA also joined the cinephiles eager to catch the much-anticipated screening of the restored classic. Of course, Annie has to venture east to get her fix of foreign film, as West Welly is still smarting over last year’s announcement that the owners of the Mayfair will not — after suggesting they would — be opening a second rep house in the trendy west side district.

Two evenings later and a bit further west, the Cube Gallery played host to a glitzy crowd that included Citizen Arts Editor Wendy Warburton, in the house to see the Portraits of Bluesfest auction.

Spotter’s badges this week go out to B.P., W.C., F.W., D.M. and S.S.

Do you want an easy and fun way to be a part of the story of Ottawa arts? Send me a quick note mentioning where you saw noteworthy people from all walks of life enjoying Ottawa arts and we may include it in “Spotted!” If your submission is used, we’ll acknowledge you with a spotter’s badge. Right now, these “badges” are immaterial honors but they may evolve over time into something more. Actually, good money would bet on it.

THE EVOLUTION CONTINUES

The more I look into Ottawa Arts, the more I discover! I can’t do this alone. Thankfully, Evan Thornton has come on-board, as a contributing Editor. He will be helping me out behind the scenes.

I’m also wooing a man-, blogger- and critic-about-town to help me in front of the scenes. Hopefully, I can convince him to share his adventures in the Ottawa arts with us as well. Stay tuned!

And there’s more! I’m on the look out for another writer to feature regularly in the Ottawa Arts Newsletter. If you’ve read this far, it may be you. Are you keen to sample all that Ottawa arts has to sample and tell us about it. Drop me an email, if you’re interested in being a regular contributor to the Ottawa Arts Newsletter! If you can think of someone who fits the bill, please send me the name.

Until next time, I leave you with this: If there are no supplies and provisions, the army will not survive; if there is no store of equipment, the army will not survive.

See ya out there!

The Most Important Question An Artist Must Ask: What’s Your Answer?

I think the most important question an artist must ask him or herself is this: For whom do I make my art? Do I make it for myself or do I make it for others?

There’s another way to ask the same question. Do I want to make a living off my art?

If you want to make a living off your art, some aspect of that art must be made for the benefit of others. Others must approve it, want it, value it, if they will exchange resources for it.

Some artists are lucky enough that the art they produce for their own sake also happens to be art that others already value.

Some artists work hard to convince others that the art they produce for their own sake should be valued by others. Some artists hire others to do it on their behalf.

Some artists make art they know — or think they know — others already value.

Some artists make art for their own sake and do not try to make a living off their art.

What kind of artist are you?

Arts Marketing = Bottled Water Marketing

Beauty is abundant and everywhere.

There are many ways to point to, recall, reflect, or express beauty.

With so much beauty freely and readily available, how do we convince a person to exchange resources for some particular expression of beauty?

Arts marketing is like bottling and selling water. We repackage something that is readily available and try to resell it for a profit.

Unlike water, however, the supply of beauty truly is inexhaustible.

Ottawa Arts Newsletter: Who Can You Spot In Ottawa Arts?

I felt like quite the “man about town” this week. I had an event to attend every night of the week except Monday. It’s feast time in Ottawa Arts!

I also noticed there are more than a few other “men and women about town”. It might be fun to share with you who is spotted out and about!

Of course, there’s no way I can spot everyone. You can help!

If you spot someone of note at an event, let me know! I’ll award you with a — soon to be coveted I’m sure — Spotter Badge!

Check out the end of the Newsletter to see what I mean!

To read the newsletter, click here.

A Folk Festival Friday Is Best By The Beach: Catching Loveliness

Last night the weather at Britannia Beach was almost perfect. To make matters even better, I was checking out the Ottawa Folk Festival.

I haven’t been to Britannia Beach in decades. Perhaps, because the last time I was there I cut my foot on a clam. Perhaps, because I eventually came to understood why we weren’t allowed into the water after big storms.

Also, I can’t recall if I’ve ever attended the Ottawa Festival. I seem to have a vague recollection of it once occupying Confederation Park. And if that’s true, then, I think I did check it out once, long ago.

