The Doctor Is In: Ann Cvetkovich – Tracy Tidgwell

photo by Lukas Blakk


The doctor is in! Ann Cvetkovich is an intellectual visionary. Raised in both Toronto and Vancouver, she left Canada for the US in 1976 to study literature and philosophy. Since the late eighties she’s been a Canadian transplant living and working in Austin, Texas, but finds many reasons to keep looking back. A literature maven by trade, her interest in alternative histories has given rise to her recent interdisciplinary work with archives. She has an incredible ability to bring together academics, art, activism, and experiences of everyday life. I met Ann nearly a decade ago while we were both working at the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival. And while we’ve had many amazing heart to hearts over the years, it was a real pleasure to ask her some questions about her life and work for this issue of NMP. We recently sat down together through a live video-conference to talk about archives, egos, and how interconnected we all really are.

Tracy Tidgwell: I know you as an incredibly playful person in your personal life. And since this issue of NMP is all about ego, I as wondering if you might talk about the fun of disguises and alter egos for you?

Ann Cvetkovich: I definitely like disguises. I’m not sure I would call them alter egos, but it’s interesting to be invited to think about them in that way. I think of disguise as related to costume. For a disguise to become an alter ego,one has to take on a character and that often involves speaking in that character and not just being dressed in a certain way. I do like to wear costumes, and go-go dancing has given me a chance to do that. I also see costume as connected to various kinds of femme and high femme identities. In the past I’ve had alter egos that are more masculine, so disguise has been a way of crossing gender. But these days, for the most part, I would say that my alter egos tend to be more feminine ones. It’s a nice way to explore different parts of the self.

TT: Maybe we should back track a little here. What is ego when we’re thinking about feminist and queer approaches?

AC: First of all, ego gets a bit of a critique from feminism. The development of the ego can be less important to feminists than the development of the collective. So what is the relation between the individual ego and the collective? And does the ego disappear when it becomes part of a larger community?

I’m someone who tends to want to suppress ego in favour of the larger community. Also, when I hear the word ego I also think about Freud and the concepts of the ego and the id. One of the things I learned when I was studying Freud was that those terms are translated somewhat awkwardly from the German into the Latin terms that we use in English, the ego and id. The original German is das ichor “the I” and I quite like translating it as “the I” rather than ego because it seems to lead away from assumptions that the “I” is big. So das ich is just me, or who I am.

Another way I think about the connection between ego and I is through Kundalini yoga. One of the big mantras in Kundalini yoga is Sat Nam. Sat means truth and Nam means identity and Sat Nam sometimes gets translated as “truth is my identity.” Nam would be somewhat like ego or ich or I. But what’s beautiful about Sat Nam as a concept is that who we are as individuals is composed of the vastness of truth of all being out there in the world. So it’s a really lovely way of seeing that you make your identity in relation to the larger universe. I feel like it’s a version of ego that isn’t about the big individual ego. It’s more about a self that is connected to others.

One of the nice things about the concept of alter egos is that it understands identities to be multiple – that we have many different selves inside of us. Maybe by virtue of all of the people we’re connected to and also because of all of the different parts of our being that we manifest. There isn’t one self, there are many.

TT: Do all academics have big egos?

AC: (Lots of laughter). Well, as a feminist I’m constantly striving to figure out how we can have a version of academia that’s not about big egos. I think about principles of feminist pedagogy, or what people sometimes call student-centered learning, where the teacher thinks of herself more as a facilitator of other people’s work rather than saying this is who I am and this is what I think and this is the truth. It’s more about making it possible for you to find your truth, or your identity, to go back to that notion of Sat Nam.

TT: Do you think there could be something like a collective queer ego? What would that look like or be like?

AC: I love the idea of there being a collective queer ego. To me this means many different egos all sloshing around together. Hopefully that involves multiplicity that strengthens everybody. There could be conflict – egos could clash but that would be a great thing rather than a destructive thing. My idea of the collective queer ego would be something like the multiple selves we spoke about earlier. It’s like Walt Whitman’s “I contain multitudes.” There is room for everybody to be their own queer selves and for the collective to be stronger and more vibrant as a result. It’s important to have the clashing because we don’t want a model of the collective where everybody is the same, or where people are suppressing themselves in order to be part of the collective. The utopian model is that there is room for everybody to be their big drag-queen selves (Laughter).

