catching up

I am writing the final report for the project and counting the rejection letters as we try to show the work in different venues. It's hard and sometimes my energy is low. It's having to get up every day and just find the motivation to continue. And know that we will get the letters, those sweet letters, of rejection.

I don't take it personally, cause I can't. I know it is about finding the right venue. And that is not easy. I also know we need to mount the work in different ways. There is always hindsight, right?

And yet when I look over the project and what we accomplished I see that we did a great deal of what we set out to do and that should make me happy. It does, but being a bit of a perfectionist, I want more. So there is an application in for a post-production grant so that we can continue to work with the video and audio footage. If we had another month or two we would have a great piece to exhibit. And yes, we do have a venue for the work in May 2008. For a few short days. But it is there...

through these eyes...

The Street Health Report was released on Wednesday of this week and deserves to be celebrated. Months of hard work and many people interviewed about the conditions of their lives so that we might all better understand the intersection between health and housing.

Ray, a member of our group said it well recently. "Why is it that some people have so much and yet so many people do not have nearly enough to live or eat let along have life's luxuries or life's necessities? Wouldn't it be nice if all of us people could share and live and love and help one another without greed and strife? We all would have a much better place to live together. Through these eyes I can only see what is yet put before me...."

His simple and profound words have haunted me for a couple of weeks. We need to develop the ability to look through the eyes of others, and to see what is before them, what lack exists, what abundance we may be celebrating and could share of. When I see through the eyes of another I begin to grasp another's world, I begin to imagine a life that is not mine. It is easy for us to see through the eyes of a character in a literary work or a film, why not through the eyes of a person of flesh and blood who could challenge our stereotypes of them?

In the photograph above we see a person wrapped in a blanket, asleep in a doorway. Not much privacy. But one would like to imagine that at least there might be safety. I would have to say that safety is not assured when you are sleeping outside. But the liklihood of violence is. And you are definitely vulnerable.

A few posts below us we see another photograph, this time of a bed that has been abandoned for a few moments. Cardboard serves as a mattress, a few possessions wrapped in a garbage bag are the feathers in a pillow... and I wonder how many nights can you sleep here on this stone step? What happens to our bodies, to us, when we are exposed to the elements and are not able to escape them? Snow, sun, wind, rain and draught all effect the homeless and the insecurely housed.

But I won't go on... Come out and see us and our work from the past months at Nuit Blanche in the Nightless City district! We'll be at the corner of Church and Maitland Street from 7:03 pm on Saturday, September 29 untill 7:03 am Sunday, September 30! Oh ya, I take my coffee with one sugar and a bit of soy milk....

nuit blanche

Well, we are retiring from active photographing and commencing our exhibition phase! the first one being nuit blanche and we are extremely excited. I do apologize for the delay in writing but I have been busy with the getting together of photographs and stories so that we can do an installation in the area of Church and Wellesley - exact location to be announced this week. Our submission was well received and will focus on the idea of the vulnerable body, the forgotten bodies, the bodies of the other... Our installation will recreate some of the material conditions of life on the streets of Toronto, to wake people up, and we will run our projections on found materials (or materials that we find and wash and sew together...).
The photograph shows some of our group but unfortunately Ray, James and Devon were missing... my mind won't let me guess if anyone else was missing but if they were I am certain someone will tell me! However I hope that some day I will have a group shot of all of us.

We have one week left. Everyone is working hard, heads down. Fred and Ronzig are calling people for portraits and we have forgotten that this was the week for it. Lots of denial going on here! No-one is dressed for it, has combed hair. Oh, well. We are gorgeous anyway.
But the news arrives that one of the men had his bike stolen.
After he pays rent he has about 139 dollars left for food and sundries. He doesn't panhandle, sell drugs, or steal. In order to make the money he needs to live he does bottle runs. For this work he needs transportation. His bike.
He came in and tried to catch his breath. "Sorry, I'm late, have to finish this run.... I'll be back in 10 minutes. Can't leave the bottles here, in this neighbourhood they'll be gone in no time..." And off he went to cash them in. An enormous weight on his back, on his bicycle. The only means of transportation he has. He has been working hard, and his usual clean-shaven face has a few days growth on it.
He comes back and later goes out for a smoke and returns downcast. "My bike's gone." It had been locked up; not a particularly strong lock, it was inexpensive - what he could afford, maybe what had been given to him. He didn't seem particularly angry. Just needed to go and do the rounds to see if he could find who had taken it.
He has recently moved into housing and lives far away and has no transit pass. No way to do his bottle runs now. No way. No way.
Funny, but I find myself greatly angered by the loss of his bicycle. By the fact that he has such a small economic margin that we as a society have constructed and expect him to stay healthy and safe on. And I don't know if it is possible.

