Taking to the Streets – my day with Occupy City of London

I woke unready to alarm. I wanted to sleep more but did not listen. Stuck to the programme. Shower, coffee, fried egg. Grim weather and I’m not quite feeling topless… I wear decorative tights instead.

I arrive on site with a friend, but the atmosphere is less than inviting and she quickly leaves. Messy, chaotic and as a man I talk to describes it – this is the front line of Occupy. It’s rather a masculine territory and somewhat uncouth. The ground is just that – muddy ground. The sofa is muddy too. An open tent we find where people are making breakfast has the appearance of a homeless shelter because that is what it is. People who Occupy are living outdoors, camping in a public place. Some of them were rough sleepers before and bring that to the camp. It’s probably more of a home to them than previous arrangements, certainly there is community, and purpose if you care about that. Unfortunately they do not all have allegiance to a common mission to ‘be the 99% taking on the 1%’. This causes tensions and as I wait for Steve an eviction is slowly manifesting not without a struggle.

3 hours after I arrived movement is occurring; we are celebrating St George’s Day, and some of the guys dressed in improvised tunics and beholding makeshift swords are set to slay the mythical dragon. That is the several statues of dragons placed strategically around the city of London. We have leaflets to hand the public regarding the cause.

There is an awkward start to the dragon tour as one of us is a little pissed and inadvertently manages to knock down a passer-by in his enthusiasm. The others are very unimpressed particularly as police are within view. It turns out however that the man who was knocked off balance is probably more pissed than his unwitting assailant.

A few times on this trip I am unsure of my company; some are rowdy, unruly, shouting with little forethought… yet they also have a fighting spirit necessary for the front line. They are positive, jovial; they spread a message of change for the common good; connect with people, and when on form they get public support. They are active in wishing to improve their and others’ lot. This is a beautiful thing and I feel a sense of camaraderie with them.

The night before I consider they may imagine me an imposter – ‘an infiltrator’ as there are many it seems. Any significant movement challenging the bedrock of an elite’s hold on society may expect to be spied on. It is when reading about the lengths authorities have gone to to suppress and divert the Hollie Greig (Scottish woman with Downs Syndrome sexually abused as a child by men in family plus paedophile ring including key pillars of community – some pretty high up; http://www.holliedemandsjustice.org/) case in Scotland and now England that this occurs to me. Unless one is actually sleeping alongside the Occupiers in a tent, I guess there may be suspicion towards you, but I have faith this is not insurmountable.

My connection with Occupy London began last week when I walked into their site requesting to be photographed topless with ‘Reclaim Your Love’ painted on my front (http://spiritedbodies.com/2012/04/15/reclaim-your-love/). They liked my drift and collaboration seemed appropriate.

St George’s Day however is drizzly, cold and with much waiting around I am resolved there will be no semi-nude action today which I have earmarked for hanging out with these guys instead. I want to get to know them and get a feel for my place amongst them if any, if I am to expose myself with them meaningfully and even help them to gain publicity. It’s a personal act which comes from within, so the weather really consolidates a need to get to grips with the whole scenario (before baring myself), which happens to include seeing it in all its murkiness.

I can tell Steve is anxious I may be put off but I respond that it’s as well to be familiar, and I understand we all have tricky days. I’d rather get to know them than wade in less aware.

St Georges slaying the dragon on Embankment

I am curious to meet the womenfolk of Occupy. One who has been there throughout the Winter and moved from St Pauls to the site in Finsbury Square tells me when she has left she will write up her experience. I would like to read that.

We traverse the City from The Royal Courts of Justice where we temporarily join up with Hollie Greig supporters and those wishing to transform the justice system, to Guildhall, Temple Church and London Bridge. I am pleased to see this day through with all its grey areas and learning curves. I have spent some time which fed my soul for being with fellow citizens to demand a fairer future for all. I stuck through ugly moments to see the brighter side of those I could have judged. Afterwards I made my way to a job and the difference in quality of energy was palpable – to be back within the mainstream (of corruption?) somehow (Moving Picture Company – a major animation studio). Not a bad job, just well, not as enlivening to be standing still to be sculpted, than actively reaching out with higher purpose.

