I’m a Social Media and Web Consultant and Writer for the arts and culture sector, particularly musicians; if you’d like to know more about my work or how to become one of my clients, please click here.

I also am an Actor, Interviewer, and Host who can provide piquant commentary and entertaining observations while keeping audiences engaged and  events and workshops moving along; to read about some of the projects I’ve worked on, please click here.

Here’s a list of artists who I listened to who caught my positive attention for one reason or another; being included in this list doesn’t mean I’m going to book them (tho I’m noting the ones that are shortlisted for PFF 2012), or even think they’re right for our festival, but it does mean I think they’re doing something right, whatever that’s worth.

Vandana Vishwas (Missisauga) – I can imagine lying back in the grass on a sunny August day while this music washes over me, and while I feel like it’s a bit too mellow for our festival, it is totally lush and lovely.

The Belle Game (Vancouver) – I feel like their sound is a bit ubiquitous right now, but they do it very well, so that’s not really a bad thing.

The Pining (Toronto) – Holy lead vocals! That voice is haunting and a bit threatening, and I really like how they use it. Regardless of how good they are, when I see their name, I always read it as ‘The Pinning,’ and for some reason that always cracks me up.  Terrific website.

Kevin Myles Wilson (Toronto) – He’s an odd mix of almost radio-friendly country-folk and the sparse, broken-hearted singer-songwriter tradition that I love, and he pulls it off remarkably.  But no website?! You’re killing me, dude.

Dinner Belles (Hamilton) – I seem to have hit a run of country-folk here, but I can’t deny that this is exactly the sort of band I’d like to be listening to while drinking in a small venue.

Three Little Birds (Ottawa) – A trio with pretty harmonies, interesting lyrics, and a nice poppy feel.  They make it look easy to take serious subjects and make catchy, singalong songs out of them without sounding preachy, which is a miracle in itself.

Fanfarniente della Strada (Quebec City) – Even stronger than my almost-unnatural love of banjos is my love for big, bouncy, Eastern-European style bands with lots of brass and loose rhythms and skirling woodwinds.  When done well, as it is with these guys, it will never fail to appeal to me.

Dawn and Marra (Dundas) – Am I just a massive sucker for harmonies? Maybe.  But these women are young, and while I’m not endorsing everything they’re trying on right at the moment, I think they’ve got the potential to blend experience with talent and end up with something magical.

Don Amero (Winnipeg) – The first time I heard Don was years ago at the OCFF conference’s ‘Hey Big Ears’ session; I commented that there was too much reverb on his vocals, and that I wanted to be closer to the voice, and he piped up from a few seats away that I could get closer if I wanted.  Since then, he’s done really well, and gotten really polished, and his website is gorgeous!

Triple Gangers (Toronto) – I kind-of wanted to hate this, initially, but as much as it is hyper-self-aware and sort-of smug, I can’t hate it. I can’t quite love it, either. But I think I like it. Good enough, yeah?

Coole & Downes (Toronto) – Clawhammer banjo and spot-on vocals. Pretty much made for a sunny afternoon stage, and pretty much made for me.

Jenn Rawling and Basho Parks (Portland, Oregon) – I like the spareness of some of the recordings, and the vocals, and the use of horns.  There’s a wistful sweetness about them that really appeals to me, and seems tailor-made for a sit-down, listening festival. Again, no website?!

So much of the history of Canada is the history of the newcomer; because few written records exist of the Indigenous peoples in this country before the Europeans arrived, our impressions of our nation are almost always seen through the eyes of people experiencing each other’s culture for the first time.  No where is that more clear than at the Canadian Canoe Museum, which chronicles the individual struggles and  triumphs of people making their way through the land with little in common besides their mode of transport – the canoe.  

In comparison with the well-documented and celebrated histories of many nations, where rulers and armies race triumphantly across the imagination, Canadians often feel our history isn’t that exciting – where is our Taj Mahal, our Great Wall, our thousand-year tradition of literature? Faced with such magnificent accomplishments, we sometimes feel that there’s nothing in our past worth noting.  Which is why visitors to the Canadian Canoe Museum often find themselves surprised and overcome with pride when they view the exhibits, and realize that our history is as fascinating and filled with thrilling stories as any.

