by Cameryn Moore
I have escaped the Mile-End meat locker, that overpriced, underheated Montreal sublet with a terrible, passive-aggressive roomie. Two months ago I was sure I would end up spending the most miserable winter of my adult existence there. Now I am out, and writing this missive from the freedom and comfort of a friend’s house on L’ile Perrot, a suburban town located 30 minutes’ drive outside of Montreal. I’m house-sitting while my friend is away at clown school until the end of March—I love that I can count both professional and aspiring clowns among my friends—and I think/hope he can swing it for April.
All the shows and events that I really want to go to are far away now! Um.
And while I know perfectly well that many works of art have been created in less-than-physically comfortable environments—in downright bleak conditions, in fact—I long ago stopped believing that I have to suffer for my art. On the creature-comfort front, I might say that the sum of my ambitions is to NOT suffer for my art.
There is space here for me to stack my bags and suitcases, spread them out from time to time, and do my annual 'housecleaning': what needs to go with me on the plane to the UK, what needs to go in the car on the North American tour, what needs to stay here in Montreal. (The answers are, respectively, hardly anything, not much, and everything else, which is still not much.)