krishanna|dot|com

Art & Disability: Call to Artists from Sins Invalid

 Call to Artists from Sins Invalid

An Unshamed Claim to Beauty in the Face of Invisibility

Sins Invalid is seeking submissions from performers, writers, visual artists and other cultural workers on topics of disability and sexuality for relationship-building and future collaboration.

This call is open to all artists familiar with the experience of disability, especially artists from queer communities and/or communities of color. Submissions can include all types of artistic expression - performance art, video, spoken word, dance, storytelling, song, visual media, and words on page - whose core expresses sexuality, power, healing, embodiment and activism.

We define disability broadly to include physical impairments, sensory minorities, emotional disabilities, cognitive challenges, chronic/severe illness, and others whose bodies do not conform to our culture(s)' idea of "normal" or "functional."

Sins Invalid began in 2006 as a performance project that incubates and celebrates artists with disabilities, centralizing artists of color, queer and gender-variant artists as communities who have been historically marginalized.   In 2007-2008, Sins Invalid grew to include an annual show, community-based performance workshops, political education workshops, and our growing presence online at www.sinsinvalid.org.

Submissions will be looked at for all Sins Invalid projects, including performances, workshops, online blog, and possible printed media and/or visual art shows.

Please submit a CD or DVD of your work (those submitting written work for publication can email or send a hard copy), along with a short personal statement about why you are interested in working with Sins Invalid, and how your work relates to issues of sexuality and disability.

Sins Invalid Submissions
c/o 1370 University Ave. #316
Berkeley, CA 94702

Please include a self-addressed stamped envelope if you want your work returned to you.  We will contact you to confirm receipt of your work. If you do not have examples of your work on CD/DVD, please contact us for alternate formats.

Deadline for entries:  Received by April 25, 2009.

Please feel free to email any questions to info@sinsinvalid.org or call
(510) 689-7198.

Two Hineyholes in a Hummer

In order to use disabled parking legally you need to have plates with the logo or hang your placard in the front window. As someone who needs to use disabled parking, I see perfectly able-bodied people use these spots all the time and more and more they are getting brazen about it. No embarrassment, no guilt when they are caught.

There are those people who have a disability and take advantage of it. These are the ones who park in front of entrances and no parking zones or even in the loading area of an already filled spot, hanging the placard in the window as though it is some sort of acceptable excuse for deliberate inconsiderateness.

KInda like the lady who parked a huge duel-axis pickup 3 feet away from the entrance at the hardware store a few weeks ago. She told me I was rude because I muttered under breath, 'Some people don't have to use parking spots'.  She was was talking to someone on her cell phone and interrupted her conversation to tell me I was rude. She pointed to her placard ferociously and said she was disabled and was picking something up. She toid me I didn't need to be so rude and ruin her day.

I would agree. You must be far more disabled than you look.

And there are those who have a placard and either refuse or don't display it properly and expect people to simply know they have one.

It's been happening so much that all I can do when I see it is mutter under my breath or or shake my head.

So yesterday, we stopped off at our neighborhood Walgreen's. I noticed a brand new, spit-polished and detailed Hummer, shiny clean rims and all. I looked at the plates, no logo. As we pulled into the other disabled spot, we both looked past the passenger on the cell phone to the rear view mirror. No placard.  As I got out of our truck, I looked back over at the truck and shook my head as I walked into the store.

Once I got to the pharmacy, I was treated to an unhappy man yelling at the Pharmacy Tech. He called the kid a jerk and was a complete hineyhole.  Why?  Because he couldn't read his own prescription bottle right. He insisted the expiration date was 11/31/08 and he insisted the tech look at it. "Sir, I see 10/31/08 not 11/31/08".

Uhhh... DOOD... there is no 11/31/08, even in a leap year.

So after Mr. Hineyhole finishes his tirade and tells the techit was his responsibility to let him know when his prescription  expires, I did my business and made my way out of the store, several feet behind Mr. Hineyhole.

