creativity | music | art | activism

part of the “cotnam’s island winter storage” series by gillian fostersee more at blueprintmagazine.ca

blueprint

Contributors Morgan Alan Zinta Avens Auzens Gillian Foster Matt Given Nick Lachance Janice Lee Adam Lewis

Carly LewisSarah MacDonaldJody MillerLauren SmeeMaeve StrathyKeegan Tremblay

Cover Credits Front Emily Slofstra

BackCarly Lewis

President Bryn Ossington General Manager/Advertising Angela Foster Chair of the Board Jordan Hyde Board of Directors Suhail Hafeez Kyle Muizelaar Luay Salmon Corporate Secretary Maeve Strathy Distribution Manager Nicole Weber Web Manager Jonathan Rivard

75 University Avenue WestWaterloo ON, N2L 3C5519 884 0710 ext. 2738519 883 0873 (fax)blueprint@wlusp.com

Editor-in-Chief Erin Epp

Managing Editor, Print Content Morgan Alan

Managing Editor, Visual Content Carly Lewis

Promotional Director Kelly Grevers

WLUSP Administration

magazine

CreativityWelcome to the summer issue of Blueprint Magazine, a creative endeavour made possible by the talented students and community members who contributed their writing and art. Indeed, Blue-print is meant to be an outlet for people to publish their thoughts, opinions, and musings on any given theme. Each issue is shaped by the creative decisions made by the writers, artists, and editors of Blueprint. As such, creativity is an integral part of every step in the production process, yet the concept has rarely been discussed in and of itself.

Something is always created to !ll a need, whether it is a need for a new tool, a need to see some-thing beautiful, or a need to connect with a community. The ability to create is one that therefore satis!es an abundance of our needs in every !eld imaginable, including business, art, social justice, and personal sovereignty. In this sense, creativity is an extremely relevant concept for individuals and small communities; not only is it fun to create, it is a way to reclaim power and choice.

When an artist creates art, they choose their medium and design. When people plant a garden, they choose to grow some of their own food, as well as how much, and what, to grow. This reclama-tion of power and choice is inherent in all things creative and is, above all, beautiful; it’s a beautiful thing to create something new, whether it is a piece of clothing, a solar panel, or a song. In order to be we must create, and every time we create we regain some power over our own lives and liveli-hoods that, for whatever reason, we may have lost along our way.

To be creative means to challenge traditional assumptions about the world around us; only then can something new be made. When you make the choice to create, whatever that may mean to you, you regain choice and power over your life, and that is a beautiful thing.

Erin EppEditor in Chief

Please forward submissions tosubmissions@blueprintmagazine.ca

Inside Covers Gillian Foster

PERSPECTIVESCreativity is Survival

blueprintJune 2009

Janice Lee

Why we constatly create with-out even noticing.

Dear First Years,A student’s advice to incoming !rst years.Morgan Alan

6ART

LITERATURE

3Days of Love and Rage

Adam Lewis4

One musician’s take on the role of her music in a"ecting positive change.

Creativity and cooperation as a form of activism.

The Business of Creativity

Sarah MacDonald7 #e death of imagination in

the workplace.

Making the Choice to Art

Lauren Smee

A collection of gra$ti images from the streets of Western Europe.

Creativity in the Streets

Carly Lewis10

Roving for Chisos

Keegan Tremblay

A voyage of self-discovery into the unknown.14

How Strathy Got Her Groove Back

Maeve Strathy

Last night, a DJ saved her life from a broken heart...

16You Are Creative

Zinta Avens-Auzins

Why you shouldn’t sell your own creativity short.19

POETRYAny ChimpMaeve Strathy20

8A Better Story

Jody Miller

Are destruction and death sim-ply a part of human nature? 12

!

see web-exclusive content at

blueprintmagazine.ca

Creativity is human nature. We forget, I think, that we are all creators, every day, all the time. Any time you do, you create. And we are always doing.

Creation is a cycle. An external force inspires an internal force within us, which is then channeled into an external creation. Something we perceive from beyond our bodies through our senses becomes internalized into energy. Internal energy can be ideas and emotions. !ese internal energies must then be released from our bodies in some sort of creative channel to keep the cycle going.

An idea must be released by creating words, sentences, language, meaning. Emotions must be released by creating tears, laughter, kisses. Internal energy can create abstract and intangible things as well as tangible and physical things. In any case though, that energy must be released from our body, creating something outside of it.