Ray was a bit late coming in this week. He didn't see me behind him and we almost collided - all 6 feet and 2 inches or so of him! And he was going a million miles an hour! Even in the heat! Full of apologies for being late he told of a couple of men who have died recently of overdoses. Men we have all talked to, men that you might have walked past on the street without a second thought. They were drug addicts. What does this mean though in terms of how we respond to others?
The roots of compassion are to suffer with.
com patior. To suffer alongside those who share this earth with us. This dusty dream. And yes, this past week Joe Fiorito commented about our work in a column Zooming in on city's homeless. And then he floored me by writing A snapshot of a life left behind. Thank you Joe. For your support and for just tagging along in your gentle, observant manner. Joe writes with such compassion. And patience. Another word that is related to compassion. I say patience because I believe it is a necessary quality that we need when we are looking at these problems and their solutions. We need patience but we also need action. We need to be patient when those with nothing are frustrated by a system that is eternally blocking their every attempt to be productive in their own lives. More on this later...

the writing work...

For the past two weeks we have been working on writing our stories. Making story boards and pouring over photographs while scratching our heads in the heat. The stories and photographs - this part, putting it all together signals a transition. We are coming to an end. No-one wants to stop. How to continue, she wonders to herself, late at night... Ideally we would have a solid base for our projects so that the work would not start and stop. So much is lost each time in terms of energy and education and critical mass. But there are gains with each project. Each time there is a shift and a learning, a teaching that is taken into the larger social system.

"Is it time for a smoke break, Nancy?" asks Bruce in his soft voice as he heads out the door with Ron and Jim and Kevin and everyone else. It is time for a smoke break. Bruce has been telling his story of how he came to be where he is, drawing simple blue lines to tell a story that is not simple. Though it is is a bit blue. Not wholly. I have been going through photographs with Jim, choosing multiple images that we will animate. On the other side of me Jean Guy speaks to the importance of the mental health system as it relates to staying in shelters. He tries to get me to take the pictures but I say no and we laugh. He will take the last shots that he needs. The process of drawing out the story boards is working well. We are recognizing the gaps in the photographs that we have, what we need to go out and take. We are all learning. And no, this is not a typical Photovoice process. There are many more iterations than you would normally have.

One of the guys is not feeling so well. His medication may have to be increased. There are so many delicate balances. He is glad that we are staying in today to work. Being outside with people would provide too much sensory stimulation. The subject of teeth arises at some point. It usually does. One of the guys has come in with a new smile. Another is desperate for teeth and he and his worker are fighting with the system to get him a set of teeth, to have proper dental care. He has lost weight that he can ill afford to lose. I worry. He is not the only person I see on a daily basis without teeth, suffering. He has had infections and has been trying to save the teeth he has, knowing that these are a basis for his health.

And on a another track dissemination has become a key word. It means that we keep going even when we are not in the field taking pictures, even after the people that Joe called the "provisional army of photographers" have dispersed. We (Erika, Jim, and me and Fred) submitted a paper about our last project to a journal today! After hours of fussing with an on-line manuscript submission system. It's done. And so am I, at least for tonight.

keep trying...

There was just something about the way he walked down the street. His head held low, eyes wild, movements rapid. I knew right away that there was going to be a great deal to the story and that if I could bear it he would tell it to me. My question is: Will you listen? Will it transform you? Will you understand how some people can be changed? Will you be able to imagine how the structures of our culture are implicated in his wild motions?

There is much that I can't understand or imagine, yet I keep trying. We talked today about how some people manage to get off the streets while others cannot. We were walking down by Queen and Sherbourne and James spoke about how much he disliked this place. 10 years and he still saw some of the same people. The streets are lined with pawn shops, a hospital, a church, camera shops. It is an odd little enclave. His distaste for the place was clear though. We sat on the grass in our own corner, eating cherries, while he spoke of his history. Kevin also jumped in with tales of his own days on the streets.

Both of these men are now "off" the streets. In fact, James has just been provided housing! There are many barriers and challenges that still exist though - poverty, the lack of secure employment, sustained access to healthy food, the long-term health effects of having been on the streets - and so it goes. The list.

Meanwhile, as we come close to ending, we are looking for places to exhibit our work. And so I am charged with the responsiblity of "herding cats!" And tending to the writing of proposals, and the wonderful work of finding a home in the greater world for this awesome group of artists...

the current body...

The letters pressed onto the old broken glass bottle spell out Toronto. The glass is celadon green, translucent, and the sharp edges are now dull. We found it on one of our walks and it seemed emblematic. A broken bottle creates its own horizon - drained of its liquid perhaps for years it lies with no purpose? Until on a walk we find it and realize that somehow it resonates with the current body of our city.

We were thirsty when we start out, me and Ron, and both of us had forgotten our water. But inside I thought ok, it's a short walk and we will be going through one of the city parks. There's surely going to be a working fountain.

It was one of those ususal Toronto days with a combination of heat and humidity. Before we went out we spent time writing story boards for our short pieces and began to find photographs. We are constantly challenged by time and so many other things. If you were looking at us from the outside you might wonder what exactly was happening! There are conversations that are unfinished, today a delicious watermelon at centre stage (finished), and people wandering in and out of the room, through our conversations.

