A Feminist Uprising in Brockley!

The coolest thing just happened to me. I had been indoors much of the day working from home when I felt my antennae twitching. It wasn’t just the coffee. Thought I’d go stock up on fruit so took a walk in the warm evening.

I got some grapes and plums etc and was meandering back when I bumped into a woman I met last week when I joined up with fellow Lewisham residents who are part of 38 Degrees Campaign group. We had handed in a petition to our MP against plans by government to spy/collect more data on people’s internet use.

So we were chatting about her involvement in a charity supporting refugees in Lewisham, and about my naked events being tricky for some ethnic/religious groups when I saw a woman waving at me from across the way. I told Heather, my companion and she turned and recognised a friend of hers. We joined her in the little park by the street; she was sitting as she had a bad leg. This woman had a slow, lilting Scottish voice and a warmth which seemed to operate on a different time. She described the old ways with affection, when children played outside and books had pages. I recognised her at once for an artist with her care and pleasure to tell me what she valued. It was not a rant, more a musical aside; you might lean in to catch. Someone with a vision and a smile.

I wanted to stay in touch and as I took her details she mentioned an impromptu meeting of women locally coming up soon, they would take over a pub! She said she used to organise regular feminist gatherings in the 80s but had not done so since having children. This will be the first reunion of her womenfolk friends and some new ones for nearly 30 years! I was astounded and felt the serendipity so sweetly. I was/am looking for women. I want to bring back the sense of empowering women to my events. I not long ago removed the ‘Empowering Women Through Art’ tagline as men are blatantly invited too. However since this change I have stopped hearing from women so much but instead have a regular influx of inquiries from men. I want the men; it is important to have them, for themselves and for the women. But my first passion is the women. Men sometimes asked ‘why do women need empowering? – Are they weak?’ The answer is sometimes unfortunately yes. You might not be able to see it but I feel it. I also know that women are increasing in their power as I write; their energy is on the up.

While a few white men basically control the planet’s finances, I think it is safe to say what may be a cliche that women and coloured people and every other minority/alternative do not yet enjoy equality. There is I believe another way to do things… and 38 Degrees represent just that – People, Power & Change. Our MP Joan Ruddock argued that policing the internet is vital for catching evil criminals particularly from the porn industry. There may be much abuse in that area and I could not say I know the facts (who can?) but our society (globally) as we presently exist keeps sex as something which still has taboo about it. The idea of tackling crime by targetting ‘criminals’ is akin to treating disease by symptoms. It is a way to manage things, though I think short-sighted. In a better world, we may look deeper at our beliefs which allow the negative manifestations of crime and disease to function. Work in progress.

Meeting Joan Ruddock

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Michel de Montaigne ~ an Inspiration on ‘How to Live’

Lucy shared excerpts with me from Sarah Bakewell’s book, ‘How to Live: A Life of Montaigne‘. This 16th Century diarist is one originator of the modern penchant for describing everything we experience and think about, as it happens to us in minute detail. In particular he was obsessed by dying until a near death experience relieved him of the worry. A hazardous fall from his horse at the then mid-life age of 36, altered his outlook.

“In dying, he now realised, you do not encounter death at all, for you are gone before it gets there. You die in the same way that you fall asleep: by drifting away. If other people try to pull you back, you hear their voices on ‘the edges of your soul’. Your existence is attached by a thread; it rests only on the tip of your lips, as he put it. Dying is not an action that can be prepared for. It is an aimless reverie.”

“He particularly liked the story of Marcellinus, who avoided a painful death from disease by a gentle method of euthanasia. After fasting for several days, Marcellinus laid himself down in a very hot bath. No doubt he was already weakened by his illness; the bath simply steamed the last breaths of life out of him. He passed out slowly, and then he passed away. As he went he murmured languorously to his friends about the pleasure he was experiencing.”

The strange thing about Montaigne’s experience was that in the aftermath of his fall he had been convulsing violently, in what appeared to be a disturbed manner, yet simultaneously he felt very light and floaty; he was enjoying a sort of ecstasy!

He wrote, ‘If you don’t know how to die, don’t worry; Nature will tell you what to do on the spot, fully and adequately.”

He said it is best to ‘slide over this world a bit lightly and on the surface.’

“Through this discovery of gliding and drifting, he lost much of his fear, and at the same time acquired a new sense that life, as it passed through his body was a very interesting subject for investigation.”

He was very taken with contemplation and wrote, ‘let us cut loose from all the ties that bind us to others; let us win from ourselves the power to live really alone and to live that way at our ease.’