TT: Sounds like a great model for developing alter egos.

I’ve always admired your interdisciplinary approach and how you are able to make connections between so many ways of looking at the world and the self. It seems as though both Kundalini and interdisciplinarity acknowledge that the inside and outside worlds are so entwined.

AC: It’s interesting to think about Kundalini as connected to interdisciplinarity. That’s so cool, because interdisciplinary work is work that doesn’t see itself as having one home. The analogy we could make with separate disciplines is that you have to be rooted firmly in one area in order to have an identity as scholar, whereas interdisciplinary work suggests that you want to make connections to lots of different things and different kinds of people. Sometimes I see myself as a real bridge-builder in that I’m excited by work in so many different areas and want to bring it all together. But sometimes that makes for something that can seem rather scattered or less coherent than work that comes out of a deep familiarity with a single discipline. Right now I’m struggling with the ways that interdisciplinary work can sometimes be seen as more superficial because it’s so broad and yet, one of my big interests in interdisciplinary work as someone whose training has been in literature and humanities is that I want to connect these disciplines that are often seen as softer or fuzzier to science and to other fields that carry more cultural weight and authority in the world. I want to make connection, for example, with psychiatrists because I write about trauma and depression and psychiatrists are often seen as the ones who have the greatest expertise over the psyche — or the ego, to return to that concept. I’m interested in stories, testimonies, and oral histories as another approach to the ego — how the story of the self can do work in the world and be used to make social change. I’d like to infuse the medical and legal worlds with the really beautiful creative stories that we get from literature, culture, and the arts.

TT: Let’s go back to something you mentioned earlier about costumes and disguises. You mentioned your go-go dancing. Will you say more about that?

AC: I feel like I’m able to do different kinds of thinking and being and living through dancing. Go-go dancing provides an important counterpoint to the life of writing and thinking because it is a way of thinking through the body (which is a feminist concept) that’s wordless, that’s performative, that’s physical and that feels very easy. It’s one of those places where the self emerges as something that doesn’t operate through the conscious mind. Dancing is a place where I can just be a self through the movement of the body. It feels very easy, fun, and natural for me to move around in the world in that way.

Go-go dancing also connected with traditions of drag and diva performance. In an earlier life, I was involved in theatre, and I was really into playing big, flamboyant female characters. In the theatrical world, there was an opportunity to be a big ego in a way that I don’t necessarily feel comfortable with in the rest of my life. Go-go dancing also allows me to go to that place of flamboyance and outrageousness and being a big person in the world. Mostly through female versions of bigness, which have become most compelling to me in terms of gender performance. Queen like – forms of femininity that can be problematic like bitchy or toppy or over the top.I enjoy exploring these alter egos. One feminist project is for women to claim big ego for themselves. Through my alter egos and disguises, I get to occupy big female ego space.[1]

TT: That’s so fun. Do you think that you also do that through your work?

AC: I like to think of my work as a way of exploring and enabling my creativity and that of others. It is an encounter with the self (or the ego). It is a way that I make space for myself to explore my interests and the things I want to make happen in the world. Cultivating that work of the self in order to be able to go out into the world and do stuff. We need to craft and empower ourselves in order to do that. There is a kind of ego building work that goes on in my writing, which is my creative practice. I also want that to facilitate the same activity in others.

Since I tend to have an ambivalent feelings about the term ego, I think it might be important to talk about being raised Catholic, and Canadian. You know people say that Americans have big egos compared to Canadians (laughter). Think about the term self-effacement – getting rid of the I or the ego – and ask who is self-effacing. My sense of Catholic traditions is that there’s often an emphasis on putting the self in the service of others, as opposed to, say, a Protestantism that emphasizes the individual and individual identity. Catholics have a tendency to operate more with the collective in mind. There are forms of self-effacement that are very good, that are about having humility and an awareness of others. But of course self-effacement can be bad as well. Some of my work has to do with trying to figure out when it’s important to claim self and not be self-effacing in a damaging way.

It’s interesting to see our conversation here as an attempt to rethink ego so that it doesn’t necessarily carry that negative connotation of the exclusion of others. What is the mechanism through which we have “I” in dialogue with others? How does the “I” form through others in way that leaves space for self to develop as well?