One of the ongoing conversations is how people ended up where they are. How things in their lives gradually eroded until, looking around, it seemed like there was no way out. We have created a society where we don't teach people how to deal with the daily stress in their lives, where people don't ask each other how they are in meaningful ways, and where people are ashamed if they can't cope on their own, independently. The reality is that we need each other in order to get through our days. We need a community, to help each other, to be able to depend on one another, and to show compassion. And as I write this in memory, I watch people walk by the homeless on the streets, while I hunker down on the curb and look up and wonder... when they are thirsty, who fills their glass?

come back...

"Come back, won't ya? Come back and talk to me?" I told him I would. And I will. I know he likes his coffee double/double, just like my da did.

His mother died awhile ago and he is still full of sorrow about this. He quit his job but I didn't get the whole story. He spoke softly and wept several times while we talked. Two of his ribs were broken in a recent fight - one he stepped into in order to help out a friend. I think he got the worst of it. The injuries are slow to heal. Living on the streets means that you don't get adequate nutrition. And today the temperature is 32 but it feels like 43. I bought quiche and salad and mango juice for him and his friends to eat. Something healthy in the hopes that even one meal can make a difference. His eyes are bloodshot and his hands are swollen, with cracked fingernails. While we are chatting a woman with a baby in a stroller stops and gives them some smokes and some change. She doesn't look like she has much to spare but she smiles and laughs for a moment with them. She returns later and gives them ten dollars. I always want to talk to the people who give - I am curious about their stories. Another man stops by to talk with me. He was in Seaton House a month ago and now has work. He has a tattoo of the serenity prayer on his arm, above the name of a lost soul.

The men I am talking to are in a neighbourhood where pricey condo's are being build on every corner. The garbage container they are in front of tells me "You are only steps away from your new home..." and these men are only steps away from their homes. They all sleep in in this hood. Not in condos, but in doorways and parks.

But what I'm thinking about as I write this is touch - and the human need for it. He kept reaching out for my hands but his hands never quite made it. They would graze my fingers and rest there for the merest moment as if he knew that we didn't know each other well enough for this kind of exchange, yet he dared to anyway, for his need was great. I looked at his hands a great deal. They were dirty and his fingernails were grimy. He had white patches on his nails and they were broken in many places. His hands looked arthritic and as if fingers had been broken and never set. Yet they also looked like they had accomplished many labours. The potential for kindess and violence lay within them as they do within all hands and humans...

This week we stayed in - ! Unusual! We planned the final upcoming weeks and looked at photographs and chatted about opportunities to show our work. It was the first week of rain too.

I am already feeling sad about our ending. I have not been able to find funding - these projects are heartbreaking to run. We enter a community with so many needs - and one of the needs is for sustainable projects - projects like this one, that can run for as long as they need. A comment from one of the men: "The guys in the shelters have nothing to do - just gather dust." These kinds of programs provide opportunities for skill development, socialization, time management, organization, and committment to a community that is curious about our social conditions.

I am writing a paper about the last project and thinking about where we will be showing this one... We have some options and I am having to be dogged in my pursuit of them.

We are still trying to enter some of the shelters in order to take photographs. This is an ongoing conversation and I have been redirected to yet another person to begin another conversation with! I can understand a certain amount of reluctance, but at this point we are only talking. Luckily, I have much patience, and many other things as well to contend with. I would not want to end our project without our entry into these places as so many of our stories in the project talk about the shelters.

The photo above shows an old drainage pipe - and yes, it has been used for sleeping. It provides a dry spot, shelter for the few things one has when living rough... and on a rainy day the sound is not wholly unpleasant. Like rain on a tin roof...

edges and margins

The mosquitoes and heat (33, but felt like 40 with the humidity) were unable to deter us, though if we counted photographs taken and mostquito bites, the bites may win out. The sun hid behind a smog cover so I did not get the sun dappled, woodsy shots I was hoping for!
We went into the woods after learning some history about the walk we were on. A group of trailers were pointed out as places where some people used to sleep - until they were evicted and the locks put on. It is the usual tensions where there are places that are not being used but are "rightfully" owned. And then there are people without places to sleep who find empty, unused habitats and they move in and stay until they are discovered. Looking carefully we spied places where the grasses were trampled and when we followed the signs we noted that there were often signs that people had camped for shorter or longer periods of time. As James noted though, "It is getting harder to find people camping close to the city; they're moving, they're getting rousted." His home had been here only a year ago and there were almost no signs of it now.



James took us further in to where an old City dump had been and we found evidence of where people are making their homes. I feel a great deal of ambivalence about writing this - I worry that we will make it more difficult for them, somehow. I have learned that people living on the streets and bushes in Toronto hide themselves well. It is easy for us to pass by a residence and not recognize it as such unless we have learned the signs. The photograph at the top shows a campsite that may be in use - or not. There is still a groundsheet, so it is likely that it is in use. It was the middle of the afternoon when we were on our walkabout so there was no one to chat with.

