The media feeding frenzy has moved on and I have attempted “business as usual”. Monday, the first to assume normal structure, failed miserably.
With meetings and events paced for theoretical minimal impact on the nature and levels of pain I normally managed to absorb, it looked like a good place to start.
However, I failed to complete the day and experienced a strange detached misery. Some time after 15.00 my colleagues had had enough! I was given a beautiful slice of chocolate gateau and sent home with instructions to “eat and sleep.”
Preparations to travel spark little flames of anxiety. I decide to buy a different mouthwash. My usual one dilutes in water, but Tokyo water is beginning to register higher levels of radiation and now I’m making silly jokes about Tokyo Teeth
I will be taking more with me, maybe I need a bigger suitcase. New difficulties emerge daily; getting from Narita airport into Tokyo city will be the first hurdle. The train has been suspended to save on power. The temporarily non-disabled can use the bus; a bus that I cannot use.
I sense the challenge. Will Tokyo, waiting in unaccustomed darkness, be open to exploration? And what kind of exploration might be appropriate? My fascination with Japan’s past; with the art and cultural history that shapes modern Tokyo, may seem irrelevant to a people needing to focus on recovery and on building a new future.
And my particular focus on access; my hope to discover how deeply ingrained symbolic values impact on issues of equality for disabled people attempting to function in Japanese mainstream society and culture?
Somehow I think this may have to wait. There will be immediate issues claiming every available portion of energy and attention.
I recall when you laid
inside me; when your heartbeat
changed me forever. And I
watch the child weeping; the father
searching; pictures of a missing wife.
In the small details are the
points of access that compel me
to engage painfully with
hurt beyond imagining
from somewhere the earth does not move
and my house is still where it should be.
Incredibly this continues. The earth still shakes, the threat is still there of both quake and tsunami, but it is all overshadowed by the nuclear disaster. Are we in danger of losing sight of the main priority?
SP believes that the nuclear threat, whilst serious, is being over-hyped by the media. His life continues as normal apart from the continued earthquakes. No-one is saying what might happen if the four reactors have to be abandoned. I am unknowing and it is scary.
So much can happen in two weeks, and my trip could still be possible. Going against the flow, I wonder about continuing my preparations to fly to Narita Airport. It seems surreal.
Friends and loved ones advise against going and I become aware of some of the pressures being laid on folk who live and work in the Japanese capital.
Its hard to tear myself away from the constant stream of “live” news.
Earthquakes, tsunami and the unseen threat of radiation; we may not be in the aftermath yet, but jargon is slipping into my conversation.
“Brown-outs” are a big concern. Japan relies heavily on nuclear power and being without electricity is already a problem. Power to communicate; power to produce, store and prepare food and water; power to rescue, to repair and rebuild; power is key to survival and recovery.
I reflect on my earlier use of “meltdown” to describe something that happens to me. I acknowledge that my own personal “meltdown” bears no relationship to the one that is possibly threatening Japan. It is hard to take in the enormity.
How soon can Japanese power production return to necessary levels? Japan and indeed the commercial world depends on it. And how accessible will this crippled be Tokyo for a wheelchair user?
SP tells me that the streets of Tokyo are quieter than normal, but there are still restaurants open and food is available. His phone needs charging; the food in his freezer needs eating, and he is conserving his supplies of bottled water and non-perishable food.
As this day progresses further quakes are being reported, images of flooding and fires dominate the media; images of destruction, warnings of mud-slides and unstable buildings; whole villages and towns wiped away, all these things speak of horror and heartbreak.
I exist in the unquiet.
I breath to the soundtrack
of a panicked heart.
My thoughts churn and leap without focus.
Nausea creates its own quake
as my horizon slides;
the floor slips to a diagonal
and worry drains me of energy.
My desire for reassurance
dominates with lingering
persistence and futility.
My journey to Spike Island is different. I feel vulnerable, exposed, as if I have forgotten something vital and I arrive with a feeling of being elsewhere. Familiar faces, coffee and mini custard-cream doughnuts vie for my attention. For moments at a time the task in hand claims me, and gradually I focus what is happening around me.
I allow the fascinating New Voices project to draw me in. The laptop is open at my homepage and the BBC silently keeps me in touch with Japan. My involvement is personal, my focus tiny. I’m not ignoring the death and disaster, but like most individuals, I’m helpless. The scope of this is beyond comprehension.
Projecting the DAO website onto the screen in front of us, Colin gives the three of us a preview of how our blogs will look. I am surprised to be so excited. Our discussions and feedback are positive as, with Colin’s encouragement and assistance, we finally see ourselves as bloggers.
As I become more familiar with this it becomes easier to take on board, the learning is faster and easier and I just don’t want it to stop.
The afternoon workshop with David Trigg focuses on styles of writing; on being appropriate; and on persevering. David shares the trials and delights of his own journey with us, highlighting how we too can learn from this vicarious experience.
He has read short pieces of our work and is generous with praise and some carefully constructive criticism. The day has been very good, but I hope this is not the end. There is so much more to learn.
