To music made by souls, not autotune.

Alright readers, this entry is far long overdue. The Calgary Folk Music Festival was from July 26^th-29^th and for four glorious days I listened to music, enjoyed Prince’s Island Park,  took dips in the Bow River and ate way too many mini-donuts than is healthy in a 96-hour period.

And what’s even crazier than all this, is that I did all of that for free. The Festival costs about $65 for a single day pass and something like $200+ for the whole four days, but I didn’t pay a cent. And I’ll tell you why: volunteering. Do it. And try to do it often, a couple times a year at least. Because even though you’re not getting paid in actual cash, for the Folk Fest as an example you get entry (that doesn’t include lineups!) into the grounds, free meals twice a day, unlimited access to snacks and drinks (not alcoholic…like lemonade and the like), access to the after parties with the artists and a pretty bad ass badge that you can waive at security guards and feel quite important. Volunteers for Folk Fest are important. The whole event depends on them. Only seven positions of people who work for Folk Fest are paid. Seven. So why do people do it? To support and promote artists and events like this one that makes our community in Calgary so vibrant.

And you’re doing it green. All the garbages at Prince Island were taped over and sealed. Virtually everything could be recycled and composted. You had to buy a plate for a toonie whenever you got food and when you returned it, you got your toonie back. There were no water bottles sold onsite. Everything sold at the Market is from a local business.

You + music + park + good vibes + amazing food = Folk Fest. 

So what could you volunteer to do? There are many, many positions you could sign up for: security, beer gardens, artist liason, artist transport, chef, stage crew, merchandise, recycling, photography, etc. etc. I worked a crew called “Side Stages” and what we did is set up the stage for the artists to play on it. When the stage was set up, we could watch the show and just had to make sure we came back in time to set up for the next one. Or we could have stayed backstage and made small talk with Shad or Cold Specks or whichever other act was there to play on your stage next. Pretty good deal!

Even if I had paid the $200-odd dollars I wouldn’t have had that kind of experience. And that’s what it’s about, experience. So often when you live in the city, or maybe in the 21^st century in general you buy material junk you don’t need (a t-shirt in a slightly different shade of yellow with a slightly different neck-line). And you do this for other people: birthdays, Christmas, Valentines Day, Easter, anniversaries! Gift-giving is so hard isn’t it? What should I get them, what do they need? Or when people ask you when your birthday rolls around: what do you want? And again, for me at least, I am paralyzed by these questions! Gift-giving is the worst! And not because I’m an ungenerous Grinch, but because I don’t want any more useless things to crowd my closet or apartment and I don’t want to do that to someone else either. So if you’re gonna buy someone something, buy them an experience: like Folk Fest (if they’re not gonna volunteer!) or theatre or art classes or what have you. Or buy them a beer. That can definitely be an experience. And so often we always have to focus on a million different things at once. We live in an age of multi-tasking as survival. But out here on the grounds for the majority of the four days, I listened to music. I sat on the grass and I listened to music. Music made by souls, not autotune.

And I heard new music! I love that feeling. When you’re hearing a song for the first time, you close your eyes, bob you head and tap your foot and think, “What is this? What have I been missing?” When the four days were over I had about 20 things I needed to download on my computer right away.

I don’t know if you went to Folk Fest this year or any other or maybe you even volunteered! (Again, if you haven’t, and you love music, do it. You can apply to be a volunteer every March on the website!) Or maybe neither and you already know these artists and their songs. But if not, here are the top ten artists (in no particular order) that were new to me this year, along with a song. Enjoy! 

Sarah Jarosz: Come Around 

Cold Specks: Blank Maps

Little Scream: Cannons

Del Barber: Love Is Just a Wrecking Ball

Lindi Ortega: Use Me

Reuben & The Dark: Love Is Not A Pretty Word

Three Metre Day: Stay That Way

Mark Berube: Looking For Another 

Shad: The Rose Garden

Joy Kills Sorrow: Wouldn't Have Noticed

Eat your heart out. Or something.

