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Tag Archives: Lehan Winifred Ramsay

Lehan Winifred Ramsay

10 Sunday Jul 2016

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Algernon, Lehan Winifred Ramsay

≈ 10 Comments

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Art, Hakodate, Hokkaido, Japan, Lehan Winifred Ramsay, photography

Lehan Leaving

Pig’s Arms Envoy, Lehan Winifred Ramsay

A tribute by Algernon

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUWYdaXwWcQ

Part of a documentary about Mt Hakodate, interviewing Lehan Ramsay about her project; an exhibition of large black-and-white photographs of people and places in Hakodate, Hokkaido, Japan. Winter 2008-9.

I found this youtube video a while back. While it’s entirely in Japanese it does give us an insight into some of her work when she was living there. We also hear her speak as part of it.

Emmjay met Lehan in Sydney between her visits to Japan but I didn’t know Lehan personally, other than by her writings here and at The Drum and her artwork she so freely shared with us at the Pig’s Arms. We all know of her struggles with depression. Her time in Japan and return to Maclean where she had trouble settling back in, going back to Japan then returning again.

Depression and mental illness has touched some of us either directly or with family members. I’m distressed that she has succumbed.

I will miss her artwork, some of which can be found here http://lehanramsay.blogspot.com.au/ and the conversations where she would write a a stream of consciousness.

I will miss having her with us at the pub and the richness she provided to all of us.

Rest in peace Lehan.

Lifeline: https://www.lifeline.org.au/ Ph.13 11 14

Beyondblue: https://www.beyondblue.org.au/ Ph. 1300 22 4636

 

 

Bridge Paintings

24 Thursday Mar 2016

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Lehan Winifred Ramsay

≈ 19 Comments

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Bridge Paintings, Lehan Winifred Ramsay

 

Bridge1sm

Bridge2sm

Bridge3sm

The Pig’s Arms welcomes back Lehan Winifred Ramsay

Leaf 2

17 Wednesday Feb 2016

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Lehan Winifred Ramsay

≈ 9 Comments

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Leaf, Lehan Winifred Ramsay

leaf2

Painting by Lehan Winifred Ramsay

Euthanasia

02 Monday Mar 2015

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Lehan Winifred Ramsay

≈ 23 Comments

Tags

bd, Lehan Winifred Ramsay, pet euthanasia

bd

bd

Story, painting and photograph by Lehan Winifred Ramsay

Vale to my old dog, old dog, old dog bd, who died yesterday, pretty old but not as old as I would have liked him to be. And this is for him, this consideration of euthanasia.

A year and a half ago we went together to the animal doctor, me crying and him grimacing, and I asked the doctor to euthenize him. The doctor said no, he was still in pretty good shape, and he was right, it wasn’t an end ailment he had, not a spiralling sickness, it was temporary and he got over it. The doctor didn’t give me medication, he gave me some painkillers because I asked for them, and I put them away.

But on Monday we went there again, walking the kilometre or so along the road. Bd’s tumour had grown immense, and it was now changed, and it was damaging, nasty, impossible to heal. I had received a second opinion about removing the tumour, it was the same as the first, it was too big to remove. I took a plastic box with the last piece of my birthday cake in it, chocolate gateau, because I wanted the doctor to euthanize bd, and I wanted him to have that cake before he died.

But the doctor refused. Refused to euthanize him and refused to treat him. I suppose he had a particular line, at which he would euthanize, and we had not yet crossed that line. And I had already told him I had received some ointment from another doctor, so I suppose he felt he could also refuse treatment. Also, I suppose that he hastened the line, and in his own way that was treatment.

And so we came home and the next four days were kind of like a horror movie, and I was a bit frozen, a bit slow, as I went over options, went over possibilities, tried to figure out how to do this, how to do that. On Thursday I gave bd a painkiller. Painkillers are essentially useless for this kind of thing because once you start them you are going to have to continue them, the pain will be much worse when you come back to it. So okay, I thought, I can do this if bd can have painkillers, and if I can have antidepressants. Because the pain of this is going to kill me too. But with those two things it’s doable.

The other doctor came on Friday afternoon. We didn’t talk about it in advance. He brought the drugs. He described the situation, the options. I held bd, and we ended his life.

A year and a half ago I thought it was simply my judgement, that I was not capable of knowing, because I am not an experienced doctor, when is the time for ending the life of something. Now I think that is only half of the story. It is also that the doctor treating the patient is not capable of knowing, because they are not close to the patient, when is the time for ending their life. And that, I think is the fundamental difficulty.

I, here, was thrown into the dark ages.

