Alchemy

Thank you for sharing your thesis draft. I want to commend you on the depth of research, the richness of your narrative, and the clear contribution your work makes to Carnival scholarship. It is evident that you have invested significant effort and thought into this project.

Overall, this is an impressive and original thesis. With the suggested adjustments, it has the potential to stand as a powerful scholarly contribution.

I feel… so immensely proud.

One of the things that they kept telling me was that my subject (I did a biographical thesis on bandleader Raoul Garib) had to have contributed something unique to the field of Carnival or I had to find some area of study that had previously been unexamined.

And it was only about three quarters of the way through writing that I found what my thesis was actually about.

I found the thing that had been unexamined. And it was actually pretty big thing.

I found that the critical examination of popular mas (masquerade) in the 70’s and 80’s only centered one person: Peter Minshall. And that it failed to examine the philosophy behind all other practitioners, but their philosophy was clearly and repeatedly articulated through interviews and through the mas itself. The scholarship of carnival history has never recorded, until now, what that philosophy was. And I show that it was an approach to the art form that was just as legitimate, and deliberate, as his was.

That’s the crux of it.

I spent weeks poring through decades of old newspapers, digging up articles going back to 1975. I read every single magazine article from the Trinidad Carnival magazine that was produced pertaining to my subject. Garib was pitted against Minshall repeatedly, but by the time he stopped producing mas, the internet age was upon us and his work stayed there, in the archives. My research was an attempt to bring his accomplishments into the modern age. Because the subject is my uncle. And if I didn’t write the paper, then nobody would. And in doing so I found out something much more interesting about the way we have recorded and examined our art form and its practitioners. That is to say, that we didn’t. We have let their stories fall to the wayside and their accomplishments have died with them.

The one thing I discovered in writing this thesis is how much I love doing research. I could do that for a living. Writing the paper? Not so much lol. But I apparently did a really good job of it too, so I’m very, very pleased about that.

I wrote that thesis while I was still undergoing chemo. I had to adjust my dosage to finish it because it was taking so much out of me. But I did it. I got it done. I’m so proud of myself for persevering.

I present on Friday. I’m really excited to share my findings. I’m an expert now, on this era of Carnival history, so I’m really going to enjoy talking to people who are as interested in the subject as I am.

Rex immediately suggested I pursue a PhD after reading that feedback. I was like dude after all this, you want to stick me behind a desk again? No way. I want to be outside. Doing things. It’s time for me to live again. I’ve spent three years pursuing this degree. It’s time to put it behind me and move on. I’m nearly there.

I’m wrapping up a really significant period of my life that was very hard on me. So it makes my accomplishment that much sweeter to know that I did a really good job of it. I’m laying, here basking in the feedback.

I painted something in my style that was exactly me, exactly what I wanted, from the heart, and people have responded to it with such awe, love and amazement. It has truly made my heart swell. So while it breaks my heart to have to paint over it, she will live on with my audience, and it has brought them joy.

I feel slightly sick to my stomach.

It took me about two weeks to complete (I was only painting a couple of hours a day until the last two or three days).

My mother's only response to it has been to tell Rex to tell me to paint over it. Because I didn't ask permission.

So a couple of weeks ago, I was having a really down day. I think emotionally, when you go through treatment for something like cancer, you don't have the space to process it all at once. There is a crash, sometimes a profound depression, that happens to cancer survivors after they've completed treatment and now have the space to process the trauma. I was kind of in my fall-apart moment.

One of my cousins reached out to me and showed up, as did her mom, my Aunt Maureen. Later, my uncle came by. They listened to me as I basically vented a torrent of whatever was on my mind. I had spent the past year and a half holding myself up emotionally with such strength that I had buried many of my feelings deep inside of myself. If you'd asked me if I felt fear I'd have told you no. But it was very much there, along with profound feelings of isolation and loneliness. One of the things I said was that I felt I wasn't taken care of the way I needed to be. I mentioned both Rex and my mom as culprits.

