The idea for Kiss & Tell (2015) hit filmmaker Jackie Hoffart like a whack over the head–an emotional, repeated, and unavoidable whack.
Hoffart had been going through a tough breakup at the time of the film’s inception. “There was a place where me and that person had a beautiful moment, directly at the exit of my garage,” she told SAD Mag over coffee last week.“Every time I left my house I would be whacked over the head with this memory. The memory was actually beautiful, but was in such contrast to how I was feeling–I’d have to close my eyes sometimes when I was pulling into my alley.”
What might have led to a dented bumper instead inspired Hoffart to create what she calls her first “somewhat professional” film, landing her a slot in the Vancouver Queer Film Festival’s short film showcase The Coast is Queer. Though VQFF is Hoffart’s official premiere as a filmmaker, she is a practiced storyteller. In the past, she worked as SAD Mag’s editor-in-chief and now produces, edits and co-hosts its official podcast, SADCAST. “Storytelling,” she explains, “is a kind of impulse–one that can be manifested in several modes.”
At just five minutes in length, Kiss & Tell is a compact but powerful expression of that impulse. Pairing striking shots of Vancouver street corners with poetic voice over, Hoffart crafts her own ode to the feeling she discovered in her parking garage, that feeling of “walk[ing] past a memory”. She revisits the locations of eight intimate moments, each of which she shared with a different someone. The result is a kind of cinematographic map of the city that feels both highly personal and surprisingly universal; it places viewers as witnesses–and by definition, outsiders–to Hoffart’s memories, but simultaneously invites them to revisit their own.
Jackie Hoffart
“What I tried to do was really whittle down what was important for me about memories that I’d had in certain, specific spaces and accept them as they were,” she says. But rather than reenacting the eight moments exactly as they occurred, Hoffart wanted to capture each intersection as it was at the time of the filming. “Those places aren’t anything like they were at the time, but those memories remain intact. You encounter them whether it’s sunny or rainy or the middle of the night–you just hit them.”
To capture the timeless nature of those places, Hoffart filmed most locations on at least two different occasions, in two different lights. Through the collaboration of her director of photography, Jon Thomas, she incorporated different frame rates at different times. “[We wanted to create] an effect of things slowing down and speeding up,” she explains. Like memories themsel, each scene is “out of place and out of time, but then also anchored to that specific place and that specific time.” Kiss & Tell stays as true to those locations as possible.
The true power of Kiss & Tell lies not in what Hoffart captures on screen, but in what it evokes off screen. Each moment she shares suggests a backstory that the audience will never hear; each memory hints at future ones that the viewer will never see. Like a first kiss, Kiss & Tell leaves you moved, curious, and hungry for more.
Kiss & Tell is not yet available for public viewing, but you can follow Jackie Hoffart on Twitter or tune in to SADCAST, now (at least) monthly at sadcast.ca, for updates on when and where it’s playing next.
The Vancouver Queer Film Fest runs until August 23. Visit the festival website for tickets and showtimes.
If you wandered past Robson Square on the evening of August 13th, you may have glanced down to the ice rink and been a little puzzled. There was some swing-dancing happening initially, but then as people filtered in, the swathes of blue light began to encompass more than your run-of-the-mill mingling. To celebrate the kick-off of the 27th annual Queer Film Festival, attendees were graced by the presence of fire breathers, circus performers, and acrobats. If you hung around, you also likely took in some characteristically incredible performances from Shanda Leer, Anna Propriette, and ManUp’s PonyBoy.
It was a celebration by cinephiles of all sorts for cinephiles of even more sorts, loudly and stylishly setting off what’s going to be ten beautifully crafted days of seventy films (read about Program Director Shana Myara’s excited approach to the lineup here).
Some of SAD Mag’s lovely and talented writers will be preparing reviews and interviewing the creators of some choice films from this years lineup. Here’s what we’re most excited for!