Talking to different Occupiers it is obvious that as well as shared principles, they each have personal reasons for being there, as I have mine. I look forward to the right and good spontaneous action to come.

One more thing about the difference between Occupiers who live on Occupy territory, and those who actually control the financial side of Occupy but from the comfort of solid homes… I must admit my own ignorance here. I understand there are tensions between these 2. I happen to have met with these front-line tent-site dwellers (first). They have my heart-felt support. When I first visited the St Paul’s site in Autumn I was moved by their presence and dedication. Amidst chaotic elements signs of organised intelligence were strongly apparent too. I would not so far choose to have that lifestyle myself though knew I wanted to support them in ways appropriate to me. It made me feel so glad that they gave enough of a shit to be there; it brings something very human and real to London (or anywhere). It feels like they are reclaiming the soul of our city and that makes my heart sing!

As for internal or site/off-site politics we shall see. What strikes me now is the continuing optimism of these hardcore camping Occupiers; a feeling to hold on to and nourish.

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Life Affirming Beauty

My dearest friend invited me to a gathering at her house whereby her women friends may meet for the first time, and transform energy in her house which had had too many experiences with men in it which she wished to put behind her. It did exceed all her expectations and I met the loveliest of ladies there who with open hearts did connect easily sharing food and stories, advice and laughs. It was a breakthrough and my friend cried with joy to bring her life to this place of amazing uplift. I felt honoured to share in her experience and to have been with her the longest time on her life journey. We have been through shit together and seen each other in decidedly unfavourable circumstances. We fell out too at least once when working on a performance project together brought us to breaking point. A few months later after not talking, we realised we had overcome some block and were closer than ever. We reached a new level of being able to be with each other and it was a relief. Having said our worst to each other, we’d had it out, and there was no need for more upset, just gratitude for each other’s friendship. I am so proud of her now.

When are unkind words necessary?

When you run out of options, patience is exceeded. If they are not nasty for the sake of it, then some difficult but honest words may bridge a gap in time. Some things are hard to say and may only emerge in a conflict, but from there growth is possible, and if embraced can lead to greater clarity.

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Anatomy of Love: Topless Sisters, Mum, a Beagle & a Hirst Sculpture

Following on from my Femen inspired exploits last week in Central London with my Mum, sister and boyfriend’s dog, here is the rest of the photo collection from that awesome day out – Friday 13th April 2012. By this point Steve Moore of Occupy City of London had seen us on our way… to the other side of the river.

After all this time showing off on my own, Rebecca decided perhaps she would join in...

Mum being supportive on a slightly unusual day out

It was getting busy by the sculpture so we found our own patch

Dee getting restless

Sisters doing it for themselves on Millennium Bridge

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Reclaim Your Love!

It’s that in-between stage. Considering options for upcoming events, where to put our Spirited Bodies Energy. It starts to feel bureaucratic – paperwork to become a charity, applying for funding… learning how to make the correct spiel, and watching out in case some of our messages might be offensive… Hold On! What the fuck is happening? I am passionate about what I do; it’s the only reason I do it. Because it can affect people deeply in a way that I think really matters.

At our meeting Lucy brings a copy of The Sunday Times Magazine with a picture of a Femen activist on the front cover. The meeting goes well, plans are discussed but the next day what I can’t stop thinking about is radical feminist activism. I am bored, and I want to feel excited again; feel the electrical itch of anticipation when you’re not quite sure what’s going to happen next, but you just have to be there every breath, on edge, on fire.

These Ukrainian women kick ass. They get arrested, they are funded by donation and they are hot. Sex tourism is so rife where they are with so few opportunities, topless protest just makes sense. They scream and they are righteous. I would be too. They remind me of me, or of a younger me rich with vitality, only in my youth I think I lacked such purposeful direction.

