The Fellowship : Gloss : Imagined Theatres

Photo from Burrard Inlet, courtesy of the author.

A Response from a Circle of Cedars

Dear Erin,

I read this essay as an articulation of your practices and as a call to act and manifest them into reality. I also read this writing as its own realization in the world; a story with generative power, developed in community through the telling.

I had these thoughts in mind as I sat in a gathering of cedar trees along the Burrard Inlet in Vancouver. Looking out at the water, with branches forming a kind of sanctuary above, I stared at the beauty of this northwest world. I remembered Musqueam weaver, artist, and knowledge keeper Debra Sparrow speaking of her grandfather Ed Sparrow who told her how the Musqueam people — whose villages had been in this inlet — were forcibly removed and their home burned to the ground. That home site was gone, but the power of story, passed down through generations and then shared, now shaped my understanding of where I was. Sitting there at the base of a tree, I held that cruelty, the peace of the trees, and the longevity of her family story in my thoughts. I felt like I was also becoming-tree; keeping witness.

In your writing, I imagined who was there, the easy respect given to each person bringing their creative involvement to surface, and how content we were to be in that place, ready to go wherever these expressive paths led. Your story is part of this doing.

Versions of this event surface in my mind: open mic at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe when that nervous 16-year-old girl heads up with her worn notebook, opens the page, and the whole room breathes together listening to the journey of her words; a Jeff Buckley concert in the early ‘90s at the Sin-e Cafe as he went in and under the emotions of the song to return us all into a wider universe; Montreal’s Studio 303 and Casa del Popolo as we danced and trained and sang our way into a community that is still in touch over 20 years later; a wondrous night at Bar 169 in downtown Manhattan with an open mic and a gathering ready to share it all THAT night, with an audience (and bartender) holding us close enough that we could let loose; improvised and gorgeously intimate performances of West African and Afro-Cuban dances disguised as Monday night intermediate classes at Lezly’s Dance & Skate School and Fareta just north of Houston on Broadway; Bruckner’s Bar & Grill in the early 2000s, Pregones and BAAD! Bronx Academy of Arts and Dance always — with our combined love of ALL things Boogie Down Bronx and what was shared in that mix; the dance community in Vancouver riding their bikes in the rain to give feedback at rehearsals, posting dreams about new work online, walking into any studio, sitting on the floor, ready to open their hearts —not saying no to themselves.

Your vision is a “keeping place” for refueling and inspiring fellowship in the world. It calls for relationships that sustain and hold and call more to happen.

Thank you for reminding me,

Jane

This work was written on the traditional, ancestral and unceded Coast Salish territory of the Sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish), and Səl̓ílwətaʔ/Selilwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) and xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam) Nations. Thank you for allowing this uninvited guest to live on your land and enjoy these waters and abundant beauty.

Imagine a sanctuary set in a clearing in the trees — not a theatre in the traditional sense of the word, but a place where people gather for music, dance, poetry, storytelling, speeches, and parties. There are performers and an audience, so to speak, but no script, sacred text, director, or minister.

The sanctuary is used for services led by members of the fellowship who take turns planning and performing. These vary greatly depending on who is leading them — youth and elders, newcomers and old-timers, believers and questioners. These performances draw on the personal, political, and universal. Sometimes there is a dance, a film, a call to action on a pressing social justice issue, a guest speaker, or a performance of a scripted play. The quality varies as much as the content because the members of the fellowship are amateurs in the most generous definition of the word — people who are lovers of something rather than experts or professionals who do something for money. That is not to say that their offering is something lesser than a “professional” one, but more like a home-cooked meal versus something from a restaurant.

Some of the members attend services for years and never take a turn leading or performing; they are what we might call the audience. They bring flowers, make the coffee, pass the collection plate. But most importantly, they show up, week after week, and give their time, attention, and open minds to whomever happens to be on stage. Sometimes the service is inspiring, beautiful, meaningful, surprising, enlightening, funny, thought-provoking, maybe even all of the above. But to be honest, many times, it is boring, off-key, derivative, embarrassing, awkward, preaching to the choir, or just not one’s cup of tea. The fellowship relies on a group of people who show up despite this, or maybe even because of it.

As a kid I was part of such a fellowship, a Unitarian church without a minister, and I often imagined an alternative version of that fellowship with “better” art. I find myself a part of something like that now, with artists working at a truly expert and professional level (even if they are not paid, or not paid enough.) The art is undoubtedly “better” in terms of quality, rigor, critique, diversity, equity, and craft, and the shows often feel like a kind of ceremony or service. I feel a special connection with others who create and show up for this kind of shared experience, and who travel the world to find it. But we are only together for a few hours or days here and there. What if we had more time and space to just be with each other in a more relaxed and ongoing way? What if artists could be supported to do what they love without the pressure to make money?

I imagined a more theatre-like fellowship as a kid; now I’m imagining a more fellowship-like theatre, with time and space to show up for each other as amateurs. Maybe there could even be a sanctuary for doing things that are not quite art or work, for taking turns leading services for each other. How fun to imagine all my favorite people together in that sanctuary.

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