Issue 18 Volume 50

Song for the Night Sun | David Beaucage Johnson | Peterborough

Arthur Presents: Arts Week 2016

Contents Page 3-4: Opinion Volume 50 | Issue 18 | February 29, 2016

Official masthead by Jackson Creek Press 751 George Street N • Suite 104 Peterborough, ON • K9H 3T2 tel: 705-745-3535 editors@trentarthur.ca • www.trentarthur.ca

Co-Editors Arthurwriters Yumna Leghari Zara Syed

Business Manager Jenna Pilgrim

Proofreader Keila MacPherson

Betelhem Wondimu Reba Harrison Adriana Sierra Tyler Majer Ugyen Wangmo Troy Bordun

Copy- editor

D Dmuchowski

Gurki Bhullar

Keith Hodder

Photographer Samantha Moss

Jordan Porter Dan Morrison Matthew Douglas

Board of Directors Chair: Keila MacPherson Secretaries: Ugyen Wangmo • Treasurer: Natalie Guttormsson • Member at Large: Natalie Guttormsson • Caleigh Boyle • Adriana Sierra •Jeffrey Moore •Ugyen Wangmo

Contributors • Stelios Papas • Yumna Leghari• Daniel Morris • Ugyen Wangmo • Adriana Sierra • Shannon Leigh • Caitlin Coe • TFS • Matt Douglas • Lina Vermeer •Betelhem Wondimu • Erin McLaughlin • Tyler Majer • Ryan Lamoureux • D Dmuchowski • Danny Taro • Brian Hough • Linda Laframboise • Leina Amatsuji- Berry • Elisabeth Burden • Paisley Spence • Kevin Lemieux • Eugenia Ochoa • Andy Carroll • Berfin Aksoy • Jacob Caroll • Shannon LeBlanc • Heather Livingston • Calla Duroyse- Moya • Tom Hurley • David Beauchee Johnson • Tamanna Kohi • Michael Barrett • Daiana Locatelli • Sabrina Calogeracos • Samantha Moss • Victoria Singh • Lee Howard • Mark L. Craighead • Berfin Askoy • Tumelo Drametu • Lucas DeLuca • Troy Burdon • James Kerr • Brian Hough • Sarah McDonald

Submission guidelines Articles

Articles should be submitted via email to editors@ trentarthur.ca, in the body of the message, or as an *.rtf, *.doc, *.odt, or *.txt attachment. Deadlines are every Thursday at noon. The body should be approximately 800 words. Listings, announcements, or briefs should not exceed 100 words. Feature pieces can be up to 2000, but must be arranged in advance with the editors.

Images

Images should be submitted via email, Google Drive, Dropbox, or some other filesharing site. Please save as *.tif, with a dpi of no less than 300 pixels.

Letters

Limit letters to the editors to 500 words. Letters longer than 500 words may be published but Arthur reserves the right to edit for length and clarity (but not content),

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Opinions expressed in this publication do not necessarily reflect those of Arthur staff, volunteers or its Board of Directors. Contributors are encouraged to attend the story meetings or contact the Editors to discuss story ideas. All article submissions are due Thursday at noon. Letters, Listings, Classifieds, and Events are due Thursday at noon and should be sent to listings@trentarthur.ca. Advertisers are encouraged to contact advertising@trentarthur.ca for ad rates and contracts.

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• • • •

Pg 3: Internationalization Review Pg 3: Journalism at Trent Pg 4: Forgetting Flint (Michigan) Pg 4: Active Minds on Perfectionism

Page 5: Arts Week Feature!

• • • • • • •

Pg 6: The Art of Dance Pg 7: Why TFS is important Pg 7: Things we wrote as kids Pg 8-9: Short Stories Pg 10- 13: Poetry Pg 14: Miscellaneous

Page 18- 26: Visual Art Page 27-28: Photography • Pg 28: Fashion as Art

Page 30-33: Arts • Pg 30: TFS and ASTC present Heathers • Pg 30: Music, the language of the univerise • Pg • Pg • Pg • Pg

32: Art Gallery of Peterborough 17: Trent Radio Horoscopes 33: Burlesque!

33: Booklovers

Page 34-35: Community

• Pg 34: Just Like New • Pg 34: Bad Love, Good Poetry • Pg 16-17: Who does Beowulf’s Laundry? • Pg 35: Double Feature (reprint) Pg 15: Visual Art

Page 16-17: Feature

Arthur Newspaper makes the following corrections for Issue 17: An article by Zachary Cox was printed twice, we have published the correct articles online. Apologies Zach and Adam!

Andy Carroll’s images were used from a different play for the Double Feature article. We have re-printed this with the correct images on pg.35 An asterisk was placed beside Trans in D Dmuchowski’s article Accountability in local music: Soundtrack for Awareness. This was an oversight and we apologize for any exclusivity it caused in the article, as the placement of absolutely no asterisk was the original intent by the writer.

Below is a statement from our writer D: It is thought that initially, the inclusion of the trans asterisk was made by dfab (designated female at birth) trans people who felt that trans women were taking up too much space in discourse around gendered issues minorities face. It was thought that there needed to be more space for other members of the trans community to occupy, so the asterisk was put in place. Most people, however, are not aware of this and use the asterisk in order to be more inclusive of all identies under the trans umbrella. However, ‘trans’ is the umbrella term. To be transgendered is to identify as any gender other than or in addition to the gender that was assigned to an individual at birth (which can include multiple genders or no gender at all). The asterisk is problematic because it’s use denotes the fact that some non-cisgendered, who are often trans women, non binary, no-op, and those who do not expernce dysphoria, are not ‘trans enough’ to be included under the umbrella term and must be signified in another way. Similar to sexuality, gender is a gradient which has many identies between and outside of ‘man’ and ‘woman’. While the trans asterisk is often used in a well-intended way, it is the responsibility of allies to become aware of problematic signifiers which exclude and invalidate trans identies, in addition to its trans misogynistic origins.

Opinion Pages International community responds to Internationalization Review

By Adriana Sierra

Trent University recently underwent an ‘Internationalization’ review, one conducted by an external reviewer, had limited student input, was poorly publicized and occurred over the span of less than one week.

Arthur reached out to student leaders in the international student community, this is what they had to say: “I was not impressed by the process by which the internationalization review was conducted. I believe it was very rushed, secretive and exclusive, as many international students were not made aware of it.

Furthermore, ‘internationalization’ is not the best word to use to describe a review of TIP, it is very confusing and misleading.

This is why the TCSA has decided to conduct a student-led ‘internationalization’ review of our own.

One that is more inclusive and transparent to the entire student body. This is what internationalization should look like. It should be inclusive, dynamic and reflective of the entire student body: domestic and international.

More importantly, it should be open to acknowledging and addressing the hardhitting challenges that international students face such as discrimination, financial barriers to education, unemployment, mental and physical health and immigration.

Given the current capacity of the TIP, I believe that short-term improvements can be made in all these areas.

The student-led review will be a part of our Fairness for International Students Week between March 28 to April 2.”

-Boykin Smith, International Students Commissioner “What needs to be questioned is not the review itself, as policy for international students can always be changed for the better, but how the process took place.

In this sense, there was very little involvement from international students in representing the concerns of the international community.

It is the students who can express and

convey the issues that truly need to be assessed regarding international policy; and it is they who can truly express what the Trent University experience, as an international student, really is all about.

In fact, very few international students knew that this review was taking place, and the information given to those who inquired about this whole ‘internationalization’ [review] was relatively ambiguous.

In my opinion, a well-performed ‘internationalization’ review would consist of more direct involvement with international students and organizations that would allow for a more diverse range of opinions, concerning the major challenges international students face, to be heard.

I am hoping that inadequate policy formulation does not result from this review.”

- Ana Paulina Leal, Vice-President of the Trent International Students’ Association (TISA) “This review was only brought to my attention at an alumni council meeting in January and also by word of mouth from students.

I was informed that more information would soon be available about the approach and purpose of the review; however, that seems to have been lost somewhere on its concourse to the Trent Society.

I know that the university was conducting a review of Traill College at the same time and I gladly took part in discussions with the reviewer when the invitation was extended to alumni.

However, it is quite disappointing to have learned that alumni, who are still visiting Peterborough, and [even those] living here, weren’t offered the similar opportunity.

Such a review should have been given the same amount of attention as Trail College, as the international community makes up one third of the Trent community and we definitely contribute to the well being of the community and society at large.

I am quite disappointed on the approach that was taken from the university and the TIP office for this review. The short span of time [and] the level of inclusivity does not represent the larger picture of what a review actually is, especially since it wasn’t

an internal review.”

- Jessica Rogers, Alumni, former TISA President, former International Students Commissioner, David Morrison Award recipient “Originally from Uruguay, Trent provided me with a scholarship opportunity that enabled me to attend the university and to call Trent one of my homes.

I remember writing for Arthur Newspaper many times about the danger of considering international students as cash cows and about the dangers of reducing the scholarship program, both on a moral and on a practical level.

On a moral level, when Jack Matthews founded TIP, he and the university recognized that it was morally imperative to provide international students with scholarships. On a practical level, scholarship reductions would mean less diversity of international students.

This year’s international review was officially described as a comprehensive review, although only a few very select students were consulted and the process seemed to be extremely short.

It could also be said that what ‘internationalization’ means could also be a determining factor in the review, which was never clearly stated or defined by the president, nor by the administrative person in charge.

A review is usually undertaken for certain reasons and with certain objectives in mind. These should be transparent and clear to all members of the community.

Trent has been regarded in the past as an excellent university for having a vibrant student community that fostered inclusion, respect of diversity and the values of global citizenship predicated by Jack Matthews.

Internationalization has been at the core of Trent identity. I hope that the review and future efforts respect these values.”

- Renzo Costa, Alumni, former TISA President, Jack Matthews Award recipient “The internationalization review is something I never heard of or perceived in any way.

If the review was, in fact, intended to

reflect the experience of all of the international students, I don’t think it will provide very accurate results since, clearly, there were many of us who were not included.

For me, internationalization shouldn´t be seen as how many international students we can fit in the university, but instead, as how well are the needs of international students been recognized.

I think internationalization eventually leads to multiculturalism.

The way I understand this concept is as a constant, substantial, educated and inclusive dialogue between cultures that makes us grow as a community.

Since we all come from different countries and backgrounds our challenges can vary significantly. But if I were to choose one in particular that I think is common to most of the international students, it would be the need for financial assistance.

An internationalization review that doesn’t target a point like this is disregarding a key aspect of our academic life as internationals, and that many of us have struggled with at certain point.”

- Juan Pablo Urza Perez, First Year Representative, Organization for Latin Awareness (HOLA) “[What] I feel strongly about is the fact that students were not asked about their perspective on the internationalization process.

I think asking the wider student population can give us quality insights.

Internationalization is a widely discussed topic in universities and colleges around the world today.

Anyone walking around our beautiful campus can see that [a lot of] the student population is indeed international.

I think Trent University has done a great job in advancing the idea of global citizenship through programs and fellowships such as the TIP camp and the Jack Matthews Fellowship amongst many others.

Although, that being said, there are always things that could be worked on but I am confident that Trent will come out with flying colours as a result of the review process.”

- Aaditya Thakar, President of the South Asian Association at Trent (SAAT)

The future of journalism at Trent

By Stelios Pappas

The Trent-Loyalist Journalism program needs a critical review.

The idea behind the whole program is that students are able to acquire one experience through two very different styles of curriculum.

A university joint major paired with a ‘focused’ practical journalism skillset.

Being a new program there are always speed bumps, but overall the current state of the program is laughable at best.

The constant changes lead to more students dropping out than staying in. Here are a few reasons why: Trent and Loyalist curriculums don’t mix well; the right hand often does not know what the left one is doing.

Learning to write critically and developing transferable skills is crucial to any Trent-Loyalist journalism student during their academic career.

Starting at university made me a better writer. It forced me to think outside the box and apply difficult theories and con-

cepts.

However, does that justify spending thousands of dollars traveling between institutions, where we could be investing in Trent’s rising media studies program?

Trent-Loyalist students are currently required to move to Belleville for six weeks during their first two years at Trent.

It’s messy. When students are attending school in Peterborough moving to Belleville for less than two months it is impractical.

Would Trent suffer from having a dedicated journalism program?

Arguably not.

Trent has a rich media background, boasting notable alumni such as Steven Stohn, Linwood Barclay and Don Tapscott.

Further, there is a little-known Trent Qnet-news Mac lab completely underutilised on the main floor of Bata Library. The most recent post was uploaded in 2014, not a single story has been posted since.

In fact, students stumbling across it use the room more frequently than the jour-

nalism students it was intended.

Instead of supporting the facilities Trent already has to offer, students are placed in the crossfire between two administrations.

By having one school running the program you could avoid mass confusion.

Each year the program has changed so drastically that I have been left feeling like a guinea pig.

“We don’t have any input on what Loyalist does.”

“Trent hasn’t spoken to us about your credits.”

“We don’t know.”

These are just a few responses I have received from academic advisors, teachers and counsellors upon raising concerns pertaining to the program.

Students are dropping this program. My year began with 40 students and we now have a grand total of seven.

I would argue that these students did not drop because they did not wish to study journalism, but rather because of the plethora of hurdles we are forced to navigate in order to complete this program.

Volume 50 | Issue 18| February 29, 2016

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opinion

An (im)perfect life: on perfectionism

By Daniel Morris

My name is Daniel Morris. I am the media coordinator at Active Minds at Trent University and a student in the Bachelor of Science Honours Psychology program.

One bad semester doesn’t feel good, but it can be redone.

Everyone fears receiving a bad grade or making a mistake that might upset people.

When you get a bad grade, you wake up the next day and work towards the next thing.

Or when you upset someone you apologize and usually it’s ok.

Mistakes are necessary to learn and grow, but they do not equate to your worth as a person. To a perfectionist, they do.

