Tag Archives: slice of life

Creativity and Disability – Will You Listen?

Pick your label:

Downs Syndrome.

Asperger’s Syndrome.

Autism.

Cerebral palsy.

Bipolar.

Schizophrenia.

Paraplegia.

Quadriplegia.

Blind.

Deaf.

All of the above.

Any I may have missed?

When used in relation to people with a disability we use distinctions and nomenclature to quantify who someone is, something other than “normal.”

To pacify our guilt and discomfort at a person’s lack of physical or intellectual ability we offer art and music as a remedial activity. It is put forward as a pastime to keep someone occupied, a way of staving off boredom.

Why do we relegate arts and creativity as a remedial activity; as something to amuse or fill in time?

To do so is to mute the voice of those who have none and to disempower the individual. 

When a person with a physical, mental or intellectual disability is given the opportunity to speak in another voice, they are empowered.

Creativity (art, music, literature) is a voice for those who do not have one.

Don’t dis my ability. Not disabled.

Differently abled.

We disempower them because we refuse to listen to their voice; we believe they have nothing of value to say. We are sanctimonious and privileged in our opinion that a person with a disability cannot be creative.

I believe in the power of creativity to tell your story, using your own voice, your own expression, your own understanding and your own perception of the world.

When we relegate creativity to a remedial activity, a pastime to occupy and amuse, we diminish the role of the creative arts and silence the voice of the individual.

Creativity is a voice with which to speak. Voices with unique timbre and quality, even if the words are not easy to understand.

Hear my voice regardless of how I speak. Don’t view me as disabled or look at me through my disability; listen to what I have to say. 

Yet sometimes, art and creativity is the only voice with which someone has to speak.

We ostracise the artistic rather than balancing it against the academic and logical, the scientific and practical. Even in these areas there is great creativity.

Can we help tell their story? Give them the skills and techniques to create their own works of art? I believe in the dignity of the humanity of each person and it should be respected. 

Allow each person to find their voice. Give each person permission to speak.

We must move beyond treating people with a physical, intellectual or mental disability as incapable of having a voice.

The ad promoting the London Paralympics Games in 2012 gives me goose bumps every time because it is a powerful statement of voice. You can watch it here.

Art, like sport, is transcendent of language. The coded symbolism is independent of the alpha-numeric symbolism of codified spoken and written language. Culture and knowledge informs the construction of the work of art; we may not speak English or French or Spanish or Mandarin or Afrikaans but we understand the message coded in the art.

When we speak with and through art, we use a commonality of language that gives voice. When I look at and appreciate a piece of art, I do not need to know the background of the artist, their ability or disability. I hear their voice in their work. Knowledge of their background enhances and brings clarity of understanding to their message, but it is not essential.

There are many great organizations giving voice to people with disabilities. One of them is Studio ARTES  (They are also on Facebook) – a facility for people with a range of physical and intellectual disabilities, for life skills training, art training and socialization. It has been something I’ve encountered for many years because my mother was one of the founding members. She was working as an occupational therapist at a school for students with specific needs and her creative partner, Wendy, was the art teacher. Their vision was to extend the opportunities for people with specific needs post school.

I have seen the power of art when people are given a voice to express themselves. Lars was a young man with an intellectual disability who gained a remarkable voice through the nurturing of his artistic talent. His art was bought by members of parliament and hung in the foyers of well-known companies. He had a droll, dry wit and was a remarkable talent. 

On the occasion of his passing, Member of Parliament, Judy Hopwood, had this to say. Hansart Transcript 

You can see retrospective collection of some of his works on Facebook

Besides painting at Studio ARTES, many are involved in the practice of Saori weaving (‘sa’ = difference; ‘ori’ = weaving), a Japanese art form that has come to represent the ability of all to be creative without preconceived notions of correctness.

The beginnings of Saori start with Misao Jo who wove a cloth but because of a missing warp thread it was perceived as flawed. Undeterred, she wove more cloths with ‘flaws’ and ‘faults’ and produced beautiful cloths, praised by a high-end cloth merchant. Read about the philosophy of Saori here.