“The infamous writer who sparked “the postmodern trial of the century,” JT LeRoy, a 15-year-old trans* sex worker, was hailed for writing heart wrenching novels. Chuck Palahniuk described JT as having the “authentic voice of someone who suffers.” Known for being deeply shy, JT LeRoy was encircled by a Warholian world of celebrities including Winona Ryder, Rosario Dawson, Natasha Lyonne, Sandra Bernhard, Gus Van Sant, Shirley Manson, Lou Reed and numerous writers and agents. But at the peak of JT’s 10-year rise came a rapid fall from grace. Was this the world’s largest literary scandal? Or a profound uncovering of our literary biases? Director Marjorie Sturm crafts a haunting, introspective documentary that questions artistic voice, freedom of speech and how far we will go to achieve our dreams.”
We’re excited to have an interview with director Marjorie Sturm to go along with the screening of JT LeRoy!
“This youth-full night of short films is just the tall order you’ve been looking for. We start this night by celebrating the young local filmmakers who won this year’s Rise Against Homophobia Youth Short Video Contest. Then we venture into an amazing international selection of shorts that delve into the awkward, the painful, and the silly moments of growing up queer. From first crushes in Mexico to dealing with friends – and enemies – in Denmark, to the perils of social media and nosy parents in Taiwan. “
Afterwards, the films were discussed by panelists Vi Read, Tahia Ahmed, and Jessie Anderson! The lineup of films to be shown include RISE AGAINST HOMOPHOBIA YOUTH SHORT VIDEO CONTEST WINNERS, and Love Intersections’ Regalia: Pride in Two Spirits from Canada; Carina, from Mexico by Sandra Reynoso; Big Time-My Doodled Diary by Sonali Gulati from India and the USA; CAGED (UITGESPROKEN) from the Netherlands by Lazlo and Dylan Tonk; and Penguins at the North Pole, by Stella Lin.
“This powerful film by writer-director July Jung presents a stunning reflection on immigration, rural life, addiction and abuse—and the heartbreak of finding no safe refuge in family or law. Young-Nam, an outsider with an unspoken scandal, is sent from Seoul to a small village to take over as police chief, and is soon drawn into the personal dramas of the locals. When her ex-lover arrives, Young-Nam’s defense of a girl in the town becomes suspect. A beautifully done, sometimes disturbing, and ultimately exquisite film, July Jung’s A Girl at My Door captures the fantasies and hopes of two people finding hard-won redemption.”
This film famously garnered a three-minute standing ovation at the Cannes Film Festival–don’t miss it!
“Stephen Cone (The Wise Kids) brings us another smart incisive film full of depth, guilt, pain, and peace. Traversing the common experience of growing up gay in a home where faith rules, Henry Gamble is turning 17 and his worlds of church, school, adult mentors, family, and youth group are colliding. When Logan (a quiet youth from his church group) arrives, Henry is pulled into the awkward longing and distancing that often comes with adolescent desire. A bold and complex image of the inner struggles of those who hold faith, this film is a sharp work with believable characters, excellent acting, and the beautiful reminder that “the trouble with growing up is that you are always becoming yourself.”
“A powerful adaptation of Markus Orths’ novel of the same name, The Chambermaid is a dream come true for every kinkster with a bent for complex portrayals of sex work, mental health and happy endings. This slow-burning drama offers up a make-you-wait-for-it depiction of a refreshingly weird duo of characters. Lynn’s highly regulated and mundane life as a cleaner at a hotel is transformed once she hires Chiara, a dominatrix sex worker who adds enough blast to her world to open her up and help her regain intimacy through kink. Starkness mixes with whimsy in this arthouse flick that amps up in the same way that love and recovery so often do.”
“Patricia Velasquez (Arrested Development, The L Word), also known as the first Latina lesbian supermodel, stars in this intimate love story as Liz, a party girl and heartbreaker who has a reputation for being irresponsible— and irrevocably seductive. She also has a secret. After she meets up with a group of friends for their annual celebration in the Caribbean, the mysterious Eva joins them and their lives become intertwined. With a lively cast including an ebullient group of friends, director Fina Torres brings us a meditation on the invisibility of death, the limits of life, and gaining what we need when we least expect it.Liz in September boldly reminds us that the best is yet to come.”
