The Woman Who Changed My Life - Part I

It's not the anniversary I was expecting.

I met Gina Wilkinson exactly one year ago last week, on January 4th, 2010 at a downtown Starbucks. It was packed and there was much chatter, and she immediately said "Let's go somewhere else. Somewhere where I can focus on you." We walked over to a Tim Horton's for what was to be a 30 minute meeting. We were still there, and giving each other our first hugs, two hours later.  Over the course of the next year, I would learn how deeply I could come to love and admire someone in 365 days. And how profoundly that person could impact my life.   

Our meeting was to see if I was the right fit for the Assistant Director position for Soulpepper's production of Faith Healer. Our "interview" quickly morphed into an incredible conversation about acting and directing, writing, dramaturgy, music and the experience of being a female director. She was fascinated by the fact that I was a singer-songwriter, and completely enchanted that I was a preschool teacher. I was immediately taken by her genuine interest in and curiosity about me, even wanting to know what unique struggles I faced as a black woman in the theatre. We ended up having one of the best discussions I've ever had, and by the time we realized that it was getting dark and we should probably wrap it up, we felt like friends from a past life who were rediscovering each other rather than meeting for the first time. There was an incredible mutual understanding and attraction to each other's energy, and we were completely excited about working together. During the next 12 months, she became my mentor, my friend, my confidante, my giggle partner. She would become my single greatest inspiration as a director and the human being around whom I felt the most invigorated. She would become a beautiful, life-altering gift to my world. 

I have told everyone who has asked about my time working with Gina at Soulpepper that it was THE greatest creative experience of my life. In the last few years I have worked with many people whom I admire and adore, so I don't make that statement lightly. It may seem strange to put a job as an assistant director ahead of the many incredible experiences I've had in situations where I was "in charge", not to mention the years of amazing moments I've had as a performer of both music and theatre. But working with Gina, for me, was the experience of letting go of control and being a sponge every single moment. It was about growth and learning and being in the presence of profound beauty and brilliance everyday. It was about discovering all that I could become and all that I had yet to be.

I remember my first day at Soulpepper -- how excited but terrified I was! We were in a huge room - the entire companies and production teams of Faith Healer and Waiting For The Parade, and everyone there seemed to know each other and love Gina. I knew not a soul; no one there had ever heard of me. Gina was so conscious of what the situation was like for me, and of the fact that I am quite a shy person, and introduced me to each person we came across with incredible praise for my accomplishments. After our second day of rehearsal she wrote me a lovely email, encouraging me to assert my presence more and not to be intimidated by the powerful personalities at the table. "You deserve to be there," she said. "Don't let anyone else's name or reputation make you feel that you don't." Sitting in that room with her, the cast and stage managers doing the most exhaustive and probative script work I have ever done, my confidence grew as I came to have an equal voice at the table with her and our incredible cast - Stuart Hughes, Brenda Robins and Diego Matamoros. One day, when I asked her privately if she wanted some time alone with the actors without me, she looked at me as if to scoff at the suggestion, simply responding "No. We're a team."

That is the way she treated me from the start. Although she was always the boss, with incredible presence, vision and command of the room, she encouraged me to speak up and speak out whenever I felt strongly about something. And amazingly, she never made me go through her to say my piece. That is almost unheard of, but it was her way of putting her money where her mouth was about how much she trusted my opinion and my instincts, and how valuable she felt my views were to the evolution of the discussion even if they didn't necessarily gel with her own. Artists talk all the time about working with other artists who are generous. Gina's generosity was like few things I've experienced. Her ability to command respect and inspire awe from every person in the room, while at the same time being incredibly collaborative, was uncanny. 

She directed with a joy and an excitement that leapt from every pore of her body, always going with her gut even if she didn't know what it would lead to. She had the energy of a giddy schoolgirl with a crush, but the object of the crush was the play. The two of us shared a deep love for the written word and we would fawn over the language in Faith Healer and read phrases or passages to each other that we were particularly mesmerized by, like two teenaged girls sharing love letters. Watching her work was incredible. She had an amazing sense of blocking and physical space, and at times would come up with imagery onstage that would give me goosebumps. I will never forget a moment in which she took an old wagon wheel that was leaning against a wall, and by placing a jacket on it and having it lit in a very specific way, made it look like the profile of an invalid slumped all the way over in a wheelchair. I literally gasped and shook my head in admiration and disbelief. 

Gina's creativity was boundless but so were her courage and modesty. She never pretended to be sure of something when she wasn't, and never assumed that hers was the best idea in the room even though it almost always was. We'd eat meals together and talk about how the show was taking shape, and she always wanted to know what my impressions were and what I would do differently. It was so invaluable, as it really forced me to examine and justify the instances in which my directorial voice digressed from hers. That is one of the greatest gifts that a director can give an assistant director. On our breaks we'd sit with our snacks and she'd give me a big smile and say "Okay, hit me!" which meant "Tell me everything that's on your mind that you didn't think you should say in the room." 

She challenged me, encouraged me, blew my mind and embraced me. We laughed hysterically one moment and cried together watching stunning performances the next. After a great day she'd hug you with a warmth that made you feel so valued, so special. Some of the moments I will cherish the most were those motherly moments when she would just hold my face in her hands and look into my eyes and say something perfect. Her kindness knew no bounds. During tech week she would surprise us with chocolate or cookies or fudge. At the end of the day I would give her a shiny sticker like I do with my preschool students, but she never knew where I'd decide to stick it and we'd both crack up when she found it inside her laptop, or on the back of her cellphone, or on her sandwich, or in her hair, or -- and this was my personal favourite -- in her salad. And when she would find it, watching her burst into that unforgettable cackle would make me laugh even harder than she did.
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Go to Part II