There's this book that I've picked up which until recently has sat in a stack of thirty or so books that I bought from Chapters before I quit. It has reached my hands and I can tell you dear readers that for all my delight in its contents, it is quite stupid that it has taken so long to look at it. The book is called Soul Pancake and it's by Rainn Wilson (yes, that guy who plays Dwight Shrute in The Office). Inside is much visual art, photography, poetry, essays, fiction, questions and activities that intent to get your brain working and chewing on life’s big questions. The first page after the introduction is “HOW DO YOU DEFINE TRUTH?” Yep. Big question alright.

This is what this book does to you:

It really gets you going. The questions are provoking and are certainly not of the what-is-your-favourite-colour variety. The book started as an internet project and became published as more of a working journal/activity book/magazine for people to write in and play around with.  But while the book you can physically write in, the website is updated more frequently and you can visit it here. 

Anyways, the book is very skilled at linking supposed dualties, such as faith and reason and greying the matter. It splits off into sections:

-Life, Death & Living
-Science & Technology
-Love, Sex & Relationships
-Introspection, Reflection & Identity
-Virtues & Vices
-God & Religion
-Experiences & Emotions
-Art & Creativity
-The Brain & The Soul

You can complete the book in or out of order. I choose in because I find it more disciplined and persevering a direction!

I kept wanting to when I was answering questions or doing activities, I keep wanting to share this book with the people in my life. And since I have, I've had some very interesting, enlightening and surprising conversations with these people. But it's also about having a conversation with your own brain in a way. Because no doubt, you may have had a Philosophy class before or maybe years ago you had a definite answer to one of these questions. But people change, and so have your views probably. You must trick your brain into letting go of any previous notions and think of something new. And that is challenging. But the answers, once you've found them (even if the answer is "There is no way to determine truth.") reflect who you are now. And that's also pretty rewarding.  

The Cinnamon Challenge

Alright so this is nothing profound, but my sister showed me this video on youtube and I want to share it with everyone I know. It is called the 'Cinnamon Challenge' and apparently this was an internet meme that I was completely unaware of. Humans are not built to eat cinnamon. Yes, we put it on toast, we put it in our tea and maybe we get very adventurous and put it in our curries or tabouleh salads (so good). But you can’t eat it on its own, not even a teaspoon of it. It does not dissolve in the saliva of your mouth. And because it isn't soluble, you can’t physically swallow it and you will choke until it is ejected from your mouth. But it’s cinnamon right? Remember how we put it in our food and so it doesn’t sound so harmless! So lots of people on the internet have taken the “cinnamon challenge”—to try to swallow a teaspoon of cinnamon. And no one has been able to.  Despite how we are witnessing what is likely a near-death experience, these videos are still hilarious. I feel almost as terrible a person as when I watch It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, but if you press play, you’ll understand. This woman is particularly delightful because she is very confident (obviously hasn’t watched other cinnamon challenge videos) and because she doesn’t just take one teaspoon, she takes an entire ladle. 

Rise! Rise! Rise! Fall.

Here it is. Another Batman review. Fast Forward, Calgary's alternative News and Entertainment Weekly Newspaper covered the story and said, "There's nothing left to say about The Dark Knight Rises". I really think that there is. 

"Should we be excited for the release of The Dark Knight Rises this weekend? Unless we’re all a bunch of total dickheads then yes, yes we should." or....

"I’m sure there are idiots on the Internet who hate on Nolan’s films, but I’m also sure they are ugly virgins who post on their Tumblrs about the latest flavour of Toaster Strudel. Just eat Pop Tarts, you pretentious jackasses."

So at the risk of sounding like a pretentious ugly virgin (low blow FFWD) , I'm going to admit something potentially socially stigmatic: I didn't enjoy The Dark Knight Rises. 

If you haven't seen the movie, I don't suggest you read this blog post because there are spoilers and I wouldn't want to influence you before you went and saw the movie for yourself. I am not going to say that people shouldn't watch this film. They should. They should see it and think about where it fits in the Trilogy and what it is as a piece of cinema. I'm not going to discuss the stunning visual quality of the movie, the music  or the production of this film. Yes, all those things are rave worthy. But they don't make a movie matter. What made Nolan's movies an elevation of the superhero genre was that they were both entertaining and very, very, intelligent. This time around, the plot construction and execution was half-baked and thoughtless. 