TT: I think you do that. Knowing you as a friend as well as through your work, I admire the ways in which you invite relationships between self and what’s outside of it, or connected to it. It reminds me again of collaborative models of feminism and your interdisciplinary approach. You acknowledge a real sense of interconnectedness.

AC: I get that feeling on the dance floor too. You know, moving around together, being together without necessarily having a conversation.

TT: Yeah, that’s a perfect example. On the dance floor there can be a deep connection to others but still it’s much about being in the physical body and the self.

AC: Go-go dancing for me is an extension of that. There’s an element of individual spectacle but I also feel part of the collective performance.

TT: You’ve been archiving stories of queer life, art and culture for decades. How did you come to the feelings part of the project?

AC: My interest in feelings began with 1970s feminist practices of consciousness raising and also with that giant mantra that ‘the personal is political’. I continued to be interested in what kind of work can happen in the world by virtue of people sharing their feelings in public (laughter). It’s a big “I” project, right? And sometimes there’s the feeling that “ok, that’s a little too much ego when all those stories are being shared.”

I’m interested in the genre of memoir, which I see as an important forum for public feelings, which is one of the areas I’ve been working on. Memoir is connected to forms of oral history and testimony. And memoir has been a very important genre for feminists, not exclusively so, but certainly the contemporary fascination for memoir has, as one of its sources, a feminist desire to allow other voices to be present, heard and felt in the world. It asks, as a basic premise, what it means to tell one’s story, as a way of bringing the self or the Iinto existence. In my current work I’ve been playing a lot with memoir, and with what it means to interpret one’s story. Rather than write one big life story, I’m interested in many stories and in the way that the smallest incident can be the vehicle for a story that tells us something about self and the culture we come from. Memoir can be a way that we constantly make up new stories about who we are and try to convey them to the world.

My interest in consciousness raising, in memoir, in what happens when stories of people’s feelings get placed in the public sphere, has created all kinds of questions about what kinds of knowledge are being communicated in public life. Maybe that’s why the dance floor is a good metaphor, because something is being conveyed there that isn’t at the level of story. Trying to capture the life of feelings can be quite an interesting and difficult process. This is where we come to the idea of the archive as ephemeral. In trying to capture felt and lived experience, and the crazy lives that some of us lead in our subcultural worlds, there are all kinds of interesting dilemmas and possibilities. I remain fascinated by the challenge of trying to document those things and the importance of doing so in order to bring into public view parts of experience that haven’t always made it into the public domain. If they were there, they could be the source for new kinds of thinking and for new kinds of communities.

TT: Will you say more on the importance of archiving?

AC: Well, I’m interested in alternative histories. I’m also interested in the ways that we access history in order to help us move forward into the future. I’m aware of the ways in which so many different kinds of histories are lost, whether it’s the histories of lesbians and same sex relationships, or historical traumas that aren’t adequately brought to the table in national public discussions. Examples of that would be the stories of genocide and indigenous cultures, the history of slavery and African Diaspora. There are all of these important histories that haunt contemporary life. I want us to tell those stories because I think they make a difference to how we operate in the world today. We need a lot of creative projects in order to do that.

Right now, I’m really interested in collaborations between artists and archives. A lot of times archives get stuffed away in a museum or in a library, and there’s amazing material there, but it can be information overload to try to access it. There is also a lot of felt experience that’s not in the archive in any kind of tangible way. So I’ve been thinking a lot about how artists can work with archives and how they can produce, exhibit, and display archives in order to create alternative histories and in order to do public relations for things that need be out there in the world. Archives are important.

TT: Do you see that there is a beginning to a queer archive?

AC: Queer archives are everywhere, especially if you aren’t just looking for same sex relations or GLBT identities. If you think about queering the archive then many different kinds of things become archival. Of course some of my inspiration for that idea comes from the knowledge that queer and LGBT histories have been lost or inadequately told or not well collected in any kind of official archive. You know, I was a literary person, I was never really much of a history person and often history didn’t make a lot of sense to me. It seemed like a lot of details and dates that I couldn’t make sense of. I remember seeing the film “Before Stonewall” and being fascinated by the idea that GLBT identities had a history and that there had been these important shifts within the twentieth century. And that these histories had been going on all around me but I hadn’t known about them. I grew up in Toronto as a kid, and there were all these amazing organizations and events going on but I didn’t really know about them even though they might have been happening right down the street from me.