For new Canadians, there’s a sense of shared experience – those early explorers and fur traders left their families and culture to try and find success and good fortune in a new world, one full of uncertainty and new experiences.  There’s the welcome and guidance which the Indigenous peoples of North America offered to these newcomers, without whose assistance many early settlers would certainly have failed.  There’s the sense of adventure, of learning new languages, customs, and lands.  It’s a familiar story to people who’ve made the courageous choice to start a new life here in Canada, and a central part of the story of this country.

Far from being merely a building filled with artifacts, the museum is a house of stories; walking through the exhibits, both new Canadians and those who were born here feel a sense of connection to the people who built this country, to their hopes and dreams and vision of the future. You gain a new understanding of Canadian culture and values, and how those came to be.  Though the canoe is a simple vessel, it has shaped our cultural identity, and you don’t need to paddle – or even to have set foot in a canoe – to find a personal connection to the people whose livelihoods depended upon them.

A recent visitor to the museum from India wrote in our guest book “Your attempt to preserve the past only intensifies our desire to make Canada our home.” This comment touched the heart of many museum Staff members and Volunteers, and reaffirmed our goal to connect Canadians and those who love Canada to their heritage.  While those who’ve lived in this country many years may have taken our culture and history for granted, the Canadian Canoe Museum allows us all to see as it really is – something to celebrate, to appreciate, and to take pride in.

The Canadian Canoe Museum is open 7 days a week, and admission is free when you show your Peterborough Welcome Pass.  Come and connect to our shared heritage, and tell your friends and family about your museum experience!

To read the article as it appeared in the Newcomer Bulletin, please click here.

I live in Peterborough, ON, a mid-sized city with a bustling heritage downtown, a penchant for hockey, a lively arts scene, a smallish university and a college.  Bethune Street runs along the west side of downtown proper, and in terms of the revitalization of the downtown, it’s a bit of a problem child.  Once the edge-of-town railway corridor for trains bound to nearby Lakefield, it’s extra-wide for most of its length. Though where it runs through the old north end it’s mostly residential, down closer to the commercial district it’s industrial, rough-looking, and derelict in places.

This is a big problem for the city.  It seems innocuous enough until you really start thinking about it, but with the mighty Otonabee River on one side, downtown Peterborough sort-of has its back against a wall.  On the other side of the river, there’s East City, jurisdictionally a part of the City of Peterborough but realistically (and historically) a place unto itself.  With only the Hunter Street bridge as access (especially now, with the train bridge closed to walkers and cyclists), downtown is mostly speaking to the rest of Peterborough. To the north, it’s limited by a block of massive heritage institutional buildings, such as City Hall and the Armories, which are beautiful but put act as a barrier between the shops and cafes of the downtown and the heritage homes of the old north end.  To the south, there’s a slow trickle of business and some opportunities for development, but once you get to King Street and the Dieter and Darcy’s building, you’ve hit a wall in terms of how far pedestrians feel comfortable walking, with George Street at it’s busiest and a series of large-scale modern buildings that sit too far back from the road or have too few windows to make walking pleasant.

To the west, Bethune stands like a no-man’s-land between downtown and the affluent neighborhoods of The Avenues. Its presence drags down the streets around it, creating a barrier of run-down heritage homes, unfriendly industrial spaces, and a sense of emptiness that discourages people from hanging out or even walking through. Much as I love urban decay and the visible layers of built heritage, I think the city’s health will be best supported by some big changes – and they’re already under way. I often walk or cycle down Bethune, and it’s been fascinating watching these small changes impact the neighbourhood for the better, and encourage the kind of growth that will keep the downtown bustling.

Throughout the course of The City Walker project, however long that is,  I’ll be talking about Bethune Street, Peterborough, and other cities, and thinking about what makes a streetscape and a city a liveable, healthy place that fosters community.

I’d love to hear your thoughts and feedback – leave a comment below to let me know what you think!

My sister Cassie and I got a last-minute deal on air and hotel for seven days in Paris at the end of March, and we jumped on it.  While we were there, the sun shone every day in a picture-perfect blue sky, the temperature stayed steadily around the 18C mark, the flowers were blooming and the grass was green.  We walked or took the Metro everywhere, saw most of the things we wanted to see, and really packed our days full of some of the best things that the city has to offer visitors.  I found the people of Paris generally very forbearing, responding to my pathetic sentence construction and terrible accent with cheerfulness.

