Culture Reviews

11 Aug

Posted at 15:32h in Culture Reviews by

‘Can We Write About This? Men, Sex and Feelings’ is a podcast by Tony Pletts, featuring fizzing conversations with two brilliant writers and me.

The podcast has come out of the book Tony has written about the loving journey of our relationship, together and into consensual non-monogamy with others. The book hasn’t been published…yet. Taking his manuscript into the world has opened up a broader enquiry about why men have been reluctant to write about their personal sexual experiences and vulnerabilities, and if there is an appetite for them be published at all.

The conversations Tony has with Lucy-Anne Holmes and Monique Roffey are intelligent, provocative and fun. There’s an interview with me too if you want to hear more about what it’s like to be physically and emotionally exposed in thousands of words.

It is Tony’s honest self-reflection that makes his writing different from the bombastic hero we have come to recognise as the unreconstructed Hollywood portrayal of men’s sexuality. Tony and I make many mistakes, and he is willing to reveal our faltering steps and stumbles into emotional quick sands. Amid the steamy explicit descriptions of sex, his book is about learning by getting things wrong. Tony shows us what it is like inside his perception, and it is refreshing to hear about his awkward mis-steps. For me, he typifies ‘Daring Greatly’ (Theodore Roosevelt) via Brené Brown.

“If we are going to find our way out of shame and back to each other, vulnerability is the path and courage is the light. To set down those lists of ‘what we’re supposed to be’ is brave. To love ourselves and support each other in the process of becoming real is perhaps the greatest single act of daring greatly.” Brené Brown

I hope what Tony’s brave revelations will do is open more conversations, inspire people to acknowledge their true longings, encourage people to negotiate the shape of relationship that meets their needs, and allow others to connect with their feelings and their voice.

There’s more information about the podcast here, and You can find a link and listen to it here.

15 May

Posted at 17:45h in Culture Reviews by

Imagine a streetscape the size of a doll’s house. In ‘Journeys from an Absent Present to a Lost Past’, an exhibition at Fabrica, in Brighton, Mohamed Hafez has crafted beautiful miniature installations, that transport the viewer to an urban Syrian landscape. Each tiny environment shows everyday traces of local life. Washing hangs in the street, a car is parked outside a front door, a satellite dish rusts on the roof.

Mohamed Hafez, Syrian born architect and artist living in the USA, began making model environments to soothe his homesickness. First because of a post 9/11 travel ban, and then as a result of the war in Syria, he is no longer able to go back to the home that he remembers. He recreates the Damascus of his memories. “There’s always that emotional longing to go home,” he says.

Understanding the power of art to both express and work with the grief of loss, Hafez makes meaning by communicating something of the migrant experience. Speaking in a short film that accompanies the exhibition, Hafez reminds us “that life is fragile”. Hafez wants to capture our attention with his exquisite model images, “I like to be sneaky, because you know, that’s how crises happen in our lives. They sneak up on us.”

I recall there have been three brief moments in my life so far, when I faced the possibility of losing my home, but I have never had to confront losing my homeland. For me, contemplating this surfaces empathy for those who are in more precarious situations.

In Syria, crisis is ongoing. These tiny fragments of old Damascus streets invite us to see a knotted global issue from ‘another’s shoes’.  An interactive element of the exhibition invites visitors to consider ‘What is home to you?’ I am aware that it is often only away from home that we really come to know the answer. I think of the familiar smell of Hackney’s green and grime that greets me after time elsewhere.

See here for next Grief Tending events.

21 Feb

Posted at 12:57h in Culture Reviews by

Every Ocean Hughes is an artist and death doula. An end of life death doula or ‘soul midwife’, is someone who supports the dying and their loved ones, at the end of life. Hughes exhibition ‘One Big Bag’at Studio Voltaire includes a film of a performance piece, and an installation of her ‘corpse kit’. This comprises an array of small practical items including gloves, bells, make-up, cotton buds, scented oils and a nappy, which hang on strings in the darkened room. These are some of the tools of the doula’s trade. This is Hughes’ bag of items that may be needed at the end of life to support those at the bedside, and to minister to the dying, both before and after their last breath.