TT: Yes, part of the process of growing up and connecting to your self is also about connecting to the past and getting to know your history.

AC: Absolutely. That would be another example of the self as part of a collective. Asking questions like, who are my people? And what stories have I been told and not told, and what stories do I need to be told?

I think memoir and the question of ego and identity can be about getting people to understand and connect with the histories that might help them to come to a sense of self. I always want history to be accessible to people in way that’s empowering, in a way that sees history as more than something made by these giant figures ‘out there.’ I want people to make the connection that their own lives are history too. You can make history and you are already making history inside your everyday life, if you approach it with the attitude that you are important. Again, this connects to the concept of the ego and also to yoga. I’m interested in traditions that say everybody is important, everybody can make a difference. So whatever work we can do to build egos in that way, I’m all for. Some of my work on the archives of feelings is motivated by this desire to show the historical significance of everyday people and of everyday life.

(Yeah, that’s really important to me, I hope we can get that in there).

TT: Let’s talk about Mél’s questions and the digital possibilities of archiving.

AC: I’m very interested in this. For example, one of my favourite archives right now is the ACT-UP Oral History Project which is available online ( and includes both audio and video transcripts. It makes the archival material so much more accessible. And there are new digital archiving projects in libraries that are going to bring to people all kinds of material that has not previously been available. I think there are a lot of possibilities for popular archives and more grassroots kinds of archives to be made more accessible through digital work.

Another great genre of memoir is digital story telling, which is a way that people can put together, pretty rapidly with video technology, oral histories accompanied by photographs and other visual materials. They combine story and visual archives.

Digital media offers a place where people can make a detailed account of self present in the public sphere. I think we at a crazy cross roads right now, where there’s so much out there. It’s a bit unwieldy figuring out how to marshal all of those stories such that they do public work. But I think they have the potential to create new communities.

Think about the zine tradition. It’s been so important for expressions of self. The zineis very much a DIY genre that says my feelings and my life count and I’m going to make a something out of it. Those same sensibilities are at play with digital genres as well, like blogs and Facebook pages.

The question of new digital communities is a complicated one. The answer always has to be that we can’t know for sure whether they’re good or bad. Digital technologies get used in all kinds of ways. Sometimes, they can seem to be crowding out more subcultural, alternative, or independent voices. There’s a danger that mass media forces will ultimately dominate YouTube and other digital technologies, but I think the potential is always there for them to be used for alternative and independent purposes as well.

TT: What about the concern for the ephemerality of digital archives?

AC: It’s up to us to both find ways to capture the ephemeral and to translate the ephemeral into more lasting or more meaningful forms. That’s why I’m interested in the crossroads between artists and archives because I think artists have really great strategies for taking ephemeral archives and being able to make something with them that can represent communities and facilitate communication across or within communities, and help activate new identities and new communities.

TT: What’s it like being a Canadian transplant? What do you miss about Canada? Will you ever come back to us?

AC: Yeah, I really want to. I miss Canada. I think it goes back to our discussion of history and the joke we were making earlier about Americans having big egos and Canadians not having an ego or being more self-effacing than Americans or the cliché about Canadians being on a constant quest for a national identity. One of the reasons that I left Canada when I was so young was that I had this sense that alternative culture was happening in the US. This was mistaken, because in fact all kinds of exciting things were happening in Canada, but because they weren’t represented globally, I couldn’t see them, even though they were happening right around me. One of the things that keeps me coming back to Canada, in addition to my family and my friends, is that I’m really interested to see how, for example, the immigrant cultures that I grew up with in Toronto have morphed and transformed over time. I’m also really interested in public attention to indigenous culture, like land claims and the Indian Residential School Truth and Reconciliation Commission, and how different efforts to create historical memory and a national imaginary are playing themselves out in Canada and how that compares with similar kinds of work in the US. Those comparative projects are increasingly sending me back and forth across the border.

TT: What are you working on these days?

AC: I’m working on a bunch of things. I’m trying to finish a little book about depression. It is an effort to try to think about depression in ways that are not medicalized — that don’t just see it as a biochemical disorder or disease that needs to treated by drugs but instead see it as a way of feeling that makes sense in the world that we live in that produces lots of forms of hopelessness. I want to try to think about productive ways of telling the many stories of what depresses us and how we can come up with strategies for making ourselves feel less hopeless. I’ve been incorporating into that project some memoir material, particularly about my own struggles with writing and with academic work when I was in graduate school and finishing my first book and first being a professor. I think there are a lot of things that are very hard about those processes and I wanted to try to write about them and to start a conversation that would make things easier for people.