He regarded Seneca’s advice for achieving peace of mind; ‘focus on what is present in front of you, and pay full attention to it.’

And Pliny, ‘each man is a good education to himself, provided he has the capacity to spy on himself from close up.’

Of his own essay writing Montaigne wrote, ‘It is a thorny undertaking, and more so than it seems, to follow a movement so wandering as that of our mind, to penetrate the opaque depths of its innermost folds, to pick out and immobilise the innumerable flutterings that agitate it.’

Bakewell writes, “He was so determined to get to the bottom even of a phenomenon that was normally lost by definition – sleep – that he had a long-suffering servant wake him regularly in the middle of the night in the hope of catching a glimpse of his own unconsciousness as it left him”!

I found Bakewell’s analysis quite soothing, and her snippets of Montaigne intoxicating. Thank you Lucy for pleasurable advice on how to live.

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The Death of Sam

I am with my Mum this evening and we are talking about her step-Father Sam, who died 26 years ago today. Nonny (my Grand-Mother) couldn’t have moved from East Germany to London without the help of a man – not for his money, but his emotional support which she needed after living away for 14 years.

Sam was married but his marriage was definitely on the rocks. In those days both parties had to agree to divorce, or you had to have strong evidence of adultery, desertion (for 7 years), physical or mental cruelty. Nonny and Sam lived in sin for 3 years before his wife cooperated.

As a teenager Mum & her sister Karen said to Sam, “You’re not our Father and you can’t tell us what to do!” He said, “I know.”

Nonny & Sam married on Euston Road at the registry office in 1967.

Mum said he was a good man, especially for Nonny; he looked after her. She was a bit vulnerable and he had the quality of friendship, as well as being her husband and love. He was kind and generous and easily approachable.

Mum says, “As I grew older, I regarded him more as my Father. My real Father only asked me once to come to East Berlin, but it was on my son’s birthday so I couldn’t. I went there on my Dad’s birthday instead. Usually if I wanted to see him I had to invite myself, which I did.

In England, before they were married I was ashamed of Nonny & Sam not being so, and I didn’t know how to introduce Sam – the situation was unusual.”

Sam knew Nonny & Gramp from way back in the late 40s through the Communist party.

Mum says, “After living in East Berlin I vowed never to join the Communist Party, or any party. You might accuse me of sitting on the fence but I speak from experience.”

Nonny & Sam’s marriage was always positive, favourable and stable. He nor she ever did the dirty. She was 45 when they got together; she had been through a lot, lived in several countries and wasn’t having more children. She was ready for a calm life and he was the right man.

When Sam was younger he was devoted to the Communist Party. He founded and ran a non-profit organisation which sold stationery. He did not particularly share artistic interests with Nonny (she was an artist) nor did he have much taste. Nonny made sure he wore nice clothes and he didn’t mind. She wore the trousers in a nice way.

Sam’s influence helped in Mum’s choice of husband. His caring nature proved enduring and Mum was affected by this. His easy going affability won over the volatility represented by her Father.

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Night of the Senses

After I had been to the Erotic Awards I wasn’t sure if monogamy was such a good idea. Fuck For Forest and Rock Bitch both described to me how living in a sex commune was where it is at. Based in Berlin and Scotland respectively their invitations to sample their lifestyle did intrigue me, and I’ll admit, the incredibly stunning members of 90s feminist rock band Rockbitch known for performing live pagan sex rituals at their gigs and always naked, plus their fine tuning to the anti-feminine mores of society, felt tempting. Fuck For Forest seemed young by comparison, like very horny continental elves who looked like they might live in the woods! They said Berlin however is where they reside due to the leniency and opportunities for artists there (their public sexual antics have presented problems with authorities.)

I was invited by my friend Estelle Riviere to be one of her models for her Monsterlune fashion show. This was a great honour as her clothes are supremely unique, quirky and erotic; as well it is a big pleasure to hang out with her and all the other models.

me trying on my costume at Estelle’s

Fellow model and friend Lucy Castro

Backstage at Night of the Senses

Estelle’s clothes are characterized by what she calls hoods, or balaclavas! Most with tiny eye holes lend the wearer a minor disability which felt apt for the evening. I was not very confident about where the edge of the stage was, but the main emphasis was to revel in looking strange and sexy. She chose each costume for the 15 of us modelling individually, so they somehow expressed us all. My outfit was one of the least erotic while Lucy’s displayed Japanese art-porn, Jon had a long dangling cock, James wore pussy pants and various offered some nudity. Creating original clothes is Estelle’s passion and it was wonderful to share in her show experience and learn from her natural and relaxed direction. This was an art project as much as a fashion show and all the models are her friends, some who have modelled for her several times and traveled to do so. They are mostly fellow life models and artists who are part of the club scene she enjoys.

