Pea Arts About

On Saturday 26 November many of us woke to the deeply sad news of the death the previous day of artist and friend-to-all Hugh O'Donnell. Hugh was a member of the Belfast-based performance art collective Bbeyond, a studio-holder at Flax, and an active campaigner for disabled and LGBTQ+ artists and access to the arts. Most importantly, when you had a conversation with Hugh you came away feeling fantastic, elated, as if you and what you were doing mattered. His loss hits hard. I hadn't seen Hugh for ages, mostly because I hadn't been to Belfast for nearly three years and I didn't bump into him when I finally did visit again this summer. My encounters with Hugh, and often together with his partner Aaron, usually occurred when we were having a skinful at Late Night Art or after a Bbeyond performance monthly. In the interim we'd occasionally 'react' to each other's Facebook posts and that's how I knew he was okay and there.  I didn't see enough of Hugh...

As I grapple with an inner tug-of-war about reasonable reactions to things, I have come to appreciate depictions of rage more and more, particularly when it comes to the deep wounds of trauma. Many of us who remain scarred by the harm incurred from the actions of others have to make tremendous, often invisible, efforts to mask anger so often triggered by any number of inconsiderate, rude, obnoxious, mean, nasty or thoughtless actions. It is all the worse when the behaviour comes from someone oblivious to their own effect on the people or environment around them. Then there's the self-doubt that you're being too sensitive or unreasonable. Minefield. One of the things I have apprecated from my late-in-life Trekdom (it was bound to come up again - we're on season 4 of Star Trek: Voyager now) is the unapologetic grumpiness and anger from loner characters including the marginalized Klingons Worf (Michael Dorn; raised by humans and traumatized by the tragedies wrought by his own ...

It was our dear friend Sandra Johnston who was tasked with the difficult work of telling us that Sally had died on 11 November. When I first moved to Newcastle in August 2014, Sandra had already been here for a couple of years. She was travelling when I moved across, and put me in email contact with someone who had become a close friend and who was involved in organising a site-specific screening I'd find really interesting. Sally had me go round to her house and we chatted and got to know each other a little. I felt like I'd known her for ages, perhaps because we both felt affection for Sandra.  Sally drove us out to Lindisfarne and we parked up, met the rest of the group attending the screening, and all walked across to Holy Island, carrying the kit and supplies. Those with the tech and equipment set up a screen, a generator, a laptop and a projector. A bright, long summer's day in the North, we chatting and picnicked and listened to a Northumbrian piper as we waited for ...