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Coyote Steals My Heart
I've come to the conclusion that I'm not like other performing arts attenders that I know. I'm not interested in seeing the same artists time after time after time. What thrills me in the theatre are fresh experiences, fresh takes, and fresh artists.
I'm not referring to new for the sake of new, here. I'm talking about those artists who blaze experiential trails to new and different ways of seeing, tasting, and sensing the world around me. I'm also interested in artists who speak from an authentic center. I don't like hip for hip's sake. I despise contrived cool. I want to know that a real heart beats behind words or music.
Last week, while I was in Ottawa at the Canadian Arts Presenting Association Conference, I was absolutely wowed by an artist I saw perform at a late night showcase. Thank God I went, because if I hadn't, the quality of my last couple of weeks would have markedly suffered.
The truth is that I almost did not go. I was exhausted. I'd already been to a bunch of showcase performances. I wanted to go to my room and get some sleep, but I found myself being talked into going by another artist who basically wrangled a commitment to attend out of a very unwilling me. What could I do? I had to go.
Ivan E. Coyote - the "E" stands for Elizabeth — rocked my 55-year old consciousness. This Yukon-born-and-raised writer/storyteller/shaman mesmerized me. Sitting alone on the front row, no more than ten feet away from her in a Delta Ottawa meeting room, I sat transfixed alternating between wonder at how chewy her stores were and anxiety about what emotional state I would find myself transported to without warning or safety net.
It is so cliche to talk about laughing through tears or crying through guffaws, but that's exactly what I found myself doing. More revealing, I sat there like some manic sanitarium refugee, unable to shelve my broad grin. I'm sure I looked like an old Buick grill in a tweed suit to Ivan Coyote. If I was anxious, she was probably prepared to break into a run - assuming she could see me, that is.
If you think the mathematical nuances of game theory are complex to describe in simple terms, you haven't tried to wrap your head around Ivan Coyote's gender dynamic. Ivan was born female - sort of - but refers to herself — as only a small-town refugee might understand — as "tomboyish." What is disarming and endearing about this singularly small facet of Ivan Coyote is that those stories that unwind in the listener's mind and heart seem to be told from both a male and female perspective. The truths within the stories that I heard transcend stereotypically limited views of what a man's truth or a woman's truth might be. We're all from both Mars and Venus. The realness just sits there like a boulder on a creek bottom. It got there somehow, but its mass tells you it's not going anywhere.
I took a lot of things away from her performance, but what hit me squarely between the eyes is that too often we think our gender (or gender-confusion/ambiguity) matters more than it does. People are not defined by penises or vaginas any more than a mountain is defined solely by a river close by, but we act as if we are. I wonder how often we hate or love for all the wrong reasons. We are too willing to make too much of too little, and we are willing to maim and kill over minutiae.
Another thing I loved about Ivan Coyote's storytelling was the elegant simplicity of her language. Ivan can string together ten nickel words and create fifty dollars worth of value. There is meaning there; like a pocket watch mainspring, the stories are propelled by the release of subtle tension. I found a man's wryness, a woman's gentleness, an old man's bluntness, and a child's mischief. She may be of a certain age, but the stories feel ageless.
I left that showcase hungering for more. This just doesn't happen to me very often.
A day or so later, I found myself making my way to the Chapters store in Byward Market to buy every book by Ivan Coyote I could find. I've just finished "Loose End," a collection of her short stories. I will start "Bow Grip" (her novel) tonight. I can't wait.
Sometimes I'm surprised by new performers and new performances, but not often enough. What I know is that Ivan Coyote's work has led me not only to more of her work, but to more of me. I will never forget this gift.
Posted on November 14, 2007 12:19 PM | Permalink
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Comments
Neill;
Thanks for your impressions about the Northern showcase at CAPACOA. I am glad that we were able to bring you something special. Like Pat Braden, from the NWT, who also performed that night, Ivan represents a strength in the North that is an everyday occurance. The telling of stories lies deep within the root of how we communicate here and we have many, many master of the form. What you received was all that the north represents - simplicity with great depth. No pretension with an ironic twist of human heart and independent humour. Story tellers such as Richard Van Camp, Sharon Shorty, George Blondin, Rene Fumoleau, John B Zoe, Ria Coleman, Jim Green and many others, keep this tradition alive, fresh and human. I invite you to come and experience the power of all of our northern tellers at the NACC Festival of Stories at the Northern Arts and Cultural Centre at the end of May each year. Ivan will be back to grace our stage again and she will be surrounded by a body of peers that will touch you just as deeply.
Ben Nind
Northern Arts and Cultural Centre
Yellowknife, NWT