Creative energy must always be "owing, or else we become sick in our mind, heart, or body. Keeping ideas or emotions inside will leave you feeling trapped, limited, restless, unable, and physically ill. Your mind will start to drag you down and become a hindrance. Your body will not do what you will and turn against you. To not create, and to trap, is unnatural and against human nature.

So create. Don’t keep your energy inside. Let it out in words, in conversation, in song, in a dance, in tears, in laughter, in connections, in relationships, in love. Take what the world gives you, channel it, and continue the cycle of creation.

To create. It’s what we do. It’s how we live. The creator is you.

creativity is survival.

Janice Lee

Kill All Artists | Carly Lewis

What is creativity? Creativity is pushing the status quo to the brink of self-destruction…!ese are our days of love and rage. A time to expand all of our senses and engulf the ills that stand

before us. To tear down the curtains and façades of misdirection and misinformation. To fell the master’s house by all tools necessary. To behead the statues of power. A time to shred the "ags that have wrapped us in blindness for so long. A time to learn, burn, and create.

!is existence is hell-bent on a never-ending cycle of social damage and environmental apocalypse. !is is the path capitalism has mapped onto our very souls. A system of authoritarian relations, sti"ing numbness of spirit, and engrained conformity. Broken backs, bloodied hands, fall outs, and close outs. A push, stone cut, deep into every pore and membrane. A stinging feeling of hatred for all others, a requirement that personal ful#llment alone is the quest for all who are to engage in the medium of exchange. It is this exchange value that pervades all assessments of use, of ethical constraints and environmental cognizance. !is, my friends, is grow or die.

!e everyday experience is one of constant reminder that there are rules to be followed. Silent, to the point of overwhelming coercion, these are our prisons. Bars of TV screens, cells of economic necessity, police as the wardens of our freedom. And yet we see no bars in view, to observe as such is to have made a challenge, to have slipped from our course of unrelenting and passive conformity. !ere is no taste of steel for these bars. !is panopticon is in no ready view. So hidden that we are not even mindful of its presence, yet so powerful that we obey just the same.

!ere is a continued oppression. One of the spirit that captures the rage, the innate feelings that project brick into glass, accelerant into "ame, one that sets water free again. One that captures an unknown humanity, one that we have not yet felt or tasted, but one that will set us free. A spirit that needs to be awakened. A spirit that needs to be ignited, just as the cities themselves shall be. Petrol bombs and barricades, perhaps, anything to have our say.

Where is the simplicity in common cooperation? In shared goals, visions, freedoms? In dances, music, lives, art? Where is the creativity? Or are we reduced to the token paci#sm that pervades struggle? Are we satis#ed with such reoccurrence? Or are we #nally ready to step beyond the tried and untrue? To move past the accepted and worn? Are we ready to get creative? Are we ready to break out?

Or are we content to recirculate the lies, another page in the ‘history’ book? To accept outright domination, in all its forms, of all peoples and struggle against it only in a token manner? We have been ready to accept the domination, systemic as it is, until the end of days. !e struggle and agency thus far has been perhaps piecemeal. A drop in the bucket, one in which reformism has occupied bowing to supremacy. ‘Being this change’ has too o$ facilitated a moral righteousness, an egoistic lifestylism that lacks the action of resistance. Emancipation is traded for crumbs in our cells. And as such we will never see the #elds that will set us free.

Our condition must be one in constant uprising. An upward motion against the proprietors of control. !ree-hundred-and-sixty-#ve rpm. Fist, brick, art, dance… !ese are the muscles of leverage that lead to the greater realm. Each to their own, and all to one another. State. Police. Capitalism. Hierarchy. Domination. Oppression. Constancy in our move to change is all that we require. And we must commit. Struggle to overcome the power that envelopes us. Creativity is thus our means and end. Pre#gure the new means in which our lives will take place. And do it now. Revolt.

“I got a bone to pick with capitalism and a few to break”

Ah, in such an ugly time, the real protest is beauty.Create.

Adam Lewis

blueprint 5

Dear First Years,

High school, work, an extended vacation or otherwise have arrived at a long overdue conclusion. In a few short months, you’ll be embarking on an adventure to previously unexplored territory – university. I’m not here to preach to you about school spirit or what a great choice you’ve made in coming to Laurier; god knows you’ll be getting enough of that during Ori-entation Week. I’m here to give you a small token of advice, one student to another.

I make no pretence about being a university veteran. I’ll only be start-ing my second year at this institution when you’ll be starting your !rst. To put it simply, I was one of you a mere twelve months ago.

My original plan for this article was to write up some tips for uni-versity survival. I’ve decided that’s not entirely appropriate. Who am I to tell you how you should live your life? Your success in the academic and social catalyst that is university ulti-mately rests on your own shoulders.

