Programs + Initiatives

View the photos, reflections, and bios of each of the 2021 Spotlight on Theatre participants below.

I’ve been lucky enough to work across a whole bunch of different storytelling platforms — from radio, to film, to fiction — but I always come back to theatre. Because, for me, theatre has always offered the strongest invitation to share. Lots of platforms do that but, in theatre, the invitation goes both ways.

Theatre was a word I didn't think or talk about for about 20 years of my life as an adult. When I decided to return to it three years ago, I had no idea how much had changed. As a first-generation Canadian of Trinidadian immigrants, being obsessed with the stage tanked any dreams my parents may have had of a future doctor or teacher living under their roof. 

Doing theatre was THE ONLY thing that mattered to me as a child. In fact, so much so that for two summers I would bus 1 ½ hours each way to attend a summer theatre camp as a teen. 

After attending theatre school, I worked extensively but noticed that only a tiny percent of the roles (<1%) I played were specifically characters of African descent. Color-blind casting had become the norm. 

I left the theatre to start a family and a new career. Upon my return, I have found a whole new generation of theatre practitioners who are rocking the foundation of the Old World theatre scene with demands for non-Eurocentric work, inclusion, representation, and actionable accountability. The Shipment, Fun Home, Children of God and Hot Brown Honey, etc are wonderful examples of this. 

Color-blind casting which was once seen as progressive has become rightfully assessed as regressive. I personally have had the privilege of performing in productions like Sweat, Coriolanus, and Best of Enemies. 

As an actor of Afro-Caribbean descent, what a delight it is to see the great strides theatre has made and will continue to make.

Caroline’s goals include educating and bringing awareness to what the everyday life of a Deaf Actor looks like. She also wants to educate on how to approach Deaf people to communicate with them. 

I can ramble. Under the right conditions. Get me in front of folx I feel comfortable with, or even better, put me in a Zoom full of strangers and then give me a sec to get sweaty and really really nervous, I’ll talk. I’ll leave my body and unabashedly overshare, I’ll double dutch from tangent to tangent, I’ll sprawl across run-on sentences like they’re a velvet chaise lounge. I can say a lot without saying anything. But creating theatre, writing plays – that’s when I say something worth listening to.

Making theatre has helped me find who I am. It’s helped me stand on my own feet. It’s helped me learn how to trust other people. Theatre is speckles in the light, it’s the weight of the world, it’s the responsibility of representation, it’s the duty of telling the truth, it’s a giggle that makes you cry. Telling stories and playing with words has always been my dream and I’m still learning to allow that for myself.

Last year was a challenge for so many reasons. But seeing our community adapt, continue to create, and reassure each other through the non-creating times too makes me feel better. I don’t know when that first gathering is gonna be, but I call dibs: I’ll bring the lumpia. Someone bring rice! I’m so looking forward to laughing and sweating my pits off in a real room full of strangers again, blabbing to whoever will listen (falls victim) about this one time that I–

Theatre to me is the curation and ignition of creative space by community. It is the gathering of spirits and energy, from the ideas conception, to the closing night celebration, to that split second months later when that one idea fully lands. Theatre to me is transformative collaboration through playing. Theatre to me is a space to offer and embody bold offers and truths about humanity. 

I watch theatre to be entertained. I watch theatre to be moved. I watch theatre to escape. I watch theatre because I want to be surprised. 

When theatres open back up I look forward to the smell of old seats and new set pieces. I look forward to chills, I look forward to crying into my sweater sleeve and laughing so hard even the grouchiest audience members join in. I look forward to getting rattled. I look forward to wine at intermission. I look forward to waiting for your friend to come out from backstage after a stellar performance. I look forward to more shows without linear time constructs. I look forward to shuffling to the venue in the rain. I look forward to flipping through the handbill. I look forward to sassy turn off your phone front of house speeches. I look forward to sitting in the parking lot after a show, holding hands with a friend or two, shedding a tear, processing together. 

Until then.

Theatre convinces me anything is possible. Theatre convinces me magic is real. If you are already an acolyte of the theatre, you know about its holy moments. I’ve been lucky enough to participate in theatre for much of my life: as an actor, designer, writer, and co-conspirator, so my theatre exists between gasps of laughter, and wild ideas shared on midnight walks. My theatre exists in the drama (on stage and mostly off) that gives me an opportunity to ponder the “Why?” of human choices. 

We all have good days and bad days with our theatre relationship. Magic is made by old fashioned grit, sweat, and tears, after all. But have you ever seen a character fill her stage with rage, and feel rage with her? Have you ever whispered the voices of a book out loud, as if the world could come alive around you? (And it can). It’s a reminder that there is much in this world to fill you with child-like Wonder. It is a holy space in which I can believe in goodness, and see the goodness drawn out of other people, like a thread of possibility.

the ritual of
taking my coat off
putting my phone on airplane mode
strategically arranging my belongings underneath a chair
all in preparation
to sit in the dark.

and once the lights come up
i’m in your hands now
in this new world,
waiting.

waiting
to hear your story
to feel compassion
and displeasure
and all the things in between
and if we’re lucky
like, really lucky
we may witness a moment
of vulnerability.

maybe that’s why i’m here.
because tonight won’t be like last night
and tomorrow will be different too.
and my role
sitting here in the darkness
is simply
to be present.

and I hope you know that when we’re on stage
we can feel that.
your presence.
leaning forward in absolute joy
constantly shifting leg positions
‘cause someone convinced you
that this three hour show “will fly right by”.
please note: it never does.

wherever you land
the audience, the booth, the stage, the wings
you are an integral part of the conversation.
you hold space
for imagination to play
and emotions to spark 
memories and beliefs and experiences.

i look forward to
sharing this space with you again.

