Holding It Together

Drifters

There are times when inspiration comes from within, an internal spark whose origin is unknown. Others come in visual waves, verbal vignettes and the source of inspiration is the art of another. This time, the source was my own better half and mutual muse; the artist Cecile Knight.
"Drifters" was Cecile's homage to her childhood home of Coffs Harbour and the Bellinger River. Her artist statement reads:

 "Provoked by a memory, the town I grew up in, the river I played in as a child. I would like to acknowledge its history."  

Visiting these places so embedded in the history and emotional genetics of my partner has in turn inspired me. Not only this, but I have been able to take a glimpse into what makes this place so special and make meaning and in the rivers and headlands for myself. The summer just gone we roadtripped from Daylesford to Gold Coast, and this is what I took and not only what I left. This place of abundant water, of sea salt and mountain mist is truly inspiring. I understand why now.

 

http://cecileknight.com/2012/03/28/drifters/

Frida Kahlo: The Artist as Therapist

Journals, letters and so many self portraits; through Frida Kahlo’s art we see the trauma of her physical pain interwoven with sequences of dream-like navigation within her internal struggles. Other works show a nightmarish reality dealing with doomed love and babies lost.

One wonders what Frida Kahlo would have done with her time and where she might have focussed her deep need for expression, were it not for painting. During her extensive hospital stays with her bed-mounted easel, or painting her own body cast, she was processing her own grief and medicating herself with art. She was an unwitting Art Therapist; both client and therapist. Psychoanalyst of her own demons, she confronted them with the paintbrush. Unforgiving and raw as her wounds, she depicted in oils what lay beneath her skin; as though she has literally pulled back her flesh and let us in.

Moreover, Frida left behind a legacy with her hauntingly personal portraits, watercolour blood-stained journals and defiance in the face of adversity. Frida continues to teach us almost 60 years after her passing, that life may not heal, but art will try. She teaches us of beauty in the unlikeliest of places and faces, of the poetry in every scar and that no one, no one...knows you as you know yourself.

When we dialogue with the paint, the pen, the canvas, and dip into the madness, there we can know truth. There we can begin to heal. If art cannot heal, then let it at least capture the beauty of our madness!

For many Frida lovers, she inspires in us the ability to heal ourselves, to know oneself, to love blind and to speak our truth. How did Frida heal you?

...life may not heal, but art will try.

The Genetics of Courage

“...SOMETIMES COURAGE SKIPS A GENERATION.”

Alright, I admit it. I watched The Help but didn’t read it. Literary buffoons, poo-poo me all you like but my To-Read-List is becoming a Grollo style eye sore and the soon to be Leaning Tower of unread books. I simply cannot bear to add any more to it.

This is not a review, not by a long shot. This is simply a musing on a line from the film which I have been replaying over and over in my head like a mantra. It demands my attention. It demands I write, as always. When the pen (or the keyboard) is your voice it must be allowed to sing. When the blog is your platform in absence of a real life soapbox upon which to recite, deliver and denounce, it’s got to do more than just tickle the intellectual fancies. It’s got to tug, tear and pull at hearts and minds. This is therapy. Humour me now, and heal me in the process.

“...Sometimes courage skips a generation...”

When I heard this, I pictured myself a colourful and well worn old chook, rocking out on my rocking chair, a gin ‘n’ tonic in my hand, wife by my side and litters of noisy children scattered across the front lawn, running and chasing one another. I wondered what I might have achieved that would make them proud. I wondered whether I would be the generation that courage had skipped. Ultimately I concluded that if we are to truly take courage by the horns and own it...really own it...might we then break the pattern?

My grandmother Rosa, well, if you’ve been here before you know a bit of her story. If you haven’t, take a minute to read the previous post, I would be ever so grateful. She had a degree of courage which took to her to places her own mother would never have dreamed of. Leaving the old country, then leaving a man and becoming single all over again. Not to mention giving Jehova’s Witnesses a run for their money and outright refusing to attend any funeral of anyone who had crossed her at any point in time. Family members not excluded. Then there’s hanging with the gays, but as I said, read the last post, s’il vous plait.

