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The Light Within

Profile: Julia Sauvé

by Jane Ledwell

Julia Sauvé (photo: Buzz)Julia Sauvé has a “glow” about her, and it lights up in black light. The dancer, choreographer, and teacher is founder of Luminosity Black Light Theatre, the only black light performing company in the Maritimes. Julia is working with a cast ranging in ages from 10 to 16 to create The Mermaid and the Droplets at The Guild.

“With black light, you have a lot in your imagination, and you never really know what it will look like until the dress rehearsal,” she enthuses. “That’s the magic of black light: You’re not seeing the whole body. What you’re seeing is what’s been decided to light up. There are no labels, in terms of ‘this person has more experience than this person’ or ‘this person has a different body type than that person.’”

After a New York-youth filled with energetic movement (“I was a very active child—always running around, very physical,” Julia recalls), Julia was a dancer first, but branched out early into teaching and choreography. She moved to PEI in 1980, to co-found and co-direct the Montage Dance Company. Then, twenty-five years ago this year, she and Peggy Reddin co-founded dance umbrella, a vital force in teaching and promoting dance in PEI.

“If you want to live an artist’s life you have to be versatile,” Julia says. “When you’re in your kitchen making all this [choreography] up, it’s very personal. But it may be for 15 or 70 or 17 or 5 people to interpret. When you sit in the audience and they are performing the choreography, it’s theirs, and they are having this gift exchange with the audience. It’s very moving,” she says.

A key question in the arts for Julia is, “How does one give back?” With performers, she says, “You keep developing what they do so that they can be the best they can be. And when you see that happen—it’s the best thing… They get the opportunity to create, and it shouldn’t be diminished, that.”

Julia’s adventures in black light came about through an ArtsSmarts program with West Royalty school. After creating a black-light show of The Great Kapok Tree with 65 grade fours, she says, “I had an a-ha moment—I’ve always loved creating community with dance and theatre.” She realized, “I could do my own company, and do black light.” Her Luminosity company put on productions of The Great Kapok Tree for two summers.

Luminosity’s environmental themes are important: The Mermaid and the Droplets dramatizes the water cycle. Water is, to Julia, “a life force that is in us and all around us. Water has no sense of itself. It just is. It doesn’t sit still, but it has no idea it’s going to flood Alberta. It’s people that have to change. Water cannot change its own nature.” The story of water is told through “cute, friendly characters, but the message is vital: “This is your dance through the world,” she says. “I want people to fall in love with water, to create that reverence for water.”

She says, “I see my performers as environmental activists, as social activists.” In the arts, she emphasizes, “You have to be okay with the fact that things are going to change.”

Julia is moved by the privilege of teaching, whether at dance umbrella or Holland College School of Performing Arts. “You are trying out all your creativity for your students as you teach,” she says. “It’s space, time, and energy—which is what all movement is, and dance is one part of it…” Performing “creates a community that has a common goal. The growth you see, the evolution you see in a period of time you are together, it’s amazing.”

“I say to students that so often you have to allow room for yourself and your piece to evolve.” While she is still growing and evolving in her art, Julia reflects, “I think I will look back on life and feel fortunate. I’m a people person, and I get to work with such talented people. Then,” she smiles, “it’s on to the next show—whatever that is.”

A Sense of Wonder

Alice in Wonderland

Review by Jane Ledwell

Beach-goers who want an evening to relax at the theatre have tremendous options this summer, and several of the options are even close by the ocean. The Montgomery Theatre in North Rustico, newly renamed the Watermark, continues to set high-tide marks on Prince Edward Island’s theatrical sand. Their production of Alice in Wonderland is another example of the Watermark’s commitment to creating magical theatrical worlds with top-notch acting and production.