I also found the city quite inspiring; from an urban design standpoint, it’s wonderful (they really know how to create public spaces), and from an art history standpoint, it’s a feast, particularly in Montmartre, where we were staying.  Though I’ve only come ’round to the Impressionists’ work lately, I’ve always had a great deal of respect for them, and to walk in their footsteps and see their works in person was a powerful thing.

I’m never much of one to write up my adventures right after I’ve had them, but I can recommend some great places & resources.
We skipped the Louvre; I know it’s awesome, but I feel like the scope is too overwhelming for our first trip, when there were lots of other things we wanted to see and do.

Because it was a spur-of-the-moment deal, we had little time to plan, but the one website I found invaluable was Manning Krull’s Cool Stuff in Paris. It’s as though he set out to write a travel guide just for me, and I wish there was a Manning in every city I travel to. I also found Girls’ Guide to Paris really useful!

Musée d’Orsay €14 (Passport Ticket)

On our first day in Paris, we bough the Passport ticket for Musée d’Orsay and Musée de l’Orangerie, and spent a few hours in the former.  Both Cassie and I could’ve spent an entire day in this museum; though neither of us were really blown away by the special exhibit Degas and the Nude, the museum’s collection overall is terrific.  From a beautiful scale model of the Palais Garnier to Art Nouveau interiors and a special exhibit on Finnish artists, we were both pretty absorbed the whole time we were there and left reluctantly (even though our footsoreness was getting in the way of our enjoyment).

Neither of us liked Musée de l’Orangerie quite as much, though seeing some of Monet’s huge water canvases was fairly inspiring, and the Debussy special exhibit was good (but so crowded!).

Musée des Arts Forains €14

Easily one of my favourite museums ever, the Musée des Arts Forains is a collection of carnival and sideshow art and fixtures that completely enchanted me.  Though our tour guide spoke only French, we kind-of caught the gist, and he was charming, funny, and diverting, if the reactions of the rest of the French-speaking crowd are any gauge.  There are two carnival rides that we were allowed to ride, and one game we could play, and then a whole room dedicated to an Animatronic Venice masquerade-operette.  It’s wonderful, and I would recommend it to anyone, but I especially recommend it to people who love decorative arts, the macabre, and the unusual. You have to book in advance!

Walking up to La Basilique Sacré-Coeur Free

It became our habit to take a stroll up the butte through Montemartre to Sacré-Coeur every evening; not straight up the hill, but along Rue des Abesses and Rue Lepic, past Vincent and Theo Van Gogh’s old apartment and up into the carnival-like atmosphere around the Basilica at night.  One night we stumbled on a choral concert in St. Pierre de Montmartre, and every night it was a lively, bustling hive of (mostly tourist) activity. Grab yourself a crepe a emporter and have no where in particular to be that evening; that’s the best.

Palais Garnier  €9 to tour, 10 € for the show

I am a fan of Gaston Leroux’s novel Phantom of the Opera, and of course I wanted to visit the Paris opera house in which most of the novel is set. We opted to both tour the opera and go to see a show, and I’m very glad we did, because though building itself is gorgeous, the theatre really comes alive when the singers take the stage.  When we arrived looking for tickets that night, the man directing us said “You’re going to have to pray, and be lucky.” We ended up opting for the cheapest seats on another night, and even though it was ‘obstructed view’ seating, La Veuve Joyeuse was a fun show which we mostly understood (even though it was sung in German, with French surtitles).

The best thing about the seats was the terrific view of the theatre, and that Mark Chagall’s 1964 ceiling mural was completely hidden from us (I agree whole-heartedly with the people that dislike it).

The Metro €12.50 carnet (10 tickets)

Man, I love the Paris Metro. Clear, easy-to-read maps, low prices, and density – you can pretty much get everywhere on the Metro.  It’s wonderful. Insomuch as public transit can be a highlight, the Paris Metro was a highlight for me.

Favourite Paris Apps

Though I’d understood free wifi was fairly available in Paris, I have to admit that I had a harder time finding it than I did finding free wifi in Morocco.  However, these apps were all useful without a connection. I travel with my old iPod Touch, and it’s a huge boon not to be lugging a heavy guide book with you every where.