We’re going to have reviews of all of these films up in the coming weeks. Stay tuned!
Jacob Wren is a writer and performance artist whose work often theorizes about the state of contemporary art. He is the co-artistic director of the interdisciplinary art group PME-ART, the members of which sometimes “believe in being naive on purpose.” He has been blogging for ten years at A Radical Cut in the Texture of Realityand his book, Polyamorous Love Song, was listed as one of The Globe and Mail’s top 100 books of 2014. In the final essay of his newest book, a hybrid of non- and short-fiction called If our wealth is criminal then let’s live with the criminal joy of pirates(BookThug, 2015), Wren writes: “Like many of us, I am in crisis (with one possible difference being that I have a compulsion to announce my sense of crisis as often as possible). I am in crisis about art and also about everything else.”
SAD Mag’s Shannon Tien interviewed Wren to discuss this crisis of artistic ambition, naïve activism, hope, cynicism, and animism, among other meaty ideas.
Shannon Tien: What are you doing in Calgary right now?
Jacob Wren: I’m co-leading a project organized by the New Gallery that’s an art writing residency. There’s me and Jean Randolph co-leading it. We have a few participants that we’re working with for one month in person and then another four months long distance around questions of art writing.
ST: Cool. So let’s start the official interview. In your essay “Like a Priest Who Has Lost Faith” from your most recent book, you write about artworks having their own agency to get us to think in ways we might not have previously considered. Are there any artworks that have made you feel this way in particular?
JW: There probably are. We were talking the other day about this well-known artwork, the name of which I don’t know, by General Idea, where they took the famous “LOVE” graphic and replaced it with the word “AIDS” and that image, I think it was called “The Image Virus”, and that work traveled an enormous degree on its own through various media and became one of the many iconic images in the AIDS movement. I think that’s an example of a work that traveled a great deal on its own.
Image Virus (1987) by General Idea
Maybe that’s a very literal idea of an artwork having agency. I could also use a cliché historical example: the Goethe novel The Sorrows of Young Werther. A young man kills himself for unrequited love, and then there was a rash of suicides in Germany by young romantic men who read this and imitated it, which was not Goethe’s intention.
But I also think there are less literal examples. In a way all artworks that have any impact on us or enter into our lives make us do things that we don’t know are coming from that artwork. Things we might not have done had we not encountered that project. They might change our thinking or actions or raise questions about our lives that we might not have had otherwise. And I feel with these things, there are no guarantees. Like, maybe you did something because of the artwork, but maybe there were a number of factors that influenced how you thought and acted.
ST: And what is the consequence of assigning the agency to the artwork instead of the artist or the viewer?
JW: I mean, there’s multiple agencies acting on any decision or thought or action. There’s never only one factor as to why something happens. So of course the artist has agency, the viewer has agency, the artwork has agency, and when the different agencies come together, maybe something happens? Or maybe nothing happens?
As a writer, one thing that becomes very clear is that people read your work in ways you never intended or never thought of and also that this is a beautiful and positive thing. And that as a writer, trying to control your work’s public reception is a recipe for insanity and also probably a recipe for very mediocre work. Knowing that you’re making something that has a life outside of you and changes in its interaction with different people and different contexts–I think that’s an essential thing for making anything.
ST: Was there a moment in your writing career when you realized this? That the work had a life of its own? Did it change things?
JW: I don’t remember a specific moment, but I feel like it happens all the time in little ways. For me I might be a control freak, but I’m definitely not a control freak in that way. So I’ve never had any problem letting go. I feel like when it’s ready, people can do with it what they will.
ST: What is art writing? Is this how you would describe the genre that your book falls into?
JW: Well, it’s two short stories and an essay. So, it’s a hybrid book that brings together fiction and non-fiction. And I think one of the reasons we wanted to do this was because for me–and Malcolm Sutton who was the editor–we would like there to be more back-and-forth, more fluidity between fiction and nonfiction. And we don’t see a strong boundary between them.
ST: Yeah I like that idea. In your other book, Polyamorous Love Song, I felt like the short stories presented a lot of nonfiction theoretical ideas, kind of.
