Johnna Wright - Director/Mother -Sascha Surjik-Wright -Son/Dreamer

My Mother's Red Shawl - El Rebozo Colorado
Johnna Wright - Director/Mother  -Sascha Surjik-Wright -Son/Dreamer

When I was a kid my mom had a dress, yellow knit with a full, pleated skirt. I remember her walking down the street from the bus stop toward our house, on her way home from work at the Calgary Herald. You could see her from our balcony, walking along in the sunshine. She looked like a daffodil. She had this belt made of metal chain that she wore with that dress. I don’t know what happened to the dress but I have the belt. I’d wear more of her stuff but she was a lot taller and slimmer than I am. Even her jewelry is too big for me. I have some of it anyway, including a ring she bought in Greece shortly before she died. I put adhesive tape around it so it won’t fall off.

When she died in 2001, I took a lot of her stuff. 7 years later I was still wearing her eye shadow, which I guess is a bit strange. I figured then that it was time to let some things go, but in the end I only ditched the makeup.


I always felt, not very originally, that objects weren’t important next to people and relationships. But I underestimated the power of objects to connect you to a person. My son seems to understand it, though. He has my husband’s ??-year-old Tinker Toy set and loves to play with it because that’s what Dad did when he was a boy.

Before I had my son I understood the concept of maternal love, but the people who told me I wouldn’t really know what it meant until I was a mother – they were right. When he was born I looked at him and thought ‘Oh, I get it now. I would die for this person.’ It’s not simple and soft and cuddly the way I used to think of a mother’s love – it’s weirdly more savage than that. It’s elemental. Like, this is my life out there in front of me. There it goes, running down the sidewalk, wobbling on its training wheels, climbing that fence. My whole self and everything I am, in 34 pounds of dirt, and rocks from the driveway, and stolen chocolate sauce.



Decker & Nick Hunt Cat & 19th century amateur
George Bowering Poet
Celia Duthie Gallerist
Linda Lorenzo Mother
Katheryn Petersen Accordionist
Stefanie Denz Artist
Ivette Hernández Actress
Byron Chief-Moon Actor/Dancer
Colin Horricks Doctor
Ian Mulgrew Vancouver Sun Columnist
Jocelyn Morlock Composer
Corinne McConchie Librarian
Rachel Ditor Dramaturg
Patrick Reid Statesman, Flag Designer
Michael Varga CBC Cameraman
Bronwen Marsden Playwright/Actress/Director
David Baines Vancouver Sun Columnist
Alex Waterhouse-Hayward Photographer
Lauren Elizabeth Stewart Student
Sandrine Cassini Dancer/Choreographer
Meredith Kalaman Dancer/Choreographer
Juliya Kate Dominatrix