Free and Frugal in Paris ($2.99)

The listings are pretty good, and while I wish I could have broken down categories further, it was full of great suggestions.  In particular, the restaurants it lists are great, and the maps are accessible offline. The Editor’s choices sometimes really frustrated me, but overall, I think it was worth the money I spent on it.

Time Out Paris (Free)

A fairly comprehensive listing of things to do, see, and places to eat in Paris, though their suggestions for shopping are completely fucking ridiculous.  I’m not one who finds browsing stores that are ridiculously out of my price range fun, but that may be a thing other people really enjoy, I guess.  Lots of good suggestions, and they include some great low-cost options that Free and Frugal skips.  You can’t sort by price, unfortunately, so you have to do a fair amount of reading to find the best deals.

Paris 2 Go (Free)

The listing descriptions are Wikipedia entries, which is nice if you’re looking for comprehensive information that hasn’t been processed through a faux-cheery tourist guide voice. But the place this app really shines is it’s lovely, detailed, and offline-searchable street map of the City.  It even lists Metro stops, which is wonderful.

I also have the Google Translate app (searching phrases while connected to wifi saves them for later use!), a Currency converter app, and a World Clock app, which all come in handy while travelling.

We were pretty lucky to get to go on the trip at all, let alone be blessed by such great weather and excellent experiences; I would recommend Paris to anyone, and look forward to going back myself someday soon!

I like to say that this recipe is better than your mom’s Butter Chicken, but considering that 70% of the people I know are of Irish descent, that’s not much of a challenge (bless their hearts, but the Irish aren’t known for their deft use of spices).  Let’s just go with the idea that this is pretty damn good, and that all of the people I’ve made it for ask for the recipe.

Ingredients

3 onions, sliced in rings
butter or ghee (you need a tonne of it; at least 6 tbsp)
1 lbs chicken cut into bite-sized pieces
2 tsp minced ginger
2 tsp minced garlic
1/2 tsp chili powder
1/4 tsp turmeric
1 tbsp tandoori powder
3/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup warm water
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup raisins
1/4 cup almonds, sliced
1 1/2 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
2 tsp sugar
1/2 tsp cardamom powder
1/2 tsp nutmeg
3/4 cup whipping cream

Directions

1. Mix together ginger, garlic, chili powder, turmeric, tandoori powder, and salt.
2. Rub into raw chicken pieces and let it sit for 30 minutes or so.
3. Fry sliced onions in butter or ghee until they’re a nice dark brown (you’re not caramelizing them).
4. In a saucepan, melt 2 tbsp ghee or butter on medium heat.  Add fried onions and chicken, and fry until chicken is beginning to look cooked.
5. Add 1/2 cup water and cook 15 minutes.
6. In a frying pan, heat another 4 tbsp butter or ghee, and add raisins and chopped almonds.  Fry for a minute or two, then set aside.
7. Add 1/2 cup milk to the chicken and cook 5-10 minutes.
8. Add Worcestershire sauce, sugar, cardamom, and nutmeg. Cook 5 minutes
9. Add whipping cream, raisins, and almonds.  Bring to a biol and them remove from heat.
10. Serves 3 or 4.

If you’re interested in my immediate reactions and thoughts while I listen, you could follow along on my Twitter account, where I mostly bitch about the things that artists do which are driving me crazy as I see them over and over again.

While we’re on the subject, I have a page of Resources for Musicians which contains a lot of info about approaching bookers and promoters, and in particular, I wrote an article called 10 things I want musicians to know, which does what it says on the tin.

Here’s a list of artists who I listened to today who caught my positive attention for one reason or another; being included in this list doesn’t mean I’m going to book them (tho I’ve noted the ones that are shortlisted for PFF 2012), or even think they’re right for our festival, but it does mean I think they’re doing something right, whatever that’s worth.

Tops (Montreal) – Though their photos kind-of make you want to do something to crack that hipster facade, and their sound took me about 10 seconds to adjust to (in a sea of acoustic entries, your ears just aren’t accustomed to that much synth/electric), I really like Tops’ sound and

Fort York (Toronto) – It’s the track ‘Mary’ that particularly caught my interest, but that maybe because I have a thing for banjos. I think these guys would be terrific live, in an intimate venue.  Solid band; useless website.

