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CBC
2 hours ago
- CBC
He left the Moscow symphony in protest. Now he's helping a small B.C. town take centre stage
Arthur Arnold faced a big decision in February of 2022. He was the music director of the Moscow Symphony Orchestra when war broke out. "I was flabbergasted that Putin invaded, that he invaded Ukraine," he says. "I came to the conclusion I just I cannot live with myself if I don't take a stand." So he asked the orchestra if he could speak out. They said no; it would put them all in danger. "That left me with only one thing and that was to resign and with that to make a protest." Arnold stepped down, a decision he says he's never regretted. In fact, he says it's given him more time for his work in what might seem like an unlikely location: Powell River, B.C. An isolated city of 13,000 people on the west coast, it takes two ferries to get there from Vancouver. The town used to be centred around its big pulp and paper mill. But now that it's closed down, residents hope that arts and culture — and people like Arthur Arnold — could be its future. Arnold first visited Powell River in 2000 to guest conduct at the Kathaumixw International Choral Festival. He enjoyed it so much he started coming back each year. But he fell in love with more than just the city and its surroundings, the ocean and mountains. It's also where he met his future wife, Kim Stokes, solidifying his connection to Powell River. He had been travelling between Moscow, Powell River and his home country of The Netherlands for years by the time the war broke out. Arnold says leaving his job in Moscow gave him the time he needed to focus on an event he started in 2012 while living in Powell River part time — the Pacific Region International Summer Music Association (PRISMA). It's a two-week classical music festival held every year at the end of June. Students from around the world are chosen to attend, where they learn and perform alongside guest artists from major orchestras. Thousands attend the final performance held outside on the beach. That's where the Tla'amin First Nation have performed traditional songs backed up by a full orchestra. Drew Blaney, Tla'amin culture and heritage manager who also sings and composes the traditional music, says he appreciates how Arnold involves him in the planning process. "It's not some token thing that we're being there to do a land acknowledgement, or we're just there to check a box of 'we invited the natives here.'" 'It just calmed the entire room' But start asking around in Powell River and it becomes clear that Arnold's influence on the town goes far beyond the festival. "It's like having Wayne Gretzky leading your minor hockey program," quips the town's mayor, Ron Woznow. Arnold has shown up to play his cello at particularly heated town council meetings. "It just calmed the entire room," recalls councillor George Doubt. "I found it spiritually uplifting for him to do that." He also remembers finding Arnold playing his cello at the clinic when he went to get his first vaccination during the height of COVID. "I think it makes everybody think about how they fit into the society and what they can do to make life better, which is what I see Arthur trying to do." Coping with the mill closure Doubt says he hopes Arnold's work will help fill another void in Powell River — an economic one left by the closing of the town's major employer, the pulp and paper mill. It officially shut down in 2023, laying off hundreds of people. But at its height, 4,000 people worked there. Negotiations are underway for another industry to move into the site, but in the meantime, the mayor says the city is operating with $7 million less in tax revenue. "There is some hope that the more cultural events we get going, the more people know about them, the more we'll bring that industry, the cultural industry, here to take over the forest industry," said Doubt. Part of that cultural industry could centre around another project of Arnold's. He was looking for a new office for PRISMA when he stumbled across an empty space in an historic building overlooking the mill and the ocean. He secured government funding, and now construction is underway to turn it into a performance hall with office space and storage for community arts groups. Arthur is quick to acknowledge that the history of Powell River is what makes a project like this even possible. "I think we stand on the shoulders from generations before us," he said. "It's not something that you can just start." In addition to the rich cultural heritage of the Tla'amin First Nation, the region's connection to the arts go back to the early 1900s, when the Powell River Company was formed to build Western Canada's first pulp and paper mill. The company was starting the town and mill from scratch so they could plan everything, right down to the type of workers they wanted in the community. "Originally, there was a vision that culture was extremely important, so both sports and arts, mostly music, was very important right from the very beginnings of this community," says Rob Southcott, a city councillor who was born and raised in Powell River. The company was following an urban planning approach called the Garden City Concept, which prized, among other things, a sense of community. To that end, the company hired people to work at the mill who were also musical. Arthur Arnold says that's part of the reason there's so much music in Powell River today. "That seed has been planted and it spread and the music trees grew, and here we are." All musicians needed For Nancy Hollmann, Arnold's impact has been personal. When she moved to Powell River in 1966 to teach arts and music in school, she quickly got involved in the arts community, leading choirs and playing piano wherever she was needed. But at 89, Hollmann is long retired. Her foray back into the music scene happened after she attended one of the first concerts of a new amateur symphony that Arnold had been supporting. "I noticed that they didn't have a bassoon. And I just, silly me, I mentioned to somebody, 'oh, I played bassoon 40 years ago, but I haven't played it since,'" recalls Hollmann. Word reached Arnold and he asked if she'd take it up again if they found her an instrument. "And I said, 'I'm 80 years old. I probably would die if I tried to blow a bassoon. And he said 'but what a wonderful way to go.' And that's why I borrowed a bassoon from the school district because I'm relearning it." Today she's proud to say she's the oldest person in the symphony. His work in Powell River may seem humble compared to leading the Moscow Symphony Orchestra. But Arnold says, in many ways, it's the same work he's always tried to do. "Community building is something really beautiful," he says. "Music is the perfect vehicle to do that. We understand music deep inside. To connect people through music is one of the most beautiful things that I can think of, and I feel very privileged to be able to do that." The setting just makes it all the more meaningful, he says.
