There may be a little while where things aren’t quite perfect as we work the bugs out but all art is a work-in-progress.
This new blog/blurb feature is not just for us here at the Theatre Centre - it’s for our Resident Companies, rental companies, and audience members to share their stories.
So consider this your formal invitation to get involved in on-line publishing and submit a story, an essay, a review, or even a picture! It can be about The Theatre Centre or another art space somewhere else in the world, it can be about theatre or dance or music or performance art OR it can be about the Queen West neighbourhood… these are all appropriate topics (not that I don’t want to hear about your girlfriend… but more so if she’s an artist doing a show here at the theatre… then yes, please do tell me all…) Imagine The Theatre Centre was publishing an art magazine and you could submit an article except it only had to be a paragraph long… not that it can’t be longer…
And to take a back a bit… here is a posting from Resident Company alumuni, Stephen O’Connell from bluemouthinc.
First Times by Stephen O’Connell of bluemouth inc.
what is left when life is more dream than memory an incubus without pants where people collide with actuality
eating pancakes in duclos’ backyard across a red table from viv moore whose radiance is illuminated by morning sunlight and ripening vine leaves brandishing a bull whip she knocks an apple off julia sasso’s head
when out of nowhere sandra alland jumps upon the table to declare “it is a curse” “it is a curse to to be a woman”
what is remembered but friendships and feeling mingled with faint images of places and event
hillar who is sitting way to close for my comfort whispers nebulous words of wisdom in my ear
as I spilling sip on vintage wine franco resting his gentle hands on my weak shoulders as I nervously swirl back my empty head And grab his calm face with in the palm of my hands, “everything is going to be alright” he tells me these reassuring words release an endless flutter of moths from my mouth
swirling to the rafters where cathy gordon climbs a ladder to the roof of the great hall corpus dance is running around below catching the falling dancers of zero gravity
chad dembski who is lying on the floor laughing uncontrollably points his knobby finger at allison cummings swirling like a dervish across queen street west to the sounds of russian music in the days before the yuppies
While two naked wresters named kevin and sean are locked in a sleeper hold and natalie derome scatters rose pedals across the dance floor accompanied by a symphony of car horns
what matters but memories collected like objects proudly on display in the trophy case buried within my heart
Posted: January 8th, 2008 under newsletter.
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