Joal Kamps (Calgary) – Joal’s an artists who seems tailor-made for folk festivals – he has a sound that would work on an outdoor stage, and rhythms that are going to work for the low-chair aficionados/tyrants as well as for people who want to get up on their feet and dance. And his website is gorgeous.

The Tequila Mockingbird Orchestra (Victoria) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – Aside from great musicianship and a strong sense of songwriting, can I say that artists who include a stage plot in their EPK make me happy? When I’ve booked them and they’ve forgotten to email it to me, I can still find out what our sound techs need to know. I’m not implying that these guys, or any artists, ever forget to send that to festival ADs, of course. Anyway, I like this band.

Dear Sister (Toronto) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – A roots trio (sort of?) with great lead vocals, lovely harmonies and solid musicianship (and a banjo. Did I mention I have a banjo thing?).  A sound that would be as sweet in a tiny club or a festival stage.

Kelly Sloan (Dartmouth) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – Her sound is a little more slick/polished than my usual taste (that seems to be an East coast thing), but her vocals are great, her songwriting is great, and the musicianship and instrumentation on all of her tracks is like, perfect (that’s also an East coast thing).  And a quick Youtube search reveals that she’s just as good live (and that she shares a name with Miss South Carolina 2009).

Nick Ferrio and His Feelings (Peterborough) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – I’ve known Nick for ages, and it sure has been nice to see him find his own voice and settle into it so beautifully. Great songs, great players, and a really strong sense of self, which makes him stand out.

Orchards (Toronto) – I can’t tell if I really like this band or not. I like a lot of things about this band, but I feel like maybe they haven’t quite settled into their final sound yet?

Silvergun & Spleen (Cantley, PQ) – Something about the guitar on ‘Kiss & Tell’ and the general arrangement reminds me of stuff I listened to in high school in the best way.  The rest of the music I heard didn’t light my head on fire, but they’re a pretty new band, and there’s lots of potential there.

Sarah Jane Scouten (Montreal) [PFF 2012 Shortlist] – I like her voice, and her lyrics, and the instrumentation. While listening to her songs, I was picturing her on the main stage at Shelter Valley just before sunset on a warm Summer night. Golden.

Thursday, February 23, 7:30pm (Party to follow in the Showplace Lounge)
Friday, February 24, 7:30pm
Saturday, February 25, 2:00pm
Saturday, February 25, 7:30pm (Party to follow in the Showplace Lounge)

Buy tickets

Adapted by Christina Calvit
From the Novel by Jane Austen
Directed by Bea Quarrie

Featuring Kait Dueck, Justin Boyd, Ceilidh Wood, Milo Cullen, Cathy Dueck, Christopher Spear, Chuck Vollmar, Ellen Altpeter, Geoff Hewitson, Jacquie Butler, Katherine Loucks, Konstantine Malakos, Pat Maitland, Rebecca Reynolds, Robyn Bull, Timothy Vigneux, Candace Shaw, Natalie Dorsett, Ken Gibb, Laura Schubert, Timothy Vigneux, Ceilidh Wood, Geoff Hewitson, and the Scottish Country Dancers

Photos from our rehearsals below; my apologies for the quality – my iPhone camera doesn’t handle low light nor bright light very well!

[View with PicLens]

Elementary school had been, for me, completely brutal.  Our family moved to the village when I was in kindergarten, and in a place where many families could trace their roots back generations, we were strangers. And from that point, until my graduation in grade 8, I was a social pariah, an easy target for bullying, a weird girl in hand-me-down clothes who loved books and knew nothing about sports.

People often speak about the idylls of childhood as though kids are innocents, and being one is an unrelenting exercise in pleasure, play, and freedom from responsibility.  I can’t identify; childhood for me was an endless round of fears, from what new taunting, theft, or physical violence was going to be inflicted upon me at school, to the ever-present money problems at home that formed the backdrop to everything else.  When I look back, I remember stress, anxiety, and depression; I retreated further into my books and was dragged resisting out of bed in the mornings to go to school.  On the walk, I would often daydream about falling and breaking a leg, the idea of avoiding school for a week so appealing that I longed for injury.  