Perfectionism is not straightening all your pencils on your desk, nor is that OCD. That is called being very tidy.

For the most part, perfectionism is not seen by many people as a mental illness, but rather a passive term to describe the pencil straighteners.

Perfectionism is a mental illness, and it is vastly more complicated than cleanliness. I would know – I have been a perfectionist my whole life.

Perfectionism consists generally as a combination of two things: a cycle of unobtainable goals followed by disappointment, and a list of ‘shoulds’ that guide behavior.

International

By D Dmuchowski

4

Flint, Michigan has recently become a household topic since the massive publicity around the water crisis that instigated a state of national health emergency.

Many people have a sense that some incredible injustice had occurred on these grounds, and those citizens had been unforgivably betrayed by their local governing system. But what happened exactly?

In Michigan, local units of government create state government. There are state laws in position that govern the fiscal health of local units of government. If, historically, yearly audits continue to cite financial issues, the state is in a position to take over the local unit of governance to fix these difficulties.

After a review of the local unit has been triggered by the state, there are several options available under Public Act 436 of 2012. There is a consent agreement, a neutral evaluation process or the Chapter 9 bankruptcy option.

Alternately, there is a state law that outlines the responsibilities of an Emergency Financial Manager (EFM).

In Flint, Michigan’s case, a decision was permitted to allow the appointment of an EFM. Flint had been under control of an EFM since the early 2000s, but the EFM exited once the budget was stabilized.

However, due to the decisions of a former mayor, Flint was set back onto the course of financial distress. In December 2011, the City of Flint fell under the authority of an EFM yet again.

The EFM is awarded all the authority and power of the mayor and city council, and essentially becomes the figurehead of local governance under a controversial law that was rejected by voters in 2012, but reinstated by Republican lawmakers six weeks later.

For the past 50 years, the City of Flint has been purchasing drinking water from the City of Detroit regional system.

However, the increasing costs of water over the past decade acted as a seed for the initiative to find a new source. The Genesee County Drain Commissioner advocated a plan to build a new pipeline from Flint eastwards to Port Huron, in order to

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The cycle is simple to describe. Perfectionists set very high standards for themselves, as well as goals that are far beyond their capabilities at the time. Most importantly, they believe they can still reach them.

Perfectionists fear disapproval and failure, because in their mind, a poor grade can equate to expulsion from school and homelessness. This generates a lot of anxiety and tension. Continuing in the cycle, if all of their goals are not met, perfectionists dive into depression.

Success is equal to worth as a human being for perfectionists, and to not succeed is to fail at being a good person. However, we do not learn. As soon as the process repeats, we set more goals to redeem ourselves, and once again we strive to be perfect.

The list of ‘shoulds’ can vary between people. Essentially, it is a set of rules (i.e., I should dress nice, I should get good grades, I should be fit and healthy, I should be wealthy, I should be a perfect partner).

These rules guide a perfectionist’s behavior. Our ‘shoulds’ override any other personal wants or desires that may not support the ‘shoulds,’ and that means perfectionists rarely do anything they actually would find joy in doing.

These rules not only apply to themselves,

but to friends and family as well. Often this can be seen as unreasonable concern over a friend and the actions that friend makes followed by negative emotions towards that friend because they ‘broke the rules.’

So where does this leave us? Unless those of us that are perfectionists become aware that we are perfectionists, somehow, then most of the time our behavior seems absolutely normal to us.

In some cases, being diagnosed with anxiety or depression are actually just by-products of the perfectionism cycle.

Perfectionists usually are easy to spot if you know what to look for. Many perfectionists will often speak about how they “should” be doing something to gain something. They will use the word “should” a lot.

They will sometimes be very accomplished, either academically, or in the community, but never satisfied with their progress. If awareness about perfectionism is not known, then usually perfectionists can blend into a crowd seamlessly.

How can this change? As mentioned, being aware that you are a perfectionist can make a difference.

When I learned that my behavior wasn’t normal, I actually felt better. The best thing to do is to talk and recognize the “shoulds” that you have in place for yourself. Slowly

start by changing your goals to things that are more reasonable.

Getting an A on your essay will likely not make you prime minister, and getting a B on it will not make you homeless. Set smaller gaps between goals, like seeking help from the teacher to learn how you can change your writing style so the next essay is better.

Also, when a goal isn’t met, try not to equate that to your entire self-worth.

Minimalize the damage by trying to rethink everything that is actually effected by the lost goal.

A bad grade means you got a bad grade, your friends still like you, your teacher still wants to help and you are still breathing – it will be ok.

Active Minds is a mental health advocacy group that strives to support students who are experiencing mental illnesses and addictions. They provide resources for students, host free wellness events and aim to reduce the stigma surrounding mental illnesses.

If you would like to write about your own experiences with mental illness, or if you would like to volunteer with Active Minds, please email us at activeminds@trentu.ca, find us on Facebook or visit our website at trentactiveminds.org.

Forgetting Flint: a continuing crisis draw raw lake water from Lake Huron.

In 2013, the City of Flint formally became the newest member of this authority.

The day after the city joined the new authority the Detroit Water System activated a clause in their contract to kick Flint off of its current water delivery system. The City of Flint was given one year to find a new source.

Over the course of the next year, numerous discussions were undertaken to remain on the Detroit system, but the costs proved too high to do so. However, the EFM at that time in 2014 decided, without public input, to begin to draw water from the Flint River as their primary source to cut costs.

Plans to properly prepare the city’s water treatment plant to draw water began. In April 2014, the city began to officially pull water from the Flint River.

River water is harder than lake water and takes a considerably larger amount of resources to treat it correctly. Unfortunately, the water was never treated to federal standards. Shortly after this costsaving measure was indicted, residents began complaining about discolored, sulphur odoured water, rashes, stomach problems and loss of hair.

Officials at the Michigan Department of Environmental Quality made a series of decisions that had consequences that would change the lives of hundreds of Flint residents.

Firstly, local governance under the control of the appointed EFM, Darnell Earley, chose not to require the Flint Water Plant to use optimized corrosion control, against federal regulations, despite informing the Environmental Protection Agency that they had done so.

Secondly, they took too few samples and used a protocol that was known to miss important sources of lead.

Lastly, they threw out two samples which would have put more than ten per cent of the samples at an “actionable level” of lead, which would have prompted a mandatory warning towards the residents much earlier, possibly preventing hundreds of cases of lead poisoning.

Due to these transgressions in responsi-

ble governance, Flint River’s corrosive water was able to dissolve the protective film inside of the city’s old pipes, allowing colorless, tasteless and odorless lead into the drinking water of thousands of residents.

The levels of lead that had been reported at 13 200 ppb (part per billion) qualified as toxic waste.

Lead has been studied extensively as a neurotoxin, and has been known to cause symptoms such as miscarriages, low birth weight, decreased IQ, decrease of impulse control, increased ADHD, learning disabilities, decrease in cognitive functioning and potentially violent behavior.

Research also suggests that exposure, especially at the incredibly high levels found in Flint drinking water, can affect DNA, causing damages of exposure to be carried through future generations.

Eventually, the city declared a state of emergency and forwarded the issue to the State of Michigan Department of State Police. The State Police concurred and the governor finally declared a state emergency, requesting federal levels of government to get involved.

Two days later, the president agreed.

In total, it had taken the governor nearly two years to acknowledge the devastating effects these oversights had on the Flint population.

It has been argued that the racialized and economically marginalized population of Flint contributed to it being neglected for so long, causing potentially generations-long health effects and chronic illness which can affect life opportunities for many people.

Fifty-six per cent of Flint residents are black, and nearly 40 per cent live beneath the poverty line.

Many advocates hold the unanimous opinion that this crisis would not have happened if the city were more affluent, or whiter.

The Black Lives Matter group states that African Americans, especially those in rural and poor areas, have long been denied access to clean drinking water.

“The crisis in Flint is not an isolated incident,” BLM stated on their website.

“State violence in the form of contami-

nated water or no access to water at all is pervasive in black communities.”

Initially, the decision to use Flint River water was proposed in order to save the local government approximately $15 million. The damages caused by this decision are currently estimated to be in the ballpark of $1.5 billion.

This figure does not include the longterm health impacts on residents, especially children, who have been exposed to lead poisoning.

The federal declaration now allows for federal funding at a mere $5 million. These people are now at massive disadvantages for the rest of their lives, due to simple government negligence and power being put in the hands of officials who do not have the well being of the people at heart.

The truth of what happened in Flint, Michigan eventually surfaced because of the citizens who felt their rights were being violated.

If it weren’t for the residents and few crusading experts who took matters into their own hands, and even used their own funds to purchase water-testing kits where the government’s authorities were negligent, this issue may not have garnered international media attention for several more years to come.

What happened in Flint is, and continues to be, a tragedy.

If we can learn anything from it, it is to be ever more critical of why this environmental racism continues to be propagated in economically disadvantaged communities who are racialized.

Black Lives Matter was correct in stating that this is not an isolated incident; indigenous communities in Canada suffer the same conditions with consistent water boil advisories and substandard living conditions.

It is the responsibility of all people, especially those who are not systemically disadvantaged in the same way, to bring awareness and lobby against bureaucratic negligence towards marginalized people for short-term fiscal benefits that advantage only a select few.

Let us ensure that what happened in Flint is never forgotten.

Artwork by Shannon Leigh

Arts Week Feature

Beyond the barre

By Caitlin Coe

This is a piece about leaving behind what you love most, and how dance follows you outside the studio.

Somewhere, in the east end of Ottawa, in a transformed dance studio, lives a piece of my heart and my soul. A dance studio becomes your second home, where you made friends for life and learned more about yourself than anywhere else.

There are photographs on the walls of some of your best memories, in a room where you shed blood, sweat and tears, and divulged information only to those that shared the room.

Dance becomes your outlet, somewhere to escape life.

It becomes the thing you look forward to most every week. You grew as a person, becoming the best possible version of yourself.

Even once your shoes get thrown in a box of other old shoes and years of outfits stay hung up in a closet, unlikely to be worn again, dance never really leaves you.

Once you become a dancer, you’re one for life, even if you no longer do weekly commutes across town to the studio, partake in yearly shows or get up early for competitions.

What you learn from dance lasts forever.

Dance taught me more about hard work and perseverance than any schooling ever did. It was pushing through and going further than you’d dreamt after having people doubting you. It is not easy to never give up, even when you were tired, felt frustrated or doubted yourself.

Dance taught me to take compliments I didn’t believe, and take harsh criticisms that ultimately were given in my best interest to help me improve.

Even when you felt it was hopeless and you were never going to reach your goals, you kept working hard because that was the only thing you knew. When you did achieve what you were working for, the satisfaction of celebrating your accomplishments was the best feeling.

There are always going to be people who are better than you, and there are going to be competitions that are tough and don’t always go well. Some things don’t work out the way you want them to.

These things happen, but you move on and do what you need to get better. In the end, you do the best you can and that’s all that can be asked of you. Life isn’t always fair, and that is something that needs to be learnt to prepare you for real life.

Dance teaches you so much about dedication and time management.

Being at the studio several times a week keeps a dancer busy, as well as having to practice at home and stay fit.

Sometimes it is hard to balance school and having a social life on top of dance. But ask any dancer and they will never regret the things they missed out on or the pressure their busy schedule might have put them under. Not a single second, because those were the best times and they were so worth it.

Life can be truly amazing when you have something you’re passionate about, and I think this is something I largely took for granted. No one ever really tells you how heart breaking it to give that up.

Dance becomes a part of you, a part of your life and who you are. But all those hours put in, all the training that’s done, that follows you for life.

Be grateful for your dance teacher and go thank them, they teach so much more than how to move.

My Smile is Not the Truth Abby Sparling (Acrylic)

Why TFS is important for the Peterborough community

By the Trent Film Society

Why Movies are important to me: Amy Jane Vosper, co-director of the Trent Film Society, on why films are important: Films bring us together. My fondest memories of childhood involve sitting on my couch, sandwiched between my mother and my grandmother watching old MGM musicals, stylized horror films, romantic comedies from the 50s and big budget studio fare. When I talk to my mother about her early experiences with film, a dreamy look comes across her face as she describes her father letting her skip school to see a new film just out, her high school dates taking her to the drive-in, her big brother teasing her with monster movie figurines and images. Films punctuate our lives- they allow us to relive the past, to escape into the future, to live our dreams and chase the stars. Films bring the impossible to life.

We here at the Trent Film Society want to

take you on a journey every Wednesday.

We carefully choose films to screen; our favourite films that have touched our lives, forgotten treasures that history left behind, independent productions ignored by mainstream audiences. Films that are relevant to our experiences; as students, as educators, as dreamers, as lovers, as activists, as rebels, as cinephiles. Films tell our stories and together, we are writing the greatest tale ever told.

Tumelo Drametu, co-director of the Trent Film Society, on why movies are important: Movies are like magic. The ways in which they are able to illicit such strong reactions out of their audience and immerse them in whatever world that they are creating is like the work of magicians, in my mind. It may sound childish, but a lot of the amazement and wonder that I got out of watching films as a child, I still get this day, as an adult. As a kid, what amazed me about films was the ability to be able to represent what-

ever the imagination of the filmmaker was wild enough to come up with. Whether it was seeing the X-wings dogfight their way through Tie-fighters in a valiant attempt to destroy the malevolent Death Star, or having Spider-Man deter the colossal strength of an oncoming subway train with nothing but his webs and sheer might, movies to me represented the idea that no matter what wild idea I thought of in my head, it was able to be put on a screen for people to see. It wasn’t only the idea that you could project your wildest fantasies onto a visual medium, but it was also the fact that people would willfully join, watch, and enjoy being immersed in a storyteller’s imagination. The connectivity between the audiences (and of the filmmaker, cast and crew as well) that film created, for me, was beautiful and it made me love going to film screenings whenever I could.

