BURLESQUE AGAINST BREAST CANCER: November 2009

Wednesday 25 November 2009

Posed in the window on a Triumph motorcycle

Toronto is a beautiful city. There's no doubt about it.

It's essence brightly burned an unidentified, distinguished colour this third of October, despite the title of the extraordinary event which takes place. Nuit Blanche is an "all night contemporary art-thing" sprawled across the wide girth of the city, rocking its shit from sundown until dawn.

Originating in Paris, the concept quickly caught fire and spread around the globe to art-avaricious insomniacs alike. Toronto swallowed it without chewing and banged it's fork on the table for more. Celebrating the fourth year of a wondrous pastiche of ephemeral brainchildren on display for the city to soak in and do with as seen fit. Art installations from technology-based mediums to live performance pieces are born and die together. It's a night I always look forward to.

This year, I was fortunate to be a part of a project for the beginning of the evening until two in the morning. Although, it wasn't exactly easy for me. I posed as a model for racy life-drawing sessions for my first time clad in attire attributing the Suicide Girls/Fight Club photo shoot. We froze both for artists, and sight-seeing pedestrians of the night. In my favourite pair of baggy DKNY blue jeans, bare feet, black nail polish, lathered in oil, with an old orange Brownies bandanna, fake tats, a lip ring...and that's it. To accent the aesthetic were two experienced spontaneous Shibari rope-riggers creating designs around our exposed torsos throughout the evening.

I'm a burlesque dancer, very much because of my love to entertain. I adore the human form. It is by far one of the most mind-blowing creations next to underwater caverns, beehives, chocolate and jazz music. I love to celebrate my shape in the midst of an awkward scene between Batman and Robin, after their love has been unmasked and Marvin Gaye's vocals swell onstage.

However, standing still in tableau half-naked without pasties in front of a crowd of discerning individuals even pushes my level of comfort. Some say the line grows very fine, and my judgement a tad pedantic, but whatever I feel is personal and defined by my own rules; I believe in that. In fact, I'm quite shy. My persona is a supa skank, and she loves every minute of it. It comes from a place inside of me, but like any character, it is an embellished extension of a mere aspect of myself. Without theatrics, I feel much more exposed.

I took it as a gracious opportunity to embrace what my Momma gave me, and go full force. It is, after all the body I have until the day I pass. I was astonished by the exhilarating energy, bravery, composure and charisma exhibited by the other six models I posed with. They are a force to be reckoned with, all extremely magnetic in their own right. They helped give me the courage to bare my girls. Some of them being very 'supportive' of my feelings, and cupping them for me from behind en pose, as well as other simulated sex/domination configurations. Woo-eee!

It was a liberating marker for me, and I'm thrilled I overcame the challenge.

The night, of course, did not skip out on cracked out madmen. As I posed in the window on a Triumph motorcycle, a man who did not blink, or look at me when he talked (and who stood way too close), asked me if my temp-tattoo of a python was the mark of the beast, due to having my own dark predator inside me. Trust me, he really didn't want to find out. Then he said he forgot his clothes pins at home... Yeah. Right. That was the savviest pick-up since someone asked me if these were my real eyes. I just sat there and looked mysterious while security escorted him out.

Susie Caboose is Burlesque Against Breast Cancer's Canadian correspondant. She's based in Toronto and for more info, go to: http://www.myspace.com/susie_caboose

Tuesday 24 November 2009

BABC lovelies in punk rock video shocker!

The lovely girls from Femme Ferale were early supporters of BABC, opening the first show in Notting Hill with their routine to The Clash's 'Career Opportunities', a song very synonymous to the area. here they are in the video for 'I Dread The Night' by Gallows. British hardcore punk at it's finest.

Picture by Tania Glyde. For more on Femme Ferale, go to: http://www.femme-ferale.com

Aunt Maren

My aunt Maren first suffered from breast cancer when she was in her early thirties.
She had recently been through a painful divorce and was a busy doctor with two small boys, who went to stay with their dad and his new wife whilst my aunt received treatment.

I never met my uncle, but there aren't many stories that paint him in a good light.
Family rumour has it that he never wanted a wife who was as successful as he was. Although they met in medical school, he preferred a woman who'd stay at home rather than go out and have a career. So he started sleeping with his secretary, ultimately leading to my aunt seeking a divorce.