I research them, check out flights to Kiev and ponder what I’d do with them. I write to them, but I know they must be inundated. What they do is theirs. What I want from them is some of their raw urgent style. I can’t think of anyone around me who would likely join me on such a quest. This may be my own, and I am bound. That my boyfriend is recovering from an operation and unable to make love with me may be the best thing to happen to me, to my drive to push me, remind me how dissatisfied I am with my situation, and with the world!

Then Friday comes and I have arranged a trip into London with my sister – we are taking Mum to St Paul’s Cathedral, it is one of her favourite places in London. The night before I wake up early with an idea. Black paint and my overcoat. I can feel the tingles! It’s like being a teenager or falling in love all over again! Yes! Life!

I am early to meet Mum and Rebecca, and decide to call in at the Finsbury Square Occupy camp in Moorgate where I reveal myself; it's my first visit to that Occupation. Willing and bemused residents aid me.

I spot an auspicious sign by the pavement. Dee, my boyfriend's dog, is great for extra fond-inducing smiles, though I am trying to be serious here. A lovely French protester takes the shot.

Steve Moore from the Occupy camp accompanies me to St Paul's to visit his old home. It's his first time back since eviction; nostalgic memories. He knows the place inside out and is well suited to finding good shots.

I adopt classic Femen pose, without their traditional flowers and ribbons (symbol of unmarried women?) but with the addition of a beagle! (I am on walking duty this week.) Also my slogan is not a negative. I live in Britain and my prospects aren’t so glum. The council helps with my rent and the Arts Council may help with my feminist arts cause to help others. Besides I’ve read spiritual books which say embracing the positive is far more powerful than complaining or stressing what is wrong, which may encourage more of the same.Females of the family

Steve takes us to the best view of the dome; a roof terrace of a shopping centre. He has many stories from his St Paul's experience; he was a bailiff before he joined Occupy and his expertise proved pretty canny during proceedings: http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/paul-davey/the-faces-of-occupy-steph_b_1412524.html?ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false#sb=2912968,b=facebook

I pose inside a sculpture

On the way to the bridge

On the Millenium Bridge

Looking through the images I think I may have forgotten the ‘shameless exhibitionist’ tag, I definitely got a buzz from this! In fact Rebecca who took a lot of the pictures sent me so many, I shall do another post. We had a positive response from public unsurprisingly, and even the security guard at the shopping centre who had to invent an excuse about the dog to get rid of us was fairly polite. The family day-of-action was a success!

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Therapy Breakthrough

Typical. Just as I was about to discontinue seeing my psychotherapist, we get to the good stuff. Sex and my early sexual experiences; my relationship with my Mother.

The truth is I had put off discussing sex as my therapist is Muslim. Stupid I know, prejudiced too, but I felt weird bringing it up and opted to talk about everything else instead… until she brought it up.

I had been unhappy with my boyfriend’s living arrangement and my anger levels were disturbing. After a few weeks of probing this situation, she said, “But doesn’t it affect your sex life?”

I already liked her, little though she says – it makes what she does say all the more poignant – and from then I found a whole new level of appreciation for her. No one else had said that. If she had been Western I have no doubt that I would have been talking about sex with her from the off. But then, how to spot the breakthrough?

She was so right. Sex is very important to me, perhaps my strongest currency. It wasn’t that we weren’t having sex; I will always find a way! But that our truest intimacy was compromised. Our ability to get to know each other in every way that we would, without interference – that felt in question. No amount of communal aspirations could make up for that. It is a base that we needed and are establishing now for ourselves, and for which I am most grateful.

The pressing difficulties of the present out of the way, we were free (my therapist and I) to delve naturally into the past. That my Mother had resented my burgeoning sexuality when puberty struck, had given me many issues. It felt good to cry, and I knew we are only just beginning.