So many people are living on the edges and margins and it is not necessarily out of choice. It is like you wake up and find ourself somewhere and you keep trying to move on, but your efforts are never quite enough. And that is due to the fact that we have created policies and structures to ensure that their efforts are never quite enough. More later....

barriers to sleeping

We welcomed Joe Fiorito again on our ramble, as we went to one of the ravines to look at some of the sleeping places that have historically been used for camping and found that many fences had been put up. I found myself getting frustrated and I now know why - the landscape that is being constructed parallels the administrative structures that are disabling. You suddenly find yourself unable to move - you're stuck. A new wall has been built. You used to be able to sleep here, but suddenly there is a 9-foot fence. It is disorienting and there is no place to vent your frustration.

After a hike we scrabbled up a rather steep incline - I might say 75 degrees. Kevin had spotted a man from across the way - and being ever adventurous had ran down and up before anyone could catch their breath. I looked across the gap to where he stood - small against the hill and bridge structure. We all made our way to where he was and decided that Jim, me and Joe would head up. Once at the top we met Mike, a seasonal worker at one of the tracks. He seemed too small for his clothes until I found out what his trade was. He grooms horses and works at the track, and doesn't like to stay in the shelters, mostly because of the other men. He was also hungry. He told us that there were some people staying there, again because this is the alternative to the shelters. I am still not sure I always understand. I can only hear the words and over time I wait for them to make sense. You see, the smell of mud was strong, the clothes and blankets that I saw were tumbled in the dirt. No woman's touch here. No Wendy for these Lost Boys... Just over the hill from this place there are houses worth millions of dollars. The juxtaposition is another stark and disorienting reality for today. One that I may have to sleep on... I feel tired... I want to see the photographs from today.

We also talked today about what we have all seen, what has effected us most on this project - more on this next time...

the sleep out that didn't happen - and the 300 beds that are still being lost...

ok, the sleep out didn't happen at Nathan Philips Square. the event was cancelled about 72 hours prior to its start due to events at OCAP. But we met up and documented what did happen. People met for a meal that OCAP provided and chatted in small groups. There were probably 150 people eating chili, bread, salad and cookies. Yummy! Thank you!!!

We had a number of conversations during the few hours that we were there. And we were surprised by the number of police that just happened to be out - not for the chili either.

The cuts in the 300 shelter beds is still happening. And as people say, we're not going to feel it that badly right now, we will feel it more in the winter. The City says that although beds are being lost the total is only about 110 as new shelters will open, and that housing is being found for those using shelters. There seems to be a great deal of disagreement at the bottom line - with those using the shelters saying they are not being moved into safe, healthy, affordable housing for the long-term.

I learned again, that those who are most vulnerable are the ones who suffer the most on the streets. I guess I am not surprised by this. It is an equation that operates in other spheres. So this is the story. Those who are using the shelters come in all moral shades, some darker than others, some of the darkest hues may celebrate by preying on those who are unable to understand cruelty, who may have cognitive problems, mental health issues.

Shelters operate with rules - some may have a policy that you can stay for 14 days and when your 14 days are up, if there are others that want to come in, well you are then out on the streets. However if you can intimidate other people, make them not want to come into the shelter then you can keep your bed... think about it for awhile... think about who stays on the streets and who gets the beds in our city. Think about the kind of economy that we have created.

But, back to the shutting down of beds, and the moving of shelter users to suburban areas to market rental units far from the supports of their community. We have to keep asking ourselves: Is housing a fundamental human right? and, What are the connections between housing and health?

the weight of water

Today we walked in the sweltering heat through a gorgeous part of Toronto to see where many people have slept and where some still are sleeping.

As Fred poetically commented: "Nestled between railway tracks and the Don river, Riverdale's backwoods are very Huckleberry Finn in appearance and feel. The dirt trails add to this charm. It is so dreamlike to see this rural enclave in the midst of an urban metropolis. Still, it seems very fitting in its place because of the scattered fire pits, broken fences and old rusty bridges with random graffiti."

Grasses and flowers were pollinating and we could see that the air was heavy with them. We walked under a bridge where there is a large concentration of pigeons and along with that comes the inevitable waste and feathers and mold... the health conditions are worrisome.
Everyone in the group has varying ability levels and energy that has to be accounted for. One member is recovering from being ill, another I worry may not have had enough to eat, and with the heat today I want to make sure everyone stays hydrated.

As we walk along we take pictures and talk about what is going on. One man says to me that he thinks he was made for being homeless. He used to run down to hang out with the hobos when he was 10 or 11. He'd hitch down to see them and spend time with them. His mother wouldn't notice his absence.

At times it is just a hum of conversation. We walk in pairs and triplets down trails, sometimes breaking off to look into an area that seems interesting. I spot a blackbird - or first I hear her and then see her above me in the trees. I repeat myself to Fred: "The light is beautiful!" And it is - it's one of those days where the sun streams through and the green on the trees is hardly worn. We stop for our break to eat sandwiches with mayonnaise and butter and meat and cheese (some of us!) and grapes and green peppers. And drink bottles of water. There is renewed energy and much discussion of the good food.

A pond is covered in the small seed pods that some trees are shedding. We stop to look at a duck and her ducklings. Going back up the hill we are in the shade of large, old trees and it is easy to see why these kinds of spots in nature would be desirable. There is quiet and no drug dealing neighbours. A pitched tent or a built lean-to is all that is really needed.