He didn’t get his chocolate cake, in the end, he didn’t get any chocolate. The pound said they would collect his body and they came pretty soon. They said they would also take some flowers or food if I wanted. While I waited for the pound to come and collect his old body, I made him a brown felt lions collar, I put it in a little pouch with a block of chocolate.

lion bd

Teaching an Old Dog New Tricks

24 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Lehan Winifred Ramsay

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Lehan Winifred Ramsay, Old dog

ThisOldDog

Story and Painting by Lehan Winifred Ramsay

The cat has taught him how to escape.

He taught the cat how to take walks, him on the leash and the cat darting freely and in return the cat taught him that it is not necessary to have a human with one to do that.

The cat does not know how to open the door but this old dog has now taught himself and I look up to find both of them have silently exited the house and are out on the road wandering freely and holding up the traffic.

Pig’s Arms DIY Fully Eco-Friendly 2015 Calendar – Our Thanks to Lehan Winifred Ramsay !!!!

16 Tuesday Dec 2014

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Lehan Winifred Ramsay

≈ 9 Comments

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2015 Calendar, bricks, Do it Yourself, Lehan Winifred Ramsay, mice, Pig-Tel, Tranquility

2015Calendar

Welly

10 Tuesday Jun 2014

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Uncategorized

≈ 9 Comments

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Lehan Winifred Ramsay, Welly

Welly

Welly

Story and Painting by Lehan Winifred Ramsay

On the way to the station I passed a house with a small box lined with newspaper outside. A kitten box devoid of it’s occupant. I found the kitten under a grate but I couldn’t catch it and I stopped and considered cancelling my work for the evening. But I am poor, I went on. On the way home I stopped at the convenience store for some chicken nuggets. The kitten was no longer under the grate but wailing in a carpark against a wall, and he was easy to catch. Too easy, sadly, and although I tried to help him he died after two days. I was carrying him to the animal doctor.

On the last day I came home and found his condition had suddenly worsened. It was four hours before the animal doctor opened. I painted his picture on a board and frame I found in the garbage.

His name was Welly.

Fireworks

15 Thursday May 2014

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Lehan Winifred Ramsay

≈ 7 Comments

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Fireworks, Lehan Winifred Ramsay

fireworks

Fireworks by Lehan Winifred Ramsay

Hung One On Whitman

08 Thursday May 2014

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Neville Cole, Poets Corner

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

'Shoe, Algy, Asty, Big M, Emmjay, Gez, Gregor, Helvi, Hung One On, Lehan Winifred Ramsay, Merv, Neville Cole, Vivienne, Voice, Warrigal

poets_pub

Story by Neville Cole

I’ll admit it. I tied one on with Hung One On down the Pub last night. As I recall, it all started amicably enough. All the locals were there celebrating the 5th Anniversary. Viv’s spread was a real treat. Gregor took to the mic early on and told some raunchy jokes. Big M was singing Karaoke. I had a grand old time catching up with Algy, Shoe, Voice, Asty, Lehan, Gerard, Helvi, Warrigal and, of course Emmjay. But, much, much later, as closing time drew nigh, things got a little…well, strange. Hung grew increasingly introspective, almost wistful, as the night went on and we began to talk – as we often do when we get this way – about life, about love, and about…poetry.

“Some day, Mate,” he says to me, “I’m gonna go walkabout. I gonna drop this…” he paused for a moment to choose just the right word, than added: “façade…and start living.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I replied, appropriately emphasizing exactly in exactly the right way as I downed my last Trotters.

“I think you do. I think you do. I know you do!” Hung said with a sudden smile. “You and I aren’t the types to be penned in by… by rules…and, and rules. We are the truth tellers. We are the rebel alliance. We are poets, man…and we should be out there poeting our guts out.”

“We are poets,” I agreed with him. “When I look at you that’s exactly what I see.” I was at this time somewhat fixed on the word exactly as you might have already guessed. But I continued nevertheless: “You, for sure, are a fucking poet, Hung. Walt Whitman’s got nothing on you, brother.”

“Walt Whitman!” Hung leapt to his feet like a sleeping dog woken by a noisy cat. “That’s it!” Hung cried climbing his stool to reach the bar.

“Hey, hey,” Merv sang out. “Closing time, Hung. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

“Hear him out, Merv,” I said quietly. “He’s on a roll.”

“Warrigal kept to himself. Quietly sketching away in the corner; but I saw a wry smile break across his face as Hung began to recite a poem in a loud, clear voice.

“Song of MY self,” Hung announced to the almost empty bar. “By Hung One On Whitman.

And what followed, I recorded exactly as it poured from his soul…’cause no one would believe it if I didn’t write it down.

