Day of the Girl – a feminist Love revolution

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Looking East as we rose on the London Eye, #DayoftheGirl October 11

In December 2011 the UN decided to create the International Day of the Girl, which is October 11 each year. The day is to raise awareness of the many inequalities faced by girls around the world, and to celebrate their achievements. Women of the World (WOW) at Southbank Centre, London, mark the occasion by a day filled with activities for girls, including speed mentoring early in the morning with successful women in a diverse range of fields, on the London Eye. I took part as a mentor on Tuesday and found it very rewarding. I remember how much I could have done with some good advice on real life matters when I was a young teenager. At that age the adults you mostly get to speak to may be family or teachers, and may not touch on all your areas of interest. I was very moved and this is what I wrote.

Caitlin Moran said, this country has been run by men who went to boarding schools for far too long. These schools are like businesses that people pay to send their children to. They are not like the real world where people care about each other.

She said, she’s met these men, and they are not more clever or special than many of us. They were just brought up to feel entitled to lead, but they do not understand most of us. She said, no one will ever just hand you power, you have to go and get it. Don’t worry that you don’t look like the others who have power, it’s ok to look different. She said it’s an exciting time because we have the possibility to change things in massive ways.

She had a message for the teenage girls, to be kind to themselves, and to learn how to accept compliments, because many find that very difficult and struggle with low self esteem. She advised them about their future – to follow their passion and make something of their own, a project or career. Because in the end the satisfaction you get from those achievements of what is within you to succeed, will be far more rewarding than what you get from a marriage or from having children. My heart sang. It is so important that girls are told this, that they (we) are reconditioned.

She said Love yourselves, and be nice. Be kind to each other and support other women.

This Day of the Girl had already moved me so much. It was afternoon now in the Royal Festival Hall, but breakfast had brought me to tears.

I had been so hard on myself the day before, so angry because I thought I had failed. I had performed Girl in Suitcase at the weekend and was looking back with unflinchingly self-critical eyes. I knew I must do much better, and told myself sternly what needed to change in future.

Still I went to bed early and though it took a while to quiet my mind for sleep, I was woken by the alarm when it played at 5:30am. Deliberately getting up at that hour is usually reserved for journeys to foreign lands. This, however was to take a different sort of flight. I showered, dressed, grabbed a bite and then cycled to Southbank Centre. I went in the building and was given a name badge and told I was in Capsule U. I got a cup of tea and waited; I was in good time. To my surprise when the voice on the tannoy announced the first groups to make their way to the London Eye, U was one of them. As we gathered, I recognised one of the women. I was unsure if she was facilitating, or mentoring like me, as I had seen her working at Southbank Centre before, as well as giving a talk at this year’s WOW. It was about her experience of the criminal justice system – serving time in prison and coming clean off drugs after many years’ addiction. I introduced myself and told her I had seen her powerful talk. She said it had been an important moment for her as since then she had gone on to give many talks in prisons and to the NHS for example. By telling her story she could destigmatise people with addictions to help health and legal professionals understand that treating them like patients is far more positive than as criminals. Her name was Nina, and she was also mentoring. It was her first time, my second. I had taken part in this 3 years ago, but had since doubted how helpful I could be to school girls. This year however I had regained confidence and felt that this would be a very good thing for me to do. Meeting Nina before we even started really reassured me. I was not alone with my dodgy past and unconventional pathway. I was in brilliant company! I settled into my group with ease, feeling absolutely certain that I had very valuable contributions to give to the girls we would be mentoring. Whatever they wanted to know, I had real life experience, and I had come a long way. I knew things they for sure were not taught in school. What a privilege and wonderful opportunity for me too.

We were on the Eye for an hour, in each capsule a group of 8 mentors and 8 mentees, and each mentor spoke with 3 different girls for 15 minutes each, answering their questions, having a dialogue. Two of the girls I connected with were considering futures in the arts, one with singing, the other in musical theatre, so I was at least partially in the right ballpark. I know how tough it can be in the arts as a performer, but also how important to follow your calling. I have been through drama school, a bit of university and chanced my way as a jobbing actor before deciding I preferred to create my own work and perform it. Mostly the girls’ questions and conditioned attitudes reminded me (remarkably after 25 years difference! – they were 14 years old) of how school and middle class norms taught me to think when I was their age. How little has changed! It’s not all bad, but it’s not necessarily realistic, or helpful. Mostly the prevailing attitude talks up the importance of financial security, so anyone considering a career in the arts is advised to have at least one back-up plan in case it doesn’t work. That’s all well and good, but starting out with that in mind is a bit like sabotaging your truest desires. Thinking you have failed before you begin. No one wants to prepare young people for the possibility of being out of work for a while, taking low level jobs so you have the headspace to be creative, and definitely not that you might end up doing a more dodgy job like I did. But it happens, quite a lot. My pathway is unique, but so many women try similar things to get by and maintain their independence. The reality is, for most of us if we want to make it as an artist, it will take a while to find our niche. There will be struggles, but that doesn’t mean the moment there isn’t a stable income (!) we should give up and become an accountant. Unless that works for you, and, some people are better at managing several jobs at once, so again you have to find how it is for you. How many of the older people I model for say they wanted to be an artist, but needed a proper income, so after going to art school decided to train in something else. They then got caught up in a mortgage and raising a family until much later in life when freed up, they decided to enrol in art classes. This generation might not have such options – perhaps it’s better to follow dreams in the present instead of deferring.

My other mentee wanted a career in games concept design. Not so much my area but I do model for quite a few animation studios and games design students at university, as well as having dated the odd geek, so I knew a wee bit.

After our Eye revolution, I caught up with Nina a bit more over a coffee, before the talks in the Clore Ballroom led by Jude Kelly. I filled her in more about my past; Soho and the drugs. She asked if I, like her, had told my story. I said I’d been inspired by Jude’s rape survivor talks at WOW, as I had largely buried some of my own experiences, or classified them as insignificant, not worthy of note. A misappropriation, since rape was being opened up for discussion now in the 21st century, and the definition considered more widely without fear of shame. I told Nina I have been writing about some of my experiences, and performing them. Some of it is quite recent. She has a few years on me, and she looked at me wisely and said, “You’ve just begun to tell your story”. I could tell she meant that I would need to tell it and tell it and keep telling it before I was properly healed, and empowered by it. I knew in my blood that this was true, I felt it. I shed tears, and welled up some more as Jude got started with some very stirring speakers.

There was Fatima Manji, the news reader who wore a hijab whilst reporting on the recent Nice attack, and was subsequently criticised for doing so by a Sun journalist. She had spoken up bravely to make it known that it is not ok to discredit someone because of what they choose to wear. There was Frances Morris who is the new artistic director of the Tate Modern – and the first woman to have the job. There was Chi-chi Nwanoku who founded Europe’s first BME classical orchestra, and Luisa Omielan, an award winning comedian. There was also an inspirational 6th form prefect. Two other teenage girls were given the mic too, later in the day on stage with Caitlin reading excerpts from her ‘Moranifesto’, and I think it was important to include them. To show we are not just listening to the mostly white “successful” women in our society, but are also aware of younger women of colour (as it happened) who may be lesser known now, but are already making their mark. One was a spoken word poet leading a collective of performers in her school, and the other, June Eric-Udorie. The very articulate June successfully campaigned a year ago to keep feminism on the Politics A Level syllabus (it was going to be removed), and as well have more female thinkers added, as there was only one (Mary Wolstencraft) out of 16, included. Whilst doing her A Levels, she also writes for the Guardian among other publications.

