Nerve Wracked
For most people, the première is a nerve-shredding — one might say nervous — affair. Doing something for the very first time — a theatre piece, a concert, a reading, an interview — the nerves flutter
Even in dead calm.
In Basel this was part of my work. For my Neubad Magazine I conducted conversations, the kind one generally calls interviews. People with interesting stories sat across from me and were meant to answer my questions. Fortunately, most of them talked willingly and at length. About a project, about their lives, their visions, their dreams. Exactly that: raw material. Unhewn, sometimes stubborn.
These were always extraordinary moments: listening to someone and drawing out the red thread, the unexpected thing, from the conversation. I remember my very first interview, sitting across from pharmacist Geni Meyer. I noted down every word, every comma, determined not to miss or overlook a thing. And this while recording the conversation. Writing the story afterwards was correspondingly laborious. Too much information — the text dams up behind the facts, goes nowhere.
In the next conversation I wrote nothing down at all. I leaned back, listened, asked the odd question in a relaxed sort of way, and watched. And there it was: the story grew from an image, not only from the gathered facts. The man gestured as he spoke, to colour his story. His hands told it along with him. Louder than the words.
With all that experience behind me — no problem, right? Wrong. This first interview for my CANARTA project was the première for the book, for canarta.net. Now or never. All or nothing. The thoughts circled before I met Bob, before I met Bob to talk.
Canarta — my project for Canada’s creatives who don’t yet have a stage. Just briefly. Back to Bob.
Bob was the première.
Camera rolling. Sound too. Action!
The moment Bob began answering my first question, I heard that soft click in my head. My nerves lay down quietly and listened as well. Bob spoke honestly, thoroughly, and with passion about his painting, his doubts, his visions and wishes. The clicking in my head grew stronger and I grew calmer. I would never have expected the conversation to be so charged.
A painter who cannot recognise certain colours. And carries on regardless.
The rush of the moment lingers. I left the scene of the story with a wide smile. Bob’s story had taken shape. The person, the painter, the doubt — all there.
A few images won’t let go of me. Not yet.
Canarta has its first interview behind it. And I know now: this is only the beginning.
No, you won’t be able to read the story publicly for quite some time. It will be available on the 1st of December 2027 in the Annual Book of CANARTA, alongside stories of further Canadian artists from music, painting, storytelling, acting, and photography.
Every art deserves a story.