Summer Time

Summertime seems to leave me without much time. Somehow, I'm managing to be busier this summer than when the university is in session. In my hurried moments away from my work, I tend to forget about the city that's out there. And I don't want to forget about it - I want to take more time this summer to explore, not less. As such, I'm going to take some summer time off from blogging. I may show up now and then to share a photo or write a thought, but over the next two months, I'm going to do my best to spend time living in the city, and not necessarily writing about it. I hope that, as readers, you will be inspired to do the same. If there's nothing new here to read, I can assure you that there is at least something new to be seen - so go out, and see it. And if you see something that strikes you, think about writing it too. Journal Edmonton accepts submissions!

Wrapping up the Graffiti Theme

For the past two weeks my posts have centered around the topic of graffiti – I wrote in reaction to a particular piece of graffiti, and I shared a collection of graffiti-images from around the city. The theme wasn’t deliberate, but now that I’ve realized that it exists, I feel like I should write one more thing on the topic to round it out.

So, graffiti.

Though I’ve never been a graffiteur myself, I must confess, I am attracted to the art – that is, when it’s actually art. I’m not a fan of tagging, as it has more of a cluttering effect on the cityscape, as opposed to the brightening and enlivening feeling that good graffiti, well-placed, can bring. But when graffiti is artistic, I think it begins to give the city a language of its own – a language that the streets can speak, one that everybody hears.

I like the natural juxtapositions that are created when you place art on a concrete face – you cannot remove the art from its environment, because the environment is part of the art. Likewise, graffiti interacts with other graffiti – I’ve often wanted to piece together some story or poem using only the words and images of graffiteurs, and to find, between the words of so many hands, some city story.

I wonder what that story would say. I would hope that there would be more than just the illegible, unpronounceable names of casual spray-can wielders. I would hope that there would be some bit of concrete wisdom, or maybe a string of words just confusing enough to reveal their own clarity.

Graffiti

graffito, n.
Forms: Pl. graffiti

A drawing or writing scratched on a wall or other surface; a scribbling on an ancient wall, as those at Pompeii and Rome. Also, words or images marked (illegally) in a public places, esp. using aerosol paint. [OED]

 

 

   

Portfolio [3]

Q: When is a bus stop more romantic than a moonlit fountain?

I came across this question in a parking lot at the UofA, and knew immediately that I wanted to answer it. You see, I can think of plenty of times when a bus stop becomes romantic, and as for moonlit fountains, well, to be quite honest, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one, except in a movie, and that doesn’t seem to count. So, here are a couple bus stops that I can call to mind:


Near the Emergency entrance at the UofA hospital, a man sits with a white cowboy hat on his head. In his hands are six more identical hats, but in brown. He places them atop the first, so that his head becomes a hat-stand for the collection. And he sits, and waits for the bus.


In my neighbourhood, several of us stand, waiting. We squint into the silence of the morning sun, searching for a bus. Then, there is the sound of a squirrel skittering up a tree. In an instant, our heads turn, but the squirrel is already gone. We return to waiting.



As I begin to write answers to the graffiti artist’s question, it occurs to me that this isn’t so much about answers after all. I think the real reason that I was drawn to this question is that it speaks to my affinity with this city – we don’t have much in the way of moonlit fountains, but we do have plenty of bus stops. And I don’t think there’s anything particularly romantic about either of those things, until you decide to look. When I walk through Edmonton, I’m looking for ways to make those bus stops and street signs and sidewalks and skyscrapers and storefronts seem romantic. Or, if not romantic, then intriguing, mystifying, comforting, [insert adjective of the day]. It’s about finding something a little bit extra, about asserting your own needs over your city space, and finding ways that the existing space can meet with your desires.

That said, somebody else did feel an answer was important:

A: When the company kept is paramount to any scenic view

Motion

Gusty, blustery, and tempestuous - this past week has been a whirlwind for me, both in the weather and in my writing. I'm having trouble sitting down with one thing at a time, and I can feel myself being thrown in all directions even when I'm inside, safe from the wind. As I was trying to write my way out of the whirlwind and into a blog post, I recalled this piece, which I wrote some time ago, sitting in the Starbucks on Calgary Trail. Somehow, it seems appropriate for such a windy time. It's called "Motion."

“...a body with no net force acting on it will either remain at rest or continue to move with uniform speed in a straight line, according to its initial condition of motion. In fact, in classical Newtonian mechanics, there is no important distinction between rest and uniform motion...” ("uniform motion." Encyclopædia Britannica. 2010. Encyclopædia Britannica Online. 12 Dec. 2010)

The cars move past at such uniform speed that I wonder if it is them that are moving at all. I imagine myself sitting here, sliding sideways in this coffee shop while the rest of the world stands still, and I wonder how long it will take me to go around all the way, whether I’ll even make it all the way around.