The Watermark’s Alice was my almost seven-year-old daughter’s first introduction to Alice, though the morning after the play, she pulled Lewis Carroll’s classic Alice books from the shelf for a poring over. Mike Griffin’s fresh adaptation of Alice is very faithful to the book, in setting, spirit, and events, showcasing in sequence Alice’s encounters with Wonderland’s varied and familiar characters. Griffin begins Alice’s story in her nursery rather than a riverbank and surrounding her with toys, people, and themes which reappear, transformed, in her Wonderland dream. This is the same trick as MGM’s The Wizard of Oz, and it’s a device I’m not fond of despite its effectiveness because I’m allergic to the urge to make nonsense, or anything, more literal.

Laurie Campbell illuminates Alice’s curiosity. She is a responsive audience for the stories of Wonderland. It is a strength of the adaptation and of Campbell’s acting that we identify so easily with Alice – the only drawback being that we’re likely to identify with her frustration or tedium with the more tendentious characters as much as we identify with her delight with the marvelous, imaginative, and surprising characters.

That cast of characters varies in style and energy, with a company of a half-dozen players playing a dozen-and-a-half roles—in fabulous, must-see costumes by Scott Penner. (I looked forward to each costume with delight.) The audience—and Alice—responded heartily to Rebecca Parent’s Duchess and Jody Racicot’s Mock Turtle, and the energy of the room picked up noticeably any time either of these two actors was on stage in a new role.

Jonathan Whittaker’s joyfully behatted Mad Hatter was suitably mad, and Jonathan Widdifield’s fleeting presences as the White Rabbit delighted audiences by employing every rabbit hole of the stage and the set. As the decapitous Queen of Hearts Gracie Finlay caused the required recoil with her rolling “Off with their heads!”

In a world of CGI can transform anything into anything else with a shift of pixels, my curiosity and delight are always piqued by special effects in the theatre, which require such creative problem-solving and a sense of fun. Alice must shrink and grow, stretch and swim, interact with a vanishing Cheshire Cat, and play croquet with a flamingo as a mallet. All this, and projections by Erin Gruber also integrate classic John Tenniel line-drawings from Alice in Wonderland.

The adaptation and direction by Mike Griffin and production design by Scott Penner combine to capture the visual fun and nonsense of Alice in Wonderland very successfully. The nonsense, creativity, and delight of Lewis Carroll’s language come through less clearly—sometimes a bit murgled by a variety of trans-Atlantic accents or affectations, or overwhelmed by other flonthy fun.

But my daughter had no trouble following the nonsense. She responded warmly to the actors and loved especially the creatively conceived scene in which Alice grows and stretches to fill the entire stage and the music by Michael Docherty. Anyone who shares her same sense of wonder in the theatre will love Wonderland.

Alice in Wonderland is a worthwhile late night for children, but the play will also please beach-tired or work-weary grown-ups ready to give over to silliness and nonsense for an evening—whether it will make them, like Alice, smaller or larger or stretch them in all directions.

Strength of Line

Profile: Diane Gaudreau

by Jane Ledwell

Diane Gaudreau (photo: Buzz)There’s a real strength in line you don’t get with a lot of other arts,” says master woodworker Diane Gaudreau of her craft. Her strong and graceful design has led to pieces selected for the Cheoungju International Biennale in South Korea and the 2010 Cultural Olympiad—and for commissions such as the Northern Lights Award.

Diane says, “You embrace the grain, and if there’s a gift in the wood, you accept it. You have to be open to things speaking to you, and you can’t always go in the direction you think you ought to go. You have to know when to u-turn,” she smiles.

Diane and her husband, Jacques Gaudreau, her partner from the age of 18, lived as life and business partners, parents, and owners of Gaudreau’s Fine Woodworking in Rustico. Jacques died of cancer 17 months ago, leaving Diane to ask: “Can I function in this world by myself? Who is this person who is by herself now?

“We had a 365-days-a-year partnership, and with that came a lot of skills that went beyond the business: creativity, problem-solving, compromise. I had a lot of gifts from that intense relationship,” Diane says. “These are the same skills to move your self through loss. I flat-lined my life—and have chosen what to put back in.”

