Reach out if you can help.

Hello.

My name is Allyson Proulx, aka Lefty Smudges.

I am a self-taught, professional, multimedia artist and writer currently focused on generating experiences of magic and generosity alongside Deshkan Ziibi (Anishnaabemowin) in London, Ontario.

To get the ball rolling, in January, I began a daily correspondence project titled, Alone, together. To make sure the ball had somewhere to roll, this winter I applied to and was recently awarded, a two-week artist residency at Great Island Arts in Nova Scotia (June 22-July 5), and acceptance into the foundation year art program at Yukon School of Visual Arts (starting Sept.5, 2019).

During my residency I will be editing and drawing (working on two book ideas), while documenting my experience through ‘Alone, together’. My experience at Yukon SOVA will also be documented through ‘Alone, together’, and will be something entirely new –

Great Island Arts asks non-indigenous artists to critically engage with their presence on the land – unceded Mi’kmaq territory; Yukon SOVA requires students to understand the history, culture, and journey towards self-determination of the Yukon First Nations (Tr’ondek Hwech’in community).

To make it to these places – to actually be able to show up and receive this education, I am in need of some help from magical and generous folk just like you.

If you are willing and able, please join Alone, together, donate to me directly via paypal and e-transfer (leftysmudges@gmail.com), or contact me personally to purchase art work.

I created this Kijiji Ad for one special, magical patron – someone(s) with access to a safe and spacious vehicle for me; a vehicle I can use to drive myself to both of these places. It’s my most generous and magical ask, and also the one with the most potential to provide me with a sense of autonomy during this challenging and adventurous time.

I’ll be writing letters, playing with paper, and checking my email for the rest of the day.

leftysmudges@gmail.com

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Cover your crotch, or (What I Don’t Understand, Writing PTSD Pt.1).

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My goodness. Pages, you have to save me today.

I need saving today. I need a friend. I need a mother. I need a father. I need sisters. I need a brother. I am in need today. You have to save me.

Do you understand? Relationships are the hardest thing. To let someone in. Close. I am sitting with strangers because this is the only open seat in the place.

I am a witch. I am a priestess. I am an earthen angel. I use talismans. I am part of the divine because I am part of creation. You are not denied your spirituality. The earth serves us all. That is grace. You are held by grace right now. Keep going. Admit you were wrong. Place the blame where it belongs.

I am in a storytelling workshop. Kids on wheels. These pages will save me. The magic and curiosity. A full page of feelings and curiosity. Be curious. You are a witch. You are an angel. A moon maiden. Powerful and abundant. Communicate with who you need to. Feel better. Be a witch and an angel. Relationships are hard; even with the best of them.

I’m learning how hurt and abused my thoughts have become, my understanding of love and intimacy. How hurt. How screwed over. The truth. In tar-like shame. My goodness. I love you Allyson. A high five to everyone I love, to everyone who longs to love me. To those I long to love and those who long to love me. I am beautiful and deserving. I am worthy and wealthy. Abundant.

Being in relationship is one of those things.

I love coffee. I love sitting in this cafe, writing. Do not let yourself be lead astray. You walked away. Be drawn by the silent pull of what you truly love. It will not lead you astray. I am a witch. I am an earthen angel. I am here to write. Pages, my favourite place. Everyday this is what I come here to feel. It doesn’t matter where I am, only that I feel safe and in community. Alone together.

How many different ways can you write words. In all sorts of ways. You are inspiring. You are a witch, and goddess too. Belong to where you belong.

I showered. That was a good first step. Wash dishes. Eat food.

I moved tables. To be alone and face out. To have my back to the room, with a window before me. Look around. Comfort and right action are all around you. The world is changing. Your life is never stagnant. Get out of that child despair. That is the gravy, the tar, it will weigh you down. We are all safe and free. Belong and be yourself. We are all safe and free. You and me. Don’t worry. You don’t need to do anything to belong. You are made just as you should be.

Your soul knew what was up before your mind did. Or your body. Your soul is prepared for this journey. Your soul is prepared for this journey. Always has been.

The shame is everywhere. Over everything. What a nasty place to visit. And visit I must. It is a place and not the present moment. It is a feeling and feelings pass. I can be loved. You can be loved. Sia. That song. Do I have it? Yes. And now it’s playing. You will be loved. I believe it. I believe in you. I believe what there is to believe. I believe my heart.

It’s hard to decipher lies from someone I love. It’s hard to disagree with them. Figuring out all the lies I was told by the people I love the most. It’s as close to home as it gets.