A silver car speeds up, passing the others, and the coffee shop stops moving. I stop moving. I become an inanimate point, and the world revolves- not around me, but outside of me, beyond me.

The only other stillness I can find is a scattering of pigeons perched on the telephone wires, and I wonder if they are moving or not.

Portfolio [2]

As I write this I am watching the may trees in my backyard sway in the wind. My grandfather planted them before I was born: one for each of my three sisters. Past them is our clothes line, the aging telephone wires, the dusty back alley. I feel safe. I feel at home.
I consider the installment of photos that I posting today. In contrast to the rich green out my window, the pictures seem especially dark, especially grimy. I wonder for a moment: Should I post these? Is it right to portray the city in such a dark light when the spring has brought just beauty? Is it fair to do this to my home?
I stop myself. This is the curse of feeling secure. When we are in times of plenty we like to pretend that the darkness does not exist. And by denying its existence we can never fully confront it. In the case of Canada’s colonial legacies (which I address in this portfolio) this means never truly questioning how we live and how we perpetuate injustice today.
It’s not that we should never be happy. Instead, it’s that we should never give in to the temptation of willful ignorance. I can take joy in the beauty of the may flowers or the dusty back alley, but I cannot forget that the land in which those trees are planted or which those roads divide was not my family’s to take. I can peer out at my neighbourhood with affection, but I cannot forget that there are people in this city who do not have the luxury of a place to sleep.
So while my photos may seem out of place amongst the excitement and beauty of the Edmonton spring, I post them as a reminder: let us not forget the injustices that are always being committed, despite what the view from our window may be.

This is the second installment of a portfolio featuring my own photos and the words of Dennis Lee and The Weakerthans. You can check out the first installment here.

Lecture Recap: Dr. Solomon Benatar and The Legacy of the 20th Century

A few days ago I had the opportunity to attend a talk on human rights given by Dr. Solomon Benatar. His lecture focused on the legacy of the 20th century and its impact on the current state of human rights across the globe. What follows is a quick summary of some of the key points for those who didn’t have the opportunity to attend the lecture.

1. The pursuit of knowledge needs to give way to the use of knowledge wisely.

The pursuit of knowledge should never be cast aside, but there needs to be research into how we can wisely apply the information we already have. Many of the technical / medical innovations over the past century have done little to improve the lives of people living in third world countries due to number of reasons, but inadequate research into application is one of them.

2. A shift from massive, blanket programs to focused, small-scale projects.

With the proper funding a well-guided program is the most effective way to improve the health of the third world. Blanket strategies need to give way to malleable tactics that can adapt to the specific challenges that each environment poses.

3. Re-envisioning of health as a not simply biological, but also social and political.

Our idea of health needs to be extended beyond traditional biological notions. Medicine is great at treating individuals but not populations. In order to help populations we need to extend our ideas about health to include the political, social, and technological aspects.

During the question period Dr. Benatar was asked where he places his hope. He replied by saying that he placed no hope in governments or corporations, only for ordinary people, “the people in the streets.” He called for an extension of the civic community that would put globalization to a positive use. In closing, he stresses that any treatment, just as in medicine, can be painful, slow, and sometimes it’s not successful; it’s an ongoing process that needs not only the correct diagnosis and prognosis, but also time and patience.

An Alley in Black and White

It's been too long since I've photographed this city, so I decided to do a photo essay this week. Well, that's what I intended to do. But photo essay turned into photo poem. I walked down a single alley, shooting with a single lens (50mm, f1.8), processed the images in a single tone (black and white), and gave each one a single word.

aligning

crumbling

monuments

directing

patchwork

prayers

threading

thoughts

opening

up

perspectives

combine

aligning crumbling monuments

directing patchwork prayers

threading thoughts.

opening up, 

perspectives combine.

Why So Serious?

I am a native of Deadmonton.  Every inhabitant of this city recognizes and acknowledges that name.

As I mentioned in a previous presentation, we are the self-proclaimed dead.  But why?  Who can we blame but ourselves if we think the city and its walkers are dead?  Why are we so sullen and serious about our home town and its apparent lack of vivacity?  Before death there is life - if the city is truly dead, she must have lived before.  Many have no fond recollections of Edmonton before Deadmonton.  I believe that Edmontonians are engaged in poor and ineffective coping strategies when it comes to the death of our home.

