We were a small gang of old buddies, with a fondness for beards and wood and wool and other old-fashioned and pleasant things; the world was uneasy with the threat of Y2K, and we felt an urge to huddle together for mutual protection, and to dedicate ourselves to something fragile, ridiculous, and gentle, out on the edge of the world. So we learned to carve puppets, and paid our rent through wholes
ome labour; we collected eggs, fed the pigs, cooked big stews, and premiered our first show to a bunkhouse full of cowboys and Hutterites. For the record, the Hutterites were more impressed than the cowboys. We took that show into Calgary to the High Performance Rodeo, and people clapped; in that moment, an insatiable craving for applause was born in us, and the warm contentment of our ranch camaraderie turned into mean and craven Ambition. We've been labouring under the lash of that evil spirit for over ten years, during which time a great deal has changed. We moved to the city, for instance, and now operate out of a workshop next to the train tracks in industrial Calgary. It's a thriving operation that has grown much larger than the original hairy few. Dozens of people are employed at various points in the year for various projects. We've got a nascent apprenticeship program, technical and administrative wings, and three shows on the road this season. We've toured our productions across Canada and into the United States and Europe. We've mounted seven mainstage shows, most of which are lurking in crates at the workshop, ready to deploy: The Unlikely Birth of Istvan, The Tooth Fairy, Beowulf, The Last Supper of Antonin Carême, Pinocchio, Famous Puppet Death Scenes, and most recently The Erotic Anguish of Don Juan. And now we're hard at work on our next show, a puppet documentary about cavemen, called Ignorance. The taloned grip of Ambition has been fierce upon us. Will we ever understand what hollow ghosts we've become? Can we ever retrieve our innocence, now that it is lost?