As I have aged, however, I have found that I have begun to gain awe from the ways in which films are also able to show us a perspective of the world which we’ve never experienced. While I still have immense love from the imaginative aspects of film storytelling, I have found that my love for the medium has broadened and I have become much more appreciative of its more grounded abilities in providing voices for those who may feel marginalized or disregarded. I find amazement in the way how people are able to share the same cinematic language, regardless of cultural background, and use that language to tell their own stories with their own un-bastardized perspectives. While it may seem that my focus on different aspects of film may change over the years, the main aspect of why I love cinema, however, has always (and will always) stayed the same: It gives one the ability to have their voice heard. This, to me and to TFS, is why cinema is important.

It helps us understand the different lives that other people live, the different forms of humor that they may have, or the different modes of storytelling that they may utilize to express themselves, and we here at TFS acknowledge that aspect and celebrate it through our catalogue of films that we screen. As long as cinema gives voice to people to tell their stories, TFS will continue to find diverse selections of films which may educate, entertain, and maybe even inspire those who join us in our viewings.

Alex Karas, co-director of the Trent Film Society, on why movies are important: Film has always been an important part of my life. Although I’ve never considered a career in the visual arts or formally studied it, film has always been one of my favourite hobbies from an early age and some of my fondest memories from childhood are of watching movies (VHS, in the good old days) with my brothers and parents. My father routinely took us to the video store back when those still existed and allowed my brothers and I to rent pretty much anything we wanted that wasn’t R-rated (although we still got to watch a few of those at home anyway!). Although his tastes were more towards the action-packed end of things, the one film that I can really credit for inspiring a lifelong love of cinema in me is one that’s suddenly become cool again – Star Wars. It might be a cliché, but one campy science fiction movie from the 1970s made largely in some guy’s basement in California first introduced me to the idea of the archetypes that permeate all of fiction and was a gateway to numerous other genres including science fiction, fantasy, war, Westerns and martial arts movies.

The work that Trent Film Society does has always been important to me. Although we have a fairly spiffy cinema in downtown Peterborough, the selection there is not the best and many great films that other cities get to see are never screened here.

In my teenage years, there was Cinema 375 on Hunter St., but it always struggled to stay afloat and eventually closed. Since then, TFS has largely been the only organization in the city that routinely shows lesserknown movies.

In my years before coming to Trent and my first year there, I was a regular attendee of TFS screenings and my friends and I always enjoyed the chance to see legendary and original films that wouldn’t be shown on television. Since starting at TFS in April of 2014 I’ve had the chance to show several of my own favourites and greatly enjoyed the discussion from the audience afterward.

Not everyone likes everything that we do, but it’s a big city and you can’t please everyone.

What we try to do is provide a diverse selection so that there is hopefully something for everyone.

Things we wrote as kids

By Matt Douglas

There is a podcast, (you can find it on iTunes or soundcloud), Grown-Ups Read Things They Wrote as Kids. It is one-stop shop for all your second hand embarrassment needs.

I love it because everyone can relate to the terror of reading something they wrote many years ago. I bring it up for two reasons to suggest – go listen, really and it plays into what I wanted to bring up for arts week.

For this week’s art issue, I wanted to go through my old archives and find something I wrote when I was younger to share with you. Fortunately from about the age of 13 I have saved documents of the writing projects I got up to. Reading through them there was a lot of cringing. How could I be so naïve? How could I grasp grammar so poorly? But there was also positives. Despite the errors and nativity I was able to see some talent and I don’t mean to tut my own horn.

When I read my current writing it’s hard to see anything but mistakes, so it’s really nice to go back to these old works that my mind has dissociated with and see it clearly. Is it awful? Certainly, but it also could be worse and that’s satisfying as hell.

I decided to share this fictional “column” that wrote just about age 15. It was for a

nerdy fictional hockey league on a forum (please don’t make me explain anymore - I just want to stress its fictional). There are sentences I’m proud of and a whole lot of phrases that make me cringe inside out.

All in all, going through my childhood writing was equal parts painful and rewarding and that’s why I wanted to share this piece. Maybe if I can share this embarrassing document of my childhood lost to the internet, you could at least dig around in your old artwork and see what you were trying to do when you 8 or, even 18. Maybe it will inspire you to start being creative again.

It did for me. *

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Chills roll down my spine, raising sweaty hairs on my back. Everyone with a heartbeat in the building stood, serenading the victory.

Down the ice I see Zack Pittman take a desperate whack at the puck. The feeling I see is one all too familiar to me. As the Wanderers take their last futile breaths of the hockey season, they are desperate to change the result, to make one of us feel a little hurt, because when the buzzer sounds there’s going to be nothing left to do. All this

desperation is in vain with a 4-2 lead, and the last ten seconds on the clock dwindling away, the result isn’t going to change.

I can’t help but feel a little bit of their pain, as I identify the grief stricken faces. As a fellow hockey lifer the pain of the hockey season ending in disappointment is one that is tragically common in my memory bank. Simply, only one team gets complete satisfaction from their season and all they put into it. All the other teams are left thinking of what more they could have done to change their fortunes.

That’s why as the fat lady sings, I am only half-heartedly immersed in celebration.

White towels wave around the building, front row fans pound their palms against the glass, teammates rush to Yanbo, and the Wanderers throw blank empty stares around the rink, heads sinking to the ground, and even though no hockey player would ever admit to it; they are holding back tears.

Although we have made to the Remes Cup finals, there is still a very tough team to beat in Munich and losing out after all this will only be all the more defeating. The further you go, the further you fall. The bigger you are, the harder you fall. All holds true in hockey, as in life.

As the hoots and hollars fade from the

room, players make their way out of the rink to the bumping streets to soak in the victory.

I stay in the rink in my track suit and analyse just why we play this game if it ends in heartbreak so often. Even though I already know it is for moments like this when the underdog prevails over overwhelming odds to do something great.

The hockey condition, I like to call it.

Similar to the human condition it is inescapable those of us that are true hockey lifers. As glorious the triumph, we are not satisfied for long. As defeating the loss, we are not beaten for long. This is because next October looms around the corner and bragging rights ought to shift again with the twists and turn of another season. Only one thing remains the same for those of us with the unquenchable thirst that all consummate champions have and that is that we are in pursuit of winning the last game of the season. Only the wise like Ken Dryden leave the game for greener pastures, only the lucky like Ray Bourque leave the game on top. For the rest we are camped in a war of attrition for a game that beats us down, raises us up and captivates our mind throughout the winter and off-season dreaming up new challenges, new frontiers to win big with or against.

The Eye of Madness

by Lina Vermeer Note: This story is a response to H. P. Lovecraft’s short story, The Call of Cthulhu The first occasion upon which I am able to recall that peculiar blend of danger, dread, and magnetic attraction that was soon to cause the embarkation of many a close friend of mine to the vast seas came very near my intellectual awakening.

I was at the University of Oxford, preparing to extend my study of the ancient Latin language for another year, when I discovered, among the many relics of my Professor’s bureau, a minuscule statuette.

The material of the statuette was in itself odd, as it weighed much in comparison to its size; perhaps, regarding my past in hindsight, suggesting the magnitude of its scope. Its color was a murky black-green and seemed to shift in the light, causing one feature to leap out in focus and then another. Recalling my memory now through the haze of time and the bending of space I find it quite tiresome and difficult to bring those features to the forefront of my mind, but as I greatly desire to share my experience of the so-called “Call of Cthulhu”, I shall endeavor to do so.

I recall the statuette’s one great eye, staring out from the center of its creased face, its membranous wings fully extended from its back, and most strongly, its clawed hand extended towards me. These three emblems, as I call them, of the Great Ones, appeared to me at once horrific and fascinating. Through my studies of ancient cultures at Oxford, I had perchance encountered many a strange and altogether disturbing rite or two, but never had I held such a visceral reminder of their influence in mine own hand. After staring at the statuette for what seemed to me like several minutes, an inescapable urge gripped me and I found myself reaching out with my left hand to touch the wing of the creature.

Contrary to its material, the wing was soft and I could have sworn that I touched a feather or two, but my impressions of its physicality were fleeting at best, because in that one instant, the Great Call of Cthulhu reached out across the void and broadcasted in thick, swamping waves. Falling to my knees, I struggled to hold onto the essence of myself as the Great Call swarmed every cell of my brain and laid its sticky hands on me.

I later learned that a similar experience was felt among other, sensitive sorts (“twats” by any other name in Oxford) across the campus. The phenomenon was attributed to the very real “stress crisis” that the university was currently undergoing— but I digress. As I have previously stated, speaking in tongues across time and space is a strenuous labor, and if it were not for my burning desire to proffer an explanation of the worldwide phenomena that have been causing such a panic, I would have spared the effort entirely.

The Great Call of Cthulhu was neither the bellow of a beast, nor the screech of a human, but a painful recombination of the two. Its timbre drove me to my knees from its force and its pitch caused me to scream a terrified response— the human body’s natural reaction to extreme pain and panic.

For such was the nature of Cthulhu’s Call— It oozed the dark shadows of the mind’s own horrors, it woke the perverse and twisted desires of man’s heart of hearts, and it dominated the submissive cave man who still dwelt in eternal terror of night and the endless darkness of space. With such a call reverberating through my mind, is it any wonder that I curled unto myself and sought only to escape the pain and fear,

rather than use my human wiles and blind animal instinct to free myself from this torture? Alas, I did not. The statuette remained clutched in my Devil’s Claw, and the Great Call reverberated inside me as long as Cthulhu spoke.

The Great Call did end, but the world after its expression seemed altogether a different place. When my eyes opened to Oxford once more, the geometry of the place was askew, off-kilter, in a way that confounded my educated mind, and caused my small bud of courage to wither.

I tumbled to the open window and gazed onto the open court below, where moments ago students had been hurrying to class and others had been basking in the surprise sun of March. Now the light was a pale green, mixing with grey where the light beams hit the sides of the buildings. The light itself had twisted, no longer following the laws of physics, but wormed its way where it willed, twisting into shapes only Picasso or Pollock could have imagined. The shape of the buildings swam before my eyes, some parts lowering in a fell swoop, others bits, like the clock tower, spiralled higher into the sky like the rotating pole of a barber.

I could feel my stomach turn at the sight, and I vomited down. I was relieved that the distortions of physics did not apply to my physical body— for the moment at least— but I vomited a second time as I saw the vomit transform into cubic shapes and fly across the courtyard to splat into pancakes on the across window.

The more that the world did not conform to nature, the more my brain ached. I could feel madness slipping in like the third cousin of a cross-eyed slug mated with the jagged-toothed shadow monster of my childhood. I squeezed both my fists, and the sudden pain in the one alerted me to the fact that I still held the statuette in my hand. Filled with an immediate revulsion, I opened my fist to prepare to launch the detestable stone, whom I blamed for my entire bout of insanity— which I was convinced this was— but when I opened my hand and gazed down at my palm, the laws that had governed my world up until now seemed once again to have been perverted.

For there, rather than the monstrous creature I had first beheld in my Professor’s office, was the only beautiful thing to remain in this World of Cthulhu. Admiration swelled in my breast and I felt such a yearning for hope and safety as I had ever held in my short life. The statuette gained heat in my palm and light, pure and linear, gathered around it in concentrated rays. A blinding light emanated from my palm and I turned away, unable to bear the pain of the illumination.

I once more opened my eyes when the flash had dissipated. My body registered the restoration of nature’s balance before I did in its sudden calmness and its muscle relaxation. My mind, however, and my eyes, were fixed upon the figure that now stood before me, having emerged from mine own palm.

This creature, unlike the reviling statuette that I had discovered, was already deeply familiar to my consciousness.

To see it was not a matter of

seeing the unknown unknowns of the dark pits of existence, but to see one’s dreams made flesh. The vague longings of the heart that pierce the apathy and fear of one world, and transport one to another had been freed from their prison, and I had been permitted to stand before such a dream.

I still had not said a word, but remained standing in the Being’s presence. An aura exuded from Her that rendered the twisting forms of the Cthulhu into the linear geometry of my youth and this alone was enough to appease my mind and to allow it to settle back into its well-trod tracks of order.

And yet......Despite the familiarity with which I endowed this Being, the light that emanated from Her was alien to my eyes. Even as I registered this and even as my brain began to run towards panic, She extended her wings and let out a Great Ululation.

The Great Ululation pierced my ears and the rays of sound launched through my body and traveled across the world and back; a challenge to the Great Call of Cthulhu.

At last She closed Her mouth and turned to stare at my prone body, which was quivering from the strain it had been subject to. Trapped on the floor, as it were, by my body’s weakness, I at last permitted myself to make a sketch of Her in my mind.

The closest creature that Earth had to offer in Her image was that of the archangel Gabriel. Or perhaps the fallen Lucifer was closer to the concealed energy. An angel was a poor word to capture Her essence, but in my petty defense, it is all that the English language may summon. Her great wings were feathered thickly, a soft down in the inner layers and a sharp sheath on the outer.

Her figure was that of a human female, but seemed to shift continuously between ages and our so-called races a thousand times a minute, until nothing was certain except that She was female, and that She had chosen to appear human for the sake of

us. But as She leaned in towards me, it was Her face that drew my eyes. For besides its great and terrible beauty, a bloodied white cloth stretched across where a human’s eyes would have rested. Once I noted this, my mind and heart suddenly burned to know what lay beneath, despite feeling that it might be the death of me.

Almost as if She had heard the request crying out in my mind, She knelt down and placed Her clawed hands on either side of my head and commanded through sheer presence that my eyes remain locked.

Slowly the white cloth began to unravel before my eyes and I eagerly traced the gradual reveal of Her face with great anticipation.

The cloth collapsed in a pile of threads, and the Eye of the Great She was revealed to me.