By the time we went upstairs to listen to Jo Brand and Jude chatting, I was beyond speaking during the networking periods before and after. Nina had gone to a meeting, and I had spoken all that I needed to for the morning. Something had moved inside me, in my heart something was healing but still tender. I was very happy to sit on the floor and just enjoy Jo Brand’s deadpan wit combined with reassuringly human nature. I am quite used to listening to Jude, so it is a more familiar pleasure watching her in conversation with many amazing women.

The strong warm glow and buzz that I left Day of the Girl with, was the same feeling I get at WOW, but I think it’s growing. I really felt that the intelligent women in this country and beyond who have achieved some power, have gotten together and decided that they want all girls and women to share that, to have the same and more. They want to change the world and they are inspiring all of us. They wanted to support us all, in a really loving way, to big us up and encourage all our aspirations. It is a political movement, but there is spirit in it too. It is full of heart and Matriarchal Love. I felt like I belong, and I never want to lose that feeling. I noticed afterwards that some of my usual default thought patterns of comparing myself with others negatively especially when tired, had evaporated. I could overide them now, I was on a higher level. There were more important things to connect with, and bigger aims were possible. I ceased to self criticise as well, as I felt in my heart that there was a reason my weekend performance hadn’t been polished. A superficial shine hadn’t been important for this show – it was all about the content. I was delivering some very personal lines for the first time, live. Revealing sensitive material about my past, to both friends and strangers in my own city. That was what counted, Nina had reminded me without realising. That was what I had to prioritise. Not the blood and glitter, nor interacting with the audience like a cliched hooker, nor allowing them to body paint me – albeit this created a beautiful connection. My focus must be the lines of truth concerning delicate intimate secrets of my past. That’s all. My performance, my therapy.

Caitlin said, we don’t yet know what the world looks like and feels like when women have equality, it hasn’t been created yet. It’s up to us to make it, to have a revolution. Everything could be different; we might invent new economic systems since capitalism doesn’t work. We might create new political systems as the current one is definitely corrupt. Family, social, religious and geo-political structures may completely change. If each of us chooses to live our lives as fully as possible, to make the world better for everyone.

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My view from the London Eye on the morning of October 11, 2016.

Wild, naturist and free ~ Brighton Rock

Body painted at the World Naked Bike Ride, Spencer Tunick’s Sea of Hull, and last week with the Neo Naturists at the ICA. Also of course in my 3 Girl in Suitcase performances. Guerilla nude photoshoots during each visit to Venice, and as well twice on Hilly Fields. This year has been exciting for me for a proliferation of artistic naturist opportunities, surely not unrelated to having a partner with similar leanings.

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WNBR 2016 © AntwoneWalters.com

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part of the Sea of Hull (photo by Steve)

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Backstage at the ICA Steve and I painted each other Neo Naturist style. Photo by Cy Wol

I have been getting back to where I was 3 years ago it seems. Revisiting Scotland with Spirited Bodies, renewed enjoyment of the nude art community, and finding my way towards playing a role with WOW, as a mentor for girls once more. In 2013 I took part in speed mentoring school girls on the London Eye on the Day of the Girl. When asked for feedback afterwards I responded that I felt slightly misplaced in the role as no school girl aspired to be a nude art model! It wasn’t the point; it was all the other things about what I do that I need to share. Spreading the message of body confidence and empowering women, developing art projects, and surviving unusual pathways. A 12 year old might not imagine where I have come from, but you never know. I signed Laura Bates’ petition this week demanding that sex and relationship education become compulsory in all schools. The availability of violent porn to youngsters has led to a rise in teenage rape, largely due it seems to ignorance. The young people don’t know that this isn’t normal because they haven’t been presented with another way. There need to be healthier examples and people who aren’t afraid to speak about these issues. That could be me.

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at the Lido beach Venice, February 2016 photo by Steve

This month I felt strongly the need to shed a layer (again). To embrace more the light, and cleave less to darkness. Those parts of my past that I am separate from now I do not shun. I just need space to grow my own way without old associations limiting my path. Then when I have created new patterns, it becomes ok to revisit the old without fear of undue influence.

My blood rituals; often signifying shedding a layer; marking myself with an old (waste) part of me, then rinsing it off. Yesterday in Brighton the sea was choppy and I saw a rock I could sit on for the act so to be steadier, yet still close to, sometimes within the water.

I arrived at the naturist beach in the afternoon with my partner, Steve, and our long-time friend, Rodger. We undressed, though it was brisk at first, and had a cup of wine. Toasting our capers and Rodger’s 60th year, cameras were readied and my menstrual supply was by my side. Although a private moment, the ritual gains significance for being captured and shared. Psychically knowing it is out there increases my sense that this will change something within me. It gives me a chance to share a message with others too.

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photo by Rodger

The pebbles under foot were uncomfortable to tread on. I reached the water which was charged and rushing even at the edge. I was moving forward commitedly and successive waves kept splashing me more. Any sense of coldness was lessened by my pumping adrenaline, my effort to remain upright in the face of uneven painful footing; the force of the enormous sea pushing me back as I lurched towards the rock. I was focused; I had to be; there was no being casual here. It was set for drama. There was the potential of a calmer sunshine in the gaps between the clouds, but nothing sure and I just felt to seize the moment.

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I gripped the seaweeded rock and pulled myself on. There was to be no standing on the slippery  wave crashed and submerged platform; too dangerous, easily knocked off and blown about. No I sat, still clutching my tiny full pot of blood. I unscrewed it and poured it liberally around limbs and torso. The intense elements hastened me, so little time was spent just enjoying this moment. Quickly blood dripped then splashed off by waves. The smell of menstruation from April I believe, was strong, but hardly did it stay on me. I bathed, lowered myself surfing the rock (part of a groyn) on my belly. All wet with the sea I faced the expanse of water, then turned back and sat astride. At once ready for the walk to shore I attempted to climb down but was pushed off the rock by another wave. Knocked under water I became more involved in my scene than I’d planned but knew the immersion was good. I stood again, finding feet to make the walk. More than refreshed this felt quite raw and wildish, beyond health and safety!

Back on the stony beach out of the water I found a new cut in my foot flowing fresh blood. My friends stopped filming and helped me stumble back with a towel. We discovered more scratches grazed in the backs of my legs and right buttock, presumably from the point of being pushed off the rock. I’d not felt sharp edges but who knows underneath the powerful water what marked me, maybe barnacles under the greenery. I’d shed old blood, washed it off then opened fresh wounds, to make more memorable perhaps my encounter with Brighton rock.

With thanks to Rodger and Steve for recording my cleansing ritual.

 

Borders and Fragmented Identities

My show for the Fragmented Identities exhibition opening in Borders Festival was moved from the Venice Art House to the Ca’ Zanarde at the last minute. The space at Ca’ Zanarde in the gold room upstairs, is much more opulent in style than the minimalistic Venice Art House, and I appreciated performing in it. I had in fact almost lost the will to perform as we had been waiting for hours, had to move from one venue to the other with the considerable suitcase in the piercing heat, and had the disheartening impression that the It’s Liquid organisers, at least those in charge, were not very organised, and nor did they seem to care about the consequences for the artists involved.

Dancing, captured by Glynis Ackermann

I am grateful that Steve encouraged me to go ahead anyway, because I would feel better for it, and I did. There was a very small audience by the time I performed at about 10:30pm, only four hours after the scheduled time. Back at Venice Art House we had been given the choice of remaining at that venue where there was hardly an audience, or walking to Ca’ Zanarde where there was one… but these two venues both had performances scheduled, and Ca’ Zanarde was running late too, so we ended up with very late slots by which time most people had either left, or were just drinking outside rather than watching shows. It was a loyal few that supported each other in solidarity at the end, and they were just enough for me to interact with in the piece.