It sounds tokenistic, but your uni-versity experience will be what you make it. If you so desire, the next four (or more, or less) years of your life will be the greatest you’ve ever known. As an enlightened woman once said many years ago, take chances, make mistakes, and get messy.

Morgan Alan

Enter | Nick Lachanceblueprint 6

The Business of Creativity

At that point I picked up my lush pink scented marker and began to run it across thick bristol board. What

had I written? BAKE SALE! TODAY! TODAY! TO-DAY! Today, I felt inspired. When we were children, our creative abilities were limited only by our vast imagina-tions. !e outlets our teachers suggested we use came in the form of markers, crayons, pencils, bristol board, and plain old white printer paper. With these basic tools, the whole world was at our "ngertips. In kindergarten, as a starting point of creativity for such small students, "nger painting with chocolate pudding was an outlet and we didn’t even know it. As we grew older, we realized that our creative abilities grew with us. In middle school the art techniques got a little more complicated; we swapped pudding for wa-tercolours and sketched still life instead of drawing fruit with scented markers.

In high school our creative outlets branched out not only to "ne art, but to photography, drama, music, and cre-ative writing. !e evolution of the creative mind and the theme of creativity itself are molded in elementary school to a progression of creative training in secondary school with the hope of creative self-study. In my youth I exposed myself not only to the artists I would later admire like Mo-net, Jackson Pollock or Toulouse-Lautrec, but to the im-mensely life-changing notion of music and music-making, as well as literature and its expressions.

Having stepped outside the realms of academia and

walking into the narrow hallways of an o#ce, I couldn’t help but notice that with every step I took, I was taking a metaphorical step back in my own maturation process. I stepped into a room that had posters marked with con-cepts and mission statements written in vibrant pink and neon green, outlined in purple and blue with smiley faces and doodles for $air. I will always remember that scene in O#ce Space when Jennifer Aniston’s character is criticized for hindering the business by not having enough $air on her serving apron. I feel like that every day.

!e more “creativity” that is brought into the work-place, the better the environment will be. I say creativity with quotations because to me, mission statements and tallied point systems with team names do not really con-stitute true creativity. It feels more like a slap in the face for minds hungry for inspiration, dedication, and passion to come from or be in$uenced by real pieces of creative mas-tery. You can feel the passion and misery in a picture of an anonymous can-can dancer in Montematre at the turn of the century in Toulouse-Lautrec’s paintings. You cannot feel passion in a caricatured face of a woman angry with a customer service representative on a Power Point slide.

Why do businesses even bother injecting an already bland atmosphere with what resembles primary school creativity? It may be nice to skip down Nostalgia Lane to those days when doodling in our notebooks was fun and a good waste of time, but o#ces that utilize this business

tactic foster an immature atmosphere. !ey belittle the precious commodity of creativity in a time when the 401K rules and the starving artist is literally a joke. !is kind of creativity reverts back to adolescent, frivolous pieces of work, calling it a waste of time, all while mock-ing the time spent on genius pieces of art or literature or music by calling it out as such. Frivolity should be expressed in a piece, but it shouldn’t be the piece itself.

Today, I felt inspired. I felt the rush of creative adrenaline course through my thick blue veins and in!uence my brain and heart.

Sarah MacDonald

blueprint 7

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Human beings need art. I believe this to be true. Last fall as federal arts funding was slashed, I was surprised by

how visceral my feelings of betrayal were. What I struggled to explain is why; what role does art serve in our beautiful, breaking world? What hunger does it feed in humanity?

My grade twelve World Issues teacher was fond of saying, “It’s all interconnected.” As my discovery of the world’s problems set my head spinning, this mantra grounded me. One day on the slippery road between tangents Mr. Heath asked us if we thought the students who devoted themselves to our school’s excellent drama program were making the best use of their time. He admitted that although drama was “great,” he didn’t think it was going to solve the world’s problems.

I was distraught as I le! class that day. Although I had been increasingly taking to heart my responsibility to this world and its people, I was making plans to study music in university. To hear this man, who I deeply respected, tell me music wasn’t a worthy choice hurt, probably because at least a little part of me agreed with him.

Much has been said - mostly by artists - about the power of the arts to heal, to connect people, to bring about peace. I remember my "rst violin teacher telling me when

I arrived at a lesson a!er marching in an anti-war protest, “this is why we need to make as much music as possible.” I think of Woody Guthrie’s guitar case, which read, “#is machine kills fascists.” I am full of admiration for these passionate people, and I "nd truth and a$rmation in their words, but I am also full of doubt; as long as we have had art (which reaches back to the beginnings of humanity) we have had artists proclaiming the unstoppable power of their art to save the world, and yet war endures. So where does the power lie?

