Showing posts with label DISABILITY. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DISABILITY. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

One gay day in July (2011)




Walter Quan's delightful rainbow sushi candles! divine!
Sometimes it’s nice not to be a cancer patient. Some days it’s great not to be on chemo. To have some energy, to go out! To do just what I want, just what I like. Go where I want, eat what I want, see who I like. My motto these days, go late, come home early.

The day started a little oddly with me making a hole in the wall during a sharp turn of my chairiot in the hallway. Then my prayer beads bracelet broke as I was trying to get off the bus on Commercial. The bus driver and passengers helped me pick them up and I stowed them safely away in my bag. Uncharacteristically for me I refused to consider either of these misfortunes as omens of anything. The sun was finally shining and I was determined to have a good day.

Soon I was licking a pina colada popsicle at the Dyke March Concert. I saw, U, and V. C and J, L, B, C. I had a great time catching up with everyone in the sun amongst the rainbow festivities. Enjoying the music and the inimitable Morgan Brayton as the ever present effervescent MC. Eating a Sweet Cherubim’s tofu rice samosa I wended my way past blooming flower gardens back to Commercial drive. Where I bumped into M and N. I called out to Y from my poetry class and we walked down Commercial drive and took the bus in to town, chatting animatedly about writing all the way.

I got off at Oppenheimer Park and went to the centre of all things Japanese, the Powell St Festival craft market where hundreds of people were enjoying the day. Browsing amongst the tents, I was taken by the variety and quality of the wares. I wanted to buy everything! Settling for a range of beautiful cards, layers of fabric, paper, pressed flowers, burgundy and pink. One with the word ‘laugh’ written in gold in the centre of a ring of tiny blossoms. A blue and gold fridge magnet with the symbol for ‘dream’ on it. Some copies of Ricepaper literary journal, always a good read. A small green pottery bowl for A, and the best from W from BC Arts Council who has managed to combine 3 of my favourite things, sushi, art and rainbow pride. In the exquisitely subversive gay pride colored centres rolled beeswax candle sushi. Divine! He was cheerfully crocheting a purple eggplant at the time I dropped by! So fun!

After another short bus ride, I rolled up Seymour St to where my friends G and D, are staying while their flooded apartment is repaired. Bearing a gift of a blue and gold fridge magnet with the symbol for ‘friend’. D and I had a refreshing swim in the outdoor seawater pool with a vista of the city skylines, me mostly just floating, relaxing. D gives me a lemon meringue from today’s farmers market, to take home and share with A, so sweet and thoughtful. She’s off at a gathering dancing the light fantastic with Lucie Blue Tremblay.

To my final festival of the day on my way home at Canada Place, next to the seabus, with a view of the breathtaking blue on the horizon Northshore Mountains across the inlet. The Public Dreams Society Illuminaires lantern festival. Cute to see the children in their fairy costumes carrying homemade lanterns. Alas my camera ran out of batteries at the pool so no more photos of things and people seen and heard. ( But here is some one else's photos ( : ) Like the giant heron lantern to be carried by several people. Meandering amongst the crowds munching a Sweet Cherubim’s aptly named chocolate bliss ball. Saw J from A’s choir running past, late, with green glitter lipstick and a drum, and D and D stopped to chat. Grooving with the festive mood I had my photo taken at a booth with dressup clothes, in an decorated ‘alladins’ type hat. Time to head home. All on accessible public transit. Grateful ( ;

Perhaps today reminded me of a summer’s day in early February in NZ. When we would go me, and A, and J and J, to The Big Gay Out, in Point Chevalier park, and bump into people we knew. Later we would pile into a car with my manual collapsible wheelchair and J’s walker and go to the Chinese New Year Lantern Festival that always seemed to be on the same day. J’s daughter, J, would be so good about pushing my wheelchair, and we would find good food to eat, and wander in wonder amongst the lanterns hanging in the trees. The young, the old, and the crip, the queer, like the strange little family that we are, and have the best day ever.

Monday, April 4, 2011

humerus


after the cancer
ate in to
her left humerus
she lost her
sense of humour


she had avoided
operations
node removals
as a writer
never sure
she could give up
the use of her left arm
for any length of time
6 weeks, 6 months, a year


what now?
destined to become
a one armed bandito
tip tap typing
alone?


she thought often of Frida
the operations, amputations,
corsets, perambulations,
angles of beds, mirror, paints
being transported to her exhibition
triumphant in a small bed


don’t speak to me
about radiation poisoning
afraid it may reach you
from Japan
put the iodine back on the shelf
send your money to the red cross
who will surely help the survivors
 
my head throbs
skin burns hot and cold
bones ache
insides shake


this is radiation ‘treatment’
to save, salve,
salvage, stave, stove
my spinacular molecules


i pray for the people of Japan
new zealand
living and dead
offer a moment
of peace
yesterday
today
tomorrow
into the uncertainty
of our
future.





Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Barbara Hammer and eating popcorn

The day started out ordinarily enough. All I was trying to accomplish was to record my writing classes  from the yearly schedule in to my Georgia O'Keefe (1887-1986) paintings datebook. Which took several hours of meticulous careful work - interrupted  by many phone calls. The home care nurse to change their calls to monthly instead of weekly - given that I am nearly better I expect this is a good idea. The technician to tell me they don't have any extra-tall seat backs in stock right now for the electric chairiot ....hmmmm. To try to get a yearly bus pass for me and the chairiot instead of special transportation subsidy - it's too complicated to explain, call back in March. My GP to tell me she is on it with the bone density tests, but despite recent boney events, she is worried I don't qualify, there is not a box to tick for me - even if treatments leave me with the bones of a 60 year old. A different nurse to make a time for a monthly injection - the one that leaves me with the bones of a 60 year old. The new supervisor, of the home care workers came by in person to meet me. Now don't get me wrong I am mighty grateful for health care and whatever kind of assistance I receive, and the people who give it. I just never realized how complicated my life is in one day! 