Long story short, someone spoke to my brother, who, in typical fashion, blew everything completely out of proportion. He basically thought I was suicidal or something. He confronted me about what I had said re support, and I explained to him that, after speaking to a psychologist friend of the family who essentially explained that people can do their best and it still not be enough, and both things can be true, and to not frame it as a lack of caring or effort, and that that had reframed my perspective and allowed me to kind of let the issue go.

Several days later, I received a call from my mother telling me we had to leave the house, and she wanted no arguments, and she hung up on me. I was stunned. From what I can surmise, it seems someone told her what I said, and she decided to kick us out. I don't know if that's the whole story or a partial story; it doesn't make sense to me for many reasons that I won't get into. I feel like her timing was shit, seeing as I completed treatment just over a month ago and only just handed in my thesis a few days ago. I have another surgery due in November. So yes I'd have liked some time to get my life together. But it is what it is.

Where we've reached is what is hopefully the end of a very long chapter of my mother being unpredictable, controlling, cruel and simply an unsafe person for me. This latest move is part of a lifelong pattern. It was always going to happen. I know my siblings will defend her actions and somehow claim I brought this on myself (that's just what being part of a dysfunctional family entails). Ultimately, I thought I was in a safe space and made the mistake of speaking my mind, and it got back to the wrong person. It is what it is. Once I move out, that's the end of my relationship with her. Thank God.

When my doctor said he'd fit me in by the end of the year, my mind immediately jumped to November 18. I was just one day off.

I was at the clinic today, and as I was leaving, a young woman came up to me and complimented me on the colour of my hair. She told me she's been watching me in the waiting room and loved how it looked. She then asked me if I dyed it this colour, and I explained that after chemo I allowed it to grow back in its natural silver-grey colour. She told me I made the right choice. She complimented me so much I was at a loss for words and could only smile. Ah feel like a new shilling!

It smelled like René. He was my cousin and we grew up very close. He passed away many years ago now, 34 years in fact, he was just a teenager when he died. But that scent and being in that house filled me with so many happy memories.

One night we stayed up to watch The Exorcist on tv. It was just the two of us, and everyone else was asleep. He got so scared he jumped under the couch. And I reached my hand under and held on to his for the rest of the movie.

It struck me as I walked through the house how much smaller everything looked to me. I felt like a giant. I’ve been there as an adult many times, so I don’t know why it looked so small to me yesterday. When I walked through the door my aunt asked me why I looked so much taller than normal. I’m starting to wonder if I had a late stage growth spurt.

Then I met one of the owners and she started talking about how she really wants to use the place to help promote young artists. And she started a whole spiel about how the older artists aren't giving the younger ones a chance and that's why she wants to help push their work and give them exposure. And she went down that road for a while until I interjected.

"As a not-young artist, to be honest, it's difficult for all of us. The market here is very small."

She paused, considered, agreed, and continued on with the same talking points, emphasising younger artists over and over again. It was clear that she had rehearsed this speech many times and by the time we left I felt very turned off.

First of all, she was talking to an older artist. And I don't know where she got the idea that we're somehow blocking younger artists from a chance at success. No artists own galleries here. We don't have some sort of secret cabal where we're gatekeeping access. Everyone takes the same path... You contact a gallery and show them your work, and you get your stuff in a show. If you're good enough, they'll offer you a solo show. And you keep building on that. That's it. That's how it works. No one is holding anyone back.

My meeting with my cousins went so well. We sat and talked for hours and it was really only toward the end of the conversation that we started talking about family.

It took us a while to figure out who everyone was, and it turned out we had one person in common:

This was my grandfather and their great grandfather. Bas started having kids when he was something like fifteen or so. He married my grandmother and had his first child with her at 34. So there’s a big age gap between the first set (I just found out today there are five not four) and the second (four), there was a whole generation and apparently came between the siblings.

It’s called Canvas Cafe and they have art supplies and coloring books and stuff.

My drink is really pretty too!

My brother tried to teach me when I was a kid and I ended up crying. The only thing I retained from that lesson was how the knight moved. Probably cause it looked like a horse 🤣