Image

Pictures of me by Sue from The Pastel Society, 18/2/12

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Guidelines for Joining the Sex Industry

Ever since I started talking freely about my past in the sex industry people have asked me ‘how do they get into it?’

I think if you want to get into the sex industry, you just do it. You shouldn’t need to think about it too much; it’s very much a doing thing.

It helps if you don’t mind the idea of casual sex with strangers. In fact any aversion to that will be a definite hindrance and I would give the sex industry a miss. You could try juggling, hot air ballooning or just wash dishes. It depends what you want to get out of it.

When I got involved, to be fair, I did think about it a bit. Gramp complained to Mum that I looked like a prostitute, and she’d made a prediction concerning my in turns insane/whorish then star-studded career to be. Guess I went with it. And given my wardrobe and bent for casual, mindless sex, it seemed most natural AND lucrative. Being dumped horrendously by my first love kick started the proceedings; from there I developed an obsession for going home with strange men.

You might want a special website or business cards these days. That did not occur to me in 1995. I just went with the flow. And being young and pretty daft I didn’t mind being employed by assholes. I thought it might be character forming. And you get to meet more people, and there’s less organising, when the truly important matters in life are about dancing and getting wasted on Saturday night to a very select soundtrack. I wanted to live!

But your own business is another matter entirely. Do you masquerade as something legal or does that even matter? What can you advertise and where, and who do you want to attract? What if you don’t know anyone in the industry? I believe if you really want it you’ll find it.

If it turns out you actually are looking for a few decent lovers and a new income, escorting may not be the answer. It comes down to selling sex, so you must remember not to dress that up too much. You might be lucky and get some fun clients. But they are not the same as lovers.

A good exception is when a woman becomes a state employed sex healer, like for wounded ex-soldiers. In this capacity a bond may be formed. She may teach him how to appreciate sex.

So if you wanted to go about selling some sexual healing, it may be more rewarding. Of course you’d have to be pretty confident about what you were selling. You could promote yourself as available for mending broken hearts. You could mention that due to the intensity of your work, you can only manage a few customers at a time, and they must be carefully selected by you so there is a good match. That way you may guarantee quality and integrity. You could suggest examples of people you think you could or would like to heal. Maybe they would be ill or disabled, older, have suffered some catastrophe or been at war. Doesn’t sound like a lucrative market, if a very appreciative one. But you never know. If it makes you happy, there will be a way I say. My recommendation for discovering yourself, who you want to be involved with when doing this work, and why, is to write freely from your heart and try to describe as best you can what you want to express, the role you want to fill, the whole purpose.

If it is a political statement, that alone may not carry enough weight. If it’s emotional, get to the bottom of it. But most of all if it does seem to be your niche, try to describe what you would get from and give to, how you might experience your encounters in this domain. Words of this order, not too fancy either, may be what you put on your site to let people know what you’re about. It just helps to know clearly, have a picture of it working well.

I would love to hear from people with more experience of this than me. There is so much I don’t know.

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Project Unbreakable, & Walking the Walk

Today I visited Sylvie who modelled at our recent event. She has described how participating has lined up with her own journey of transformation (http://spiritedbodies.com/2012/02/12/little-pieces-of-me-by-sylvie-rouhani/) with regard to healing from the trauma of childhood sexual abuse. She recently started her own blog for her art and poetry, and felt inspired when through the world of blogging she came across ‘Project Unbreakable’. Started by Grace Brown in the US, it is for survivors of sexual abuse to come out perhaps, by means of being photographed with a sign stating a quote of their abuser.

Sylvie’s powerful idea is to take part in the next Spirited Bodies – on 21st March at Telegraph Hill Festival – and make such a sign for herself for the occasion. When nude she will pose with the sign at least for a photograph to send to Grace to join the thousands that Grace receives. We don’t know if anyone has done this nude before, but it seems to make a lot of sense, since such difficult experiences can affect the way we feel about our bodies in a huge way. It may be quite subtle, yet highly destructive, making someone ashamed of themselves somehow. To confront this issue any which way how is surely empowering for any soul. In some pictures the person is not identifiable, the face not visible, but it is the act which demonstrates strength, and solidarity since many others are participating.