At this point in my tale it becomes impossible to adequately convey the depths of what my soul endured. Professor Angell, whose uncle had unwittingly revealed the truths of these Great Mysteries to him, prefaced his experience of the Great Ones with a plea for a return to his prior ignorance, and a claim that humanity, when faced with the Unraveling of the Revelation, would either turn mad or retreat into the safety of ignorant darkness.

I speak this across the boundaries of space and time to the remaining humanity who survived the Great Call of Cthulhu and even now may be either enslaved to the Great One, or else have rejected his revelation and have rent asunder the knowledge that brought them thus far. I make a case for the Call of the She and for the Truths which She has revealed to me.

I fled into that deadly light which Angell feared, and perhaps I am indeed mad.

But to be enveloped by the wings of the Great She and driven mad by Her light is that which I would willingly undergo once more for the sake of Her alone.

Moira

by Yumna Leghari

I

“ saw her beyond the hills. She was just standing there, staring at the moon,” a young woman whispered.

“Oh? Well, it’s unkind to assume.

Though – do not repeat this- I heard she converses with the trees,” said the other, behind her lace glove. Their voices were filled with scandal and glee as they giggled to each other. Siobhan was used to hearing such things about herself, and was indifferent. It was rare to hear it behind her back, in her own shop. The audacity of some people baffled her.

The two came up to the counter and purchased some honey skin balm. The wooden door bells clinked together as they walked out. Regardless of what the women in this town said about her, they could not keep their eyes from pouring greedily over her stocked shelves.

Creemore was a small village, it was like one large extended family. Siobhan wasn’t part of it, she was the intriguing pariah spoken of in hushed tones.

Despite this, she heard the clinking of her doorbells continually throughout the day.

She had learned to use the Earth’s gifts from her mother. People had gossiped of her also, spreading falsities of witchcraft. Siobhan had heard herself referred to as a fairy doctress. God fearing people sneered at her, and did not step into her shop. Siobhan had her own ideas about God, and cared little of what the town thought of her.

Siobhan sat on her rooftop, her bare feet were pale in the moonlight.

She’d closed shop and went to her home upstairs.

Creemore was sleeping. She wondered why Moira had not come in this week. Wrapping the shawl she had around her thin shoulders tighter, Siobhan suddenly felt colder; a mist was rolling over the hills. Her dreams always filled with images after coming in from her nightly rooftop ritual. She would look out from her heights, and the beauty of Creemore humbled her.

She felt as night moved in and broke twilight, that there was a secret correspondence occurring. She sensed the electricity in her skin and felt it when the breeze moved through her red hair.

She never talked about it, but her paintings spoke for her. Sketches, paintings, drawings; they were all over her shop, and crowded every room in her house.

They were part of the reason people talked; strange creatures filled the frames. Faeries, misty apparitions and bright hills of various colours. Marvellous hues of flesh were stark against dark skies, women draped in gossamer, shining and dancing naked under the moonlight. They enchanted some, and disturbed others.

Sunlight filled the shop and the wood gleamed happily under jars,

vials, and small pots filled with oils, plants and balms. Small glass fragments reflected light in Siobhan’s skirt and threw patterns onto the wall.

“Siobhan?” She hadn’t noticed someone come in. Moira’s voice was soft in its approach. Her hair was a shiny chestnut brown under her broad brim hat and her skirt tapered below the knees, then fell to the ground. She was beautiful.

“You weren’t here last week. I was worried. Didn’t your mother want her cream? Didn’t you want your tea?”

Siobhan was confused. Moira came in every week because only her remedies seemed to ease the pain in her mother’s bones. If it were not for that, Moira would be forbidden from entering the shop. The upper class of Creemore feared a mark on their reputation, yet many still found a way to get their hands on her product.

“I missed you,” Siobhan said.

“I was busy. My family had prior engagements, I’m sure you understand?”

“No, not really,” Siobhan half smiled. She was unmarried and lived alone, which added to the scandal of her existence in Creemore.

“Did you see the moon last night? I thought of you. I had dreams, you were flying and you had these white wings…

I painted you.” She was uneasy.

“That was kind of you. I need my tea, and I need her cream. I have to go, I’m in a hurry.” Her anxiety was confusing.

She wore a neutral mask that Siobhan could not penetrate with her eyes.

Amanita Muscaria; it was the mushroom she used to create her special tea. Siobhan used it herself when twilight was present and the moon was full. She drank it in spiritual earnest. Moira needed it to help her forget, and lull her to sleep. The substance had also developed a bond between the two women. Sometimes she sensed Moira inside her head, even when she was across town sleeping on her soft egyptian cotton mattress.

“Here. Would you like some wine?”

Siobhan handed Moira the small package, and took the money, which only payed for her mothers cream.

“I have to go, sorry.”

“Come see the painting at least?”

Siobhan asked. Her insides were turning; Moira’s distance scared her. Moira followed Siobhan into the back room, her long hobble skirt ruffling stiffly on the floor. Siobhan’s skirt flew around her as she walked, the lights still reflecting onto the walls.

The space was dusty, and held an ominous, quiet beauty. The smell of sandalwood filled their noses and the walls were covered with her work.

Siobhan held up a frame hardly larger than her hand. Moira stood under the

moon, in a shallow pool of water. Her skin was sparkling in the light. Frail, iridescent wings flowed down her bare back, into the water. Siobhan watched Moira’s face, and caught a brief smile that lit up her eyes.

“I knew you would like it.” She sighed, and reached out, touching Moira’s cheek.

“I made it for you, take it with you.

Just hide it, keep it under your pillow,” Siobhan said this as she took the painting from Moira and moved closer to her, placing both hands on her face.

“Are you okay Moira?

Something is bothering you, I know this.” Moira’s mask had returned, but it did not conceal the flush that had warmed her cheeks. Her lips were wet, they were slightly parted and peachy pink against her white skin. Siobhan traced them with her fingers, barely touching them.

“I have to go. I can’t stay today.”

Siobhan continued, now moving her hands down Moira’s arms.

“Siobhan, please. Not today, I need to leave,” her voice was almost desperate. “ No you don’t,” Siobhan breathed into her neck. She felt Moira’s arms tense and let go, defeated.

“What, what’s wrong? What did I do? Why did’t you come last week.

Please Moira, please tell me,” she was whimpering. Her mother had left her with a strong heart but Moira made her feel weak and she hated it.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. I need to go,” she started towards the shop, then stopped and turned towards Siobhan again. They looked at each other for a moment. Closer; Siobhan could feel the warmth coming from Moira’s lips... Hovering, then pressing; urgently relaying a message she could not decode in that moment, and then she was gone.

Weeks had gone by and Moira was a shadow of the past. Siobhan’s nights were filled with vivid pictures of Moira’s face. Her bright body sitting on the moon, then an eclipse of sudden darkness, and she would disappear.

Siobhan eyes scanned over the village newspaper, she flipped lazily through the pages while sipping her morning tea. The hot tea water was soon all over the counter and burned her hands but she did not feel it. She stared at the now soaked newspaper and it’s running ink.

The parents of Moira Flynn are proud to announce the engagement of their daughter to Mr. Brian Moore. We congratulate them on behalf of the people of Creemore and wish them the best of luck. May God bless them.

The bells of her shop door made a hollow noise and a woman entered.

She had dark hair peppered with grey.

Her gait was elegant and her hat took

up half of the shop.

“Hello, ma’am. I will be right with you, let me just clean up this mess, I apologize.” Her voice was shaky as she tried to gain composure and clear her eyes of emerging tears.

“No need, darling,” the woman walked over, her eyes burning into Siobhan.

“I’ll only be a moment ma’-,” Siobhan’s face stung and her head cocked to one side. The woman had slapped her. Only now did she notice her hands had turned bright red from the hot water. She felt the sting of both the burn and the violent stranger’s hand.

“Stay away from Moira. Do not utter her name, do not even think her name. You are the devil incarnate. You put a spell on my daughter, you bewitched her with your plants, with your potions. You disgusting, filthy … sapphist.” she hissed each word. Siobhan saw spittle between her teeth as she spat words at her. Siobhan looked into her eyes, and kept looking.

She no longer heard the words because she was looking into Moira’s eyes.

Moira’s eyes after so long.

“Are you listening girl? Do you hear me?”

“Moira,” Siobhan cried out, reaching for the woman’s face. The mother backed away disgustedly.

“Stay away, you will be run out of this town,” She threatened one last time.

The shop was empty now, and the bells hit each other, making empty sounds. Siobhan stared at Moira’s face in the newspaper. She was smiling.

Siobhan tried to decipher the smile, to recognize the look in in her eyes but there it was again; the mask. She stared until the ink blurred and turned her face black, and all she could see was the obese man standing beside the black body of her Moira, grinning widely in his tailcoat jacket.

The fog hovered between the hills and enveloped her in it’s thickness.

She walked naked along the hillside, her feet bare and damp on the grass. Her mouth was full of a fresh, bitter taste that left her tongue tingling. The moon was dim and cast long shadows. Siobhan did not feel the cold as she placed her feet into the river. It rushed past her, urging her to move with it.

She spread her arms and let go, letting her body move with the current. She was on her back and the sky watched her. Millions of tiny shining eyes shone down and she felt beautiful. Moira’s wings were gone and she sat on the moon and laughed.

“Swim Siobhan.

Look!

You’re flying, you’re flying in the water and I’m just sitting. I’m just sitting here on the moon.”

Wilderness

by Sarah Scott I crave seclusion At the end of a day Filled With words People And situations I crave mountain air The kind Blessed With pine and purity I crave sunsets Laced With treetops Intricately woven Against the last Golden moment Of a day Otherwise gone I want to lay Amongst trees So that I Like them Can feel unrestricted I crave simplicity In a world Where there are Too many choices I crave a life As unadorned And as honest As the wilderness In solace To wash my soul clean

Photo by Ryan Lamoureux

Artwork by Ryan Lamoureux

The Fox Garden

by Erin McLaughlin

the fox called wises

flicks away the fleas paw over paw and he waves his tail so gracefully wizard, waiting, wistful wises asks me about my eyeballs paw over paw and he licks the red dirt off of my elbows ‘tell me where your garden lies’ says I and he looks surprised paw over paw and wises he does take in a large breath for size my garden tastes like the violin coloured like clay-corn and silver bugs, twelve minutes of moon, the sun almost always high risen folly-wig and leafy scent smells flowers flock and renaissance masterpieces lying facedown in the lake, trees bent over, smelling you the garden is where the light shines, but it is too where the light does shine not perhaps it is lost in the desert, or swimming so solemn in sea it sleeps safely in a hoffbrock tree pops pennies in pockets so proud marches mildly through meadows peaceful, unwary of sound sometimes it starts to dry out but mostly it bursts with its might the body in which the garden lives can hardly contain its great sight the fox garden blooms inside you and the wallaby’s and walruses whippets, willows and wasps the woodpeckers and wildebeests the fox flowers live inside of you growing out of your brain so bright that the light coming out of your eyeballs could blind a winged witch of the night

THE ROOT CAUSE

TRAGIC TIMES 1 (youknow?)

I’m still under estimating myself, tragic times but use this heart like a compass and well, magic finds a way back into my life, sporadic signs of how to move forward with a tactful mind shelf unfactual lies and self actualize see more than what can be imagined with your actual eyes fly free from what grounds you but hold true to natural ties subject to our surroundings so I project what my capsule surmise

life is not for the effortless high or low yo when time slow I appreciate the emphasis even when I made a mess of it I scale back the precipice like, if only I could get a view from everest then maybe I could pull the sword of true strengthening believe it or ignore it there’s redemption in these blemishes four corners two hemispheres one love magnetic energies that push and pull destinies even if I never find the recipe, show high fidelity, cuz I owe it all to these maladies 3 (youknow?)

I’m still under estimating myself,

take a bite from the apple, surprise it’s not knowledge of god but of self that’s divine

tragic times

body and blood fed bread and red wine like, still I rise and comprise of your D N A vine

magic finds

so we grow alongside eachothers fates intertwined different colours sisters, brothers and a hue man of this kind undiscovered lost lovers future generations start behind but even when low there’s always an up ^smile 2 (hahahell) even when we’re high we’re low I’ll say it one more time: “back in the ‘borough” where from the cracks of the concrete to the sky we grow until we share this love with the whole world a blue pearl in the ocean of emptiness I unfurl tryna figure what the eff it is

but use this heart like a compass and well,

a way back into my life no axe to grind but like sharpened cold steel on pressed flesh, cut a path inside careful what you hold onto and who you cast aside just two halves of the circumference no vast divide so many aspects of truth you could unmask, unwind leaving you wishing you had asked or tried don’t ask why, ask how? abandon ego, take pride like the painter or creator who could capture These Eyes another chapter arrives what am I after? surprise! it’s not money or wealth but knowing self that provides still unborn blood deep secrets that my plasma hides if I reframe today what can I master? devise? through the long winter a young calf survives to jump a blue moon and navigate perplexed skies ... to be continued, another quarter threesixtyfive after ninety days in darkness the sun

I feel like my parents were meant for each other in another life.

A life where I was not born.

A life where they could give & grow together, not be held in place by a child to come.

My mother, having the unfortunate affliction of struggling alone, has always had a man in her life, for good or bad.

The cause of this may have been my father’s fleeing from the terror that a baby at 17 brings.

My father’s lack of commitment to women is the influx of my mother’s need for men.

He never could settle down, because the first love he ever knew was cut short.

Cut short by a beautiful, baby boy, a daunting task for a person not able to put a condom on correctly.

I have no fallacies about my life being a planned one. I am a mistake.

This is not to say, that I was not loved, and have not led, a good life.

I also do not mean to come off biting with my words, and install the presumption that have not been raised in a most efficient, and loving manner.

But looking at my parent’s lives, and seeing their downfalls, struggles with loves, and inabilities to reason emotionally, it makes me realize the impact that I have had on them.

Their little baby, Tyler, has fully, and most wholly, changed them.

Although seemingly an obvious statement, I wonder if they really do complete each other, just not in this current realm.