Last year, she says, “Biking was my saving grace.” Over more than 5,000 kms, “I laid my grief down on the bike path. I learned cadence, and basic maintenance, and preventive maintenance—taking care of things so you don’t have problems.”

She followed biking with solo international travel and discovery. “You have to have a soul to be a creative person. If you lose your soul, you have to put it back in first,” Diane reflects.

“At the end of the soul-searching, I discovered I was the same 18-year-old who walked into this business and the training and the marriage. After a life-altering experience, I have come full circle. I’m back at the beginning, physically in the same space, but building a new foundation.”

Of living a creative life here, she says, “You have to be open-minded to combine your lifestyle with your work… I don’t think there are many challenges one couldn’t overcome without hard work, and following the line.

“Creativity is not when you’re making physical products. There’s a lot more to it—even when it is a physical object or functional product in the end. We get way too hung up on that part.” Fine craft is part of a whole life. “An unhappy potter will make unhappy pots… You have to throw your good energy into it, or not at all.”

As a creative person, “so much of your life is your responsibility. You can’t complain much—because it was always your design. To be a creative person is not just a job.”

Diane confesses, “I’m in a philosophical, reflective place right now, and rightfully so… If you take reflective time, you can be much more productive. Sometimes pushing it through is not the answer.”

Among other profound insights about widowhood, Diane comments, “Widows aren’t viewed as individual people any more. They are seen as leftover remnants of a marriage.” Diane is rebuilding her individuality and creativity as a woodworker and as a woman.

“It’s one hell of a shock, though,” she says. “Nothing moves unless you move it.

“I’ve been in and out of the (woodworking) studio,” Diane says. Before he died, Jacques unloaded 2 tons—4,000 pounds—of bird’s-eye maple. “We knew there was a possibility he might not be alive to utilize that wood,” Diane remembers.

Now, she says, “I’m looking at that wood. It’s my responsibility now. It’s one of Jacques’ last gifts. Psychologically, it is a big load. But I walk by it now, and it whispers to me. It’s starting to speak to me. I’ll see what kind of conversation we have.

“It’s beautiful wood. I’m not in a rush to cut, but I know the work will be smaller and more detailed, and it will create a lot of line,” she says.

A Normal Life

Profile: Hank Stinson

by Jane Ledwell

Hank Stinson (photo: Buzz)A small-town boy from a British Columbia pulp-and-paper town, Hank Stinson has been active as an actor and in the theatre since 1969. And yet, in an introspective conversation, he insists he has had “two careers.”

“From the time I graduated in 1969, to the late 1970s, I was pursuing a theatrical ‘career,’” Hank recalls. “I worked most theatres across the country, and I reached what I thought was the pinnacle: the Stratford Festival. And it was wonderful—I worked on ‘King Lear’ with Bill Hutton and Peter Ustinov. And I thought, this is great. I’m working with a well-established company… but this isn’t ‘me.’” He laughs self-deprecatingly and adds, “Also, I wasn’t getting the big parts!”

While at Stratford, he jumped at the opportunity to develop his own work and created and starred in the show Flash in the Pan. The Charlottetown Festival’s Alan Lund saw it in Toronto and brought it to Charlottetown in 1980, and Hank with it. It was the putative end of his theatrical “career,” but the beginning of a fuller life. When he met his wife Rowena here, he realized, “I was just basically lonely. Here, I found a place I was connected, where I belonged.”

Hank says, “It is unusual for an actor to work at home. The actor’s stock-in-trade is his mobility. But I like a normal life,” Hank smiles. “I like to belong to the Rotary, to the church choir. This kind of life is luxury for actor-gypsies who are never in one place more than a few weeks.

“Some theatrical opportunities have escaped me,” he admits, “but I’ve been able to produce others…” He has acted in “many, many productions” and seen musicals and revues he co-created produced, from Canada Rocks to shows based on the life and work of L.M. Montgomery (including The Blue Castle, currently being translated into Japanese).