JW: Yes, I mean, you know, my fiction is always a fiction of ideas, and ideas are often presented in a…well I try to present the ideas in a clear, non-fiction way. And, for me novels are essays and essays are novels. It’s all in the same swirl of writing and thinking and presenting.
ST: I noticed on your blog, A Radical Cut in the Texture of Reality, that you were celebrating your blog’s 10-year anniversary. How does blogging influence your art and writing?
JW: Doing A Radical Cut has an enormously positive effect on my writing in that it’s allowed me to share short paragraphs or short excerpts as I work on them and get some response–put them out there in the world before they’re finished. It’s kept me writing, in a way. Often it could take me four years to write a novel and it’s kind of a secretive, lonely time. Having this way to share little bits and pieces as I go has really given me the energy to continue at many different points.
Also, it goes without saying that we live in the age of the internet. In general, how I’ve shared my work on the internet, mixing things I’ve written with quotes from other people, with songs and videos and having it all mixed together in a kind of giant internet pastiche has very much changed how I see writing and how I see art.
As you probably know, though, this little book was done as a special edition for Author for Indies Day. This was like a desire to have something for independent bookstores similar to Record Store Day–where there’s special editions and special records you can only get on that day–to try and create some excitement about small bookstores in the same way Record Store Day created some excitement around record stores. And I was really unsure that it would work. I was curious. But when I showed up at Type Books at Authors for Indies Day, there was a line up of people wanting to get in to get the special editions. So that gave me a really strange and excited feeling, that people would line up in the morning at an independent bookstore to get these things. I think it gives me a bit of hope.
A theme of breaking, splitting, and rebuilding ran through Wednesday’s QSONG (Queer Songwriters of a New Generation) showcase at the Roundhouse Performance Centre in Yaletown. It was a gloomy and drizzly summer night, but the young songwriters performing that evening created a warm, intimate atmosphere. Constructing just this type of space is the goal of the QSONG workshop, now in its second year. Musicians and mentors Sarah Wheeler and Ellen Marple met with Queer and allied Vancouver youth every Friday for a nine week period, helping them to expand their musical skill set and gain confidence in the nerve-wracking art of sharing deeply personal compositions on stage. The result was Wednesday’s showcase of original work, comprised of collaborative pieces and solo songs. It was the collaborative numbers that really shone; the energy and camaraderie of the group was palatable. In contrast, breakups and destructive love were at the core of much of the solo music, experiences which so often drive people to make music. QSONG alumni Gaby Lamoureaux provided one of the best performances: singing and playing the ukulele, the 25-year-old performed a song about moving on from a past relationship, but peppered the sadness with enough upbeat moments to keep the audience feeling hopeful.
When the lights came up at end of the evening the audience wasn’t quite ready to leave. Most people milled around the foyer, taking in the art on display, before bursting the bubble and venturing back into the world. The Roundhouse Performance Centre provided an attractive and supportive space for the musicians to showcase their work. Judging by the poise of all the young performers, it won’t be the last time they enjoy such an opportunity.
Follow the Queer Arts Festival on Twitter or visit the festival website for updates about future events.
Faced with the pile of submissions for this year’s Vancouver Queer Film Festival, Director of Festival ProgrammingShana Myara had her work cut out for her. “The struggle of curating the festival is really when to stop,” she told SAD Mag in a recent phone interview, “We only have ten days!”
Myara’s work has paid off, however; with over 70 films from 21 countries included in the final bill, and themes ranging from transgender athletes to gay camboys to bearded ladies, the 27th VQFF promises to wow audiences with a seriously stacked international lineup. Throw in a handful of Q&A’s with visiting filmmakers, a series of free workshops, and three special galas, and you have the creative smorgasborg that is this year’s festival. Film fans, mark your calendars: August 13 to 23 is going to be a busy–and eclectic–ten days.
It’s this eclecticism, Myara believes, that sets the festival apart. “We see so much of the samey-same out there that individuality is really quite a strength,” she explains. “That’s what Queer film festivals are all about.” Instead of selecting films by theme, Myara selects them by quality, and only later organizes them into categories.