Guess which vehicle Mr. Hineyhole got into?  Yep. The Hummer.

As I walked over the truck and was getting in, Mrs. Hineyhole had some words for ME.

"Maybe next time I'll take my autistic son in there and you can shake your head at him!".

Well, if he's as big a hineyhole as you and your husband I just might, CHICK.

"Huh?" is  what Manthing asked me as I was getting the truck. When I explained to him what it was all about, he told me they had a placard on the dash, not hanging in the window.

The times I have forgotten to hang the placard, I expect people to look at me weird or at the very least shake their heads a what a hineyhole I appear to be. They don't know I forgot. I certainly don't cop an attitude and hang out of a car window yelling like a fish wife at a total stranger because they shook their head at my vehicle

So here are a few tips to follow if you are ad disabled parker:

If you have a placard use it. 

If you don't, don't park there.

If it says 'NO PARKING', don't park there.

Don't get ugly because other people can't see the placard you refuse to hang or you think you can park anywhere because are disabled.

And don't use your kid as your weapon...for anything.

Just cause YOUR KID is autistic, doesn't give YOU special privileges.

AND

If you mutter under your breath, make sure you do it quietly.  ;)

Some Resources

A free computer program that helps people who get benefits find ways to increase your income through work incentives.

A program where people on Medicare or Food Stamps can get a reduction in your monthly phone bill.

A program that can help you reduce your student loans if you work for a nonprofit organization.

And  a website that makes it very easy to write your representative.

Learning To Be Disabled

Disability Blog Carnival #48: Capacities and Capabilities

"I can be changed by what happens to me, but I refuse to be reduced by it." -: Maya Angelou

I have been "disabled" now for 10 years. Most people who know me think of me as "strong", "brave", "persevering". People admire me for this; as though those qualities didn't exist before I became disabled. They admire me for continuing to live and pursue my dreams freely, "in spite of" a spinal cord injury and the chronic pain and depression that accompanies it.

But for me, it doesn't seem to be so great a thing, such an admirable feat. For me, it was a matter of practicality and realism.You do what you have to do. I am  "strong", "brave", "persevering" but I was BEFORE I became disabled. Those are the things that assist you in finding a way to continue living  instead of curling  yourself  up into a tight ball in the corner of a dark room and waiting to die.

People without disabilities assume that I write, create things, keep moving forward, work at keeping a decently positive attitude, "in spite of" my disability. People with disabilities, admire my resilience and capacity for not allowing my disability to stop me from living and expecting the best I can get from life.

Oddly, no one ever assumes I do what I do and I live the way I live with the attitude I have BECAUSE of my disability.

I have taught myself many things because I am an experiential learner. I taught myself a lot of how to live and be in this world due to a crappy hand in childhood. I taught myself to use computers back in the dark ages. I am a self-taught artist and thingmaker. Becoming disabled was no different. I had to learn how to be disabled because I wasn't born that way.

True enough, I am not paralyzed. I don't use a chair to get from point A to point B, it's true. But, I need a cane and I need a scooter to participate in activities and events that require walking and standing for long periods of time. I need to use a shopping cart to lean on in the grocery store, even if I am only getting one item. There are days when the pain is so bad, it's all I can do to get through the bare minimum and hope the next day, the next hour, the next minute is a better one. My life was changed and I needed to learn how to cope with the newness of it all.

When I was working full-time and more able-bodied , art and writing were things I poked at when I had the time. Once I became disabled and had nothing but time during recovery from surgeries and in between doctor appointments,they  became the lifeline and the preserver that kept me afloat. When it became clear I was never going to be able to go back to work as I once had, art and writing there to indicate a new path on which to travel. My disability gave me the time and space I needed to forge a new career for myself and this time one I had passion and patience for. I was no longer bogged down by doing the 9-to-5 thing and that left a lot of unfettered, creative energy energy to float among the rocks that rattled around in my head.