I’ve also been wanting to document the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival. I’ve been writing about it for a long time and I’m eager to get it out there because Michigan is so precious to me. It’s an archive project that I want to be a part of.

I’ve been discovering that I really like to write about artists whose work I love.

TT: Who inspires you right now?

AC: Well, Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home is a book I’ve written about and want to continue to work on. It’s a book about archives and also an amazing memoir since it tells a queer family history that turns out to be of great historical value. Another book I love that I’ve been writing about is Monique Truong’s The Book of Salt, which is a historical novel about Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas and their Indochinese cook. It uses archival material from Alice B. Toklas’ cookbook and turns it into an imaginary queer history.

I also just wrote a piece about photographers who use archives and who make archives through photography. It’s about Tammy Rae Carland’s project called An Archive of Feelings in which she photographed a bunch of objects that had archival significance to her, including the stuff she got from her mother when her mother died. And it’s also about Zoe Leonard’s project called Analogue which is a series of photographs that documents store fronts on the Lower East Side of New York City in order to preserve a world that is increasingly vanishing – the world of small businesses and local cultures and immigrant cultures that are being taken over by gentrification.

A lot of people are doing really interesting work to preserve worlds out that are disappearing or drowned out by mass culture. It can be an honour and a pleasure to write about and make connections with artists whose work interests me.

And of course, Allyson Mitchell is another one who I’ve been writing about and whose work I adore so much. She and I have done various events together over the last month, and its been really fun to get to think along side of her about making art and making community.

TT: Speaking of Allyson and making community, I want to ask you if you like potlucks and do you have a signature potluck dish?

AC: I do like potlucks, for obvious reasons at this point, because I like the idea of a collective event where everybody contributes something, and the whole thing is bigger and better as a result. I know sometimes potlucks can be seen as a bit of hodgepodge or a dyke cliché but I like them.

I don’t necessarily have a signature dish because I like to be more whimsical. Sometimes I’m lazy and I have to figure out what can I bring to the potluck that I don’t have to prepare (laughs).

TT: What’s that look like?

AC: It could be cookies or bread and cheese. I try and avoid bringing the hummous (laughter).

TT: Do you like hummous?

AC: I do love hummous but it’s such a potluck cliché. Though I sometimes will serve hummous at my own potlucks – I think that’s ok. But I’m not sure I could bring hummous to somebody else’s potluck.

I also like to bring something fresh and green because that’s often missing at a potluck — like greens beans or roasted asparagus or some steamed chard. Just one simple, single, thing. That way people can have a little green on their plates to go with the beige.

There’s another thing I want to say about potlucks. Gretchen and I often have parties where in addition to asking people to bring food, we ask them to bring something to contribute to the salon part of the potluck, like a performance or something like that. So the potluck concept applies not just to the food but also to the activity of the gathering. I love potlucks and I don’t want to live in a word with no more potlucks.

We just had a Deep Lez Potluck Brunch in Austin, taking off from the Deep Lez concept that’s been developed by Allyson [Mitchell], and it was so beautiful. We served really good breakfast tacos. Allyson had never had them before – she didn’t even know what they were. It really felt like we were creating a little Canada/Texas cultural exchange. I like hosting a potluck brunch and make a big dish that will feed everybody in a pinch. Someone else brought quiche and a lot of people did bring salads and fresh vegetables. It was surprising that there were almost no carbs — there was no bread stuff, until our friend Rachael brought these crazy cornbread things that she made with just cornmeal and water. They looked like cornmeal hockey pucks and they turned out to taste really good.

TT: Hockey night in Austin! (lots of laughter)

AC: Yeah, cornbread hockey night in Austin.

TT: Your work uncovers a lot of your personal stuff and also deals with some of the darker, or less easy parts of personal life, like trauma and depression. It’s really brave, courageous and amazing that you do this. As someone who bridges the personal and political on so many levels, do you ever feel like a bit of a trailblazer?