This was no ordinary fetish experience; The Night of the Senses raises money and awareness for disabled people to enjoy sex and relationships via the Outsiders charity. Wandering about the busy venue many differently abled people were enjoying the festivities so that a high level of accessibility felt normal. That alone was mindblowing and felt like a pretty awesome vision of the future. I mean I have worked in very accessible places before like the National Theatre, and I never saw such a high proportion of disability there. The atmosphere of inclusivity was like a warm embrace for even the rarest of fetish club attendees such as myself. I used to frequent those haunts back in the 90s but unfortunately never stumbled across this one until now (this was the 25th anniversary! It used to be called Sex Maniacs Ball.)

With free and open sexuality so high on the agenda it could have felt daunting if one is not looking to explore that. For myself it was a huge privilege to be among these people and witness their world, meeting new people with radical lifestyles. Unlike when I was younger I did not feel the need to experience so much at first hand; I could appreciate more as an observer. In any case there were plenty of shows designed especially for that.

I have wondered about the viability of open relationships and it was inspiring to meet groups of people who have made them work as what they call polyamorous relationships in communes over several years, in fact at least 20 years in the case of some of the members of Rockbitch. One of them described to me how it began by one woman falling in love with another and gradually more becoming involved in the romantic and sexual union of the group. There used to be men involved, but now there is only one who I also met. Others are welcome to join if they meet the criteria of the commune, though apparently men generally can’t hack it. I’m not surprised; both Alex and Suna who I met radiate immense power which could be quite intimidating if you don’t really know what you are about. No longer playing or performing as Rockbitch, they remain in commune pursuing individual projects and helping to host the Erotic Awards which has long been their supporter and friend.

Fuck For Forest have a site where punters pay to view erotic images and home-made porn with the proceeds going towards saving the environment. I thought I would do my bit and posed for their lens. In my usual life I am used to being more nude-friendly than others around. On this night I was surrounded by nudity as celebration and normality, nature.

There are so many awards categories, including for sex workers, writers, porn/film makers, activists. This is not the first time I have come into contact with the clash that is part of the firmament of contemporary feminism (anti-sex industry) and pro-sex worker activism, which is also differently feminist. I can appreciate elements of both argument. The sex industry as it stands rarely honours women who are a large part of its currency as it ought to as the Goddesses they are. To vilify the industry however and demand its closure, does nothing for the women who gain a great deal from their jobs there. And I know from 1st hand experience how working in that industry can offer a sense of liberation. Laws need to change, but to empower the workers, not close it down.

There was an air of solidarity at this event that tantalized one’s expectation. As Grayson Perry has said of it “the good people in a gloriously murky industry”. Beautiful and natural people all around, being themselves as fabulously eccentric and relaxed as they are. Smiles and welcomes, introductions from strangers which it was perfectly fine to decline, but weren’t we all having a spectacular time! There is extensive description of the Erotic Awards philosophy on their website which I reccommend for appreciating immensely their joyful ethos, (eg http://www.erotic-awards.co.uk/nos_lbod.html). Sex-positive vibe rocks!!

My boyfriend has noted that I am somewhat impressionable. Every time I go away a few days or visit an unusual scene, it is as if I absorb my environment, for a while ready to take it on as my own! He says that like a method actor, I am a ‘method-lifer’. I like to think I keep the parts that are helpful and fun. It is true that I am ever curious about what other folk are really like. If I get a chance of an audience with some fabulous types I am most obliged.

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Good Wishes & Time in Between

Every time I made a wish on a birthday cake, a dandelion husk or any other wish-inducing childhood phenomena, I predominantly wished for my Mum to be happier. I wanted her to stop being angry and seemingly the biggest source of family upset. I wanted it bad and I did not only wish her death on her, which whilst salient in my mind’s eye, was reserved for her least forgivable moments. It was easy to imagine her dead, but I did not know what her being happy would look like. There appeared to be too many things wrong.

This time right now I have left wide open. I am taking time. I am in therapy and it’s kicking in. I am inbetween projects/events and I am holding off commitments for now as I want to feel my own rhythm to find out where I am next putting my feet down. I am listening and reconnecting. I am life modelling and just that, no frills. There is space for emotions to come up, and I feel a bit vulnerable sometimes because I don’t have much that is fun and cool going on to talk about. It’s ok; I love the simplicity and time with friends.

