Celebrating Performing Arts in Prisons

Wot is Justice - Ashworth Special Hospital, Mixed Media 
. 

Last week I attended the Arts Alliance's excellent 'Celebrating Performing Arts in Prisons' event, which reminded me that - other in than in my post about Massey-Chasing Boris - I haven't yet done a proper post about Free: Art by Offenders, Secure Patients and Detainees, the Koestler Trust 50th Annual UK Exhibition of Prison Arts, currently on at the Southbank Centre.

Other than obviously being a big fan of prison arts, free exhibitions and indeed the Southbank, this exhibition is of particularly significance to me, as I have my own very small link to one of the exhibited works. The back story to this is that my twin sister and I have a little competition every Christmas over who can get the best, cheapest present (which has to be under £5). Last xmas, she rather thought outside the box, and decided to not spend any money on me directly. Instead, she donated to the Koestler Trust and, as a surprise, named an award for this year's exhibition after me. Which was a lovely present and I even shed a little tear over it. So, this year, when you rock over to the Southbank Centre, look out for the Kate Massey-Chase Commended Award for Drawing.

I didn't choose the picture or anything, but it's still very exciting to feel part of an exhibition so close to my heart, even in just a small way. And this is the picture Sarah Lucas, the curator, chose to win my award:  

It's called 'The Moment', and you probably can't see it, but the title of the piece of music the subject is composing is 'A New Life'. The artist came from HMP Parkhurst. He says about it:

I wanted people to know that any form of artwork can be created anywhere by anyone and...change people's lives...by inspiring them...in some way that will make their world a better place to be. It is an incredible feeling as an artist when a work is completed, so I also tried to depict that moment. 

And here are my personal favourites from the exhibition (all images come from the Koestler Trust website): 

Wasted! - HM Prison Channings Wood, James Wood Q.C. Silver Award for Mixed Media

Sorrows to Follow - HM Prison Send, Margaret Wignall Highly Commended Award for Portraits 

The Pain I Cause - HM Prison Full Sutton, Gustave Courbet Highly Commended Award for Portraits

The artist of the last piece says:

I never did think I had anything to give to anyone not even myself, but through my art I find that I do. I now believe I can do anything and through my art I can express myself and I know I will not be coming back to prison. I know I have a future so I will be able to give back something to try to make amends.

The whole exhibition is fantastic, so hopefully these will have whet your appetite and you'll hurry down to the Southbank Centre before Nov. 25th, when it finishes, to take a look.

My next plan, although she doesn't know it yet, is to get my twin sister to donate a lump sum to Clean Break, so they can fund their Access course (which I volunteered on in 2011, and is a fantastic course, which enables female ex-offenders and women vulnerable to offending through drug use or mental health needs to progress through further education, to the point they could apply to a degree level course at university - which many do). It really saddens me that this course isn't funded at the moment, as it has the capacity to make a really meaningful and lasting change to the lives of women who aren't always given the chances they need and deserve. So, when Becca asks me what I want for my birthday.... The Kate Massey-Chase Access Course, please! Sadly, she works in the charitable sector, and despite growing vegetables, riding her bike, and wanting to change the world, she hasn't quite got the finances to fund all my arty social justice endeavours. Why did my parents encourage us to do meaningful jobs, that would fulfil us, and shit??! I live in a house with mould on my bedroom ceiling and damp coming through the walls, and Becca can't fund my predilection for supporting prison arts charities. What's that about? 

Anyway, on a more positive note, at the conference last week we had a bunch of practical workshops, with arts organisations working in prisons, and that included an EXCELLENT workshop with Good Vibrations where we all got to play the Gamelan! I'm all about the Javanese gongs right now. 

Because I keep my promises...

OK, I'm fully aware that I missed out the word 'speak' on the card about not speaking much French, but sadly shit like this can't be re-created.

Lisa Stocker, this one's for you.....

Not on my (search) terms #2

Search Keywords

Entry	Pageviews
development of vulva in girls	2
kate massey chase	2
vagina waistcoat	2

My name I can understand, but the other two??? What?!  And most importantly: WHY DOES THIS TAKE YOU TO MY BLOG???????????

Networking or Not Working

It's very un-British to be proud of and share your achievements, but in the para-phrased words of Charlotte Bronte's preface to the second edition of Jane Eyre: fuck convention.