I am getting a sense that our upcoming event is about healing the heart. I felt upset when following the joy of the last event, an issue about photographs possibly spoilt some people’s experience. I never want that to happen again; it goes against the whole ethos of Spirited Bodies. In future if there is photography I will communicate much more clearly with every model about that in advance, and take pains to stage any photos taken so that no one is upset.

There was a flip-side to the mishap, in that some models who had not been so keen on being seen in a photo, once they saw the results, did change their minds remarkably, especially in the light of the unexpected levels of joy they experienced when participating. The photograph was a happy memory. But for any who trusted us less afterwards, I am sorry. Overall it was a valuable lesson.

One of Alex B's images from 'The Drawing Theatre', Spirited Bodies

Living and learning must be key. And fate gave me a suitable nod shortly after the photograph debacle. Having been body painted by my friend Caroline Young for the Paradise Jam in Broxbourne on 16th February, with one particular glitter tattoo on my back, I then had occasion to model nude on a catwalk in London Fashion Week for a hat designer on the 21st. The tattoo still intact, press photographers snapped my bottom avidly which was highlighted by the glitter. It, minus the hat, made it to page 3 of the Metro the next day much to my and Caroline’s delight!

Robyn Coles, the designer, fared better with her other models for her campaign, who served her purpose better from the front. A pregnant glamour model glowed sensationally, and Alex B strutted regally, amongst our number.

Backstage at the show I did not feel a big sense of belonging. I was not uncomfortable about my body, in fact the opposite. We had been told ‘basic make-up’, and I wore none. I think it is that I struggle to get excited about fashion and that showed. I did enjoy the catwalking however, which was to the tune of Lana Del Rey‘s ‘Born to Die’. Reckon body painting is more my thing!

I enjoyed posing with Caroline Young's body paint - photo by Alex Eve

Back in Drama School, at Rose Bruford 8 years ago I made a piece of theatre about facing demons of the past. I asked an old friend to take part as his story was powerful and had moved me. He portrayed in some theatrical form his tale of childhood sexual abuse. He said it was cathartic to stand up and perform this painful part of his past. To come out and say it, and actually be real on stage, in front of strangers. The audience were young and they laughed at first, but in the end we felt victorious for doing the performance project our way. In a way that felt most meaningful.

He said recently that he has gotten much reward over the years from connecting with other survivors who have had similar experiences. Once they have reached a certain stage in processing the damage, there is something about them which resonates clearly as they lack a more usual layer of bullshit apparent in so many people. They appreciate the value of things, life, better perhaps. And processing one’s struggle with others is part of what stops the damage from being heavily internalised. The easiest way, he points out, for the abuse cycle to continue and be passed on by one who has been abused becoming an abuser him/herself, is to not truly connect with others about the matter.

What I find becoming apparent is, 20 odd years ago there seemed to be a minority of victims, but now a growing awareness suggests  more likely a majority. So by joining up with Project Unbreakable for example, there is a strength in numbers. A knowledge of being far from alone. A power to let potential and actual aggressors know that they may be outflanked.

The next Spirited Bodies will welcome survivors and those who want to support them. Life modelling in a group can be healing in various capacities, and I will focus on this aspect of the event to drive it forwards.

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Meeting With Freedom

When the doctor calls in the middle of the night, come to the hospital, this could be it. We don’t know if she’ll make it, but we need to know from you what you would like us to do if – if the life in her is not worth – if when she opens her eyes there is nothing there. They have the power and they need to know, have you thought about it? Yes because it happens each time – different doctors, sometimes different hospital, but each time she is under they have to ask.