AC: I love that you asked me this question. A student once asked me a similar question when I was doing a guest visit to women’s studies class and it made me cry because I never really thought of myself as being courageous or a trailblazer. I was just trying to do the stuff that interested me. And that’s also why I do the work that I do. It never feels like I am making a decision to explore the darker side of life, it just feels like that’s what I’m drawn to do in order to understand the things that mean the most to me. I think this connects to the idea of ego in that we sometimes don’t really see the things that we’re doing and the importance that they have. It’s so important to recognize the significance of what we do, the courage and the trail blazing that it takes. To have a bigger ego as a way of expanding the work that we do in the world and remembering that we are important to other people and that we touch them. And I want to thank you for even thinking about me for this project because I feel really honoured by that and the way it gives me a chance to think about what I do and share it with other people.

TT: I’m so happy that you were into it Ann. Thank you.


[1] See Cvetkovich’s essay “White Boots and Combat Boots. My Life as a Lesbian Go-Go Dancer” in Jane Desmond’s book, Dancing Desires.

Tracy Tidgwell has big feelings and loves to express them. She is a writer, photographer, and a semi-retired performance artist. A former member of the fat activist and performance collective Pretty Porky and Pissed Off, she continues to explore culture through ideas of feminism, sexuality, the body, and creativity. She is about to graduate from Acadia University with a BA in sociology, sixteen years after she began. Ann Cvetkovich is her hero.

Ann Cvetkovich is professor of English and Women’s and Gender Studies at the University of Texas at Austin. She is the author of Mixed Feelings: Feminism, Mass Culture, and Victorian Sensationalism (Rutgers, 1992) and An Archive of Feelings: Trauma, Sexuality, and Lesbian Public Cultures (Duke, 2003). She edited, with Ann Pellegrini, “Public Sentiments,” a special issue of The Scholar and Feminist Online. She is coeditor, with Annamarie Jagose, of GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies. Inspired by Public Feelings groups in Chicago, Austin, and New York, she is currently writing a book called Depression: A Public Feelings Project.

Comments from old site:

Submitted by Pat on Sun, 05/03/2009 – 23:23.

Pat Hogan

Hi Tracey, We were delighted to run across your article on Ann Cvetkovich – The Doctor Is In: Ann Cvetkovich.

We have just confirmed Ann as one of the speakers at the 5th Annual BOLD: Bold, Old(er) Lesbians & Dykes Conference in Vancouver this September 10-13. She will be presenting on the Michigan Womyn’s Fest — its herstory, stories, etc. We are very excited!! We would appreciate it if you could let other womyn know about the Conference in the event that they are on the west coast at that time, or can take the journey. More information can be found at The mandate of BOLD is to inspire, educate and give voice to older womyn. To fulfill that goal BOLD has had an annual BOLD conference in Vancouver for the past five years. Lesbians/dykes 50 years and older AND younger friends and lovers are welcome. Each year we see more and more younger wimmin at BOLD.

As well, following the BOLD Conference, the 1st BOLD Film Festival will take place, on the afternoon and evening of September 13. The BOLD FILM FESTIVAL is open to any films, -shorts, feature lengths, documentaries – made by Lesbian filmmakers with special entry consideration on content about lesbians 45 years and older. The deadline for submissions is Friday July 17th.

Submissions should be on DVD, Region 1. They should be able to play on a DVD player. The submission fee is $25.00 (Canadian or American) for a feature length film and $15.00 (Canadian or American) for a short. Shorts must be no longer than 59 minutes. Please include the title, name, address, phone number and email of filmmaker with the DVD. Label the DVD with the title, name and email of the filmmaker. If the film is not in English, please sub-title. Please supply a full list of credits, a brief, 200 word synopsis and Jpegs of filmmaker and a couple of images from the film. All DVD’s will become part of the BOLD film archive unless you send a self-addressed stamped envelope for return. Make out personal or certified cheques/checks or money orders to Nancy Rosenblum BOLD Film Fest Coordinator. Nancy’s extensive film career and accomplishments can be viewed at

Mail all entries to:
First Annual BOLD Films Festival
718 Hoover St. Nelson, B.C. V1l 4X4
For questions please email Nancy at:

1st Annual BOLD Film Festival
Bold, Old (er) Lesbians & Dykes
Sunday Afternoon & Evening, September 13
Rio Theatre, E. Broadway, Vancouver

Thank you. Enjoying this website.

Pat & Claire
BOLD Organizers