It was a very different experience with It’s Liquid in April, when I spoke with both Luca Curci and Andrea Chinellati who run it, and was given the chance to rehearse in the space the day before. This time just Luca was there, and we had no communication. There were many more acts and I think the plan for the evening was over-ambitious. Overall I enjoyed my time in Venice and am grateful for the opportunities. Steve recorded my show which is very valuable for me to learn from. For these Venetian performances I created new 20 minute shows and it proves a new discipline. There were lessons in simplification, minimising the importance of language in the show, and reducing the bulk to carry. My previous blog post describes this show in more detail, as I was preparing it.

Here it is!

And here is a lovely shot of some of the sweet folk who stayed with us till the end on the evening of Thursday 4th August.

We are wearing the costumes of artist Alexandra Holownia who was the final performer of the evening. She is 2nd from the left, Steve is in the middle, and Glynis Ackermann is on my right.

The Sant’Erasmo Blood Ritual

Unplanned and spontaneously born of some organisational fuck up on the part of It’s Liquid, this bloodening on a remote shore of a Venetian island salvaged a tricky episode. Truly I am grateful to It’s Liquid on several levels. They invited me to perform two different performances in Venice last week, and the invitation had come through back in May, shortly after my last show for them. It gave me a reason to hone Girl in Suitcase, particularly for a travel and international version, and as well to create a brand new show, which I entitled Blood>>>Orange.

Whereas my April visit to Venice had been straight forward and smoothly run, it seemed that It’s Liquid had bitten off a bit more than they could chew on this occasion. It wasn’t personal, but they did not handle it well. They showed the utmost disrespect to many of the performing artists. I will record this separately concerning Girl in Suitcase on that site, but as for Blood>>>Orange, it seemed only I was involved in the debacle. I had been booked to perform in the Hilton Molino Stucky Skyline rooftop bar, on Saturday 6th August as part of the Colors of the Sky series, for the Funky Orange evening.

The It’s Liquid performance art contribution to these Hilton events had been meanwhile suspended unbeknowst to us, and they never thought to inform me. I had already picked up that the organisation on this visit left a lot to be desired and certainly sensed something was up, but with no official information, I continued to prepare for the Saturday gig as planned. My partner Steve and I took the considerable gear over to Giudecca island, to the hotel only to find they weren’t expecting us. The hotel staff were really accommodating and friendly however, and possibly would have let me perform, but it wasn’t the point in fact. I sensed that my somewhat edgy performance would not fit so well here, between the more mainstream singer and DJ and the very well dressed guests; I mean I would have been happy to present there, but without a properly prepared introduction (from It’s Liquid) I preferred not to.

There was a fantastic view from the roof at sunset (we arrived around 9pm), but we would have to wait till 10:30pm to perform, and that would in fact be during either the singer or the DJ’s slots. We felt out of place and hungry. We wouldn’t have been paid for performing and couldn’t afford the food there, so decided to find a more reasonably priced meal by the water’s edge further along the island. We left the option of returning to perform open, but took all our kit with us. I knew in my heart that we didn’t want to go back. We wanted to move on from this mess, and get back to our holiday. It did take me a while to debrief, as preparing for a performance is more than the practical and physical considerations. I become psyched up for quite a while before, in this case a few months even. If the intended outlet doesn’t happen I am thrown into a limbo of confusion. I am not ready to return to the everyday; I need the hyper-reality of performing to take place somehow.

Steve and I knew what we would do, and the weather was kind. I had brought blood supplies for the Blood>>>Orange show, and didn’t want to return to London until my jars were empty. Sunday 7th August was our last full day in Venice, with nothing planned except now completing the mission. Throughout the preceding week (and indeed earlier trips in the year) we had visited several of the smaller surrounding islands, at least all those that are available by vaporetto. We had discovered the best spots for solitude and natural beauty, and the island of Sant’Erasmo suggested itself to us clearly. There is a crowded beach in high season on a hot Sunday, but we knew to walk further round where far fewer folk venture. There we had the space and landscape we wanted, to be unwatched and left alone.

We waded through muddy marshes and long prickly grasses till we found our perfect spot. The blood in my bag was from my last two menstrual cycles, kept in the fridge for such occasions! The ritual side of it is pouring the blood on my naked body. I make particular movements which invest greater energy in the proceeding, and focus me. There is an embracing of my cyclical, female nature; as well a letting go of recent events and processes, and a rinsing cleansing action in the water to refresh myself. I am completing a cycle; more than a monthly one, a wider episode in time too. I am connecting with (Mother) nature, and the elements – Earth, which I stand on first and drops of my blood fall to; Air, which I move through, the gentle breeze sometimes sending the stream of blood away from my skin; Water, which I walk into and submerge myself in and splash on myself to wash; and Fire, represented by the Blood itself that was created and expelled by my body and signifies my fertility and creativity.

Steve filmed me and as well added some music afterwards. The track is The Host of Seraphim by Dead Can Dance, and was part of the setlist for Blood>>>Orange, indeed the scene in which the bloodening takes place. I have used the track in the Goddess version of Girl in Suitcase (last year), so it is already established in my performance psyche!

After the disappointment of the previous day(s), this outing on Sant’Erasmo felt really special, loaded with impetus to reclaim something that I had been denied. An intention to celebrate that moment with myself and Steve, in that place and time. It felt joyful and liberating as well as sensual. We had considered a further performative action, also connected with the undelivered performance, but after my blood ritual I felt no further need to make that, for now.

Here is the film!

https://vimeo.com/178408596

With thanks to Steve.

It’s Liquid in Venice

Three months ago I performed Girl in Suitcase in Venice, in a new twenty minute version, in Italian. That was the maximum length for a performance at the Architectures of Identities – Contemporary Venice exhibition opening. At about a sixth of its original duration, this was an exercise in condensing and compacting the essence of the piece.

The opening scene of emerging from the suitcase and becoming unbandaged, introducing myself as a character – this was mostly unchanged except that I brought back the music I had played for this scene in the version of 2015; Sanvean by Lisa Gerrard. And, I spoke in Italian. I had asked two Italian friends in London to translate the text and advise on pronunciation. The words themselves speak a little of my background, born in a place where women have rights and are basically mostly free…

In the second scene I dressed up in the most revealing G-string, a pair of red stilettoes and lipstick. Lydia Lunch’s Smoke in the Shadow played, I struck a quick pose, then as music faded I read ‘the news’ as it had been in Telegraph Hill a month before, naturally in Italian. Statistics for rape, honour killings, FGM around the world present the idea that my personal bubble of relative gender equality is far from representative globally, or even the end of the story in more equal societies. During my listing of attrocities against women, Steve came on stage to remove my clothes and appear menacing with a rope and knife. This act did not last long before I told him to get lost – a reminder of cosier power relations!

Now naked once more and holding a kitchen knife aloft, I delivered what I call ‘the crashing through the universe’ monologue. It’s about how women have power that men have suppressed and which will eventually explode as they ought to be – crashing through the universe! (Commanding their own journey). This heralds the way toward my own self-direction, stylistically in that I now create a movement pose. I performed to Patti Smith’s Free Money last time, which has a wonderful build-up. I enjoyed beginning extremely slowly, and becoming increasingly wild, expansive and free (see video here).

With Steve by my feet I then poured some of my menstrual blood on to my body – a recent batch. Not as expressively bloody as in Telegraph Hill as I had been warned about not staining the floor of the 14th century palace that is Ca’ Zanarde. I posed, some people drew; it is my familiar message of removing taboo from menstruation. The music was Sufjan Stevens’ You are the Blood.