The film, which extends the theme of doula-ship is provocative. While the words raise important themes around the ability to ‘self-determine’ around death, and queer bodies in particular, it hammered out its message without the subtlety required for this much needed public conversation. Hughes intends to address the audience’s fear of death and dying, but for me, the percussive choreography was unhelpful.

The confrontational delivery of the words, whose message deserves to be heard, is at odds with the sensitive art of “walking alongside, and being responsive to the dying”, as doula Hermione Elliot of Living Well Dying Well puts it in an interview on BBC Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour.

Also in this interview, Dr Helen Frisby describes the changes that have occurred in recent times as end of life care has become increasingly medicalised, and death the domain of the undertaking business. Every Ocean Hughes describes the laying out of the body as “the most loving thing you can do”. This task, once carried out by local women can be reclaimed when we are informed and empowered to take on the task. I have been lucky enough to lay out bodies during the extraordinary time of transition that occurs after death.

“Death has to be understood with the senses, the mind doesn’t get it,” Hughes tells us, and my hands remember. The intimacy of the doula’s role in the liminal days around a death are described beautifully, “The rest of the world is out there happening, but we’re in time apart.”

Despite its heavy-handed approach, I hope the exhibition will inspire necessary conversations. Hughes urges, “Make some decisions, have a vision…so that your life can end with the same spirit it was lived.” For some help to do this, Beyond Life has some useful tips, and Ash Hayhurst’s PDF ‘Making Informed Choices When Planning a Funeral – A Guide for Queer people’ is an excellent resource.

27 Jun

Posted at 16:46h in Culture Reviews by

My spine is tingling as I watch ten performers solemnly walk along the path towards me, in Kensal Green Cemetery. They move at funeral pace, each holding a grief object, in a ritual procession of remembrance. I am here to support an intention to hold death in my awareness along with these non-professional dancers who, all over 60 are themselves turning towards mortality.

Along with singing and making music together, dance is one of our oldest and most universal human activities. In this time, this mode of expression is often side-lined as a pastime of the young or drunk. My winding and sensuous dances keep my ageing body moving, but also allow my soul to connect with others. One of the advantages of age for me, is a letting go of inhibitions – to be less self-conscious about my image in others’ eyes. We bumped into a friend on the way to the cemetery by chance, who told us that dancing in community was what sustained their parents (now late 70’s).

Rose Rouse – a passionate dancer and advocate for the ‘Advantages of Age’ was the instigator of ‘Dance Me to Death’. She met Rhys Dennis and Waddah Sinada of Fubunation – young dancers who are exploring black masculinity in their choreography, encouraging diverse collaborations and audiences. Rose was excited by Rhys and Waddah’s work. But, in order to make this intergenerational project happen said, “I had to persuade them to do this project with me.” They said “Yes”, and the project emerged as a collaboration – devising, dancing and exploring their experiences around death and grief. The outcome is a performance, photographs, and documentary film in the making.

The cemetery is a beautiful backdrop of caryatids, columns, and tombs surrounded by trees, and just enough wildness. Reminiscent of the angels that reach out to one another from the top of one mausoleum, the dancers stretch and connect. As the dancers claim the grand steps of one chapel they move,  dancing with the edges between life and death. Cello and percussion accompany their coming together in group pieces and duets that are tender with moments of surprising energy.

Informed by mortality, and the uncertainty of Covid rules and weather, this nod to death felt like an achievement against the odds, and a celebration of life.

20 Jun

Posted at 20:11h in Culture Reviews by

Sam Butler and David Harradine of ‘Fevered Sleep’ have devised and produced ‘This Grief Thing’.

“This Grief Thing is a project that encourages people to think, talk and learn about grief.”