In other words, a visit to both the beach and the Festival was long overdue! So, when Jan recommended to the readers of the Ottawa Arts Newsletter that they attend, I decided I should also attend.

Unfortunately, the #18 bus no longer goes to Britannia Park. Fortunately, the #97 gets you to the gate. It’s only a short walk to the festival grounds.  Although — I should note — the way to the park is not really designed for pedestrians.

Once past the gates, this is what I discovered.

The Ottawa Folk Festival and Britannia Beach.

Nice!

Now, I enjoy folk music but I’m no folkie. So I wasn’t there to see a particular act. My goal was to hang out, get a sense of the vibe, and — if I liked it — drink it in.

And I did (along with a cider or two)!

The grounds are spacious and the crowd fairly thin. The vibe, at the mainstage, was mellow and downright pleasant. Rock Plaza Central easily got my attention and held it.

Although I was pretty pleased with where I was, I headed over to the Galaxie Dance Tent. The Ottawa Folk Festival has resolved the age old battle between the dancers and the lawn chairs with apartheid.

And this is what I found!

Galaxie Dance Tent

Unfortunately, I arrived only a few minutes before the close of Hoots and Hellmouth. It looked like a good time was had by all.

I headed back to the main stage for the headliners: Arrested Development. When Speech asked everyone to stand and dance, they did! Much hoopla ensued!

Spotted on the evening: The Family of Families (The Adorkable Thespian’s brood), Jen Scrivens, and the guy who often billets Jonno Katz. Ryan and Apartment 613 were tweeting but never seen!

Overall, I had a lot more fun than I expected. The location is fantastic. The staff and volunteers are friendly. I enjoyed the music.

Although I do support one punter’s observation: the price of the ticket is a little steep. $29 seems a little too pricey for an evening of music featuring a headliner we saw for free last year at Bluesfest.

This may very well explain the thin crowd. Of course, the organizers may like it thin. I did!

If the festival wants to pull new crowds, however, they should reconsider their pricing structures. If the Friday evening were half-price or even free, more new folks might be willing to take a chance on an new experience. Once there, the loveliness of the evening might convince them to come back for the rest of the festival and, in time, they might even become folkies.

Oh! If the ticket price seems a little too steep but you want to sample the Festival, the view from the fence is pretty decent. And you get the option of swimming too.

Remember to check the fecal count first!

If you are / were at the Festival, share your experience in the comments section below!

An Old Story Newly Deployed: Aix

I love a good coincidence.

If you follow me on Twitter, you may have encountered my laments about not being able to find a computer with a 3&1/2″ disk drive. I needed a computer with a disk drive because my old laptop preserved a few old short stories that I didn’t want to lose — in particular, one story inspired by my trip to Europe when I was nineteen.

A recent Android O/S update allows my mobile phone to act as a wireless hotspot. Eureka! Thanks to an old wireless card, it was now possible to transfer the stories to my Gmail account and save them forever. Woot again!

(Um, yes, this means I could have gone to a cafe with wireless internet but I needed an outlet and, of course, they aren’t always available. The thought of lugging my computer down to a cafe only to be denied because of inaccessible outlets was enough of a disincentive to this course of action.)

Last week, I transferred the stories to Gmail and had a walk down memory lane. I was also pleased to discover that one of those old stories stands the test of time — the story about my time in Europe.

I was pleased because I recently realized this story is part of what I will henceforth call my Paris Triptych: 1) the story posted below, 2) this poem, and 3) this play. And if you read all that, you should probably check out this Afterword as well.

Then, my friend Jessica of the The Most Exquisite Moments wrote this post about her own experiences traveling in Europe right now.

And I thought, “That’s a coincidence worth acting upon!”

I wrote the heart and soul of the story below in the months following my return to Canada. I revisited it several times over my university years but the revisions only concerned grammar and sentence structure. The overall tone and structure always remained the same.

I’m not sure who the guy in this story is but he’s probably the guy that the person-I-was wanted other people to think he was. He’s not Freud’s Ich but he is probably the work in which Hegel’s spirit first comes to see the possibility of itself.

And now I can’t help but wonder, “What will Jessica come up with in the years to come?”