Let me identify myself as a fan of Nolan's previous two Batman movies. I was really excited for Dark Knight Rises. I had heard good things from people whose opinions I respect and admire, the trailer made me squeal and I arrived several hours before the theatre opened to secure a good spot to see it. I also walked in with lower expectations. I knew it wasn't going to be The Dark Knight (what could be?), just like how I know that every Pixar movie isn't going to be Wall-E. But Pixar's other movies are smart and innovative even if they aren't perfection. Well except for Cars 2. And really, Dark Knight Rises is the Cars 2 of Pixar's cannon.   When I was in the theatre I was observing my own reaction and questioning it, "Why aren't I feeling more giddy? Am I...bored?" I often found myself covering my eyes, palming my forehead, crossing my arms and steadily sinking deeper into my chair as the rest of the theatre stared on with doe-eyed enthrallement. 

Okay, okay, I didn't like it. Why? 

It doesn’t matter if you haven’t read the comics and you see this movie. Because either way, it doesn’t make any sense. There are too many plot holes. The characters are soulless and underdeveloped. I just didn’t care about any of them. I was bored by the pseudo-witty dialogue whose punchline falls flat even among a theatre of die-hard fans of the trilogy. 

Let's get specific for a moment. Here are your spoilers.

Bane is the new villain of the movie, masquerading as an anarchic liberator of Gotham ('liberating' the working class and poor of Gotham, thus raising an army) who robs the stock markets and blows up sections of the city in a frenzy and plans to blow the rest of it up at a later date with a timed atom bomb that he says he's given to a random citizen.  This random citizen can decide to blow up Gotham. The idea with this bomb was that these people live in fear because someone in he city has the trigger. It was similar to the boat scene in The Dark Knight—where the goodness of people is tested. But then it turns out that Miranda Tate has the button all along and this is a set-up and then I care quite a bit less because the morality is lost. During this time of fascism, you never see Bane run Gotham. If this was a story about Bane wanting to run Gotham city and change it, then okay. But it's not. He is just a crazy person who wrecks shit up with no character motivation backing him up. Don't let his schmoozy-British-impossible-to-understand-speech spoken through a mechanical voice box apparatus fool you into thinking he's a round character. And I hope you don't think he's cool just because he pulls on his suspenders like he’s in a rap video. 

Selina Kyle, Catwoman played by Anne Hathaway is cool and clever and provides some comic relief, but her appearances are also pretty brief and fleeting and it becomes pretty hard to believe that she and Bruce Wayne become a romance. But for what Hathaway was given in the script, she was great. 

Miranda Tate/Talia Al'Ghul is woefully underdeveloped considering that she is the actual villain of the movie. Apart from her painfully stoic and unlikely sex with Bruce Wayne, the reveal of her identity falls something very short of spectacular. This movie takes great leaps with its characters that haven't been earned. They don't make sense and their emotions are disingenuous. The Miranda Tate/Talia conundrum provides a shock factor almost equivalent to Joseph Gordon Levitt's Blake turning out to be Robin. While the Talia Al'Ghul plot is relevant to the story, Robin being squeezed into the movie is not. But it's shocking (I would also like to insert 'spirit fingers' here). For the average movie-goer I imagine it created a spark of recognition. They think "Robin! Yes I know that name! He's part of Batman. Nolan just slipped him in! How genius! How BAD ASS."  The Dark Knight Rises relies on shock factor of this reveal as many others in the movie to keep the audience 'happy' (while infuriating others. Really just me and Cathryn) and trick them into thinking that they're oh so clever. Relying on something so trivial and sensational are a part of action movie conventions that I thought Nolan was above.  

Batman is sent to a prison in another country on the other ed of the world where the inmates speak their own made-up language and are--despite the grime that may discolour their complexions--all white and British. Nolan, we understand that you like hiring British Actors. You've got Caine and Hardy already, but for the sake of your fictional middle-eastern hell-hole, you would think that you'd branch out a little. He was brought there by Bane (who was born and grew up here) to be tortured by the inmates. Yet, they help him find his way out of the gaping hole at the top of the prison and as they in their gibberish yell "Rise!" and Batman climbs his way out, I thought that this surely must be one of the cheesiest, overwrought scenes I have seen in not just any Nolan film, but it any movie.  

Batman is able to travel from this place back to Gotham City to save the day despite having no superpowers like let's say flight (which you smart reader, already knew), no money, none of his handy gadgets and I assume no accessibility to this place. But whatever right, it's a comic book movie. 