James reminds me of the weight of water and how on a hot day like this he can easily go through half of his week's supply. And doing dishes, staying clean - well, there are many other problems when you are living in the bush without secure access to clean, running water.

Allan Gardens 1999 - the present

Walking the streets in relationship with others creates a complex and personal space in my own life. After a day of walking I sit with a cold drink and realize that I am filled with emotion and fatigue. And the task of telling lies ahead. Without doing harm and hopefully while still doing good. There are layers and layers to untangle.
While we talk about the Allan Gardens occupation of 1999 a group of police cadets run past. Just after Rae has told us how the police had lined up with their riot gear on, how the area had been cordoned off, how it was just generally a bad scene. The scent of roses in full blossom are carried through the air and I close my eyes to feel the warmth of the sun.
We spent part of the day talking about photographs and part of the day taking pictures. People had been sleeping in Allan Gardens for years prior to "the occupation." The tent city had grown into existence to draw attention to the increase in homelessness and overfilled shelter space, to the fact that the homeless had resorted to sleeping on benches during the days and wandering the streets at night because there was nowhere to rest their bodies.
We wondered through this park, Allan Gardens, where some of the guys had slept, and then down the streets to look at the changes in the neighbourhood. So many barriers have been erected to prevent those without housing from sleeping in the liminal areas that they used to find. It is as if every crevice and cranny has been searched out and sewn up. What kinds of public space exist now? They are being policed - publicly and privately - and cordoned off.
We are preparing to go to the sleep out at Nathan Philips Square - June 18 - to document it. And we have to figure out how to keep us all warm and safe, and full of food. More to come on that...

rhubarb and lilacs

The article Joe Fiorito wrote appeared in the Toronto Star (Wednesday, May 23, 2007). Everyone loved it! It just feels so good to have public recognition of the work. And Joe captured us – the ordinary stories that are told in conversation as we walk and sit around the table. The stories that are absent at other tables and walks.
On our walkabout we visited a place that used to be called the brown door. A notorious spot where you could place money and a mysterious package of drugs would appear. But that has been long gone now. The people have moved on. Dealers don’t stay too long in one place. What can I say – we know that drugs can bring misery to lives as well as relief. They make sleep possible, small escapes into necessary illusions.
I spent time this week writing letters to several of the shelters to see if we can visit. We have talked about going inside and taking pictures. Documenting the conditions, reflecting on the memories, trying to piece together the stories that walk the corridors, that are elicited when you touch the door handles – the stories that are part of every door handle and hinge. I also visited Maxwell Meighen and the Gateway to see if I could find Jamie or Daniel hanging around. No luck there. I was just wanting to catch up. See if Daniel got a job.
Today I took a walk on my own and met two women who sleep in one of the parks in the City. We shared the sidewalk for half an hour and then I moved on as they were working. I paid them for their time with me, albeit it never feels like enough. They would like a politician to stay with them overnight, to sit in their blankets and watch while they pan, while they squeegee.
As I continued on my way I met another woman. She asked me for some change and I had none so I said no, and she turned away. It was the way she turned that touched me, the slowness of her body. It was as if the asking exhausted her, and the rejection was expected, and I could feel her somehow, her soul weariness, so I dug a bit deeper and came up with a piece of paper. I called back to her. Her face lit up and her eyes became red and watery as she said in a broken voice, “It’s so hard right now….” I felt like what I gave her was not enough though she leaned in and kissed my shoulder.
I also went to Scarborough to talk about the work with a group out there. They were a gorgeous group of people and I was paid in rhubarb and lilacs… what a beautiful economy. What a lucky woman am I this week!

the other side

Jim told a story that everyone related to today. It's one of those stories that seem like they have no ending or beginning - like a nightmare when you are in them.
You enter a narrow brick walkway to get your bed for the night at the shelter. The staff person tells you that you have to go to "the other side." So you exit and walk out and eventually find "the other side" where you talk to another staff person, who tells you that you are in the wrong place and that you have to return to "the other side" from whence you came... and so it goes until you become so frustrated and turned around that you lose it and you become the bad one... And you don't know why they have set up the rules so that they exhaust and anger you or try every bone in your body. But they do. And you're hungry and tired and you just want to find a bed and a bit of quiet and you know it's not here anyway so you're not even sure why you're walking these concrete pathways back and forth between the commands of staff who may or may not care - you're never really sure of much except that you're tired and hungry and you want this to end, and you wonder if it ever will...

what does your bed look like?

Here we see a series of coffee tables, 3 of them placed together, with an air mattress on top of them. Together these serve as a bed, a sleeping place, a haven. It is quiet in this room. The previous home was so noisy that the food on the table included ear plugs - for 3 years! And the cost of living this way is dear. Constant exposure to noise can cause stress. And this man could not go up to his neighbour day after day, week after week, month after month with the same complaint, knowing that there would be the same response... and that there was no support from his landlord. Looking at this I ask you - where are you sleeping tonight? What does your bed look like? Let us know...

so, what is Photovoice?