The categories or “spotlights” that emerged this year are Canadian queer films, DIY Gender, queer youth culture and queer films from Latin America. Among the festival highlights are: a showing of Cannes-award-winning Korean filmmaker July Jung’sA Girl at My Door(and accompanying Q&A with the artist, Aug 19); a tailor-made archival program, Still Not Over It: 70 Years of Queer Canadian Film(Aug 18);and an 87 minute collection of shorts–made entirely by youth, for youth–called Bright Eyes, Queer Hearts(Aug 18).
The transformative power of film is one reason Myara likes to keep the bill so diverse. “Film really has the power to help us change our worldviews–to experience a life in another way,” she says. “At VQFF, we’re really mindful of those intersectional stories that speak to life told from the margins–stories that have the potential to make you feel more accepting, rather than close-minded–stories that don’t necessarily have all the right answers, but ask the right questions.”
VQFF takes their mission out of the cinema and into the classroom with the Out in Schools program, run through Out on Screen. The program brings age-appropriate queer films to schools, using film as a “springboard for a discussion around acceptance and understanding.” By helping to create an accepting learning environment through film, Out in Schools hopes to prevent bullying, exclusion, and violence.
In a city that’s been called the gay-bashing capital of Canada, it’s easy to see why these discussions are so important. “Unfortunately violence against the community is a very real part of our history and our present,” Myara sighs. “But I often look at violence as having a rebound effect; violence against a few creates a feeling of solidarity in a community.” And community, she continues, is what VQFF is all about. “From the beginning it’s been very open-armed; everyone who wants to come is welcome.”
“It’s a really exceptional feeling to feel welcomed when you arrive somewhere,” Myara observes, and her smile is almost audible over the phone. “The festival, first and foremost, brings people together.”
The Vancouver Queer Film Festival runs from August 13 – 23. For showtimes and locations, visit the festival website.
In the moments before the event began, a digital image of a living space, like a cartoon combination of IKEA and the Sims, was projected on to the floor-to-ceiling screen at the back of the stage, a representation of the normativeness that would be shattered throughout the night.
The event was a pairing of emerging and professional artists. First, PROX:IMITY RE:MIX, a performance by a group of queer youth, aged 15-24, fresh off a two-week mentorship with MACHiNENOiSY, and second, Kinesis Dance performing Night, by Para Terezakis.
Image from MACHiNENOiSY.com
PROX:IMITY RE:MIX was an array of individual and ensemble pieces, ranging from free movement to choreographed dance, spoken word, performance art and monologue. The performers interacted with their images, which were recorded live and projected onto the screen behind them. The imagery was often colourful and created both concrete and abstract depictions of them. It was all underpinned by a rich and diverse soundscape.
PROX:IMITY RE:MIX was a synergy between imagery, physicality, sound and story. Namely, the personal stories of the youth: “My name is ______, I am ______ years old and my pronoun is ______”, was an echoing refrain throughout the performance.
It touched upon the rigidity of binaries, the process of coming out, victim blaming, the beauty of home and love, and the triumph of being your true self. It was the authenticity, the vulnerability and the strength of the youth that carried the show. Young people, telling their stories, sharing their truth, being brave.
Some youth were at the beginning of their artistic journeys, while others already had their wings and were flying. Together though, they had continuity, both working within their respective abilities and pushing their edges.
Night was a journey through the darkness, a ride through the peaks and valleys of the nocturne: excitement, chaos, lust and love, connection, shame, voyeurism and the collecting of one’s self and their things afterwards, at sunrise, to begin anew.
At its best the performance was compelling, moving and provocative, but at times also frenetic and flat. That said, it was mostly pop and fizz. The piece grappled with the sexual fluidity of roles, partners and gender, feelings of shame in desire, and disconnection from normative values of sex, beauty and attraction.
The narrative of the performance was driven by an eclectic mix of music switched, often abruptly, by different performers from a laptop sitting on a desk on stage. Stark changes in lighting and the use of each of the character’s possessions: clothing and other personal effects carried in a bag, punched through the movements and feeling of a night in many vignettes.
