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.