shaping stones

warm nests, dark flights...

2010-05-02T07:10:00.000-07:00

"In life, change and forgetfulness may give the impression

that relationships are temporary and conditioned by the
events of time, but to the soul, remembrance and
eternal connectedness are more important."

-thomas moore

"The family and the family beyond family"
The family into which we were born leaves an indelible claim
upon us. The gravity of kinship carries and inevitable weight.
Asking the question, who are my brothers and sisters? opens
up the possibility of a family beyond the genealogical family.
A spiritual family, a universal family.
The mystical unity of humankind."

Those words above written by my beautiful friend
Ron Atkinson

"I never saw the morning 'til l stayed up all night
I never saw the sunshine 'til you turned out the light
I never saw my hometown until l stayed away too long
I never heard the melody, until l needed a song"
-tom waits

I remember my first friends, or rather that feeling of friendship.
That warmth and excitement of wanting to see someone.
Grade four, Port McNeil and we lived in a trailer down some
dusty logging road. They lived close by, two sisters, and l
remember them being tall, giants, they were like vikings.
We ran and played, it was like scenes from "the sound of
music", running through tall grass fields, if only we had sung.
We played games, re-enactments of "Gunsmoke" and once we
tried to smoke some hollow dried grass shoots, it didn't go so
well. I favoured one sister, the blond one, she had the longest
silkiest hair, and to me at that age, she was a goddess.

"Sing a song of sixpence, pocket full of rye
Hush-a bye my baby, no need to be crying.
You can burn the midnight oil with me as long as you will
Stare out at the moon upon the windowsill, and dream..."
-tom waits

I've spent many years talking, meeting people on the street,
but it took a long time before l learned of "the family"
on the street.

I met these three one night, down a alley, behind a building,
two men, one boy, one dog, one cat.

Luminosa Obscura, they were sitting, resting, talking,
laughing, smoking, drinking, huddled together around a
invisible fire, the dog at the hearth, the cat nestled into the
boy's tummy. It was a family, it was a sense of belonging.
I came away feeling the glow and warmth of their shared fire.
---

At the risk of sounding like l'm still in grade seven. Well,
Mike is my best friend. I've known him since college, over
twenty years now. Mike and l spent alot of time together over
the years. He was a year ahead of me in college, and every
friday we would go to the pub up on 16th ave in calgary, drink
beer with jimmy and some of the instructors, play pool, darts.
After college l convinced Mike to move to the island with me.
We raced to the island, him in his red rx7 and me in my yellow
Volkswagen bug. He didn't stay long that first time, but l
convinced him again years later to come back, l got him a
part time job where l worked and when l was fired, he ended
up taking my place. He was so much better at it. We did
alot of bike rides, most of vancouver island and then one
summer spent 13 days riding to calgary, well high river
actually, did you know there are four mountain ranges in
between vancouver and calgary.
The good, the bad, and the ugly, l could tell mike any of it
and he would never judge, never scorn, it was his presence,
his friendship, his love.
He was there helping my old friend mike labrie when he died,
and he sat with huey when he died.
He sat with his mom this year when she died.

I hope that when l am dieing, Mike will come and sit with me...

paperdolls...

2010-02-28T07:19:00.000-08:00

"I always thought of photography as a naughty thing to do,

that was one of my favorite things about it,

and when l first did it,
l felt very perverse"
-diane arbus

Do you remember when your friend became your friend?

I have been thinking of friendship, and wanted to tell a
story of friendship, of love but l will have to wait till
l return. I am off to Singapore.

I have been busy the last couple of months, made three little men.
The one above is the Belgian.

...and this is the Berliner.

and here is the Quiet One

...he carry's a sword made from silver plated copper.

I have also made a couple pieces for a valentines show,
some more embroidery and a mosaic using old floor lino.

if you want to see you will have to go to my website but
it is somewhat mature content.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This work of a child never,
fails to make appeal, to claim us,
because it is always honest and sincere,
always imbued with that magic certitude
born of direct, spontaneous approach.
-henry miller

So l have been invited to Singapore for two weeks to do a little
art project with many young children. I will be helping
them make little paper dolls from newspaper, and l will
decorate a wall with stencils and other debris.

The interesting thing is the process, trying to come up with
something that is pleasing and something that young
children will wade through.