In a psychological study by Susan Folkman and Judith Tedlie Moskowitz titled Stress, Positive Emotion, and Coping, they monitored gay men whose partners were diagnosed with AIDS to assess coping mechanisms and their effectiveness after the death of the partners.  The "creation of positive events strategy" in which ordinary, fleeting moments were imbued with special meaning was judged to be an effective means of coping.  Of particular interest regarding this strategy was that the ability to find humour in the situation aided in the creation of positive events.  As stated, the "gallows humour" helped to preserve the loved one in a positive light.  By wallowing in our misery and boredom after the death of Edmonton, we are suffering for our poor coping (or lack thereof).

Additional research by Dacher Keltner et al. focused on facial expression and personal adjustment.  They pinpointed a particular kind of laughter called "Duchenne laughter" which involves a specific muscle and indicates positive emotions.  When interviewing widowed adults about their deceased spouses, those who exhibited Duchenne laughter were seen in a more positive light by strangers and were better settled and more comfortable with their current significant other.  If we feel lost, trapped, or ill-settled within our lives, it may be because we have failed to engage our orbicular oculi muscles in genuine laughter - we have barred ourselves from true happiness and recovery.

The long and short of it is: why so serious?!  Sometimes you just have to laugh - even if it's inappropriate.  By creating positive events, we can create the city as we wish to remember it.  Find the humour in the city!  We can preserve the positive memories of Edmonton through good humour, a positive outlook, and a heartfelt chuckle.

Photo by Cathryn Beck

Susan Folkman and Judith Tedlie Moskowitz.  Stress, Positive Emotion, and Coping (Vol. IX, No. 4, 2000 pp. 115-118).


Dacher Keltner, Ann M. Kring, and George A. Bonanno.  Fleeting Signs of the Course of Life: Facial Expression and Personal Adjustment (Vol. VIII, No. 1, 1999, pp. 18-22).

Detour

Apologies for the delay in posting, I spent a full day at the office yesterday and somewhere in between booking subscriptions and printing invoices, the post slipped my mind. You do get a double feature on this glorious Saturday, though!

This poem was written on a bus trip I took on one of those nights where I was feeling restless. Rather than take the 8 Millwoods to my house, I took the 1 Capilano all the way to its transit centre, just to see what that particular route looks like.

last night, I took the bus

40 blocks past my street

just so I could glimpse

the unearthly lights of Refinery Row

this no-man’s zone, this lonely home

like something from a science fiction comic book

that single place unknown

as the bus bumped through

the cool, blue night

and the orange staring street lamps

become a thousand seers high above me

I realized how little I know about these sidewalks

the fluorescent signs scream through the dark silhouettes

WE EXIST

like the child who screams

for want of a tender touch

for want of recognition as something beyond

a shell to be filled

with the invented stories of the sea

and all its monsters

Insulated City

Last week I looked at how space can impose a regiment upon our day to day actions, effectively pushing us away from chance encounters. This week I want to continue in the same vein, but with more focus on the relationship between living space and social interaction. The way I see it, and please comment if you feel differently, Edmonton forces many of its citizens to make the conscious choice of interacting with the city or remaining insulated from it.

Photo by Erika Luckert

Many cities offer a barrier between the personal and the social, but they do so through the use of distant suburbs, while Edmonton nestles them right into the heart of the city, creating pockets of insulation. For example, areas such as Garneau, Windsor Park, and Oliver, are sanctuaries that shelter their inhabitants from the daily frenzy of the city, ultimately allowing for a more gradual immersion into social space.

I like to picture Edmonton as a gradient--a smooth transition--rather than it being confined to the simple pairings of inside-personal / outside-social. Edmonton allows its residents to wander outside of their homes relatively free from social bombardment; however, this range of movement necessitates that Residents must consciously move towards a social nexus, instead of suddenly being immersed in one; the connection isn’t forced, only the choice is. In contrast, larger cities, or those cities with space constraints, don’t have outside space that is free from the bustle of the city; the instant you walk outside you are soaked with social stimuli.

The choice, then, to enter into social space is linked with the outside in these larger cities, while in Edmonton the outside still has some connection to the personal (sidebar: or maybe in larger cities the abrupt collision of personal space and social space causes them to spill into each other. Edmonton then would be reinforcing personal space by allowing a buffer to develop between the personal and the social...). Whatever the case, I think Edmonton embraces an approach to space that favours slow transitions over instant immersion. Next week I will be looking at the implications of this conscious, gradual movement into social space.

in-between places

My first contribution to Journal Edmonton was going to be a love letter to the city's secondhand bookstores. But as I wrote I took a wrong turn at the thought of online book-buying, which led me to consider what's missing (materially, locationally) from places like kobobooks.com and thebookdepository.co.uk, and eventually I got lost, somewhere in the idea of the distances — and how essential they are to place and narrative.