When I started music school it was art’s power to connect people that I held in my mind. I was going to teach music, nurture children, and perform, sharing myself with the world through this beautiful universal language. I now realize that I also went into music because it was safe. In Mr. Heath’s big world of big problems it was something I could handle, and if it is ‘all interconnected’ then my music would make a di%erence in the world. Instead, music school tried my faith in what I was doing, and the safety I found in it. How was I ever going to reach anyone from my practice room? I felt disconnected, cut o% by the very thing that was supposed to be my bridge.

blueprint 8

So now when I think of art’s power I think smaller. I think of Shostakovich sleeping on the doorstep so that when the Soviet authorities came for him they wouldn’t wake his family, but still weaving himself into his music beneath the veneer of patriotism that kept him alive. I think of a singing group in Zimbabwe, outlawed and exiled because of their anti-Mugabe lyrics, yet still performing exuberantly for a CBC radio broadcast. I think of a group of women gathering weekly to discuss forbidden works of literature in the Islamic Republic of Iran.

!ere is an image from Reading Lolita in Tehran that has captivated me of late. Azin, a con"dent but troubled young woman, paints her "ngernails a bright tomato red, but must hide them beneath dark gloves year round so as not to be #ogged, "ned, or imprisoned for their colour. I am in awe of the bravery of this act that, to many, might seem like a pointless risk. I can see how the comfort and strength gained by this reclamation of colour, this reclamation of power over her body, must have seemed worth the risk of physical harm.

All of this has got me thinking about choice and the ubiquity of art. A violinist in a practice room, no matter how trapped she feels, has the power to make about a million choices a minute. In circumstances where choice is removed, the most powerful thing one can do is reclaim choice. And art is all about choice.

In Christopher Small’s book Musicking, he turned ‘music’ into a verb, declaring any involvement in the performance or perception of music as musicking. In his view the architect of the venue, the stagehands, the ticket-rippers, the promoters, and, of course, the audience members, are all musicking as much as the “musicians.” If we extend Small’s idea to all art then arting becomes a mindset, a choice anyone can make, regardless of circumstances. Whether we are painting murals or painting "ngernails, writing literature or discussing it, singing at the top of our lungs or silently "nding beauty in the way dust motes dance in a beam of light, we are arting. And arting is free. Anyone who makes the choice to see beauty in the world, even in shit, is making a choice that a$rms their humanity and reclaims some power over their own destiny.

I don’t know whether these tiny acts of empowerment will change the world in a big way, but I think they are signi"cant. If it truly is all interconnected, what they amount to is a growing web of empowerment. !is may or may not end war once and for all, but any a$rmation of humanity is a step in the right direction. In the meantime a lot people will be a little bit- or a lot – freer.

Follow a discussion on this topic at Lauren’s blog: http://radicaluprightness.blogspot.com

Lauren Smee

Sound | Nick Lachance

blueprint 9

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%+#),%"##%,!is past summer, I spent some time traveling through Europe. For a month, I visited my family in Italy and traveled the country that my grandparents came from. A"er that, I backpacked Western Europe before #ying to Ireland, where I explored the land that my paternal Grandmother le" before coming to Canada. !e ar-tistic culture I found spread throughout the continent amazed me, as the temperaments of the people were boldly conveyed through gra$ti and street art, using the cities themselves as a medium. Here are some of the images I found decorating the streets.

Le! - Prague, Czech Republic - !is face was part of a door that I encountered on my climb to the top of the city. !e %erceness of the glare in its eyes is a perfect representation of a very angry Praha.

Opposite Top - Paris, France - One of many gorgeous stencils in Paris. !e vast amount of peaceful street art in Paris made me really happy. Around the corner from this one was a stencil of John Lennon.

Opposite Le! - Bruges, Belgium - Belgium is a pretty happy place, and Bruges, quaint and polite, is sort of the Fort Lauderdale of Europe. Surprisingly enough, I found this art on a stone wall in one of the main streets. !e intensity of the piece made me won-der who put it up, since Bruges isn’t exactly a venue of social or political protest, the way that other major cit-ies o"en are. !is piece made me realize that passion exists in even the quietest of places; sometimes you just have to look a little deeper to feel it.

Opposite Right - Rome, Italy - I stumbled upon this piece in an area of Rome completely devoid of any English, which means an especially high Roman Cath-olic population. It was surprising not only to see street art up in this area, but also to see it written in English. I’ve since wondered how long it survived before being taken down by Rome’s municipal employees.