Finally the body painting scene for which Steve became intermediary, offering brush to audience, with pots of coloured paint. They were not so willing or keen as UK audiences have been, perhaps a cultural difference with regard to participatory theatre, or maybe put off by presence of blood. Still a few marks were made and this happened to The Song of the Butterfly by Istvan Sky and friends.

Performance artist and friend Glynis Ackermann paints on me

More so than drawing me, actually marking my body represents and is the closest connection I have with the people watching. They make a physical impression on me having already seen me perform some quite intimate acts – becoming naked, delivering revealing words about myself, actions pertaining to my personal life, moving freely naked, and removing my mooncup.

Some lovely drawings were created by the audience but unfortunately I did not get to speak much with them after the show, as there was much cleaning up to do. My performance the ultimate of the evening, I missed the chance to socialise as by the time I’d tidied away and washed, it was alas time to leave. Nevertheless it had gone well, I was very happy with what I had done, and the audience though new to my unusual offering, had gone with it and received me well. The space though darkly lit had much character and was a pleasure to perform in. It’s Liquid are the organisation who invited me and they were very welcoming and accommodating. Before me, Glynis had performed and had even asked me and Steve to assist her with her piece, called Mobile. We got to perform naked twice in that evening! In a triad we each moved a frame slowly across our bodies while a projection showed a previous performance Glynis had made of Mobile, with several women.

Tomorrow Steve and I will return to Venice, and I will perform the piece again (on Thursday 4th, this time at the Venice Art House) though with a few amendments, at the Fragmented Identities opening. I have cut out ‘the news’ and replaced it with a visual sequence depicting the fall of a very flirty woman. She flaunts, seduces, performs her own femininity in a manner easily recognised within western culture. She becomes worn out and the props of her image let her down, render her ugly, broken. This is not a comment on women who enjoy wearing stilettoes (which includes myself on occasion) or sleeping around. It’s about feeling like you have to behave a certain way in order to get the attention you want. Maybe it’s to make a living. My point of reference was working as a hostess in Soho clip joints as a teenager. It was curious for a while, but that whole scene can wear a person down for the relentless and brutal commercialism. In the show, the fall was important to create an arc (a bit like life too).

After this scene I decided to simplify the rest of the show, blending it into one scene of just over 11 minutes, to more of the beautiful Song of the Butterfly track. (I discovered this track when couchsurfing in Portugal last year a young woman from Slovenia played it to me). A little monologue; me approaching the audience to be marked – this time just in black; bloodening myself; dancing and finally returning to my case – a detail missed out last time.

Steve is no longer in the show, there are fewer spoken words, and the audience will not be drawing on my account. Of course they are welcome to, but I have removed that element with regard to providing materials, as carrying them up and down the many bridges of Venice was, a bridge too far!

I very much look forward to returning and am extremely grateful to Steve for all his help, and to Glynis without whom I would not know of these Venetian opportunities. It has been marvellous to make friends with another female performance artist who works so much with her own and others’ bodies, and has such a wealth of international experience.

Rewriting the Past – regaining confidence after rape

This year at WOW, I was there with my still relatively new partner Steve, and on the Saturday we went to the rape survivor talks led by Jude Kelly. She has been doing this for a few years but I had never been before. I wanted to see how it was handled, but didn’t quite anticipate how the session would affect me. The extremely open and raw talks moved me, because they made it very clear how normalised a lot of rape, and rape culture is. What I became aware of is the value of speaking out, for the brave (and very articulate) women we witnessed there as well as for the audience listening, and also that I had buried experiences that would benefit from being unearthed too. I’d started writing this blog in February I think, as I’d sensed there were some blocks I needed to uncover, and hearing the talks encouraged me further. I had to postpone processing the effects of the session, as I was running Spirited Bodies later that day and there was a lot to coordinate. The next day however, I felt it. In fact I have been finding that whenever I am at a low ebb, those feelings re-emerge, and I have to do some work on them. Writing really helps.

A long long time ago, I had an experience with a photographer, from the fetish scene, which was part of a big period of setback for me. I wouldn’t say that rape was uniquely responsible for my fall, because, I was already on that trajectory. I am not letting him off the hook, however if it hadn’t been him, I at that point would most likely have attracted something of that nature one way or another. There were deep family problems that created the right set-up for some disaster. It’s not always the case, but it was for me. Rape happens in many ways, from via people we know very well, to complete strangers. This was a man I met in a club, who lured me to his studio with the promise of paid fetish magazine modelling work. I was interested, and probably overlooked unsavoury signs, because my parents had told me I had to move out after finishing my A-Levels. It was the Spring term, 1995. I was clubbing a lot, taking drugs, and truly I had a bent to try injecting. It was that sort of phase in life – and I was also considering the sex industry. I didn’t know how I would support myself after leaving home, and could not imagine getting an ordinary job. My general appearance was a bit punk, or hookerish, and back then I don’t think that was ok in your average bar, or shop. In any case, I had a yearning to experience a different side of life to the narrow band of just-within-the north-circular-suburbia that the edge of Muswell Hill had thus far afforded me. At that time, life modelling was not within my sphere, sadly! Although artistically gifted as a child, going to an academic school I was mostly guided towards more cerebral subjects, which later proved to be less fruitful.

Rape has become much more publicly spoken about in recent years, and I keep reading that there is no hierarchy in rape. It’s positive to read that, because I did use to categorise my own experience as something far less valid or challenging say than a woman who had been forced violently, perhaps drugged too. Mine was more psychological, harder to prove technically. I was such a mess generally at the time that I never considered going to the police, I sensed that could be even more difficult. I was very promiscuous and hardly ate. People say I’m rather slim now; back then I was weighing myself everyday and making (short) lists of the foods I ate. I wore basically underwear in the nightclubs I frequented and took speed in particular on a regular basis. On occasion I whited out at home in the kitchen and Mum had an idea of the nature of my condition. We weren’t on the friendliest of terms then. She’d been diagnosed with MS a few years before and though only in the early stages of onset, was quietly dreading her more limited future.

I didn’t dare go above 7 stone – I had a strict limit on myself, would not allow myself to grow further. This wasn’t anorexia exactly; I wasn’t vastly concerned with being fat. I just didn’t want to be bigger, and I was deeply unhappy on a soul level. I could not allow myself to enjoy food. I had newly discovered confidence on the dance floor in my underwear on speed. I didn’t have to work at remaining thin, but I made a dedicated practice of it. I could get high on being empty, and drugs were more readily absorbed by the absence of food in their path.

The photographer was sleazy and I was far too easy prey. I must have embodied ideal victimhood. I was already well-sexualised and largely looking for it, just sometimes not being as discerning as I might. I was not strongly grounded – I felt undermined by family support who ought to have been guiding me with love. I was abandoned in spirit and in need of a new home, a new family. The lynchpin of my independence (and career) could wrest on my completed education as I had been thus far prepared, but it was not to be as I spiralled off the rails. I would have to find my own way, invent a new path. Hard won female pathways of power had already been indicated, however there seemed a fault along my branch.

My Mother though having a degree, had simply been a housewife (and not a happy one). My Father’s Mother though having graduated well from Oxford (and the first woman in her town at that), had not long after developed schizophrenia and suffered detrimentally. My Mother’s Mum hadn’t been to university but had forged several careers including journalist, broadcaster in East Berlin, and fashion designer in London. This woman was the closest person to me in my youth, who represented female power and autonomy. In her old age she was a talented artist who guided my love of painting and creating collages as well as building sculptures made of rubbish. She died just after my 14th birthday, and I don’t think it was by chance that my walk towards the darkness happened soon after.

