****December 2010 Focus - Focus Magazine

..... show & tell
▲ ▲
On Tuesday, November
9, 2010, I became the
Johnson Street Bridge.
You could call it a retrofit of
sorts. It wasn’t expensive, and
didn’t involve any prolonged
closures, but it was transformational
in ways I didn’t foresee.
I created a facebook account as
“Johnson Street Bridge,” painted
my face with makeup that I
custom-tinted “Blue Bridge Blue,”
strapped a replica of the Mayor
onto my head, festooned myself
with flashing signal lights, and
hoisted a functioning bascule
onto each shoulder. Then I hit
the streets.
On that first wet night I stood
outside of an all-candidates
meeting at the Fernwood
Community Centre. A man
wearing a bicycle helmet came
striding across the road with his
camera in his hand wanting photos of us together (many onlookers
were seized by the urge to document me: in my travels, I saw dozens
of cell phones migrate from ear to eye). Turned out I was arm-in-arm
with Councillor John Luton, avid cyclist and proponent of the new
bridge design. I exclaimed, “John, Honey, we have a lot in common!
We’re both passionate about progressive transportation strategies and
a sustainable future! Can you explain to me how the new bridge
contributes to those things if it doesn’t have rail”
We discussed and bantered in a good-natured way, which showed
me that the absurdity of “Ms Blue” could disarm people long enough
to release, just for a moment, the stranglehold on one particular strategy
or another to find a connection around the values we all share—like
safety, ease, and sustainability. “Thank you, John,” I said affectionately
as he left to go inside the building. When I saw him again with the
Mayor a few days later, he greeted me warmly. The Mayor walked
away, but I smiled and shouted after him, “I know we both want what’s
best for Victoria!” He gave a weak wave.
Originally I had imagined that Ms Blue would simply go around
singing her theme song: “Bridge That’s in Troubled Water,” her version
of the Simon and Garfunkel classic. But it soon was clear that the Bridge
had a lot to say; she tossed off snappy one-liners and made impassioned
pleas for more options and more dialogue. Her jokes and assertions
were ones that I didn’t consciously premeditate, and I see that as creative
energy; as a performer, I am simply a conduit for it. The source, I believe,
is something much larger than me personally, and it is also the source
of compassion. Being the Bridge was coming from my heart, from
love—strange as that might sound.
My life as the bridge
MOLLIE KAYE
Performing on the street as a way to promote dialogue, connection and engagement.
PHOTO: TONY BOUNSALL
Ms Blue Bridge
“What side are you on” some
asked, and I said, “Honey, I’m
on your side. I want you to have
safety and sustainability. I want
you to have it all! Vote! I won’t
tell you how to vote, because I’m
a bridge, not a parking meter, but
vote.” Some would shout, “I love
you, Blue Bridge!” Others were
confused about the issue. A few
insisted on “moving forward,”
and I expressed my concern about
whether this particular plan was
the one that best answered their
desires. I had a conversation with
a downtown business owner who
was clearly distressed about the
City’s promised retrofit closures
and his young family’s welfare.
“Honey, I want your family to
thrive. I want everyone here to
thrive,” I said. He shook my hand
warmly. “I don’t agree we should
save you, but I love what you are
doing, and the way you are doing it. Thank you.”
It was exhilarating and meaningful for me to “be the Bridge” and
connect with my fellow Victorians—from the marginalized to the City
Council, and everyone in between. If I had been a person instead of a
bridge, the conversations might have been awkward, tense—or just
not have happened. But Ms Blue inspired smiles and thumbs-up, even
from those who wanted to tear her down. (I flashed my bridge-decklattice
stockings at those who said I was “old” or “ugly.” “I may be 86,
but I still got it goin’ on!” I shouted through my megaphone.)
The Johnson Street Bridge issue inspired me to “sing out,” which
signals that I am, after seven years, finally invested enough in my adopted
hometown to give of myself in the highest ways I can. Performing on
the street broke down barriers; a bit of creativity and compassion got
people talking to each other about what matters to them most, and
in the end, we all value the same things, even if our strategies differ.
The whole experience gave me a deeper sense of connection with my
community, and renewed my hope that we all can transform in beautiful
ways, even in the midst of conflict.
Musician, puppeteer, communication coach, satirist
and writer Mollie Kaye hopes that everyone here is
willing to suspend their disbelief long enough to keep
talking to, and about, the Bridge.
24 December 2010 • FOCUS