Moments of joy from 2020, pt. i

This is the first in a series of posts detailing some of my projects from 2020. Because of the nature of the projects and the Big Shift that happened last year, I wasn’t very advertisey in the moment. While many planned things dropped, I was still able to be part of a bunch of interesting and inspiring projects. Over the next little bit, I’m planning on detailing each and sharing some lessons learned during each.

First up is a project I co-lead with Alice Cavanagh, produced by Frog in Hand in collaboration with Clay and Paper Theatre.


CYCLOPS was a project that manifested as 3 distinct wandering performances roaming neighbourhoods in Port Credit, central Toronto and in the east end of Toronto. These localized parades shared a few elements: they needed something tall (like a banner or large puppet), they needed to be mobile (wheeled methods of transportation highly encouraged), and they needed to include music and ways to make sound. Aside from that, artists had freedom to create what they wanted.

My group, the “Planting Queens” (a play on the Abba song “Dancing Queen” which became our silly anthem) were a wandering quartet of clown gardeners (because everyone took up gardening in 2020) designed to spread joy along the lakefront. Trowel (me), Sprinkle (Drew Berry), Fern (Rohan Dhupar) and Petal (Mackenna Martinez) wandered the streets of Port Credit from the piers of the harbour to the bridge across Cooksville Creek. We sang for, laughed with, cheered on cyclists and runners and greeted people we met on our way.

I did mention there were other Cyclops groups happening around the city at the same time ours was parading around Port Credit. Here’s a quick peek at Alice’s group, Space Force, with the wonderful Clarke Blair and Erin Eldershaw wandering the east end of Toronto:

photo by Tamara Romanchuk

And the wonderfully bizarre group of wild animals caught on the prowl in central Toronto, with their group The Pond. This group included Lizzie Moffatt, Keitlyn Seibold, Zachary Bastille, Jeremy Pearson and Michael Derworiz:

photo by Tamara Romanchuk

The Learning

My only real regret is our scheduling. We scheduled each of these pieces to be wandering at the same time. It was a tricky thing, being our first live performance since the lockdown in mid-March. On the planning end it seemed fine: focusing on our own geographical neighbourhoods and coordinating at a distance would limit travel. Keeping the numbers low would, ideally, minimize the risk of infection. Each group was advised to have all necessary safety measures on-hand (face masks, hand sanitizer, sanitizing wipes). But each group member was also performing. We planned to keep these self-contained, and because of this inward-looking focus we didn’t notice the big, person-shaped hole right beside us.

The groups needed a support.

We misplanned the importance of an outside body to accompany the groups: someone whose sole responsibility would be to act as a reminder to clean, to take breaks, to field questions from the audiences and to step in in case anything happened to ensure the safety of the performers.

This should have been myself, or Alice. Our schedule didn’t allow this and so we were both performing, simultaneously, in different cities. I especially didn’t see this need because my group actually had Colleen Snell (director of Frog in Hand) accompany us every day. This meant I didn’t flag it until things were well underway. While we are lucky that nothing drastic happened during these performances there were definitely situations, such as people getting a bit too close, where it would have come in handy to have that extra body.

Issue One Previews

Glass to Glass is a quaranZine intended as a platform for document and share thoughts, feelings, observances and really anything else that’s been happening during this worldwide pandemic. While I make most of the zine, I also reach out for artist submissions (for info on how/what to submit, check here). We can only get through this thing together, even in isolation.

Buy Glass to Glass a coffee over at our ko-fi site. You can get your own print copies in the mail of issue one & two right now! If you do, you’ll get to see the beautiful work by Claudio Ghirardo and Blythe Haynes, maybe a little doodle by me. You’ll also be supporting the artists who contribute :)


Glass to Glass

Everything is changing. Much of my interaction with other people has moved behind glass. The black mirror is now a pixellated-shimmering portal offering fluidity and connection when the wifi is good. My heart is heavy these days and my eyes are strained from constantly staring into the near-distance. But with all this connection I’m finding ways to disconnect, and craft in a finger-pleasing, brain-tinkering kind of way. That way now has a name, a name that is not as obvious as the one before.