This is newspaper and l used linseed oil to push the ink around.
It sort of reinforces my echoing thoughts, that you don't
really need anything to make art, it is all at hand.
It brings out the bricoleur in me.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

l will leave you with another gem that l found at the thrift store,
Surrealistic Pillow by Jefferson Airplane, released in February 1967.

goodbye

this land...

2010-01-10T07:00:00.000-08:00

"Now as l was yound and easy
under the apple boughs.
About the lilting house and happy
as the grass was green."
-dylan thomas

I built a fort...
We moved coast to coast a few months ago, Port Alberni, bc
to Bear River East, ns. When l arrived l built a fort.

Choppity chop goes the axe in the woods
You gotta meet me by the fall down tree
-tom waits

As a kid l built forts, l loved it, a home away from home,
a shelter, a place to sit, a place to imagine. Grade six
was my most prolific year. Maybe it was because of
the neighbor's kids, a brother and sister, Kerry and
Holly. A sacred trio, we explored the forest together, we
explored each other. Sometimes Holly and l would lay
together, flesh to flesh on the forest floor, our pants down
around our knees, lay there silent while Kerry chopped
trees in the background When our little bums got cold we
would get up and continue our fort building.

There are unknown forces in nature;
when we give ourselves wholly to her
without reserve, she lends them to us;
she shows us these forms, which our
watching eyes do not see, which our
intelligence does not understand or suspect.
-rodin

Our best fort was a hut, the up turned roots of a giant fallen
tree, it had hallowed the ground and we built a roof, you
had to crawl to get inside, like a igloo. We found old bottles
and jars in the forest, some still had liquids and cremes in
them, we a built a shelf and placed them there like trophies
on the mantel. We had a old rusty canning pot that we put
rusty springs inside and covered with moss.
It was like Robinson Crusoe, like Journey to the Center of the
Earth, like The Lost World, like The Wind in the Willows.
It made me.

A person is so far formed by his surrounding, that
his state of harmony depends entirely on his
harmony with his surroundings.
-the timeless way of building

...his fort was the bush

...i don't know where his fort was, but he was so happy,
he was so nice, l don't think he needed a fort.
He was a fort.

go build a fort...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Because you're mine
I walk the line
-j.cash

I am going to leave you with a little music...
I bought an old record player and l visit a second hand store
to buy records. It's like going to the doctor, such a personal
thing to buy records. Sometime l'm embarrassed by what
l buy, but it's a secret between me and the store owner. But,
l found a treasure, a 1972 tribute to woody guthrie. It has
richie havens, odetta, pete seger, peter fonda and more.

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This post never ends.
I have a lovehate relationship with artist trading cards but l
have suggested to the lovely sandra at New Times Arrived
that we exchange artistic post cards.
My friend Dale in victoria collects atc's, he has over two
thousand now, and he also sends out calls for mail art
he's a real nice guy, so send him some art, or if you want to
exchange visual matter with me, my address;
1119 mary jane riley rd, rr#1
bear river east, nova scotia, B0S 1B0
goodbye now

settling...

2009-11-29T15:55:00.001-08:00

"I see and taste
no sweat more honest
then the drops you have enjoyed
between your thighs..."
-woody guthrie

well...
did some embroidery, built a fort in the trees,
l am getting settled. Will post soon.

Hope your all enjoying the coming of winter.

"My body's naked now
and it was born naked."
-woody guthrie

it always smelled of rain...

2009-08-25T12:50:00.000-07:00

"Our mood was gone, a restless night, unfulfilled desires..
morning came clear and brilliant. I will do some heads
of you today Zinnia,. The mexican sun, l thought,
will reveal everything, something of the tragedy of our
present life may be captured. Nothing can be hidden
under this cloudless cruel sky. And so it was that she
leaned against a whitewashed wall, lips quivering nostrils
dilating, eyes heavy with gloom of unspent rainclouds.
I drew close. I whispered something and kissed her.
A tear rolled down her cheek and then l captured forever
the moment.
-edward weston photographing tina modotti 1926

Mexico City...history built on history. I was given a canada council
grant in the nineties, travel to mexico city for two months. They
(Fondo) gave me a home, some money and the rest was up to me.
It's hard to write of my trip there, so much, it's like a thousand souls
entered my body, like the Sahara, sands being whirled about, moving,
changing, coming together.