barbara hammer with camera  as younger and older woman
Come evening time, things got way more fun! I went with  two friends (the same two as from the chairiot coast adventure) to the movies! We were going to see the Barbara Hammer (1939 - ) touring retrospective show Making movies out of sex and life. I saw some of her movies in the 1980's in Aotearoa. The fact she has been making experimental films - some 80 in 40 years is remarkable  reason enough to get dressed up on a winter night and head out in to the sleet. I had tried quite hard online the night before to find out how to buy tickets in advance with no success. All information said tickets at the door, doors open at 6pm. I wasn't taking any chances, we were there at 6pm on the dot. There were already 20 or so people waiting in the freezing cold of the ticket line up. The show was sold out in advance, the ticket booth was not open and would not be open until 6.45pm, no we could not go inside in the meantime. Things looked grim. It was starting to snow.

We did not have any of the mysteriously reserved tickets, nor the yellow arm bands of the many participating organizations. My charming companion miss brain face stuck close by one of the organizers of a group she has participated in, stuck like glue. Miraculously one arm band appeared   - we each insisted the other should go in, and then two spare yellow arm bands materialized, very very grateful! Alas no more could be found, our faithful companion was sick of standing around in the cold, and had been wanting to see the movie The King's Speech for some time, she would just make a 7pm screening at a nearby cinema. She graciously departed for it post haste.

barbara hammer smiling
 I schmoozed a little on my way in to the theatre, my companion, miss 80, thoughtfully found us seats at the back just in from the aisle. While I was off chatting with a friend, my companion discovered the black jacket on the seat next to us belonged to none other than the filmmaker herself, Mz Barbara Hammer. They chatted and became instant buddies. I was very excited to meet her, we talked some about filmmaking, our common history of cancer, the Guerrilla Grrls and having your career pick up when you are 80! (She is 71). She was so down to earth and approachable. How typical of a filmmaker to sit at the back -  you can observe unnoticed your audience's reaction to your work - which is always fascinating to see. 

After introductions, we watched Dyketactics (1974), No No Nooky TV (1981), SYNC TOUCH (1987), and A Horse is not a metaphor (2008), the latter about her journey with ovarion cancer.  There were times I wanted to take both her, and my companion's hands, knowing what each had been through as survivor, and witness, but I was too shy. At the end of the show before Mz Hammer was called down the front for an illuminating Q and A, she turned to us and said, 'I bequeath you my popcorn'. If I had been a different kind of person I would have kept it and sold it on e-bay. But I am not, and so I did as she had intended in giving it to us, and ate it!

Hammer! book cover
Barbara Hammer is a great public speaker, warm, almost theatrical. I was very interested in her decision on noticing her early work was picked up by lesbian audiences but not mainstream art houses, to make work not focused on lesbians and women in her mid career work - and it was then picked up by galleries. Her later work bringing it all back in to focus. She answered audience questions with honesty and gusto. Finished by reading from her recently published memoir Hammer! Making movies out of sex and life, a beautiful piece to her partner, in the lyrical repetitive style of Gertrude Stein. Alas all her books were sold out in the foyer, so words about that remain for another day.



of Desires book cover
Our faithful companion arrived to transport us home through the falling snow, having thoroughly enjoyed her movie The King's Speech, it made her weep and learn much. On the way home we picked up the mail, which included a debut book of poetry from my dear gay compatriot Billy Darlington. We were all a little giggly from the evenings wondrous events, so we ate pancakes and honey with lemon, when that was not enough we moved on to fruitcake with sherry and read aloud from Billy Darlington's book of Desires, appropriately enough starting with the erotic poem 0359.



Friday, January 7, 2011

Happy New Year!

I celebrated the end of 3 months in a hospital bed by taking off in an electrified vehicle! New years even went like this: I had to go in my manual wheelchair to have some blood tests, it's a regular event. Breaks the monotony of the past months at home in an electric hospital bed, staring out the window and dreaming about the future. 

It seemed like 30 people arrived in the waiting room and took their number form the line-up ticket dispenser right after I arrived, glad I had avoided the news eve rush. When I was done and they had stuck the plaster on the puncture in my arm I wheeled the few feet in to the waiting room to free up clinic room 2.  Perhaps from the exertion of getting there, my veins were really pumped. I was about to press down on the plaster for the required 2 minutes when I saw blood coming through the tiny holes in the plaster and and dripping down my arm. Two staff rushed to patch me up so as not to alarm the other patients. I really don't like the sight of blood, especially my own, makes me kind of squeamish and nauseous, prone to fainting. 

Which may be why I was vomiting down the toilet at home when the guy called to say he could drop off the electric wheelchair after all. I hadn't been throwing up with any regularity since the early days of this recent medical adventure, when I stopped taking the morphine. He was still working when so many people had taken the afternoon off.

I got cleaned up and 20 minutes later I had my new wheels; electric, tilt, chair; nice!  To match, and get me out of, my electric tilt bed! All rented of course, but hey, its' progress. As my friend joke with me recently, it's all about the gadgets with you.

To familiarize myself with my electrified human transportation, did I take a trip to the local shops? No! I grabbed my already-packed-for-the-weekend-just-in-case backpack, took 3 buses and a ferry and went to visit friends! I had a bit of a wait at the ferry terminal for the last bus to my destination. I reclined back in the chair in comfort as dusk fell over a panorama of snow capped mountains. A family of otters swam by.  The arms open wide welcome I got from my friends as I arrived off the bus in the glow of the one street lamp was definitely worth the trip! They had worked with others in the co-operative community to line the path between the houses with lights. Paper bags with pebbles and tea lights in them glowed all the way up the hill in welcome. 