Their billboard caught my eye last week as I walked along Dalston Lane. They have curated a number of talks on grief themes, as well as other projects that stir people to engage with the theme.

Tony and I visited their market stall in Brick Lane where Julie, Sam and David folded T shirts and sweltered in the heat like all the other market traders. Poised for spontaneous interactions, the presence of the stall caught the eye of people walking past. As people browsed hoodies and T shirts, conversations were encouraged with the curious. I remembered my days on the Narrow Way initiating random conversations with strangers in the Hackney is Friendly project.

The market stall is full of merchandise designed to open conversations with ordinary people to normalise talking about loss. Brilliant and simple, their slogans champion a way to engage with someone who may feel ill-equipped to mourn, or to respond to someone who is grieving.

“Don’t panic if I cry,” printed on a red T-shirt particularly appealed to me. We left with “Let me be sad” badges, and some other swag. I shall wear them, ready to see what communication it provokes, hoping to spread their mission of everyday encounters that unlock the taboo around the subject of grief.

14 Sep

Posted at 19:43h in Culture Reviews by

Despite his fresh-faced boyish looks, Sam Lee’s album, ‘Old Wow’ digs deep into oral folk music traditions with the wisdom of an old soul. I am a funk music fan. Folk is out of my comfort zone, but I am lured in by the meanings of words that ache with melancholy, and the bass lines that creep along in tracks like ‘Lay This Body Down’.

He offers a brilliant synthesis of old and new. He uses or re-imagines folk songs learned from singers of disappearing oral traditions. He arranges modern fusions to bring these songs to new ears – using an eclectic mix, which includes double bass, piano, percussion, guitar and violin. The arrangements come alive, full of sorrow and the beauty of nature.

‘Soul Cake’ begins with three verses of ‘Green Grow the Rushes O’ – a folk song, which goes back centuries, weaving astrological and Christian symbolism inextricably together. I sat as a small child next to my mother on the piano stool, enjoying the oral yoga of singing its ‘jibberish’. Now, the poetic lines hang between my ears. Lee has re-written this as a foray into mortality. Symbols from the original build into a counting song that describes the circle of life. Lee winds folk poetry with the harmonies of grief. ‘Old Wow’ reminds me of the magic of Scott Walker’s haunting lyrics, served with an inducement to love life.

Watching him perform at the Medicine Festival was stirring. He orchestrated the crowd to sing a powerful nine-part lament. I was moved as we sang a Requiem for nine recently extinct species: the Pyrenean Brown Bear, Passenger Pigeon, Eurasian Wolf, Rita’s Island Lizard, Large Blue Butterfly, Bermuda Night Heron, Eskimo Curlew, Silver Trout, and Charles Island Tortoise. In his own words, Sam Lee aims to create: “a timeless bridge, music that can be looking both backward and forwards, and a soulful accompaniment to an urgent need to fall back in love with nature if we are to know how to protect it”.

07 Sep

Posted at 20:33h in Culture Reviews by

‘Honeyland’ is an extraordinary portrait of  Hatidze Muratova, a woman keeping wild bees using traditional methods. The story which unfolds, came about as the film-makers Tamara Kotevska and Ljubomire Stefanov, were filming in Northern Macedonia, and met the bee keeper. Unusually, the film was Oscar nominated for both ‘best documentary’ and ‘best international feature’. It is visually stunning. Gold light pours like honey through the film, as we step into the bee keeper’s domain.

Much like the narrative of the film, it is long, slow and painful. The old ways meet the contradictory demands of modern poverty, played out through the interactions between Muratova, and the family who move in next door.

At the Medicine Festival, I made a bee line to hear some of the barefoot hive philosophy of Chris Park. He is a very unassuming Dad, beekeeper, Druid, and storyteller. He spoke of ancient lore from a time when Britain was known as ‘The Honey Isle’. As he spoke, he invited us to roll words around our mouths with him, to hear the etymology of bee keeping. It was as though we were sipping linguistic mead or metheglin (mead brewed with herbs or spices). He spoke of the three medicines in Druid philosophy – water, honey and labour. Like the finest pollen taken from bee legs, unadulterated, he is the bees knees.