I didn’t have anything that I’d call a ‘friend’ in elementary school, so there was no one to turn to in moments of fear or frustration. The teachers were either oblivious or complicit, with the exception of Mr. Kelsey, whose classroom was a refuge of learning in a desert of stupidity.  In one memorable incident in Grade 5, my teacher called me a liar in front of the class for insisting that there was such a thing as a sand dollar - despite the fact that I was holding a photo of one. Every interaction left me bewildered and afraid.

Look, I don’t know what kind of kid I was – maybe I was annoying, or odd, or whatever – but no one deserves the kind of treatment I got.  I often left school in tears, sometimes sneaking back home after my parents had left for work.  My attendance record was awful.

When the opportunity came up in Grade 8 to audition for the Arts Program at PCVS, I leapt at it – in my case, I was certain that the devil I didn’t know couldn’t be any worse than the devil I was already subjected to.  I knew I couldn’t continue on with these same tormentors at TASSS; I couldn’t even contemplate a future where I rode a bus and went to class every day with these horrible kids.  The very thought induced a despair I can’t articulate. Getting accepted into the program was the best news I’d received in my young life.

Going from being the lone weird kid at a rural elementary school to being one of a group of weird kids at an urban high school was a freedom that I had longed for but never imagined could be mine. Intellectual pursuits were encouraged, being cultured was admired, and my hand-me-downs suddenly were transformed from the markers of a poor kid to vintage cool.  I went from being the kid who’d been skipping school since Grade 1 to having perfect attendance in Grade 9.  A quick five-minute walk brought us to all the theatre, visual art, and culture we could ask for. I felt like Cinderella, stepping into the Prince’s ball.

Sure, there were still bullies; we got called ‘Art Fags’ more times than I could count, tripped in the hallways, taunted and pushed.  But we outnumbered them, and my new freedom gave me the confidence to stand my ground and face them down.  In 1995, when PCVS established its Anti-Bullying Committee (a group of parents, teachers and students that I’m proud to have been a part of) and surveyed the school, we were surprised to learn that the majority of students felt safe and had little to report. From what I understand, they’ve continued to nurture that kind of environment, a place where students of all types can find a place to fit, to learn safely, to grow into adults who go on to shape not just our immediate community but also the national dialogue.  While bullying has become a high-profile issue in the past few years, PCVS has been proactive in dealing with it for nearly twenty.

When I heard that they were talking about closing a local high school, I didn’t worry much about PCVS; every argument, from capacity to student performance to good city planning stood behind keeping my alma mater.  When I heard that they were leaning towards closing TASSS, I felt that they were making the right choice.  A dated building from the late 60s, with asbestos and sinking architecture in the suburbs of Peterborough, TASSS was operating at half-capacity.  It made perfect sense.

But in what seemed like a fairly sudden turn, the Trustees voted to close PCVS.

Like many in the community, I was stunned.  The arguments for closing PCVS seemed senseless – one trustee mentioned the lack of playing fields (students have used Nicholls Oval without problems for decades), another cited the absence of a robotics program.  Protests began immediately, and involved the whole community – from downtown merchants to community members, alumni, and current students.  The suggestion that the Integrated Arts Program would be moved to TASSS was met with fear as TASSS students began writing threats and insults online.  A rally to protest the decision at Queen’s Park in early December drew 500+ participants, and despite freezing rain and raspy voices, remained loud and strong for hours. A video created by PCVS alums Brown Meadow Bird and Jared Raab drew tens of thousands of hits over a few days, now standing at 126,000 and climbing, and brought national and international media attention to the proposed closure.

The Ministry of Education has appointed a facilitator to review the decision, and money brought in through a fund-raising concert is going towards a legal challenge.

I’ve heard a lot of people’s opinions about the situation, and a lot of angry reactions to the idea that Peterborough needs PCVS, and while I can answer their arguments from an urban planning, financial, and academic standpoint, today I prefer to say simply, from my own experience, that I needed PCVS.  Kids like me need PCVS still.  It saved my life and my future.  It put me in a position to become a confident and competent adult. While the arts are central to my life, and I’m grateful for the opportunities I had through the Arts Program, much more than that is the safe space PCVS gave me to dream, to attempt, to accomplish and to flourish.

As long as I have breath to use, I will protest and work against any acts or decisions that lead to the end of that safety.