During her stay in hospital it was touch and go. She underwent a mastectomy and chemotherapy and my uncle asked his boys to start calling his new wife "mum".

I don't know if they did. Both of my cousins are older than me so I was just a little girl myself, but it shocked me when I heard this story years later that it was just assumed that cancer meant a predictable death.

As it happens, Maren recovered and got her sons back and returning to her successful hospital career soon after. She always seemed a strong (almost stern) woman to me. Someone who didn't suffer fools gladly and didn't like bullshitters.

She was a tough cookie. So it came as a surprise when the cancer returned, almost thirty years after she'd been given the all-clear. It was really discovered by accident, when the hospital where she worked tested a new medical scanner. It showed up multiple lumps throughout her body: lungs, spine, lymph nodes...

Thankfully they'd caught it early. She wasn't having any discomfort at that stage and went back into treatment right away. Both of her sons were adults now: the younger one married to a lovely woman from the Philippines, the older one successful in a career as a city planner.

We celebrated her sixtieth birthday at the same time as her thirty year anniversary at the hospital - she was well-liked and respected, and friends and family from all over the world gathered to celebrate, eat and sing.

Maren wore a cool wig to cover her head, it looked almost better than her old hairstyle. She seemed to have boundless energy and a catchingly positive attitude towards her treatment.

Cancer wouldn't beat her, it had tried before and beaten a retreat instead!

She seemed to have left behind some of her toughness, and instead concentrated on having a good time with everyone who'd travelled to her party from around the globe.

The next time I saw her, for a fleeting visit with my mum (her younger sister) she had dispensed with the wig and wore a colourful headscarf instead. Maren served us a tasty home made soup and we laughed along with her daughter-in-law about strange foods people like to eat in the Philippines. We chatted and listened to classical music. I was still convinced the treatment was working and it would only be a matter of time until Maren got her energy back, but she seemed to be in pain and did things around the house a lot slower than usual.

I think it was a great comfort to her to have her daughter-in-laws support and company as she was going in and out of hospital for treatment.

In the spring, I flew back to Germany for a job. Maren was in a hospice by then, and I was unable to go and see her. My flights were booked at inconvenient times which wouldn't allow me to stay an extra day and make the journey and my elder cousin's work commitments didn't leave him any time to drive me there. My younger cousin was in Asia for work.

So I called her up instead. They were showing the new Pope on the television. I spent my evenings having dinner alone and it was nice talking to a relative. All the energy seemed to have gone from her voice however. She sounded weak and feeble, not like the strong, fearsome woman I was used to. Her breathing was laboured and I chatted on to try and take her mind off her pain-filled day, but I felt awful that I wouldn't be able to go and visit.

I got the impression she didn't really want me to. I know she had friends who came and supported her, but she was a very different person now from the together woman we had all known and respected. I ran out of things to say, it all seemed so meaningless.

"I love you, Maren" I told her before we said goodbye, and we hung up. I had never told her this before, and it's not something members of my family say to each other often. It was the last time I spoke to her.

Back in London, I was looking forward to a visit from my mum and sister a few weeks later - it was the day before my 28th birthday. My phone rang and it was my aunt Cathy, my mum's youngest sister.

"Maren has died" she told me, and I greeted my mother and sister in a strangely detached way. I wanted to be happy that they'd arrived but I needed to tell them the sad news.

"Come on in," I told them and had them sit down in my kitchen before I could say the words. I'd never had to tell someone about the death of their sister before, and I cried along with my mum.

Although this is a story with a sad ending, I think it is a hugely inspiring one at the same time. My aunt brought up her two boys herself. She beat cancer in the first round and saw her sons grow up and become respected adults. She now has two gorgeous grandsons who have never met her, but they are all still very much part of my family. My aunt's picture has pride of place in my grandma's front room, right next to my grandad's picture who died the previous summer, aged ninety.

Maren made the most of the years given to her, she still had a full life although she didn't live to ninety years of age. She was a successful doctor who treated many patients and touched the lives of so many people, all in the thirty years between her first and second diagnosis. Her toughness and positive attitude to life helped her recover the first time around, I am sure of it.

I loved her very much.

Sienna Lewis is the author of the new book, 'The Intimate Adventures of an Office Girl', out now in paperback. You can follow her further adventures over at http://www.siennaslovers.blog.co.uk