Beyond the Charlottetown Festival and Theatre New Brunswick or Neptune Theatre, he has performed in Anne and Gilbert, volunteered with Theatre PEI, toured productions to nursing homes with Young at Heart Theatre Company, and created cantatas for his church choir. “I get as much artistic satisfaction out of that as I do on the Mainstage at the Confederation Centre, though some would see that as not important in a ‘career,’” Hank says.

He contrasts two career decisions in his life. He auditioned for the original production of Les Miz and was offered the part—but the contract wasn’t as appealing as the offer, and it would have meant at least a two-year separation from home and family. He said no.

At another point, he signed up to take an Education degree. “I thought I would be a teacher and make a regular salary,” he says. “I was accepted into the program and signed up—and then I was invited to do a run of Billy Bishop—and I was gone like a shot.” He did not become a teacher.

“I’m not temperamentally suited for acting,” he reflects, “but it’s what I am trained to do, and I have an instinct for what I’m doing.”

He says, “There’s a large picture of life in which your profession fits, some way or another… I think you get strength from family and friends and community—and you bring all that to your profession. People ask me what I’m doing—meaning what acting part I am playing—as if that describes who I am. Well, it doesn’t tell the whole story,” he says.

This summer, Hank returns to the Charlottetown Festival in Dear Johnny Deere, as the narrator and a grizzled newspaperman. In addition, he is working on a commission for the Theatre New Brunswick Young Company, and a walking tour on rum running, with Rowena. “You do it because someone asked you to,” he says.

Acting is an art you only get to practice by invitation. On the negative side, Hank says, “In theatre, you exist for six weeks, and then stop existing.” On the positive side, “Lifelong friendships are formed among cast. They are special bonds—and it is not necessarily theatre that keeps them together, but they start there.”

Hank Stinson adds, “It’s the best sort of play that adults can do together.” Hank pauses and with a glint in his eye laughs, “Oh, wait. Maybe second best.” Let the play go on.

Half the Conversation

by Jane Ledwell

Profiles
Reviews

If your eye is drawn to the artist profile in The Buzz in any month, it is probably drawn by a photo of the person being featured. I love these photos. Usually purpose-posed for The Buzz article, they give me a glimpse of a person I’ve met from a new angle, in a new light.

For the past fifteen years, I have usually written the article that surrounds the photo, I hope what you find in the words is a reflection of what I see in the photo: someone from PEI’s arts and culture community taking a solo under the spotlight, a glimpse of personality seen through the lens of an hour’s conversation. There is, I hope, some light in the frame, and some lightness. And I hope the effect flatters more than it exposes flaws.

To me, what’s special about The Buzz is that it creates these small spaces for conversations of word and image. I like being part of The Buzz’s 20-year project to help the PEI arts and culture community create portraits of our best selves. The Buzz’s tone—pitched for enduring quality and long-term relationships rather than one-night stands and cutting-edge cool—is a lot to live up to. Every month, writing the artist profile asks me to be my best self—to listen well, to hear others’ truths, and to share what’s best of others’ voices, words, and achievements.

Peter Richards first invited me to write a profile in 1998. I missed out on the first few years of The Buzz—not to mention all the PEI people and events it featured. It wasn’t until 1996 that I moved back to Prince Edward Island after studying “away.” Although I had grown up here, when I returned, it took another two years before I was beginning to get my feet under me, to meet people here and begin to make a life in the community. Going out to meet a new profile subject every month was a helpful pleasure.

These days, when full-time work and small children make serious one-on-one conversations with grown-ups a rarity, my Buzz interview is still a treat to look forward to each month.

Writing a profile for The Buzz takes me about three hours a month: an hour to hang out and chat with an artist, an hour to draft a too-long article, and an hour to edit the draft down to about 35 words over my assigned word count and then give up on paring more.