They are puzzle pieces, from two separate puzzles, which somehow miraculously fit into each other, yet still paint different pictures.

Maybe, in a life, where Anne, and Joshua’s mistake does not happen, their loves grows.

They live together, and marry, and maybe even have kids, but on their own terms.

Their love blossoms, and they own a house, with a nice backyard, and a swimming pool, and they grow old, and then die, one soon after the other, because it hurts so much to live without one another.

Maybe that was my parent’s fate…

But not in this life.

I was born.

- Tyler Majer

WHEN YOU MARRY Marry when the year is new, Always loving, kind and true, When FEBRUARY birds do mate You may wed, nor dread your fate, If you wed when MARCH winds blow, Joy is sorrow both you’ll know, Marry in APRIL when you can, Joy for maiden and for man, Marry in the month of MAY, You will surely rue the day, Marry when JUNE roses blow, Over land and sea you’ll go, They who in JULY do wed Must labor always for their bread, Whoever wed in AUGUST be Many a change is sure to see, Marry in SEPTEMBER’S shine, Your living will be rich and fine, If in OCTOBER! you do marry, Love will come, but riches tarry If you wed in bleak NOVEMBER, Long the day you will remember, When DECEMBER’S snows fall fast, Marry and true love, will last.

If you marry not at all Strikes me you’ll be happiest of all.

rise

- Linda Laframboise

- Danny Taro

For more of this artist’s beats scan this barcode!

ONE (2012) One Outstanding Anomaly Strange.

A prime that every composite peer will disengage.

It takes time Inevitability But it always ends the same.

The last passenger on a never-ending train.

Ending up The difference After others have departed.

Left-over pieces, causing problems and discarded.

- Leina Amatsuji-Berry

Elisabeth Burden| Peterborough

A TRAILL WORTH FOLLOWING

by Ryan Newman

Slopes and steps, About the crows.

Trace footsteps, Throughout the snow.

Ice and slush, To slip and slide, Between the mush, We gently glide.

Glide.

Glide.

Over the tide.

Up the stony hill to a building so high.

And I say, Why, why, why do I reside at the bottom.

Pedal, cycle, push til the snow hits autumn.

Spring to Fall, Up and down, Clickety-clack round the town.

Then I take myself a wonder.

Back to London, break asunder.

No lights, no horns.

Peace.

Of mind.

In summer time.

This Traill I find.

This Traill is mine.

Picturesque

Kevin Lemieux | Peterborough

Warm, cozy, a place called home.

We sit on benches made of stone.

People don’t study, but slowly roam.

Around the bush, and into the dome.

And into the mind, And into no time, And out of no sight, No feeling, no rhyme.

Poetic journey, a romantic witness.

Peace circles, songs picnics.

Passer-byers attend at Frosh Week fest.

North, down here tours, offered lest.

Us writers, learning to teach in jest.

Eaton, Gzowski, OC, Champlain: crest.

Trailling off.. forgotten by the rest.

Squeaks and squirrels.

The chipping of beaks.

Sights and pictures.

Images, warm, sod reeks.

Sounds of music.

Taps light upon the cheek.

My quest.

To rest.

I digest.

Crafts & doodles and things !

Ni Aqui, Ni Alla |Eugenia Ochoa| Peterborough

Drawing| Jacob Carrol| Peterborough Crafts|Shannon LeBlanc| Peterborough

Heather Livingston| Peterborough

Erin McLaughlin|Peterborough

Anxiety Painting Number 1016 Calla Durose-Moya | Peterborough

Victoria Singh | Peterborough

Samantha Moss

| Peterborough

A Cavernous Mouth | Shannon Leigh | Oshawa

What art means to me

Art by Daiana Locatelli

breathtakingly, unequivocally inspirational; the fact that every human I wish I could say that everyone has being has a different talent or skill an artistic flare hidden away deep to offer the world is what makes inside of them waiting to be everything much more interesting.

For myself, art goes back a long expressed, but this is just not the way.

My parents enrolled me in an case. art class when I was in elementary Although fear not, because this school, and there I learned how to is also what makes the world so use different artistic media.

By Daiana Locatelli

From then on I just had a knack for it. I chose to enjoy art as a hobby, and enjoy it I have. I recently got back into painting after years of premature retirement, so you could say.

I brushed the dust off of my brushes, purchased some new acrylic paint and stared at a blank canvas here and there for a couple days. Utter delight took over me

Sabrina Calogeracos| Peterborough

and I just had to feel the cold paint on my bare hands.

Every stroke of the paintbrush compelled me to continue; a dab of this color, a dip of that color, a stroke here and a stroke there. I looked down at my hands covered in a range of dry paint.

Speckles of metallic gold and silver paint had dried on my t-shirt and skin. I did not care about the mess; it only made it more real, more of an extension of myself.

The phrase ‘I created it,’ is the most fulfilling feeling I have after the completion of my artwork.

There is no other piece like it, and it is unique to my style of expression.

I have found my passion in abstract media because of its bold nature.

I am in awe at the textures I can create using acrylic and oil paint. It is thick and creamy and the paint blends easily and beautifully.

I take my arched brush in hand and create deeper dimensions by adding veils of subtle and bright colors that come together harmoniously.

It is very comforting to know that there is always room for growth.

I can return to the canvas and experiment with more color until I am satisfied with the finished product. It is not permanent until I decide so.

There is not much in the world that I can say I have control of, but painting is one of them.

The finished product is always a pleasure.

Who does Beowulf ’s laundry?

Source: Archiwum własne Jarmeryka

W

By Tom Hurley

phenomenology of the Internet recently led him to try out the new Ubisoft hen, with its baffling comparisons and stylistic pirouettes, the post- on-line incarnation. “This video game instantiation of it is a total failure,” he postmodern criticism of the thousand-year-old Anglo-Saxon poem Beowulf says with exasperation, “but that might have to do with the media difference, is finally written, it will begin like this: where one medium has a forced interaction and the other doesn’t. The monOn December 22, 1938, in the estuary of the Chalumna River off the East- sters in the video game are hilariously terrible. In the swimming contest with ern Cape of South Africa, the young naturalist Marjorie Courtenay-Latimer Breca, a huge sea monster looms. You run up and punch it in the face a few pulled out of a trawler a five-foot-long, prickly-scaled, sharp-toothed fish of a times. It’s absurd. It takes all the majesty out of it, or any of the work of imagitype she had never seen before. The smelly, oily catch, weighing 127 pounds, nation or fear—that’s all just gone.” Yet in spite of these new-media failures, would eventually make her famous as the discoverer of the coelacanth, which Beowulf continues to be a money-maker for everybody. A fine-art print of the was quickly named a “living fossil”, thought to be extinct for 70 million years. first page of the original manuscript is a British Library bestseller, rivaling the Zoologist J. L. B. Smith, who had to scramble to preserve the specimen, and Magna Carta as frameable art. who would make the fish his life’s work, nicknamed it “Fourlegs” for its odd Why are we so obsessed? The basic plot hardly seems to justify it: the young configuration of fins. The species captured the world’s imagination as an an- Viking warrior Beowulf travels to Denmark, rips the monster Grendel apart, cestor of all land vertebrates, including amphibians, reptiles, birds, mammals, then kills Grendel’s vengeful mother, returns to Sweden to reign as King for and Trent undergraduates.

50 years, puts on weight, and dies slaying a dragon after misreading his job Beowulf, the poem, is the coelacanth of the English literary canon. Thick- description, which requires him to be merely a regal figurehead. The driving set, fearless, and with no predators, the fish narrative of the poem, with its alliteration Sutton Hoo Helmet: British Museum is inedible as a meal for students except and pulsing rhythm, is, of course, only when tenderized in translation. The origipart of the story. Beowulf ’s reputation as a nal manuscript, almost lost to history, is masterpiece of combat, exultation, drinknow preserved in archival formaldehyde in ing and doom rests on a larger richness. the British Library, and has been the subject of intense study ever since it landed on the BALLAST IN THE HOLD deck of the trawler over three-quarters of a The poem braids together many genres, century ago. themes, set pieces, tonal colours, and stoHere, then, is our post-post baffling comrytelling tactics that would become emparison, which happily preserves the dignity bedded in England’s evolving literature. of the fish (still found off the coast of MadaFrom Christian homiletic, elegy, secular gascar) while flattering this 3,000-line mesermon, and tragic death tableau, to hisdieval poem. In the US, millions of students torical digressions, narrative sophisticaread it in Grade 9 as an adventure story; tion, prancing horses and the nostril-bitin Anglo universities, including Trent, it is ing smoke of the funeral pyre, Beowulf is lodged in the English Department canon as a literary feast, delivering as a side dish a foundation text—the first masterpiece of enough psychotic mayhem and trashing English literature. It arrived from a distant of hotel rooms to hold the attention of bardic tradition, in an unreadable language, rowdy drunks (or Christian clerics) in the with unpronounceable names, and set in bard’s audience. At times, through its sheer an archaic, almost unreachable past— the gravitational pull and unassailable reputaScandinavia of 500 C.E. tion, Beowulf feels like the ballast deep in the hold that keeps the entire English litLOVE-BEAST erature canon upright. It is the Deep Fact,

Although the importance of Beowulf the Origin Myth Singularity. It is also the to scholars is easy to explain, its unending great holding-of-the-breath before 1066, appeal to a wider audience is a much more interesting question. Beowulf is but that’s another story. the love-beast of pop culture, and continues to be revived again and again in Although the manuscript first surfaced in the library of the English seemingly impossible forms. Elizabeth Popham, Professor of English at Trent, antiquarian Laurence Nowell in 1563, Beowulfiana—the scholarship around recently listed some of these adaptations for me: “There are at least three mov- the epic—only began in the early 1800’s, with a growing interest in its philolies— all various degrees of horrible. There’s an Icelandic-Canadian joint film ogy, historical roots, and the first translations into Modern English. The secproduction, a 1980’s cartoon, a graphic novel, a radio play, a new video game.” ond major phase had to wait until the Oxford scholar J.R.R. Tolkien wrote his And then there’s Game of Thrones. When teaching Beowulf, Popham tells her swerving 1936 essay, “The Monsters and the Critics”, where he was the first to Thrones-besotted students, “This is where it comes from.” defend the poem as a brilliant work of art on the tragic theme of youth and age.

Liam Mitchell, an Assistant Professor in Trent’s Cultural Studies De- A recent milestone—arguably the crest of a third wave—was the 2006 publicapartment, remembers reading Beowulf as a student. His current interest in the tion of The Postmodern Beowulf: A Critical Casebook, a 700-page anthology of

essays reflecting the new preoccupations of the past quarter century.

Beowulf scholarship, however, will never be the true guarantor of the poem’s grip on our psyche. That power will always reside in the monsters and the heroes themselves, and for paradoxical reasons.

The West has been spawning and stabbing mythical monsters for so long that it can be hard to remember they aren’t real except as literary and psychic artifacts. We rely on our children to reassure to us that, as Bruno Bettelheim expressed it when talking about the ogres in fairy tales, “They are not real, but they are true.” When you ask someone who read Beowulf long ago what they remember, they are likely to say: “There were monsters.”

The truth residing in the monsters of Beowulf owes its cumulative force to the mythic comprehensiveness of its three marauders: Grendel, kin to the Cain of Genesis and thus the entire bestiary of the Old Testament; Grendel’s mother as primordial Creator and Destroyer; and the dragon, with its lineage stretching back even further, to the pre-cosmogonic, self-devouring Uroboros worm. The narrator holds us with scenes of hand-to-hand combat, but he fixates us by another means: it is the famous silences of Beowulf (Where are the women? to cite one example), the vagueness of shapes and landscapes, and the flatness of the hero, that give the poem its real power. Here is a shadowy screen onto which we, as readers or as the original listening audience, can project ourselves. “The poem,” says James W. Earl, adding a Freudian point of view in The Postmodern Beowulf, “sits in place of the analyst.” In our vast, unmet need to be listened to, we pour our monstrous fears into the ears of the silent text.

THE BESTIARY REVISITED Our understanding of myth and monsters is very different today than it was a hundred years ago. Freudian psychodynamics, Jungian archetypes, and the relentless de-mythologizing project of the social sciences, while bleaching out much of the romance, have given us insights into how we project images of fear and ungovernable forces both outward and inward as social, cultural, and psychological beings. The outward projections of the monsters in Beowulf, explains scholar and translator R. M. Liuzza, “are narrative manifestations of the forces of disorder and chaos which an orderly society must hold at bay but which will, in the dark world of the poem, inevitably triumph.”

For Freud, and for clinical psychologists and therapists, the inward projections are something else altogether. As children we internalize our significant others, in all their creative and destructive guises. When things go terribly wrong, the introjected destroyer becomes a Beowulfian dragon within, an autonomous, tail-snapping agent that acts out unconsciously. The true horror cited in 1939 by poet W. H. Auden is that, when “Those to whom evil is done do evil in return,” they do not attack the original perpetrators, but total strangers. In the Beowulf digression about the legendary Modthryth, innocent retainers are executed on the spot for accidentally making eye contact with the Queen.

What good are monsters without heroes to dismember them? True, the protagonist Beowulf is a failed hero in a vaguely modern sense, but he is also a purely social being of the Middle Ages, with simple behaviour elicited by a simple trigger in a hive-like environment—the two-dimensional incarnation of a heroic warrior code. “It’s not psychological, it’s social,” explains Professor Popham. “This is the difference between the medieval period and the Renaissance, which has become deeply involved in exploring the human psyche.”

Five-hundred years after Beowulf was written down, Western literature would invent human nature as we know it today, and begin to produce more exquisite failures, including the anti-heroes we have come to love, from Don Quixote and Milton’s Satan to John le Carré’s George Smiley and the basement tinkerer Walter White.