When teaching her students, Misao taught them the basics of weaving and left them to do as they pleased; an opportunity to discover their true self. My mother has had the pleasure of meeting Misao Jo on occasions when she has visited Japan.

Hence the application for people with disabilities is inexhaustible because there are no preconceived rules and boundaries; it is the individual who creates. Carmel, a client of Studio ARTES, is deaf and blind and spends hours at the loom using the texture of wools, twigs, feathers, ribbons etc to create beautiful works of art.

It removes the pretence of ‘correct’ and gives power to speak.

When will we let go of the idea that people with disabilities have no need to be creative? To let go of the notion that they cannot be creative? That art and music is only remedial and a pastime to stave off boredom? When will we allow them to speak with their own voice instead of presuming we know how to speak for them?

We must stop treating creative arts as a sidelined respite and return it to the centre of our cultural heritage alongside mathematics, science and the humanities. Creativity inhabits the spectrum of cognitive disciplines; it is not the domain of one and nor is it limited to those considered “normal.”

If you are without a voice, borrow someone else’s until you find your own.

I want to spend some more time amongst the people of Studio ARTES, to hear their stories, to be their hands to write when they cannot and project their story when and where I can. There is a beautiful lack of inhibition in many of the people who attend the studio, and a great deal of candor; they will tell you how they feel, direct and to the point. It’s a voice I want to hear more of.

I know that we won’t truly learn to love our neighbour as ourselves if we do not hear their story. Not for the sake of pity or sympathy, but for the dignity of the individual.

I have written before that everyone needs a creative manifesto, a reason why they create. I have also spoken about creating from a place of pain (and it has relevance to people with mental illness like depression or anxiety or bipolar) and I believe it is appropriate for a person with a physical or intellectual disability to have the same belief in their creativity.

I had a couple of responses when I put the idea of creativity and disability out there on Facebook one day.

Writer Marc Nash (@21stCscribe), put forward this point, “The people who can’t speak for themselves or can’t be heard, are unlikely to be able to read the words of those who want to help amplify them. That is an inherently political act of writing, which is how I regard my own approach, but it still is one based on certain privileges: – literacy, education, technology (e-readers) and the free time to write. These I find are paradoxes as much as inspirations.”

It is a paradox and a dichotomy but I want to stand for those who are marginalised and to help speak for them.

Two others commented:

“I had never given it a thought until a heard an interview on Radio National a fortnight ago with a burlesque teacher who was given the privilege of teaching a young woman with Down syndrome. At first I thought it sounded exploitative, but it gave the young woman so much joy and made her feel like a regular woman.” 

“A friend of ours has a son with Down Syndrome who has been a regular at our local Uniting Care. They have really done wonderful things with him (and others apparently), introducing him to art (painting, sculpture etc) and music. He has since taken to painting like a duck to water (even selling some of them through his parents business) and has recently taken up music lessons. Uniting Care need to be commended for both developing a sense of worth for this boy but also for their commitment to more than just paint-by-numbers in their approach.”

Tangential Question: what other avenues do the disempowered and marginalised have for speaking? Rap? Hip hop? Graffiti? Heavy metal? Poetry? Painting? Sculpture? Photography?

Are we listening to the marginalised and disempowered?

 

Let me hear your voice without words.

Let me hear your voice through the images you paint.

Let me hear your voice through the music you play.

Let me hear your voice through your hands, your heart, your mind.

Speak, and I will listen.

 

 

Light My Way – 7 Very Short Stories

Creativity is a significant part of my life, and I hope to encourage others to pursue creativity in their own way (there are lots of posts here on the site to read about the creative life). 

My creative life is focused on writing: novels, novella, short stories, bad poetry, and twitfic. Currently I have had to put my WIPs: a collaborative epistolary novel (edits almost complete) and a novella (first 4K is down), on hold due to work commitments.

