Arts·Q&A

A Bharatanatyam dancer wanted a space in Toronto for artists to come together — so she made one

Collective Shivarathiri, a day-and-night performance of South Asian dance, music and art organized by Nithya Garg, will bring together more than 100 artists.

Collective Shivarathiri began as an experiment among South Asian artists and has become a vital tradition

Nithya Garg dances in traditional Hindu dress at the Collective Shivarathiri 2022.
Nithya Garg performs at the Collective Shivarathiri 2022. (Francesca Chudnoff)

Every February, a commercial studio loft space in Toronto's Junction Triangle transforms from a rehearsal/performance venue to a place of community gathering. Attendees start lining up in the morning, adding their winter boots to a pile of shoes outside the studio doors. Inside they unfurl their winter gear to reveal a melange of saris and kurtas, jeans and hoodies, and take a seat wherever they can find a spot — on the floor, on foldable chairs or the stairs leading to the top landing space.

This annual event known as the Collective Shivarathiri, organized by the non-profit arts organization Ānandaṁ, takes place over two days, with a community activity night on the first day and performances on the second. It provides an opportunity for artists across South Asian disciplines to offer their practice and create a space for one another to perform and watch, along with fellow art enthusiasts. 

On the night preceding the performance day, artists and volunteers assemble to prepare the venue — decorating the floor with geometric patterns, stringing flower garlands and creating a small altar to Shiva, the Hindu god known for his cosmic dance. On performance day, everyone returns to watch the artists take their moment on stage. 

Wide shot of a dancer performing in the centre of the room as a seated audience looks on.
A performance at the Collective Shivarathiri 2022. (Francesca Chudnoff)

Fuelled by endless earthenware cups of chai, traditional snacks and an air of conviviality, the Collective Shivarathiri has quickly become an anticipated event for lovers of South Asian arts. For its inaugural year in 2020, 30 artists performed in front of 200 audience members, showcasing short dance or musical performances, from 8pm to midnight. This year, more than 100 performers will perform in front of an audience of close to 300 people. The performances, starting at 11am on February 18th and extending past midnight into February 19th, will take place in five batches, with added elements of visual arts.

CBC Arts spoke to Nithya Garg, Ānandaṁ's curation and production director and Bharatanatyam dancer by training, who came up with the concept of Collective Shivarathiri.

How did the idea come about?

I had just come back from India in January 2020, after visiting one of India's cultural capitals, Chennai, where I'd seen all these performances. I remember thinking, "I wish we had a space in Toronto that brought together all the dancers and musicians — that they could bring an offering of their art to that space." I seriously thought nobody would want to do it because the Hindu festival Shivaratri falls in February, and it's the most miserable time of the year. Nobody wants to leave their house in February. 

I wondered if people would want to come out to a community space like that. So with a small email list of performers, I asked. And Ānandaṁ artistic director Brandy Leary backed me in this. I was happily surprised that there was this crowd of people who were interested and understood what I was asking: that it would go from 8pm to midnight, there would be no breaks, no introductions, no mics, no amplifier. You don't have to be dressed in a costume to show up to perform. You just give your offering.

Ashvini Sundaram dances in traditional Hindu dress at the Collective Shivarathiri.
Ashvini Sundaram performs at the Collective Shivarathiri 2022. (Francesca Chudnoff)

I expected there to be pushback, for there to be reticence. So many people just showed up. I didn't even know half of the people in the audience. Somehow word spread around. I remember being in a state of shock for five hours. I wasn't sure how we'd manage. But people just helped each other. There was just a natural desire to want to be of service to each other. Volunteers showed up out of nowhere. It was so magical. Some of those performances, they're still in my mind. Which is why I keep doing this. 

How has the event changed since it began in 2020?