I don't have anything against ebooks (dear publishing industry, stop panicking! The codex is not the be-all and end-all of this thing we call the book!), but personally, I like to experience my book-buying binges with all five senses and the unpredictability that accompanies walking in the city. If you order a book online, there's no chance of a chance encounter — having an allergic reaction to the cat presiding over the second floor; walking past the Wee Book Inn and seeing that they have Neil Gaiman's ten-volume Sandman series on sale. If you're clicking, not walking, you're not going to be able to duck into Block 1812 (or is it 1912? I always forget) for gelato, or drop by Chapters on Whyte to say hello to your friends who work there.

Photo by Erika Luckert.

Usually, we think of the distances between places as something to be overcome, like the fifteen-minute LRT ride you slip your earbuds in to get through. But I think that distances also bring places together, in addition to keeping them apart. Distances force you to travel, and that travel creates a kind of narrative. Narrative is essential to how we make sense of places, especially conglomerates of dissimilar places like neighbourhoods and cities.

And this only happens in physical city space. Hyperlinks are, of course, a form of travel. You can check browsing history to stalk someone's journey online. It's kind of mind-numbingly fun to go on Wikipedia for twenty minutes and see if you can get from "chocolate" to "Jesus." But online, it's all instantaneous, disembodied travel, characterised by sameness — like hermetically sealed airplanes, like spooling up the FTL drive and blipping from planet to planet without getting to see the stars.

This is the geography of the web: when you travel it you naturally follow metonymic or metaphoric routes, moving based on principles of contiguity and similarity. It's easy to blinker yourself and stay within communities tailored to your interests. Physical neighbourhoods, though, have a sort of necessary heterogeneity: the gas station is by the yoga studio is by the DQ is by the elementary school, and these are all juxtaposed; they coexist.

In the city, there is always a chance encounter. You can take a wrong turn and discover someplace you've never been before — a place that might be outside of your comfort zone, but which you have to confront anyway, because you can't just click a back button. You can set out to walk a preplanned secondhand bookstore crawl and end up lost, thinking about in-between places.

What’s in a Home?

Home?

Despite the major news stories of the past few days, I'd like to return to a more minor story that may have slipped through unnoticed. On Saturday, twitter (follow us @journaledmonton) led me to  CTV’s article titled “Fire leaves man with nothing.” I must confess, when I discovered that the man in question was homeless, my first thought was, “leaves man with nothing? Isn’t ‘nothing’ all that he had to begin with?”

But then I realized I was wrong. A shelter built of 50 old tires isn’t nothing. It’s an engineering feat. And the candle lit inside of it (the one that started the fire) isn’t nothing either. It’s light, heat, and a little bit of flickering companionship. CTV’s article says that the man “lost all of his possessions,” and I can’t help wondering what those possessions might have been. A few more spare candles? Some food, saved for a hungry day? A well-read paperback?

What’s in a home?

Is it the things inside that make it? The security of walls, of being able to make everything else “outside”?

There’s the old cliché, home is where the heart is. And most clichés come with an element of truth. But there seems to be a truth in our architecture too – in our obsession with building homes, defining spaces to call our own. Do we need to draw a line in the sand in order to feel that we belong someplace? Do we all need some form of house to call a home, even if it’s a collection of worn tires?

In many ways, CTV’s article read much like any other news report of a house fire. Everything was lost, nobody was injured, adjacent buildings still stand intact.

My grandmother recently told me the story of her daughter’s vacation house burning to the ground. She had been there for the weekend, and when she saw the nearby fire spreading, she phoned her daughter, who was out, to ask what she should save from the house. “Nothing,” was the answer she received. Still, my grandmother took a few family photos off the wall as she left. Later, she found out that there were digital backups, and she needn’t have bothered. But that instinct was there – to save something. Some piece of what we’ve built.

What’s in a home, when it’s burned to the ground? Will that man go back, after the cameras and fire trucks have gone, and sift through the ashes? Will he search for something to save, or will he simply move on, and start building again?

Portfolio [1]

Dwelling among the
bruised and infinitely binding world
are we not meant to
relinquish it all, to begin at last
the one abundant psalm of letting be?
-Dennis Lee, “Civil Elegies”

Edmonton is a difficult home. As much as I have longed for an easy definition of that word, “home,” over the years I’ve realized that this city will not offer it. When I think of Edmonton I feel a mixture of affection and alienation, sentimentality and sorrow. I could never quite explain why until about 6 years ago, when one of my older sisters introduced me to The Weakerthans. Through their music, the band attempts to negotiate their own troubled relationship with Winnipeg. Lead singer John K Samson questions why he cannot forgive the “frameworks labelled home” and mourns his city whose streets will “never take [him] anywhere.” I have often turned to the band’s work when I feel overwhelmed by the city, the land and our relationship with it.