I had a rest, snacks were put put, people dropped by. When midnight arrived I played my thumb piano, and our host distributed musical instruments to the willing. Some one played a harmonica, rather well, there were shakers and drums. We all joyfully, musically, noisily rang in the new year, complete with auld lang syne

After a sleep, the next morning, a pancake breakfast materialized in the common room, off the guest suite I was staying in. Thanks to a fellow disability artist who cooks up the feast with a compadre every year. Pajamas were expected attire, so all I had to do was splash water on my face, hope in my chairiot (more about that later) drop in my donation, and wheel up to the pancakes! 

Post breakfast, I was so excited to be up and about in the morning and on a sunny day, I bundled up and cajoled my sleepy ambulatory companions to go for a walk. I zoomed down the road to the beach yelling 'I'm walking, I'm walking!" Although clearly I was not. I was however going somewhere with no effort just for the fun of it, which obviously to me means taking a stroll. There were eagles in the tree tops, a beach full of ice covered logs, loons on the silken blue water, and clear sky's. 

I did get stuck in a freshly graveled area of the path. The wheels dug in, spun, finally the chairiot stopped and the spanner light flashed. My friends went to find help, wood to put under the wheels; and brute force - I was concerned for their backs, the chairiot is REALLY heavy. By the time the first helper arrived I had freed the chairiot from the deep gravel and was back on firm ground. Having used a combination of patience, determination, and ingenuity.

Chairiot - chariot is self-explanatory, this is a big sturdy regal vehicle, quite dignified.  Wheelchairs used to be made of wicker chairs, with big wheels and were called bath chairs. 

I am going to school next week -writing school. I spent the new years eve ferry ride over chatting with a fellow artist I know who has also recently returned to school. As is one of the new years eve neighbors who dropped by, about to be. We are all excited, hopeful, eager to learn.

After months feeling stuck in bed and thinking like I may not be able to go anywhere, to a rural weekend adventure, telling tales about remote Scottish Isles we had been to. I feel much more ready to face 2011!


Sunday, April 4, 2010

killing us softly - something in the water?



"There are a number of initiatives that are undertaken in the budget to make sure that we continue to put low-income people on the top of the list." 
-- Premier Gordon Campbell, March 5 2010 (Yeah right Gordo!)

'The poor and the disabled are definitely at the top of the B.C. Liberal government's list -- the hit list for more suffering, that is. The poor and people with HIV and chronic illnesses whacked with more cuts to income and health support'. By Bill Tieleman, 9 Mar 2010, TheTyee.ca

Yes the 'Liberal' provincial government is at it again, announcing last month a further slate of cuts to products and services for people with disabilities, which include no longer funding products like orthotics, glucose monitors, bottled water. Changing eligibility to: dental and medical services; provision, replacement and repair of motorized scooters; nutritional supplements, etc. See more info here.

 The Liberal government seems to have a very short memory, they might have forgotten but we haven't, the 12 people who took their own lives; when their government decided to review everyone receiving disability benefits and make them 're-prove' their disability in 2002 by filling in a 23 page form in conjunction with a GP.  In a province where historically many thousands of people don't even have access to a GP.   Heroes exhibition artist Cleo Pawson hasn't forgotton either, she talks about it (at minute 7.40) along with her art in this interview on Redeye. The government spent millions on the review and saved practically nothing. The form was sent to 18, 750 people, only 47 people were found to not qualify anymore. Ironically it turned out Cleo was more disabled not less disabled,  and subsequently got more assistance that she needed. Photo of  a beaded work she started at the time, which took 6 years to complete. It is stunning, and so detailed.

BC Coalition of People with Disabilities will keep you up to date with BC governments shenanigans. The creepy part is the BC Government does remember. I heard on the grapevine recently, they gave some funding to a small disability arts festival a few years back, and the idea was the provgov would invite people on benefits to come. In the end the provgov decided not to, as they realized, people on disability benefits getting an unexpected envelope in the mail, would FREAK OUT, and think it was something bad again like the benefit review debacle.  

Neither have we forgotten about the 7 people who died, and the hundreds who were made sick, when ecoli contaminated the municipal water supply  in Walkerton Ontario in 2000. That's the reason why people who are immune compromised, don't drink tap water, if the water becomes contaminated, and it will from time to time, they will not just get sick, they are at a risk of dying. Now there were only 4, 800 people living in Walkerton at the time, so those 7 people who died represent more than 1 in 1000.  There are over 2 million people living in metro Vancouver - half of the province's population, which means if our water supply becomes contaminated as it did in 2006 and we are advised not to drink tap water, over 2000 people could die. Which is just over 2/3 of the number who died in the 911 attacks.  I hope when that happens, and it's not a matter of if, but when, that the their loved ones take a class action suit against the  provincial government .

For the record here is a quote from a current document from a Medical Office for a Metro Vancouver municipality: 

'Advisory Re: Drinking Water & Persons Who Are Immunocompromised. The Provincial Health Officer advises all British Columbians with compromised immune systems (such as HIV, organ or bone transplants, chemotherapy or medications that suppress the immune system) to avoid drinking water from any surface water source unless it has been boiled, filtered or distilled.  North Shore, Greater Vancouver and, in fact, nearly all British Columbia water sources are surface water sources (lakes, rivers, streams).' 

Lets not forget the provincial and federal government's failure to provide clean water to many First Nations reserves in Canada, you can keep up to date with progress on that front at Rez Water. Or that half the worlds population is made sick by diseases found in dirty water, that at least 5 million people worldwide die every year from lack of access to clean water.

So lets recap, the provincial government says if you are immune compromised DO NOT drink tap water. They used to pay for you to get purified water, but now they have decided, you can pay for it yourself, out of your insufficient funds, or die. 

