This gallery contains 18 photos.
Originally posted on Dawn-joy Leong:
Scattered pieces. Little chips, broken off a brittle whole. Windblown. Each one a part of entity, identity and embodied Beingness. Sensory assault. Social weariness. Harsh terrains of normative colonial tyranny, treading through landscapes only the…
Lucy has been busy inspiring this autistic Bunny yet again. We are crafting “Clement Space in the City (2017)” – getting ready for the Neurodiverse-city exhibition at the Customs House, Sydney, opening 20 September 2017! All part of a huge and amazing project, the BIG Anxiety festival 2017.
(Sorry, all Lucy-fans out there, I will not be taking her to the festival – not unless someone is willing to sponsor a return Business Class ticket on Qantas and the preparation costs.)
Food. Nourishment. Sensory engagement. Pleasurable. Challenging.
Textures so beautifully sublime. Textures so horribly excruciating.
Decorated. Sloppy. Aromatic. Stinky.
Synaesthesia. Association. Memory. History. Imagination. Creativity.
Every morsel contains a story. A luxurious narrative. A simple note.
Tendrils spreading and intertwining inexorably.
The good, bad, and the downright ugly. Not forgetting wonderment and gratitude, so often delicately woven into comestibles too ordinary to warrant reviews. Yet, for many with sensory atypicality, the aversions are real, as are the struggles. And for others, there is just no food. Or not enough. I am grateful that I eat. I am also mindful of my own sensory attractions and aversions. My interest in food in its complete resplendent glory emerges from this multi sensory, multidimensional engagement.
Go ahead and photograph your food. Capture in the visual as much of the sensorial richness as you possibly can. Make no apologies for food obsession. I don’t.
Dogly. Full of dogliness. Thinking of my friend Rick, as I tuck in. Thanks for the noshful souvenirs!
Yesterday, I tried valiantly, and with great determination, to return a faulty dishwasher. The person on the other end remained stolid. It was I, not the dishwasher, that was the anathema, the malfunctioning entity. There was much spewing of verbiage completely irrelevant to my pleas, throwing of sparkly dust hither-thither and blowing of bizarre smelling fumes into my face. Exhausted and worn out to the very crisp core, I finally threw in the proverbial towel, recognising this as an exercise of futility. I threw out the dishwasher. It now sits, sad and forlorn, in the junk heap. I swear, when I walked past this morning, I saw a malevolent snigger painted across its glass face.
This morning, Lucy woke me up at 6am, asking to be taken outside for our morning walky. Without her, I am not sure I would have the strength to get out of bed, even though sleep, most of the time, is pretty much like the spawn from a trashy, poorly written novel and an elusive goblet of sweet wine.
My eyes hurt. A stabbing pain. My skull throbs. A vice across the front squeezing intermittently. My brain is screeching a high pitched, dehydrated and incomprehensible sprechstimme.
It’s still April. Yes, I did check.
This Autism Awareness thingy, and the chorus of dissent from the actually Autistic community (justified and worthy of support), has already kicked a deep dent into my fragile construction of Clement Space.
Today, I just want to celebrate April as Adopt a Greyhound Month. Please.
Here, I present to you, Lucy Like-a-Charm in Sonorous Repose. A collection of photos I created in 2015, about her innate ability to identify, take possession of, and craft intimate spaces of comfort and calm, wherever she may go. A skill I very much want to learn.
Available as limited edition prints. Enquiries welcome.
Greyhounds are such pulchritudinous creatures. Adopt a Greyhound this April! Bring back beauty into your life, Oh, Weary Soul!
(Or, perhaps you might want to bring one of these limited edition prints into your home? It would help an Autistic Bunny and her Greyhound Angel to procure much needed rations for survival of April BlahBlah Month!)
an angel’s trust
once betrayed
how soon
if ever
to win again?
rage deflected
fell
a deafening thud
upon innocence
blow once dealt
cannot be rescinded
how contemptible
such horror this?
devil’s mischief
humanity’s defeat
heartbreaking cry
angel’s grief
sleep now
my sweet
rock-a-bye babe
human tears
are made of folly
dear sweet angel
i have failed
your love
so undeserved
yet pleading
forgive me
my disgraceful
humanity
60th!
The family decided to celebrate my brother-in-law’s birthday in a big way: surviving 60 years on earth is a milestone to the Chinese. So, away we trundled, pouring into a super-starred resort.
I have observed on many an occasion, that swanky establishments seldom actually take into consideration persons with disabilities, and this was to be an interested and mixed experience for one and all. At over a thousand dollars per night, our two-night booking didn’t exactly come cheap. Continue reading
Saturday Brunch for two again at Not Just Coffee with Rick. Our “dog cafe” in Paddo. It poured with rain earlier this morning, but we prevailed. The elements accorded a little respite, and there we were, just an hour later than our planned appointment. The ground was soaked, but anticipation of dynamic, vigorous and energetic polyphonic conversation overtook sensory aversion. We ordered something different this time. Delicious!
It is much clement to have a good friend. Very much.
Finding comfort in familiarity. One of my two favourite spots in Paddo, the Arthouse Kitchen. This time, though, Lucy is not with me. I miss her terribly. That space she occupies – physical, mental, sensorial – is now a softly whirring void. I gravitate towards our usual table at the far corner. It is a cosy place, just right for one, and a comfortable area on the floor for Lucy on her fluffy rug. Continue reading
I went there today. It was one of our favourite places, Lucy’s and mine. I sat at our regular spot. Smiling faces and hearty greetings from everyone. It was good to be back. The humans, the smells, the sounds, the colours and images, the textures, they are comforting in their familiarity. Yet, there was a void, a resonating desolation. There, in that space, that little nooky corner by my feet, Lucy was not. Instead, a walking cane, to help my unsteady hobbling, ungainly swelling of ankle and metatarsal joints. Bunny keeps on keeping on, while Lucy awaits patiently in her new faraway abode. Here, back in our former home, our old neighbourhood, the emptiness reverberates gentle memories of our adventures. Bunny and Lucy.
Noshment. Food. Eats. Chronicles in multi sensorial paintings reflecting the intrepid travels of the Bunny.
Fried vermicelli. Soya sauce. Grease. A few sprinkles of spring onion and crispy garlic. Nothing more. Probably the worst dinner I’ve ever had at the Singapore Changi Airport. Necessity prodded the weary of body, with painful and inflamed metatarsals, hobbling like a stubbed-web penguin across the buzzing landscape of the airport. Terminal 1 is the oldest terminal, and I could see there were ongoing upgrading works everywhere. In true Singapore-glitzy manner, even the boards blocking off the renovations were painted over with murals and slogans in a somewhat supercilious-yet-clumsy way. Welcome to Singapore. Or goodbye, safe travels! In my case, Bunny needed to make this all-important working trip back to Sydney, come rain, hail, shine or arthritic inflammation. Continue reading