Carly Lewis

See more gra!ti at Carly’s blog:http://milkinmyeyelids.blogspot.com

blueprint 11

The phrase human nature gets thrown around a lot when

discussing how things got this way. When I say “this way,” I’m referring to the violence that underlies most everything this culture does, from killing aboriginal peoples for their land (and the oil under it) to destructive bottom trawler !shing practices to factory farming to industrial pollution and dumping toxins into the water.

“It’s just human nature,” I’m told when I bring examples like this up. “We’re greedy. Look at every war that’s ever happened - people !ghting over resources. Oil, land, metals, water.” Now, that’s true if by ‘ever’ you mean the most recent 10,000 years or about 4% of homo sapiens’ time on this planet. "e fact is there were people long before there was a cultural imperative to own and control the world. "ere were people long before there were mad ideas like empire, money, gold, and oil. And we were doing just !ne. A very few of us still are - those lucky few our culture hasn’t conquered yet and given the unpalatable pseudo-choice of “convert or die.”

"is idea that human beings are inherently bad, destructive, sinful caricatures is not just absurd, and it’s dangerous. We live the story we base our lives around. As Tony Robbins will tell you (and sell you), you can change your life by creating the story you want for yourself and then repeating it to yourself over and over again. Write it down !#y times a day and you won’t be able to help living it. And that’s exactly why we live in such

a destructive way. We hear the story hundreds of times a day, hidden in the underlying and undeclared premises of every story we tell each other. Let’s have look at a headline from BBC News:

“US edges closer to bail-out deal: US Republican and Democratic Party lawmakers have said they are getting closer to agreeing [on] a massive rescue plan to aid the !nancial markets.” "e unspoken premise? "e !nancial markets need rescuing. We need economic expansion to continue as a prerequisite of life. We need to value the economy and maintain it more than we need, say, healthy rivers or polar bears or ducks. It is human nature to inde!nitely grow our material wealth, and anything that threatens the economic system threatens us. Con$ating ourselves with this culture of greed forces the conclusion that we are in fact the inherently greedy, destructive monsters I’m o#en told we are.

Even outside of the media, the common activities of daily life reinforce the same story. You and I need to work to get money because money can be exchanged for the necessaries of life - food, shelter, water. "e thing is, food doesn’t come from the grocery store except in our imaginations. "e world is made of food, except where our culture has torn it up and paved

or monocropped it. Drinking water is free for all living beings, except where our culture has dumped toxins into it, sold it to private corporations or dammed it out of reach.

Well, if the way we live doesn’t re$ect human nature but this culture, what is human nature? How can we separate the culture from the inherent traits if we’ve all been raised here? Like a frog in a well, how can we have any idea what that circle of light way o% in the distance is? How can we know what it is to be out in the open air when we don’t even know we’re stuck in a well?

A Better Story

blueprint 12

Yummy | Nick Lachance

Continued on page 13...

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/0"&1Forward all submissions to submissions@blueprintmagazine.ca

By midnight on !ursday, September 10th

Open call for essays, editorials, personal response pieces,artwork, poetry, photography on the theme of

!at’s a great question, and one I’ve been re"ecting on a lot since I returned from a brief solo journey into the Canadian wild. I intended to go for a month and brought a 47lb pack, well prepared for every eventuality. I had a #ne First Aid kit, more than 16,000 calories of food, a wool blanket and plenty more. I had a wealth of knowledge in my head on primitive living skills, from shelter to water to food. I could have lasted at least nine days with the food I brought, even if the area wasn’t well populated with raspberries, cattails, lily tubers, snakes, frogs and rabbits. I was there to meditate, to re"ect and to think about whatever came up - to get a taste of the life of my ancestor from 20,000 years ago; to learn the ancient lessons that are written in the rivers, trees and

rocks of this place. I stayed a mere four days, but learned a powerful lesson. By the fourth day, I was hopelessly depressed despite the relative serenity and beauty of my surroundings. I was becoming unhinged and I knew exactly why. As it turns out, the lesson I was to learn from my trip wasn’t written in the rivers, trees or rocks. It is deeply carved in my genes and in yours; in my psyche and in yours.

I was depressed because I was lonely. Like #ne wine or an ingenious play brilliantly acted, the beauty of the place was completely meaningless and hollow without someone to share it with.

I packed up my gear and began the trip South, towards a town and an eventual bus ride home. As I walked, a motorist pulled over to o$er me a li%.