Its seams were left intentionally unfinished and showing, the fourth wall was broken, and the viewer, and the other dancers for that matter, was given free reign to gawk and stare at the creatures of the night, their movements communicating their intent and emotion with clarity. With red lips they embarked on a metamorphosis from dusk till dawn, the only remnants of which were a pair of red heels and a row of lipstick cases, standing on end.
“Good luck.” It’s always “good luck.” Never has there been a wink and a “see you soon.” I get that that would probably be collusion or some shit, but how often do I have to come in here and buy stale potato chips and a $7.00 Quick Pick before “good luck” becomes “good job?”
Someone in Alberta is always winning. A $50 mil ticket was sold there this goddamn week––the CBC’s website made sure to rub that “news” in my face. I would do great things with my winnings. I’d rescue a shelter cat, neuter it (not myself, but with my winnings I could go to vet school and learn to neuter), buy it a really nice scratching post with three to four different levels for it to explore, then buy a house for myself so the cat doesn’t have to be trapped with me in my sweaty little bachelor suite with its three to four level scratching post blocking the way to the bathroom. I’d definitely put its litter box in the bathroom too. It’d be real cute to take a simultaneous shit with your cat.
Of course I’d donate to things if I won. Food banks. Hungry drives. My cousin’s app he’s working on that detects early onset halitosis. It wouldn’t be all about me. Sure, obviously some of it would. The authentic (and autographed) Bonnie “Prince” Billy face cast would cost a few pennies. The discovery and tapping of the aquifer on my new property would cost a few more. But winning the lottery for me is really a selfless act. Think of the cat, the hungry people, and my cousin. Deshi, come on.
For more Portraits of Brief Encounters, follow Cole Nowicki on Instagram or Twitter, or visit the POBE website.
Flerida Peña’s Sister Mary’s a Dyke?!, which featured at this year’s Queer Arts Festival, is a fun and energetic show with potential. Set in an all-girls Catholic school, the one-woman play follows 14 year old Abby as she adjusts to life at the Crown of Thorns Academy. We watch as she discovers her sexuality, falls in and out of love and joins a guerrilla organization founded by one the nuns (“Communal Living In Tents,” or to keep it brief: “C.L.I.T.”).
The first act is introspective and focuses on Abby’s coming out and her disillusionment with the Catholic Church. She prays to her “BFF” (Jesus) and tries to understand what two of her classmates were doing together naked in bed. It’s honest yet self-censored, like reading someone’s diary who worries their mother may find it.
The second act takes a dramatically different turn. Abby joins C.L.I.T. and parachutes into the Vatican to help Sister Mary become Pope. The action was exciting but felt at odds with the first act, almost as if the two acts were part of two different productions.
The plot is forwarded by Abby posing rhetorical questions to herself, to Jesus, and to the audience. While these concerns are valid, they becoming tiring and predictable as the show progresses. Abby wrestles with common knowledge, most of which is hard to believe she hasn’t encountered previously. For example, at age 14, she has never questioned why women can’t be ordained.
Aside from Abby, we only see other characters briefly. The play could have been strengthened by their presence, because, as is often the case, the protagonist was not the most interesting character. I craved more of El (an endearing jock and Abby’s first love) and Sister Mary (a radical, unapologetic nun). If nothing else, including more of them would have diversified the monologue format of the show.
For all its brilliant moments, Sister Mary’s A Dyke!? lagged behind in dialogue. Though the situation, characters and ideas are intriguing and unique, I would love to see them expanded on.
I entered the Queer Arts Festival’s opening gala art show, Trigger: Drawing The Line in 2015, not knowing what to expect. I’d attended an all-girl Catholic school for 13 years, where topics of sexuality and DIY gender were rendered taboo and offensive. Though a socially-conscious liberal arts education later broadened my initial black and white worldview, I was still unsure how I’d react to an exhibit specifically aimed at ‘triggering” its visitors with challenging, explicit artwork.