For the environmental record, while we are all trying to stop drinking tiny bottles of bottled water which when discarded then pollute the environment. Everyone I know who gets bottled water for health reasons, has a couple 20 litre bottles which they get refilled  ( :

The really sad part is these recent cuts are on top of everything which has been cut by the Liberal provincial government of  B.C, in the past 8 years: Legal Aid, funding to Women's Centres, funding to Seniors Services in the community, daycare subsidies, the BC Human Rights Commission, 50% Arts funding, the list goes on. Stop Arts Cuts on Facebook. You can see just how badly BC is doing in securing the rights of First Nations/women.  So badly the United Nations Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women wants Canada to report back on how it has improved the situation for women on welfare,  and First Nations women  facing violence in 1 year.

Here's a nice little ditty a timely reminder of the cost of the Olympics - like cutting the budget of the office which investigates the deaths of children. Yep just one of the many places that 8 billion dollars came from.  http://geoffberner.com/Olympicstheme/

Fortunately some people and organizations do give a damn, about making BC a better place to live, and will be demonstrating so on April 10th 2010.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Para Graphia Mark III


It’s all about context eh? It was only today seeing Para written in a sentence with other Maori words, I remembered Para is also a Maori word, or often prefix. I know that it’s not only about context, it’s also about who is writing, or seeing, or speaking, or understanding a word. That Para, separated from Graphia, as in Paragraphia, is a word not only in English/Latin, but also Maori, and possibly other languages such as Spanish. I set out to find what Para could mean. Relying on the always reliable, extensive Ngata Dictionary, Maori to English, and English to Maori. (http://www.learningmedia.co.nz/ngata/)

Which revealed 260 results for Para. So out of respect for the fact letters, sounds syllables live within many languages; in this space devoted to words, meanings and writers, included below are some of the beautiful possibilities in Maori. Which resonate with this writing, and whose trail led me back to another language I had been thinking about after returning to spend time at the Out from Under exhibition, Braille:

For those who may not know, Aotearoa is officially a trilingual country. The official languages, are indigenous Maori (since 1987 - of which in reality there are many distinct languages and dialects), NZ Sign Language (since 2006). English which is a de facto Official Language by use since colonization in 1800’s, but not actually by law.  Unfortunately the reality of access to, use, and teaching in all three languages is a whole other struggle. English being far more favoured by officialdom, and both Maori and NZ Sign Language having been repressed historically. That is, in practice, and legislated against, and people punished for using them. I believe the only other country in which Sign Language is an official language so far is Uganda.

Hori Mahue Ngata (1919 – 1989) eldest grandson of Sir Apirana Ngata MP (1874 –1950), was a kaumatua of Ngati Porou, with tribal connections to Ngai Tamanuhiri, Rongomaiwahine, and Te Aitanga a Mahaki. Interpreter, University lecturer, scholar, he, and his whanau (family), friends, and colleagues spent decades creating the dictionary of over 14,500 entries. From the 1960’s on, until it’s publication in 1993, four years after his sudden death in 1989. Leaving us all with a great taonga (treasure) of which I am in awe. (My apologies I can’t work out how to put the macrons over the long vowels on this computer – but I am on the trail of finding and configuring software which will correct this).

"kopara: female bellbird (listen to her sing http://www.teara.govt.nz/en/small-forest-birds/4/1).
haparangi: to bellow; taipara(tia): bombard; parapara: bent. He mahi parapara te korero purakau ki a Witi Ihimaera. Witi Ihimaera has a natural bent for story-telling. (this is even more apt considering he is gay writer = bent!). para: body. He nui nga para kai roto i te wai. There are foreign bodies in the water.

ukupara - smudge; pake parapara: black cape. Ko nga muka harakeke i totohua ki ro paru mo nga ra torutoru, i whatua mo te pake parapara. Flax fibres steeped in mud for several days were used to weave the black cape.

parapara: acumen, faculty, ingenuity, instinct/ive, resource, remains. paraketu(tia): probe
para kore: pure. tio para: mud oyster.

parari: gully; parara: roar. Te parara a te hau i roto i te koaka. The roar of the wind in the ravine. paparahi: trail; para: spirit."

H.M. Ngata Dictionary 1993

Which brought me back to Mae Brown, first Deaf-Blind person to receive a degree, at Toronto University in Canada in 1972. Working away on her Braille typewriter, with her lectures spelt into the palm of her hand, as part of her work she created a Braille encyclopedia. She is featured in the Out from Under exhibit under ‘Trailblazing’. The text of the online Plain Language Audio Tour of this section concludes:  http://www.ofu.ryerson.ca/exhibits/trailblazing.html

“Long before she earned her university degree she wrote an article comparing her life to a deep dark canyon. She imagined that her only way out of the canyon was by making a difficult climb. She wanted to leave way marks behind her so that other people could find the path she had taken”

when I lie down
tired worn out
others will stand
young, fresh
on the stairs
which I have built
they will climb
and on the work
which I have done
they will mount
at my clumsy work
they will laugh
and when the stones roll
they will curse me
but they will climb
and on my stairs
and they will mount
and on my work”

Mae Brown (1935 – 1973)

I like to think of Mae Brown working at her studies in the late 1960’s; whilst on the other side of the world H.M. Ngata is beginning his dictionary, starting with the legal terms used in his level III Maori Language Class at Auckland University. Trail blazing, doing something worth doing which no one has done before.

The roar of the wind in the ravine
roar
gully
trail
spirit

Te parara a te hau i roto i te koaka
parara
parari
paparahi
para

Or, it wasn’t until I stood alone in the dark canyon of the wings about to go on a stage, with the book my friend had given me, in which I had pasted my stories. I noticed for the first time, some months before she had written ‘Shine on you crazy diamond’. (Yes Ups to Pink Floyd!) She had put those words there, perhaps knowing, I would later need them. I took courage from those words. Blaze on my friends, blaze on.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Revolving word cloud

Highlights of the week. I get to hang out with women as fabulous as this! The acerbic wit, insight, and mischievous eye twinkling smile of brilliant activist academic and Out from Under co-curator, Catherine Frazee. Along with her partner Pat, and fellow co-curators. I attended the exhibition opening on International Women's Day, and a small group of us went to eat together after, what a wonderful way to spend the day! A few days later I am stunned as always by the sheer power, and beauty of Afuwa Granger's paintings in the Heroes exhibition. The range of artistic mediums, the scope of subject matter, the ingenuity of form, the painful beauty of many pieces. On Friday I join with others in being made breathless by the mesmerizing, electrifying, non-stop mental gymnastics, laugh so hard you cry performance of Jan Derbyshire in Funny in the head!

