Latest news with #HalifaxFringeFestival
Hamilton Spectator
12-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hamilton Spectator
April Hubbard delayed MAID to accept Governor General's honour: ‘Most artists never get a recognition like this in their lifetime'
April Hubbard changed the plan for her death so she could be there to celebrate her life's work at one of Canada's most prestigious arts ceremonies. The 40-year-old arts administrator and performer had pre-recorded her acceptance speech for the Governor General's Performing Arts Awards because she had expected to receive medical assistance in dying before Saturday's gala. 'It's only in the last few weeks that I said, well, maybe I can make it. Can we consider this and make it happen?' she said in a video call from her home in Halifax. 'It's a very strange experience to go back and rewrite an acceptance speech that you didn't think you'd be alive to see.' Hubbard has qualified for MAID because she has tethered cord syndrome, a degenerative disorder of the nervous system resulting from a condition she was born with, spina bifida. While the condition isn't fatal, it causes tissue to attach to the spine, restricting movement and causing severe chronic pain. The condition cut short her acting career at age 17, when she started using a wheelchair. She'd fallen in love with the theatre three years earlier after her mother voluntold her to serve as a script prompter for a community theatre production of 'Drinking Alone.' Throughout high school, she acted, stage managed and did everything she could to be in the theatre. But once she started using a wheelchair, she said she got the message that there was no longer a place for her on stage. 'Every opportunity I had in the arts in Nova Scotia to be on stage dried up when I became visibly disabled,' she said. 'At that point, I had to switch to arts administration just as a way of still being involved in some way and find a way to still have my soul fed by the arts,' she said. 'That was the only place that there was room for me: behind the scenes where I wasn't visible.' In those behind-the-scenes roles, she's fought to make Halifax's theatre scene more accessible to disabled audiences and performers alike. 'When I did get a little foot in the door in any organization, it was the drive to bring others with me who were still not being heard and still not getting through the space,' she said. '(I was) always thinking about, 'OK, I wasn't let into this space, but next year, if I'm here, who will I be welcoming in?'' Hubbard started volunteering at the Halifax Fringe Festival in 2003, and eventually became its chair. Over the years she was involved with the festival, the organization committed to only using venues that were fully accessible, and trained volunteers to be sighted guides to people who are blind or low-vision. She was also consulted when the Bus Stop Theatre co-op bought a building. They brought her on to make sure the space was accessible for both audiences and performers. At the beginning of her advocacy, she said, she was one of the only voices in the room. That's changed over time, as she's found others doing similar work. Those people have made it possible for her to rest when she needs to, she said, 'knowing there's other people out there who will still advocate as well.' Hubbard was also able to return to performance. It started in 2019, when the founders of LEGacy Circus reached out to her. They were training instructors on how to work with performers with atypical bodies and they asked Hubbard for help, she said. As soon as she touched the trapeze, she fell in love. Hubbard and her circus partner Vanessa Furlong started to work together, and soon she was performing publicly for the first time as an adult. She approached her art with thoughtfulness, in contrast to her teenage self taking whatever role came her way. 'In my circus practice, I'd make a really big part of it showing my body fully and not hiding its differences,' she said. She wanted the audience to think about how her being on stage was different from an able-bodied performer — and why it was so uncommon to see. 'It felt very much like returning home,' she said. 'And I didn't realize until I got back onstage just how much I had kind of quieted a part of my soul.' When COVID-19 hit, she didn't want to give that up. She'd been so accepted in the world of circus that she looked for another space that was welcoming to 'outsiders.' She'd done ticketing for drag shows in Halifax for years, so she was very familiar with the local scene and had long thought about becoming a drag artist herself. But at the time, she wasn't able to get onto most of the stages because of her wheelchair. So during the pandemic, when everyone was cooped up inside and drag artists started performing virtually, Hubbard developed her drag persona, Crip Tease. 'It was really amazing to get to do, to be creative at a time that everybody had those same limitations, everybody had to think about 'how am I going to make my art happen?' And it kind of evened the playing field in a lot of ways for me as a disabled artist,' she said. But since then, Hubbard's health has deteriorated. Her pain has worsened, and she's no longer able to perform. That pain led her to pursue a medically assisted death in 2023, and she qualified under Track 2, which is for people whose condition is grievous and irremediable but whose death is not imminent. That's given her some flexibility. She doesn't have a date set, she said, though she still plans to die later this year. Extending her life also means extending her pain, which she describes as a constant burning and pulling sensation. When it's at its worst, she said, it feels like her legs are being sent through a meat grinder. She's been resting up for the last several weeks to be able to make the journey to Ottawa, where she'll accept the Ramon John Hnatyshyn Award for Voluntarism in the Performing Arts in person. Others honourees include musician Jeremy Dutcher, music producer Bob Ezrin and Oscar-nominated actor Graham Greene. 'I'm very aware of the fact that most artists never get a recognition like this in their lifetime,' Hubbard said. 'They never get to experience the joy of hearing how much people appreciate them and their work. And those things are usually only said after somebody has already passed. So it feels like a real blessing to get to hear all that and to be here to experience all of those moments.' This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 12, 2025.