Something of the old heroic ideal persisted into the last century in Joseph Campbell’s passionate revival of The Hero With a Thousand Faces. More recently, the prominent University of Toronto psychologist Jordan B. Peterson, in his Maps of Meaning: The Architecture of Belief, and in his many public and TV talks, has laboured to produce a fresh charter for the everyday hero informed by lab-rat neuroscience, mythology, literature, clinical psychology and religious wisdom.

NIBBLING AT SUBJECTIVITY Neuroscience may prove to be the monster that devours the last hero, as the free will presupposed by Beowulf ’s decisive action continues to be eroded by the reductionist project of science. American sociobiologist E. O. Wilson has speculated that our irreducible feeling of free will is in fact an illusion provided by evolution to help us manage sensory input and stay sane. Reflecting on autonomous agency as the basis for our legal system of personal responsibility—and thus of all of our ignoble and noble acts—cognitive scientist Daniel Dennett has warned against what he calls “the Specter of Creeping Exculpation”, a troll more dangerous than Grendel’s ferocious mother. This is the kind of thing that makes Beowulf show up in dreams as a sharp-toothed coelacanth accompanied by many small pilot fish darting here and there, grooming the overlord and feeding on leftovers.

Meanwhile, laundry piles up. To wash your own Beowulf chain-mail shirt, follow these simple steps.

1. Soak the shirt overnight in a wooden trough of river water.

2. Swish vigorously to remove spear tips, broken teeth, clots of brain tissue, blood, sweat, saliva, tears, snot and snack crumbs.

3. Rinse in clean water.

4. Drip dry. _______________

Comments: traffic20@cogeco.ca Dragon eye source: Joe-Roberts on DeviantArt

C

ongratulations to the first place winner of our Arts Week contest, David Beaucage Johnson.

His piece, Song for the Night Sun, is featured on the cover of this issue. We are thrilled that the student body has engaged with Arthur and contributed their work.

It has been a pleasure scouring the pieces that we received.

David is a Trent student studying in Environmental Science and Geography.

He started drawing before the first grade. At the time, he drew realistic superheroes, dinosaurs, and spaceships. Later on, he diversified and moved on to life drawings, nature, and Ojibway legends .

Second place winner: Tamanna Kohi

Artist: Tamanna Kohi

“Wilderness.”

“The Fox Garden” and

found accompanying

Ryan’s piece can also be

Third place winner: Ryan Lamoureux

Artist: Michael Barrett

| Lee Howard |Facebook: www.facebook.com/artbyleehoward | Etsy: www.etsy.com/shop/quietroombears www.etsy.com/shop/quietroombears |

Instagram: @LeeHoward_Art

Photographers: Top image: Caitlin Coe Left: Mark. L. Craighead Right: Caitlin Coe Bottom: Berfin Askoy Thank you to the incredibly talented photographers for their submissions!

Fashion is wearable art

by Ugyen Wangmo

Fashion is art. It is an art with form and utilitarian value; righteously entitled to the same pedestal as any other art form.

The history of the relationship between art and fashion extends long ago, well before the Renaissance. The association is evident in pictures and paintings.

But is fashion art? It is the question that has been a subject of debate since time out of mind.

The pundits of fashion, and art from different generations, put forward varying interpretations of where and how the two come together.

Elsa Schiaparelli, one of the leading names in the fashion world between the two World Wars and the greatest rival of Coco Chanel, deemed fashion design not as “a profession, but an art” in her autobiography Shocking Life.

Illustrator Andy Warhol, the leading artist of pop art proved that fashion and art can exist together by using both avant-garde and highly commercial sensibilities. Warhol compared department stores to museums.

While, Valerie Steele, director and chief curator of the museum at the Fashion Institute of Technology, calls fashion, “The bastard child of capitalism and female vanity.”

The stance is clearly echoed in fashion designer and creative director for Chanel and Fendi, Karl Lagerfeld’s statement: “Art is art. Fashion is fashion.”

Likewise, many prominent fashion designers of the industry reject to elevate fashion to the same platform as fine art.

Fashion has and still continues to struggle to gain that status among the arts.

In recent years, the dynamics of art and fashion worlds have changed, and still continue to be revolutionized more than ever before.

Growing numbers of artists and designers are exploring one another’s territory; distinctions between the two in the traditional sense have become almost nonexistent.

Art is “the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power,” according to the Oxford Dictionary.

Disregarding the assumptions the experts established, in my own view, fashion most definitely is an art.

Although fashion is not framed on the wall or in a museum, though sometimes it is in a museum (for example The Costume Institute of The Metropolitan Museum of Art collection has more than 35 thousand costumes and accessories from the 15th century to present day), how one dresses and accessorizes is an extension of personal expression.

Fashion designers, the creative directors who design the clothes are making art out of cloth.

They put unique individual garments together, complementary of each other and create something visually wonderful that people can also wear. And that to me is art.

At a more individual level, no two people will wear the same dress to express similar inner self, or exhibit the same outer flair. Each individual will make it his or her own, either by accessorizing it differently, wearing it differently or just feel like a uniquely individual body type.

Fashion accomplishes all the same things as art, but with the added advantage to fulfill a functional need.

Art is not just what you find hanging in a museum, or pieces that are framed. It is all around us. Art is what we wake up to everyday!

Photography by Paisley Spence

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Arts

Trent Film Society and ASTC Present: Heathers

By Tumelo Drametu & Lucas DeLuca

Hello from Trent Film Society and Anne Shirley Theatre Company! We here are writing to you to excitingly announce an upcoming engagement that we have in store for you all. This upcoming Monday February 29th, ASTC and TFS will be teaming up to present to you a fantastic event as a way to not only kick off your first ‘post midterm’ week, but to also proudly announce the arrival of this year’s brilliant musical production of Heathers! What is Heathers you may ask? Well, based off of the cult classic 1989 film, Heathers: The Musical follows the story of Veronica Sawyer, a brainy, beautiful teenage misfit who manages to find her way into the most powerful clique at Westerberg High: The Heathers.

But before she came make herself comfortable atop the high school food chain, Veronica falls in love with the dangerously mysterious new kid J.D. But when Veronica rejects the Heathers evil regime it’s her new boyfriend J.D. who plans to put the Heathers in their place – six feet under.

The musical Heathers: The Musical is a dark comedy brought to the stage by award winning creative team Kevin Murphy, Laurence O’Keefe and Andy Fickman. Heathers: The Musical is a hilarious, heartfelt and homicidal new show based off one of the most beloved teen comedies of all time. With its moving love story, laugh-out-loud comedy and unflinching look at the joys and anguish of high school, Heathers won over the hearts and minds of musical and comedy fans all

across the country! Now, ASTC is extremely excited to be able to let this play win over the hearts of you all in Peterborough. So excited, in fact, that they will be holding a free preview of their show on Monday, February 29th at Market Hall. Here, the cast will holding a delicious bake sale, followed shortly after with a performance of one of their musical numbers from the production, then followed by an open “talk back” with audience members regarding their behind the scenes preparation for their upcoming debut! Then (Yep, there’s more!), TFS will be hosting a free screening of the 1989 film which inspired the musical!

Like the live production, this film is chalk-full of dark humour, teenage romance, satire, and

Music;thelanguageoftheuniverse

By Betelhem Wondimu

Music has been an essential tool that transcends all boundaries of communication, fuels our mind, hence our creativity and imagination; it is essentially the embodiment of a universal language.

The instruments used to create the art of music have been essential components and this article will review the origins of five musical instruments.

Tambourines Long before the tambourine made the infamous arrival in Western musical scene, Ojibwe and Cree people in what is now Canada, in several Middle Eastern cultures, in South India, China and in Eastern Europe, were using tambourine-like instruments.

In ancient Egypt, tambourines served spiritual purposes as they were used by temple dancers, and used in festivals and processions by the Greeks and Romans.

Mozart in the 18th century introduces tambourines to the classical music world and are now often times associated with folk music.

Kettle Drum In Western cultures commonly associated with the military; the earliest versions of kettle drums date back to 4000 B.C.E. in Mesopotamia.

Based on instructions inscribed on artifacts, it is believed they were used throughout the ancient Middle East and in many Islamic cultures. Their associa-

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www.trentarthur.ca

tion with militaristic uses can be traced by their arrival in Europe through soldiers returning home from crusades.

Guitars The origins of the guitar can be traced back to the African continent and the New World, the colonial reference to indigenous land. Furthermore various indigenous people in the Caribbean utilized variations of the guitar to fit their traditional music.

Although the 1930s and1940s saw the pioneering of the electric guitar leading to the use of guitars in genres such as jazz and blues, it was rock and roll that popularized it.

Accordion Historical use of the accordion can be traced to wind instruments used by African and Asian communities.

The distinctive sound created by free reeds when air passes by them is a variation used by ancient Chinese communities for over 2000 years. The modern accordion use can be traced to Austria in the early 19th century.

Harps The earliest evidence of the harp is found in Ancient Egypt and Abyssinian (now Ethiopia and Eritrea) communities around 2500 BC. The modern versions of the harp appeared in Ireland around the 18th century.

The transcendent effect of music can be traced to how the origins of musical instruments are diverse.

violence, and is sure to illicit an all-around fun time for those of you who would love to join us! If that isn’t enough to make you want to come out to the event, here is a personal statement from the director of the production, Trent student Lucas DeLuca: “Heathers: The Musical holds a very special place in my heart for a few reasons. First of all, it tells a story everyone knows: the trials and tribulations of high school. Most people have been there; they can relate to at least one character that walks onto that stage, which makes these characters experiences resonate so strongly with those who’ve experienced similar turmoil’s.

Beyond connecting to these characters,

Heathers: The Musical does something really special. It grips and moves the audience in a way that most dark comedies don’t.

There is something to be said for a musical that offers audience members something to talk about when they leave the theatre, and I’m a firm believer that those kind of theatrical experiences can be the most memorable.

People ask me, “why Heathers: The Musical,” and to be completely honest, it’s because in my 4 years at Trent I got to experience the fun of Legally Blonde, the heart of Spring Awakening, and the darkness of Sweeney Todd.

Heathers: The Musical takes all of those elements and puts them together in a surprising and exciting package that keeps the audience on the edge of their seat. We have all put so much heart and soul into this project, so believe me when I tell you that it’s going to be so very…”

As you can tell, there is an immense passion for this production, and we would be very much appreciative if you could join us for this screening and the productions upcoming performances (Which fall on Friday March 11, 2016 – 8:00 PM, Saturday March 12, 2016 – 2:00 PM & 8:00PM, Friday March 18, 2016 – 8:00 PM, Saturday March 19, 2016 – 2:00 PM & 8:00 PM). Again, like all of the other TFS screenings, this event is absolutely free (although, bring some change if you would like to purchase some really tasty baked treats!).

Come out on Monday and support the immense hard work that the ASTC has put into this musical. We promise that it’ll be “so very.”

arts

Arthur Shilling and more at the Art Gallery of Peterborough

By Troy Burdon

On Feb. 20, the Art Gallery of Peterborough (AGP) opened what may be their strongest exhibition in recent years.

Fynn Leitch (AGP Curator) expressed her excitement about the exhibition. She was thrilled “to see all the work in the space, on the wall, and all the people here enjoying them.”

Working on this project was “really gratifying,” Leitch continued, and it is a “tremendous achievement for the AGP.” One major exhibition and two smaller ones are on display until May 22.

The major exhibition is a collection of paintings and drawings by Arthur Shilling (1941-1986). Curated by William Kingfisher, The Final Works consists of works from private and public collections.

The greatest achievement is Kingfisher’s efforts in assembling together these disparate pieces. During his speech at the opening reception, Kingfisher stated that this exhibition is indeed “what Arthur would have wanted.” Some of the works have not been exhibited previously.

Shilling, born on the Rama Reserve near Orillia, seemed to work primarily in portraits during his final years.

What we notice on Kingfisher’s curated walls, however, is that even during these “final years” Shilling was an artist still honing and developing his style. Some paintings are wonderfully impressionistic, particularly those from the 1970s, but by the very end of his life Shilling moved into the realm of abstraction while still maintaining his interest in the figure, such as Self-Portrait (1981) and Portrait of a Girl with Corn (1986).

In a number of these later works, the figure and background begin to blend, an expectation we may have had as we progress chronologically through the exhibition – the color composition of the figure would often resemble that of its ground. The next step was simply to melt the two together.

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Shilling’s transition to these more abstract works, works that contain the head of a figure in the top half of the canvas while a whole world of dreams and symbols unfurls in the bottom, may be due to his interest in the nature of dreaming and its positive effects (and probably affects).

The Ojibway Dreams series, particularly Self-portraits 1 and 2 (ca. 1985) – inconveniently not placed side by side – are large and vivid canvases with thick brush strokes of reds, yellows and browns, colours that mark Shilling’s distinct style.

Self-portrait 2, the largest canvas on display, immediately captured my attention.

In the top quarter of this portrait, Shilling meets the spectator’s eyes with black eyes of his own. Often when a figure gazes back at us from a painting, we try to read the eyes and the facial features.

I feel that Shilling misdirects us – since the eyes are black, we must turn our look elsewhere, to the halo surrounding his head and to the various symbols, objects and even a second portrait in the lower half.

This is surely the dream of the painting’s title.

Last but not least, Shilling’s five-panel mural stands as the centerpiece of the exhibition.

Again turning his attention to sleep and dreams, this 30-foot mural begins with faces and wide eyes; gradually the eyes on these faces begin to close until the last panel simply drops off to grey and black.

For centuries the greatest painters were tasked with a mural; Shilling’s The Beauty of My People positions him as one of the greats in Canada in the late-20th century.

Rebecca Padgett’s abstract paintings are hung in one of the slim corridors of the gallery. These works function as reservoirs for paint squeegeed or widely brushed onto a canvas. By leaving these paintings untitled, Padgett likely wants us to not project a particular image or find some representation.