—

Aix

I was sitting on a park bench in Aix that was situated on the Las Ramblas of the town. It was a large tree lined street with a fountain for a heart. The town was the body, the fountain the heart, and the Las Ramblas the artery. The Las Ramblas and all the wide boulevards of the town met at the fountain, and all the quaint little streets ran off that artery, and the town filled the spaces that the capillary streets created with those quaint squat European buildings. Later, I would call it the Las Ramblas street, after Spain, but now it was just a large bright street where all the couples strolled to be seen and to enjoy the soft autumn air with its Mediterranean accents.

Aix is a smallish university town filled with beautiful French girls studying to become beautiful French women, I guess. I watched them go by in jeans and their woollen pullovers in groups or as the interesting part of a couple. They looked at me and saw a tourist. I could not hide that, sitting on a bench, eating my supper of bread and cheese that had spent the better part of the day in my pack. I took a long pull off my bottled water and reminded myself only tourists eat like this in Europe.

I was currently hanging with a Quebecker from Montreal who actually thought of himself as a Canadian. He was a nice friendly kind of guy. He was a little round from his love of food and he talked a lot with his hands, particularly when he mentioned food — like maybe if he said the right things and made the right motions, magic would happen and the food would be there. We had met in Nice in one of those casual, hostel-hopping relationships, but we bumped into each other again in the Marseilles train station. I was sitting there on the platform waiting for some shit local train, reading, and eating Brie and bread with bottled water. I was making a mess from the crumbs because it was that crusty baguette bread that has almost no food value but is as cheap as piss — which in Europe is cheap, but sure as hell isn’t free. Come to think of it, I left a lot of crumbs in that station. I mean, you pass through that station a lot kicking around the south of France. I don’t know much about the town itself because I never really looked around, but it’s just a big dirty port town as far as I know.

The first time I passed through it I was with this South African chick and we were hungry so I went foraging for food, fulfilling my man role or whatever. You can’t buy shit at a train station unless your planning to take out a loan. The closer you get to a train in Europe the higher the prices of everything gets and the farther away you get the cheaper it gets. So, I actually left the little bubble in reality that a train station is and moved out into the world of Marseilles.

It was a dirty, grey, hilly, urban landscape that I encountered. Everything seemed to lay flat against the air in a monochrome palate. I found this little shop that seemed small enough and far enough away from the station that it would run on local prices as opposed to European standard tourist pricing. I think the Greenwich of the pricing zones is Paris and the farther away you get the cheaper things get. The shop itself was an open hole in some typically old European building.

The shopkeeper was really nice and he made a big deal about me for some reason. I tried my best to speak my mandatory high-school French and he tried to speak his English. His English was better then my French, but I won because the French always prefer to speak their own language. The place ended up being cheap. The water was a good price and so was the bread, but it was a little stale.

When the Quebec guy came upon me in Marseilles, my provisions were from a tourist town on the coast. It wasn’t a bad stop because it was terribly off season and the place was deserted. After Nice, I wanted to go to a quaint small town and swim in the Mediterranean. I could have done it in Nice, but I wanted sand between my toes, not little boulders that dogs have pissed on. I wanted to swim in that big beautiful Mediterranean that stretched on forever in one big slate of blue that I stared out over and made believe that I saw Africa when I knew it was only storm clouds low and way out at the end of the horizon.

When I reached the town, I headed right for the beach. It was a grey cloudy day that carried with it a heavy mist that was  dense enough to qualify itself as a light rain. It was the sort of day that justified the existence of an off season.

I had bread, Brie and water that I had bought in Nice. The cheese was bought on sale in a supermarket for a really good price, but when I opened the package there was a bug squashed into the white Brie skin. The American that I was with looked over from his driving and said: “Yep, that there is a tick.” Well, maybe he didn’t quite say it like that, but he did instantly recognise its species after my expert opinion had classified it as a squashed bug. The water I had with me was bought super cheap at a drugstore and I bought like three of them, but when I tasted it, on that little grey beach, sitting on some rocks with waves breaking themselves at my feet and throwing spray over me and my bug amputated Brie, it made my teeth feel funny.

