THE WOMAN WHO CHANGED MY LIFE
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.
Gina was a huge believer in my talent who not only gave constant positive feedback and encouragement, but increased my pride in myself as well. When it was time for her to proof the show program and my name was omitted from the credits, she was angry. She wrote "TANISHA TAITT - ASSISTANT DIRECTOR" on it in all caps in red pen and sent it back. We'd have philosophical conversations over lunch that always left my skin abuzz. After half a day's worth of work with the cast she'd ask me what I thought, and I would tell her. She always wanted complete frankness and I always gave it. She welcomed different interpretations of the words. And when I would privately share with her an idea or observation, if she loved it she would not only incorporate it, but she would make sure that the cast knew it was my idea. THAT truly touched me. Although she was the director, there were several times when she would begin a sentence with "Tanisha thinks..." or "Tanisha feels that..." and that was incredible to me. I have never met someone both that confident and that willing to celebrate input other than her own.
What an Energizer bunny she was. She was always working on several projects at once and running from city to city to do it. I remember one surprising day when she told me that my "age-old soul" was a calming influence in her frenetic life -- SHE was an old soul if there ever was one! It had never occurred to me that I could actually be influencing her too. But the time would come when she would share the most beautiful thoughts and feelings with me. She would even share others' feelings about me that I didn't know, which was incredibly moving. I remember her one evening telling me after a discussion with the cast about a particularly difficult part of the play, "Everyone thinks you're smart as a whip. Brenda told me that she loves having you in the room. And Stu especially is a big fan - he said 'that Tanisha has a real theatre mind'." For someone like myself, so new to the game, to have her make a point of telling me about the impressions I was making on a cast I respected so very much meant the world to me. It made me more confident and more relaxed. I was really strengthened by it. The card that she gave me on Opening Night - containing some of the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to me - was already one of my most cherished possessions. Now, it is even more so.
Gina was unbelievably sweet, smart, sassy, sexy, silly and sincere all at once. She possessed an untamed sensuality that exuded from her without effort, and that I'm sure made her the secret crush of many of her male and female friends alike. She made you want to come into the raw side of your own femininity in the same way. I learned more about being a woman and inhabiting my own skin in her company. She also had a razor-sharp wit but loved to be ridiculous. And I loved teasing her. I recall the morning that I decided to pronounce her name with a long "i" sound all day, just to bug her, and how I thereafter invoked this pronunciation to refer to her awesome and hilarious tales as The Gina Monologues. She was also incredibly self-deprecating and humble. When I told her that I'd love to audition for her someday, her response was "Only if I can audition for you." I thought she was kidding, but she wasn't. She said "What are you talking about? You're a director, and I'd love to act for you too! Let's audition for each other." I couldn't believe it. We were so clearly not at the same level of experience and accomplishment, and yet the respect she showed me was so real and true. She told me that I was going to leave a mark, and although I have many years to go and no real idea what my path holds, I find myself trusting her words and her wisdom. At times she was almost more excited by my projects than I was! When I held auditions for a Fringe show I was directing, she was the first person to ask how they went and if I'd found the people I needed, and she was so thrilled that I had. Unfortunately due to scheduling she wasn't able to come to the show in July, and was excited when I told her that we were bringing it back. It tears me up that she won't see it, or anything, that I'll ever do again.
Although she was so busy and travelled so much that we didn't get to spend the amount of time together that we wanted to, our friendship continued after Faith Healer was over. We became a mutual admiration society of two and couldn't wait to work together again and again. I wanted her to direct me, and vice-versa. We loved the thought of acting together and I hoped to do it one day. We even discussed the idea of each writing some monologues and then bringing them together. I was so excited by the prospect of all of these things. We had hoped to work together in all sorts of different configurations. I wrote my first play in the latter part of 2010. One of the characters was written exclusively with Gina in mind. I was going to ask her to play it if my show was ever produced, and in those moments when I didn't quite feel like writing, it was imagining Gina in the role that would fuel me and spur me on. To me, she WAS that part. I wanted to hear her breathe life into my words. I would have been so thrilled, and so very honoured.
So on the morning of December 31, 2010, when I turned on my computer and was met with the news that Gina Wilkinson had died, I screamed. I screamed like I haven't screamed since 2004 when another mentor of mine, this one a musical mentor, also died of cancer. It is hard to put into words how I felt -- I ran out of air and could barely breathe. There are no words... when the person who has inspired you more than anything is suddenly snatched away. It was a stab wound to my spirit, the splitting open of my heart. I could not believe it, I could not process it. I sat there shaking like a leaf, closing my eyes and opening them again as if trying to convince myself that I was dreaming and I just needed to wake up. I described it as being shot and hurled through a glass window. I cried and cried and cried... for three straight days. People often use the terms "pre" and "post" in describing the moments that changed and defined them. Without hesitation, I can refer to my life as pre-Gina and post-Gina. Once she befriended you, you weren't quite the same. I wanted to do more while she was still here. I wanted to make her proud of me. She longed to see more of Brian Friel's work in Toronto and dreamed of directing his play Molly Sweeney; I have pledged to myself to direct that show in her memory at some point in the future.
I cannot believe how incredibly fortunate I was to become friends with Gina Wilkinson for the last year of her life. I can truly say that if you knew her, you knew how blessed you were and could hardly imagine a time when you didn't. I was looking forward to her mentorship for years to come, and to her friendship for the rest of our lives. She was the director, the artist, the woman, and the human being that I wanted to be when I grew up. I know that there will be many more random moments when the tears will come rushing back at the thought of her. I will do my best to turn those tears into smiles as I remember her warmth, her brilliance, her laughter, her fire. And I will endeavour each day to fortify my own passion with hers, and to carry her lessons and her love with me both in my work and my treatment of others.
