Out of the Woods.

When Tableau D'Hote Theatre's Mat Perron found himself in rural Kansas earlier this year, he wondered what it must be like for people from rural communities upon the realization that opportunities for creating, collaborating and inspiring change in one's community are limited. What must it be like, he mused, to know that one pretty much has to abandon hope of contributing to one's home community if one wants to pursue one's passions, and is it even possible to leave, create, and return with something to give back. It's taken me a long time to respond, because I have a lot to say. This'll be the first in a series of posts on geography.

I grew up in rural New Brunswick. Growing into being an artist was, I imagine, simultaneously like getting a calling to the priesthood, and the realization one might have that one is gay. There was no choice in the matter, only the obligation to my "true self" and sense of sanctity to pursue life as it presented my self to me. Whether or not I could do what my heart desired, or be who I was in my hometown was besides the point. Whether one wants to pursue the glamourous life of bohemian artistry or simply become an accountant, one has to leave rural areas to get an education or any real training.

Being an artist in a rural area is alienating. Much like being isolated in a place built around a hole in the ground, in the middle of a potato field, in the middle of the woods. I was besought both by the alienation of being a weird kid, and of my weird aspirations, not to mention the fact that those very aspirations were the stuff that the most unlikely of dreams are made of. There were 3 possible reactions I would get as a teenager when I'd tell the adults in my life that I planned on a career in the arts. They were:

• "You know, you're going to have to leave town for that."
  
• "Go. You've got real potential. Get out of here, never come back, we'll see you on the TV."
• "Pfffffft. Yeah, right."

Not a lot of encouragement, and a very clear sense that I simply didn't belong where I was. Could I contribute to my community? How? It never seemed as though my community had much to contribute to me, beyond encouragement both explicit and implied, that I ought to GTFO.

I was in a place where companies would stop for their school tours occasionally, but there were no theatres. No live music venues. No gallery. No audiences. Not even a bookstore. One ambitious pipe-dreaming teenager cannot alone ignite these fundamental cultural aspects in a vacuum. In a rural, farming & forestry town, the general education level tends to be low, and exposure to culture comes via Wal-Mart and American television. The definition of reality is conservative and the view can be narrow.

My guidance counsellor didn't have half a clue about what direction to point me in, "Well, you'll have to try NTS, that's all there is. Have you considered Saint Thomas or UNB?" Read: We don't pay a lot of mind to fancy-pants artsy stuff 'round these parts. We've got fields to till and lumber to mill, thank you very much. Please consider doing something useful.

The only thing for me to do in Grand Falls was leave.

And there I was.

Gone.

So, like, what the hell? (Intro IV of...)

Where did I come from? What am I doing here? What do I want?

I was born in a snowstorm in Moncton NB as the closing credits to the last episode of M*A*S*H rolled across the screen. The long and sorted tale of the circumstances surrounding my birth is far and away the most interesting, beloved and influential story I have to tell. But that's for another post.

Basic bodily functions and attitudinal traits notwithstanding, theatre's been the only thing in my life I've done consistently. I was in plays all through elementary school, and wrote, directed, and starred in my first one when I was in grade 5. I played in, directed, and was the lighting tech in the drama club all through high school. Having been rejected by the National Theatre School as one tends to do at 18, I followed my friends to Fredericton and spent 5 years or so at UNB, switching majors between English Litt, Anthropology, Media, Creative Writing, and Psychology, all the while completing a minor in Fine Arts and Drama.

While at UNB I did a lot of performing, a lot of writing, a lot of tech, and a whole lot of failing English class. It became abundantly clear that if I was ever going to finish school, it would have to be in theatre, because it was the only thing that inspired me to actually work. My written thesis project for my Minor was a study of Canadian theatre schools. I auditioned everywhere, and wrote about my experience. I got an A, and into 3 of 4 schools, and set off to get my BFA in Theatre at Concordia, in Montreal, with plans on switching into the Performance specialization and Hell bent on becoming an actor after having spent my last year wearing cranky pants as a TD in the shop.

I'm sure I speak for many when I say that the first few months of Theatre school feel like complete, unadulterated bull. I got bored, and decided that the smart thing to do would be to get a job in the department. I applied, I think, for a box office position. The school PM took one look at my CV, saw that I'd TD'd, sent me to the scene shop, and the rest is history.

I've been doing pretty much everything ever since. What do I mean by everything? Well. Let me give you an idea what my past 2 gigs were like.

I spent the summer at NotaBle Acts Summer Theatre Festival in Fredericton, where in about 8 weeks, I was a stage hand on an outdoor Shakespeare site-specific production of A Midsummer Night's Dream, I TD'd designed and built sets, props and costumes for one show, designed and managed wardrobe for another, Costumed, built props for, and coordinated a 7-show outdoor event, and babysat 3 children under the age of 2.

I spent the spring guest lecturing at Marianopolis College in Montreal, where I converted a basketball court into a black box, Stage-managed, designed and teched lights, sound and set, and got dozen jittery 17 year olds CEGEP kids through their first ever production, and made cappuccinos in the mall for minimum wage.

Through all this kind of craziness, I'd also been writing, directing, designing, building and producing shoestring, socially-conscious geeky kid's theatre with my best friend. And what free time I do have, I spend reading theatre blogs, thinking hard about how to make all this pay the bills, and wanting to learn to use technology better to make sure theatre doesn't die when the baby-boomers do.

I moved to Toronto a month and a half ago. When I was done at NBActs, I had no projects in Montreal to return to other than my Second Cup job, so I decided it was time. What those who are prone to pronouncing on such things say, is that in order to make it in Theatre in Montreal, you have to move to Toronto. Hello, Toronto. I still have a short list of people I work with in Montreal who are dear, and so part of the plan is to divide time between two cities, and see where the world will take me.

A bit of advice I get a lot from the old guard is that I need to focus. I need to find my niche. I think this is bad advice. I think that I have my niche. It happens to be doing everything.