I sat and ate and stared at the grey churning sea that flung itself against the rocks and caressed the sand. Each rush from the sea threw spray into the air over me and my clothes in an angry break of noise, but as the sea withdrew I listened for the movement of the fine sand as it slid and melted into new symmetries of shape, line and colour. The sand was a rusty muddle of colours, the sky was a mat grey and the sea barely a blue. It should have been dark, but the movement and life of the sand was a source of light powered by the residual energy of its soft steely movement that followed the caresses of the sea whenever the sea saw fit to throw itself against my rock. It wasn’t like Nice where the thick pebbles and stones rattled and cracked like billiard balls and each crest of the wave brought a break and then the balls were reset and broken again. It was loud and overbearing. That was Nice. Here, you had to listen for the symphony of the sand. You could think here.

You could think of the South African girl who you had travelled with for three weeks. The girl for whom you stole a grocery cart in Paris so she could carry her luggage. You could think of this girl who told you she had been raped by a friend of her father’s and once had a nervous breakdown on the second day you knew her because you had shared a bottle of cheap red wine with her.

Or you could think of the British girl in Florence. You could think of this girl who had given you a smile so warm and clear and natural that your heart had actually warmed. It was the only time you had ever felt that from something like a smile or anything. You could think how you turned down her offer to go to Venice because you still hurt from the way the South African had left, leaving only a note, like it was some cheap thing and not three weeks in Europe when you never touched her or made a move or anything, though you knew you probably could have done anything because she already had been raped and hadn’t told anyone that time, and now you were in a foreign country and because she wrote long letters to a fiancee whose picture you saw and thought was her father. You could think about her fair skin, which had never seen freezing temperatures, glowing with the slightest soft radiance of pink in Vienna when the temperature dropped suddenly and you wanted to keep her warm, but you kept your distance like a brother, and joked, and pretended, and tried to hide it all. You could think of the British girl who you should have followed, but turned from for whatever stupid, childish reason. Or, you could think of any of the girl’s eyes who you have met and could have entered, but never did. You could think of the faces of girls. You could always think of girls. They were always there to think about. You thought of the girls back home. You thought of all the ones you were sure you had loved, but never told because you were a coward or enjoyed being a martyr too much. There were always girls to think about when you sat on the beach in the rain, listening to sand re-entering the sea and eating Brie and bread and water and leaving crumbs everywhere.

When the rain got heavy, I returned to the station, but first I picked up this shell that had been deposited by the sea and was sitting on the beach. I took it because I had hoped that it might become some sort of memento. I always collected stuff like that and accumulated it all until I junked it feeling kind of guilty. I felt that way, not because they were important, because I had hoped they would become important and they never did.

I was lucky when I got to the station because the train on the track was on its way to Marseilles and I had to go there to get to Aix. I heard it was a nice university town, so I thought I would hit it as I worked my way to Spain. I wasn’t so lucky with my connection and had to wait and that was when I bumped into the Quebecker. I think his name was Sebastian, but I can’t remember names very well. He was going to Aix so we went together. I had to brush a tonne of crumbs off myself when I got up to catch the shit local train when it finally arrived. I thought I felt better.

It’s good to have company when travelling. The superficial travel friend is the best friend you could ever have. You can be whoever you want to be, be as honest as you want to be, and never worry about anything. They always have stories you have never heard and you can tell all your stories again. You don’t really have to say anything; you can just tell cool or funny stories. You can end up telling the same story so many times that it becomes a part of you as much as a novel is part of a writer and then it becomes part of your own folklore and you are the master story teller. You can meet up with them again and say stuff like: “I’ll meet you in Madrid in three days.” Sometimes it works and other times you find someone else to hang with. Sometimes, you can slip into real friendships, but that is dangerous and has few rewards, usually ending in an unanswered letter.

