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The Big Fun music festival kicks off today, with Tansy and Hannah Epperson performing at The Ballroom on Roslyn. From the 25th to 29th, musical acts will take the stage at venues across the city. And tomorrow, January 26th, Big Fun and Manitoba Music are hosting a panel discussion at Fools & Horses about safer spaces in music. Conversation will take place between panelists Ashley Au, Jodie Layne, Leonard Sumner, Tyler Sneesby, Uzoma Chioma and Alexa Potashnik, moderated by Jen Zoratti from the Winnipeg Free Press, and will include question and response from the audience.

Panelist Uzoma Chioma is the founding member of Queer People of Colour (QPOC), an organization that works to “create safer spaces for queer and trans people of colour in the city.” In addition to throwing dance parties, hosting basketball games, artist talks and potlucks, the group also “provides support for newcomer refugee LGBTQ folks.”

QPOC produces its own clothing line as well. As Uzoma says, “Representation matters. When people see sweaters and hats with QPOC, they ask questions. ‘What does it mean? Why does it exist? What’s behind it?’ It’s important to be visible.”

Alexa Potashnik started Black Space. She affectionately calls it a baby still — the group turns one later this year. Black Space started with a Facebook group that serves as “a place to come decompress about experiences we are facing in the city regarding racism. A safe space where everybody can come and share stories.” As the Black Lives Matter movement picked up steam in the States, members began to ask when Winnipeg would start its own BLM chapter. Alexa explains that “because of certain political, social and economic factors that mean black people are not being disproportionately targeted and murdered by police in Winnipeg” some did not see the need for a Black Lives Matter movement in the city. Despite these criticisms, their first rally took place at the Legislative buildings on July 20th, 2016, and Alexa believes it was “the first time the movement was acknowledged in Winnipeg, where people from the community came together to express solidarity.”

After the first rally, which marked the deaths of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile, Black Space threw a second in support of Abdirahman Abdi, who was killed by police in Ottawa. Next, the group moved on to Nuit Blanche. As Alexa points out, the festival has a history of being “super white. There’s no way that since the inception of the festival, there’s no room to include people of colour. There are amazing artists, specifically in the newcomer African community here in Winnipeg.” The organizers of Nuit Blanche were receptive to their critiques, and Black Space’s event, aptly named Nuit Noire, was packed to the gills for much of the night. It featured a collection of talented painters, photographers, vocal percussionists and spoken word artists of colour.

I read John and Christine’s hurried email on the bus while on my way to our interview at the Millennium Library. “There’s been an accident.” it begins. They don’t outline the details, but I’m about to learn someone has jumped from the fourth floor landing. When I arrive, the gates are pulled shut. People mill about the entrance, asking in hushed tones what happened. I wait quietly at one of the tables, inattentively reading a magazine because it calms me, and I don’t know what else to do.

John, Christine and I exchange messages, and they leave their shared office space on the second floor to meet me in the foyer. Shaken by the news, we decide to move forward with the interview in the food court at City Place.

You may have heard Aliza Amihude’s name before.

Back in 2003, she received quite a bit of press — both praising and critical — over the jewellery she received funding from the Manitoba Arts Council to make. Using vinyl tubing, pubic hair, fingernails and other materials such as mouse poop, Aliza created pieces that caused quite the stir. It led the Canadian Taxpayer Federation to honour her with a Teddies Waste Award in 2004, citing her work and the funding she received for it as a prime example of taxpayer monies misspent.

Speaking about the pieces, Aliza says, “When people heard about the mouse poo necklace, they were like, ‘Oh my gosh, that is the most disgusting thing!’ They were writing me hate emails and letters. But the people that saw the piece understood more what it was about, and they saw the beauty in it as well. I was exploring the idea of wearing your deepest secrets in a clear tube around your neck. What if we wore a statement on our necks that said, ‘This is part of me that I’m ashamed of’? I grew up in a house with mouse poo, and I hated mice.”

On a Saturday afternoon with sunlight streaming through the windows of her Point Douglas home, Aliza tours me through her space with contented pride. The surfaces in her kitchen, living room, and studio at the rear of the house are littered with materials for making jewellery: small boxes of beads, wire wound in neat circles, pieces in various stages of completion hanging from mannequins and wire racks. Of an array of earrings made from malleable coloured wire tucked by the door to her studio, Aliza comments, “Those pieces are too fragile to be worn as jewelry, I just like the shapes they create, and I’m enjoying playing with that.”

Aliza shows me around, and the interview just happens. I fumble quickly for my phone, eager to record her words. After our chat, she pulls out a briefcase filled with carefully wrapped pieces she’s made over the years. She hands me a vinyl tube bracelet filled with what, at a glance, looks like grains of rice encircled by a precious metal detail, asking me what I think it is. Looking closer, I realize the tube is chock full of fingernail clippings.

Aliza tells me, “I like to play with perception. A lot of people can’t tell what this bracelet is made of, and when they find out, they’re often repulsed. But before that, they’re attracted to it. I love to play with that attraction and repulsion.”

Still a little bleary eyed, I push the lid down on my cappuccino and leave Fools & Horses, headed for downtown. It's Saturday morning, and I'm taking the photographs of seven fashionable Winnipegers over six hours. Each has pulled pieces from their wardrobe to create a a holiday party look. I'm about to spend the day taking photographs and talking about clothes, so despite a lack of sleep, I'm feeling giddy.

I arrive at a mixed-use building on Donald a few minutes ahead of schedule. Painter Michael Sawatzky lets me in. We chat about our days, and I look at some of his work while we wait for Sara Clark. When she arrives, we hike up the stairs to the studio space she shares with Tonychestnut's Jill Sawatzky on the top floor.

I brew coffee while Sara changes. Jill arrives to continue working on pieces for that night's pop-up at freshair boutique. Over the course of the day, I sip coffee and snack on chocolate chip cookies. Conversations range from social media presence and responsibility, to upcoming plans, to evolving wardrobe practices. 

When I pack up my things and wave goodbye to Jill - still busy at her sewing machine - I'm worn out but content. Making my way back down the creaking steps, I look forward to a quick dinner, a long nap and an evening of work that allows me to relive the day.

We’ve just begun the 2 kilometre hike from the Falcon Trails Resort Welcome Centre to Mahigan, the smallest of six eco cabins at High Lake. Rounding the bend, Lyndon Froese strides down the path in a vibrant blue sweater. He raises his hand in welcome, “You’re Michelle?” “Yes. Lyndon?” 

After a brief exchange, he continues past us, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll bring the Gator around with your bags.” We continue along the winding trail, pausing when we hear the roaring motor of the truck approaching. Lyndon pulls up at the bottom of a gentle incline and we all pile in. Arms wrapped around waists serve as seat belts.

As we emerge from the boreal forest and down a winding slope, Mahigan comes into view. The log cabin was built by The Crooked Brothers - Matt, Darwin, and Jessie - under the tutelage of a local Swiss immigrant. Because of its remote location, it was constructed in the parking lot of the ski hill, then disassembled and transported to High Lake one log at a time. A string-and-pulley system rigged amongst the trees hoisted the 800lbs logs into place.

I’m running a few minutes behind, trying desperately to find a parking spot. I feel anxious and excited. This second emotion doesn’t feel right for a funeral. But nothing about Andrew Henderson’s living funeral performance piece, Taking it to the Grave, smacks of the ordinary.