It’s been almost a decade since I first saw Kinnie Starr perform.
Her resume now includes five albums, a Juno nomination, acting, Cirque
du Soleil and The L Word soundtrack. Her latest creative
endeavour, How I Learned to Run, is a patchwork of photography,
illustration and poetry.
To encounter Starr on the page is polarizing. Without Starr’s
signature dialect and delivery, her language lags behind. Starr’s poet
strength is her colloquial diction. In a moment of internal struggle,
“One Easy Step,” she beautifully describes the process of unravelling.
Arms became “busted roots,” her centre “fell out,” her heart too
“weakly bound.”
Starr embraces all aspects of her personhood, character and
heritage. “Take Flight” combats aboriginal stereotypes and the struggle
to persevere. She combines eroticism and rationalism in “Every Inch.”
At moments, her narratives are haphazard and clunky, but achingly
human.
Family photographs, hand-scrawled drawings and text create a
scrapbook. Starr seems conscious of her creative process. There are
flickers of vulnerability, resilience and hope. How I Learned To
Run is proof of a writer finding her voice off-stage and
translating it to print.
Shannon WebbCampbell
This article appears in Mar 12-18, 2009.