But I can spare brief moments to compose short pieces of twitter fiction to keep my creative well filled and enjoy playing with language. 

These seven pieces of twit fic were inspired by a radio interview where the interviewee, an actor, talked about the presence of cameras and flashes. I wanted to explore different ways of seeing light, from the whimsical and playful to existential and reflective but based on my focus on the ennui and minutiae of life as the basis for my stories. See if you can spot the Star Wars reference (it’s pretty obvious). The last piece is a nod to my collaborative epistolary novel, Post Marked: Piper’s Reach.

There is no narrative thread here, unlike other twitfic series Polaroid Memories and A Thought’s Reliquary (I like the number 7 as  a form, like Jacques speech from “As You Like It”). They are lights strung in a sequence like lights on a Christmas tree.

I hope you enjoy it.

Light My Way

I.

“Let there be light,” he said flicking the switch.

“Daaaad,” was the groaned reply.

The Christmas tree exploded in colour, their groans silenced.

II.

As the camera flashed she closed her eyes.

“Stop ruining the photo,” yelled Mum.

She wondered how many pieces of her soul remained.

III.

The dust motes floated in the tractor-beam like shaft of light on the desk. She splayed her fingers and wished, “Teleport me off this rock.”

IV.

Beside the pillar of empty milk crates, he studied the shadow’s patterns; his own stained glass windows. He went inside the milk bar to worship.

V.

His first digital watch enthralled him but it was the ability to see the numbers in the dark kept him awake at night. It deterred the monsters.

VI.

Each boy shone his torch through the smoke of the bonfire.

“Light sabres!” one yelled.

The melee started, dying with the fading smoke.

VII.

He held the mirror fragment and reflected the beam from the lighthouse across the bay onto the notepad on his knees.

“I will light your way.”

Have You Read A Very Short Story Today? Part 4

A smorgasbord of twitfic from the past couple of days, and a bonus poem. The content ranges from absurdist romance, existential contemplation and a nod to childhood games and Indiana Jones.

On Friday I will post a bonus themed set of twitfic based on the idea of light.

Today’s Menu

I.

He pegged his clothes in semaphore, glancing over the fence to see if the neighbour responded. The following day her own code answered.

II.

He patted the black dog sprawled like a blanket over his feet making it hard to get up. “I think it’s time to go, Old Yella,” he said.

III.

The handwritten note taped to his bedroom door read, “Teh floor iz lava.” “This will make getting to bed a bit tricky,” he said.

IV.

The thin shaft of light from the curtains divided the lounge room in half. He prepared to cross, wondering if there were poison arrows.

V.

“It’s a matter of perspective. Are you coming or going?” he asked.

“From there to here or here to there?”

“Wherever your feet lead.”

VI.

Their connection sparked as they reached for toilet paper. But he knew it wouldn’t work; she reached for 2-ply while he grasped 3-ply.

VII.

Koi circled over, under; a universe expanding, contracting as their tails flowed like comets and mouths as black holes consumed food.

And today’s bonus poem.

While I sit on my bike
At the level crossing
The bells sound ding-da-ding
Red and white arms crossed
Then open and beckon
A thousand paths

Have You Read A Very Short Story Today? Part 3

Why write twitfic? I like the immediacy of the form.

Even though it lacks the depth of a short story and the carefully structured nuances of a novel, twitfic captures the essence of forward momentum in a given scene.

My preferred genre to write in is suburban realism, a term coined for me by a friend. I don’t write spec fic, sci fi, fantasy, horror, romance, historical or *insert genre here* (although I do like reading some of them).

I write about people in the current moments of their life. This for me, is the charm of story. Little moments of every day, when seen as a whole, is like a daisy chain of memory or a rosary to be recited.

These moments can be whimsical, humourous, reflective, serious, ones of regret, loss, pain, sorrow or love.

These moments are what I attempt to capture in writing twitfic.

Today’s Offerings:

I.

Every day of his 20s he wrote himself a note, sealed it and waited sixty years. Every day of his 80s a new revelation awaited.