It sounds very cliché but you don’t choose to become an artist, it’s a calling you answer. So, at the tender age of 18, I uprooted myself from the comfort of home in Japan and moved to Canada to follow my dream to become a stage actor in North America. I know I can’t survive in this world without being involved in a creative process. Over the span of 3 decades, I expanded my craft and became a theatre artist who wears many hats. Collaborating with my fellow artists makes me whole. It’s a humbling and gratifying experience. I’m passionately devoted to create Theatrical work because I can connect with real people at an intellectual, emotional, intimate, daring, joyful and poignant level. I am inspired to create theatre to transport audience from their day to day life and offer an experience, time and space for them to imagine, think, cry, laugh, and love. My artistic endeavours have taken me on many different paths and teaching acting and story-telling to students of all ages has become one of my passions. To witness my students getting inspired by their own discoveries and growing their confidence as an artist and person is beyond rewarding. I’m so grateful I’m in a profession where I can continue to challenge myself, explore, learn, grow and share my craft no matter how old I get. I’m striving to be like Miso, I get better with age and last forever!? 

I have always had a vivid imagination and lots of energy. I knew I needed to put that somewhere from a young age. My first love is dance, which I started around 11 years old. After dancing for many years, I decided I wanted to study theatre. I wanted to express more about myself, particularly my mixed heritage, since there was not a lot of performance out there that represented my experience. I also wanted to create work that showed the range of beauty and complexity in the African Diaspora.

For me, theatre is a world of endless possibilities; one where people of like minds and unlike minds can share space and learn more about each other and the world. Since theatre encompasses any idea the mind can hold, it can be made up of so many things: historical events, imaginary worlds, psychological structures and any range of movement. Every show I have ever been a part of has pushed me to my limits, cracked me wide open and put me back together again, anew. These days, my work pushes further into my South African heritage, the legacy of apartheid and pathways to healing.

I love that theatre is a place of sharing. We share stories, experiences, food, laughs, and energy. I started making theatre because I wanted to tell stories, but I continued making theatre because I found so much power in community sharing. It’s amazing that you can go to a theatre show, cry your eyes out, and leave having learned something new. Or go to a show and laugh so hard you pee just a little. Or see some part of your reality reflected back to you, and feel so seen and understood. Theatre can be so healing for these reasons.

When I perform theatre, I can feel my entire family with me. I can feel all the artists I’ve ever learned from. Ironically I perform in solo shows most of the time, but I never feel lonely because my family is in my writing. It’s like I can feel my Lilang on stage with me, feel my mom in the room weeping (she cries during every show I’ve ever done, even the comedies). My dad and brother are there in my mind, fidgeting and listening in their own way. And all the ancestors I have move me onstage, to be in the moment, and share with others what I have learned. It’s a beautiful feeling that I miss very much.

I'm a queer and trans person who came out during my studies, and following the aftermath of that experience, I thought that theatre wasn't a space where I was welcome to be myself.

Shortly after graduating from my program and working on a couple projects as a stage manager, I fell into the dizzying world of drag, which encompassed all the things that I loved about theatre - costumes, design, story-telling, character work, community, the electricity of performing for a live audience - and all through a decidedly queer lens. And well, maybe the green room was the little broom closet in a noisy bar, or maybe the audience would be shoulder to shoulder and in various states of undress, or perhaps the start time of the show might be an hour after the time listed on the poster. I struggled with some of the rougher edges but eventually set aside some of my internalized perfectionism and dove in deep, effectively putting myself on an indefinite hiatus from theatre as I knew it.

In the past handful of years, I've been so privileged to have had opportunities to come back to more conventional theatre spaces and work on projects that have inspired and excited me, while also more actively applying my theatre skills to my drag practice. The line between these two worlds is blurring, which I'll admit is a lot more thrilling than I'd imagined it would be.

I'm heartened to see how Vancouver theatre has been creating more space for those who have previously been left behind.

I'm impressed by the ways in which we've been able to adapt, and still find ways to connect and create despite the barriers we've faced over the past year.

I'm optimistic for the work we can achieve when we apply that same care and creativity - and hopefully a good dash of glitter.

Ever since I was a young I’ve had a passion for creating and telling stories. As I got older I became more interested in how we as artists, communicate these stories to audiences. 

Each professional theatre artist that I know understands the term “theatre magic”, however in my experience each artist’s version of “theatre magic” is different. For me it is the unique moment of presence and harmony that is shared collectively in a space between the audience and performers. Where the outside world and it’s complications melt away and we are drawn into a different realm that invokes some form of reflection or relationship. It cannot truly be quantified in words, because it is not dependent on words alone. 