I have decided that in the midst of all of this I should talk everyonce in awhile about the method we are using!

Photovoice, or photonovella, is a method of working with people in communities that are typically under-represented or excluded in our society. It is a way of documenting community strengths, and initiating dialogue about what is significant. Quite simply, it is a way of giving voice by using photography.

Developed in the 1980's it is based in the principles of Paolo Freire, feminist research methods including community-based and participatory research, documentary photography, and public health practices.

Photovoice is used by people of all ages, globally, to represent their experiences of their lives. It is a way of placing the means of cultural representation in the hands of those who are most often denied the tools of cultural production. It has been used by women in China to communicate to policy makers, by the homeless and insecurely housed in Toronto to document the social determinants of health, by young offenders in the UK, and newcomers to Canada in St. James Town to explore what neighbourhood means in terms of health. These diverse groups of people have something in common – their capacity to perceive what has escaped broader social attention.

And as time goes on - more on this! I promise... but until then, just read the stories.

2 ordinary men

In our walk this week with Joe we met 2 ordinary men, Jamie and Daniel. I sit down on the sidewalk outside one of the shelters to speak with a slender man in his mid-40's. He lies on a piece of cardboard in the afternoon sun. He doesn't want me to take his picture but he tells me it is ok if I tell his story. He's here for surgery and staying at the shelter - he needs a skin graft. The left side of his neck is wrapped in white gauze and I note that his head is also wrapped as a small amount of gauze is peeping out from under his cap. He's in a considerable amount of pain and says to me: "I'm my own worst enemy!" and laughs. I get it. He knows he should be in the hospital. But it is a beautiful afternoon and he has a feeling that they will turn him away if he shows there. His surgery isn't for a week and he is here for a few tests before his admission.

He knows about the options on the streets - where he can get a meal, where Street Health is located, and the clinics. He talks about his kids, his ex-wife, his struggle with past addictions, his disability. I know so much about him in 20 minutes. He has piercing blue eyes and laughs easily. And he's been in and out of hard places. But he doesn't want that anymore - he wants a life where he can be with his kids, where he can have connections to other people, and a community. When he shifts his position on the sidewalk I see him wince. He is legally licensed to smoke marijuana for his pain - it does help. But on the streets it can also make him a target for violence. I know why he is here, I understand his words, but on a structural level, I wonder why a man in need of surgery is laying on cardboard on the streets of downtown Toronto?

We continue on our walk. Outside the Gateway a bed is being moved; Jim is chatting with some guys from Sanctuary and we are getting ready to take some photographs. I have to admit that most of the day I am talking with people on the streets, not modeling "how" to take shots. But that's ok. Kevin shouts out that someone is eating from a garbage can. I tell him that maybe I'll go across and ask the person to stop - it is really quite dangerous to eat from a garbage bin. You can become seriously ill. Kevin is a bit worried - "but what if he's dangerous Nancy?" I tell him that I'll assess the situation and Kevin decides he'll join me for backup.

"Hi, you look pretty hungry." He looks up and keeps eating, smiling in agreement. I suggest that he could get sick and he stops, saying he has a job interview the next day. He graciously extends his arm to the curb and invites Kevin and me to sit down and chat. We do. Turns out he is from the Kawartha Lakes region, a gorgeous spot. He has been homeless for 5 years and was recently housed. Problem is that he is also trying to get off the serious drugs and there are dealers located on either side of his bachelor apartment. Another problem is that his apartment has no bed, no sheets, pillows, pillow cases, towels, toilet paper, dishes, pots for cooking, or cutlery. He can't call this housing a home. He also doesn't have a phone, can't afford it - to make or receive calls to schedule the delivery of a bed. Again I understand why people choose the streets over the housing our society is providing them...

asleep in toronto - with Joe Fiorito!

We had the honour of having Joe Fiorito, a columnist from the Star newspaper, come along with us on our walkabout. That's him carrying the khaki coloured bag - the man without the hat!

It was overcast and a bit humid today, and I think we were all a bit nervous about having someone come along to observe us - we're just getting our own relationships established. But Joe has a special way of just walking along beside us and becoming part of the conversation. So we soon relaxed. He also asked great questions.

Today our focus was on looking at some of the shelters that people have slept in. Because we have not yet been invited inside to photograph them, we are photographing the outside. We went to Maxwell Meighen, The Gateway, the School House and Seaton House.

Everyone returned with their cameras completed so I will take them in for developing which that next week we will start looking and shooting - everything begins to intensify.

As we sat around the table at the end and talked about what was most meaningful JeanGuy said softly: "I didn't want to get close in order to take the pictures; I wanted to stay as far away as possible from the shelters." The way he said it convinced me that his memories and experiences were not ones that were easy to bear; if anything they haunted him. Crowded conditions, the smells of too many men using a single urinal, a thin mattress, a lack of privacy.