Rather, we seem to flow with the paint, imagine its consistency and the way it was brushed, as well as giving us the

opportunity to meld into its final shape.

The diptych with the pink, black and green globous masses should strike any spectator.

Padgett’s work should also be appreciated alongside Ontario abstract artist Rowena Dykins, an artist who held an exhibition at the AGP in 2011.

While Dykins finds her kin with the likes of Paul-Emile Borduas and Les Automatistes, a group of mid-20th century abstract painters living in Quebec, Padgett’s new untitled works resonate with the Painters Eleven, the Ontario equivalent, particularly some by William Ronald.

Both Padgett and Dykins are exemplary contributors to the contemporary abstract scene in Ontario.

In the top corridor hangs art of a different medium. Wayne Eardley was granted access to the GE facility prior to its recent renovations.

Eardley’s Caribou 1 series documents the space and the people therein. Eardley welcomes the uninitiated viewer into the bowels of GE. What we find there are various peoples working together for a common goal, on both the floor and in the office. These digitally shot portraits give life to what is, from my perspective, this cold eerie facility.

Caribou 2, coming in April for SPARK, will look more carefully at the space itself.

Eardley was on-hand to discuss his photographs with the audience. Indeed, when we view a photograph we know there is always a world that extends beyond the frame and it is these details that spectators are often keen to explore and discuss.

The opening reception on was packed with excited spectators. Opening and introductory remarks were made by Mayor Daryl Bennett, who then quickly departed, Kingfisher and Leitch.

The exhibition is undeniably positive and I hope the enthusiasm for Shilling, Padgett and Eardley continue just as strong until it wraps up in May.

Trent Radio Horoscopes

By James Kerr

All shows broadcast through the facilities of Trent Radio 92.7 FM CFFF in Peterborough.

Aquarius: Two if by sea, but one if by email. Check your inbox in the coming days for a correspondence from a person long forgotten. You may find that a conversation you had was not what it seemed. Your lucky number is blue.

Perhaps to put this all into perspective you should tune in to Trent Radio 92.7 FM and listen to Trent Writers Today, with hosts Sarah McDonald and Mercedez Nucaro, Tuesdays 6:30p.m. until 7p.m.

Pisces: Lately your jokes have been falling flat. Think of diversifying your armoury of humour. There is more to getting a giggle than a bad pun about a body part. Your lucky number is Dennis. For this reason you should listen in to Insert Coins to Continue Listening, a celebration of video games with host Zach Muto, Thursdays 7:30p.m. until 8p.m.

Aries: They say it couldn’t be done, but you went ahead and did it anyway. You...jerk. Now you’ve just made everyone look bad, doing the impossible.

Sure, the job’s done, but was it worth it?

By Ruby Monroe

By Brian Hough

If you want to relive this episode, listen to Trent Time Alternative, with host Josh White, Wednesdays 2:30p.m. until 3p.m., and explore the years anew.

Taurus: Some say you are too robotic. Maybe it’s the robot voice you affect, maybe it’s that you walk stiffly, or perhaps just that you are slowly replacing your body with robot parts. To the haters just say: does not compute.

You are still a true and stalwart friend, none can deny. Love will find you on a Thursday, maybe when you’re listening to The Vocal Fry(ing) Pan, with hosts Esprit LeCunff & Rebecca Azzaro, a celebration of strange and interesting voices in music and beyond each Thursday at 1p.m. until 2p.m.

Gemini: There is no richer bounty on this earth than a fine shampoo. Do not neglect your hair; it can turn into a tangled web. Perhaps you’ve only come to realize it recently, but…your hair never liked you. Not one bit.

If it weren’t on your head, it would be off and away for a career in Hollywood. Do the best you can together, shampoo regularly and listen to Homegrown: Celebrating Canadian Roots Music, with host Sarah Milner, every Thursday from 9p.m. until 10p.m.

Cancer: Tone down your looks to avoid unnecessary attention. Sure, you get the occasional “Damn, you’re so attractive”, but do you really want this to escalate? You’re entering your “pretty cycle”, Cancer, where every glance and eye-bat from you will attract admirers. If you are not careful you could be swallowed in a sea of adoration. Your lucky number is threesome. For perhaps more on this, listen to Hit and Miss with host Hugh Addison Walker each Wednesday at 1530-1600 (three-thirty till four).

Leo: The fire inside you cannot be sated! If you don’t get your bloodlust under wraps soon, you’ll leave a trail of bodies in your wake! It could be bloody, it could be just lusty; to cathartically release your energies listen to Punk Ass Queers, with host Quinn McGlade-Ferentzy, Thursday mornings from 9 to 9:30.

Virgo: How boring! You’ve done it all, Virgo. There is no mountain left to climb, no ocean left to swim, no artistic pursuit left unexpressed. The best you can hope for is to die, curled up in a ball, arrogant in your victory.

Or, you could listen to Choose Your Own Adventure, with Emily Minthorn and Chris Lawson, on Monday nights 9 until 10, where the adventure is in your

imagination!

Libra: You think you’ve been keeping secrets, but in fact your life is an open book. Just assume everyone around you knows all the stuff you’d prefer they didn’t.

Relax, Libra, you have nothing to hide!

Relax and listen to Hey Kids, Comics!, with host Dan Collins, and think about comic books instead every Saturday from 8p.m. until 9p.m.

Scorpio: Life is an ocean of mystery. Plunge deep. Plunge deep.

Listen to Trans-Canada Radio, with Emily Smith and Aiden McRae, every Tuesday morning from 10 until 11.

Sagittarius: Admire the cows in the field, Sagittarius. And if you live nowhere where cows live, admire pedestrians instead, and imagine cow heads upon them. This may be in line with the programme Twisty Tales Feeble Fables with Marty Cleary and John Whelan, each Wednesday 1p.m. until 1:30p.m.

Capricorn: Sometimes it feels like a sea-goat can’t get a break. Life has been hard on you lately, Capricorn. You need help to solve the problems in your life. If they happen to be computer related, listen to The Call Centre, with host Robert Farr, on Thursdays from 4p.m. until 5p.m.

Trent Radio has divined your life well!

ing one, or even just looking for something to do, I would strongly encourage signing up for the classes.

The Intro to Babe-lesque class isn’t just a burlesque class. It is a fun and interactive way to get in touch with your own body and to channel your inner diva, enchantress or glamorous self.

The class teaches about the art of communicating without words in a fun and engaging way.

They are designed to challenge yourself and your comfort zones in the best way, be it stage fright, your ability (or lack thereof) to dance or body image; you are

challenging yourself to, hopefully, encourage growth.

Or you are doing the classes to have fun.

Either way, the classes are a rewarding way to meet new people and play around with self-discovery, picking a stage name, costumes and glitter!

I left every class feeling sexy, even if I was having a bad day.

Ten out of ten would do again and I am looking forward to taking the intermediate classes this term.

This term both the intro and intermediate levels are running again at Sadleir

House on George Street. It costs $80 for eight classes, or $15 per class for drop-ins.

For those interested in taking the intermediate course, the intro course is required and since the first classes already ran last week, you can still email to register and pay $70 for seven classes for the Thursday classes from this week on.

The intro class runs Thursday 6p.m. to 7p.m., and the intermediate class runs Thursday from 7p.m. to 8p.m., both in the Sadleir House Dining Hall.

To register, email burlesque.ptbo@ gmail.com or for more information visit Burlesque in PTBO on Facebook.

Beat the winter blahs with burlesque

If you’ve seen the movie Burlesque starring Christina Aguilera and Cher, you know how exciting burlesque can be.

When I saw it I fell in love with the idea of seeing a burlesque show, or if the stars were aligned, actually doing burlesque.

Last semester I signed up for my very first set of burlesque classes, Intro to Babe-lesque run by mistress Amy Jane Von Purr, and I will be participating in this term’s intermediate-level classes.

If you’re interested in burlesque, whether it’s a new-found dream or a long stand-

Booklovers !

Mark Jokinen’s: Window shopping will provide some great selections including Italian holocaust survivor, Primo Levi’s harrowing novel If Not Now, When? Also in the window is Run With The Hunted: A Charles Bukowski reader collecting the works of the American poet and fiction writer whom Time once called “A laureate of American lowlife.”

Look as well, for author and neurologist, the late Oliver Sacks’ autobiographical Awakenings about his attempts to help people recovering from encephalitis lethargic- the strange and infamous “sleepy sickness” which went on a tear throughout the world between 1915-1926 (and has yet to be duplicated), many of the survivors were left with lifelong debilitating neurological conditions.

Knotaknew: in their literature section look for two works by internationally acclaimed contemporary Japanese author Haruki Murakami- 1987’s “Norwegian wood” and his most recent “Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage” ($8 and $8.50 respectively). As you move to the back, turn to your left and in the biography section look for “It’s A Long Story- My Life”, the autobiography of country (and stoner) legend, Willie Nelson.

Scholar’sFor some Canadian philosophy and social/political theory

arts

look for conservative philosopher George Grant’s Technology and Empire- an influential book for Canadian’s trying to distance themselves from American culture in the 60’s and 70’s. If you go to the back room check out the rack of discount books to find to collaborations between famous Canadian communications theorist Marshall McLuhan and graphic designer Quentin Fiore- The Medium Is The Massage and War And Peace In the Global Village for $3 each.

Books And Things: Newfoundland writer Michael Crummy’s acclaimed magic realist epic Galore is in the new arrivals section. Scan the rest of that section for the legendary horror novel I Am Legend

by Richard Matheson (which was later adapted to a movie that Matheson fans would prefer not to have existed.) Hugo and Nebula award winning sci-fi/fantasy author Paulo Bacugalupi’s novel “The Shipbreaker” is also available for $6.

Dixon’s: On the spinning rack and on the lit shelf beside it you will find works by two seminal white South African antiapartheid writers, the 1991 Nobel Laureate Nadine Gordimer’s My Son’s Story ($5.95) and Andre Brink’s Rumours of Rain ($4.95). If you go find the Canlit section, you will find Giller award winner Andre Alexis’s 1994 debut short fiction collection Despair and Other Tales Of Ottawa which at the time was short-listed for the Commonwealth Prize.

Volume 50 | Issue 18 | February 29, 2016

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community

Just Like New: find something worthy around

By Ugyen Wangmo

You probably aren’t going to stumble in to it. It’s a nondescript building, clandestine from the humdrum of downtown bustling, a sign reads “Just Like New.” If luck has it and there’s the chance you do stumble upon this consignment store, you have discovered the gold at the end of the rainbow.

I walked right past the store’s curtained windows heaven knows how many times.

One fine day a knell of the doorbell on 377 Queen St. coerced my eyes upon it and I ambled through it.

A fresh, clean smell met my nose, while my eyes were greeted with clothes hanging from the racks, and shoes carefully organized on stands. Items had no stains, holes or worn spots.

Nothing in the store hinted of the old or the used. And that’s when my treasure hunt began.

This high-end consignment store, without a doubt, embraces its name, Just Like New. “Almost all the stock we have here is new and about 45 per cent of them still have tags on,” explained the owner, Marg Botosh.

She doesn’t take in just anything; they should be items less than three years old, must be clean and pressed, trendy, up to date and of current fashion.

“I am picky about what I take from people,” said Botosh.

To my surprise, and possibly to many of you out there, she has been right here for a very good 24 years.

She moved from Scarborough, taking into consideration that Peterborough didn’t have a higher end consignment store at the time.

What started out as a children’s, men and teens select store is now a fullblown women’s ultimate stop; it includes

everything from outwear, evening dress, shoes and accessories, to activewear.

“It is funny how people don’t know about us,” wondered Botosh.

“We can advertise all the time but that doesn’t seem to work at all.”

However, according to Botosh, over the years the number of customers has definitely increased as more people are finding the store now.

She wondered it if was because of where they were situated, but she approves of the location, especially because of the ideas some people harbour towards resale business, explained Botosh.

It is more discreet on its own side street, unlike on the main street where everyone can see someone going in and out, she pointed out.

Although, with the current economy, hours being cut back or increased realization for environment, the mentality toward re-sale is gradually changing, she commented.

Besides the discounted finds, the one special feature that makes the store unique from regular retail stores is customer loyalty.

“We had the same customers for more than two decades. They came here when their kids were little, started out buying for the kids, and we still have them as our customers,” expressed Botosh.

“Personalized service is our number one priority!”

Botosh said she survives better than regular retailers because she doesn’t have to put her money out to stock it. She explained that in retail if they don’t sell the merchandise then that store’s money is gone.

The shop owner also explained the procedures of how the consignment store usually functions. The suppliers bring in their items, draw up a contract, which is listed and itemized, and the products go on sale for full price in the first month. After a month it goes 20 per cent off, and then half price.

If the products don’t sell, the suppliers have the choice of either donating it or having it sent back to them.

Many of her suppliers donate, so the store is closely involved in numerous local charity works. Botosh is also known to have travelled overseas to donate clothes from her store.

Just Like New is one big family affair, so Peterborough go on down and be a part of this fashionable family.

Bad Love, bad poetry…good time Photography by Samantha Moss

By Sarah McDonald

Thursday night might have been the night of “Bad Love,” but the atmosphere in the room was far from angry.

Trent Writers Society (TWS) held their first open mic poetry night on Thursday Feb. 25 in Sadleir House’s dining hall.

The theme was Bad Love, complete with twinkling indoor lights and pink cutouts of hearts. This was the first open mic event TWS has held this school year, and judging from the jovial turn out it won’t be the last.

The night provided an outlet for anyone who was willing to get up in front of an audience and rage about their exes, whether they were experienced poets or not.

And in many cases, this meant performers bringing to the mic content that would otherwise never be seen, locked away in the depths of angsty teenage eighth grade journals.

This brought a whole new meaning to

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“bad” poetry, as people took to the stage to recount every emotion their tweenage selves were feeling about love, or lack thereof.

There was humour, there was sadness and there was angst.