Equal parts community education and artistic expressionism, it’s easy to see why this exhibit attracts a diverse audience of all sexual orientations. Personal narratives by local and international artists highlighted some of the Queer community’s trials and triumphs, both historic and contemporary. Many artists incorporated mixed media and found objects into their work, making their stories more tangible and connected to the community at large. Curated by SD Holman, the show drew from and contributed to a long history of powerful sociopolitical arts activism through interactive performance and visual art.
I was especially impressed by Coral Short’s emotionally-laden opening performance art piece, Stop Beating Yourself Up, and Amy Dame’s thought provoking series, Fallen Heroes: Drawing the Line. As Short, armed with a pair of boxing gloves, (literally) beat herself up on stage, I was reminded of Fight Club’s unnamed protagonist, the Narrator, and his fight against his own inner demons. Meanwhile, Dame’s intricately sewn portraits invited the public to draw–or, rather, sew–their own lines across the faces of well-known Queer personalities using bright red thread. Dame’s “lines” examined the difference between shame and admiration: When can a person no longer be viewed as a role model? How far is too far?
By placing works by more than 15 radically different artists side by side, the exhibition explored some of the challenges continually faced by those who identify as Queer. From navigating identity politics to resisting ongoing violence and discrimination, the Queer community has always pushed boundaries in order to produce exciting, provocative and edgy art; Trigger: Drawing the Line in 2015 is no exception.
Trigger: Drawing The Line in 2015 (SD Holman) runs until August 7 at Yaletown Roundhouse Community Center, and is by donation. For a full listing of Queer Arts Festival events, visit the QAF website.
When I first read the summary of Cosmophony, a collaboration between the Queer Arts Festival and the Powell Street Festival, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. After all, how is an auditory representation of space manifested? How does one describe space and the cosmos through music, much less through music played only on a piano by a single artist? Would it be an epic space theme a la Star Wars‘ opening credits? Or an ethereal and ominous soundtrack that captures the vast darkness that is our universe?
Earth, photo by NASA
It turns out, it was much more than that. Pianist Rachel Kiyo Iwaasa commissioned 11 Canadian composers to create this beautiful musical journey through our solar system. Each composer focused on a different planet or space entity. The result was that each planet sparked in its audience a different affect and atmosphere. However, through Iwaasa’s beautiful and skillful musicianship, each composition was tied to the next in a cohesive performance that felt perfectly natural. Iwaasa truly managed to do justice to each and every piece she played, holding the audience captivated for the full hour-long performance.
The performance took place in Firehall Arts Centre, a space with an intimate and communal atmosphere. The set was simple: Iwaasa at her piano, with a screen playing images of each planet as the backdrop. The audience’s full focus could be on the music being performed, with pieces by composers including Rodney Sharman, Marci Rabe, Alexander Pechenyuk, Jocelyn Morlock, Chris Kovarik, Jeffrey Ryan, Stefan Udell, and Jennifer Butler. The show opens with Denis Gougeon’s passionate Piano-Soleil. From the sun, we are taken through the planets, over epic Mercury and gentle Venus, over the Asteroid Belt described by Jordan Nobles’ Fragments, and over to Gliese 581c, a faraway planet that is one of the human race’s only shreds of hope for relocation once we burn through all of our own natural resources—a theme which composer Emily Doolittle depicts with great passion. The performance is not just a piano concert; it is a social commentary on the ways in which we abuse our own planet, as well as an exploration of not only the vast cosmos itself, but of the human race’s role in the solar system.
Mercury, photo by NASA
Through this journey, Cosmophony manages to encapsulate multiple themes: human awe at the vastness of space, the continued exploration of space, the mysteries of the cosmos, and the environmental havoc that we have wreaked upon our own planet. Whether you are a space buff, a classical music fan, a lover of community art, or a combination of the three, Iwaasa’s stellar performance and the beautiful collaboration of talent managed to create something that will speak to everyone.
The idea for Kiss & Tell (2015) hit filmmaker Jackie Hoffart like a whack over the head–an emotional, repeated, and unavoidable whack.