In the words of the PCVS school song:

Lift up your heart and let our your voice,
Here we belong and here we rejoice,
Fighting, Singing, Marching, Swinging,
Onward to Victory! 

This has easily been one of the busiest years of my life, and I’m thankful to have come through it with relative equanimity. A busy year at the museum meant that I’ve run more discrete events this year than I’ve ever done before, and I’m proud of that: receptions, exhibit openings, memorial events, National Canoe Day all came off well.  Dan teamed up with boxer Manny Paquiao to record and release a new version of ‘Sometimes When We Touch,’ and we re-designed Dan’s website, which made April and May a month where I’d come home from work and immediately start work again.  The festival was beautiful, with a near-sell-out crowd for the Good Lovelies, great weather and music all weekend, and our biggest attendance yet (and our most beautiful graphic design ever!).  When it looked like Artsweek was in danger of folding, I broke my ‘no new volunteer projects’ rule to make sure it went forward, and while I wished for better attendance, it was a great program of really solid local arts producers who got paid decently for their work.  The Ontario Council of Folk Festivals conference was a lot of fun, and getting to host a workshop and present the Contemporary Album of the Year award at the Canadian Folk Music Awards was awesome.

I also bought myself cross-country skis and a bicycle this year, and have quietly become one of those annoying bicycle people who are so fanatic about the sense of freedom you get while riding around the city that you wish they’d shut up already.  I’ve gotten better at playing ukulele, I started going to the Improv drop-in at PAPA, and I auditioned for Pride and Prejudice (and got a call-back, though it’s not for another week).  I went to four weddings and saw beloved friends get hitched in the most beautiful setting imaginable. We got four little chicks from the local co-op in the Spring, and now get four eggs a day and endless entertainment from our pullets.

There’s been heartbreak and stress, too, that I’m not going to re-hash, but I have a pretty good life, and I’m grateful for it.  I have a family that are willing to jump in and lend a hand when I need help, and friends whose successes and triumphs I’m excited to watch.  I’ve got a grouchy, paranoid black cat who sometimes curls up in my lap, purring.  I’ve got jobs I love and enjoy, and now, as I pass on the mantle of festival ED, I’ve got the free time to pursue my own artistic endeavors.  There’s a lot more that I want out of life, but I recognize that what I’ve got now is pretty wonderful.

In 2009, I promised myself a few things for the decade that I hoped would lead to a better life, and better circumstances, than I was in at the time.  When I look back at where I was a mere two years ago, I feel like I’ve progressed leaps and bounds.  So instead of making flat-out resolutions for 2012, here’s some guidance (for myself) for the year ahead:

Advice

A lot of people I know are happy to dish out advice, solicited or no, and I’ve allowed the opinions of friends and family to steer me wrong in the past.  Most of it is given with good intentions, but almost all of the advice I receive isn’t relevant to my situation or goals.  One of the most successful strategies I’ve used in the past few years is to consider the source. Does that person have a life I want to emulate? I mean, I may like you, but I doubt I want to be like you.  Lots of people give me advice based on how they think I should be, how they want me to be, how their life is, or conventional wisdom.

But I’m not conventional – I don’t want kids, I abhor empty status symbols (big weddings, big cars, big houses, anything with a logo), and I have a strong conviction that you can make a lot of money while loving the work you do and being a decent and ethical human being. So the social pressure to ‘settle down,’ find a mate, and get a ‘real’ job doesn’t apply (yes, some people that I know appear to think that working for a respected national museum doesn’t count as a real job – I think it’s because I like it so much, and obviously, any job that’s fun can’t be real).

Enthusiasm

I love people who express enthusiasm, whether it be about their own projects or someone else’s. The only thing better than having my own exciting project to enthuse about is hearing someone else get excited about their’s (within reason, of course: we’re all guilty of going on a bit too much sometimes). I’m starting to think of cool as a social disease; someone who reacts coolly to every plan, goal, and accomplishment, even their own, is a terrible person to be around.  Yes, sometimes enthusiasm makes you seem goofy, and if you’re over-sensitive about your dignity, it must be terrifying.  But lack of enthusiasm is a deep, bottomless pit of hipster emptiness, and it’s contagious.

I want to be surrounded by people who genuinely love what they’re working on, and who don’t cut down the people around them in the name of cool. If that means that all of the people around me in future are awesome, excited dorks for their work, that would be grand.