Winnipeg Free Press
12-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Winnipeg Free Press
April Hubbard delayed MAID to accept Governor General's honour: ‘Most artists never get a recognition like this in their lifetime'
April Hubbard changed the plan for her death so she could be there to celebrate her life's work at one of Canada's most prestigious arts ceremonies. The 40-year-old arts administrator and performer had pre-recorded her acceptance speech for the Governor General's Performing Arts Awards because she had expected to receive medical assistance in dying before Saturday's gala. 'It's only in the last few weeks that I said, well, maybe I can make it. Can we consider this and make it happen?' she said in a video call from her home in Halifax. 'It's a very strange experience to go back and rewrite an acceptance speech that you didn't think you'd be alive to see.' Hubbard has qualified for MAID because she has tethered cord syndrome, a degenerative disorder of the nervous system resulting from a condition she was born with, spina bifida. While the condition isn't fatal, it causes tissue to attach to the spine, restricting movement and causing severe chronic pain. The condition cut short her acting career at age 17, when she started using a wheelchair. She'd fallen in love with the theatre three years earlier after her mother voluntold her to serve as a script prompter for a community theatre production of 'Drinking Alone.' Throughout high school, she acted, stage managed and did everything she could to be in the theatre. But once she started using a wheelchair, she said she got the message that there was no longer a place for her on stage. 'Every opportunity I had in the arts in Nova Scotia to be on stage dried up when I became visibly disabled,' she said. 'At that point, I had to switch to arts administration just as a way of still being involved in some way and find a way to still have my soul fed by the arts,' she said. 'That was the only place that there was room for me: behind the scenes where I wasn't visible.' In those behind-the-scenes roles, she's fought to make Halifax's theatre scene more accessible to disabled audiences and performers alike. 'When I did get a little foot in the door in any organization, it was the drive to bring others with me who were still not being heard and still not getting through the space,' she said. '(I was) always thinking about, 'OK, I wasn't let into this space, but next year, if I'm here, who will I be welcoming in?'' Hubbard started volunteering at the Halifax Fringe Festival in 2003, and eventually became its chair. Over the years she was involved with the festival, the organization committed to only using venues that were fully accessible, and trained volunteers to be sighted guides to people who are blind or low-vision. She was also consulted when the Bus Stop Theatre co-op bought a building. They brought her on to make sure the space was accessible for both audiences and performers. At the beginning of her advocacy, she said, she was one of the only voices in the room. That's changed over time, as she's found others doing similar work. Those people have made it possible for her to rest when she needs to, she said, 'knowing there's other people out there who will still advocate as well.' Hubbard was also able to return to performance. It started in 2019, when the founders of LEGacy Circus reached out to her. They were training instructors on how to work with performers with atypical bodies and they asked Hubbard for help, she said. As soon as she touched the trapeze, she fell in love. Hubbard and her circus partner Vanessa Furlong started to work together, and soon she was performing publicly for the first time as an adult. She approached her art with thoughtfulness, in contrast to her teenage self taking whatever role came her way. 'In my circus practice, I'd make a really big part of it showing my body fully and not hiding its differences,' she said. She wanted the audience to think about how her being on stage was different from an able-bodied performer — and why it was so uncommon to see. 'It felt very much like returning home,' she said. 'And I didn't realize until I got back onstage just how much I had kind of quieted a part of my soul.' When COVID-19 hit, she didn't want to give that up. She'd been so accepted in the world of circus that she looked for another space that was welcoming to 'outsiders.' She'd done ticketing for drag shows in Halifax for years, so she was very familiar with the local scene and had long thought about becoming a drag artist herself. But at the time, she wasn't able to get onto most of the stages because of her wheelchair. So during the pandemic, when everyone was cooped up inside and drag artists started performing virtually, Hubbard developed her drag persona, Crip Tease. 'It was really amazing to get to do, to be creative at a time that everybody had those same limitations, everybody had to think about 'how am I going to make my art happen?' And it kind of evened the playing field in a lot of ways for me as a disabled artist,' she said. But since then, Hubbard's health has deteriorated. Her pain has worsened, and she's no longer able to perform. That pain led her to pursue a medically assisted death in 2023, and she qualified under Track 2, which is for people whose condition is grievous and irremediable but whose death is not imminent. That's given her some flexibility. She doesn't have a date set, she said, though she still plans to die later this year. Extending her life also means extending her pain, which she describes as a constant burning and pulling sensation. When it's at its worst, she said, it feels like her legs are being sent through a meat grinder. Weekly A weekly look at what's happening in Winnipeg's arts and entertainment scene. She's been resting up for the last several weeks to be able to make the journey to Ottawa, where she'll accept the Ramon John Hnatyshyn Award for Voluntarism in the Performing Arts in person. Others honourees include musician Jeremy Dutcher, music producer Bob Ezrin and Oscar-nominated actor Graham Greene. 'I'm very aware of the fact that most artists never get a recognition like this in their lifetime,' Hubbard said. 'They never get to experience the joy of hearing how much people appreciate them and their work. And those things are usually only said after somebody has already passed. So it feels like a real blessing to get to hear all that and to be here to experience all of those moments.' This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 12, 2025.