Gina my sweet, thank you. Thank you so, so much. Thank you for your guidance, your kindness, your honesty, your grace. You lit up my soul. I am a better artist, a fuller woman, a richer person because my life crossed paths with yours. And although you left us far too soon, a light such as yours can never truly be dimmed. Every moment that I spend working in the theatre, from this day forward, I will carry you with me. I will always, always love you. I will never, ever forget you. Sleep well my friend.
- TT
What an Energizer bunny she was. She was always working on several projects at once and running from city to city to do it. I remember one surprising day when she told me that my "age-old soul" was a calming influence in her frenetic life -- SHE was an old soul if there ever was one! It had never occurred to me that I could actually be influencing her too. But the time would come when she would share the most beautiful thoughts and feelings with me. She would even share others' feelings about me that I didn't know, which was incredibly moving. I remember her one evening telling me after a discussion with the cast about a particularly difficult part of the play, "Everyone thinks you're smart as a whip. Brenda told me that she loves having you in the room. And Stu especially is a big fan - he said 'that Tanisha has a real theatre mind'." For someone like myself, so new to the game, to have her make a point of telling me about the impressions I was making on a cast I respected so very much meant the world to me. It made me more confident and more relaxed. I was really strengthened by it. The card that she gave me on Opening Night - containing some of the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to me - was already one of my most cherished possessions. Now, it is even more so.
Gina was unbelievably sweet, smart, sassy, sexy, silly and sincere all at once. She possessed an untamed sensuality that exuded from her without effort, and that I'm sure made her the secret crush of many of her male and female friends alike. She made you want to come into the raw side of your own femininity in the same way. I learned more about being a woman and inhabiting my own skin in her company. She also had a razor-sharp wit but loved to be ridiculous. And I loved teasing her. I recall the morning that I decided to pronounce her name with a long "i" sound all day, just to bug her, and how I thereafter invoked this pronunciation to refer to her awesome and hilarious tales as The Gina Monologues. She was also incredibly self-deprecating and humble. When I told her that I'd love to audition for her someday, her response was "Only if I can audition for you." I thought she was kidding, but she wasn't. She said "What are you talking about? You're a director, and I'd love to act for you too! Let's audition for each other." I couldn't believe it. We were so clearly not at the same level of experience and accomplishment, and yet the respect she showed me was so real and true. She told me that I was going to leave a mark, and although I have many years to go and no real idea what my path holds, I find myself trusting her words and her wisdom. At times she was almost more excited by my projects than I was! When I held auditions for a Fringe show I was directing, she was the first person to ask how they went and if I'd found the people I needed, and she was so thrilled that I had. Unfortunately due to scheduling she wasn't able to come to the show in July, and was excited when I told her that we were bringing it back. It tears me up that she won't see it, or anything, that I'll ever do again.
Although she was so busy and travelled so much that we didn't get to spend the amount of time together that we wanted to, our friendship continued after Faith Healer was over. We became a mutual admiration society of two and couldn't wait to work together again and again. I wanted her to direct me, and vice-versa. We loved the thought of acting together and I hoped to do it one day. We even discussed the idea of each writing some monologues and then bringing them together. I was so excited by the prospect of all of these things. We had hoped to work together in all sorts of different configurations. I wrote my first play in the latter part of 2010. One of the characters was written exclusively with Gina in mind. I was going to ask her to play it if my show was ever produced, and in those moments when I didn't quite feel like writing, it was imagining Gina in the role that would fuel me and spur me on. To me, she WAS that part. I wanted to hear her breathe life into my words. I would have been so thrilled, and so very honoured.
So on the morning of December 31, 2010, when I turned on my computer and was met with the news that Gina Wilkinson had died, I screamed. I screamed like I haven't screamed since 2004 when another mentor of mine, this one a musical mentor, also died of cancer. It is hard to put into words how I felt -- I ran out of air and could barely breathe. There are no words... when the person who has inspired you more than anything is suddenly snatched away. It was a stab wound to my spirit, the splitting open of my heart. I could not believe it, I could not process it. I sat there shaking like a leaf, closing my eyes and opening them again as if trying to convince myself that I was dreaming and I just needed to wake up. I described it as being shot and hurled through a glass window. I cried and cried and cried... for three straight days. People often use the terms "pre" and "post" in describing the moments that changed and defined them. Without hesitation, I can refer to my life as pre-Gina and post-Gina. Once she befriended you, you weren't quite the same. I wanted to do more while she was still here. I wanted to make her proud of me. She longed to see more of Brian Friel's work in Toronto and dreamed of directing his play Molly Sweeney; I have pledged to myself to direct that show in her memory at some point in the future.
I cannot believe how incredibly fortunate I was to become friends with Gina Wilkinson for the last year of her life. I can truly say that if you knew her, you knew how blessed you were and could hardly imagine a time when you didn't. I was looking forward to her mentorship for years to come, and to her friendship for the rest of our lives. She was the director, the artist, the woman, and the human being that I wanted to be when I grew up. I know that there will be many more random moments when the tears will come rushing back at the thought of her. I will do my best to turn those tears into smiles as I remember her warmth, her brilliance, her laughter, her fire. And I will endeavour each day to fortify my own passion with hers, and to carry her lessons and her love with me both in my work and my treatment of others.
Gina my sweet, thank you. Thank you so, so much. Thank you for your guidance, your kindness, your honesty, your grace. You lit up my soul. I am a better artist, a fuller woman, a richer person because my life crossed paths with yours. And although you left us far too soon, a light such as yours can never truly be dimmed. Every moment that I spend working in the theatre, from this day forward, I will carry you with me. I will always, always love you. I will never, ever forget you. Sleep well my friend.
- TT
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