After a bit of struggle we slipped into the story telling conversation which fits perfectly with the atmosphere of a train as you sit surrounded by your bulky bags and layers of dirty clothes. You feel like real travellers. It had turned into a nice day outside as it is apt to do when you‘re stuck on the train. I sat with my back to our point of direction and I could watch the land we crossed slip away beneath the sudden glare of a semi-Mediterranean sky. I could watch the land already passed that others had already forgotten instead of getting caught up and nervous about the land that was coming. I was pleased to tell stories because at first, since we were both Canadians, he tried to talk hockey. I faked it for a while, but I lost interest in it as quickly as I lose interest in the real game.

We rolled into the station and I forgot what it looked like by the time we left it. We got a bit lost, but he asked directions. It was great to be with someone who could speak the language. You could sit back and let them do the talking. Although, I had to try to speak French in the interest of national unity and to demonstrate how committed English Canada was to Francophone culture.

I convinced the Quebecker to walk to the hostel which was on the outskirts of town. He wanted to take the bus, but I always walk when I can. Fifteen minutes in he started grumbling. He was a good guy, but he wasn’t a real traveller. He was only in France for a week and was planning on spending as much money as I had set aside for three months. It was all right though because it was a vacation for him and he knew it.

That night we walked to centre town. He didn’t mind so much this time because his pack was back at the hostel. We walked around in the lights watching the people and the old buildings getting a feel for the town. We found this nice little square that had outdoor bars on all sides. There were trees and a gentle autumn breeze. He bought me white wine by the glass for eight francs. It was a good thing to do and he insisted on paying. It was a real clean wine and it fell down your throat and all the way to your stomach in complete comfort.

It was night and the foliage shook with the evening breeze, under the sound of chattering French voices. We watched and discussed the pretty girls, trying to get enough nerve to go talk to one, but we sat and enjoyed the wine instead, sitting European style, side by side looking out over everything. The tables where everyone sat were  scattered out in the enclosed cobbled square so confused that we didn’t even know what bar we were being served by. A waiter came and brought us wine. It was confusing later when we had to take a leak. We laughed over movies we had both seen and I told stories of the places I had been and he told stories about the food he had eaten. He would have been a fun guy to hang with for awhile but he was headed off to the wine cave tours, which — although free — were too expensive for me because you were expected to buy the wine at the end.

The next morning we wandered the streets looking at all the little bits that were displayed in windows. He decided he had to buy me a specific chocolate and he insisted on paying and almost got insulted in that fake French way when I tried to refuse. It was a really chocolatey pastry that was a speciality of the region and was too rich for my palate, but I ate it gratefully. We went to an old church because they’re always free and interesting and stood staring at tapestries of saints doing saintly things. It was a monastery, too, with a guided tour in French, but I wandered around looking at the flowers and the architecture noticing little windows with open shudders and the shadows they cast way up on the matte brown walls, wondering about the faces that had peered out of those thousand year old orifices.

We walked the streets until evening came. He wanted to go have a real meal because that was what he was here for after all. We wandered from restaurant to restaurant reviewing the posted menus with him telling me all about the different cuisine and me admiring the wonderfully expensive prices. We waited until the restaurant opened, so he could go eat and we agreed to meet later. I looked for a good place to sit to eat my pack food. I sat and wrote bad poetry and had a bum come and talk to me in broken English and drunken French. He said a lot, but he kept saying “Be careful, be careful,” in French that I can no longer remember and offered me an orange and wanted to buy me a coffee. I sat on that bench and thought of a lot of things eating my Brie, bread and water, and watched beautiful people go by in the terribly French night.

Our 2010 Winnipeg Fringe Numbers Are In! We Broke Even (Or So I Shall Claim)!

I’m going to claim we broke even, even though we really posted a $130 loss.

Why?

We overspent on some printing costs for the sake of convenience. Had we been a little more disciplined, I’m sure that $130 deficit would have melted away. Also, we made a small profit in Ottawa. If we add up the totals from both shows, the deficit almost disappears.

Click here for our 2010 Winnipeg Fringe audience numbers.

Our first show (Sat. 17, 2:15PM) was our best. 80 people attended and we pulled in our largest gate ($363.50).

Our third show (Mon. 19, 3:45PM ) gave us our second largest audience. It was only our fourth largest gate. Over half the house (33) paid the discount rate ($6.50), almost 20% (18) got in for free, and only eleven people paid the full price.