My mother, well, courage came and went over her life; married a non-Italian then divorced a non-Italian. But she is yet to fight the fight for her gay daughter. Perhaps that day has yet to come. Where do I fit in? For so many years I feared I would be the one looking back and wondering where the years had gone. But after Rosa let the horns we call Life go for good, I realised there was still a fight to be fought.

I will not be the generation skipped, and I will pass it on. I WILL pass it on...Will you?

Oh, and see The Help. You will be humbled by the greatness of spirit, the courage of a people who embodied the very meaning of courage in the face of ignorance, fear and hatred. That’s all folks!

It takes courage to run away from home on a trike. Took me years!

My Grandmother's Favourite Lesbians

There are times we read a blog, or a column and think; “Oh I just have to write a reply, I love this!” However, with such a constant barrage of opinion in the twittersphere and beyond, you get a bit overwhelmed and just move on. I could not this time. I was compelled to write this after reading a column by Monique Schafter, in the Star Observer, and the topic has been on my mind all weekend. ‘Are you out to your Grandparents?’ http://www.starobserver.com.au/opinion/soapbox-opinion/2012/02/02/people-can-surprise-you/70805 

I read. I remembered. I swallowed that lump. Then I wrote.

What really resonated with me was the whole idea that families tend to want to ‘protect’ the older generation from radical ideologies, behaviours and lifestyles. This is true with children as well, for some sectors of the community out there; people who cannot bear the thought of explaining two mummies or daddies to their little precious, sheltered children.

            “How will I explain to the children that John and Henry are married?”

            “Your great-grandmother wouldn’t understand, just leave it be”.

There comes a time when you get tired of your partner being referred to as your “friend” or that doosy; “special friend”. How naive do we think our olds are? They have seen a lot of change in their time; they know most “special friends” don’t spend every Christmas and family celebration together. They know most “special friends” don’t buy a house together in Daylesford. What we are all really doing is taking from our grandparents and elderly relatives the chance to speak their minds, to choose their own feelings. There are countless LGBTI supporters out there; parents, siblings and friends who once struggled with and even rejected that person close to them who first came out. It is risky business, to have your heart broken when a loved one takes the love away. It hurts because we care. It hurts because we spent our lives looking up to them, and we want them in our lives for as long as possible.

No doubt, it might backfire, but what if it doesn’t? I will humbly admit my own hypocrisy here, my family have no clue how or with whom I live my life, only my brothers and mum know I share my life with a woman; my wife. That’s all the more reason why I can’t let this one go...

My grandmother, Rosa, was a church-hating ex-Catholic. Born and raised in wartime Italy, she was a hard woman who often ruled our household with not so much an iron fist, but certainly an iron will. It was her way or the highway! Incidentally, I took the highway as soon as I could. We had a love-hate relationship fraught with many a butting of horns, but I confess we both kind of thrived on that. My one regret, one which will never be fulfilled, is that Rosa died before I had the chance to come out at all.

Rosa was the only one on our street, many moons ago, to befriend the gorgeous couple across the road. Long term partners, the two women went on to have a little boy, whom both Rosa and I would babysit. She treated them like her own family, and proudly spoke of them to family and friends. I will never forget how she referred to those girls as “De best lezbie in de world”.

Then there were the two boys next door, whom Rosa befriended in her usual way. She was genuinely devastated when they broke up, as if she was mourning the break-up of her own grandson. I know with all my heart that she would have embraced me. It would have been nothing like the time I told her I was moving to Japan; I thought I’d be cut-off then for sure! I remember her saying, after the fires cooled, that she was afraid because she thought I would never come back. Just like when she left Italy all those decades before, she knew we might never live on the same soil again. She was right.

I came back home after she had already lost her fight with life (and what a fight that was!) and she never had the chance to be my biggest supporter, my most vocal advocate...She never got to call me and my wife “De best lezbie in de world”.

2012: The Destined Self

Is there a parallel universe out there? One in which we made all the right turns and followed through on all our decisions? Is there a version of ourselves, complete and whole, for whom regret is a sensation unknown?