When I feel overwhelmed with deadlines and responsibilities, I revisit my schedule to see where I could cut back on work time and increase play time. The easiest thing to cut from my schedule to reclaim a few hours a month would be my Buzz article. And yet, I never cut it. Maybe it’s because my best self is my writing self.

I’ve had to bow out a few months over 15 years—a month here for a major work project, a month there for an unexpected illness, a month or two for a new baby—but only a few.

And yet, The Buzz deadline I remember most clearly was one I missed. In August 2008, I was scheduled to interview someone for a profile, but my dying father’s health took a sudden decline. Unable to sleep, my first and only instinct was to get up at 5:00 in the morning and write. An obituary, for when the time came. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I sent it to The Buzz for them to do with as they wished. Later that day, my father died. When The Buzz came out two weeks earlier, I felt exhausted and exposed, but I was so glad to have a place—a shared place—to pay tribute.

The Buzz is a where we share information about what’s important to us as the community—especially those of us who respond to the most important events in our lives by writing, making, acting, creating, singing, dancing, dreaming.

Thanks to The Buzz, I think we do more making. And we do it on a deadline. Even in this age of social media and the possibility of instantaneous publicity, the 15th of the month is a structuring principle of PEI arts and culture event planning. Events which had seemed ad hoc, loosey-goosey, and random when I was a teenager on the Island in the 1980s gained some structure when The Buzz began. If an event was going to be a success, it had to have a time and venue settled by the 15th of the previous month.

Of course, there are still many ways of seeing success, and I love that The Buzz sees it broadly. The Buzz profiles people at centre stage and those who work behind the scenes. I’ve had the chance to talk with the voluble and garrulous and also with the shy and taciturn. Each interview is a surprise, and when I return to my hand-written notes, sometimes the quietest interview has the most insight. Sometimes, of course, it’s a challenge to meet my own goal of shaping the story using the person’s own words. But even when I make mistakes, even when I cannot make the story flow, and even when I fall back on worn-out patterns and themes, I trust that an article will never be dull as long as it is in the subject’s own voice. In that voice is a spark of their fascinating human creativity.

This anniversary year, as I profile people who have been active in their arts and culture careers for more than twenty years, longevity is a theme. With some nostalgia and some dismay, I notice I’ve been speaking to artists who have outlived the arts and culture institutions and supports that nurtured their early careers. Over 15 years, whether I interviewed emerging or established artists, the strongest theme I’ve heard is the day-to-day struggle to stay active in the arts and culture in Prince Edward Island and the challenge of making a living here. And every one has said the struggle is worth it. Doing what you love, doing meaningful work, making sense of the world through art, giving your time over to your passion is worth it.

In the years when my only flimsy grasp on the cultural community is a monthly three-hour commitment to writing an artist profile, I am grateful that The Buzz has continued, courageous and FREE for 20 years. I celebrate that longevity.

There’s an alchemy to Peter Richards’s selections of who to profile for The Buzz. He combines his mental list of who we should talk to, who we’ve talked to already, who we haven’t talked to for a while, who has something interesting coming up, and who would fit in well with the themes emerging in each month’s edition. And when inspiration strikes, he makes a suggestion, and I arrange for a conversation.

The artist profiles you read in The Buzz are at most half the conversation. So many wonderful stories and insights fall outside the word limits. But The Buzz as a whole fills in the big picture. If a profile is a headshot of an artist, then each month’s Buzz is a panorama that places that artist fullblown in their landscape, in the arts and culture and community scene on Prince Edward Island. And even that’s not the whole picture. When a profile gives you half the conversation with an artist; when The Buzz gives you half the view of what’s going on in PEI, the other half is up to you and your imagination.

Jane Ledwell is…

Jane LedwellJane Ledwell is a writer and editor based in Charlottetown, where she lives with her husband, visual artist Stephen B. MacInnis, and their young children Anna and Sam. She has published one book of poetry, Last Tomato (Acorn Press, 2005) and has been involved in dozens of books and publishing projects as a contributor or editor. She was the 2011 recipient of the PEI Award for Distinguished Contribution to the Literary Arts, partly in acknowledgment of her writing for The Buzz. Over 15 years, she has written more than 150 artist profiles and reviews. Her current full-time work is as Executive Director of the PEI Advisory Council on the Status of Women.