Our fifth show (Wed 21, 5:30PM) gave us only our fourth largest audience but our second biggest gate ($340.50).

Our smallest gate was our second smallest house. It was our final show (Sat. 24, 10:45PM). We had high hopes for this final slot.

Our smallest house was our second smallest gate. It was also at 10:45PM but on a Tuesday (20th). Perhaps, Winnipeg Fringers don’t approve of the late starting slots.

It also makes me wonder who we were up against. Anyone with a schedule feel like checking?

Our second last show (Fri. 23, 530PM) was also a bit of a let down. Was this because people were chasing stars or was it because the rain on Thursday prevented us from flyering?

It occurs to me: it would be useful to compare our numbers to the Fringe’s total audience over these 8 days. Perhaps, we pulled a consistent percentage of the total audience.

Overall, 38% of our audience paid the full price, 32% paid the discounted price, and 30% got in for free.

At full price, had we sold every seat available, we would have made $18,400!

Using our percentages as benchmarks, had we “sold out” every night, we might have reasonably expected to make around $10,818.50. More reasonably, had we half-filled the house each night, we might have made around $5,409.

Instead, we generated $2107.50, which was enough to cover our expenses if one chooses to squint a little.

Any thoughts? They are warmly welcomed.

A 2010 Winnipeg Fringe Reflection: A Poem Before The Data!

I think it was the second Thursday of the festival when the itch for a good write had to be scratched. I went to The Fyxx, ordered a coffee, and barfed out some automatic writing on my phone.

Today, I thought I’d tidy it up and share it.

And because I know there are more than few of you out there who enjoy a peak behind the curtain of process, I thought I’d also share the mental vomit in it’s original unedited form.

Let me know what you think!

—-

the question before me.

withheld,
in anticipation of the someday
touch of clairvoyant grace.

where within? where with all? where again? where we all?

soon shall be.

a perfect moment:
without too soon, too long, or a longing too long.

A trail! A trace! A remark unclothed!
Each embrace a story untold!

In loving search of the horizon.

I do declare:
“Attention is the precondition of living!”
Mammalian living, that is.
#apeloveliving

nits and nits and nits.
Even Buddhists get together for lunch.

success and the means to it are simple but there’s little in success that i want and little in the means to it that i enjoy.

death’s equivalence : shunning : the exile
#apelovelogic

And still i could drift away. here. go. be beyond and begone. no cost of other.

A tube! A tube! A wonderful wandering tube!

no benefit either.

only food, water, and a forever solitude of unending shelter. costlessly perpetual.
but no more mammalian warmworth.
#apelovefear

No! A theatre! A living theater! A theater of living! A life lived theatrically!

But no fucking drama.
no unnecessary drama.

I hate it.

all conflict, yes
but unnecessary conflict
for the sake of drama
most of all
the very most of all!

No. I do declare:
“No more conflict, no more obstacles,
no more development!”

in life and theatre
in life’s theater
in theater’s life
in theatre and life

ever
and instead,
the clarity of our ether’s stillness:
a perfect moment
without too soon, too long, or a longing too long.

[and therein he realizes again]

where we all soon shall be.

—

Here’s the source material in all its unedited glory:

the question before me. the time witheld. the anticipation of someday. the clairvoyant touch of grace. where within. where withall. where again. where we all. where we all soon must be. a perfect moment. without too soon. too long. a longing too long. attention as the measure of worth. nits and nits and nits. in loving search of the horizon. even Buddhists get together for lunch. a trail. a trace. a remark unclothed. each embrace, a story untold. attention is the precondition of living. mammalian living. This ape love living. shunning. the exile. death’s equivalence. a theater of living. a livting theater. a life lived theatrically.  not dramatically. conflict obstacles development. the clarity our ether’s stillness. and still i could drift away. here. go. be beyond and begone. no cost of other. no benefit either. only food water and a forever solitude of unending shelter. costlessly perpetual. but no more mamallian warmth. a tube a tube a wonderful wandering tube. success and the means to it is simple. but there is little in success that i want. and little in the means that i enjoy.

Questions? Comments. Poetic replies?