But here is the kicker: back to the bomb. Batman decides to take the atom bomb in his flying machine over the ocean and away from Gotham, sacrificing himself but saving the lives of millions. After the explosion and the brief funeral for Bruce, we see  him and Selina Kyle in Florence sitting in the same café as Alfred and the credits come up. The theatre clapped. I buried my head between my knees and muttered “WHY?” over and over again under my breath. He’s supposed to die people! Part of Batman’s appeal is that he is a regular guy (apart from being a Billionaire who can pay someone to make his gadgets). In the comics, dying was humanizing, it was recognition, it was an act of sacrifice, it was a grownup movie for our Hugh Heffnerian protagonist. It really was something to get weepy about and call heroic. And yet that doesn’t happen here. He sits having a drink, raising a toast Alfred. Happily Ever After. 

The logics of how he survived that was he supposedly ejected himself just in time and let it run on autopilot. The camera stays on the vehicle. It keeps panning to Wayne in the vehicle. And then it blows up still on the screen. If he ejected, we would have seen it. Did we see the vehicle crash into the ocean and potentially cause a earthquake or tidal wave? No. Christopher Nolan, if it’s not a actually an ATOMIC BOMB, don’t call it one. Because even if he ejected, he would have died. If he flew into the air via parachute or landed into the ocean he would have died. It's an atomic bomb.

So there I was with my head between my knees, enraged and disappointed and Fraser leans over and says "You can't be mad! It's still Batman!" And people, this isn't an excuse. You must be smarter than that. Because you stamp "Batman" on something it doesn't make it immune to criticism or even dislike. "It's badass! It's Batman!" Come on. I'm not going to get caught up in the action scenes and not pay attention to plot or structure or (this is probably no big deal) character. My panties aren't so wet that I'm oblivious to what makes a good story when sensation is excluded. 

And I think that people are praising this film because it's what’s expected. It’s Nolan. He delivered with Batman Begins and The Dark Knight. Did he fucking ever. And maybe it’s easier to praise something mindlessly without processing what a massive disappointement the movie is.

Again FFWD...

"Whatever issues you have with The Dark Knight, you’d be crazy not to respect its ambition. It cost hundreds of millions of dollars to produce and never pandered to the lowest common denominator. Nolan created new expectations for what a big summer blockbuster could be. And we loved the hell out of it. So you don’t need Reel Talk to tell you why The Dark Knight Rises is significant. You’re probably just as sick of hearing about it as I am, you just want to sit down in your seat with some Maltesers and an enormous iced tea and enjoy the final installment of one of the greatest achievements in pop cinema of our time."

Yeah. I was really hoping I could. And now using an equally large iced tea and the previous two films, I will wash the stain The Dark Knight Rises has left in my brain. 

I just don't know about you, Stampede.

The Calgary Stampede is over. I personally am  exhausted. To go to that workshop on Lasqueti Island, I sold my soul to work the Stampede.  Now that it is over (again, hoorah!) I slept until noon today and I do not regret it. I imagine theyre are many livers that are in recovery at this very moment.   The Stampede is largely stupid. It makes a ridiculous amount of money on things like “Monster”  hot dogs (as Stephen says, really just the size of a regular hotdog) for $6.50 or deep-fried butter for the same price. Some rides cost over $40.00, but each ride is generally around $6.00. To see the Chuck Wagon Races and potentially see 3 horses die in one go is $65.00 dollars and the poncho you can buy when it’s raining and you’ve realized you’ve gone to the grounds in a tanktop and shorts is $5.00. It’s a money making machine. In a moment of sheer hunger desperation, I even paid an outrageous $3.00 for a single churro. I have a friend who worked as a live statue for the stampede and can now pay for five months of his rent. . In ten days the restaurant I work at made just under $300,000 dollars. The most money I made in one shift was $350. 

The stampede makes a lot of money, but it's also really expensive. It’s unethical: note 8 horses died this year during the Chuck Wagon races. And it’s kind of trashy: I’m not sure if it’s considered statuatory rape if I happen to see a short-shorted, bra-as-top fifteen year old strutting around in my field of vision. And I shudder to imagine what all the tourists who come for this outdoor “show” might think of the city when they leave. 