I like to imagine there is, and that evolved and perfect person, we can call her destiny. Flashes of clarity, intense dreams, deja vu; perhaps these are all moments in which the inescapable truth of destiny has broken through. Like shards of light on a thickly clouded day, she makes her truth known in sometimes subtle ways.

There are many ways in which we try to gain access to our destined selves; drugs, alcohol, travel, adrenaline rushes. But the drugs wear off and create even greater distance to our destined selves. The alcohol blurs the line between the selves, and travel can ignite the spark which makes us chase the destined self forever.

Solitude. To open the portals to our destined selves we must find solitude. Moments in which there is silence, enough to stop the mindless chatter and open up dialogue with our destined selves, that person you so rarely speak with or listen to. You never email them or write. You never call them. You just wait for them to call you. But the destined self gets tired of waiting around, waiting until you call. Then one day you finally muster up the courage to call your destined self, in one of those brave dashes of desperation to live to your true spirit. But she's not home. You were too late, call back later.

Your two selves continue to co-exist, parallel stories, overlaying in parts like a choose-your-own-adventure book. Your destined self was living your destined life all along. She was just waiting for you to find the break in the page, the right pause between words, courage between the falls...to slip into the gaps of your consciousness and into the rhythm of your soul.

I give my pen now to my destined self and let her be the author of the story of my life. Who is writing your story?

Only in silence can I hear my heart speak. It whispers through the trees, brushes gently over my skin, calls to me in subtle and gentle ways. Only in silence can I quiet the screams.

 

Happy New Year.

The Conscience of a Nation

Here we are, 2011, a secular and seemingly progressive nation, and still we must fight for the right to marry. Those who do not care see it as a “gay issue”, those who do insist it is a basic human rights issue. One thing which remains blurred is the line between religion and marriage. Why is this so? We are living in a secular society in Australia, state and religion removed. This makes sense, as we are a nation made of many religions, cultures and communities, thus there would never be one god’s law which could accommodate the others. The GLBTI community extends to and includes parents, siblings, children, friends, pastors and ministers of parliament all of whom form part of the fabric of a community. There is no such thing as a “gay issue”, any more than there are “straight issues”. We all must abide by the same laws, and there are no gay laws after all.  

Our present Marriage Act 1961 is a document written by the hand of a living, breathing human. The Marriage Act is a document like any other, not a commandment passed down from a god. No, it is a product of a society which felt it reflected the values and appropriate model of its era. Times have changed, as they do and always will. We have the power to put pen to paper and re-write, edit and update this document to reflect the times in which we live.

Changes have been made time again over decades which saw the need to update the model of marriage as a legally binding agreement. The marriageable age, dissolution of marriage and the allowing of civil celebrants to conduct ceremonies; the latter being updated in the Marriage Amendment Act 2002 to reflect a surge in the use of civil celebrants. All these additions and amendments have been made to reflect changing times, yet those who oppose same-sex marriage still insist that the institution of marriage as it stands needs to be protected and we do not have the right to change it. Do we not? Tell me please, that we do not live in a country whereby our laws are not able to be amended to reflect our growth, our maturity, and our changing needs? This sounds dangerous to me.

Honourable Prime Minister Julia Gillard, when this conscience vote you have oh so mercifully and passively allowed fails, tell me on whose conscience the inequality of our citizens will rest? Ms Gillard, explain to me why same-sex partners cannot have the choice to marry or to remain de facto as you yourself have been able to choose? Explain to me now, why it is that our government so enthusiastically taxes us equally, yet cannot celebrate us quite so passionately? More importantly, why Prime Minister, is an educated, agnostic leader as yourself still pandering to those who believe that our laws, bills and policies are the work of a Christian God, not your own predecessors?

I would like to think the Marriage Act is like a patchwork quilt which over time will be added to; as it grows we will look back over it, reading its story and weaving our new threads into it. It will change as each generation has its say on which direction it will take. Let no one own love more than another.

     

December 4^th 2011