More than that though, I had to learn what it was like to be disabled in a culture that worships ability and perfection and a disability culture that viewed me as not "truly disabled".  I have always tossed conformity and convention out the window. Ever since I can remember, I have always been too much of one thing and not enough of another to fit in most pigeonholes. Disability, evidently, was going to be no exception. Within able-bodied circles, I was not able-bodied enough and within the disability community, I was not disabled enough or worse, I wasn't really disabled at all because I hadn't been born that way. It filled me with consternation and frustration. I was, it seemed, a woman without a country.

So I created my own. The country of Krishanna.

Just as I had balked at accepting the term "alcoholic" to define who I was years before, I rejected "disabled" to define my identity again. So many people get so caught up in labeling their identity that they forget who they are. To define who I am or can by limiting myself to what I can't do seems to me fruitless. "Disabled" is just one label to describe one part of who I am, just as being a feminist or an advocate, or a cranky artist describe other parts of who I am.

There is no one label for who I am. I am who I am. I am distinctly me and there's no one else on the face of the planet is that is just like me. Sounds hokey and rote, but it is true. For every one thing I can't do, there are half a dozen more I can.

Beyond our lists of all we are not and our litanies of all we cannot do, I believe the intrinsic knowledge we are only limited by our imaginations and dreams lies within us; indeed in spite of ourselves.

Disability Blog Carnival Reminder

The next Disability Blog Carnival is at Barriers, Bridges and Books. The theme is “Capacities and Capabilities”.  On that blog, Terri recently posted a reminder about the blog carnival, in which she said:

“What have you learned or become that you might not have without and encounter with disability? Have you become a medical expert, education specialist, behavioral manager, mechanic, efficiency expert, law specialist, problem-solver, activist, interpreter, ambassador, poet? Or something else that I haven’t thought of….Has your faith, creativity, determination, efficiency, patience, impatience, techno-savviness, assertiveness, connectedness, sensitivity, sense of humor or some other trait grown or been changed? Any of the above? All of the above? None of the above, but something else entirely??”

I'm participating are you?

Now I Remember

...why I don't read a lot of governmental and politically correct sites about disability. I overdose on the antonyms and euphemisms and the bullshit. George Carlin called it soft language so I looked and found the bit that popped into my head more than once today.

"I don’t like words that hide the truth. I don’t like words that conceal reality. I don’t like euphemisms, or euphemistic language. And American English is loaded with euphemisms. Cause Americans have a lot of trouble dealing with reality. Americans have trouble facing the truth, so they invent the kind of a soft language to protect themselves from it, and it gets worse with every generation. For some reason, it just keeps getting worse".

Ahhhhh...You Tube rarely fails to provide.

A Room of One's Own

Okay, so it's been a few weeks. I've had a bunch to do in preparation for getting the equipment for my new workspace.

I had to transform this:

To this (with some help of course):

Doing that meant moving the furkids into the kitchen and finding a place for everything else, which is no easy feat nor for the faint of heart.

We live in a small house that is positively CRAMMED with stuff and so when you move one thing, you have to move at least three other things. It's a bit like living in a jigsaw puzzle. So when you move substantial things around like storage space or furniture or furkids kennels, it takes awhile. Then add me and my spine to the mix, it probably takes 3 times as long for me to get anything done even with help.

But it is done now and once I got to work in here, I realized how much I missed having a space of my own in which to write. I had been working and writing at a station in the living room which is perfect for web surfing, light e-mail reading and photo editing but it lacks the flat space and the environment conducive to productivity and writing. And it's nice to have a desk again with a good comfortable chair in which to lean back in and think deep thoughts about social media and writing and and art- whatever pops into my head to feed my insatiable curiosity and active imagination.

Though I share this space with the washer and dryer and an art making nook, I have really been enjoying  have a space where I can be alone, that is mine to write in again. In her book, "A Room of One's Own", Virginia Woolf wrote, "'a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction". I don;t have a lot of money so I don't write a lot of fiction but I have to say it has been lovely to write and work with no other person in the room; no TV droning on and on with programs I detest. I have caught myself wondering if this isn't more important than having having a studio. Perhaps not.  Perhaps they are equally important and I am just a space hog.