It Takes a Village

Profile: Daphne Large

by Jane Ledwell

Daphne Large (photo: Buzz)The area once known as “Clifton Corner” once was a “bustling village” with a two-storey general store where you could buy everything from beans to furniture. The village continued to bustle as, years later, the original Presbyterian manse became a new general store run by Kitty Cotton, who was also postmistress. “The store was where people would gather on Saturday night—mainly men but some women too—to talk,” says Daphne Large, who in that building has run Village Pottery for a milestone forty years in the village now known as New London.

In the spring of 1973, Daphne Large had only just graduated from the Nova Scotia College of Art when her mother noticed the empty store building. In the DIY spirit of art school graduates everywhere, Daphne called in friends to build something of it. “I had a degree in fine arts and education, but I quickly got in the studio and absolutely loved it.” Daphne says, “I was naïve enough to think I could do it all—make all those pots I wanted to make and run the business.”

There was no heat in the old general store, and she got an oil stove that once almost burned the shop down. But Daphne kept much of the old store’s history alive. What is now the “mug room” still has the postmistress’s original letter boxes. Many original fittings remain—including shelves in the main selling area that were once the Saturday night gathering point. The Village Pottery got moved down the road to its current location in 1994. Through 40 years, Daphne says, “People in New London were really great.”

It takes a village to grow a shop, and Daphne says, “I’ve always depended on really great people to work with me.” Many people Daphne hired eventually put their hands to the wheel and became “excellent potters” who now have their own studios.

“I did take education, and that really made a difference,” Daphne thinks. “I had an innate thing where I would just let information go. I think because of that, the shop flourished. It was a little incubator.” And in the winter, the help meant Daphne and her co-workers could experiment with more things and bring in more creativity. Today, there are more than 65 things they make for the shop.

Making pottery for 40 years is not only about starting things but also about follow-through. “In pottery, if you start making a pitcher that needs handles, or a teapot that needs a spout, you can’t just leave it undone,” she says.

Daphne made pots and ran the business while raising three children, and though Daphne’s love of pottery was clearly contagious, she did not expect her own children to take an interest in pottery—until two years ago. Her daughter Suzanne Scott had completed a degree in tourism and made friends around the world. “She was so enticed by places around the world,” Daphne says, “and on the Island it is always a worry people will leave and stay away… But Suzanne had a chance to go to other places, and it helped her see what is here. Sure, it’s a struggle [to live on PEI], but people tend to work it out.”

Suzanne has brought social marketing savvy to Village Pottery that has breathed new life and given “instantaneous access to people around the world.” The inspiration has kept her mom’s joy in her work kindled. Daphne is also delighted at her daughter’s development as a potter. “I bought a slab roller two years ago, as an easier way to get started in pottery,” she says.

"Suzanne is good at multi-tasking and going fast—she picked up a lot from me,” Daphne laughs, “I knew she mightn’t be patient.” Suzanne uses the slab roller for pieces that do her mother proud, but now is throwing too. “Suzanne has managed to double her output over a year and to develop skills in courses at the PEI Potters’ Studio with Ron Arvidson,” Daphne says.

The long-lived Villlage Pottery means intergenerational experiences and meeting the children of people who were children themselves when they first visited the shop. When they celebrate their 40th anniversary this year, two generations of potters will greet two—or more—generations of pottery and art lovers, and welcome them into the village.

On the Road of Song

Profile: Teresa Doyle

by Jane Ledwell

Teresa Doyle (photo: Kat McKeeman)In 1980, when an adventurous, just-out-of-school Teresa Doyle played the Winnipeg Folk Festival, less than a handful of folk musicians were touring out of the East Coast.