Yesterday, a meeting, at which we all are at different times and combinations of, to muse on  the importance of art making people uncomfortable, racism in the disability and media communities, translating disability  issues within the disability communities to wider communities....

The image, I can not shake from the Out from Under exhibition, is the baby's bassinet in which there is a thick report of a Royal Commission of Inquiry into the suspicious deaths  of 36 disabled  infants at the The Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto. As many as 43 died from lethal drug overdoses it was revealed in 1981. As always I am reminded that history (including to the present day)  seeks to exterminate, medicalize, pharmaceuticalize, neutralize, neuter, confine, conform, control women as gifted as these, who bodies and/or minds do not conform to 'the norm'. I am grateful. For their existence, for their resilience, for their brilliance. Their artistry, their analysis, and for the time we have together.

In honour of the ideas these women liberate daily into the atmosphere, which are circulating in my brains word cloud; and on my way to trying to find out how to embed articles; I discovered the wonderful revolving word cloud application. Which circulates Blog Post Labels like their very own evolving, revolving,  revolutionary planet. Enjoy! If you move the mouse over the words you can make them change direction, and speed. If you just must have it, you can get your very own here.  
For disability rights activist Catherine Frazee, the personal overlaps with the political even when she doesn't intend it........
This virtual museum of activist disability history pays tribute to a proud legacy of resistance and survival. Click on the images below to enter the exhibits, or browse the menu at left for a range of ...

One of Afuwa Granger's  3 luminous paintings in the
Heroes Exhibition
The text with the above image says: There is poetry hidden in my paintings/ ink and paint/ give form to marks/ carried by my ancestors/ they resist erasure/ Guyana petroglyphs/ enmesh personal/ physical history/ with/ visible present.

www.gayvancouver.net
Vancouver Lesbian Jan Derbyshire presents her one woman show Funny in the Head on March 12th as part of the Kickstart Disability Arts and Culture Festival.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

WOMEN / MENTAL / HEALTH - Happy IWD, PWD's!


Photo Copyright FreeStockImages.org


HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY MARCH 8
- PERSONS WITH DISABILITIES!


MARCH 12
She Laughed, She Cried;
Fado with Sara Marreiros & Comedy with Jan Derbyshire
Friday, March 12, 2010. 8:00pm - 10:00pm

Location: Telus Studio Theatre - Chan Centre for the Performing Arts. UBC
Opening the performance stream of the Kickstart Festival 2010. Fado singer Sara Marreiros and her band bring music steeped in the passion of Portuguese saudade (yearning). Jan Derbyshire performs Funny in the Head, the rollicking story of a bipolar comedian’s fight to stay funny.
Tickets: $22 ($16 students, seniors & fixed income)
http://www.ticketmaster.ca/section 604.280.3311
Kickstart Festival 2010 presented in partnership with the Chan Centre
for the Performing Arts. http://www.kickstart-arts.ca/kickstartfestival.html

MARCH 13
Womyn and Mental Health. Saturday, March 13th 2010.
Facilitator: Erin Graham
Location: Hastings Library
(2674 East Hastings Street). Time: 10 am – 2 pm.

This workshop will offer participants opportunities to talk about their understandings and experiences of psychiatry and mental health. We will discuss some of the ways in which women respond to the sexism and oppression we encounter, and examine how some of those responses are labeled "inappropriate" or as indicative of psychiatric illness. Participants can expect to have lots of time to engage with current ideas about women and mental health, and come away with some concrete strategies for how to get beside and assist women in distress, or who may be looking for resources about mental health. Come with questions, problems, ideas and an appetite for understanding.
Erin Graham is a long-time feminist activist, mental health Worker, storyteller and raconteur. She is presently in the process of getting a PhD from the department of Educational Studies at UBC.

MARCH 6
A Feminist Perspective of the Indian Act.
Saturday, March 6th 2010.
Facilitator: Fay Blaney.
Location: Hastings Library (2674 East Hastings Street)
Time: 10Am – 2Pm

With International Women's Day fast approaching, this workshop will take a feminist exploration on the impact of the Indian Act on First Nations women. The feminist principle that “the personal is political” is an effective tool in bringing about greater understandings of gendered inequality. It underscores the relationship between the shaping of ideologies and beliefs through legal and institutional instruments, and its' impact on the lived experiences of First Nations women. The conviction that “Feminist until all women are free” must apply to this discussion!

Fay Blaney is a Xwemalhkwu woman of the Coast Salish First Nation. As a founding mother of the Aboriginal Women's Action Network, Fay lead two participatory action research projects on (i) Bill C-31 and (ii) violence against women as it pertains to alternative justice models. During her years as an instructor at Langara College and UBC, Fay taught Women's Studies, from an Aboriginal feminist perspective. She also played a significant role in the creation of the Aboriginal Studies Program at Langara College. Fay also taught a course on “Racism and Ethnic Relations in Canada”. In addition to several publications, Fay appears in the film, “Finding Dawn” and developed the Study Guide that accompanies this film.

Registration: Swathi Nirmal. Women's Centre Coordinator.
Vancouver Status of Women
Phone 604-255-6554 womencentre(at)vsw.ca. Bus tickets , Snacks and Childcare Provided. Please contact gorgeousmabel(at)hotmail.com in advance if you require childcare.