But at the same time, it was nice to see the city so alive. I liked walking down Stephen Avenue and seeing a magic show and being given free Jugo Juice, Jollyranchers, and the new IceBreaker mints. I liked getting off work at 1:30 AM and seeing people still hanging around and having a good time outside. I liked being able to sit on a patio until 3:00 AM. 

A lot of theatre artists get hired for Stampede. And I recognize that as a theatre person, it would be really great to have a paying gig like the Stampede every year.

And most importantly, I liked being able to pay $16.00 to see Mother Mother and have them sign a vinyl case for me. 

Oh the moral dilemmas of our age.

  

A Tallest Fan On Earth

I’ve just gotten a ticket to see Tallest Man on Earth. He’s one of those artists that I put on nearly every mix CD I give to anyone ever because he simply needs to be heard. After I give them a day to listen to the CD (a reasonable amount of time I think), I ask them what they think. And they liked it. They also probably ask if he’s “really that tall”. Sorry to disappoint but no. It’s actually more of a metaphor.

Just now I’ve googled Tallest Man on Earth.

Wikipedia:

“Kristian Matsson (born April 30, 1983) is a singer-songwriter Dalarna, Sweden. Since 2006, he has released three full-length albums and two EPs. He performs under the stage name The Tallest Man on Earth, despite not being unusually tall.” (ßdo you see what I mean?)”

(Wikipedia also educated me that he’s married to another artist named Amanda Bergman who uses the alias ‘Idiot Wind’. I promptly youtube her and like what I hear.) 

The page is pretty small. I notice there’s an official website! The website has two links. Store and a Myspace. On the store are two t-shirts. On the myspace are all his songs, very few pictures and a blog. This blog hasn’t been updated since 2010. And I applaud all of this. He isn’t a performer that has exploited himself to appeal to people. He doesn’t have interviews where he gushes about which ice cream flavor is his favourite or the bad acne he had in junior high. Because that’s not why he wants people to like him. Maybe that's not even something that interests him. He just plays his music because that’s what he has to do. And he’s lucky enough that he can do that for a living.

I remember seeing Tallest Man in April 2011 in Knox United Church—a modestly sized church in Calgary’s downtown core. In September, he’ll be back in Calgary at the University’s MacEwan space. It’s a bigger space, more crowd interactive and it will probably sell out. While he hasn’t whored himself out to social media, he's still getting recognized. He’s toured with Bon Iver. This kid is ridiculously talented. I had already loved the artist’s music from listening to his albums. The first time I heard his music I was sitting in the Drama Common Room at my University and I tuned everything else out and thought “…what the hell is this?” I certainly don’t believe in love at first sight. But I believe that this must be as close as it gets. His set at Knox was incredible. I already knew his lyrics were thoughtful, and creative, and his music was raw, romantic, complicated but his performance is what separates this artist. He doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t make the wittiest of jokes. He doesn’t tell you to go buy his merchandise. He plays. And when he plays I witness a stunning and admirable quality about him: he plays because of his pure love for music. As though doing anything else with his life would be a betrayal to his better sentiments. And it’s really, really beautiful to see. I left the church with Jon, both of slightly woozy and speechless saying over and over again “Wow, wow, wow!”

So I’m showing him perform a song of his and I hope you listen. I hope you are compelled to listen to another and another. And I hope that his music affects you (as music should). And maybe you'll also be seeing his show at the University in September. 

P.S. Alyssa, please for the love of all that is good in this world do not schedule rehearsal for Thursday September 13^th, 2012. You will be down one smitten stage manager. 

"For all those who've sailed with me"

After a night of blissful silence, I woke up to rain hammering on my tent’s roof. And while I was dry, of course the section of my oversized backpack that contained my clean underwear was not. Of course. But this was Lasqueti and you couldn’t be upset for too long! After all, our first workshop was about to be 

led by Stacy Murchison and Monica Strehlke, active company members of EDAM in Vancouver.