@ the anger: unfinished business is all. An awareness of energies/programming which I want to bring to the table. Some of us were brought up thinking that we deserve the best and maybe more. Others, that we don’t; so we don’t expect so much or tend to get it. I have realised which camp I have been in for the most part so I want to reprogramme, and in the case of some friendships/relationships, it is time to reveal old patterns which aren’t benefitting everyone.

In writing I can express myself more freely; some friendships feel like family, and face to face is hard to say (all) the truth. Especially when in close quarters for too long, confrontation seemed an awkward imposition on someone else’s space. I don’t always shy from direct verbal, but there is a time and a place.

I recently spent a week like this at the Slade

Working Through Anger (and my Voodoo Child)

Yesterday was disabling. Unsent angry letters! It worked though because by the end of the day the anger was gone.

Today was melancholy and introspection, treading softly, taking care.

What a difference – I know where I’d rather be. The morning felt delicate, tender; the evening light, beaming.

I really didn’t know how long it would take to diffuse the anger; it was so dominating, it felt like it might stay a while. I think the answer was in allowing it to take over me, not blocking it. It didn’t feel like a choice, but at some other juncture I think it was.

It started with writing rationally, cataloguing. When that was through and sending would obviously not yield constructive results, I moved on to harm wishing. I was consumed by righteous rage and this revealed something profound (to me). Whilst imagining awful accidents befalling the person in question, I reasoned to myself that that is the only way I could imagine them coming to a transformation whereby they may acquire enough humanity that we may get on again.

To clarify: this wasn’t considered or premeditated visualisation. It was in-the-moment-blind-and-going-nowhere rage.

As I reasoned however, I remembered a childhood preoccupation. As a small girl with an angry, unloving Mother; I used to wish she was dead. And I would picture her dead and buried in our garden. I even imagined her rotting bones.

I was not surprised when as a teenager I was told she had gotten a degenerative disease – MS. The thing is now, I associate that condition and disability with my Mum becoming a more decent human being with whom I have a reasonable relationship. Dependence on others changed her outlook, made her humble.

So when I momentarily wish ill on people messing with me now… I ultimately mean them good!

Melodramatic pose I am currently doing for sculpture; this is called an ecorche – (underwiring and) basic bone structure, muscles, no skin

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Sleeping with Mum while she dreams of Venus & Mars

My sister and I are looking after Mum while Dad is taking a rare and much needed break. I am floored once again by what Dad lives with. I am moved by love too.

Mum asks that one of us sleeps in her bed with her, basically because she feels safer like that. This is my call and though the closeness feels right, my sleep is interrupted for her noisy breathing. I do also feel grateful for the intimacy between us now which never there was before.

In the morning lots of energy is needed for all the processes of getting up, and most of that is Rebecca and I getting Mum up. Before breakfast is done I need a nap and we haven’t got ourselves organised yet.

The best part is the conversations that would never otherwise happen. We had hoped to take a bold trip out into Central London as we have done before, but that was without taking into consideration the extra mileage of doing everything else for Mum too. Usually a daytrip works when Dad and a carer have done the first part of the day for us. We are rethinking plans as I write.

Last night Mum dreamt she walked on the planets Mars and Venus, as she was in her 20s. Remarkable – she always dreams of being mobile and young, sometimes walking in outlandish places like the bottom of the ocean. She said she had thought of Botticelli’s painting ‘Venus and Mars’ yesterday.

Rebecca brought us tea in bed before the rigmarole begun. Mum mentioned her lack of confidence in life resulting in her getting few jobs and not having friends. After moving from East Berlin she didn’t really settle here. I remarked that she might have overlooked at least one type of confidence she didn’t lack, which was with men. She was beautiful and was rarely without a boyfriend, sometimes several. To hear her relating her past put fresh light on my own life patterns. I have been working on unpicking them to make positive changes, and I wonder how much more may I do.

I have a very big feeling about spending this quality time with Mum. It strikes me physically; I felt it growing in my belly area a day or 2 before coming here. It’s much bigger than us. It’s about love and it moves me. That she has changed so much, and her condition; she requires us to rethink ourselves makes her into a change-maker. It makes me rethink the way I live.

A few years ago faced with the imminent prospect of dying Mum told us all for the first time that she loved us. That love and openness have been growing.

Sandro Botticelli's 'Venus and Mars' depicts Mars asleep while Venus is awake and alert; meaning that love conquers war or love conquers all

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