AskÎwan took the audience on a journey at once peaceful and intensely introspective. Performed by a quartet consisting of a traditional drummer, cellist, guitarist/synth player and a videographer, the show consisted of soundscapes layered over subtly shifting visuals. It seemed shaped to give audiences an Indigenous view of time as a cyclical journey that we are only one piece of. Through a fusion of technology and human-generated sound, we are given the chance to resee the world around us and the world we share.

The audience was first greeted with an eerie silence as the camera focused on the water bowl at the center of the stage. With mountains and a starry sky projected on the wall, the show began with a low churning roar like an earthquake. We find ourselves quietly at the centre of a shifting vision of nature guided by the artistic vision of Tyson Houseman. As the background shifts to an image reminiscent of the aurora borealis, the idea of an “ecological opera” is reinforced.

At the bottom of the projected screen lies an unchanging mountain; above this sits an image like shimmering water projected. Soon, it is gently replaced with other nature motifs and colour combinations. Throughout the show, there was a sense of focused calmness and tranquillity. The show seemed to want to evoke a sense of being at one with nature. At one point, we hear a chant from someone somewhere that adds to the sense of mysticism and serenity. We can hear and feel the way that each member of the group contributes, but the darkness of the theatre conceals how. Soon, a white feather emerges into view, and we are met with a bass tone while two hands cup a light projected on screen. A new hypnotic chant begins, and we are greeted with a crackle and flicker of fire against what appears to be tree trunks projected on the screen.

The sense of peaceful focus is enhanced by the sound of traditional indigenous drumming echoing from the stage. The combination of sounds takes us on a journey laid out by the images projected above. This is soon followed by a low rumble and the sounds of an inferno. The transitions between sounds are gentle, and we are taken along by the images projected on screen. The cellist enters with mournful notes and is soon joined by a guitarist, replayed on what sounds like a dusty record. As the performance ends, we see what looks like home videos of children playing on a dock and families at rest. We are greeted by a solemn chant as the show draws to a close, and the screen fades to black.

The show was peaceful from beginning to end and maintained a sense of light mysticism throughout. Push festival, making an effort to highlight diverse indigenous voices, is hugely important, and I am glad that I got to see Tyson Houseman’s work. I hope that more of Canada’s indigenous creators can share their work with a wider audience, as Push has demonstrated can be done.