One thing I'm particularly good at is networking. Now, I know that conjures up an image of shiny suits and phrases like 'blue sky thinking', 'USP' and 'maximise potential', but I promise you I don't mean or do it in a wanky way. Or in a sycophantic, obnoxious, flirting, touting for work by laughing at your racist jokes and offering my boobs on a plate kind of way. My sort of networking is basically built on the fact that I'm very friendly, like talking to strangers, and I'm passionate enough about my field of work to want to talk about it to anyone who'll listen. So there. One of my male friends also told me I have a way of looking at you like you're the only one in the room (feel free to swallow the vom in your mouth, I won't take offence). I am the polar opposite to the guy Lisa Mitchell sings about in her delightfully whimsical video for Neopolitan Dreams - I AM IN THE ROOM (OK, she's not to everyone's taste -  and my sister's boyfriend would probably call it whiny white girl music - but check out her song Coin Laundry below if, like me, you like Edwardian nighties, bird cages and girls who steal buttons. And she's talking about meeting someone in the coin laundry - a fabulous example of networking in unusual places!!).

So, many people - hundreds, thousands, maybe - have asked me: 'But, Kate, how do you network so awfully well?' They say: 'I'm shy', 'I don't know how', 'I can't talk to adults' ('But you are an adult', I reply. 'I know, but I can't talk to them!' they reply, 'Not real ones!'). Now, as a freelancer, networking is fundamental to my acquisition of work (networking or not working - punalicious!), and at this fucking horrible economic time, it's becoming an increasingly intrinsic part of securing work. So, to be blessed with this talent is a very useful tool. And - because sharing is caring - I'm going to give out some much coveted advice on how to do it.

NETWORKING FOR PLEBS (as Andrew Mitchell might say):

Firstly, do you own a cute thing? Babies and puppies work best, as do kittens and bunny-rabbits, although these are less easy to transport.

If yes, this is your conversation hook. Spend a day on public transport, in a doctor's waiting room, or in a department store like Debenhams. Use your cute thing to ensnare passers-by. Baby twins are clearly a big win, but are obviously rarer and harder to find, steal or produce. Although their rarity does contribute to their awwwhhh-quota (although please do not dress them identically, even if this might make your task easier, as this may psychologically damage them and suppress the development of their distinct identities; not even a job with Clean Break or Safe Ground is worth that. And please don't dress up puppies either; that could alienate a number of potential networkees, and embarrass other dogs). Wave your cute things at passers by. Drop a cute little sock. Obviously struggle to get through doors. Be creative. Use any means legal and ethical to start a conversation. The cuter the baby/puppy, the easier this will be.

If no, have a little cry about the lack of cute things in your life. Have a little look at pictures of the Cutest Little Kitten in the World to cheer yourself up. Oh dear god, just look at it:

And again:

HOW ADORABLE IS THAT??? THE CAT IS IN THE JEANS! IN THEM!

Still, if you owned something that cute, you wouldn't want to go to work, would you?

Anyway, once you've got over the lack of puppies and kittens in your life, it's time to re-group and re-focus on how to NETWORK LIKE A PRO. So, you've got no baby to steal. Fine, you'll just have to strike up conversations with people who do. When getting onto a carriage on the underground, have a quick scour of the existing passengers. Does anyone have a baby? If not, Plan B: is anyone reading a book you've read? Or is there an old lady who's gagging for a chat about her grandchildren? You never know - one of them might be a passionate philanthropist looking for young people who need a cash-injection to their arts projects. Or a policy-maker who'd love to read your MA thesis. YOU JUST DON'T KNOW 'til you ask them what they're knitting. Go on, bite the bullet!

So, you've gone for Plan A and you're sitting next to a baby. Where do you go next? Try something like, 'I wish the kids I teach were this well-behaved'. Or: 'I know this is a bit of a random question, but do you know a good children's toy shop where they sell cheap juggling balls?' Filled with curiosity they'll then ask why, and you can explain, 'Well, in my last Drama workshop with drug addicts in Hammersmith, someone threw mine a bit hard and they burst'. And Bob is your proverbial uncle. Bish bash bosh. Conversation OPENED. And if they look at you like you're crazy, rather than putting you in touch with all their friends and relatives who would be really interested in what you do and pocketing your business card, get off at the next stop. And go looking for the next puppy you can stroke (that is in no way a euphemism).  

DISCLAIMER: If you are the lovely man I met in Debenhams yesterday, with the baby with the big blue eyes, to whom I gave my business card and am genuinely interested in your work, I promise it was not all part of my plan for world domination. You were my muse, not a pawn in my great big networking chess game. I genuinely thought your baby was cute! I promise! 

