When I joined a writers’ group last year, I looked forward to meeting exotic people. A young woman I had seen at the dentist perfectly fit my pre-conceived notion of an emerging writer. Her hair was returning to birth colour at its own speed; meanwhile it was mostly red with aubergine highlights. She wore a red coat, red skirt, red tights, and red rubber boots with buckle accents and none of these reds matched the hair or each another. Attached to her right red rubber boot was a full-sized red wallet, fastened to the decorative buckle. I’ve travelled to Africa, Europe, Bahrain, Oman, the Caribbean, the Yukon, Mexico, and East Vancouver and have never seen boots accessorized with a wallet. Edgy. Provacative. Out there.
Unlike the young woman in red, my writing group (myself included) is composed of the most ordinary-looking artists imaginable: comfy pants, stretch tops (sometimes sequined), good walking shoes, and reading glasses. RM is our most unconventional member, with her auburn hair, black dresses, patterned tights and, occasionally, black lace gloves. But for the most part, we don’t turn many heads on the street. I hadn’t seen the out-there, on-the-edge woman of my imagination until last Friday’s TWS Reading Series at Take 5 Café on Granville Street.
When AR boldly plucked the mike from its stand and began to perform her poem, I smiled with satisfaction. AR is larger than life – both figuratively and literally — and dresses in Value Village punk. Her long, wispy, blonde hair was covered last Friday in a sock cap. It looked a bit like a woolen condom. I was thrilled. This wasn’t a hat; this was a badge. AR specializes in performance poetry and didn’t disappoint. Take a look — and weep for the rest of us.