TWS Co-President Kelsey Levins performed a truly “bad” love poem comparing a lover’s eyes to the colour of the blue liquid they pour on pads.

Social media manager Nikkole Foley read a short little poem about her love for Marvel villain, Loki, prompting some laughs.

And actual poet and TWS member Rushelle Tonice schooled the room with a beautifully written piece, signalling that while the theme may have been “bad love,” there are no restrictions to the kind of content TWS loves to have at events.

This group is open to anything, and we’re always down for fun.

Multiple people who got up in front of the mic had never performed their own work to others before, and those are exactly the kind of opportunities TWS wants to give.

With this year’s anthology, Iridescent, being published at the end of this semester, as well as the addition of the midyear magazine and open mic nights, TWS aims to give Trent students outlets to publish and perform their writing.

The club provides a safe and comfortable space for writers to share their pieces, whether it’s a 15-minute prompt jotted down in one of our meetings, or an embarrassingly bad love poem written by your 13-year-old self that you kept stowed away in a journal for eight years (and let’s face it— it was for a good reason).

Keep an eye out for updates on the Trent Writers release and launch party for Iridescent, this year’s anthology.

TWS meets weekly on Wednesdays at 7p.m. in Gzowski College, room 111— we welcome anyone and everyone!

Community

Journey through self and time with a double feature at TTOK

By Troy Bordun

From Feb. 11 to Feb. 13, The Theatre on King was home to two short plays directed by Simon Turner-Semchuk: When I Sorrow Most was written by Turner-Semchuk, and Quinn McGladeFerentzy penned Sinking’s Better Than Standing Still.

When I Sorrow Most begins with James (Dan Smith) and Alice (Hillary Wear) arguing about their jailed son, Jim (Jeff Curtis). As one might expect, the father disowns his offspring and the mother reiterates her ownership of the child regardless of his murderous deeds.

Jim, a young adult, had taken to killing his lovers. Acts two, four and six are flashbacks of one murder scene set entirely in the dark (except for front-ofhouse lights).

Setting the act in the dark was a bold move; the actors must convey their emotions without an appeal to body language or facial affects. Everything rests on the voice and I think both Curtis and Kelsey Gordon Powell managed to do the scenes justice.

In the first and second flashbacks, Jim has taken a nameless man (Powell) to his house or apartment. The two flirt and engage in conversation about their sexuality and their parents.

The darkness pays off here.

While the flashback acts all occur in a fixed time and space with this one particular man, without seeing this individual the seduction (and eventual murder) may very well be any of the other victims.

In act three the mother visits Jim in jail for a heated debate about why he

committed murder. Curtis’s delivered response, “Because I liked it,” aptly captured the character’s disturbed state of mind.

The fifth act has the father finally visit Jim in prison. While long overdue, the main reason for his visit was to inform the son that his mother had a stroke and survived.

There is a fatherly apology and the act ends on a high note with a father-son reconciliation possibly in the works.

The final act has Jim’s lover-turnedvictim scrambling in the dark in an effort to hide from the crazed Jim. The man, already wounded, dies in the midst of an attempt to call his mother. The production ends with Jim dragging the corpse away.

Smith played the loud and hostile father well, and Wear played the compassionate mother figure competently. Curtis’ performance was exceptional as well.

I’ll surely feel a pang of fear whenever Jeff brandishes cooking knives at our mutual place of work (Jokes! you were great Jeff!). When I Sorrow Most is also rich with meaning and I assume Turner-Semchuk wanted us to appreciate the work literally as well as allegorically.

Both plays were staged in the round, something few venues are able to accommodate. While Turner-Semchuk’s play had his actors disengage from the audience, McGlade-Ferentzy’s humorous Porter character, played outstandingly by Wyatt Lamoureux, occasionally engaged the audience with eye contact and even a touch here and there.

The gender-bending Porter, employee, and perhaps proprietor, of the railway line Trans Rail Rail Trans, a line running All photos by Andy Carroll

from Eastern Canada to the West, was outstanding. Porter’s tasks were to converse with the three characters aboard the train as well as maintain the momentum of the story.

Three women, identified as Youngest (Skylar Ough), Middle (Lyne Dwyer), and Oldest (Shannon LeBlanc), meet in the train compartment and each relates their tale of recent hardship. Youngest is dumped mid-journey by the girlfriend she is en route to visit, Middle has just emerged from an abusive relationship and Oldest’s father has just died.

Each act has its own respective monologue from one of the lead characters. Ough, Dwyer, and LeBlanc each seemed to capture the essence of their characters and were able to deliver their monologues as if they were theatre veterans.

The exchanges and light verbal abuses amongst the characters were increasingly amusing, and the conclusion to the play – the train had gone absolutely nowhere geographically but the characters have perhaps taken an inner journey (or not) – situates it within a tradition of absurdist theatre. Both plays had a mix of practiced and non-professional actors.

The success of these plays surely rests on the shoulders of Turner-Semchuk’s directing of this troupe – in his written play, he was able to get emotionally rich performances and with McGladeFerentzy’s play he found ways to keep the characters moving whilst remaining in a stationary location. They were both always exciting, and either disturbing or hilarious, respectively.

I hope the Peterborough theatre scene sees more of this band of writers and actors.

Volume 50 | Issue 18 | February 29, 2016

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Clubs & Groups Trent Ukelele Club: Practices are Fridays at 2pm in the Champlain JCR. Bring ideas for music and activities you want to do throughout the year. There will be FREE PIZZA! Bring your ukulele if you have one and there are extras if you don’t. Ukulele club perks include- ukuleles, free lunches at the seasoned spoon on Fridays whenever you go there to jam, usually snacks or pizza, stress relief, amazing quirky friends, a non-judgemental safe space, as well as HAPPINESS and JOY that follows ukulele playing and the ability to spread it

Sadleir House Come visit the Sadleir House Library Open Mondays 11am-4pm, 6-9pm, Tuesday 1-9pm, Wednesday 12-9pm, Thursday 1-6pm, Friday 11am-5pm, Saturday 11am-4pm in Room 107 (wheelchair accessible). The Sadleir House Library is a free lending library open to all students and community members. With over 4000 books covering general academic interest and 2000 films focusing on international titles, documentaries, art house, and LGBT interest.

The OPIRG Free Market. Wednesdays 3-5pm, Thursday & Fridays 1-5pm. Located in the basement of Sadleir House, right across from the Food Cupboard at 751 George St. N. Thanks to the dedication of OPIRG volunteers, the Free Market and Food Cupboard are open several days a week, year round.

We now have a drop off bin permanently located at the entrance of Bata Library. When you have clothes, household goods, books or non perishable food…drop them off in the Free Market bin at Bata library, Trent University or bring them to the basement of Sadleir House. All items will end up in the Free Market, to be given away at no cost to whoever needs the items.

Improv Class with Matt Davidson: Wednesday, February 10, 7pm-8:30pm. Want to try improv? Come out to Intro to Improv for Wednesday night drop in classes. Improv is fun, come out and join in! (Please note that this is a drop-in space, so while you’re more than welcome and encouraged to come for the entire two hours, you’re also more than welcome to stop by for a shorter time!) Adults: $10 Students $5

SUDOKU

Queer Coll(i/u)sions: Friday March 4, 12am to Monday March 7, 12am. The Queer Coll(i/u)sions Conference invites people from a variety of perspectives on queerness to discuss, interrogate, and explore LGBTQ2 and Queer perspectives whether aca

listings

demically, artistically, or through activism. We hope to provide space for the collision of different queer discourses and push the boundaries of the traditional conference by allowing for different modalities of expression and examination.

Traditional academia often limits the potential modalities for expression of critical queer questions and our hope is to push beyond the traditional modalities, to queer academic practice.

Weekly Sunday TUMS Jazz Band: Sundays 7pm10pm. The Trent University Jazz Band meets weekly at Sadleir House from 7:30 to 9:30 for rehearsals. Any potential vocalists/ instrumentalists are welcome. We adjust rehearsals to the skill level of our group members.

Introduction to Babe-lesque: February 25 at Sadleir House, 6pm. Intro to Babe-Lesque is a class for anyBODY. The class is designed to teach the fundamentals of classic burlesque all while helping to develop of a love and appreciation for your own beautiful body. This is an 8-week class, running on Thursday evenings at 6pm starting on February 25th at Sadleir House. Cost is $80 for all eight weeks, or $15 drop-in rate.TO REGISTER: Simply send an email to burlesque.PTBO@gmail.com with your name, the level of class and your request to join.

Trent Walkhome—Pre-book your safe walk. Do you regularly have practice Monday night, work in the Library Tuesday night or go downtown Friday night?

Our team of volunteers walkers can meet you, on campus or downtown. Monday to Friday: 7pm to 1am, Saturday & Sunday: 9pm to 1am. Call us 705- 748-1748 or email walkhome@tretnu.ca to Prebook a walk.

Worried about a course this semester?

We want to help! Register for the Academic Mentoring Program to request an upper-year student mentor.

Mentors meet regularly with students to discuss course concepts and build an understanding of course material. To request a mentor, or to volunteer, visit trentu. ca/academicskills/peermentoring.php.

Do you find your class readings overwhelming? Could you use a little help organizing your study time?

The Academic Skills Centre is the best place to come to get your daily academic life under control! Book an appointment online through your Student Experience Portal at trentu.ca/sep.

Click on “Book Appointments” and select “Academic Skills”. We’re located at Suite

send yours to listings@trentarthur.ca

Local

206 in Champlain College and our services are always free!​ Seasoned Spoon Presents: Vermicomposting.

Wednesday March 16 at 5:00pm at Seasoned Spoon. Do you want to learn how to make your own fertilizer that is organic, frugal, and fun? Worm composting has become a popular gardening hobby. In this workshop, learn about Red Wiggler worm composting including how to feed them, care for them and apply their compost. This helps with natural and sustainable gardening.

Seasoned Spoon presents: Cultivate a Vegetable garden. lways wanted to have a Vegetable Garden? Not sure where to start or wanting to more deeply cultivate your knowledge? Then this workshop is for you!

Learn everything you need to know about how to get started, what to grow and how to plan your garden from a former Trent Vegetable Garden Coordinator! Perfect for those with little gardeningknowledge or those wanting to expand their basic gardening know how. March 9 at 5:00pm.

Free Nights at the Canoe Museum: Thursdays, 5pm-8pm. Tour starting at 7pm.

Don’t miss out on this unique opportunity to visit this amazing collection of canoes, kayaks and paddled watercraft absolutely FREE! Watch for Upcoming Events listings for news and dates for seasonal holiday activities on select Thursday evenings at canoemuseum.ca/upcoming-events.

The KWIC World Issues Café & Kawartha Sexual Assault Centre present : Women In Solidarity – An International Women’s Day 2016 Event.

March 9 at 5:30, Seeds of Change. Potluck, Speakers, Music and Celebration; More info: KWIC.infoFeaturing Canadian Author Camilla Gibb (including book sales and signing) Peterborough Museum & Archives presents: Ornamenting the Ordinary: Crafts from South Asia is an exhibition on loan from the ROM (Royal Ontario Museum) on display from Dec 19, 2015 – Mar 27. This exhibition brings together the craft traditions of South Asia. Most of the objects are taken from the collections of the Royal Ontario Museum. They include ornate decoration such as woodcarving and enameled metalwork; others are objects without decoration whose overall shape, line and colour convey a sense of design that is aesthetically pleasing itself.

Free Nights at the Canoe Museum: Thursdays, 5pm-8pm. Tour starting at 7pm.

Don’t miss out on this unique opportunity to visit this amazing collection of canoes, kayaks and paddled watercraft absolutely FREE! Watch for Upcoming Events listings for news and dates for seasonal holiday activities on select Thursday evenings at canoemuseum.ca/upcoming-events.

FIERCE Fashion Show: At Market Hall Performing Arts Center . 5:00pm. Featuring local designers, student models, great entertainers and more! All proceeds go to the YES Shelter for Youth and Families.

Gendered Voices in a Changing World: March 4th Bagnani Hall 6pm. A political panel discussion featuring Maryam Monsef, Diane Therrien, Professors and Students unpacking issues minorities face in the world of politics.

Art Auction Night: Drop-in (Friday March 11) 6:30-8:30pm at Black Honey Cafe .

Arts Come to socialize, buy artwork, enjoy free snacks and admire art produced by Trent’s very own students. Our goal is to bring students, professors and Peterborough citizens interested in art together for the evening.

This event is run in collaboration between Trent Visual Arts Network (TVAN) and Lady Eaton College. See attached poster for a taste of the DIVERSITY of the artwork being displayed.

SPARK Photo-festival TVAN Group Exhibit: Wednesday April 6. Stop by between 7-9pm.

Sadleir House, Upstairs in the Senior Common Rooms. There will be live music, free snacks and bar services to enjoy while viewing the photography display.

If you cannot make it this evening the display will be open from April 1- 20th so stop by and check it out if you have a few minutes.

Meryl McMaster-Wanderings: Gallery 1 and 2, March 4 – April 9. Opening Reception on Friday March 4, from 7 - 10pm at Artspace.

Curator’s Talk on March 31 from 7-8pm. Wanderings is a new body of work by the Ottawabased artist Meryl McMaster that represents an aesthetic and conceptual progression in the artist’s practice, which draws in equal parts from sculpture, performance, and photography. McMaster’s work functions as an evolving exploration of the artist’s own relationship to cultural identity within the larger framework of historical and contemporary identity politics. As a person with both Indigenous and European familial lineages, her father is Plains Cree, her mother is British and Dutch, McMaster treats identity subjectively, as something that is never complete, always in process, but invariably shaped by both internal and external factors and actions.

Show and Tell Poetry Series Presents: A series of short films. This month at Show and Tell we’ll be taking a look at a selection of short films about Canadian poetry and poets. We’ll be starting @ 4PM, and we’ll be shutting down just before 5PM. at Curated!