The Craft Project

Playing with Puppets

The very talented Alistair Maitland took a few pictures during our puppet show at Brave New Works this past week which I wanted to share with all you.  It gives you a glimpse of a few of the puppets and set pieces which we put together.  I also wanted to share the bilingual narration of the piece with all of you that my very talented partner is this creation Émélie Caron wrote, so that you can get an idea of what our piece was like.  I hope you enjoy it.


I always thought my home was a prison. That I could not get out, that I was doomed. It was heavy. Too heavy for my tiny shoulders. I was old before I was young, weary before wondering.

But one day, one day I saw a marvel on the horizon. He was … brilliant. A prince. I could barely see him, but I already wanted to love him. I loved him. I called and called … but he did not see me.

I decided to leave my home and join him.

I felt disconnected, nauseous, but it was insignificant. My prince was there ahead. It’s all that matters. And every night I climbed atop the prow and called to him. But he did not hear me.

L’océan qui gronde dans ma tête

Déborde de mes yeux:

Ça ne va pas.
SHE: And I preferred to be deceived.

But one night, I could not call out. The storm rumbled. The storm raged. It overflowed from my head and into the ocean.

Je suis une barcasse, un radeau, une brindille peut-être,

Je flotte au long d’un flot aussi caressant qu’étrange

C’est doux, froid, c’est trop, trop… Non, pas assez!

Je ne me sens pas mal, je ne me sens pas bien.

Je ne fais que dériver, inconsciente, sans aller contre le                                                                                                            [courant,

Je ne lutte pas et croise au passage d’autres à la dérive;

Certains sont plus sereins que d’autres,

Le truc c’est de ne pas penser…

Hours, days, months maybe. Drifting. My head was filled with only him.

And as if the blade that pierced my heart had turned into a rope, my body was pulled towards him.

I called to him one last time, breathless. This time he saw me. He heard me … But he did nothing. You must understand, he was hollow. A hollow man cannot dive into a love story. He would sink too far into its depths. It’s not really his fault, is it?

We were so close … but those few meters were the longest meters in the whole universe. And I drift, again, on the ocean, crying for my charming prince…



Un, deux, trois, SPLOUCH

Entre toi et moi ça fait trop loin

Quand on pense à ce qu’il faut nager

La Manche, c’est rien à côté



Un, deux, un, deux

La mer des prisons de Nantes

C’est une vraie nage de santé

Il est trop, trop loin de moi le fils du geôlier


Un… un… un petit navire

Voilà ce qu’il me faudrait pour naviguer

Jusqu’à toi qui n’as ja-ja-jamais su tendre vers moi

Une bouée dans l’océan avant que je m’y noie


I crossed the ocean for nothing.

And one day, I don’t know how, I got home…

It was as if my home found me. And for the first time in my life, I was happy to see my home.  It was rich, full of life.

And I understood, at last. My home is what I choose it to be. Before awakening, it was a prison, immobile. But I crossed to the other side. And I’m back. Sometimes you must leave everything behind you to realize that the place you left was truly your home. Now, my home is a vessel that carries me. It’s funny, I feel like I grew up… and I’m finally young.

Corps mouvant


En mouvement


Extension douloureuse de la vie

Qui hurle au bonheur

De sentir

De ressentir

De mourir

Pour vivre



Qui s’étire sans fin

Qui s’épanouit


Dans la chair


Amour, mon cœur prisonnier,

Qui crie liberté

Comme ce regard qui sait

Quitter sa prison

De chair

De verre

De terre


Sans ailes

Sans rien qu’un ciel



En mouvement

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