Mx.D.P

…the world is full of ableism, and this trip was all about that…

I had a fantastic time at the low-res; even the aerobatic flip on Prof X out of the black cab and landing on my head didn’t dampen my spirits, although it did cut short the trip by a couple of days… you have to know when to bug out (Top Gun reference)

The interim show was excellent. It was like two separate shows: Digital Fine Art was an intermate conversation as you entered reception at CSM, and the Street was glitz and glam. For the first time, I really began to understand the power of curation.

The low-res started with a bang with Alex’s class on the ‘hole’. It was an excellent example of how to take an art idea and expand and explore the premise. I can see a lot of the ideas used within this amazingly generous workshop being adapted/appropriated within my own workshop practice.

Sunday was interesting. It was aerobatic day, and as always, it was a stark lesson in ableism. After changing taxis to one with a ramp that enabled me to get in… we got as far as Trafalgar Square and the St Patrick’s Day parade. That was an interesting journey through the crowds. Folks don’t see you in the chair. They fall over you… run into you…, and knock you. It’s like constant dodgeball.

The ICA was a nightmare. Only one gallery was accessible, and after the hideous journey to get there, I knew it was going to be just as tough to get to the Tate Modern, so kindly Betty came with me as we set about trying to find a taxi…

Taxi apps are great, but once they know you are in the chair, they don’t take your fair unless they ‘need’ the money. It was cold, the streets were bumpy and painful, the curbs were high, and I felt exhausted, cross; my whiplash from aerobatics hurt, as did my head, and my thin veneer of happiness was showing a shade of black… Betty, I think, was surprised at how hard this shit is… you don’t know what you don’t know… If she hadn’t been there, I think I might have ended up in hospital with hyperthermia or as a statue outside Buck-Palace if nobody had noticed me. By the side of the palace, Betty ran over the road to commandeer a taxi, and we were in. I was very tempted to say, let’s just go back to Kings Cross, but I didn’t, and we pressed on to the Tate. When we got there, I set about planning my route in… Betty said, ‘It’s never over, is it!’

It is ALWAYS about the plan. How will I get there? What is the route I can take with the powerchair? How will I cope? How much risk do I take? Can I deal with the pain now? But more importantly, can I deal with the pain in a few hours or the next day?

The exhibitions I wanted to see were ‘Leigh Bowery’ and ‘Electric Dreams’

Thanks to Betty, I did…

Inessa came to both with me, and she would have loved for me to go with her to the next exhibition, but having got locked into the ‘dis’ abled toilets… you can enter but never leave… I was feeling dizzy and made a retreat to the cafe… I thought for a while I might pass out, but I kept it together…

‘How much pain can YOU cope with?’ …it is a regular question for me…

After a sandwich and a chat with JK, I was ready for my next adventure: a trip on the Thameslink overground.

Would Prof X mind the gap? Would I get up the slope of the Millennium Bridge or flip backwards again?

Is Blackfriars accessible?

What is the route there?

Could I cope?

What does my NOT coping look like?

Can I keep my shit together?

… but first a treat and the best bit of my day Inessa danced…

Well, we got a little lost, but we made it, and the overground was good—scary but good!

I was so knackered when I got back to my room I just wanted to collapse. The route to my hotel room, through the corridors, past the fire extinguishers, opening and getting smacked into by the heavy doors while manoeuvring an electric chair is hideous, but what is more hideous is getting to your door and the key card not working… so what does me losing it look like… me trundling down the corridor trying to find somewhere to turn round to go back through the hell run again into the lift with the doors that ram into you… growling screaming and swearing… yep that’s what it looks like…

I was calm by the time I got to reception…

What I wasn’t calm with was the next day at CSM. One of my coursemates seriously asked me why I use an electric powerchair and why don’t I just walk… Do you think I do this shit for fun… argggggghhhhhhhhhh

FFS!!!!

We were discussing the word ‘dis’abled. Crips have repurposed the slur ‘crip’ because we hate the word ‘dis’abled we are only ‘dis’abled by society.

Instead of loosing my shit with my coursemate… oh I so wanted to… I asked was she more ‘able’ than me… she replied she didn’t know…

And that, folks, is the definition of privilege… not knowing what you’ve got!!! For those in the back, NO, she is not more able than me, but society has ‘dis’abled me by making my physical situation more difficult to deal with…

Well, after that humdinger, I was off to learn some coding and create a VR world. I had a blast…

Well, that was the low-res. I also had lots of lovely social time, but it was time to bug out. I had a long, arduous journey home, and I had achieved something my late husband thought I couldn’t do; I had managed London without him…

<h1>mission accomplished</h1>