I accepted, grateful not for the ride so much as the company. !e man, a carpenter, told me about his family and his work and his irresponsible brother-in-law. It was no great story in the traditional sense - there was no particular excitement, no adventure. Listening to the man tell his common, almost predictable story, however, I was absolutely captivated.

Human nature compels us to socialize and tell each other stories. We certainly don’t need oil, slavery or deforestation to do that. Maybe if we start telling each other a di$erent story - one in which homo sapiens is a part of the community of life rather than its tyrant, we can see the end of this destructive culture. All we need is a better story.

Continued !om page 12...

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Jody Miller

blueprint 13

Roving for ChisosA Journey Into

The dogs struggle initially, kicking sand into my face with little

productivity, but soon they pull together and the sleigh picks up speed. In no time I am being transported across the granular terrain at about twenty kilometers per hour. Here I am, a 38-year-old anthropologist exploring the Big Bend Area of West Texas, isolating myself in the desert with hopes of coming across a new clan of homo sapiens rumored to be living at the foot of the Chisos Mountains. My step cousin would be proud; she is a simple minded fan of sandboxes, sand castles, and digging. !ere is no doubt that she would be impressed by all the sand I have found here.

!e sleigh was a last minute addition to the trip. Initially I out"tted a jeep with special tires and special headlights but was informed by an old local man living at the edge of the desert that, like snow, sand was best traveled by dog sleigh. Attracted by the idea of an insider’s tip, I le# the Jeep with the wise veteran and rented a "ve dog sleigh he happened to have available for $300. “Remember what I told you,” he said as I le#.

Now, well under the intense Texan sun, I rummage through my bag looking for a pair of sun glasses to shield my eyes. Digging past my

required reading for the trip, Bill Bryson’s Take Your Travel to the Next Level: A Detailed Account of my Journey to Space, digging past my mix tape of various Jon Bon Jovi classics, underneath my deodorant, matches and mirror, on top of my tweezers and toothbrush, I "nd my sunglasses.

With a new outlook I study my team of dogs. !ere are "ve of them attached with make-shi# reins that lead to my hands. !e lead dog is an oversized and under"t Deutscher Schäferhund, a dog with hair far too thick for this heat. Behind him on the le# are two Texas Heelers and on the right one Greyhound followed by a miniature Dachshund. I can tell the Dachshund is having trouble trailing the big Greyhound, but decide the sleigh needs every inch of dog leg working for it.

A#er an hour the team and I have successfully entered no man’s land. However, a#er 60 minutes at a large dog’s pace the littlest member begins to struggle; coughing and choking on sand. “Pull it together!” I encourage the wiener dog, “dig deep!”

A#er 63 minutes of jogging the hot desert sand, my rented Dachshund stops moving her legs. In an act of dead-woodedness she closes her eyes, curls her paws up toward her chest and rides suspended by the

reins between the greyhound and my sleigh.

A#er 74 minutes the team’s Deutscher Schäferhund drops dead.

With the team abruptly halted, I jump o$ the sleigh and rush to the German Shepherd’s aid. His coat is unreasonably hot and he lies crumpled without a pulse. !ree remaining dogs of good health look at me for direction. I decide that the last thing I need is for these beasts to get hungry and turn on me. Without a second thought I free both Heelers and the Greyhound. I check for vital signs on the Dachshund and "nd a weak pulse. In an e$ort of nourishment I pour water into her mouth while watching my more useful rental dogs disappear into the distance, heading back toward home.

“Well Deadwood, what shall we do now?” I ask the small pile of dog now lying in the sand. Struggling to open her eyes, she coughs muddy saliva onto my shoe.

“Bad situation Deady,” I say surveying the burnt landscape, “fuck.”

I unleash Deadwood, pick her up with one arm and sling my bag onto my back. Perhaps the old local at the edge of the desert will come looking for us when he "nds the Heelers and Greyhound on his doorstep. I "gure

Continued on page 15...

blueprint 14

that’s our only chance for survival. According to my calculations, the dogs were traveling at about 20 kilometres an hour for a little over an hour. !erefore Deady and I must be a little over 20 kilometres into the desert.

!e utter helplessness of our situation reminds me of the time I watched my friends get a beat-down when I was twelve years old. We were three cracker-jacks, real powder-asses, growing up in a primarily black community at the height of underground hip-hop. It was my best friend Fredrick who we dubbed “Fro”, myself who was known as “Mo”, and Timothy who was nick named “Two” a"er his new favorite rap artist Tupac Shakur. !e three of us were working on our hoop skills, playing a game of hula-hoop ‘till you drop. “Fro” was the defending champion and “Two” was giving him a real run for his money. It was then and there, August 21st 1991 under that warm inner city sun that it happened. I had run inside to grab my three older sisters’ newly obtained grass skirts from some beach-themed store. I thought it’d be a real laugh to suggest wearing grass skirts to the guys. So here I am running out of the house wearing one grass skirt, carrying two more and what do I see on the sidewalk? A few thugs shaking Two and Fro.

