I could be the next Popette!

Popette

Malfreda Visconti was burned at the stake in 1300 for claiming she was going to be the next Pope.

In the Visconti family, Giangaleazzo (1351-1402) was the first Duke of Milan. His ancestry included Maximilian I Holy Emperor.  An offspring on one side of his family led to King Louis X11 of France on the other led to the King of Naples, etc.



I could be the next Popette!

I've been to Argentina,
I've been to the Vatican,
I ride a bicycle,
I cook my own food,
I do my own laundry and
I've taken vows of poverty.

                             seriously
                             IS




 


STRANGE ? YES. WEIRD? NO.


 What a wonderful week of connecting with friends. Starting with Leesa Streifler, a Visual Arts Professor from the University of Regina.

The first time we met she was doing an obsessive exploration of freaks ( the bearded woman and so on).

This time around her digital images of her large paintings entitled CONTESTED BODIES (at the Women's Study Centre  at Oise), taking us on an intimate look at ourselves as women.  She blurts out all the things we may think but never dare reveal to others. This includes attitude about aging, eating obsessions, the way we wear ourselves and the effects on our minds from our mothers and grandmothers that may take a lifetime to unravel and maybe never understand the damage done to us. "Recently I went to see my mother and nothing happened but I just felt terrible. I don't know why."

As I am listening to all this I start focusing on my recently painted purple nails, not long but dangerous. What do these mean to me? Perhaps a way of saying (flashing them) I am not a deadbeat even though I just wear black and grey.

The afternoon ends at my favourite Ethiopian lunch cafĂ© in Corktown served by Ethiopian Elsabet with her wild hairdo looking very much like the girl in Bertolucci's film Besieged.  Strange? Yes. Weird? No.  But on her just beautiful.

I.S.

Casa del Scientifico



This is the time of year where most folks escape to somewhere. Anywhere into the sun. Pale faced I am flipping through my books and came across my trip to Cuba with Connie 10 years ago. The best I can do this year about going away is flip into the pages and re-enter that space and the short story I wrote about all that to fit on a postcard to mail away for a writing contest with hope for some response from Victoria BC. No response.


So here is the short story on a postcard for you.




It’s our first night in Havana. From the
balcony I can see the white dome of the capital
building. Just below down the street to the
right is the Italian Red Cross. In a new place
I need to connect to symbols that may help me
find my way back.


We are told that this place was once the
Presidential palace. I am facing a well worn
broken chair and am trying to unpack a smallish
stuffed bag. In the bathroom that divides
Connie’s room from mine I notice a white cap
that is stuck in the drain. I try to pick it out.
Also the sink is tipping over and there is no
hot water .


I take my first pictures of Connie testing her
enormous bed next to the tallest doors I have
ever seen. It smells of mold here … and the
emergency light does not work and there are no
batteries. I fall asleep to Connie’s hair wash.
A dim chandelier hangs down, down.


For breakfast we are served two pieces of very
dry bred, one slim egg and a very good small
cup of coffee. We return to our rooms to find
freshly made beds and the sink off the wall.
What to do now!? “No problemo! No problemo!“,
mimic the maid and move right out.


Wish you were here.
I.S.