By Randy Gledhill
It is the night before the big shows begin and anticipation is building . The performance artists are now assembled. They have been fed with home cooked foodie delights at Tanya’s pre-festival soiree and pampered in their luxury digs, the Alphaville Inn. The presence of the great Norbert Klassen, to whom the festival is dedicated, reminds us that art is not just a fleeting notion, but must be inscribed physically into our DNA. Everyone is toned, tuned and in the starter blocks. Tomorrow they are off! It promises to be a stellar week of live art.
For me (yes, it is always about me) my pre-festival nerves about committing to continuously write something about this historical mash-up are calmed by spending pre-festival time with the artists and bolstered by my brilliant co-writers: the beautiful and uber-influential French critic, historian and curator Sylvie Ferré and the new kid on the block, the so-smart local wonder Christine Korte. We have agreed to spell each other off, whenever the sensory overload overwhelms us.
For those not able to be here to actually partake in the sights, sounds, smells, and discomforts of a sampling of the greatest live art today, sit back and take the easy trip, through the scenic reportage and documentation of that which you are missing. Rest assured that through the filter, there is no danger being hoisted to you. Well, maybe a little.