The Ottawa Arts Newsletter Evolves! Find Out How You Can Help!

Because of the increasing vitality and vibrancy of the Ottawa arts scene, it’s time for the Ottawa Arts Newsletter to evolve and grow. I’m hoping you will help!

Now Semimonthly!
From now on, the Ottawa Arts Newsletter will be published twice a month. This will make it more timely. It will also make it easier for people to notify me of up-coming events.

I will now publish the Newsletter on the first and the fifteenth of every month. Keep an eye out!

Now Including Readers’ Picks!
A short simple recommendation is a great way for you to help artists and events you care about! I want to share those recommendations!

If there’s a show, event, or activity you want to recommend, in 50 words or less, please tell our readers why it will benefit them to attend. I may include it in the Newsletter!

I still welcome anonymous off-the-record hints, nudges, and gentle reminders but nothing beats word-of-mouth and on-the-record personal endorsements! Together, we can generate the buzz our artists need and deserve!

To get a better sense of the community, please also let me know — generally-speaking — what part of town you live in. I want to give a sense of where in Ottawa our fellow arts supporters live.

And publicists, you’re very welcome to contribute! Please avoid regurgitating your press releases. I’m offering you a chance to connect more personally with the readers of the Newsletter. Make it unique, direct, and personal, and I will very likely use it. Offer freebies to our readers, that will also help!

P.s. I reserve the right to edit recommendations. I also won’t necessarily publish every recommendation I receive. Quality before quantity!

With your help, I think I can provide a more timely, comprehensive, and rewarding Ottawa Arts Newsletter. Together, we can grow the Ottawa Arts scene!

This Week’s Personal Picks!
Here are my personal picks for the next two weeks (with a few readers’ picks too!). I look forward to receiving and sharing your picks for the following two weeks!

Midsummer’s Night Dream – A Company of Fools.
I saw this very fun show on opening night. I’m very tempted to catch the final performance on Aug. 2nd in Strathcona Park. Because of its moments of improv, audience interaction, and lively sense of play, I’m very curious to see how the show has evolved. If you haven’t seen it, go watch Richard Gelinas steal the well-directed show from a strong cast.

More info: click here.

Macbeth – St. Lawrence Shakespeare Festival.
On Friday, I got the chance to attend The St. Lawrence Shakespeare Festival’s production of Macbeth, with Ottawa actor Kris Joseph in the title role. Joseph’s excellent command of the language and some clever costume design make this production accessible and enjoyable. It’s well worth the easy drive to Prescott, especially on a beautiful summer evening when someone else is doing the driving (Thanks, Ron)! Bring bug spray, a lawn chair, and a sweater!

Stu, who won the Trouble On Dibble Street tickets from the July Newsletter, had this to say about the other St. Lawrence show:

“We very much enjoyed Trouble On Dibble Street. It had lots and lots of laughs and it was rather silly. The direction and acting were excellent, and we were glad to see Alix Sideris, Kris Joseph, and Pierre Brault again.”

Both shows run until mid-August.

More info: click here.

They All Do It – Odyssey Theatre.
This show is a new work from Ottawa-based Janet Irwin. It also features a talented local actor, Kelly Rigole. I read an early draft of this lively script, which is based on Mozart’s opera, Cosi Fan Tutte. I’m looking forward to seeing how the script has evolved and how it lives on stage and under the stars.

The production runs at Strathcona Park until August 29th.

More info: click here.

Inseparable – Arts Court Productions.
Last year, I missed this bilingual satire about a fictional encounter between Generals Montcalm and Wolfe. Thankfully, it’s back, as a part of the The Downtown Rideau Summer Fling Theatre Festival. I’m pleased to have the chance to see another play featuring an Ottawa playwright, Louis Lemire, and an Ottawa actor, Jérôme Bourgault. I’m also curious to see if the bilingual approach works.

It runs August 10 – 22 at Arts Court, Studio A.

More info: click here.

1st Thursday Art Walk – Wellington West BIA & Seven Wellington West Galleries.

On the 1st Thursday of every month, Exposure Gallery and six other Wellington West galleries stay open late, so you can stroll easily from one friendly gallery to the next.