Then, this year, I was introduced to Dennis Lee’s “Civil Elegies.” Lee wrote the long poem in 1967, when he was struggling to understand what it meant to live in an “outpost of empire.” He examines how Canada’s colonial legacies have manifested themselves in our oppressive urban environments. Our cities are clogged with spectres of those “born in Canada” who “died truncated, stunted, never at / home in native space and not yet / citizens of a body of kind.” Canada has “specialized in this deprivation.”

Taken together, the Weakerthans and Dennis Lee somehow manage to express those emotions with which I have struggled my entire life. While they write about Winnipeg and Toronto, respectively, their words easily apply to Edmonton. Moved by their honesty, I set out to document my own experiences in this city through photography. The result is a short portfolio featuring photos I have taken as I walk through Edmonton, accompanied by lines from both “Civil Elegies” and various songs by the Weakerthans. While I took the photos with the spirit of these works in mind, none of them were taken to match specific lines. This is the first of 6 installments.

Lee, Dennis. "Civil Elegies." Civil Elegies and Other Poems. Toronto: Anansi, 1972. 33-57. Print.

Weakerthans. "Left and Leaving." Left and Leaving. Epitaph, 2000. MP3.

---. "This is a Fire Door Never Leave Open." Left and Leaving. Epitaph, 2000. MP3.

All You Need is Love…Sort of: Brad Fraser’s latest comedy proves that absolutely nothing is cut-and-dried

   True Love Lies opens with a look into the Sawatsky household; mom Carolyn (Kate Ryan) is filling the dishwasher, daughter Madison (Nicola Elbro) is on her way to look for a job and dad Kane (Frank Zotter) is returning from a business meeting just as son Royce (Thomas Barnet) is returning from a day at high school. They seem like a nice, normal family in a nice, normal situation.

Fortunately for audiences, that statement could not be farther from the truth.

   Things quickly get weird when Madison tries to apply for a job working at Mary’s, owned and managed by David McMillan (David Keely), a former…friend of Kane’s. A little prodding around the dinner table reveals Kane’s past relationship with David, much to the chagrin of Carolyn and the disbelief, fascination and disgust of Madison and Royce. Without giving too much away, from that point on, truths are revealed, lies are told, relationships fail and yet, a space of understanding is opened up between all the characters.

   The show itself is fast-paced, acerbic and hysterically funny, but also heartbreaking at times. Fraser has written a fantastic script that explores the extremes of human emotion, acceptance, trust and above all, truth.  A show like True Love Lies requires the hand of a skilled director, which the company certainly has in Ron Jenkins. His sense of timing and emphasis make lines pop and sizzle. A look can garner big laughs, and the direst moments leave a knife stuck in your throat.

   Jenkins also has the benefit of an incredibly talented company of actors.  Kate Ryan and Frank Zotter have great chemistry as the awkward parents. Nicola Elbro brings the attitude and a great playfulness to the role of the sexed-up Madison. David Keely is a great contrast to the Sawatsky family in every way; dry, witty and sharp. You cannot take your eyes of Thomas Barnet, the awkward and troubled son, Royce; he ignites onstage.

   The design of the show helped bring the mood together. The stage was a beautifully fluid space, with kitchen, dining room and front porch areas that could have belonged to any one of the characters at anytime. I loved the costumes, especially Madison’s perpetually slutty waitress attire, because it was both topical and totally realistic. Aaron Macri’s sound design was as wacky as the show itself, including music by Amy Winehouse, as well as Chic and Lady Gaga.

   The beauty of Brad Fraser’s work is how he approaches the topic of human sexuality. Rather than explain it as something that fits neatly into separate categories (gay, straight, bi), Fraser acknowledges that human sexuality exists on a spectrum. No individual has an exclusive sexuality. He also writes fantastic characters that make you sad, make you mad and then make you feel all right about yourself. His characters are all looking for love in some form, and the form in which they find it is never what they expect. They reassure the audience that love, like sexuality, is complex and never neatly categorized. 

True Love Lies runs at the Citadel Theatre until May 15. Check out www.citadeltheatre.com or call the Box Office at 780-425-1820 for information, prices and times.