We explored movements in levels of space, learned some lifts and played with negative space. We examined bodies like scientists. Our partners lay limp and loose on the floor, the rest of us moving their arms, legs, hips, head, chest, to see what the body will do if you move it one way or another.  After dinner (including kale from Mark’s very own garden) I walked to the beach and scrounged for an oyster shell to take home for a souvenir. I think I might randomly take up painting and use it as a paint pallet. While the two kids Alberta and Nikko constructed an oyster shell tower, the rest of us sat on rocks and watched the sun set—witnessing something as beautiful as this:


We walked up the giant hill to Mark’s place, saw a HUGE black slug, lovely mini daisies, eating boysenberries on the way up. Now, much doesn’t happen on Lasqueti Island. It’s not exactly one of B.C.’s largest cultural centers. But this night was Arts Fest. There would be poetry slams and readings, visual art, and dance. But I skipped it. I wanted to keep this remote wonderland sacred from the outside world. Arts fest was another vestige of brief civilization that I wanted to avoid. 

Each day we had workshops and each day we ate delicious food. One day Mark cooked two of his own chickens! And let me tell you, if there was ever a time when I was going to break my vegetarianism and eat the most ethically grown meat possible, this was it. Instead, I had miso tofu, more of Mark's kale and brownies. Not too bad. My notes for each day include what the workshops covered--contact improv jargon quite useless for this blog or the number of times I saunaed that day. We hiked, we smoked Lasqueti's finest Lasquoobies. Drew had a guitar and would plays riffs and rhythms and we would make up songs to go along with them and sing them loud in the studio. We played charades. 

One night we had a live Harpist—a friend of Mark’s came down to play while we jammed. It was unreal. And all I could think was "I love my life, I love my life, I love my life." After the set had finished, the Harpist sat down with us and said, “It is so wonderful to be in the presence of people who move and live from that place and the people whose hearts outreach the extension of their bodies.” And it is. Being here I have been bludgeoned with a profound sense of gratitude. The phenomena about this workshop and maybe about this form of movement in general, is that you really get to know people. Dance is conversation between body and soul. We followed the contours of our bones in dance and found pathways to the heart. You listen to your partner and explore the flow together. It's improvised. Sometimes it’s difficult to refrain from trying to make things happen. We worked on finding stillness as comfort and uncertainty in contact. Because, eventually, something is going to happen. You learn how people move, their tendencies and pretty soon intense physical connections create emotional connection. Within five days of knowing each other, separating becomes a very morose notion.After our last class, we had a closing ceremony and shared our thoughts. And we all felt that what we learn in Contact seeps into our own lives. It's about giving, support, protection, taking risks, exploring the unknown, raw beauty and being present with yourself and the people around you.  




We walked down to the port to catch our ferry and a few of us miss it. We have a pint at the harbour bar and openly smoke on the patio. Beside the bar is a cookie shack. It’s a little wooden cabinet that inside has various treats in containers: lemon squares, date squares, peanut butter cookies, gingersnaps, thumbprint shortbreads. On each container is a price and there is a cash box off to the side. No on mans or supervises the cookie shack. There is enough trust on this island that they will openly put out goods and expect that you’re a good enough person to pay what you need to and not steal. Up a little farther is the “free store”. People who’ve been to the island leave things behind at this ‘store’ and then other people can come pick it up. Yes, for free. I myself found two books—one on the creative process and one containing contemporary scenes for student actors. What a find! 

I feel like the cookie shack and the free store are prime examples of how life is different on Lasqueti. In a lot of ways it’s easier than city life. It’s not corrupted by corporations that view people as dollar signs. You don’t have a job to buy things you don’t need. Life is slower paced out here. It is less about struggling. Here you dance, you eat, you play, you explore, you sauna, you talk. But in exchange, you take care of the land you’re planted on. This kind of lifestyle is a lot of work to maintain. They raise chickens and grown their own crops, they build extensions on their living areas, the maintain these areas, they cross the ferry to get groceries. It’s a physically laborious process to create  a life in the middle of nature. And because of the physicality, there are mental benefits. Less stress. It's a return to the roots of what’s important—that we meet our basic needs, are compassionate creative individuals and connect with one another. I will sorely miss this place and these people, but I vow to be back next summer, and hopefully for longer than five days. It was another 23 hour bus ride home to Calgary (get ready for the last time I will quote Mississippi in this blog for awhile)
“but my heart is not weary, it’s light and it’s free.
I’ve got nothin’ but affection for those who’ve sailed with me.”