I was emotionally lonely and found myself submitting to the photographer. He had a very large penis and he wanted anal. I was not so gifted in the art of saying no and he was obsessed with gratifying his appendage. I sank to new levels of despair but home was a spent force for me and I had to cut loose. Finding fellow inhabitants of such a place of broken was my calling. I count three of those people still as friends even if we don’t meet so often. Another died last year, and others fell off the radar a long while back – indeed I think their own darkness was a tad beyond my scope in time. Outside of that immediate circle a wide sprawling network of Slimelight, fetish and gay clubbing networks buzzed and vibed. It was the 90s, there was a scene.

The rape photographer staged intimate shots of me that he personally prepared my body for. He was keen on bondage but it was all relatively new to me and he so pushy. I negotiated away from the more extreme stuff, and took lines of speed between shots. I wasn’t interested in keeping any of the prints, except for one of me dressed, and one a portrait. The innocence and beauty on my face at the time he had in fact caught. I actually put the portrait on the wall of my bedroom in the new lodgings I secured with a friend. A curious memento marking my departure from the parental home, more so for in the image of my face, I saw my Mother’s resemblance. It seemed mostly her that I escaped from, yet she would always be with me, within me.

The pictures were never used for a magazine that I know of and I have no idea what became of them. He never paid me, and at the point of acquiring the two nice photographs (which subsequently got damaged or lost) after two or three visits I was able to say I wanted no more business with him. Being raped had seriously hurt me emotionally, but I couldn’t completely think of it as rape as I had allowed it. I hadn’t wanted it, but I hadn’t stopped it. I thought life might somehow be better if I didn’t say no. I thought I might get something I needed, though I don’t think I had a clue what. I just wasn’t in a good place to begin with. My Mum shouted and screamed at me (and the rest of the family) every day, that she hated us and wished we were dead. I could hear how unhappy she was, but she was unreachable, and we couldn’t utterly understand what was so wrong with her. At the same time, she was very powerful and there was little manoeuvring around her stubbornness. She wanted me out, and was especially jealous of my open and youthful sexuality. I had to go, and was yet to discover my own layers of protection.

Within a year I had transformed into a notorious and newly powerful dominatrix; if any man deigned to try even the slightest wrong doing towards me, I was ready to kick him with my heavy metal boot heal.

I gave myself away to that man in 1995 when I could have spat in his face and walked away. I wasn’t empowered enough at that time to do that, or to even be aware of it in the moment. Maybe that’s why now, I have been wanting to help other women wherever I can. It took me quite a few years to get to that point of just being able to help in the way I have. Now I realise I have to help myself a bit more, before I can help anyone else.

Talking about the rape incident with a new friend at the time led to a lasting friendship that helped throughout my several years episode outside of the mainstream. Up until that point I had been considerably more isolated, and now at last a small family of fellow freaks emerged in my midst. It wasn’t exactly a smooth ride; I did enter the gloriously varied sex industry at several junctures, and found the wild experiences and underground insights I’d sought.

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In my dungeon kitchen in Old Street, 1996, photographed by David Hindley, friend from the Slimelight. I love the way that David has captured me looking strong and confident. In my underwear and make-up was often how I was seen – in clubs, at work, and sometimes at home. I was not a model exactly, but I did do some modelling. David liked to photograph many of his friends from that period.

 

Coming back from that journey wasn’t easy either, trying to re-enter institutionalised life not as my unwise youth imagined. At university and drama school I didn’t know how to connect, effectively. For years I hid behind a very long fringe, dressed down, so no one would ever guess my bohemian past. When a fellow student once asked what I’d done before coming to college, I started to shake and stutter for several minutes. I gave up on uni and transferred to an experimental theatre degree at drama school. Even if I couldn’t find much commonality with other students, I could dig the out-there qualities of some of the practitioners we were investigating. Tadeusz Kantor’s ‘Dead Class’ resonated with my gothic leanings; I felt I’d already lived this art, let alone studying it!

 Now at 39 years of age, I have managed to reach a considerable way in my life modelling career without greatly delving into photographic modelling. I think, even if I was bound to get raped when I was 17, the fact that it was a photographer did leave particular scars. I have had a block about photography. While I am comfortable being photographed by friends, especially women, and more recently in the context of my performance work, I have never actively sought photographic modelling work, though it generally pays at least twice the life modelling rate. I always felt safer dealing with drawing artists, and have found that generally far less sexual politics comes into it.

I think I have past issues to heal that could uncover previously concealed layers of potential confidence, that reach way beyond photographic modelling. This is much more than about being raped, it’s about the conditions that led to that. It’s about not feeling valued, not knowing what I had that was positive and worthy of respect. I didn’t know how to channel myself towards a bright future, in fact the very idea of that was alien or even repugnant to me. I was anti-bright-future, and so destined to find some darkness. I was more than a drop-out, I was an active seeker of darkness! I revelled in it; it was the only thing that made sense. The world was not one I could see myself or anyone flourishing in.

Much of that harsh attitude has naturally been reshaped over the years, softened and redirected. But there are still pieces to uncover and iron out, in order to achieve the shine I’m after. As an adolescent I had not been raised with a strong sense of how to look after my own interests. I would let myself be overtaken and wouldn’t allow myself to reach the heights I would like to. I had massively missed out on emotional support, and was far too ready to give myself away and not consider consequences.

My own lack of confidence was responsible, and some of this patterning has remained with me. It has been pointed out to me that while my projects focus a great deal on helping and empowering others, I have tended to neglect some of my own needs.

During this recent period of reflection, I haven’t been seeing my parents so much as I noticed that if I want to realign my behaviour, I need to not be overly exposed to the most original source. At this stage in my life, this is not about blame, but rather trying to get to the bottom of things, to a better understanding, so I and all in my sphere may grow towards greater happiness. I would like to say that I generally have a good relationship with my parents now; a lot has been worked through. They are there for me, and very importantly they accept me as I am. I know I am very lucky to have them, and appreciate the unique upbringing they gave me. My Mother is now severely ill with MS, and caring for her takes up considerable family energy. I have felt that my own needs haven’t been prioritised but know that I am far from alone.

Stone Circle Solstice

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almost all photographs by Kevin LeMaire

To introduce my new site, my first post (which is not migrated from Spirited Bodies) is about a gathering of my friends this Summer Solstice at a stone circle local to me, as it happened just before this country went completely mad.

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First of all, a bit about myself. I write, I perform, I life model. I am often naked, and sometimes this happens as an activist artist. I have created various nude events and performances for several years, and sometimes I just want to create nude art happenings with friends, sometimes without more than the merest forethought. Let’s say however, that this wasn’t completely out of the blue, after all in April I made my own nude and bloody connection with the same standing stones. Furthermore my friend Ursula had said to me, ‘let’s meet for Solstice!’ I regularly visit my local stone circle, and a plan formed, albeit loose, unstructured.

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The date was set for Tuesday 21st June in the evening, as then both Ursula and I were free. About a week before I checked with a few friends who all know each other, if they were also free. Amazingly, they were. All we needed now was good, well let’s say at least dry weather, and in the current pattern of weather, with so many rainy spells this would be difficult to forecast.