Space and Habit

Photo by Erika Luckert


Whether you live in a city, town, or even a village, the space you occupy can be repressive or enabling--often a mixture of both. The choices we make within these varied spaces are often automatic and habitual, but this was not always the case. Think back to when you first came to Edmonton (or you first began moving throughout the city), every freeway, road, and side street were possible paths to your destination. There was no set trail beyond the dizzying flow of traffic.

Now, things are are different. What was once a barrage of bifurcating paths has become a seamless passage from A to B: the morning commute, Century Park to Clareview, the High Level Bridge--each is a human development that has regulated our interactions. Left turn, drive straight, left turn, drive straight, right turn, park; next stop: clareview; accelerate, slow, accelerate, slow.

These constructions make our lives easier, they facilitate movement--red light, green light--decreasing the risk of chaos entering our lives. However, protection comes at a price: safety necessitates stagnation, speed necessitates decreased friction. If we want to blaze through the city towards our next point of interest, we must surrender out claim to happenstance and interaction--"Don’t touch me, I have places to go."

As Edmontonians (as North Americans for that matter) we’re busy people. Families, work, school, and events all vie for our time, each doing its part to force us into a repetitive harmony with the city. Change can be hard, but it isn’t impossible. Your life only becomes fully regimented when you don’t even consider the possibility of other options: there is more than one path and speed is not always necessary.

I’m tempted to simply employ the phrase ‘take the road less travelled’ but I think it misses the mark. In order to take the road less travelled we must first ‘go off the beaten path’--experiment--or, even better, make your own paths.

Fear and the City

When I think about my daily interactions within Edmonton I rarely think of myself as pushing my own personal or the city’s limits. One could say I am moving about the city in a comfortable but stagnant cocoon. In this cocoon I slowly morph through new experiences and challenges but rarely venture outside of my comfort zone. Sure I love to try new foods, meet new people and hear new ideas but often I find sharing my own experiences or becoming inherently involved in new ventures daunting.

I often wonder how much of my day is guided by fear?

Fear of failure?

Fear of awkwardness?

Fear of the unknown?

Edmonton is such a community-based city.  Not so much geographically as Edmonton’s neighbourhoods can be distant and disjoined. The arts, gay, academic, athletic etc. communities on the other hand are seemingly tight knit. These communities all exist as a collective meeting place for people with specific interests and ideas. However, penetrating these communities and finding acceptance can seem difficult.

In this sense, fear is stifling my ability to experience what Edmonton has to offer. I go to shows, pubs and art openings but I have yet to feel an intrinsic connection within Edmonton’s various communities. Perhaps I am already immersed and just unaware or perhaps I am subtly holding myself back from truly becoming involved.

A friend of mine, Percy Marshall, recently tested out his theory on fear and I found it incredibly inspirational. Percy wanted to see if fear would completely disappear after he had conquered it. After deciding that his biggest fear was floating down the North Saskatchewan River on a floating section of ice, he did just that.

In conquering his fear, he was able to progress and propel himself past the restrictions of fear and self-doubt. His video documentary begins with the statement “Thoughts determine what you want, actions determine what you get.” I couldn’t agree more.

Perhaps I just need to face my fear and become more involved. I need to morph out of this stagnant state by putting my writing, art and self out there...wherever that may be. 

I guess this is a first step.

Hello Edmonton.

Please watch Percy Marshall's short documentary.

It is in 4 parts:

Percy Marshall Documentary Part 1

Percy Marshall Documentary Part 2

Percy Marshall Documentary Part 3

Percy Marshall Documentary Part 4

Flow

North Saskatchewan River in January

I posted a while back about some insights I gained from Edmonton’s poet laureate, Roland Pemberton, and looking back through my notebook, I see that I have some sketches towards another post inspired by his workshop. Given that this week is the Edmonton Poetry Festival, I thought it fitting to turn back to those now, and wander from Roland’s words to my own.

At the workshop I attended, Roland talked about his rap name, saying “my name is Cadence Weapon, and I name myself after flow.”

By flow, he meant the flow of words as they tumble over eachother forming whirlpools, eddies and currents.

Flow is a river, tumbling over itself, and twisting, until it finds the sea.

If his cadence is words, what, I wonder, could be the cadence of this city?

River City, we call it sometimes. Is the river our cadence, the thing that makes this city for all to see?

Can we make this city flow with the cadence of our words? Use poetry and prose to break the winter’s freeze, create an ice flow in the snow, and keep it tumbling over itself even as the North Saskatchewan stands still?

Could it be the people who create a city’s cadence? The people, as they pass eachother in the streets, swerve at intersections, and slow in neighbourhood eddies before they are drawn back to the current?