I stopped on my front lawn beside a small cedar tree and some bushes. Immediately I recognized one of the thugs as “J-Mall”. He was a real tough fella who liked to call me “chicklit” because of my love for Nancy Drew literature. I didn’t want J-Mall seeing me in my older sisters’ Hawaiian grass skirts but I knew that was exactly what needed to happen if I were to avoid being beaten. In a #ash I threw a second grass skirt over my head and pulled it mid-way down my chest. !e third skirt I wore like a halo. Fully cloaked and covered with long strands of dead brown grass, I watched my white hombres get their faces punched. J-Mall looked over only once but dismissed me and my disguise for some rotting plant-life. Perhaps that’s all I really was.

A"er a few minutes of punch-infested-fun, the fellas le" my boys alone. !ey cracked and warped our hoops. Fro hurt his elbow and Two had lost a shoe. J-Mall was sending me a message. Even in the inner city heat, he kept beat. No matter what time or what mode, J-Mall would rhyme, it was his code.

Now alone in the desert with old Deady under my arm, I felt as helpless as a Hawaiian skirt wearing boy.

“Damn Deady,” I dropped to my knees and threw one $st in the sky, “damn it all to hell.” I whispered the

phrase to avoid any sand gathering in my mouth. !ere was no way I was going to end up with muddy saliva any sooner than I had to.

I remained on my knees until the hot sand on my skin made me feel uncomfortable. I stood up and continued walking; it was too early to give up. I should at least try to run myself into exhaustion. !en an idea came over me, a dog with exhaustion. !at’s how I would get out of this mess! I looked over my shoulder to see the German Shepherd being picked over by some vultures. Poor thing. !en I saw it, just on the horizon, the Greyhound! It was my only way out, I began running, holding old Deadwood like a football in one arm. I ran for my life. I could see it turn and come for me now, I began to worry. What if the black pawed beast was in a state of desert delusion? It could run right over me. My God. But run it did and run I did until we both met and slammed on our brakes. !e greyhound doors swung open and I hopped on, narrowly escaping the cloud of blackish exhaust that inertia brought toward the outer front of the bus.

!is is an excerpt. Read the rest of Roving for Chisos online at blueprintmagazine.ca

Continued "om page 14...

Turtle Swim | Matt Given Recreation | Matt Given

Keegan Tremblay

blueprint 15

Electro music saved my life.Seriously.I used to listen to mellow music

almost exclusively. Mellow is a pretty broad descriptor, so to narrow it down a bit, I’m talking about Death Cab for Cutie, Ben Harper, Norah Jones, Dave Matthews Band, !e Shins, Damien Rice… not a particular genre, per se, but more of a vibe. I felt like it "t my life no matter how I was feeling. “Transatlanticism” by Death Cab (the song, not the album), for example, could be my soundtrack for a lazy (but happy!) Sunday morning – smoking and drinking on the balcony. It could also be the song I cry to when I’m crushing on a straight girl. It even worked when I was in a relationship (note the repeated lyrics: “I need you so much closer”). !ese songs were applicable, they were relevant, and they were timeless…

Or so I thought.October 2008 comes and I’m

dealing with a break-up. Once again I turn to mellow and sad and for a while my anthem was “!e Pieces Don’t Fit Anymore” by James Morrison. I cried, I mourned, and all the while the soundtrack to my life was mellow and slow.

!en one day I was in the car with my sister and I heard ’Time to Pretend’ by MGMT. I felt like I’d heard it somewhere before, and it resonated with me. It’s upli#ing and fun, upbeat and carefree. Unlike my

usual music, I feel no need to look up lyrics of electronic songs, or put them in my MSN name. If there’s anything I want to do, it’s dance!

I needed more, so I turned to

my best friend who was basically an electro master. He introduced me to MSTRKRFT, Steve Aoki, Calvin Harris, and Justice, among others. I started doing my own searching and found a plethora of mash-ups, remixes, beats and more. And of course, just like with my old taste in music, I loved sharing my new "nds with friends.

Up until this point I hadn’t

thought it took a lot of talent to make this kind of music. Remixes and mash-ups seemed so unoriginal. Beats seemed boring to me, but I’ve come to realize that this is so not the case.