I asked the friends to bring picnic, drinks, and musical instruments as well as cameras and drawing materials. We would if possible be making shapes with the standing stones on Hilly Fields, together with our bodies. Most of us are models, life models, if only occasionally while some others are more comfortable with drawing pad, or lens. Apart from my partner Steve, none were familiar with the stones, but it was easy to describe their location as well as answer last minute calls on their whereabouts. Just before 6pm Steve and I arrived and found Rodger standing, intrigued within the stones’ circumference, while from different directions both Lucy and Ursula were emerging, wondering which path best to take. Soon we were five, slowly sprawling across the long flat centre stone which was dry and retained the sun’s heat. Grass had a little moistness from recent rain, but nothing a blanket wouldn’t absorb.

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The convergence of model and artist friends brought me great joy, this mini pilgrimage to a circle of neo-megaliths on top of a hill in my neighbourhood of Brockley. Everyone found the stones enchanting, as I do, and it wasn’t long before people were climbing and sitting on them too, between bursts of picnicking on the ground. We had been lucky to both have the circle all to ourselves, and fine weather including some patches of sunshine. Unexpectedly, Lily and her husband Kevin also joined us not long later. We had heard she wasn’t feeling well, so it was a very pleasant surprise when they joined us. Not before getting lost in a nearby cemetery mind. It is a long two hour journey they drive, from a far side of London and this was unfamiliar territory.

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While all my picnic offerings were shop bought, Lucy had created the most delicious fresh vegetable salad, in a large quantity, plenty for all to feast on, rendering my more prosaic fare mere filler. I had also acquired special cakes for Rodger as his 60th birthday had been recent, and fresh strawberries and raspberries went down well with apple juice or wine. Judit was the final friend to join the gathering, and still we had daylight. Now we were 8, and some wine had been flowing, poses cast a’top of boulders, and poems declaimed which spoke of Summer. Drums started to patter, a tambourine shake, shoes removed – for barefoot we trod.

Before it was late, Lucy had to depart while the rest of us continued. We each occupied a rock, and made sounds as we held our postures. Kinaesthetically we responded to unknown calls to switch places, join ranks or move between. At some twilight point I felt the urge, emboldened with alcohol, though always a natural inclination for some of us, to remove a layer of clothing. It was my trousers and from there I saw Steve follow suit – or unsuit, going topless, and Rodger too. I was still in my pants but just a skimpy top and thought, ‘we’ve come this far – it must be done’. Although colder than when we arrived, we had now warmed up to our vibe and soon Steve and Rodger were completely naked. I kept my pants on, truly I think to encourage Judit and Ursula, who did start to undress too.

More of us women mostly nude felt preferable to just one fully. It worked as shortly the 3 of us were down to knickers. I think psychologically in this public and semi-daylight setting, it feels easier to cover up if necessary, with pants already in place, for a woman, where men require less coverage to be acceptable. Since we were just being (nearly) naked for our own merriment, there was no set time frame in this ad hoc occasion. We just let it flow.

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Lily and Kev are not as we are in this respect, but greatly appreciated being part of it, and as well Kev recorded many moments photographically. What we created exceeded my expectations – after all there was no firm plan, more than an arty celebratory Solstice picnic. For me it was an affirmation of the living of my art and resonates strongly with what I make in my art projects, particularly Spirited Bodies at present. It is a living research and a way I want more of. We all felt that we wanted more of this connection with the Earth, the land, the sky, the season, and with each other as we truly are.

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In the wake of what happened in this country just over 2 days later, it felt even more poignant to have shared in this collaboration of unity. As Rodger put it, we were our own little European Union – Ursula from Germany, Judit from Catalunya in Spain, and Lily from Bulgaria. The rest of us are mostly English, but also feel European. Steve has travelled to every country in Europe except Russia, Rodger lived in Amsterdam for a few years in the ’80s, and my Mother grew up in 5 different countries on the continent before settling in London in ’63. The conditions of each move were politically motivated (as her parents worked for Communist organisations), and make for an interesting narrative in themselves, destined for a future post.

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Kevin’s photographs capture the energy and joy of our celebration. He hadn’t photographed people before, only practised in landscapes and wildlife. We all thought he did a brilliant job, being amongst us without inhibiting us, capturing our unstaged naturalness, as well as some more posed shots. The nakedness alone marks them as outside of ordinary, a happening capable of offending some, in a public park. Dog walkers and other passers-by did see, stop to look, even attempt a sneaky photo from a distance, but none challenged us; most smiled and laughed with us. Perhaps we had created a sort of ‘Temporary Autonomous Zone’  – “The TAZ is like an uprising which does not engage directly with the State, a guerilla operation which liberates an area (of land, of time, of imagination) and then dissolves itself to re-form elsewhere/elsewhen…” if in a rather small and unthreatening form. It is the potential of such occasions to free us of the shackles of usually present conformity, that reminds us of our individual, and our collective power. We feel liberated and humanly connected beyond the normal; we feel alive.

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Underneath our clothes, without the trappings of their markings, we are equal. We become more timeless when nude, as primal beings. To create a TAZ is a bit like a tribe, and so elemental feelings of connection may be rediscovered. I have found that with the larger group sittings (and more recently movements) at Spirited Bodies. The creation of a soundscape by the group, particularly with their voices, adds to that intensity of shared experience I think. It is beyond words in their more usual rational form, and takes us away from our individual thought patterns, onto a group interactive dynamic. Being part of a tribe gives us an amplified sense of well-being, and is part of a wider sub-culture; the nude art scene. Enthusiasts find meaning and fulfilment through participation.

I don’t know if we are judged less without clothes, in the nude – especially when others are dressed. But I do think it helps to normalise expectations about bodies; to satisfy a natural human curiosity – about each others’ bodies, about our own. It helps us to appreciate our difference; unique individual beauty, and the enormous variety between us. Very significantly, we feel that we have nothing to hide. We are pure in our natural honesty. Nakedness removes the potential for pretending to be something we are not. Just being accepted as we are, is so profoundly important.

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Returning to a One Woman show

The 2011 version of Girl in Suitcase was autobiographical, taken directly from experiences of growing up with and looking after my Mother. It was powerful, but I found it difficult to develop as it was literally so close to home. About my Mother’s deteriorating condition, I felt I was almost dancing with death in a manner of speaking, by writing what was and could be happening, and then performing together with fellow actress Jaki Loudon who admirably took on the role of my Mother (the show can be seen here). It can become a case of art affecting life, and the not knowing what is affecting what more, but the possibility of that being in your hands is not desirable, in terms of the creation of art.

with Jaki Loudon at the Mascara Bar, August 2011, taken by David Alexander Murphy

In 2014 I revived my performance, having had almost 3 years break. This time it was a one woman show where I was accompanied by live musicians. It was both autobiographical, and suitably abstract that it didn’t feel overtly revealing. There were two versions – one in Telegraph Hill festival, the other at Hampstead School of Art. The second accentuated the tragic aspect as I myself performed my Mother for some scenes, most gravely a scene from a hospital bed. Jollity was yet maintained by the stage presence of life model and performer friend Ursula, joining me on stage in another scene for naked dancing.

with Ursula at HSoA, taken by David Alexander Murphy

with Roddy & friends at The Telegraph at the Earl of Derby pub

In 2015 I explored ancient Goddesses with my friends, in London and Norwich. And this year I wanted to go solo again. Well almost solo, as my partner Steve joined me for a couple of scenes, so I was well assisted. This change of direction felt right partly because of the complication of attempting to get a few of us all available at the same time for rehearsals, let alone performances; and also because I wanted to travel with the show. Again this would be simpler just with Steve, as I know that all my friends who were involved last year have their own commitments which would inhibit them prioritising this. Steve and I on the other hand, are keen to travel together, and enjoy travelling with a sense of purpose and a means to connecting with a location.