All rivers flow to the sea, it is said. But where does that leave a city? Where will we go?

We're Building Something Here

Construction, Downtown Edmonton

Much like our own construction here, online. It's that time of year in the city.

I realized that I have yet to formally welcome my new coauthors on Journal Edmonton, so I'd like to take this opportunity to do so. I am very excited to be working with such a talented team, and I hope you, as readers, are excited too, because, for one thing, it means you'll get to hear from (or read from) other Edmontonians besides me. Because it's finals season, and we're all students, we aren't launching this new multi-authored version of Journal Edmonton all in one fell swoop, but we're all working hard to deliver as quickly as our studies allow. Over the next weeks, you can expect to start seeing posts from (here's the actual introductions, after a long buildup) Jamin Huntley, Bevin Dooley, Ryan Stephens, Becky Smith-Mandin, Rita Chen, Shaun Nystrom, Cathryn Beck, Robert Barbeau, and myself, Erika Luckert.

You may notice that our links beneath the header are increasing in number - again, part of our gradual site redevelopment. Check out our new Submissions option, and our newly rewritten About page.

Coming soon, an Authors page so you can get to know Journal Edmonton's writers a bit better as they start writing for you.

As we work through this restructuring, any feedback is greatly appreciated. Please, contact us.

Dying to be Heard: Edmonton’s Wrecking Ball focusing on the current political climate through theatre

    Under the looming shadow of 2008’s Federal Election, ten cities across Canada staged simultaneous theatrical events, complete with new and intensely political plays, music and discussion. These theatrical events are known as Wrecking Balls. The Wrecking Ball began in 2004 in Toronto, as a means of a addressing both the excess of the theatre in our politics and the lack of politics in our theatre. They are often held when the political atmosphere in Canada, or elsewhere in the world, is at it’s most uneasy, such as during the G20 summit. Just before election time, the Wrecking Ball goes national.

   This coming Monday, April 25, the Alberta Avenue Theatre will host Wrecking Ball 12, as part of a national event taking place in six other cities across Canada. The closer we come to Election Day, the louder the artists must be if they want to be heard. Edmonton’s Wrecking Ball event will feature new work by local playwright Marty Chan, playwright-performer Chris Craddock and Mostly Water Theatre Company, as well as performances by hip-hop group Politic Live, hip-hop artist A.O.K, singer-songwriter Dale Ladoucer, film screenings by Highwire Films and much more. Admission is pay-what-you-can, and all proceeds will go to the Actor’s Fund of Canada.

  What is the importance of the Wrecking Ball to Edmonton? Obviously, it asks us to get involved in the politics that shape our country, our province and thus, our city. It is incredibly important for artists, no matter where they are in their careers, to advocate on behalf of the arts in their cities. The Wrecking Ball gives us both an opportunity to debate the most current political issues, and a chance to draw attention to the role the arts play in politics. It offers local artists a venue where we, as a community, can discuss the future of the arts in Edmonton, Alberta and Canada. We can also compare party platforms to see which party supports not just the arts, but our personal values as well.

    This year especially, the Wrecking Ball is a reminder of the power of democracy. Extensive news coverage on the political strife in Egypt and Libya has demonstrated how much these countries not only need, but also desire democracy. We live in Edmonton – in Canada, “glorious and free.” Not voting - not exercising our democratic right - is an insult to those brave people on the other side of the globe, who have subjected themselves to violence and put their lives at risk in the pursuit of democracy.

Anyone can make their voice heard; they just have to shout loud enough.

Wrecking Ball 12 is Monday, April 25, 2011 at the Alberta Avenue Theatre (9030 118 Avenue). Doors open at 7:30 pm and performances start at 8 pm. Admission is Pay-What-You-Can. 

Experimenting with Edmonton

First of all, I would like to thank Erika for putting out the call to continue blogging about Edmonton. I look forward to writing alongside fellow students who have such a diverse range of backgrounds and views on the city. I decided that for my first post I would try to put into words my thoughts about what I want to accomplish, as well as the thinking behind it.

The direction I want to take my investigations of Edmonton is highly influenced by the work of Gilles Deleuze, whose philosophy calls for radical experimentation. It’s only through experimentation that you can begin to understand the intensive processes of an object, which lies in opposition to merely observing external characteristics. For example, say that there is a chair in front of you, whose form and colour you perceive, but it isn’t until you move it--in my case I prefer to kick things--that you begin to understand the potential becomings (changes) of the chair. This isn’t to say that I want to kick Edmonton, but more so kick-start it in hopes of seeing how it functions in a more stressed / intensive state.

