Exhibition Response: How can I write about care when the grief is so loud it's all I can hear, by Theo Donovan
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EXHIBITION RESPONSE by Theo Donovan
How can I write about care when the grief is so loud it’s all I can hear
Scars fracture my skin like cracks in the earth: my body, a mirror of theirs. The cries of grief echo through the soil. From Palestine to Turtle Island it’s all I can hear. As I walk the land, children buried. I feel the loss radiate under my feet. The leaves, trees, river and grass never forget, and neither will I. She holds them, Mother Earth, and keeps them safe. In all the despair, I know I can reach out and hold them again. By planting a seed, touching the grass or putting my feet in the river.
One foot after another is sometimes all I can manage, and it’s all I need. My heels striking the earth, noticing where I feel it in my body, listening in. I am of the land. Wandering down the icy path, the slick trail forces me to slow my pace and focus on every step as not to fall. I’m focused in on my body, every step, every breath, and for a few short minutes I’m thinking of nothing but my feet on the ground and the freshness of the air. I walk past the white spruce and the magpies, I know I am with my relatives. My body comes from the land and will one day return to her. Knowing this is one of the great comforts of my life.
Walking and writing are practices which ground me. Letting things be what they are; life, love, hurt. Walking, the land, doesn’t demand anything of me. No production, no punctuality, no perfection. It requests only my presence. Walking is slow, relational. Slowness is inherently decolonial, as a rejection of the production demanded of us by white settler colonialism and capitalism. I yearn to be soft and slow; small rebellions of care.
“Care” holds a lot of weight. It’s complex, layers of oppression and privilege inform the discourse of ‘care’. When complacent and individualistic, it has the capacity to cause as much harm as it does healing. Care is not apolitical, as it has been commodified and framed as a ritual of individualism. But to care for the self is to care for others. Grounding practices like walking and writing allow us to reflect on the unnoticed, the imperfect, to see compassion and beauty in the mundane. To hold space for it all, the hurt, the joy, the loss. To hold space for ourselves and others. To be grounded in the messy interconnections of life and community; to hurt, to care.
Future nostalgia is felt through the mundane of today—simple, little things. The things we don’t think about as we move through our days will be the subjects of future daydreams and desires. Maybe at once things we hoped to escape. Gratitude, exemplified through hurt. It’s complex. These things may not be grand. A familiar hand, a streetlight. The urban and commonplace. Or worthy of celebration, a laugh, a park bench. But through reflective and organic video clips, Belcourt gives us a glimpse into the simplicities and griefs of a life. Reminding us all that the mundane is worth celebrating.
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ABOUT THE WRITER
Theo Donovan (they/he) is a queer mixed ancestry Red River Métis artist who is currently based in ᐊᒥᐢᑿᒌᐚᐢᑲᐦᐃᑲᐣ (Amiskwacîwâskahikan), Treaty 6 Territory. Theo is an interdisciplinary visual artist, writer, photographer, teacher and activist who has just completed his Bachelor of Studio Arts at MacEwan University. Their artistic practice is not bound by any one material or conceptual avenue. But rather they use their skills as an artist to explore and learn about the world around him with open curiosity and play.
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