 

11 Aug

Posted at 14:49h in Culture Reviews by

Like a crime scene, the victims of accident or predator sometimes lie in my path. I imagine each feather marked with an exhibit number, a chalk line around the body. The path that meets the road is closed off one day this week, with real police tape. “There has been a shooting,” word passes between dog walkers. Accident or not, a tragedy will probably be playing out in two households, as a consequence.

On this theme, there are a couple of gems available to hear on BBC Radio 4, which unfold some of the consequences for everyone involved after a crime has been committed. ‘This Thing of Darkness’ is a 8 part drama, written by Anita Vettesse and Eileen Horne. It follows a forensic psychiatrist’s conversations with an accused man, and members of his family, in an attempt to unravel what happened. Told from the psychiatrist’s point of view, it reveals her thought processes as she listens for glimmers of truth among the facts. It also includes characters inside a therapy group process within a prison. It allows us to see the nuanced and complex causes of what happened, and the feelings of everyone touched by the incident.

‘The Punch’ is a 5 part documentary series following the impact after one young man was convicted of manslaughter, for killing another with a single punch. We hear about the impact of the death both on the person convicted, and the family of the victim. It gives an inspiring insight into the process of restorative justice. The outcome of the meetings between the convicted, and the parents of the victim is remarkable, but does not diminish the morass of difficult feelings on both sides.

29 Jun

Posted at 15:58h in Culture Reviews by

‘Norton Grim and Me 2019’ is a short, animated film about Tony Gammidge’s experience of being sent to boarding school. The film portrays strong emotional content with visceral images. It is also beautiful. Stark shadow puppets, plasticine figures, haunting photographs and quirky drawings weave together to illuminate his dark tale. He is one of the people who adds their perspective in ‘Sabre Tooth Tigers & Teddy Bears’ by Suzanne Zeedyk. Tony Gammidge invites us to find our own stories, to use creative expression as a way into healing. He brings his own grief, and trauma as raw materials to be transmuted. Inspired by Thomas Ogden’s work, Tony says, “To make art works from these events is not just about making sense of something, though this is important but also compensating for the loss, making something worthwhile and beautiful that in part makes up for it.” By watching the film, we bear witness to both his grief and its processing. “The film that charts his journey is not, then, just a re-telling of his childhood. It is a re-making of that childhood.”  With Tony’s encouragement I am fashioning my own characters to animate, out of wire armature and plasticine.
‘Norton Grim and Me’ by Tony Gammidge.

05 Apr

Posted at 11:29h in Culture Reviews by

We gathered, the damp and determined, in an upstairs room at the Roebuck in SE1 on a rainy Wednesday night. It was not so long ago, in a different era. We went to hear Emma Purshouse and Steve Pottinger. Also known as two out of three ‘Poets, Prattlers and Pandemonialists’. Love and loss are currency for the grist of poets. They notice the small changes and gestures that show love like Pottinger’s ‘Impulse’, or Purshouse’s love letter, ‘Wolverhampton – a Winning City’. They both speak passionately about change. Be heartened by Pottinger’s letter to Café Nero. Emma Purshouse brings her irreverent eyes to the back waters and cul-de-sacs of town. She stands to read, as though recently uncrumpled from the sofa. She is astute, wrapped in humility plus woolly hat. I want to hug her. Her wit is sharp enough to hide in the spaces between words. Her voice lingers, leaving a sigh after her dead-pan face has left the room. If you need cheering up, or fancy a trip to the everyday life of the Black Country, there’s stuff to read, watch, and some silliness on-line.

www.emmapurshouse.co.uk/wolverhampton-a-winning-city/
www.stevepottinger.co.uk/coffee