At the 2013 East Coast Music Awards in Halifax, the Island singing legend and 12 other of those pioneers received a 25th Anniversary Award. “It was a really nostalgic night,” she says, not only because a “touching speech that Ron Hynes gave made everyone cry,” and because of Stompin’ Tom’s recent death, but because she was missing her friend, Raylene Rankin. “who,” she says, “really had a lot more to see and sing and write.”

Teresa recalls of her friend, “I was remembering back when she was still stuffing her own envelopes [with albums] —and I’m still stuffing my own envelopes, but I’m glad to be here to do it.”

When Teresa Doyle released her first album on vinyl in 1987, it was “the only PEI recording in crafts shops in PEI.” She and others “had to create a whole industry from the ground up. We had to invent it, one step at a time—how to get airplay, how to do distribution.”

The singer followed musical interests and intriguing collaborations, exploring PEI folk legends, touring Japan with early Elizabethan music, making three award-winning recordings of Celtic children’s music and an all-Gaelic album, studying East Indian music and sound yoga, and even returning to singing the jazz she cut her teeth on in Montreal for the seven years between 1980 and 1987—before “it was just time to come home, grow a garden, get married, and have a baby,” she smiles.

“My career has been stumbling from one stepping stone to the next, never with a plan,” she says. “What I’ve done is to follow what interested me.”

Teresa says her new album, Song Road, takes us on her journey and “integrates who I really am” by integrating many styles, themes, and genres. “I just like singing,” she says. “I’m really proud of this record.”

With the coming year a “whirlwind” of festivals and tours, Teresa says, “My career seems to be ramping up, if anything.” However, Teresa says (for all musicians), “In order for people to continue to make music, people must buy CDs and come to shows. It’s takes more than a ‘Congratulations’ and ‘I’m proud of you’…Music has been demonetized. Musicians are living on half as much money as 15 years ago.”

Living on little is part of a philosophy at Rock Barra, the North Side artist’s retreat Teresa coordinates: “There’s no staff, no budget, no debt. We operate from one miracle to the next,” she says. One project of the retreat is to celebrate the northeast of PEI. “It’s a minor miracle,” she says, “a mix of really, really local folks and people who want to do something really outside the box.”

Supporting creativity is vital because “artists need to help revision a new society.” Teresa says, “I’m trying to figure out my role in moving a new vision of PEI forward, that’s community-based and sustainable… I want to explore ways of living communally in rural PEI.”

She recently wrote an anti-fracking song called “Let’s Ban the Foolin’ Fracking,” and says with some fire, “Personally, fracking will be my last stand. If frackers come knocking on our door on PEI…and want to destroy our water and topsoil for all time, that will be the last stand for me. And I think it will be for a lot of people.”

Whatever stands Teresa takes, she will take them with a song on her lips. “I don’t want to be a protestor. I don’t want to be a victim. I would rather be a creator and a visionary,” she says. “Playing music is not a job. It’s not a livelihood. It’s a life’s work.”

Teresa Doyle, the singer, gratefully sums up, “My life’s work has been an exploration of how people use their singing voices in many different cultures. I’m grateful for thirty years in music, and I hope this is the halfway point. I’m excited by the possibilities for us going forward as a community, as humanity, creating a kinder world for our children.”

Teresa Doyle released her 11th recording, Song Road, in February of 2013.

Act Naturally

Profile: Dianne Hicks Morrow

by Jane Ledwell

Dianne Hicks Morrow (photo: Buzz)I believe anyone can write a poem,” says PEI’s new poet laureate, Dianne Hicks Morrow, emphatically. “I also believe a poem can be about anything… And that for me is the whole point.” She is getting over the initial shock of her appointment to the laureate’s role and is filled with enthusiastic hopes and plans for her three-year term promoting the literary arts, and poetry in particular, in Island communities.