"All my powers of expression"

We left our young and weary traveller groggily lugging her oversized backpack into Mark's truck. Already sitting with bags were Nina and C. C was the first to speak, "You look cute with sleep lines!" and so my falling asleep in the ferry became a running joke. I joined them in the back of the pick-up truck and we rode up the Island's one road to Mark's property. The ride up the mountain was already beautiful enough and when we opened the wooden gates to the Studio and walked in, I found Bob Dylan's Mississippi haunt me again: 

"All my powers of expression, and thoughts so sublime 

Could never do you justice in reason or rhyme."

How was it possible that this dance studio was here in the middle of nowhere on obscure little Lasqueti? It just doesn't make sense. What I can tell you is that Mark started building everything in 2008, and and had it completed enough by 2009 to start having workshops. The studio did not scrap nature's interfering trees or stones, but was built  around them. An arbutus  tree shoots up in the middle of a stone stairway out of the studio and out back into more wilderness! 

Now Mark doesn't just own the studio. He owns 20 acres  of land out here!! So until the next batch of dancers arrived and it was time for dinner, I figured I had better start exploring and find a prime location for my tent. While stumbling my way around the paths, I kept seeing Oyster shells. They mark the trail because they glow in the moonlight, just in case, you, an unprepared wanderer had forgotten your headlamp (extremely useful. Often I felt like I was relying on faeries or fireflies, my friends, these glowing shells to bring me back to the comfort of my tent.). Apart from the studio, there were a couple of other smalls buildings: a cabin for Mark to sleep in, two chicken coops, and the sauna (there was also a kitchen, attached to the studio). 

On every structure were solar panels and the walls were built with glass bottles and cob, to let the light in. I saw some chickens on my walk and said hello, walked past laundry lines and the outhouses, and decided to put my tent here overlooking this pond. 

On my walk back I saw a couple people  sitting at the dinner table. Mark pipes in, "There's lots of fruit! And we're is making guacamole. I don't want you to go hungry! So really, please feel free to eat whatever, whenever you want." I glance to my left and see Hannah scraping out avocado into a large mixing bowl. On the table was a magical mixture of strawberry jam, chocolate and almond butter which was pretty much amazing to dip your organic bananas or pears in. Of course, they compost out here! And anything that is actual waste is used as an insulator for the chicken coop Mark is in the process of building.

The rest of the troops began  to trickle in and introductions were made!Before us was a dinner that similar to the studio, I wasn't sure how to compute. Vegetarian lasagne, fresh salmon, and just-picked raspberries for dessert. After dinner, people were expecting to jam (when I say jam, I mean dance sessions). There wasn't a formal lesson today but eventually, like trickling rain, bodies touched. And I felt a profound sense of returning home after a long trip away. I hadn't jammed since the end of Eurydice at the University and I had sorely missed these contact highs. Right about now you're probably wondering dear reader what Contact Improvisation is. It's a form of dance and movement with the principal is maintaining contact (or anti-contact, i.e. negative space) with the floor or your partner and exploring different ways contact can be made whether it is pushing, sliding, pivoting, rolling, pushing or pulling. Here is a video to better articulate and explain! 

The jam evolved and dispersed and reached many people until I found that Nina and I were the last in the studio and that it was nearing midnight. It was decidedly sauna time. As we staggered through the dark, drunk with dreamy amazement at this wonderland and passed my tent, I asked, "What do you wear in a sauna?"

"What do you wear?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Nothing. Nobody really cares. I mean you can wear clothes if you want."

From where I stood, I took a look of contention at the compartment of my bag where I knew a bathing suit was--paused--and we kept walking. To get to the sauna, we crossed a wooden plank over a stream of water and hopped tree trunk stumps until we found our ways to its warm doors. We undressed and entered. It was dark. Apart from a meagre window that occasionally lets moonlight through, it is just you and the people, the dark and the sweat. Throughout this trip, it became necessary to sauna after every class,  having philosophical discussions in the dark, jump in the pond right outside its doors, return back to the sauna for a second sweat, perhaps have a shower and continue to hang out with the great people you met. 

This night, feeling delirious from the heat, from countless ferries and buses and from the sheer beauty of this place, I was walked back to my tent, read maybe a page of Lolita, and fell asleep hearing no cars, conversations, trains or lawnmowers. Just silence.