 

Song of my self

 

Come breathe the musk of morning
sit silent at the desert dawn;
Listen for my breath
Here me cry the empty sky
into being
Bathe in the light
I am not lost
nor hidden in rock
I am not dead
you are not dreaming
we are Life eternal.

Throw off your shoes
Did toes in solid earth
Draw kindred souls into your veins
There is not end in sight
no apocalypse is nigh
there is not one of us will die
we all are Life eternal
we are the one supernal
I take you in as you do I
Give yourself to the forests and the seas
We are all what feeds the other
There is no turning back
This is a never ending track that leads back to an open door
no floor
no ceiling to block the light
you are in my sight
no need to fear the night
Feel my warmth on you skin
Let me in
Turn your face to me
Give me a smile for today
You are Life eternal.

Look to the sky
Not a cloud to block the blue
This is my gift to you
This blue sky
that greenish-yellow leaf
the purple pinkness of the flowers
the richness and ceaseless variety
you are wrapped in a multitude of color
all for you this glorious display
I paint the world this way
To make each day your canvas
Take it in
Hold it with you to look upon
During the hours of grey and black
Remember my gift
Seek it out
The new day is just beyond the horizon
It will not be slowed or stopped
It will not hold back from you
Even if you doubt or despair
Even if you curse and cry
Even if you lose your way
Even if you forget
A new day is coming
Every moment
a hundred million every second
all across the Earth
a billion others like you and I
feeling with us
We are Life eternal.

Hung stopped for a moment, then a moment more, then paused, then graceful as a dancer, he bowed deeply and humbly. Emmjay and I cheered. Even Warrigal rose to his feet in applause.

I don’t remember much that happened after that. It’s a bit of a blur. I remember watching the sun come up a few hours later and replaying Hung’s poem in my head; but that’s about it. Still, it was a top notch 5th Birthday bash and I can’t wait till next year’s party.

 

A Funeral for a friend

06 Friday Sep 2013

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Lehan Winifred Ramsay

≈ 4 Comments

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Lehan Winifred Ramsay

Blue Willow

Blue Willow

 

Painting and Story by Lehan Winifred Ramsay
On Thursday a message comes from Facebook that my friend Aoyagi san has died. I have a feeling of being mortified. Ten days ago I arrived here and instead of finding his hospital and visiting him as I had planned I went straight to my little house because it is quite far away and utilities had to be organized. I was planning for a second time to visit him and had to cancel that plan and that is the very day that he dies. I am at the hospital with a scratch on my eye trying to get some relief from the pain. While I am waiting a woman strikes up a conversation with me and when I tell her about my friend she says the funeral will likely be on the weekend.

But I am struggling to get what I need for my eye. What I need is a contact lens, and why I can’t get it is because it runs against common sense. Common sense for someone who is not an eye doctor or an eye patient is that contact lenses commonly cause infection and in case of infection they should be removed. But common sense for an abrasion on the cornea is to put in a contact lens, because the swelling causes the cornea to rub against the eyelid and the swelling gets worse. On Thursday I get some ointment because I have all the other medicines with me, I brought them with me, I have a chronic eye problem. On Friday with a swollen purple eye I go back again and sit for three hours and demand a contact lens, and against their better judgement they give me one.

Later on on the Friday I have had a painless sleep and am feeling euphoric and the message comes that the funeral is this evening, in two hours time. I’m sorry, I reply, I cannot go, and then I sit in my car and think: yes I can, I can drive there and be one hour late. So I do, I pack up the car with dog and futon and bags and drive into town and get to the funeral. It is in the house of his wife and people very formally dressed in black are spilling out into the street. There are a lot of people I know. Go into the house and pay your respects, they say. I have never actually been to a funeral in Japan, even in twenty-three years. And I am not dressed in formal clothes, in fact I am wearing prison stripes. So I feel a bit embarrassed. Takeshi is there, Takeshi was my student and then my assistant and then a teacher in my school and he is very smart and he has come with the correct funeral wear and two envelopes with a monetary offering; one for him and one for me.

There is a room filled with white; white curtains, white flowers, white glowing lamps and candles and photographs and incense and a terribly thin, terribly long white coffin. My friend Ayoagi san is dead in the coffin, he looks very pretty in there, quite healthy but so tiny. His coffin is so thin because he died of cancer and he had almost disappeared. I don’t know how long he knew he had cancer, but we all expected him to have it anyway because he smoked a lot and drank a lot and was gaunt and slow. He had a bar up town and a cafe down town.

