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Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Strong Hold

This blog is not about SPD?  Oh ye of little perception.
Why did I decline an audition? Because of tactile sensitivity.
Why do I prefer to shorten my stirrups? Because bending your legs gives stronger proprioceptive input.
Why do I like to work with clay? Because it gives strong proprioceptive input. Besides, sometimes my fingers replace my eyes.
Why do I like voices and just as soon listen to a film instead of watching it? Because I like to rely on auditive cues over visual cues. 
If I have to use visual cues, I like strong contrasts. No dusk for me. I prefer 100 watt lightbulbs. A nightlight? I rather have my room pitch dark.

    With permission by Scott James himself

Relying on auditive cues only almost cost me my life, I must admit. I was standing at a traffic light, looking down at my shoes, waiting to hear the sound of the ticker. When I heard it ringing clearly, I stepped forward and nearly got killed by the car that was pulling up. What I heard was the sound of the traffic light at the other pedestrian crossing, around the bend. But it sounded so close to me!

The thing with SPD is that it seeps into more cracks and cravices of your life than you can imagine.  Firmness and contrasts are my trademark. In how I do things as well as in my character.
I've noticed of late that I hold on far too tight to things. I don't break things, I know the characteristics of the materials I touch. I don't have dyspraxia. It's just that I like to feel pressure on my joints. That's why I also like moving furniture and pulling rope. This clenching takes a lot of energy. I feel better, fitter and lighter, when I remind myself to pick things up with a minimal effort.
I also like people with a strong personality. I definitely don't mind if someone gets angry at times. What I really admire is when someone can get angry without losing control of himself.  uses his full power to stand up for himself without getting angry.  I always let frustrations pile up until I explode. Not very ladylike, I'm afraid.
What about 'contrasts'? It's just another word for 'strong differences'  That brings me to two photo's that I wish I had taken...
The first time I was at a zoo, standing a bit back from the giraffes' enclosure. There were many people crowding round their gate, grown ups and children on their father's back, or standing on a ridge in front of their mom. But one tiny girl, a 3 year old,  stood alone, in a gap left open by two adults.
She was holding up a branch. and one of the giraffes was bent over the fence eating it's leaves. The largest animal accepting the gift of the smallest human.
A few years later I was sitting in a train at a platform at Cologne's main station. On the platform I saw a little 'tableau'. From the right an old priest, balding and wrinkled, shuffled over the platform. He was all dressed in black, except for a bit of white, his collar. He was looking rather pressed, may be he was afraid of missing his train (or should I write connection?). Suddenly from the left a teenager came up. She was also dressed fully in black, her hair in thick black strands. She carried a sullen look that accentuated her gothic attire. Her line crossed with that of the priest. And when they passed one another... they exchanged quick smiles. Private smiles of recognition, that they intended only for each other.
   Meetings of two opposing worlds, with mutual interest and respect. Wow!

Here's another picture with contrast(s). do you see it? I took this picture myself, during a holiday in Cambridge.

A boy at the University Museum of Zoology in Cambridge [UK]

Four days ago I stumbled upon another picture. Again I had no camera, but I didn't miss it this time. I would have felt stupid if I had taken that shot. Normally I ask the person in question if she or he would like a copy, but should I ask this person? He was a blind father, walking through the station corridor with a cane in his left hand and in the other he held his daughter's hand. She was a toddler, wearing a toddler leash, that the father was holding as well. It was Saturday, twelve o'clock, so the corridor was humming with people. But the child seemed unaffected by the crowd, simply walked along with her dad.
I made a mental picture of the two. Today. after dinner, I will start to reproduce it in clay. Maybe I run into them one day...   A picture in clay is something the father can 'see'.
   Where's the contrast in this last 'tableau' ? I guess in the prejudiced idea of the 'general public' that someone with a handicap, a blind person, is vulnerable. While this little girl was so full of faith in her father's capability to guide her. Being his child, I think she's the one who knows best.

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