But how can I go about this? Honestly, on an individual level this task seems fairly daunting, especially if you rule out the idea of running down Jasper Avenue naked during rush hour, or yelling in a library. So in my attempt to avoid jail time and the loving glares of annoyed library patrons, I want to call on the literature from and about the city: fiction, non-fiction, creative non-fiction--everything--maybe even tourism pamphlets! And through these sources I want to see how Edmonton can be deterritorialized (how its habits can change) through events both internal and external to it.

With that said, I see myself examining Edmonton in primarily two different ways:

1. Looking at how large external events influence the city (e.g. A Federal Election)

2. Looking at how literature can bring a deeper understanding of Edmonton.

Through these two activities I hope to plot a map of Edmonton’s potential changes/becomings so that an image of a future-Edmonton or a city-to-come may be brought to light. Hopefully the rest of my posts will be more exploratory in nature, but I think this was a good place to start. Lastly, if you have any any ideas, suggestions, or corrections please feel free to comment.

Spring: Time for Change!

Dear Readers,

Spring is a time for change - mostly, at the moment, the end of the University semester. This blog is moving on beyond the course that it originated in, and beyond its original author (me). You may have noticed some new writers popping up on the sidebar over the past week or so - that's because Journal Edmonton is expanding to a multi-author platform. I held a meeting today with my new team, and am thrilled to be working with such an amazing group.

Already, we have taken the plunge and purchased a domain name, so this site is now our very own: www.journaledmonton.com. Of course, the old ".blogspot" URL will still redirect. Also, we're on twitter! Follow us @journaledmonton for all the latest.

Watch for more changes over the next weeks as we ramp up a new and improved Journal Edmonton, and as we go through this process, feel free to give feedback on what we're doing well or poorly!

Thank you for your continued readership,

Erika Luckert

Snowman with a Message

MAURY SAYS YOU 'R' NOT THE FATHER

I ran into this fellow the other day, and, noting the puddle beside him, wanted to capture his message before he reached a watery fate. Not that I know much about what his message is - I don't know Maury, nor do I have any idea who "you" might be. But I love things like this because they make me want to know. And, perhaps even more than that, they make me want to invent a story by way of explanation. I guess I approach the city that way sometimes. Make up stories to render the mundane, well, more.

But this snowman is far from mundane. What kind of story do YOU think he has to tell?

Hope Springs Eternal...

... more eternal than spring, at least. 

Edmonton flowers always bloom too soon.

After a Couple Clouded Days

... the evening light shines through. I was out for a walk this evening, and managed to lose my grudge against the snow, and fall in love with the city all over again. Am I a fickle lover? Yes. But at least I keep on coming back.

A “The”

a, adj.

Pronunciation:  Brit. /ə/ , /eɪ/ , U.S. /ə/ , /eɪ/

Indefinite article (determiner). Used only to modify a singular countable noun head (or in some cases, a plural phrase treated as such).

 I. Indicating indefiniteness.

 1. Used in an indefinite noun phrase referring to something not specifically identified (and, freq., mentioned for the first time) but treated as one of a class: one, some, any (the oneness, or indefiniteness, being implied rather than asserted).

the, adj., pron.², and n.²

Pronunciation:  bef. cons. /ðə/ bef. vowel /ði/ emph. /ðiː/

 A. adj. As definite article.

 I. Referring to an individual object (or objects).

 * Marking an object as before mentioned or already known, or contextually particularized

 a. Before the name of a unique object or one so considered, or of which there is only one at a time; e.g. the sun, the earth, the sea, the sky, the air, the world

 b. With a count noun, to indicate the individual example most familiar to one, or with which one is primarily or locally concerned, e.g. the King,  the Town, the House

[OED]

I'm sitting at a little red table in the centre of Churchill square, after a workshop with Edmonton's poet laureate, Roland Pemberton, aka Cadence Weapon. It seems an apt time to reflect on the city. 

I've started calling it that: the city. Not a. The: the definite article, reserved for cases of decisive assertion, a most basic indicator that there is only one.

Roland addressed this differentiation between “a city” and “the city” in his poem “Monuments,” suggesting that Edmonton is as much “the city” as New York. And I think he’s right. Any city, when viewed among a multitude of metropolises, may be just “a.” But “the” is a thing that comes from within. It is designated by the people, by the citizens. It denotes a certain ownership, but also a reverence for something that exists with or without its custodians, that can never quite be owned.

Sitting in the centre of the city, I hear the strum of a guitar, hum of passing cars, and watch white seagulls and airplanes soar through the sky. The wind turns the pages of my notebook back, and the clock tower advances to three.