Koestler Trust exhibition: BoJo gets Massey-Chased

So, as promised:

I'd been out for dinner with the Massey-Chi (still working on the spelling of that; it rhymes with 'hi', not 'he', and is the plural of Massey-Chase. Obvs.), and was walking home via the Southbank. I was just cutting down the side of the BFI to get to Waterloo, and I spotted a funny blonde man. You know the sort, scruffy hair, looking like a blow-dried dandelion (I passionately hate Frankie Boyle, but this is a good description); you know: portly, posh, would look at home in a straining waistcoat with Daffy Ducks holding hunting rifles on; you know: the sort of gent who falls in rivers, gets stuck on zip-wires - possibly intentionally, to cultivate a loveable buffoon persona, wants to be PM*.... You know: BoJo.

 So, I spot Mr Mayor, and think hmmmm... Boris. There's lot's I'd like to chat to you about. There's lots on my mind. There's lots I want you to know, to understand, to appreciate. So, I walk up to him, all cajh (HOW DO YOU SPELL THIS? Casual, abbreviated). 'Hey Boris', I say. No, I don't. It went a bit like this:

Me: Hi, excuse me, good evening.

BJ: Hello (the story's loads better when you get to hear me do my best Boris voice; you'll jut have to imagine it)

Me: Have you just been to the Koestler Trust exhibition at the Southbank Centre? (of course he hadn't been; this was my well-planned/spontaneous opener - I'm a girl who thinks on her feet)

BJ: Pfhf, no, no, I've just been opening a library or something. Pfhf.

Me: Oh, well you really must go. It's an exhibition of art by offenders, and it's really fantastic. It was supposed to opened by Ken Clarke yesterday, but of course he couldn't...

BJ: Oh was it the other bloke?

Me: No, Chris Grayling didn't come (raising a pointed eye-brow). It was the minister...

BJ: For beatings and hangings?! Pfhfh.

Me: The Chief Inspector for Prisons, yes. But, yeah, it's really impressive.

BJ: Do you work in the industry then?

Me: Yes, yeah, prison arts, yeah.

BJ: Do you know Rachel Billington? (I think that's who he said)

Me: Ummmm.

BJ: Editor of Inside Time.

Me: Oh, yes, of course (I don't). I, ummm, I was asked to write for them once.

BJ: Or Danny.

Me: ?

BJ: Danny Kruger.

Me: The name rings a bell....

BJ: Chap always putting plays on in prisons and that.

Me: (nod, nod - later discover he's the Only Connect guy).

BJ: Anyhow, better get going.

Climbs on bike.

Me: Bye. Nice to talk to you. Good to see you wearing a helmet.**

He cycles off. I feel weirdly elated and chuckle to myself all the way home. I M-C'ed the BoJo. Politely and about prison arts. That's how the KMC rolls.  

*Check out the Daily Mash on BJ as PM. It's funny (forward slash terrifying) cos it's true: Britain demands amusing prime minister 

**Btw, that last comment was influenced by the knowledge that last time my girlfriend saw him cycling down the Grays Inn Rd, she thought, 'Who's that knob-end in a Travel For London bobble hat? Oh. Of course.'

Not on my (search) terms

Gosh, I haven't been on here in a while. We have lots of catching up to do, my friends. It's been a busy couple of months.

Although I haven't written any posts since early August, this has not had the usual impact on my number of page views. Normally, I obsessively check the number of views my blog receives, like a small child checking presents under the tree. Click on me! Validate me! Prove I exist! (as Miss Fox would imitate in a whining voice that sounds in no way like my own: 'Pay me attention!') It probably sounds remarkably tragic (on a par with my weekly enjoyment of Holby City - don't judge!), but now that I'm not in full-time education, I don't get grades to measure my self-worth, sorry - academic attainment, by. Blog stats are thus a meagre attempt to self-assess. AND YET all this has now been SPOILT. Because, despite not posting anything for weeks, I'm still getting regular views. Why? Because of people google-imaging those fucking VAGINA CUPCAKES! Now when I look at the traffic sources and how people have bumped into my blog, I repeatedly discover it's from googling 'cunt cakes', 'hymen pussy', 'lesbian vaginas' and 'kate is so gay'.

Search Keywords

Entry	Pageviews
cunt cakes	4
cupcakes clitoris	3
hymen pussy	2
vag cupcake	2
vaginal cupcakes	2
lesbian and my beautiful girlfriend scenes	1

This does not make me happy. Not only do I feel quite sad, and weirdly unclean through association, but I also now can't know how many people are reading my blog for the content, rather than just scouring the web for jammy cunts (as it were). The only small thing that can assuage these frustrated and vaguely voyeuristic feelings (almost like hearing someone wanking in a public toilet) is that they might accidentally read the content while they're unbuttoning their trousers, or the type-face might flicker in the corner of their eyes as they glaze over, and they'll accidentally catch some lefty feminist rhetoric which might slip through the cracks in their hypothalamus, lodge itself somewhere, and spread like a lovely bacteria. WOMEN ARE NOT OBJECTS. ART IS POWER. CREATIVITY IS GOLDEN. KATE MAKES LEARNING FUN.

