Life

The Death of Sam

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Night of the Senses

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

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

me trying on my costume at Estelle’s

Fellow model and friend Lucy Castro

Backstage at Night of the Senses

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Good Wishes & Time in Between

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

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

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

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

I recently spent a week like this at the Slade

Working Through Anger (and my Voodoo Child)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Sleeping with Mum while she dreams of Venus & Mars

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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