AVAILABLE NOW
Rain and Thunder Issue 45 (Winter 2009): Annual Activism Issue
Featured articles:
Activism as a Disabled Womon by Philippa Willitts
"Fierce Indigenous Love": Fighting for Her Sisters -- An Interview with Aboriginal Radical Feminist Laura Holland
Twin Oaks: Not the Revolution But You Can See it From Here by Valerie LivingWater
Lone Radical ...Feminist Actions by Diana Russell
Forty Years of Activism by Jean Taylor
The Other Side of Activism: Withdrawal as a Radical Act of Defiance by Kim Rivers


ART SUBMISSIONS APRIL
Words on the wall: Remembrance Of Patients Past
Psychiatric Survivors Archives of Toronto (PSAT) is giving out bricks for artists to create with, deadline for submission April 7th 2010. There will be a silent auction of bricks painted by local artists. Proceeds from the auction will be donated to the Psychiatric Survivors Archives of Toronto (PSAT) for the purpose of buying plaques to commemorate the labour of CAMH patients during the construction of a wall on the institution’s grounds.

Marc Glassman, Executive Director of This Is Not A Reading Series, will host the evening. Gladstone Hotel Ballroom, 1214 Queen St West Wednesday April 21: 7:30pm. To celebrate the re-issue of his groundbreaking study, Remembrance Of Patients Past (University of Toronto Press), scholar and activist Geoffrey Reaume will conduct a walking tour of the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH) grounds. Reaume will then guide the group to the Gladstone Hotel, where he will have an on-stage conversation Ruth Ruth of Friendly Spike Theatre Band. http://www.tinars.ca/content/remembrance-patients-past.
For bricks contact: 416 661 9975; http://www.psychiatricsurvivorarchives.com/index.html

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Friday, February 5, 2010

PARAGRAPHIA LAND




Things are going well in PARAGRAPHIA LAND ( :
As well as writin 'bout writin here in the blogoshere, I have actually been doing some writing; as well as currently wrangling ye old arts promotion day job.

In month one I have sent off writing submissions of:
- a spoken word piece to a festival
- creative writing and non-fiction on health issues to a women's studies journal
- poetry to a lesbian journal from the poetry collection I am working on

We'll see how all that goes. Next up an opinion piece to a newspaper; and some writing on the meandering route of the performance artist to a theatre newsletter.

I never did get that "what color is your parachute" concept of working out what you are good at, and therefor what kind of work you should do. I always thought wouldn't your parachute be multicolored? How else do we explain musicians who are also lawyers?

This aint poetry, but it may sum up the gist of the poetry book I am working on, it's prosetry from a few years back; it's multicolored:

swan song
I will always love you. Because, when I discovered on the world wide web at 3 a.m that a short story I had written had been published in an international book of women writers 3 years ago, I burst into your room at 4 a.m where you were soundly sleeping and told you the good news, announcing I felt like dancing. You said with some good-natured amusement - go on then! Later under the covers in the dark when I had calmed down somewhat, you asked me what color I could see. You saw violet I think, and I said I saw silver, and turquoise and aquamarine, and green, and yellow and blue and orange and so on. You said that was not possible. I leapt out of bed and bounced back in with what I considered intractable evidence. Two Fortune cookie sayings tacked to my desk from a recent meal - one of the first in this home we share. One said "your mind is creative, original and alert", and the other "sometimes the best choice is to choose all options". You agreed I may have a point. Later that day, by 5pm you had not arrived home as planned, for me to go to a meeting in the car. I had no idea where you were, was frantically calling the cell phone, when a paramedic finally answered, my heart was in my mouth when I urged him to tell me, everything. It was with much relief I heard you in the background, of what I now knew was an ambulance, bossing him around. I was so happy to hear your conscious, lucid, living voice, post car crash.


Friday, January 22, 2010

SMELT LIKE BURNT TOAST TO ME



I had a meeting in the afternoon. When I sat down on the bus I could smell burnt toast. Which worried me a little. I heard if you are having a stroke sometimes you can smell burnt toast. When there isn't any there. I glanced around the bus for toast, but couldn't locate any. I looked out the window to see if my vision was blurry. It was. Turns out they hadn't cleaned the windows for about three weeks.

I had stroke on the brain, I'm a bit young for it, although you can have one at any time, even children! My friend who is more of an age, got her words all jumbled the other day, while we were at the beach eating chips. So I started my are you having a stroke quiz. How many fingers am I holding up? Follow my finger with your eyes. Say 'the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog'. Okay that one's cheating thats a typing exercise to get you to use as many as fingers and letters as possible. She got as far as 'the quick brain face'. Hmmm, are you feeling peculiar? The things that were coming out of her mouth were so nonsensical neither of us could look at each other without both laughing until we cried. Okay focus, she said quite distinctly, 'I am a lunatic going somewhere to cannibal-apple'. Close but no cigar. Coincidently in written form this particular symptom is called Paragraphia. She returned to 'normal' in a few minutes. Maybe a TIA - transient ischemic attack. Lasts 1 - 5 minutes, a 'mini stroke', causes no lasting damage, unless you have a lot of them or go on to have a stroke. I'm keeping an eye on her.

It's been windy lately, but not too cold. I've taken to wearing my favourite long woolly cardigan out of doors, instead of just in the privacy of my own home. A spinal injury last year has caused me to add a lumbar roll of late to my accessories. The one with the waist strap so I don't leave it behind on the bus. I caught sight of myself reflected in the window of the bank on the way home from the bus stop. In my woolly hat and all I looked like a scarecrow, with a piece of string tied around my waist. All I needed was my gumboots and a net, and I was good to go - whitebaiting that is! Toast and fritters anyone?