Drafts, re-writes, rehearsals and corrections

Something I’ve known about myself since I was a very young woman is that I like process.  I love strategy and revision. I love developing ideas and editing.  As an actor, I love rehearsing more than performing (I really love performance, but rehearsal is better).  In a city whose arts community makes a virtue of slack, revels in instant art, and brags about not rehearsing, I’ve struggled to find like-minded collaborators or a place to fit, and it hasn’t really worked out.  I feel like that’s changing – the arts community is changing (and it’s about fucking time), and my own prospects are changing.

Time, of course, has been a huge factor in keeping me from being able to devote myself to my own artistic process; for the past eight years or so, the folk festival has sucked up a lot of my available time, along with other volunteer commitments.  But yesterday I started a new project, a podcast about urban planning in our fair city (yes, you don’t think that sounds fascinating, but it’s what I think about most of the time). And yes, the first pass is about as rough and useless as it could possibly be, but the germ of the idea is there.  It needs a lot of work and thought, from the actual content of the podcast itself to delivery methods and promotion.  You won’t see the product any time soon, but it’s coming.

Improv

Oh my god, do I ever loathe improv; I’m so bad at it.  But it’s good - reminding myself how to fail and keep on going and fail some more and keep on going and try a bad idea and throw it away, over and over.  It’s simultaneously horrible and… well, I was going to write awesome, but it’s not. It sucks.  It’s like the part of a workout at the gym where you just want to lie down and die, but you keep going anyway.  I hate it I hate it I hate it. But it teaches me a bunch of lessons that I need to keep learning. So I should be going to the Improv drop-in – if not weekly, then as often as I can manage.

Acting

Theatre was the only thing I did from about the age 14 to my early twenties, when I flunked out of theatre school because I hated it so much.  It’s my first love, and nothing else comes close.  To have spent so many years not acting has more to do with how horrible theatre school was for me than anything else, but I’m over that now, and there are opportunities to be onstage or in front of the camera springing up.  Nothing makes me as happy or challenges me as much, and it’s high time I get back in the ring.

Writing

A few years ago I found myself trying The Artists’ Way, a book for blocked creatives who want to get moving again.  It introduced me to the concept of the Morning Pages, three pages of longhand writing that you do once a day (I’m not a morning writer, but that part’s not important).  When I remember to write every day, I know myself better, and the better I know myself, the more likely I am to make choices which support my overall well-being.  I’m a bit of a compulsive writer anyway, but I’m not always writing to a purpose, and when I stop writing daily journals I tend to drift away from my goals.

Friends

People think I’ve moved out of the city, and there’s a good reason for that; I’ve been too busy to anything but work, and I almost never see anyone unless we’re working together. I miss my friends, near and far, and I need to get out more, both here in town and in Toronto, Cobourg, and around the world.  I want to travel more, and have time in that travel for hanging out instead of just working and running.

I want to say thank you to everyone who helped me this year.  I achieve nothing on my own, and without the help of my friends and family, I’d be no where.  I need people who understand, or who try to, and support me, and get what I’m trying to accomplish, and I’m very lucky to have those sorts of people around me (and not very many who are the opposite).  People who put up with my flaws –  I think out loud, and talk too much, and interrupt too often; I endlessly delay making definite plans to get together because I’m not sure when I’ll have time; I never return phone calls or email; I don’t say thank you enough, though I am really, really grateful; I show up and drink all of your whiskey; I take charge, even when it isn’t my place to do so; I’m always the last one to leave the party; I tend to make my opinions sound like facts and facts sound like the word of god.  There’s more, I know.  My imperfections are legion. And you guys put up with me anyway; it’s pretty amazing.

Maybe those are resolutions; whatever they are, I hope my life over the next twelve months and beyond will be guided by them.  There are so many things I can’t plan for, and no one knows what the future holds. I’ve had a crazy year, a busy year, an exhausting year, but it’s been chock-full of work I’m proud of.  My heart is full of love and gratitude, my head is full of plans and goals, and my life is full.  Perhaps it’s greedy to ask for more, but I’m going to do it anyway.

So to everyone, near and far, I wish you a very happy and prosperous new year; may 2012 be the year that exceeds your dreams.