I have experienced this “magic” listening to live music, watching dancers or seeing artists perform in a language I do not understand. I explain it this way: It’s one thing to listen to your favourite song through headphones, it’s an entirely different thing to go to a concert and experience your favourite song played live in front of you. 

As we move into 2021, I look forward to when we can once again assemble and share these stories with one another. Where the “theatre magic” can once again have what it needs to live: A story, a space, artists and audience.

I love the community of theatre - the crew, cast, producers - all working together to tell a story. Creating and supporting community engaged stories to directing works, to contributing my music, and acting has been a spiritual journey into the human condition. 

Live theatre is where there is a symbiotic relationship with the witnesses that come and see the work, and the community of theatre gets to orchestrate the emotional hue of the human condition. Theatre is a way that the systems we're born into get to be played out and perhaps the witnesses have a chance to move into the grey areas of their moral code. Theatre is a safe space to see alternative views to some of the issues and concerns in society that usually get relegated to the margins. It’s hope made actionable and to me that’s what life is about.

When I was first starting out in the Arts, 20 years ago, I remember reading somewhere about finding the "extraordinary in the ordinary". When I read that the first time, we were working on Women In Fish out on Galiano. We were working on a story that had never been recognized as a story. We were looking at a way of life that we as women just took for granted, something that we all just did. It was truly finding the “extraordinary in the ordinary”. I knew I was where I had always wanted to be.  Since that moment I am always in awe when I get to see/hear words that I write and characters that I help to create being brought to life on stage. Bringing the ordinary to life in such an extraordinary way became a passion but, over the years it has become so much more.

Sharing stories and memories from a very different way of life than what I live today was not something that ever crossed my mind. 

As an Indigenous Artist I do not have to look for stories, we have already lived them. I write from my memories of a different time and place, where the smell and sounds take me back home to the water. I used to think for a while that all that I learned out there on the water was a waste of knowledge. That it would never have any use in my life anymore. I was wrong!!

When I was a kid, I loved playing with Lego, I would make all sorts of objects, buildings, etc. My family thought I might become an architect. I also played piano for years when I was younger, and almost went to a high school specialized in music. As I got older, I started university as a visual art major, I especially loved painting, and at one point I thought I might become a visual artist. 

All of these experiences made me who I am today and lead me to a perfect balance: a theatre designer. 

When I design sets, I often look for ideas from architectures in different periods. For both lights and set, I always find design inspiration in the music/sound effects from the show. I sometimes sense colors or shapes in music, for example: A sad moment could be what I call a “warm sadness” or “cool sadness” depending on the feel of the music. Bach is triangular, or sharp edged, while Chopin is organic shaped, smooth or rounded. When I design lights, it feels like painting with light onstage. I see the stage as my canvas, the lighting instruments are my brushes, and colors and brightness are my paint. 

I love theatre, because of its endless potentials and creative freedom, and because for me, it feels like it was meant to be.

I am spending most of my time resurfacing, remembering and rediscovering Métis love stories from my people. There are a lot of reasons why I’m doing this, mainly because it is the only way to track the stories of the Métis women in my family.  By tracking down their husbands, the women become traceable by consequence. Not all of them are happy stories, but occasionally I find the story of the 'great loves' that are absolutely incomparable and better than any other love stories in western culture (in my humble opinion). I am choosing to find those stories and write those stories because I love to dream. For me, I can’t rewrite all the horrible things that have happened to my people, I can’t undo any wrongs that have been done and I can’t rewrite the horrible mistreatment of Métis women in Alberta. But, what I can do is find pieces of their hearts through the men they loved. Those stories and dreams are what is keeping me going through this pandemic and they teach me how we survived all those horrible things that have happened. And hopefully, one day I can watch those women’s spirits come alive onstage. I dream that one day they will dance, laugh and sing on Canadian stages in a post pandemic world. And the day they dance on stage, I imagine that this pandemic will just be a distant dream.  

As someone who grew up feeling displaced, bouncing between different cultures and languages and in constant search of the feeling of "home", theatre is the embodiment of unity to me. 

Theatre allows us to sit down and experience something together. It makes us stop, reflect and think deep within ourselves. There is nowhere in this world where I feel more at home than inside a theatre- whether it's rehearsing, presenting, building and painting sets, going over choreography and lines. Hours pass and the world spins, but all that matters is what you are making and experiencing together. 

It doesn't matter who you are or where you're from, the theatre has been and will always be for the people. It's the only place that allows us to be political, funny, silly, profound, vulnerable, outrageous and reserved all at the same time. 

Theatre is a direct reflection of who we are as human beings in this world. It shocks us, it comforts us, it helps us understand other perspectives, it whispers gently: "Keep going. You are not alone." 

Theatre helped me find my voice, and I will always be in debt to it because of this. I hope to continue making theatre accessible to everyone and anyone in this world -regardless of age, nationality, language, gender or political views- and I will always keep working and fighting for this.