What do you think?  How important is having a space in which to create where you can be alone ? Do you have a space of your own at home where you can be alone to blog or do art or write or mix music or whatever it is you do? If so, how important is it to you? If not, how do you manage?

NaBloMoPo 02 :: Depression & Recovery

Lotta was over on her blog today discussing depression and I went and found my rant-i-pants

She made a good point about how the process of 12 Step recovery would be helpful in dealing  with a depressed family member. I have 20 years of sobriety this year (it came and went in July, people) and I have to say one of the single most important part of the whole recovery process is honesty. 

I have had to sit and listen to people tell me how my addiction to drugs and alcohol affected them. None of it was pleasant but it was important for me to hear. I had to sit and tell others how their behavior affected me. Not all of it was pleasant to say but it was important for me to do it.

Made For TV or Real Life?

Life: A Few Years Later

Monday, March 19, 2001
To whom it may concern-

I am tired. I am tired of not being to clean my house. I am tired of not being able to wash a full load of dishes.I am tired of keeping a positive attitude. I am tired of trying not to be too much of a burden on my loved ones. I am tired of reminding myself there are others who have it much worse than me. I am tired of struggling to get out of bed in the morning. I am tired of having to use a motorized cart to do my grocery shopping. I am tired of pain. I am tired of having to sit down and rest every 10 minutes when we go to the mall. I am tired of being an albatross. I am tired of walking into a new store or restaurant and looking for the bathroom, "just in case". I am tired of being fat. I am tired of not being able to exercise enough to burn enough calories to not be fat anymore. I am tired of being awakened a half a dozen times at night because of leg and foot spasms, cramps and twitching that WILL NOT GO AWAY.

I am tired of looking ahead. I am tired of needing to use a handicapped placard. I am tired of pretending not to notice people watching me to see if I really am disabled. I am tired of the looks in old friends' eyes when they remember how I used to be and compare it to what they see before them now. I am tired of strangers asking me if I am really disabled. I am tired of fighting with an insurance company and with my attorney just get treatment I desperately need. I am tired of pain. I am tired of having to take medication.I am tired of losing my balance. I am tired of watching the weather channel to see what kind of pain the weather will bring each day. I am tired of "rating my pain".

I am tired of needles and doctors and tests and procedures and hospitals and physical therapy. I am tired of medical double talk. I am tired of feeling new pains. I am tired of numbness. I am tired of being tired. I am tired of asking for help. I am tired of beating myself up for not being the person I used to be. I am tired of having special needs. I am tired of not feeling whole. I am tired of not being "normal". I am tired of not being able to…(fill in the blank).

I am really tired and I just want my life back.

______________________________________

I wrote this and included it in my first assemblage (below) about my disabilities which was created in 2002, two years after my last spinal surgery. Since then I have learned I have something called and generally referred to as "accquired disabilities", meaning I wasn't born fucked up. These disabilities are also referred to as largely "hidden and invisible", meaning that I have no discerning or visible evidence or deformity that would suggest that I am anything but "healthy and normal", albeit a bit fat. This is especially true if I am minus a cane or my motorized scooter until you see me get up and walk. Because of this, I have had to learn how to be disabled. My cane became "The Legitimizer". The scooter, the difference between enjoying days out instead of getting through them. Life changes.

I have learned that an incomplete spinal cord injury is not enough to make you disabled in the eyes of the Social Security Administration. However becoming chronically dysthymic (chronically depressed) and mildly agoraphobic because of the incomplete spinal cord injury does.

I have learned more about pain that I ever thought existed. I hate pain. I always have. Before becoming disabled at 11 years sober, I drank and used drugs for 10 years in attempts to eradicate the emotional pain of an unhappy and troubled childhood and physical pain was something you took a pill for and it went away. Now, I know about chronic pain and nerve pain and that you can still feel pain in the numb places. I've learned pain also buzzes, vibrates, and burns. I know about pain that never goes away. Syndromes and terms for the complications of multiple spine surgeries have appeared and changed and remained the same for the last several years: Cauda Equine Syndrome; chronic pain and depression; suspected mild fibromyalgia,; blah, blah, blah...