It is so important for me in being part of these kinds of projects to remember that each person has a focus and when I look at the photographs and the perspective the message is visceral - when we think about a necessary distance for someone who has lived in them. How close do you want to get to the building to photograph it? How far away feels safe enough?

Vital Ideas

I wanted to provide a kind thank you to the people at the Toronto Community Foundation for recognizing our work as a "Vital Idea." Although they were not able to fund us they were able to introduce virtually to a community of philanthropists. Unfortunately the night of the non-virtual event I was struck down with a severe kidney infection so was not able to attend. However, I am pleased to make many new virtual friends! And I hope some of them will find their way here and we can begin a conversation.

asleep in Toronto

We've been too busy on the streets to find time to write. And it's also the end of semester so I've been marking papers and getting ready for summer session.
We've presented our work at the Streetlife conference at the University of Toronto and at the Conference for Campus Community Partnerships in Health - with great responses.
The photo above was taken in the core of downtown and no, the window isn't open - there is no window and there is no roof on this gorgeous old home. I was laying on the roadway looking up to take this one. And Kevin and Jean Guy were protecting me from the cars.
The CONTACT photography festival is on this month but we were not able to find a venue for our work from the project - maybe next year. The work is so powerful - scroll down to see some of it. leave me a comment if you want to see more. Over time I will get it up here. The questions are always to do with time.
asleep in Toronto (the other name for in/vulnerabilities) started and we went for our first walkabout today. it was difficult at first to get folk to use their cameras. There is anxiety - maybe? - about how many rolls we have... But I just said I expected everyone to use up their whole camera this week. and we'll see what happens and how many get turned in next week.
We may have a partner to help us with developing the film. I have been chatting with them for over a month. They are cautious and believe in the project and the work we are doing but they are also a small business and feel strongly that we need more government support for these kinds of initiatives. And I can't say not to that! So, I may have good news about that in the future.

busy days

"Armed with a shoestring budget and cameras that eventually had to be held together by elastic bands, a group of homeless men and women set out to document their first hand experiences in Toronto." So says Liz Worth in the latest edition of spacing magazine. I will post pictures of our cameras soon.

Fred and me have been busy of late. Talked about the work at Project Read in Parkdale during the EcoArts Media Festival and at the Hepatitis C Workshop at the College Street United Church - and just had a piece about the work come out in reconstruction. We also showed work in the OCAP event at the Gladstone.
There is also good news on the housing front and that is that the provincial government has freed up almost $400 million dollars in federal funding for housing. See the posts at the Wellesley Institute for the full story on Bill C-48.
The sad news right now is that we will not be presenting our thinking about this work and this work at the American Educational Research Association in April as I was not able to find any support money to bring us there. On the upside we will be presenting it at the CCPH (Community-Campus Partnerships for Health) conference in April and we are starting recruitment for in/vulnerabilities.
We are engaged in multiple conversations with many partners and it feels like the work is having a far-reaching effect. The conversations are at a larger social level and more intimate, person-to-person.

endings

I took down Urgent on Friday night. Wrapped it up. Literally. Looked over the comments and began to think about how we provide space for stories that are "out of place" in the larger social and cultural memories of a citizenry. Each of the photographs shows place in a way that disrupts central concepts of its daily use.
These forgotten people - but how can we forget people who are in plain sight? How are we able to construct an account of life that leaves them out of any rights-based sociey where social justice matters? How have we forgotten their belonging? Their place?
In this photograph a person re-creates their nightly ritual of going to sleep with a blanket, by taking off their shoes and carefully placing them by their side for the night. This space feels too open for my personal safety, yet it was chosen deliberately because it is safe. And I wonder what dreams appear here?

troubling the streets

I continue to walk the streets and see them filled with people who need sanctuary. A man I chatted with today was wrapped so tightly that almost no flesh was visible. He said the dampness was getting into his bones. Yesterday a woman told me she was despairing, she couldn't make it without help; she'd surely be a failure if someone didn't do something.

She wasn't sure what the something was. I had two dollars and that was a piece of something. But I know it was a two dollar bandaid. She was also wrapped in layers, damp layers, and she had no place to keep dry. She gave a cheery conversation though and wanted to know how I was... I told her I was ok. We lied happily to each other about the weather... and I thought about what it might be if she belonged somewhere safe. and warm.

But she doesn't. And so we must work toward social change in any way we can so that she can have a secure future and present. Her ability to determine her present is limited by indifference.

The picture I would have taken shows a woman of about 50. She has not brushed her hair and her smile is broad. She is lively right now but the next time I pass by her she does not look up. Her body is bound inward against the cold.

BIAF

the BIAF or Brampton Indie Arts Festival have graciously included our work - for the week of February 14-17. www.biaf.ca
I went to Brampton for the first time and Fred Yurichuk, the other half of this work in its day-to-day form, who lives there, showed me around. It was a snow day... beautiful and the response to the work was wonderful. People were overwhelmed by the power of it - they want to see more, hear more, they want to know what to do, how to help, they want to talk to us about their own stories and personal transformations. I think that we were both exhausted by the end of the night - in a most wonderful fashion. Thank you BIAF and Brampton.