My home was in the district of Cayoacan and l walked the streets
every day. The green tent, this was my treasure. I discovered a
big green tent on the sidewalk outside of a paper factory, tarps,
couches, tables, a stove, a light. The tent ladies, they had been on
strike for a year, and l visited with them every day.

I brought them goods, baked goods, pop, and a deck of cards.
We played rummy, they would make me hot corn drinks, none of
them spoke english, maybe a few words, "hello, goodbye, love"
But it didn't matter, we communicated through laughter, gesture,
doodles on a note pad, and just plain knowing.
It's like the "dancer in the dirt", when you are honest, sincere,
natural, and just "being", then we hear, we see, we feel.

The tent ladies were always an enigma to me, l didn't understand
everything, like shadows that floated behind me, just catching a
glimpse of them but never able to grasp them.

----------------------------------------------

Jose - l met Jose in an alley, he and his wife lived in a tiny cement
room, a bed, a dresser, and walls filled with photographs, crosses,
and symbols of "the virgin of guadalupe". Jose and l would just chat
in the alley, share smokes, grasped at words that sounded familier.

La pura verdad

-----------------------------------------------------

I met her in an ice cream shop, and in her stumbling english
she asked if l would teach her english, she would teach me
spanish. Sandra was different than the tent ladies, where
as the tent held a darkness, a sadness, Sandra was light,
joyfull, "Oh ken ken ken" she would say with laughter.

She helped me navigate mexico city, took me places, even to
her home for dinner and to meet her parents. She was more
spanish then mexican. She was so lovely.

-----------------------------------------

Rosa- it was Rosa that l attached myself to at the green tent.
She seemed to be in charge or perhaps just more respected, she
guided me as l guided her. We passed yellow notes back and
forth like kids in grade school. She was a dark chrystal.

...l digress, this is a painting of rosa, of mexico, of my loves back
home, memory, past and present, roaming around in my
body, my soul, painting is always so much more, so many lives
go into a painting, so much history.

"it always smelled of rain"

I would walk Rosa to the subway most nights, around
midnight and in that mile there were so many scents.
...close your eyes and smell what is around you.
It was assaulting, but in such a delicious way. It was like
the earth made love to you.

-------------------------------------------

...silence is how l should sum up my stay in mexico city.
My beautiful friend Ron wrote the following for me and
next to silence it says it all...

"Aquaintance with a great white turkey sums up a wonder l feel.
The ugly beauty of this abused bird speaks to a dark light in me.
This unlikely creature confirms how utterly strange life is.
It is a strangeness which shocks, amuses and comforts.
The white turkey of Cayoacan heals our alienation.
Suddenly, we smile in recognition of a greater belonging.
It is this amused earthy wholeness l would have us remember."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

...we are moving
from the shores of the west coast to the shores of the east coast,
close to bear river, nova scotia. I will be driving very soon, with
Cedar and a truck of belongings 6000k's.
I may not post for a couple three months, but l'll return.

I was going to leave you with edith piaf but have chosen this
wonderful video of Small Faces (itchycoo park) as it just seems
like better driving music.

Goodbye

------------------------------------------------------------

dancing in the dirt...

2009-08-03T08:22:00.000-07:00

well the road is out before me
and the moon is shining bright
what I want you to remember
as I disappear tonight
today is grey skies
tomorrow is tears
you'll have to wait til yesterday is here
-tom waits

...like a good carny player gone bad, my hands are empty.
No story, no post as l am off to the U.S. with my lovely family
for a week and a half. So l leave you again with a couple of snap
shots and a little running brook.

...a long time ago, while drinking one night at the "rocking horse"
pub, l noticed something. There was a couple dancing.
She was pretty, wearing a nice country dress with flowers, she
was precise with her dance. He was roughly dressed, hair askew,
it's like someone just kicked him in the dirt like a stone. But his dance,
he dances like he has no secrets. He doesn't know how to dance like
her, he doesn't know how to dance at all, but he does. He dances
beautifully wild like he doesn't care...
It's like Christopher Alexander's book "the timeless way of building",
"Care but don't care"

This is how we should build, how we should paint, how we should write,
how we should live and how we should love.

and her knees up on the glove compartment
took out her barrettes and her hair spilled out like rootbeer
and she popped her gum and arched her back
-tom waits

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

before l go
please take a look at "apollinaires tattoo"
He works hard, he lives in Cape Breton and you have to work hard
to live there. There is a beautiful sadness to his blog, a loneness,
something deep, like the ocean, or like a endless field.

goodbye

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a fallen crow...