I don’t want to sit. I understand what is going on. I can be self-aware. And I can be loved for it. I am a witch. I am an earthen angel. I am moonbeam and starlight. I am found in the night sky. Early morning. Light does not…wake up in darkness. What kind of early morning ritual could you get done. Could this be the thing that gets me going. I am going to tell my story. I will begin. Bare my soul. Believe I am safe.

I got my phone out and now I’ve been sidetracked. This is what healing looks like. I’ll show them. I’ll show all of them. I can be loving and strong. I can be loving and boundaried. I can be loving and safe. I can be loving and loved.

Are you ready to go home? Listen to podcasts. Listen to voices of love and wisdom.

I don’t understand wearing just tights. How can you let them know where your crotch is? Cover your crotch. Make a daily series. Understanding PTSD. Healing the trauma. What I don’t understand. What makes me curious. Where it hurts. I love you. ❤

I am going to keep writing. One more page. Being here feels better than going home. There is no rush. All good things come in time. Your desires come to be, in time. Your life is unfolding as it should.

Relationship = alienation, hurt. Love = being ignored/judged from afar.

It’s creepy and it freaks me out. Bless my heart. And bless yours too. All the best to you. Learn to trust one another. I love you. You are the best. You belong here. You belong to each other. You are mine and I am yours. Amen. Hallelujah.

Baby baby believe in me. Believe. The ink won’t move if the words don’t come out true. How does the letter form? What can you put through? Believe me. Believe in you. This is the best spot. Right where you are. To fully actualize. Be. Inhabit your own life. I’m not searching after anyone else.

I want this page done. I want to get out of here now.

This is the bomb. I am sacred. I am loved. I am the grace and energy of stardust and moonbeams. Stardust and moonbeams. Believe in me. I belong to you. ❤

 

 

 

 

It was Grand!

IMG_4462Dear ones,

Well, I did it! I got myself a job at the Grand Theatre in London, Ontario. For their production of ‘Silence’ (a world premier! written by Trina Davies, Jan.19-Feb.3, 2018), I set up my ‘this is a post office’ installation inside the balcony lounge. The play tells the story of Mabel and Alexander Graham Bell’s relationship – first person from Mabel’s perspective. Mabel herself was deaf, and so the layers of story we were exposed to in this production (directed by Peter Hinton), including human invention, communication, and connection, involved a sensory component, making ‘Silence’ something you experienced. Many of the letters written between characters in this story (spanning the years 1876-1922) are highlighted in the play, and so through the ‘this is a post office’ display, we enabled the audience to participate in part of the communication they were seeing on stage.

For 17 performances, I offered postcards (pictured below), pens, clip boards, inspiration when needed, and a mailbox. Audience members wrote messages to whomever’s address they knew, or could look up. The Grand Theatre provided the postcards, and all of the postage for this project. I told patrons, ‘It’ll all make sense after you see the first act…I’ll be here at intermission if you want to come find me.’ And come find me they did.

365 postcards were written and mailed throughout the run of the show. Postcards will arrive in 12 different countries, and 120 Canadian cities, in 8 provinces, 17 American states, and in 6 languages (7 if you include drawing as language, which I do!).

Only but a single-handed few didn’t mention the Grand, or recall a memory of being at the theatre together, or insert a beaming adjective of ‘Silence’ and it’s production, or write of love, or give their own interpretation of ‘Silence’ and what they would take away from it, or recommended this play and the story of Mabel and Alex, as a beacon. A heartening few took note of their own shifting perspective on disability, hearing, deafness, correspondence, penmanship, and the ways in which we communicate with one another.

My overall take away from this experience, is one of community, and accomplishment, creativity, and profound hope. From that first email back from the Grand asking for more information, to the way they supported and added such intentional details to the installation itself, to what I learned listening to ‘Silence’ night after night, to the people I found there…and then for me to show up every night, as myself, to do the work I feel called to do – it was all so Grand!!

I am excited for everyone receiving their postcards (messages of ‘thanks’ have already started coming in!). The implications of this project are far reaching and lasting, both for the participants, and for me too, on a personal level – there are legs growing on this little idea of mine, and I can’t tell you what that feels like. There is a glimmer of truth coming from that old adage, that if you work to follow your heart, the universe will conspire to help you.

I know this is a long letter, but I didn’t have the time to write you a short one. I hope I didn’t bore you. And I hope you will either write me back, or come find me the next time I set up shop, to continue this work I am being called to do.

Until then, much love,

Smudge