We're trying to keep expanding. There are even more artists from the GTA, people flying in from all over Canada. It's really incredible. But what I keep coming back to is that word, "offering." A space of offering for artists, whether they are on the professional spectrum or those who are just learning or they're just there to offer their practice — that this is a space for everyone. It's so powerful, this accumulation of people in that space is so charged. 

We're now in our fourth year. I really feel that this is a space that is needed. It's a space that on a very personal level, as a curator, I feel like it's at the heartbeat of my personal practice: to create space, to consider the audience. It's about having that space where we can just be, and not be worried about how we are seen. I want people to feel invited, that they are a part of the experience with me. 

In an earlier conversation, you told me about meeting with other young performers with a similar thought process, who were all eager to perform; how you came together to organize small events among your peers. What was motivating you and your peers to create such spaces? 

We want to experiment. We have an interest in creating our own spaces that make sense for us. We didn't know if other people would show up. As artists we are curious to innovate, create our own production, and not just rely on our teachers to organize an event or create a platform. 

Audience members seated on the floor watching performances at the Collective Shivarathiri.
Front row of the audience at the Collective Shivarathiri 2022. (Francesca Chudnoff)

That's how it started. It's a small community, and there were these events all over Toronto popping up, at least once a month. We'd get small library theatres. And that also brought us out of the context of the big venues like Harbourfront Centre theatre, where the proscenium theatre takes your audience further behind. Whereas Indian classical dance thrives on being able to truly see the intricacies like facial expressions. That was five, six years ago.

Then the pandemic hit. People went back to being in a space of research and going back to practice, or regular class. There was also a boom on social media, which I have mixed feelings about. I think what sustained us is the realization — [we] need to be in practice. And that dance is hard to do alone. Dance is built in togetherness. 

How did you get started as a Bharatnatyam dancer?

Like many South Asian kids, I was thrown into it but I didn't take to it. I must have been four or five years old and I didn't like being told what to do. So my mother took me out of the dance classes, and just took me to community performances in town on a regular basis. We were living in Chicago at the time, and there was at least a monthly performance happening at the temple. I am not sure if she did it consciously or maybe it was just her philosophy. She thought that if I came to her, and asked to learn, and tell her why, she would take it forward. 

I must have been eight when I saw this group performance of Bharatnatyam. The girls were between eight and 12 years old; it must have been some school showcase. I was mesmerized. My mother found out who the teacher was, and I started learning from her. Her name was Vanitha Veervall. Then we moved to Canada, and my mother did a second set of research to find Lata Pada.

Prajakta Dravid dances in traditional Hindu dress at the Collective Shivarathiri.
Prajakta Dravid performs at the Collective Shivarathiri 2022. (Francesca Chudnoff)

When did you realize that you wanted to become a professional artist — that you weren't just learning Bharatanatyam as part of your cultural background? 

I don't know if there was one definitive moment. I think I've always been drawn to being in the arts — wanting to be in that space where people were forming ideas or researching or deepening the practice. There's of course dignity in that cultural framework; there's reasons why we preserve a tradition. But I never wanted to become a museum artefact. 

There's something happening in the now — that despite performing a form that's hundreds of years old, there's this ongoing research and development going on which gives me a connection to the culture as well as relevancy. I wanted to be in a space that had freedom of the artistic flow and challenged me to think deeper about what I am doing. 

Anyone will tell you that you can't survive on passion or love. I don't think love or passion has driven me; instead it's curiosity.

The 2023 Collective Shivarathiri takes place February 17th–19th at Ānandaṁ's Collective Space in Toronto, with a community activity night on Friday the 17th and a performance day starting at 11am on Saturday the 18th and extending past midnight into Sunday the 19th.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Aparita Bhandari is an arts and life reporter in Toronto. She has been published in Canadian media including CBC, the Toronto Star, The Globe and Mail and Walrus magazine. Her areas of interest and expertise lie in the intersections of gender, culture and ethnicity. She is the producer and co-host of the Hindi language podcast, KhabardaarPodcast.com.

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