Sometimes my instincts check in advance, they are not feeling adrenaline, I am sure this time will pass. Often I am pulled in to the brink on the edge of the rollercoaster seat. By the bedside crying, and appreciating time in the relatives’ suite, because that is the most meaningful conversations the rest of the family ever has with Dad. The family drama; and when the doctor calls, I know now that he is hoping. This time could be his meeting with freedom. He has discussed her wishes with her and the answer is to switch off from a life not worth the trouble. Meanwhile they continue, we keep on.

At the front of The Royal Festival Hall, Lucy and I find a table and furnish it with my large painted Spirited Bodies sign. We discuss the press release, skirting over our brushings with mental health. I was supposed to prepare the meeting we are about to have with our brand new SB models. We’ll wing it; well it’s not like we haven’t done it before. The hardest thing I find is putting myself in the position of someone new to the whole business. Remembering what it was like before nudity was normal, and even then it wasn’t that new to me. And tuning myself to a sensitive mode that is ready for newbies both anxious and nervous, as well as those in it for the craic, or because they just love what we’re doing. I’m a tiny bit nervous but it’s going to be fun.

They arrive one by one, with warm hand shakes and smiles, chairs gradually accumulated from across the room. They find me familiar, I have been emailing them individually, and it’s like we know each other, except now they’re all here I don’t know who each one is. It’s ok. We have important informations to impart and light-hearted anecdotes of bodily fluids and anti-sexual encounters. We – Lucy and I – are on familiar territory, and we pick up after each other. I try to feel what the interested faces are hoping to glean, and they ask about the photographs (for London Drawing) and how to choose poses. It goes well and I am high and full of love afterwards. That’s why we do it, because of them (and us). I love it when they are happy. The artists make another level of content, but for me it’s for the models first. They make me feel both humble and worthy. They are on edge with excitement to meet themselves in a space that is about just being, and being drawn. And they will be together, as in a drama, complimenting and interacting with each other, creating a story where there are bodies. We will be guiding them, but now already these that we have met, know more what to expect. Their minds will imagine and start to build the scene of the next event. The seeds are gestating in time for a rich bloom.

Feeling the Love

I have been running on empty but I feel the love

While I stand before the people drawing me, the warmth inside of me just reaches out

All I feel is love, I am the love

I wish them every clarity of co-ordination and fulfilment as they connect eye to hand to paper

I send my being out towards them and give them all I am

Pure happiness is in me, around me, we feel it together

There is no worry, and I am not my body

I may be in it now, but I am love and light

I return to being my essence and that is what they feel whether they know it or not

In my place of comfort my body informs me how to move and what to express, it just does it

Because that’s what makes me feel the love

Drawing Blood

I had taken my boyfriend home. He was sick. But at least he made it to the club. He remembers the good bits – getting pissed with old friends at home, me showing him round, dancing, kissing on the dance floor.

I remember him on the pavement “Just fuck off”, people helped us to bundle him into a taxi. Vomit. Bed.

I was still awake, only 3am and I’d not seen any of my friends. Wasted. I wanted to go back, ate some cold food and got on my bike. Anger/sadness coursing through me, reaching an outlet.

I did find them. Fucked but definitely my friends. Offered me drugs, I’m not interested. Tequila yes.

My fluffy old ex from so long ago I can’t stop stroking him. They are high on MDMA and talk affectionately.

Dancing to the old tunes, between the lazers. Old friends around this is what I came for.

Getting a round of shots with 2 of the core I say I don’t miss the drugs, but I miss jacking up. Do either of them still do it? No. They remember it well.

Later I fear planting a seed. We’re getting older, no need to push the limits. And I think about it. The rush was addictive, seductive; the process ritualistic. What I miss is not the high though really – I am drug free and happy with other ways now. It was how we bonded like a family. Literally making our bloods visible briefly, repeatedly. Sharing something vulnerable about us and our solution. Mental anarchy in a basement. Never make friends like that again, so I really want to keep hold of these, but now I think to introduce new activities to share. Something with an element of danger or a dinner party.