Hmmmm. I haven't actually written about any of the things I meant to. And I'm too tired now. Bollocks. (Please don't let that mean I'll get search terms of people looking for testicles now; there's only so much genitalia I can take!). I'll have to leave all my other musings and updates for another time. Including my bumping-into-Boris-Johnson-this-evening story. I bet you can hardly wait.

   

Equilibrium

Check out my first article for Equilibrium Magazine for Wellbeing on EPIDEMIC, a piece of community theatre by Old Vic New Voices:

http://issuu.com/antz333/docs/equilibrium_magazine?mode=window&viewMode=doublePage

Turn to page 18!

Or, alternatively, you can read it by going to:

http://www.equilibriummag.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/epidemic-piece-of-community-theatre.html

East London charm

Guy: Hey. Do you recognise me? We met at that conference...

Me: Sorry. Which conference?

Guy: You know.

Me: Sorry....

Guy: Only messing with you. I just wanted to say 'hi' cos I think you're pretty. Where are you going?

Me: The Aladdin.

Guy: To meet your boyfriend?

Me: No.

Guy: Do you have a boyfriend?

Me: No.

Guy: Do you want a boyfriend?

Me: No. I have a girlfriend.

Guy: Really? That's amazing!

Me: (hint of anger in my voice) Why's that amazing?

Guy: Can I have your number?

Me: Umm... No!

Guy: Why not?

Me: I don't think my girlfriend would like it.

Guy: She can come too.

Me: I definitely don't think she'd like that.

Guy: Well, maybe I could just come and watch?

I give him a filthy look and walk away.


I know it wouldn't have changed his bigoted, homophobic, skank views, but I wish I'd stayed and explained to him how offensive that was. I also wish I'd called him an imaginative compound swear-word.

Feeling a bit ova-cum: vaginas on my mind

For various reasons, vaginas have been on my mind a lot recently. I realise I'm laying myself open (arghh, will everything I write now be a pun??) to all sorts of lesbian jokes by saying this, but it's true. And they've mostly been on my mind due to work, health, and politics, rather than sex. Sorry. To be honest, if I'm thinking about sex, 'vagina' is not one of the words that springs to mind. It's an important word; it's a heavily politicised word; but, it's not exactly a sexy word, is it? See Caitlin Moran for a full debate on the topic. Actually, just read How to be a Woman (just being published in the US, so having a little publicity revival) - the whole thing. It's ace. An important tome for our time. And not scared to talk about vaginas (and feminism). As Moran succinctly puts in: 

Do you have a vagina? And Do you want to be in charge of it? If you said 'yes' to both then, congratulations! You're a feminist. 

I'm a feminist. And I can say the word VAGINA loud and clear quite happily. And have been a lot recently (in fact, I used the word 'trans-vaginal' in front of my house-mate yesterday, prompting her to cover her ears run from the room). But, for me, sex is about more than just anatomy; so, for now, let's leave sex by the door and enter the semantic cavern of the v-jj without the innuendo. 

So, why the vagina craze? Why now? Well, I'm sure it won't have escaped your politically-engaged notice that about a month and a half ago Vaginagate hit our headlines, when Michigan Democrat's Lisa Brown got banned from speaking on the House floor for using the (oh so very offensive) word VAGINA when discussing a bill on abortion . How very dare she use the anatomically correct word whilst discussing women's rights over their own bodies! Shocked at this ridiculous reaction, Brown then went on to perform The Vagina Monologues, with Eve Ensler, on the steps on the state's capital building in Lansing, and gave her own vagina monologue in The Guardian. Then we've also got the Pussy Riots, a Russian punk band who are facing trial after being charged with hooliganism, and imprisoned for the last five months, following their performance of a protest song in Moscow's main cathedral.