I had to smarten up if I was going to make it out to the arts organization AGM tonight. Miss b-f now fully recovered helped me work out a more suitable outfit with a better shirt, a long coat, and an attache case to invest my lumbar roll when not in use. Which was quite a lot of the time, because the chairs at the AGM were the folding kind which don't even have a back part where your lumbar spine is! That didn't stop me discussing dessert recipes with my fellow artist, and eating a lot of the homemade vegetarian pizza. I brought Miss b-f home two pieces of the leftover pizza, all the way on the bus, between two plates.

But to the person eating burnt toast on the bus. Cut it out! I nearly had a stroke!

Friday, January 15, 2010

JANET FRAME - crazy? autistic? brilliant!





I have started keeping a dream journal. In the middle of an intriguing dream I was having about experimenting with making small sculpted letters of the alphabet out of leaves, plants, paint, yellow, red, green etc. Which spelled LGBTQI, and were to be held up by people scattered throughout the seats of an outdoor stadium. My mate from Brians an unusual name for a girl blog appears in my dream rather randomly and says "Don't you think if there is a Janet Frame award it should go to a crazy person".

What!? Which has got me thinking about the wonderful Janet Frame (28 August 1924 - 29 January 2004). One of Aotearoa/New Zealand's most famous authors. In her lifetime she published a book of poetry, a children's book, eleven novels, four short story collections, and three volumes of autobiography, which have been translated into many languages. Since her death, a novel, a book of poetry, and a collection of short stories have been published.

Janet Frame, as a child suffered the loss of two of her sisters by drowning ten years apart, grew up in poverty, infused in storytelling, spent 12 years in and out of psychiatric hospitals, narrowly avoided a frontal lobotomy in 1951, when the doctor had a change of mind after her first book of short stories, The lagoon and other stories won a literary award.

I think to myself well there probably is a Janet Frame Award, Google will provide the answer! Yep, since 2005 The Janet Frame Literary Trust Award, has been granted to 4 authors to write fiction or poetry, and to 2 Authors Advocacy Organizations. The 2008 recipient, poet Rhian Gallagher (1961- ) who moved to London in 1987, returned to Aotearoa in 2003, and as it turns out happens to be a lesbian.

After completing her first novel in 1956, Owls do cry, Janet Frame moved to London, not returning to Aotearoa for 7 years. When she was in the looney bin in Aotearoa in the 1940's her writing plans and aspirations were noted as symptoms of her mental illness, perhaps 'delusions of grandeur'. In her novel Towards another summer, written in 1963 and published posthumously in 2007, the main character Grace Cleave, expatriate novelist living in London, is holidaying in the north of England. Her host asks why she has abandoned her homeland: 'Don't you ever want to go back?''I was a certified lunatic in New Zealand. Go back? I was advised to sell hats for my salvation.'

Two previously unpublished stories she wrote were published in the New Yorker in 2008. Janet Frame did submit them for publication in 1954 to Charles Brasch of Landfall magazine, but he returned them to her with a note saying the stories were 'too painful to publish', which begs the question, too painful for who? A night at the Opera, portrays the screening of a movie in the looney bin and 'Gorse is not people reflects Frame’s determination to view reality from alternative perspectives, in this case that of a dwarf celebrating her 21st birthday. The story also makes disturbing use of Frame’s still fresh memories of life as a resident at Seacliff mental hospital.' (The Arts Fuse 2008)

Janet Frame published 3 volumes of autobiography, To The Is-Land (1982) about her childhood, An Angel at My Table (1984) about her years as a student and in a psychiatric hospital, The Envoy from Mirror City (1985)about her travels and life as a writer. All three came out as a collected Autobiography in 1989, and were made in to a dramatic film An Angel at My Table in 1990 by Jane Campion.

Like many people I read her autobiographical books in 1985. They were gripping, written in a way like no other, and to me chilling. Her writing was so important to so many of us, including close friends who had been incarcerated in psychiatric institutions, often as a result of being lesbian, or the effects of family abuse. Through her writing we knew you could survive: grinding poverty, unbearable loss and grief, torturous mistreatment, soul destroying ignorance, and misunderstanding. That somehow the will, the creative impulse does prevail. That not compromising your own creative vision was possible. That making your own way, on your own terms, was a viable option. Her books left a lasting impression on me, of what my country did to those considered a little different, it's writers and artists. For many years I kept my writing to myself, difference is defined by others and so that I could not keep to myself. I followed the example of those who had gone before me in finding an antidote to the strictures of the society they find themselves in, and left the country (some 15 years later). Like painters Margaret Stoddart, Frances Hodgkins, writers Katherine Mansfield, Witi Ihimaera, Ngahuia Te Awekotuku, musicians Kiri Te Kanawa, Gareth Farr. Some for a few years, some for good, to survive, to follow creative, employment or academic opportunities.

When Janet Frame died in 2004 I happened to be in Aotearoa on Waiheke Island. I bought the Listener with the 4 page tribute by C. K Stead. Janet Frame wrote in a truly unique way, eschewing literary conventions to be true to her own inner monologue, and that of her characters. Said to possess a 'dangerous intelligence', her books won many literary awards, making her the subject of some professional jealousy. Despite her at time autobiographical writing, she guarded her privacy, wanting to lead an already life, far more interested in writing than succumbing to the cult of personality which surrounded her. I also bought at this time the more conventional weighty tome (nearly 600 pages) of a biography she had collaborated on with Michael King, Wrestling with the angel, (2000) with it's photos and dates and letters and references. We mourned the passing of a great soul. I returned home to my small collection of her books, the only collection I have of anyones work. I was fond of picking up old hardback copies of her work I came across in secondhand bookstores. Scented gardens for the blind, Faces in the water, The Edge of the alphabet....