I've learned some of your oldest friends completely disappear because they can't cope with the "new you" and others find their way back to discover you aren't the same you they once knew. Sometimes, you're lucky and they take the time to get to know you again. Sometimes, you're not.

I have learned that within the "disabled community" there is discrimination. For example, I have been told I am not really disabled because I am not in a wheelchair or paralyzed in someway. I have been told that because I appear to function fairly well most of the time and work hard not to let my disabilities interfere with my life, I must not hurt as bad or be as disabled as I tell people. These things have been said to me by other people with and without disabilities. It's as though because I can walk, control my pain fairly well through drug therapy and sheer endurance, and manage to keep a smile on face and a sense of humor most of the time, I can't be as disabled as I say.

I have also learned there are people who want to stay disabled not only in body but in mind. They remain stuck for the rest of their lives in chronic pain support groups and chasing the illusion of the magic pill that will make it so they can "live life again". I've relearned the vast difference in powerlessness and helplessness. If I had spent the last several years waiting around "to live again" instead of just living again regardless of circumstances or pride, I would still be waiting.

I've also learned I can't abide the attitudes and excuses that exist for people with disabilities which prevent and in some cases enable them from having any expectations of what they can do or accomplish. Anyone who knows me, knows that I have a special place in my heart for people who live with cerebral palsy and autism. "Normal" people mistakenly think this is because I feel sorry or them or because I think their disabilities are "worse" than mine. I do not feel sorry for them nor do I believe they have it worse than me. I've learned the severity of a disability is largely relative to the person who is living with it. Plainly put, I am inspired by the sheer determination and hope of the people I know who live with these challenges and who do not allow other people's lack of expectations limit what they expect of themselves.

I have learned that art and writing are my strongest, best and most effective in my arsenal of pain management. (The collage to your left for instance got me a new anti-dressant when I hauled it in to show it to my headshrinker..heh.) Often I can work on a collage or assemblage or essay for several hours before I realize it's time for a pain pill or a rest. Art was and continues to be a huge part of my healing process. It helps me feel more centered and serene and continues to sustain me through challenges and changes. It has allowed me to take the small steps that were necessary for me to reconnect with the world after my injury. The more I create; I become more familiar with my art and the creative process. If I had not had my visual art to retreat to for solace and expression in the months when I was unable to sit and write, I can't imagine I would have been able to make the strides in healing and confidence I now have in my work and in my new life.

I learned that love really does play an important part of healing well. Without Manthing 's quiet, steady support, I doubt my recovery from the spine surgeries would have gone well. It wasn't easy but he stood beside me and supported me, often without my realizing it. Without his love and caring I doubt my recovery from the spine surgeries and all their complications, would have gone well as well as they did. It wasn't easy but he stood beside me and supported me and loved me when I felt unlovable. And still does. Everyday.

Maybe I have come to understand I will never climb a pyramid in Egypt or visit Antarctica. I may never be the woman I once dreamed I would become or even the kind, bohemian grandmother who lives down the street doling out irreverant wisdom to inquiring minds. I may never write the best selling book that will help millions. I will never be a saint. But I will always be a good listener, a faithful friend, one who speaks straight and often true, one whose word can be trusted, one who loves wholly and one who never truly loses faith or abandons hope entirely. I will always stand for the weak, speak for those who have no voice, work to protect the innocent. And I will always be a person filled conflicting and sometimes contradictory characteristics, a person prone to deep solitudes, tinged with sadness, a person whose life is filled with moments of gorgeous brilliance, happy accidents and moments of impenetrable, inconsolable darkness. I am more than I ever hoped to be but less than I have dreamed.

And there's a good chance none of it would have happened, none of it would have been realized,  if I hadn't become disabled.

*All of theses images are assemblages and collages created by me about my disability.