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...