GLASS TO GLASS is a (quaran)’zine documenting and serving as response to this global phenomenon we are now facing. And I am accepting submissions.

Anything you have come up with these past weeks, anything that acts as response, some beautiful moment you witnessed, some experience you never thought you’d have, a comic, a poem, a list of all the things you miss, a hyper-detailed recording of everything you’ve sanitized since the quarantine started; whatever you’d like to share, I will accept.

Send submissions to with something like ” ‘Zine submission ” in the subject line. For now this is a volunteer thing, created out of interest and desire to make. I’m investigating ways to fund the printing of it, and once this happens that volunteer thing will change into another thing.

Stay safe. Keep moving. Maybe take a moment to scribble out some thoughts. You never know what’ll come out.

– Andrew

Quaran’Zine: a response to crisis

Hey readers.

It has been quite some time. To think, just a week ago I was starting a new apprenticeship, training with Kathleen LeRoux and company to bring joy into the lives of elders as well as adults going through their own crises. The world, and my calendar, all of a sudden seemed so full and exciting — the directions I’d been gallivanting down the past couple years had all started to show new signs of life on their respective trails.

And now. Here we are. Friday, March 13th — yes it was a Friday the 13th kind of day — my inbox filled, hourly, with cancellations, updates, monitorings. My calendar all of a sudden became a whole lot emptier.

It’s astonishing to think about how different life was just a week ago.

It’s also overwhelming to see how we are adapting. Communities popping up as fast as those emails were sent in response. Digital platforms I’ve never heard of are now the norm. Conference calling. Group chats. Digital spaces and places. This is where we meet.

After some thought, I’ve decided to begin work on a ‘Zine to document and respond to this unprecedented moment we are experiencing. And by we, I mean WE. Everyone. Everywhere. I’ve never experienced something so global before.

I’m going to call it Quaran’Zine. Or something more poetic. But that’s the one that’s sticking… so far…

I’d like to invite anyone who wants to join me for this endeavor to read the call I made on Facebook below. I’d love to hear/read/experience whatever is happening in your life.

I’D LIKE TO ADD, that if you submit, please include:

  • the date you wrote/made/responded to this crisis with your submission, &
  • your location.

Alright friends. Then let’s do this. I invite anyone who’d like to submit something for Quaran’Zine to email me at

Really I’m looking for anything you want to share about life during this time. What has changed? What was a wonderful act of humanity you experienced? What is the value of creating spaces in times of crises? What do you miss? What’s really bothering you?

It can be journal, poetry, it can be doodles and drawings, it can be comics and photographs, scripts or just inane ramblings. It can be lists, observations, collage, really anything. I’ll maybe stray away from video at the moment but we can also have a conversation about it.

I’m going to set up an online space for it to exist. I’ll also probably print some and send them around. Figuring out the details and logistics of that.

At the moment, this would be a volunteer thing, a moment to come together a make a document (or series of documents) to capture the moment and to ruminate about humanity and community in times of crises.

For those who it matters: I’m thinking of formatting it Quarto size, regular 8.5×11″ paper, portrait orientation. If it requires multiple pages, which I assume it will, I’m planning on stitching it together instead of stapling. If you are designing something let me know about the dimensions. You can probably go right to the edge although I’m not sure how picky my printer will be (this is, if you’re worried about it being printed). Depending on how much material comes in. If it’s a lot, then I might switch over to Octavo and make a couple little issues.

When submitting a thing, please let me know if you’d like it to remain in the format you send it in or if you’re happy for me to cut and paste and design it how I think might fit.

.pdfs, .jpegs, .docx, text in an email that I can copy — let’s keep it to these formats so it’s not too much of a hassle for me.

Also, if you’re sending writing, maybe keep it shorter rather than longer. Brevity and all that. I won’t impose a limit and I won’t edit you, but we may start a convo.

Once again, the email address is
Just cite “‘Zine contribution” in the subject.


Much love in this time of glass to glass.