II.

Others sat absorbed in books or papers; he with the view outside the train window. “It’s never the same story,” he once answered.

III.

Standing midst the blackened skeletons of once proud trees the ash turned her sandalled feet grey. She spotted the first green spark.

IV.

He took the new pair of underpants from the packet and put them on. In the mirror he twisted and squatted. “Ladies undies do fit nicely.”

V.

The gaping maw of the steam engine’s furnace harnessed the fury.
“Oi, son, where the hell you been?” roared his father.
He recoiled.

Have You Read A Very Short Story Today? Part 2

Whether or not you subscribe to the idea that you can write a complete story in 140 characters, there is a challenge to compose a piece of writing that can be loosely termed a “story,” something that has a beginning, a middle and an end.

I see Twitter fiction (twitfic) as capturing a moment, a breath, a held thought, but one that has movement and momentum both forward and backwards.

The power of the story relies on the choice of imagery and sentence structure by the writer to paint the broadest picture with the fewest brush strokes.

It does rely on you, the reader, to fill in the gaps and create the character, using your knowledge and understanding of story to join the dots and create your own meaning to the story.

Here is my latest collection of twitfic.

The coins gratefully absorbed the warmth of her hands. Placed on his eyelids they tried to give back warmth where there was no life.

 

I.

He stood watching the town’s first set of traffic lights order the comings and goings. After the third set of changes he went on green.

II.

He played every game show, answered every question, took home fabulous prizes but his biggest regret was losing Monopoly to his nephews.

III.

He collects the whispers like butterflies; pinned to mounting board and labelled. When he has sufficient they burn and float as ghosts.

IV.

She replaced every mirror in the house with a funhouse version to imitate the reality she saw. One day someone offered her a hammer.

V.

Fold, crease, fold again as the water lily took form in paper. She dropped it into the gutter’s surge and wished as it sailed away.

Do you have a particular favourite? Which one and why?

Life In A Sandwich – Micropoetry

A sandwich cut into triangles

Reflective symmetry of order

Yet between the layers

A disordered concoction

But it’s how he liked his life

 

Spinning Silken Answers – Micro Poetry

I have always loved the creative marvel that is a spider’s web; intricate and delicate, while strong and resilient. It is easily broken, and easily repaired, yet not without cost to the spider. It is a wonderful construction and a sign of decay and decrepitude.

These ideas sparked this poem.

Plucking at the spider’s web

Of silken strength

Elegant engineering

A sign of abandonment

And decay

She walks home with answers

Button Up – Very Short Story

This evening a friend who is participating in National Novel Writing Month asked for some prompts to help them along while writing today.

Someone wrote this: “Mismatched buttons sliding around the bottom of the underwear drawer.”

My mother used to have a plastic ice cream container of buttons. I have no idea where they all came from; I assume years of extraneous buttons collected from clothes or the bottom of the washing machine.

It sparked this piece of twitter fiction:

He scooped a handful of mismatched buttons & let them scatter on the table into a random alphabet of hand-me-downs, wishing for his own.

Have You Read A Very Short Story Today?

Today I had a little splurge on writing very short stories on twitter. I’ve compiled them here for your perusal, with a little refinement. (Must return to writing my novella.)

I.

He held the dandelion in his pudgy hand.

“I am the destroyer of worlds,” he said, then blew.

A hundred worlds took flight in genesis.

II.

She watched the rain speak in the puddles; the geometric voice of Gallifrey she saw on tv, retreated into her mind to explore time & space.

III.

The inhabitants of Kelvinator measured their daily cycle by the light’s sporadic flashes. They cursed their gods when the light failed.

IV.

The telephone wires paralleled his pace with the road; watching the cables looping from post to post, connecting the lover and the loved as a physical symbol.

Which is your favourite? Write one of your own in the comments.

Raining Arguments – Very Short Story

Behind her the argument continued as she watched two rain drops run parallel down the window, merged, then broke apart again.