The show was largely rewritten (I think one scene remained from the previous version), and is now all my own words (with some adjustments from Steve who also enjoys writing), after last year’s more collaborative effort. I would still be happy to revisit last year’s and indeed earlier versions, in the right circumstances.

The new structure comprised of two halves; the first focusing on objectification of woman, the second on reclamation of control and agency in woman’s life. These themes were explored in alternating scenes of movement, monologue, life modelling/drawing, body bloodening/painting/rope-binding, many of which involved audience interaction. Steve wrote about this performance very eloquently and comprehensively here, so I don’t have to! I will simply focus on a few areas of particular note to me.

The familiar life model and tutor scene was recast with Steve performing the tutor – his debut as an actor delivering lines. I was freed up from being a man, which I could appreciate more after not having enjoyed the role the last time round, at WOW. He represented the oppressive male in other scenes during the first half also, providing a figure for me to act against, standing for the law, and domestic violence. In the second half his role was reversed as he became submissive. During the bloodening scene in particular, he became recycled!

I feel I ought to explain a little about the recycling scene (which may be seen here), as it could be interpreted as insensitive or offensive. The monologue is me observing my own habits, not necessarily espousing them, upholding them as an ideal. Sometimes I am obsessive in saving things, holding on to them or reusing them, when arguably I would be better off chucking them far sooner. This applies to objects, substances (including menstrual blood), and also as noted, boyfriends! This is in part humorous, though also perhaps a little too painfully honest. Steve certainly found that part rather challenging as we are a relatively new partnership, and it was as if perhaps predicting our demise. He handled the challenge admirably however, embracing the sentiment and volunteering to be (recycled as) my seat as I posed covered in blood. He has always supported and encouraged my tendencies towards menstrual art, I would add even before we were together, he was sending me links to other performers and artists working along similar lines, as well as articles pertaining to the practice (who said courtship was dead?!)

Lovely quick drawings by Rodger, of the Bride scene, recycling poses, and movement pose

What was probably of greater concern was how exes may perceive this somewhat open interpretation of my ways. It could sound mean, “…it has to be beyond broken before I get rid of it…” In response I would say that this angle is but one dramatic take on my behaviour. Life is complicated and there are many layers. I go for fairly long-term relationships, averaging five years in length, and I am at an age now when I can look back and observe patterns repeated several times over. A lot is invested in the relationship, so letting go when things don’t seem to be going so well, is less straight forward. I want to really understand what is at play, and hopefully learn the lesson that is invariably there. I do believe that unless we complete fully segments of our lives, then problem areas will re-emerge in a new form until if and when we learn and are then freed to move on. There is no point running away from a difficult situation; it is better faced and confronted, then there may be progress.

One might hope a situation would be fixed before leaving a partner, but maybe only some elements are. Equally there may be parts in the other that we have recognised will never work for us, as we have tried until we have made things more broken. I think that’s where I was going with that line, but again, the initial inspiration for it may have been a piece of junk shelving unit I found in a skip.

Real blood and its smell are challenging, especially as the audience come right up close to me to paint on my body, over the bloodstains. Then there is the mingling and chatting after the show. I haven’t washed yet, or covered up, and a significant amount of the blood may have been spilt over the stage as well. This is of course the point.

The body painting has long been a ritual of the audience leaving their mark on me before I “die” at the end of the show. They have witnessed me, heard my story, and by this scene towards the finale, may have formed some impression of me to which they can respond artistically if they wish, beyond drawing me. It is also a chance to connect with me physically. There is a sensuality to brushing on skin, an added intimacy which can be pleasurable, if not ticklish or beyond the bounds of comfort. I open myself up to them and place a certain amount of trust in their hands.

The penultimate scene about competitive women, where I address this very delicate subject is naturally garnered from my real life experiences, and is recent material. I have never felt the tension of competitiveness with various women in my field before to such a degree. It is largely unspoken. Steve was uncomfortable with me writing about this let alone performing it, but I pressed him – nothing has felt so triggering of my emotions during the last year, and I don’t believe it’s all in my head. I don’t think I’m alone, and I think there may be a value to sharing this aloud. I don’t think it’s just my issue, and I think it has gotten worse since the Tory government took hold. We really are all competing more – for income, recognition and opportunities, and social media has made that more blatantly apparent than ever. I’m not convinced that men feel this the same way but fully prepared to hear that they are. It may depend what field one is in. Certainly if you make a living from the arts, you are likely to be vulnerable. I personally felt that it would be worse for me not to say such important things in what is my very intimate show, my chance to reveal my true self. I could choose for that just to be a more polished, ‘public’ version of me, but really, what value would there be in that? I celebrate and I bare all of myself, in the same space. It is an exercise in self discovery and revelation.

While men have generally enjoyed privilege for hundreds, thousands of years; we women are still learning how to exercise that. We are finding our feet, and I really enjoyed feeling and playing with mine during the naked dance sequence, letting loose for a few moments of public wildness and abandon! The ultimate movement of liberation.

The above were all taken by instagram.com/smokysushi/

The same scene may be seen here as performed in Venice; and that show was beautifully documented by Steve here.

I think I will discuss the Venice show myself another time. I am just in the process of reworking it for a further performance there coming up in August. It is wonderful the way it is evolving, for a shorter (20 minutes) show, for an international audience, who were not previously known to me. Truly I am currently very drawn towards revisiting the Mother and daughter script, from when playwrighting was more immediate to me than performance art. Creating convincing dialogue seemed easier somehow before social media took off, eating up our attention span, but it is something I enjoyed and would love to get back to.

Journey of performing with Lidia

After the various phases of creation of the Goddess version of the play, involving a few different friends for Telegraph Hill festival 2015, a new opportunity arose. I was called upon to bring the show to a festival in Norwich, and neither Sabine nor Ursula were available. This show about several Goddesses ideally required at least two female performers. Some searching followed, and Lidia was the obvious choice. She had filmed the previous show so knew the score. We had never otherwise worked together, though I knew she, like me had a background in physical theatre as well as being an accomplished life model. We did not have long, but she was game and we would adapt the show for two, rehearsing in her Haggerston studio space. She was also adept technically so we were able to rerecord all the soundtrack according to our new specifications (I had recently split up with a partner who had assisted in this regard previously).

Lidia as Isis

Lidia as Enchantress

Lidia threw herself utterly and thoroughly into realising her roles – she sewed costumes, bought her own wings and wig for performing Isis, sourced appropriate paints for the Enchantress scene, and learnt her lines. We rehearsed methodically, and even within the limited time of a few weeks (a couple of which I was away in Spain) we managed to develop a strong stage rapport together. It did make a considerable difference bouncing off (sometimes literally!) a collaborator of equivalent training. Also, as neither of us are particularly tall (I am 5′ 4″ and Lidia is not taller) and we are of comparable height, the shared low centre of gravity makes for ideal contact movement work. Her relative sturdiness compared to my more slender disposition meant she was better suited to carry my weight if a lift was required. The contact in our performance enhanced it greatly, and gave the dance elements more emphasis. The physical closeness matched the tightness of our connection as performers; we operated well as a unit. Lidia’s attention to detail meant that the fairly complex structure of the play was smoothly absorbed and delivered.

I had just enough time to improve on the previous script of about 6 weeks earlier. I had felt it was lacking punch at the critical climax of the play, during the witches scene. The tragedy needed to hit harder of the women’s fall, from all their power as enchantresses, to being cruelly wiped out. With an added monologue, and Lidia’s idea to bring another conceptual layer to the body painting, this extra drama was achieved. The result felt powerful.