“PEI is already known as a place rich in poets,” she says. “I want to go further.” For a number of years, she has led classes in “Writing from Life” for the Seniors’ College at UPEI. The response from those groups to poetry has too often been, “Of course, you know, I’m no good at poetry.” Dianne says, “I want to dispel the fear of poetry, the being intimidated by poetry, and have fun.”

After all, she insists. “Poetry is everywhere. It’s in slogans and signs, big-city subways and buses. And songs!” (She adds as an aside, “I’d give anything to be a singer-songwriter, if only I could sing.”) Dianne says, “I want to reach people who never thought they could enjoy poetry. For people who never take a book of poetry out of the library: I want to change that.”

Dianne laughs that “It was a coincidence that when the announcement was made [about the Poet Laureate] I already had a February 2nd Groundhog Day reading planned at the Montague Rotary Library… This is the kind of reading I would like to do in the next three years. I want to partner with the library system across the Island,” she says. “And that ‘across the Island’ is important to me—I want it not to be Charlottetown-centred.”

Dianne’s own poetry has tried to demonstrate there are depths to seeming simplicity and to themes of home and family. “One of my sons said, ‘Mom, your poems are too simple,’” she recalls, “and I replied, ‘Yeah. Good.’” Her first book, Long Reach Home, came out in 2002; her second, What Really Happened Is This: A Poetry Memoir, with its honest look at the “universal theme” of parents aging and dying, was published in 2012 and won the PEI Book Award for poetry.

Ironically, Dianne was in a “prose phase” when offered the Poet Laureateship—working on a collection of stories about home renovations, mining the experience of “37 years in a 140-year-old farmhouse” and an appetite she discovered among audiences for stories of leaky houses, painting fiascos, and wallpapering disasters.

In recent poetry, Dianne has a travel-inspired suite of poems set in Mexico (where she was heading when we met for this interview) and another suite of similar length from Australia, inspired by a writer-in-residence stint in Tasmania. She worries “that won’t do for a poet laureate.” Here on PEI, it’s dramatic monologues that are piquing her poetic curiosity. “My goal is to write dramatic monologues,” she says, “but I’m still hung up on how to do this. I want to create a mythical voice…” The voices in the community that are giving her inspiration include voices of protest and prophecy she hears speaking out about social and environmental issues.

Reflecting on changes in the writing and publishing scene since the advent of The Buzz twenty years ago, she reflects instead on The Buzz, “What I love about The Buzz is that it is so inclusive and makes the arts available and inviting to people,” she says, “which is what I want to accomplish as poet laureate.”

Already, Dianne has established an email address—This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.—to take suggestions about what the Poet Laureate’s role can include. “Of course,” she says, “I want to carry on the great work my predecessors have done.” She has received intriguing ideas already—and unusual requests for readings, including from a Pilates group. This excites Dianne. “The bottom line for me is that I don’t want to talk to the same people all the time.” She reflects, “Each laureate has done what comes naturally. For me, that’s visits to schools, readings, and workshops.” And poetry coming naturally to Islanders is Dianne Hicks Morrow’s theme for the next three years.

Events Calendar

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Some Upcoming Events

The Shack Wacky Review

With Patrick Ledwell and Mark Haines  February 2
PEI Brewing Co Join comedian Patrick Ledwell  [ ... ]

Credit Union Music PEI Week 2019

Awards Gala, concerts, shows, parties and more January 23–27
Charlottetown Credit Union Music PEI [ ... ]

Raised on TV #3

February 15 & 16
The Guild Now in its third season, Raised on Television (RoTV3) is taking a loo [ ... ]

Recent News & Articles

Music PEI Canadian Songwriter Challenge

In partnership with ECMA 2019 Music PEI and ECMA 2019 have announced a partnership bringing togethe [ ... ]

The facilitator

Profile: Steve Bellamy by Jane Ledwell “Arts are ways into emotions. Arts are where we connect, [ ... ]

A gift of Island poetry: John MacKenzie

The Feet of Blue Herons If you happen to live in another town,
Or country, or even galaxy
As dim and  [ ... ]