Over the past few months, this column has made a case for a closer look at Winnipeggers’ relationship with trees, both past and present. I have been able to consider what they do for humans, as well as their own agency, and to think about how they became so central to Winnipeg’s identity as a city.
I immediately swoon at the love, lineage, healing and pleasure that undertones writing and art by People of Colour involving food. Food and love are both so potent. They are embodied experiences marked by longing, sustenance, nourishment, orientation and legacy.
The idea of walking a mile in someone else’s shoes is a common metaphor for how people should empathize with one another. I see this show up in little ways in my everyday conversations. When a friend tells me something they’re struggling with, I find myself responding with a story of a situation I’ve been in that is comparable in order to identify with their struggle.
When I was 12, my best friend’s dad died suddenly. One minute, he was this gentle, funny and active man, and the next, he was gone.
Food is a powerful storyteller, so rich and multi-sensory that the mere image of it brings potent memories and associations. Many diasporic artists work with food iconography and names, because it is an accessible way to communicate cultural identity, lineage, home and double-meanings.
Throughout history, there have always been standards of beauty, particularly for women. In ancient Egypt (c. 3150 to 332 BCE), the ideal woman was slender, youthful, and heavily made up. Society promoted a sex-positive environment. Premarital sex was entirely acceptable, and women could divorce their husbands without shame.
For the past year, I’ve been working on an academic research project in which I interview individuals from the trans community who belong to generations before me.
Trees are often caught up in human politics and drama on all scales. Every once in a while, these politics centre around a single tree. Such was the case of the Wolseley Elm.
I first became enthralled with the concept of leaving traces in public space when Chilean-Canadian ceramics artist Monica Martinez told me about her time in art school.
A lot of people have probably heard the term personal support worker (PSW) but may not know what that job entails or how important these caregivers are.
I have a scar behind my right knee that I got when I was 12 and tried to break up a fight between two neighbourhood cats.
In order to get a sense of how Winnipeggers were thinking about trees during the first couple decades of the 20th century, I returned to local newspaper archives.
Like many other introverts and book lovers, I have fond memories of public libraries from a young age.
Over the past year, I have been learning about the history of colonialism on the prairies, and I have begun to wonder: how do trees fit into the early settler vision for the plains?
What do you think of when you think of tables? Does the physicality of being seated at a table invoke memories of shared meals? Leisure? Meetings? Work? Your imagined self at a table is always characterized by context: where you are, who you are with and why.
With the federal election coming up on Monday, Oct. 21, it’s important to understand how a conservative government would affect people with disabilities and chronic illnesses.
It’s difficult to ask others for help. It’s difficult to admit you don’t even know how to begin fixing a big problem.
A few years ago, while working as a research assistant, I stumbled upon a photo of an early version of the St. Boniface Cathedral and the Grey Nuns’ convent. My first thought was: Where are all the trees?
In these difficult times marked by heightened feelings of displacement, disillusionment and austerity, it is essential to foster pleasure and joy.
A few months ago, I sent a message to a high school best friend who I hadn’t talked to in more than five years.