Perhaps my friend appearing in my dream was to tell me, Janet's contemporary, close friend, and fellow poet, J.C. Sturm had just died (1927 - 2009). Jacquie Sturm whose poetry I also have thanks to my friend N (she of the write a poem a day discipline), who often sent me a book by a NZ woman poet for my birthday these past years in exile. J.C. Sturm was the wife of 'preeminent NZ poet' James K. Baxter, who I am not much of a fan of. This opinion did not improve when I discovered although she submitted poetry to a literary magazine he edited for several years he never published a single one! He went off to 'find himself' leaving her a solo parent. Had her collection of short stories The House of the Talking Cat : Stories been published when they were ready in 1966, instead of in 1983, they would have been the first collection by a Maori person, man or woman, instead this honor went to Witi Ihimaera with his novel Whanau in 1977. She was one of the first Maori women to get a university degree, in 1949.

Through the reach of the web I stumbled upon a debate raging since 2007 about whether Janet Frame was autistic. New Zealand doctor and rehabilitation researcher working in Australia, Sarah Abrahamson proposed that Janet Frame had high-functioning autism (HFA), in an article in the NZ Medical Journal October 12 2007. She based this on her reading of Janet Frame's writing, particularly the posthumously published novel, Towards another summer. Which portrays a weekend in which Grace Cleave, stays with a family she does not know well, and the painfulness of this and other social interactions for her, the divide between her inner life and outer world. There is the point of view that her artistic gift does not need to be pathologized with a diagnosis, or alternately that she can posthumously act as a positive role model for autism.

It has been suggested that her biographer Michael King and she herself did not find the autism label such a foreign idea. But as someone who fought for years to escape the the label of crazy and schizophrenia - she was later determined by doctors to not have schizophrenia, to have never had schizophrenia, but she was likely affected by post traumatic stress; she may have been reluctant to take on any label. She was leery of the 'mad-genius' mythology which surrounded her and her work. If the label of autism would have fit with her during her lifetime; or now that she has passed, we will never know.

David Cohen, journalist, father of an autistic son and author of a book about autism, A Perfect World, in an article in the NZ Listener, Autistic Licence seemed to be hedging his bets. Yet on his website about autism, humans.org.nz in a a discussion from 2007 he seems pretty convinced she was.

Pamela Gordon, niece of Janet Frame, appointed by Janet as her Literary Executor, and representative of The Trustees of the Janet Frame Literary Trust; and who has a daughter who is autistic, is adamant that Janet Frame was not autistic. This has resulted in much debate, some of it ill-willed, as evident by a January 5 2010 entry on Pamela's blog about Janet's work entitled Janet on the planet: Poison Pen letters. The entry has since been removed from the blog, but the title is visible if you Google search it.

What I was able to glean by a quick scan of the entry before it was removed, was that there are those affected by autism who are angry at the denial of Janet's possible autism. But also that Literary Executor, Pamela Gordon receives an inordinate amount of correspondence on this and other matters, personally attacking her for how she deals with her aunt's legacy. This is both to be expected given the attachment of so many to the mythology surrounding Janet Frame; as well as being completely unreasonable.

It reminds me that art historians and the media have brought us such startling revelations (not) in the past few years just by looking at the painting of Mona Lisa, that she is a) pregnant b)flushed from recent sexual activity, and most recently c) her lips reveal she was suffering from high cholesterol. A then partner of mine, upon viewing the painting of the Mona Lisa in person excitedly informed me some years ago, that I have the exact same hands as Mona Lisa. So I do know, what we see, can be, in the mind or eye of the beholder

Towards another summer, Janet Frame's novel published in 2007, based on a weekend spent with a journalist in England, and his wife, a fellow New Zealander. Widely considered to be about homesickness, Grace Cleave becomes a migratory bird. It is, but for a romanticized version of the country of origin she had left behind, as she left it and remembered it. She knew this, it is there in the damp woolly portrayal of her compatriots relative's room.

In 2008 I read from cover to cover her book of poetry published posthumously. The Goose Bath also titled Storms Will Tell: Selected Poems (2006) and then passed it on to my art collaborator of 20 years T, at a bus station, as is our wont.

Towards another summer
rests on my bookshelf along with her other novels. For now Janet's biography Wrestling with the angel sleeps peacefully under my pillow.


Thursday, January 14, 2010

PARAGRAPHIA – speaking in paragraphs

Luxuriating in my newly minted blog for now, PARAGRAPHIA. Mmmmm immersed in paragraphs and meanings, I like the graphite sense of writing with a pencil, my compulsive desire to write, paragraphia. My tendency to speak in paragraphs instead of sentences, words going forwards, sides ways and backwards as I consider things from many points of view, parallel, intersecting or even contradictory truths. The disability meaning, para the parallel lives we all lead. Or Parapodium, don't you think that sounds like a soap box platform for disabled people!? Oddly instead it is an an appendage on the body of some marine worms, occurring in pairs on each segment of the worm’s body, used for swimming, crawling, or holding onto things. I rest my case. The word PARAGRAPHIA actually means the writing of words or letters different from the ones intended, as a result of a stroke or disease. Which is just fine too.


I did toy with the equally lovely paralipsis: a rhetorical technique of emphasizing a topic by saying in some way that you will not talk about it, for example, by using the phrase “not to mention”. Parasynthesis the formation of words by a combination of smaller words and additional elements. Which I am very fond of, some of my favourite inventions are artivist (activist artist) and tangulate this is what happens to your feet when the sheets get wound all around them during restless sleep, (tangled and strangulate). New words are called Neologism.Or paralipomena: material added to a literary work as a supplement. Or parhelia: plural of parhelion a bright colored spot on a parhelic circle, often seen in pairs and caused by ice crystals in the atmosphere diffracting light. Also called mock sun, or sundog. The paranormal: the spooky, unexplained, abnormal or supranormal. Supra: transcending, or used in formal writing to refer the reader back to something at an earlier point in the same text.

So welcome to PARAGRAPHIA a mythical place combining all of the above, where more may be possible in a realm devoted to words and writing.