I've also been trying to find an appropriate title for a publication by one of the organisations I work for. And hit a big hymen-esque wall over who is happy to have the word 'Vagina' in the title. Thus, in an effort to placate (PlaKATE - what can I say? I'm a people-pleaser) everyone, I've been exploring other vag-themed alternatives. Any pun on labia, vulva, fanny, cunt, twat, fandango, clitoris, womb, ovum, uterus, vag....umm lady-garden....I can think of (although lots of people sadly have lady-patios, and if we're going down that path - or fallopian tube -  then surely we need to get the word 'merkin' in there somewhere?). Today I was sitting on the bus and had to google 'A Womb of One's Own' to confirm my suspicions that it will definitely have been used before (it has, of course), trying not to list all the various shit euphemisms I can think of for vagina out-loud. As Kylie would say, I can't get them out of my head. THE VAGINAS ARE TAKING OVER. Except they're not, 'cos just saying the word is enough to get you gagged in politics, and just having one is enough to mean you get paid less. They're not taking over, and that's not what feminism wants: we just want a fair deal, fair rights, equal pay, laws that give us the right to decide what happens to our bodies, a world without genital mutilation or sexual violence (against anyone, not just women)...

So, if you want to make a subtle(ish) hint in the board room, or fancy posting a package to a political leader or two, I'd recommend bringing in some cakes (as befits our gender), or subtly doing your nails (all women are good for), and seeing if they get the message. 

Vagina cupcakes

Vagina nail art, I stole from Miss Fox's blog

All that said, however, I don't want any ladies to leave feeling down about their vaginas. If you are, just take a moment to appreciate your vagina - we're not all lucky enough to have one; think of the poor mermaids....

'I salute your wrangling of the sex mad future of this country', or: What do you do for a living?

So, what do you do for a living? The ultimate dinner party question. One which I imagine one in five of the under 25 year olds of this country dread being asked. Let's not be so snobbish as to assume that just because they are unemployed they don't go to dinner parties. Or perhaps they're asked it over the sticky plastic table top of Maccy-D. Or it's shouted over the vibrations of heavy synth. Whichever. Stuck in the neo-libralist spiral of the free-market and omnipresent media, where worth is measured by economic contribution and the stock-piling of possessions (if you'll excuse my ranty lefty rhetoric), many adults (and thus god help the 'young adult') feel that they are defined by their job. Don't have a job, enjoy a liminal identity and the pity or judgement of the questioner. Miss Fox wrote a little bit about this a while ago; as she said: I read an interesting article in Stylist magazine about how people who lose their jobs can feel like they’ve lost their identity. That’s sort of how I’m feeling – almost like a non-person. My generation was told that we could do or have anything if we worked hard enough for it, and now, of course, there are many of us in the situation where we have put in the time and effort, and taken on huge debts, only to find out that we’ve been rather misled. Or fucked-in-the-ear, as I prefer. 

As Paul Mason puts it: 'the human expression of a broken economic model'. No wonder the Common People feel Gideon wants to make 'an unemployment figure of you!'

'I'm a Thatcherite; I'm out of control!' 

Ooops, I've gone off on a bit of a tangent again. Tangents are one of my favourite things, as you may have spotted. And parentheses. And puns. I'm a good-time-girl, what can I say?

Anyway, back to the opener - the uber-key question: WHAT DO YOU DO? Recently when people have asked me this, I have found myself making a quick decision regarding whether they a) actually want to know, b) might be remotely interested, and c) I can be bothered to explain (and since I love talking about my work, 'c' is time-related practicality rather than an apathy issue). The real question is: Do I just say, 'Drama teacher'? I do, sometimes. It's not a lie; I am a Drama teacher. I just have about nine other jobs too. So, I've experimented a bit.... My most common - and reasonably thorough - is: 'I teach Drama and creative writing to hard-to-reach community groups, and also do sort-of PSHE-ish education stuff, about health and sex and that, in schools'. The 2012 version of my standard, 'in prisons and shit' of 2010 whenever I was trying to explain what I was doing with my life and my degree. 

My 'PSHE-ish' repertoire (Personal, Social, Health Education, for those of you who have avoided schools ever since you legally could) has expanded recently, as I have delivered my first sessions for Cragrats and Family Lives. Enterprise education in Sutton Coldfield (with a delightful night at the North Birmingham Premier Inn and many hours worth of a car full of actors in their late 20s singing 80's power ballads) with the former, and South Croydon far too early in the morning, with a room full of 12 year olds discussing sexting with the latter. Leading a friend to grace me with the compliment found in the title of this post. 

I'm glad it's the weekend, to tell the truth. And that rarely happens (pop psychology explanation of my historic fear of weekends must be saved for another occasion - I need my beauty sleep now). But it turns out freelancing my arse off round London can be bloody tiring. Especially when it involves throwing juggling balls at drug addicts, telling teenage boys how smoking will effect their erections, and pretending to be a penguin with young refugees. What do you do??! Ummm... I'm a Drama teacher...sort of....