Breaking. The word has become familiar to me. I see it every day; I don’t always notice it, but have a subconscious awareness that it is there. It has acquired an association the brownish-orange colour and the marching line of alphabetic ants that accompany it somewhere between the menu-bar and the headline article on the BBC News website that is my homepage.
Breaking; the significance of the word has never attacked me before. Breaking News: it is good to know what’s going on in the world and so instantly. Except that this news is personal. This breaking is the earthquake in Japan and the tsunami warning. It affects Tokyo where I have a loved one.
SP lives and works in the Japanese capital, he has been there four years and is familiar with life there. The implications of breaking hit hard; the horrendous possibilities of breaking tear into me, sending my mind into turmoil.
The email that pings in from Tokyo reassures me that he is safe. His workplace is shaken, but not broken. The workforce has been sent home, transport is not working but SP lives close enough to work to make this possible. His home appears safe. I would speak to him but reception around the work building is poor and he keeps breaking up.
I began this journey with a great deal of trepidation. Physically getting to Spike Island being the first obstacle to overcome and parking my car within reach of whatever assistance I would be offered to extract my wheelchair from said car, adding high levels of stress to the process.
While the first meeting was indeed difficult, most access issues were soon ironed out and subsequent meetings have been positive, energising occasions.
Working with Colin has been enlightening, informative and fun. I am actually looking forward to blogging for real.
These sessions have not just been about blogging, information around the issues of creating an online presence, promoting my Artist’ career (and also the organisation I direct).
Getting to grips with the stressful and often boring aspects of functioning as an artist/artistic organisation in today’s world, has been creatively offered in varied workshops from which I believe I have already learned a lot. I’ve certainly been examining why I create work and who I create if for.
On the cusp of contradiction,
as in the eye of the storm,
there is profound silence.
Not the hallowed silence
of privacy, more the tortured
silence of war. The war
of passion restrained
by will power. The agony
that overflows the rock-face
in Smoke that Thunders.
Leaving your ears empty
of all the words I cannot say.
My subconscious has anticipated the afternoon workshop. The morning was a journey with Marie-Anne McQuay; a guided tour of written words and websites; generous snippets of information; maps of accessibility from which to construct our own individual offers and requests (promotional material and applications to Arts Organisations, funders etc); seedlings for inspiration.
I attempt to contain the growing excitement; remind myself to remain in the head-space; concentrate on constructive thinking (I think, therefore I am). It is important to stay within the arena of verbal communication, but my artist has already committed to the passion (I feel, therefore I create). The internal struggle results in a blanket of silence.
Not a good place to begin the afternoon. Sovay Berriman’s workshop is a gentle introduction to the process of crafting the creative biography; the artistic CV with layers subtle enough to reveal more than the face value. But I have done my homework, Sovay has prepared us with a preliminary email and I have made my own online investigation. My artist, itching to begin on the ideas of the morning, unleashes the passion and my previously contained reaction to Sovay’s work demands and consumes.
It is with a sense of relief that I realise my subconscious has already prepared a framework where the passion may deconstruct without dissipating; where the unruly energy of my artist will eventually inform my intellectual processes and I can engage with the task of penetrating the domain of the funder; the sponsor; the patron; the industry attempting to weave the economic viability equation through humanity’s creative search for reason, purpose and acknowledgement.
I'm an artist planning to visit Tokyo in April, in my wheelchair. I use images and words to explore, through my Disabled Gaze, relationships, social positioning and the psychological impact of the unseen exclusion (for example when steps or platforms are used as a metaphor)
I also work with other disabled artists and am currently preparing Phase 2 of Testing the Edges (Phase 1 being an action research project funded by Arts Council England, exploring and documenting what disparate groups of disabled artists might have in common and who the audience might be for their work).
Phase 2 uses the research conclusions and resulting questions to explore and document possibilities for integration of disabled and non-disabled people in creating and presenting an interactive performance piece. It will also research possibility of the informed audience and issues around the economic viability of Disability Arts.
Not speaking Japanese, but wanting to be able to access Disability Arts in Tokyo, I am attempting to find places to visit and possibly people to contact.
“Meltdown” and recovery images may possibly be a fruitful avenue to explore. I can imagine beginning by collecting images and maybe setting the whole thing within the context of my journey to Tokyo and back. There will be a parallel evolution as the internal and external changes and influences affect who I am and who I perceive myself to be.
This could also be the right time to explore working with moving images and to do more thinking about changing/relative states of being.
I could be taking on too much. I want to be alert to the symbolic aspects of Japanese culture and society and how they impact on disability. And I want to be able to relate this to my own experiences in Europe and Africa. I want to be open to the possibility of being changed and to appreciate new contexts. But I do want to have some fun and enjoy the cherry blossom too! It may also be useful to bring this general process under the spotlight at Spike Island.
I could bring poems in their “Unhinged/Hinged” context and then also in their separate contexts of “(it might be disability but) it’s Still Life” and “Divided”. (That would be two poems – together in their “exhibited words” context and separately in the context of an installation and a radio play).
It is a small example, but I think enough to illustrate the process and yet still remain physically manageable for me.