On Thursday, August 5th, I will be at Exposure Gallery, chatting with people about our new exhibition, Déjà Vu. It features some beautiful and insightful work from Ottawa artist Karina Kraenzle. Déjà Vu asks you “to see again” the carefully constructed female image in print advertising.

See images: click here.

Cube Gallery’s next exhibition looks like it will be lot of fun to check out. It features the work of twenty-two artists who pay homage to influential abstract artists. If you can guess the different artists inspiring each homage, you may win a prize.

More info: click here.

A Wellington West 1st Thursday involves fine art, fine conversation, and (if you want) some fine food and drink in a nearby restaurant. It’s always a pleasant night out.

More info (including a map): click here.

Ottawa Folk Festival.
Jan sent me a friendly note calling my attention to the Ottawa Folk Festival.

He says, “It’s a really nice festival, and the location by the Ottawa River is beautiful. It’s the third year I will be volunteering there.”

That, I think, is as fine an endorsement as you can get. I’m adding this “three-day celebration of music, dance, visual arts and community” to my calendar.

It runs August 13-15, 2010 at Britannia Park.

More info: click here.

And so concludes the first semimonthly edition of the Ottawa Arts Newsletter! Or is it the next edition that is, properly speaking, the first semimonthly edition?

You will need to answer this perplexing question on your own!

Talk soon,

Sterling

A Fringe Reflection: The Long Snap Of Unexpected Success

Time isn’t a jet plane; it’s an elastic band.

The experience of our time in Winnipeg went very slow — like the slow deliberate stretch of an elastic band — and then it snapped to a quick and unexpected finish. After spending several days feeling like we had been out west for a very long time, all of a sudden, it felt like we had barely arrived and were already heading home.

From a performance perspective, we did very well. Ray and I were very sharp and at the top of our game. More than a few people commented on our crisp comic timing and our rapport on stage. Dave brought his A-game for his supporting role and he stole more than a scene or two. I’m sure that the vast majority of the people who made it to the show had a great time.

From a numbers perspective, however, we didn’t do nearly as well as we had hoped. The final numbers aren’t in but breaking-even seems unlikely.

A big part of the problem, of course, is the cost of air travel. Due to work commitments, driving wasn’t an option this year. Air travel was an extra cost that could not be avoided.

We knew this going in, however, and we expected to pull enough punters to justify the cost and to make a profit. We had sold out a 175 seat venue in Edmonton three times last summer and we posted strong numbers for every other show. It seemed plausible to estimate that we’d post comparable numbers in Winnipeg and make a profit.

One important factor for our lower numbers, I think, is the nature of the Winnipeg Fringe audiences.

I suspect most of the Winnipeg Fringe ticket sales are driven by a hardcore group of Fringers who watch many many shows. Very often, these hardcore Fringers have their schedules carefully planned before the first poster is up or the first flier is handed out. They may tweak a schedule for an unexpected hit but they are unlikely to revamp it for an unknown show by an untested production company.

Additionally, there is a second group of more casual Fringers who live and die by star reviews. With so many quality shows to choose from, any show which can’t boast four or five stars is going to have a hard time corralling more than a few of those star-chasing Fringers. Even a four star review is no guarantee.

And from this perspective, we actually did pretty well.

For Winnipeg Fringe audiences, G-Men Defectives was a brand new show from a brand new production company that wasn’t reviewed by anyone local until late in the game. This implies that the vast majority of people came to our show thanks only to our street-level publicity efforts and the word of mouth support. Eventually, they even came out despite less than ideal star ratings.

And that’s a job well done.

More to the point, for a goodly number of people, the creative team and the company is now a known entity in Winnipeg and is now known for bringing a quality product. So the next time out, a few more of those hard core Fringers might build our show into their schedule before a single poster is up or a single flier handed out.

And there is an important lesson here for theatre marketers (all marketers, really). Successful marketing involves building a relationship of trust over time. Overnight sensations are the exception and not the norm. And more likely than not, a little digging will reveal a long hard stretch of effort before the sudden snap of success seems to happen overnight.