I have one time spent some time with his son but not his daughter or his wife. I am in a queue and when it is my turn I kneel down on the ornate cushion and make a prayer and light some incense and pay my respects to Aoyagi san and when that is done I move off the cushion and kneel on the floor and pay my respects to his family and talk a bit about Aoyagi san. I am “the woman with the dog who lived in Aoyagi Cho”. Well we understand him, Aoyagi san’s wife says. But he – the son – how will he understand him? But there are more people waiting in line to pay their respects and I have probably spent too much time there.

Outside people are drinking a bit and eating a bit and feeling very sad, Aoyagi san was, I reckon, a pretty exceptional person. He sat in his bars encouraging people to do things, even just talk, and I think a lot of things got off the ground because of that. I know they did, because I saw them and even participated in a few of them.

Well my eye feels pretty okay even after I drink till three o’clock talking to Takeshi, who I haven’t had a chance to talk to for two and a half years, and it feels okay when I sleep in the back of the car with my dog down by the seaside and even when the old guys talking on the sea wall wake me up at six o’clock it feels good and even through the morning until I drive the two hours back to my small village it feels fine, I am giving it a lot of drops and the contact lens is still doing its job.

I am thinking about the son and I am wanting to tell him some story about his father so I paint a picture for him. But by Sunday my eye is hurting again. The hospital always takes out the contact lens after three days and three days is Monday so even though it is still hurting I take out the contact lens and then it hurts a lot.

By the evening it is quite unbearable and I know that the little hospital has an emergency service so I go up there at six o’clock and they send me down to the general section. There is a nurse and a doctor and the doctor is very very uncomfortable with the idea of putting a contact lens in my eye. He first spends a long time washing it, which involves squirting water into it for twenty minutes after pain-killing drops have been applied. I know that it is not lint but a cut and I am not very comfortable with twenty minutes of having water squirted into my eye and although we reach a compromise in which he allows the nurse to put the second contact lens in there, he says that there will be no more contact lenses. So I know that I have a very limited time to get myself to a proper eye hospital and that doing so would be a very, very good idea. So it is time to get in the car again and drive the two hours into town.

When I leave the little hospital it is seven o’clock and there is a white fox sitting in the driveway as if it is waiting for someone. Then it runs away.

So I pack up the car again, with futons and bags of things and my dog. And the painting I made for the son of Aoyagi san, which is not yet dry. And I drive into town and it is half-past-nine when I get there. It is late but he will be at school tomorrow and so I knock on the door and when he answers I sit in the entranceway with him and give him the painting and explain the things I have been thinking about. His mother comes home and finds us there and says that she wants to hear them too and another friend of Aoyagi san has just arrived from England and that I should stay so I go into the house.

Aoyagi san has been cremated, the coffin containing his body is gone and there is a box that contains some fragments of his bones. But according to the religious doctrine he is still here, his spirit is a little disorientated and he needs some time to get used to his new non-living status before he makes his way to a heaven. So the altar is still set up, all the curtains and flowers and photographs and incense and food offerings. In the end, I sleep there on a futon on the floor, it is very bright with the lamps and the candles, and we are aware that he may choose to visit and talk. But he doesn’t. Anyway it is very soothing, it is a chance to sit with him and reflect too on his new self, the non-alive Aoyagi san.

Anyway I have never met Aoyagi san’s wife before and I have a chance to spend time with her. I go to the eye clinic at six-thirty, it is just around the corner, it is in my old neighbourhood. I come back at eight o’clock when I have been signed in and the clinic will begin at eight-thirty and she makes me breakfast, and then I go to the clinic again. They say; it is okay, the abrasion in your eye is now only about two millimetres and it is healing up, it is just taking a little longer but there is no infection. You can wear that contact lens for another two or three days, the problem will probably be fixed by then and here is a letter for the little hospital in case you need another contact lens put in and here are two more contact lenses and everything is fine.

So I am relieved, my eye will be fine, I can go back to the village without fear and I have a day to do things in town. I go to see some of the people I knew and say hello and then at midday I have been invited to have lunch with Aoyagi san’s wife, we are talking about the things she can do with her life now, that is very good. I bring her a melon I have been given by my carpark landlord and we give it to Aoyagi san, an offering on his shrine, because, she says, he always liked expensive fruits. She gets a lot of telephone calls from people.

The next day will be the final day of Aoyagi san’s spiritual repose in the house and a priest will come and say prayers and conduct a ceremony. I think that it is a very good practice, this week of living with the spirit of the dead, because in that week you have a lot of time to be doing things with them and for them, something that is missing in a Christian ceremony, where after the funeral they are simply gone, there is a terrible void and no time to prepare for it. She asks me to stay for the afternoon while she is working and that is very nice. After that I go back to the village, I cannot stay for the ceremony. I will go back later in the week, I will take my tarot cards with me, because there is planning to be done for the living.

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