CBC
2 hours ago
- CBC
This program gives neurodiverse adults a chance to showcase their art
The Art-Seen program highlights the work of neurodivergent adults. Students had the opportunity to display their art at the Visual Arts Centre in Westmount, Que.
CBC
2 hours ago
- CBC
I'm choosing to leave for the U.S. for a unicorn job. Does that make me a traitor to Canada?
Social Sharing This First Person column is the experience of Alice Nelson, who is a dual citizen of Canada and the U.S. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ. In January 2025, I got a call to go for a job interview at the University of Texas at Arlington (UTA). They were looking for a professor to lead a new theatre arts degree program. My friend Claire said, "That's a unicorn job!" "What's a unicorn job?" I asked. "It's a job where they're looking for someone very specific and you are that unicorn." A typical tenure-track job will get 100 applicants. I was feeling like one very, very lucky unicorn. I had to make a difficult choice: stay in my tenured job teaching theatre in Windsor, Ont., where my career was at a standstill or move to the U.S. to start over. It was a choice further complicated by the trade war initiated by Donald Trump and his claims that Canada should become the 51st state of the U.S. A big move Seven years earlier, I was living in Calgary and had been working contract jobs as a theatre artist and educator. On my 40th birthday, I landed a tenure-track position as an assistant professor in the school of dramatic art at the University of Windsor. My partner, Oly, and I had community and family in Calgary. I wasn't sure if he would want to go with me. But when I told him I got the job, he smiled and said, "I guess we're moving to Windsor." We packed up and drove across the country with our two dogs to start our new life in Ontario. Fast-forward to July 2024, I achieved tenure and became an associate professor. That same month, University Players, our students' mainstage, which gives them the opportunity to apply their training, was shut down. The six staff members who taught students the production side of theatre lost their jobs in the department. The school also decided to halt new enrollment in the acting program. In September, a guest speaker at UWindsor's Senate repeated over and over: "Nobody is coming to save us" — referring to Canadian universities. And it's true — every day there's an article about programs being cut at another Canadian university or college due to underfunding from provincial governments, the impact of tuition freeze and a recent federal cap on international student permits (which has hit Ontario hard). Yup, nobody is coming to save us. I felt like one of the violinists on the Titanic. "Gentlemen, it has been a privilege playing with you tonight." Concerned for my future, I started job hunting. I'm a dual citizen of the U.S. and Canada, so I was looking in both countries, hoping to find something in my field. Theatre faces deep cuts Over the next year, I made it a goal to foster opportunities for students who had lost a ton of performance opportunities. I directed a radio play version of A Christmas Carol, organized a Thrille r flash mob, ran an improv club and directed Kristen Thomson's comedy, The Wedding Party, in our smaller studio theatre. During the hiring process with UTA, I was asked why I wanted to leave a job that I loved, where I had tenure and was thriving. To which I answered honestly: Our mainstage was cut, the acting program was not accepting any students next fall and our university had (at the time) a projected $30-million deficit. A couple of weeks later, I was offered the job. Then, things started to change politically between the U.S. and Canada. Trump started making tariff threats to Canada and goading that it should be the 51st state. I found the rhetoric ridiculous, and like others, felt an upswell in Canadian patriotism. The response through protests and social media was also "Elbows up," encouraging Canadians to get ready to fight. Given the context, my parents were worried about me moving to the U.S., and friends expressed their concerns. On top of that, my partner is not a dual citizen, and we aren't married. That meant he couldn't move with me easily. While my contract was being drawn up, I had a month to agonize over the decision, visit an immigration lawyer and convince my parents that I was a unicorn. On my overanalyzed pro and con list, some pros were: I could work in my field, direct plays and there would be no shovelling. Some cons were: Living apart from my partner until we get married and get him citizenship, leaving my students before they graduate, the lack of universal health care, targeting of the 2SLGBTQ+ community in the U.S., restrictions on women's bodily autonomy, racism and deportation, etc. This list could go on and on. Also, no Tim Hortons. The idea of being a Canadian in the U.S. in 2025 is complicated, and I feel guilty leaving at a time when I want to back my country. I've had some people give me a hard time about moving to the U.S. One person called me a traitor. Am I? I want to stay in Canada, but I also want to support my family financially. I have to remind myself and friends who don't want me to move that not all Americans are bad. A lot of them didn't vote for Trump, and my mom's side of the family in the U.S. are Democrats. I joke about the lack of Tim Hortons because I fear telling the truth in public will get me flagged at the border, and I won't be able to cross. Yet, I'm American, and as a citizen, I can't be denied entry. After a lot of thought, I took the job. The Canadian part of me doesn't want to leave, but the American part of me is relieved I can work in my field in the U.S., as there are no opportunities in my field in Canada right now — they are disappearing. Well, I better get packing. This unicorn, Canadian at heart, is riding off into the sunset with her saddlebag of theatre books, two dogs, a wedding date set and hope for the future.