CBC
26-01-2025
- Entertainment
- CBC
How a Halifax theatre mainstay turned her deepest secret into her boldest play yet
It's hours before curtain on the sold-out opening night of Halifax theatremaker Lee-Anne Poole's new play, Talk Sexxxy. Her nerves are palpable, and she admits that she'll be "deep breathing" until performance time. Considering the show has been over 15 years in the making and that it's Poole's first time debuting a new work since she stepped down as executive director of the Halifax Fringe Festival in 2022 — to "refocus on her own creative pursuits," as she put in a release at the time, — her anxiety is understandable. Then, there's the issue of the subject matter. Talk Sexxxy is a candid look at the life of a phone sex operator, inspired by Poole's own experiences. Poole still remembers a workshop production from 10 years ago, when she had cast longtime collaborator and multi-time winner of the Robert Merritt Awards (the biggest prize for theatre in the province) Stephanie MacDonald in the show's only role. (In the finalized version of the production, MacDonald is directing and Poole is acting.) "For those workshop nights … I remember feeling like I stood in the lobby, and as [the] audience left the room, I felt like a lot of people couldn't look me in the eye — or maybe I couldn't look them in the eye," she says. "But the other thing is, in the play, then and still now — and I say very explicitly now at the start of the play — I do not say anything near the worst parts. And I'm desperately trying to make you laugh." Now, as she awaits the sound of audiences doing just that, Poole tells CBC Arts about the road to bringing Talk Sexxxy to life. CBC Arts: In a 2010 story from The Coast about your play Splinters, you said: "The actual events of the play are not autobiographical. Besides the fact that, you know, I have experienced some of them." Since Talk Sexxxy bills itself as semi-autobiographical, how much of that applies here? Poole: I think you can use that quote for everything I have written or will write. I mean, I actually did phone sex. I actually was going through a very depressive time, and was pretty agoraphobic and didn't leave my apartment, except for an hour once a week to go to the grocery store in the middle of the night. And I did that for about six months. A lot of the calls are pretty directly based off of my calls. You say this play was over 15 years in the making, and you attempted to tell the story in other formats along the way. Why did it take so long, and what made you settle on theatre as the medium for this piece? I originally was writing while I was doing phone sex. I was working on a blog that was anonymous — and at one point, someone reblogged it, and it had, like, 10,000 views in a day, and I freaked out and took it offline because suddenly I was really ashamed … I tried to write it as a screenplay once. I tried to write it as fiction once. I was doing poems and drawings and stuff like that. Part of the answer is also part of why it's me performing it and not an actor performing it. For me, part of the interesting thing has been my circling the drain with it: my fear around it, my shame around it and my continuous attempts to figure it out. I think that's something that people can relate to, regardless of if they make art or not: I think there's those moments in our lives that either maybe you regret — or you don't regret, but you don't want people to know about. Or you reconsider. Or you wonder why you did it, and you think, 'But that's not me.' But it is me, because it obviously was me. The description also mentions "this is the play and the making of the play." What does that look like, practically? This is the way I would describe it, and I hate it. I hate it because I think it sounds really bad. But, you know when you go to a fancy, very overpriced restaurant and you order a caesar salad, and a deconstructed caesar salad comes back to you? It is kind of like a deconstructed play. The set's over there. The script is there. You can look at it whenever you want. I'm saying it, memorized, but you can look at it. You can skip pages ahead. So like, all of the pieces of theatre are there, but we've pulled them apart. While this is a fictional work, as we've said, it is informed by lived experience. What was it like to be a phone sex operator? Oftentimes, you'd look at the math and you'd go, "Oh my gosh, two dollars a minute? How long did you talk to him? He spent so much money that he could have hired a sex worker. Why would he call to talk to someone instead of hiring a sex worker?" The answer is usually [that] whatever they want to talk about is something that is satiated only in fantasy. I talked to one guy who wanted to pretend he was Dracula, and he did the voice. One guy, we never even had phone sex. He just wanted to talk about: "I would give you a rose and let's go for a walk on a beach." Literally, just the sweetest little conversation. One man, at one point, said to me, "I want to bend you over in front of everyone at Walmart." There is definitely, like, a "whoa, what's gonna happen now?" And I will say, the rule of phone sex is the same thing with improv: It's "yes and." [The job] was surprising. It was not what I thought, and it was often entertaining and funny — and often numbing and difficult. And I think the thing that I got the most from it that I wasn't expecting was the camaraderie between myself and the other phone sex operators.
