Tag Archives: story

We all love poetry…don’t we! This little one is called……………..the name

the name

Identity has been watered down for me
In these names they have called for me
Like a thousand yellow birds that have been laid down
On the sea

A white sheet shifts over top
Every wing holds another
Every wing sways to a dancing weight of body and bone
And my blood knows my name
And my blood knows your name
And my blood dances
Like weight

And my name sinks under earth
And my name vanishes in air
It will not meet the throats of many

My name has country, body, blood, time
I want them to stumble over and see

I cannot get over this
I cannot let this sit forever
It is thrashing in the stomach

Let my body fall
And let that body be beautiful through fall and when limp

The most beautiful

Will you gather to hear my name whispered past dead lips
Will hundreds kneel; their hair a silken blanket
Will hundreds crawl, knees bloodied
Waiting for a name past lips lost

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SPACES – photo project

Currently in the midst of updating my photography portfolio through various concocted projects. Here are a few results from SPACES: Photos of people in places important to them.

sex! sex! sex!-the everything to do with sex show tours canada -ooooooooh

Attendance at Toronto’s Everything to Do With Sex Show was up from last year, exceeding 50,000 participants. And all of this during a recession!…SEX and MOVIES during difficult times.

It’s an event that demands an overwhelming amount of your time and attention considering you need to sift through so much junk to get to the gems. The show will now move on to Montreal and then Halifax. I covered this event for @ Humber, an hour long current affairs show on Radio Humber out of Humber College…………..click PLAY please.

Wade Davis– remembering all culture – telling all stories

I have returned with an audio piece. Wade Davis’s Massey lecture will be broadcast tonight at 9pm (Monday Nov. 2nd 2009) on CBC radio one’s Ideas. I was able to interview him before his final Massey Lecture presentation in Toronto. He was able to give me a half-hour long interview.This is my little piece, produced today and aired on At Humber. I may end up producing a feature profile piece with this interview if I find the time.

memories from the Toronto Hospital for the Insane

InSANITY7

InSANITY6flickr

Artwork from Nuit Blanche exhibition
“In SANITY”, The Story Behind The Wall
Presented by Workman Arts Project Ontario

This sculpture was done by Annalise and is based on the profile of Cynthia H. a patient who was held in the Toronto Asylum for the Insane from 1904 – 1909

All works were based on patient bios from Geoffrey Reaume’s book Remembrance of Patients Past.

Cynthia H.’s fallopian tubes, uterus and one ovary were removed while at the hospital. At the time doctors believed that a woman could be cured of ‘insanity’ by removing her reproductive organs.

All sculptural works at the exhibition reminded me of each individuals struggle but also identified them very specifically as personalities. Each work appeared as an homage to the person being depicted.

baobab tree —CONNECTION–camping trips

baobab2

Have you ever imagined how many times you could wrap yourself around a gigantic tree, perhaps a baobab tree? No other tree seems to be as prominently installed in the mythical imagination of the western mind. What is bigger? What can compare?

Your entire back pressed against its side. Warmth emanates through your body breathing life into trails of traveling blood. Flip yourself like a coin. Tummy and chest hug smooth bark. Repeat, over and over again. How many times would it take?

For me this mythology was real. I remember what baobab bark felt like and yet this tree still feels like the stuff of fairytales. Part of the reason for this is because it is implanted into my childhood. From my current North American perspective much of that childhood seems like a mythology. There were giant trees, unending desert, unusual grasses and swimming in Okavango tributaries. Yes there was also a small town, where we lived with all amenities available but the memories that pop out are the ones from camping expeditions.

I am leaning against a baobab, my foot resting on its sprawling root. Above me branches reach out in every direction. A tire swing hangs from a lower branch, gently swaying. To my left sits our little blue buckie (truck). For miles ahead of me the bleached Makgadikgadi Pans stretch out; buckles and cracks texture its surface.

After scouring the ground I have returned to rest under this large embracive tree. In my hand, fingers press against little red stones called garnets. In front of me friends are still collecting these small red treasures. That moment ends there. Memory trails off and enters other days filled of other happenings that I almost can’t believe were my own. Memories are very much like dreams, a conglomerate of truth and what you have convinced yourself to be real.



for the images in your head listen to the sounds in my throat

A video I made a few years ago with 3 youtube parts. After re-visiting I realize its extremely eery aspects couched in nostalgia.

The same video can be seen in one unbroken 17 minute stream here. For some reason the videoplayer wasn’t embedding into my blog. The quality is better as well.