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Director's Notes

Standing at the edge of the cliff, deciding whether to leap or to backtrack ... and yet realizing we cannot return to what was and it will be so much simpler if we are not alone in the journey.  There are many lessons that the past two years have taught us as theatre performers, as creators, and as human beings, but connection with others has been fundamental to moving through the pandemic with our hearts intact. While we reflect on our lives before, our ongoing situation and look towards the uncertain future, we are taking stock of how much as changed and how much more can still be impacted if we work together to become a better humanity. 

Theatre and all who participate in it have suffered much since the stage lights went dark but we look to it still to help us heal from the pain we have experienced. That said, we have also learned how we need to do better, work more equitably, be more inclusive, represent more diversity, and hold ourselves accountable for not perpetuating the ideas that have caused more drama offstage than on for far too long. The cast, creative team, and I see All Together Now! as an opportunity to enact our vision of a theatre that serves its community through belonging and creativity. And so, the goes on... not because it must, but because it finally can... and so we will.

Thank you for supporting live theatre in Central Alberta, we hope to see you 'beyond the footlights' again soon.

This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.” - Toni Morrison, speaking about times of dread

Finisterre by David Whyte

published at https://onbeing.org/poetry/finisterre/ with a reading by the poet

The road in the end taking the path the sun had taken,
into the western sea, and the moon rising behind you
as you stood where ground turned to ocean: no way
to your future now but the way your shadow could take,
walking before you across water, going where shadows go,
no way to make sense of a world that wouldn’t let you pass
except to call an end to the way you had come,
to take out each frayed letter you had brought
and light their illumined corners; and to read
them as they drifted on the western light;
to empty your bags; to sort this and to leave that;
to promise what you needed to promise all along,
and to abandon the shoes that had brought you here
right at the water’s edge, not because you had given up
but because now, you would find a different way to tread,
and because, through it all, part of you would still walk on,
no matter how, over the waves.