Creativity does not come in one shape. Take Gregg Gillis, a.k.a. Girl Talk. He is a mash-up artist and his tracks o#en combine up to 25 di$erent songs. “What’s It All About” (from his 2008 album, “Feed the Animals”) includes songs by Beyonce, Phil Collins, Mike Jones, Outkast, %ueen, and !e Jackson 5. Epic! Sure, he didn’t make those songs himself, but he used his knowledge of music and his computer skills to create a whole new piece of art.

I also had the good fortune of seeing Steve Aoki (twice!), Crookers, MSTRKRFT, and the Bloody Beetroots this year. Seeing those guys on stage with their high energy and intense focus is enough to convince you that they are hard at work, and that they are making real music.

It’s also a fucking unreal party!

I’m still listening to electro now. I certainly listen to other stu$, but electro is my favourite. It took me out of what could have been a really shitty slump and I think had a hand in changing the energy I give o$.

Needless to say, Transatlanticism is no longer on my iPod.

blueprint 16

How Strathy Got Her Groove Back

Maeva!ave’s Top 5 Mash-Ups 1. Paper Rump Planes Wreckx-N-E!ect’s “Rump Shaker” and M.I.A.’s “Paper Planes”

2. A Cause De Kanye Kanye West’s “Love Lockdown” and Yelle’s “A Cause de Garcon”.

3. One More Time to Pretend MGMT’s “Time to Pretend” and Daft Punk’s “One More Time”

4. Smells Like Booty Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and Destiny’s Child’s “Bootylicious”.

5. Can You Hear My Kids Now MGMT’s “Kids” with Lil Kim’s “Can You Hear Me Now”

Maeve Strathy

People sometimes compliment me on things I’ve made or done, and add “I could never do that,” “I wish I could do that,” or “I’m not creative at all.”

My advice to the wishers is: don’t say or think you’re not creative. You’re only blocking yourself from the possibility that you actually could partake in creativity. Maybe you just haven’t discovered what your soul wants to create yet, or you’re afraid of doing something badly. Don’t be afraid. Don’t wish you were creative—just go out there and do battle with words, paint, fabric, knitting needles, stencils, anything.

Start small. Baby steps will whet your appetite and could lead you to something bigger. Stitch a phrase onto a shirt. Draw on a handkerchief. Make a collage. Eventually you could be welding metal sculptures or sewing dresses. (But don’t feel like you have to progress to so-called bigger accomplishments.)

Make time to make things. Stop watching television. It could free up a lot of time. It’s okay if you only make things occasionally. Eventually you will crave creation and you will pull it into your life; you will feel the need to make something special, beautiful, or useful every day.

!e act of creativity isn’t necessarily exceptional, complicated, or momentous in itself. It is really a matter of synthesizing time, place, tools, and materials and making them work together. It is a remarkable act when you make time and space in your life to do something you are passionate about or something you just want to try, or something you are downright afraid of doing. It is also amazing when you give up thinking about doing something and you actually do it. It is a very big deal.

On my road to becoming a self-proclaimed excellent seamstress, an okay abstract watercolour painter, a musical poet, and avid re-user and re-imaginer of broken, unused objects, one piece of wisdom has consistently reminded me not to take myself (and my creative endeavours) too seriously, and has encouraged me to try doing things I think I would be pretty terrible at. It also lets me keep practicing things I know I’m bad at. I can’t remember how or where I came upon the quote, but it is Julia Cameron’s, and it is simply “anything worth doing is worth doing badly.” On that note, I encourage you to pick up those drumsticks, that paintbrush, or that packet of seeds, and just go for it. No matter how big a mess you think you will make, it will be a beautiful one.

Zinta Mara Avens Auzins

You’re Creative

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“Why do you like her?” she asked!e "rst thing I thought of was that you were creative“What does she do or play?” she askedWellI resented that question right away because creativity is not just about doing or playing, is it?Any chimp can play a scale on a piano or scribble out a few lines and call it poetryBut it’s the way you think, girlIt’s those weird things you say!ose inexplicable drawings you draw!ose connections you make from one thing to another that don’t quite make senseBut then when you explain them the brilliance is pure beautyIt’s a shame you’re not totally comfortable with your weirdness and creativityGive it a few yearsLet it stew and simmer a littleOwn it!at’s why I like youI see ahead a few yearsAnd I’m excited for youI hope I’m around for it

Maeve Strathy

Any Chimp

Perspective | Nick Lachanceblueprint 20

part of the “cotnam’s island winter storage” series by gillian fostersee more at blueprintmagazine.ca

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