Aesthetics

I can remember being in kids’ choir when I was in elementary school, being the brat who would poke other kids when they weren’t doing things right.

(This morning, in church, the little kids sang a song, and there were a few of those kids, and it was just cute and fun to watch them.)

When I was in grade six, my friend Erin and I wrote a list of things in the choir that we thought needed to be changed. Stricter dress code, selected (talented) kids doing choreography, people who could sing on key doing the harmonies, more complicated choreography that looked more exciting than just hand actions.

Mom (who was the director) wasn’t too impressed with us, I don’t think, and there was definitely an aspect of snobbishness there, but looking back on that nearly 15 years later, I realize that was the beginning of the aspect of producing that we spend a lot of time on: developing a personal aesthetic. A big part of producing is knowing what you’re passionate about; what visuals and stories attract you; what makes you tick; what you want to invest your time, money, and professional reputation in; and so on. It’s developing the “Blink” effect (from Malcom Gladwell’s book “Blink”): being so secure in your expertise that you can make a split-second decision and trust your gut.

When I was 12 years old, I was starting to develop the aesthetic that has continued to form throughout my theatrical training. I value well-produced theatre and professionalism at any level (independent of budget or training), among other things, and those parts of my personal aesthetic were what I was starting to develop when I was disturbed by the amateurism in the kids’ choir.

Context, of course, is an issue there, and there’s a time and a place for demanding professionalism–and maybe second-graders aren’t the people to expect it from. Still, the seeds for what I’m doing with the rest of my life were planted there.

Aesthetic also plays a big part in my directing, obviously. I’m constantly telling my casts to trust my vision and trust my aesthetic (or, if not telling them outright, working to earn their trust), because I see the big picture (figuratively) and I’ve seen the big picture since long before they came on board with the project, and also, I literally see the whole picture–because they’re onstage and I’m not.

Having said that, though, this weekend’s Christmas concert challenged my aesthetic.

I’m not speaking as a choir director nit-picking the music itself here, because a) I’m not a choir director, and b) that’s definitely a place where I don’t have an objective view, hearing only the people around me and not the entire mix. As a producer-slash-theatre director, though, there were elements of the program that I watched with a much, much more critical eye than most people either involved or in the audience. There were many little nit-picky details, like the timing of the light cues, that I would have changed; there were bigger things about the process, like the dress rehearsal process itself, that I would have done differently.

There were places where I was grasping to change people’s attitudes. Heather and I have been working hard for several years to begin to expect a higher degree of professionalism from the people involved in the drama ministry at Foothills, and we’re finally beginning to see those changes. People are starting to expect and give certain things, and it’s cool to see. This week’s dress rehearsal felt like going five steps backwards from that, and I just wanted to sit people down and give them the lecture about dress rehearsals that I’ve given to many a high school student.

There were things that I would have done differently about the program itself–changes I would have made in the way the concert was structured.

It was a good concert. The choir sang well (although last night, we were a little disastrous on some of our words… it’s amazing what leaves your head at the most inopportune times), and it was well-received (although people’s praise never seems to really be dependent on how good it actually was. That’s just a random observation, but I’ve learned not to take my most heartfelt criticism from the audience, because there’s a certain point where hearing mindless comments that people enjoyed it just doesn’t give me any constructive criticism and really isn’t what I need to hear… but I digress. That’s a conversation for another day).

I’m not trying to discount the entire thing, or to say that it was poorly done. There were just a fair number of things that I would have changed–and that’s my aesthetic. It’s what I’ve developed in my years as a theatre artist, and what I’m continuing to develop as a producer. And, trusting the director, I’m sure that some of it was deliberate. I think that some of it, though, wasn’t. Maybe I’m just being the kid poking the child beside me. I felt like doing that more than once this weekend (do people really need to be told not to whisper their comments to their neighbor while they’re onstage? Is at least that level of professionalism–and not only that, but respect for whatever else is going on while we were waiting for the next song–too much to ask? I should have started poking), but at least I’m poking with an educated finger and honed instincts. Okay, that metaphor isn’t really working any more, is it?

It went well, although I’m still not entirely sure that I should have stayed here this weekend just so that I could sing in it. I’m not sure if I gained more by being here or if I would have appreciated it more if I’d been in Calgary to see Colin’s cantata this morning and Foothills’ show tonight. I’m not sure. But I’m still glad I was here for it.

Now I’m tired. My feet hurt, because two 2-hour concerts (in heels) back-to-back is not friendly to my feet. I need a foot massage, but by the time I see Colin on Wednesday and can try to convince him that the greatest thing in the world would be for him to rub my feet, they won’t hurt anymore, so it won’t matter.