Survival

I don't know how they survive... We have had an extreme cold weather alert for nearly a week now. The wind howls outside of my home and inside I wear a hat, scarf, long underwear, cut off gloves, sweaters, fuzzy pants. Whatever will help keep me warm. My home is a bit of a sieve I guess and someday... But I am inside. Today I went out and I saw people sitting outside. They are in danger of frostbite. Of losing noses, fingers, toes.
And some of these citizens are unable to come in because of what has happened to them in the past when they have done so. They have not experienced kindness and compassion, but rather its opposing state. And it has left them suffering, still, outside.

The Opening at OISE

Our opening was a success - how can I possibly say thank you except, thank you! - to every one who came out. I was overawed by the beauty of it all. More than 75 people were in attendance. Project artists who came out - thanks - and to all of those who could not make it - I hold you in my heart...
The people who saw the work have continued to call and email, providing their support. We gathered 9 cameras. Not bad. We still need more. But 9 is fabulous. And Rae grabbed one to document the event. So I guess we had 10 at one point! Rae was happy, saying: "They like us!" They do. I think, I believe, this work can make a difference. And to show it at this educational insitute has the potential to alter the way teachers and learners engage. And we received support to exhibit the work from the Ontario Arts Council, Exhibition Assitance Program with the help of our recommender, Gallery 44 - Thanks to them as well!
I have promised to put information about the project on this site and to upload photographs. And so I will. Over time.
I was excited and scared. Was not sure if people would come. The challenge was to hold this tension, to be awake in it and to notice by inhabiting the experience. And the questions continue: How do we use the work to encourage thought, to encourage us to think differently about personal and structural inequity as it is expressed socially? How can we work against the collapse of hope? It is growing cold. Doors are being locked more frequently and we are preparing for numerous programs that help to sustain the poor to close. There is more to write... but that will have to come later. Other tasks await.

balancing act

Have been working all week to get ready for the exhibit - it's a balancing act. Daughters want dinner and i am not certain that is part of the balance! But it has to be. I am excited and nervous - it is anticipatory dread. There is much to do. Have to take the show down at ZigZag and get it up at OISE. The same night we will be at Sneaky Dee's with Street Health and Rock for Humanity - a group who is donating their fundraising efforts to help Street Health. We were at the Horseshoe about 3 weeks ago doing the same thing. It was fun to talk about the work in this environment.

I am hoping that anyone who is reading this makes it out to the opening at OISE, comes to see the work at Sneaky Dee's, or the Brampton Independent Arts Festival - more on that one later. Because there is also the EcoArts Festival... and others. They will all make their appearance here.

But my main priority is to do the fundraising to start the next project, in/vulnerabilities. We have only had one camera donated to date ...

And we need more. The project will be to work with Street Health again and to work in a cultural production workshop using photography to tell more of the stories using text and image. We have been blessed with funding from the Toronto Arts Council, Access Grant, but we need our material costs to be covered.

the homeless and the insecurely housed
are now appearing in documents coded with the language of corporate
strategies where millions of dollars are spent insulating silos
and this morning one of them will wake up
dead from some unanticipated opportunity taken by
exposure or dehydration, which has targeted this one for
confusion. For upon awakening he (or she) will surely determine that death

was not an annotation in their daybook. There were the other things listed: put an end to hunger, find love, vote for housing. She (or he) was certain that finding a graceful exit strategy was a practiced skill for use in the short-term.

an increasing flutter of white papers darkening your corner office.

a day in the life

the exhibit is going to happen.
we got funding from the Ontario Arts Council, Exhibition Assistance. THANK YOU!
OPENING RECEPTION: MONDAY, JANUARY 29, 2007 at 5:30

MONDAY, JANUARY 29 – THURSDAY, FEBRARY 23, 2007
252 BLOOR STREET WEST 2ND FLOOR HALLWAY BETWEEN 2-212/2-213

I am hoping to be able to find the members of our group - because we did not get the last grant we applied for there has been a lapse in continuity. I still remember the meeting where I broke down and cried because we had no money to continue. Everyone came over, sang silly songs, gave me hugs. Made it better.

Except social inequity is not ok. We want people to see the work. We want understanding of these issues. We want change. So what's it about?

The images in the exhibit are selected from a vast number shot over a period of 8 months, in a community-based photography project where cameras were given to women and men who were experiencing insecure housing and homelessness, social exclusion, and poverty. This exhibition reveals photography as, and in, ethically transformative relationships where there is an opportunity to begin to promote empathic identification between the viewer and the one who is viewed.

being and doing

first post. about being an artist, writer, researcher, educator. writing 3 or 4 papers, trying to find time to get the book done, to stay up with reading, to write lectures, to love my family and friends. and to remind myself of the wonders that flourish. and to assist in the flourishing.
about to start a new project. finishing up another one. and I am going to try and use this blog as a way of recording these projects, these endings and beginnings.
and i guess part of it is about being the "artist and scholar" at the Centre for Arts-informed Research at OISE/UT. The first one there. And the struggle to balance this role, to integrate it, with all those other ones!