We performed in a very cold stone church – St Margaret’s Church of Art, quite late in the evening on Saturday May 8th 2015. There was no running water in the building, and only an outside portaloo, so there was no chance of washing all the sticky fake blood, and the thick black paint off us afterwards. We had to put on old clothes and let it dry before showering at our residence a while later.

The coldness of the building was overridden by adrenaline, and possibly contributed to edginess! It did however mean that the chances of getting the audience to strip off at the table-turning audience-modelling scene were vastly limited. We were at least lucky to get one keen taker, who seemed possibly suitably inebriated or otherwise altered for the occasion. He did very well, and Lidia and I both drew him.

It was a very friendly crowd, and our message of menstrual celebration was well received by the Norwich Dandies. Eloise O’Hare in particular was displaying several of her own menstrual paintings in the exhibition in the church. There was so much vibrant work and activity in the space, it was a pleasure to be part of Dandifest’s alternative vibe.

It was also an intense and valuable experience working with Lidia. Life and other commitments have gotten in the way of further collaboration, however I am sure more will emerge when our theatrical spheres converge once again.

More pictures from this performance may be seen here.

Blood Stones by morning light

I wanted to do something for me. To reconnect with myself and the Earth, to feel alive. A simple thing without much preparation, that happened spontaneously. I had thought about this happening, in various scenarios for quite a while now, and yesterday evening walking home with my partner Steve, my plan formed more fully. Less bold than my original intention, but safer, easier, and perhaps more beautiful. In any case, like many things in life, practise may improve it, so better surely to begin gently. Build up to the bold, if that ever wants to manifest.

I put a lot into the Girl in Suitcase shows, and together with creating the safe Spirited Bodies space for the benefit of others, it can at times be exhausting. Yet sometimes, I just want to do something simple. Life is complicated enough, and simple is good. So I ask Steve when sunrise is because he is an early riser, and I set my alarm for a tad before. I won’t have to travel far to make my art in the morning, as I have decided to keep this local. I am going to get a bit messy and being within 10 minutes of my shower will be appreciated. I am continuing a theme developed through several Girl in Suitcase shows of working with the idea of menstrual blood. And like the last show, not just the idea but also the very thing. I am currently bleeding, but the flow isn’t strong yet. Luckily I have several old batches stored in my fridge, and this is the day they have been waiting for!

We go up to Hilly Fields where there is a stone circle. It is not ancient in the usual sense as was created for the millenium by local people, however, “the twelve 400-million-year-old granite boulders were brought from Mount Struie, near Inverness and the two taller stones are known as St Norbert’s Gate are cut from Caithness flagstone, quarried close to Wick in Scotland’s far north, as is the circle’s central horizontal flagstone.” I have really enjoyed celebrating Solstices and Equinoxes at more traditional ancient sites, but it is not surprising that this circle too lends the weight of older realms.

The sun is just out on one side of the hill, and the sky is bright and clear. There is frost on the grass and at this point I am well wrapped up. We see a couple of people in the distance, but not near the stones which are deserted. On the edge of the circle and down the hill a bit by some trees, I put down my bags and take off my thick coat, placing it down as a base for the rest of my garments. They each come off – a chunky cardigan, boots, socks, a dress, loose trousers and pants.

The container of blood is removed from my rucksack and the lid unscrewed. I know this will smell so it is good to be outside, as making paintings with it in my flat has on occasion induced wretching. Strong stuff kept tight for a few months because some time last year I realised there is potential with this substance I monthly shed. I’ve read about its power and have several pictures made with it on my walls, as well as one by artist Eloise O’Hare, mixed with her embroidery. She gave it to me when I performed in Norwich last year at Dandifest, in appreciation of the performance and since I had complimented her menstrual art. She makes so many other types of pictures and sculptures mind, and is an extremely talented artist.

I pour it on my front and legs from a few places, and Steve does my back. There is no smearing, just pouring. It’s not so thick and he wonders if it will be visible in the early morning light with just his phone-camera. We will find out. I clamber on the first stone.

I had wanted to start on the most difficult stone to mount which I had achieved a week or so before when dressed, with Steve’s help. Covered in blood, naked and barefoot however, it seemed less scalable. The ground was freezing so I wanted to keep moving, and decided to start instead with the easiest. Another intention had been to pose on each stone as there are twelve, representing directions and star signs… but in the moment, again I went for simple. With the frost permeating my soles fast I was grateful for each stone that would easily accommodate me! It was enough, and so I went round, and with his lens so did Steve, sometimes nearer other times further.

I come to this hill a lot and have brought friends here. There is a cafe close to the stones that I regularly frequent, and the circle of stones has its own gravity. I have come here in troubled times, and many happy ones also, to share my state of being with the hill, often alone. I have written pieces of script or blog here, and called old friends whilst leaning on a stone. I have been stoned here.

One time last year, I was walking across the hill grieving an old friend who had recently died. I had been in a black hole a while, and then out of the blue I bumped into my friend Vix. She was partying on the hill with friends, and invited me to join them. At first I carried on my journey to buy milk or whatever, saying I would see how I felt on returning. I had explained my loss. Walking slowly back in my daze twenty minutes later, I saw that the group were beginning to dance as the sun went down, under the sky and some trees. I decided to put my groceries down, and felt called to dance too. It was funny because all I had been listening to since Mike’s death, was goth music which he loved so much and reminds me of the times we were close. Here on the hill I was getting down to disco! I had a truly magical time with Vix, healing through dance and laughter. After that evening I started to feel much lighter about the intensity of prematurely losing an old friend.

Why the old blood? Well, it feels ritualistic, and I like that. It heightens the occasion. I am so used to being nude, that to enable me to be released from my comfort zone, there needs to be another layer. Just as people come to Spirited Bodies to have a new experience, I also need that, in my own way. My friend Calu ran a menstrual art workshop last year in my living room, and that was powerful too to share in drawing with our blood. I think it appealed to my desire to recycle as well, as I observed in the recent Girl in Suitcase performance last month.

My old blood is part of me, from me. I may never breed – though I’m not ruling it out, it just doesn’t call. But I will always create, and indeed sometimes with my own blood. To take it outside allows some of it to fall and blend into the ground. My feet are on the ground, feeling the frosty flakes, the icy blades of grass. Lines of blood soon dry on me. I feel exhilarated, padding across the earth quickly to avoid becoming frozen. My toes grip the stones and my arms find my balance.

Sometimes I just want to be, simply myself, but too I think to make shapes. And while just being is comforting; stretching and arching find a new relationship to my arena. The Earth, sky, stones, sun, hill, trees and shadows encompass the scenery for me to move and exist in. I am alive – a dancer, a mover, a performer and an artist. I find such pleasure in my body; with it and through it, and I wanted to feel that now, and to share that with the camera.

Life had gotten in the way of me taking part in some of the great outdoor nude photoshoots of recent years in London and beyond. Being with Steve and hearing of his excitement and passion for them, reminded me that I share such an instinct, in the right conditions.

With Loving Bodies coming up on Saturday, there is plenty to organise and I feel this pressure to deliver. I committed to it, it has my name on it, and I want people to be happy with it. I want it to be a success. I believe it will be – it has its own buzz, since the concept is so powerful, and crucially it is not all down to me. But to remind myself where I am now, who I am behind all the sense of responsibility (and the fear of failure), I dedicate the action of this blood happening on the stones, to my inner self, my truest nature. I let go of the other layers present in my life, and simply add on some of my old blood. A brilliant sunrise and a very loving, indulging partner complete the scenario. For a brief moment this morning, I was making art in nature, and spirited into a wildly organic zone. One I hope to return to time and time again. With thanks to Steve for documenting in pictures my action, and for hearing me so intently, always positively. So much love.