2009-07-22T20:29:00.000-07:00

"A photograph is a secret about a secret.
The more it tells you the less you know."
-d. arbus

You may never see a crow's nest.
I feel fortunate that the crow's built a nest in our trees.
But l'm sad that somehow the baby's ended up on the sidewalk
in front of our place, they died after a day or two, except one.
Now l generally don't interfere with nature, well there was that
once l help my cat kill a rabbit, oh and then there was that time
l had to shoot a wounded deer on the highway, but usually...

A friend took the last sickened baby crow, but he didn't make it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"When beauty and Beauty meet
All naked, fair to fair,
The earth is crying-sweet,
And scattering-bright the air...
-rupert brooke

I am not a veteran of the heat.
I am a fall kind of guy, summer is complacent.
I am putting a new roof on this little home,
so no story this week, maybe you'll come back
late next week and l'll will show you something.

---------------goodbye

a period of rest before the coming...

2009-06-29T11:27:00.001-07:00

When you walk in rhythm,

lovely with abandonment,
You seem to be swayed by a wand,
A dancing serpeant.
-Bouldaire

...do you remember who taught you to frenchkiss.

I am going to keep you in the nineties for awhile longer,
l have a few more stories to tell.

I use to think that only the young and the old were worth talking to.
Those in between too busy, running around like a nosebleed
that won't stop. The young have a power, a magic mystical, untamed
and raw, ready to lick the blood from your neck.

"...when the story of the hero's wound is made part
of the story of desire, when the weaving activity of
the soul, the work of memory and imagination, the
weaving of one's story, is informed and suffused
with the hero's violent spiritual flame."

-eileen greagory(summoning the familiar)

I met Sean in the nineties, he came from a program for lost punks.
They asked if l would take him in my studio, mentor him l suppose.
He came to my studio, hung around, rambled poetic lyrics, and he
brought with him, his family. A family of hooded punks, black cloth,
spiked collars, with dreams of a fresh new world. I photographed
Sean one night, with his girl Claire - here

and he says that he loves me
even though its not his baby
and he says that he'll raise him up
like he would his own son
and he gave me a ring
that was worn by his mother

-tom waits

Sam was pregnant. She was a tad older than the rest, and
with growth in her belly she was somewhat of a guide to them,
perhaps she glowed with a secret light.

...part of painting of sam

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Christie and Killie, two more beacons that danced quietly
through this time.

Although they seem to carry a heaviness, they carried your concerns,
your burdens, your wishes, they carried what you lay in bed dreaming of.

"a period of rest before the coming"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Willie Mae... makes me smile thinking of her.

She could make the world smile. An endless flame, a shinning star,
the drop of dew on a blade of grass. She had cancer, they took
her leg off at the knee.

She would come to my studio now and then, help me with the
painting. I told her to write something on the painting. She
found a quote on my wall and wrote that;

"the ocean doesn't want me today,
but l'll be back tomorrow to play"
-tom waits

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Char- I lived in a little shack in Parksville and beside that shack
was a wood shop of some sort. I would see her drive up on her
bike. Loud , maybe a harley, clad in the blackest leather. I didn't
know if she was boy or girl. I couldn't tell but l wanted to photograph
her. So one day l ran into her and with the flapping of wings in my
tummy l asked her. "Can l photograph you"
Slammed against the wall, one hand on my throat, a fist to the groin.
Well that is what l expected, but no, yes, out came this beautiful
sweetness, "why yes darling, that would be nice"

I photographed her at night in my studio, we talked for hours.
Her life in a small town, it was hard for her, being gay in this town,
being inside a body that she wanted to change.

Am l lucky to have met these people, damn right.
They all burned, burned with a fire, a fire that was true and deep.

But you know...it's there,
in you, in all of us.

"How many years ago
Were you and l unlettered lads
Mad as the mist and snow"

-yeats

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

maybe check Fernandes
he has fire

goodbye

-

cap in hand...

2009-06-06T18:18:00.000-07:00

There is a mystery too deep for words;

the silence of the dead comes nearer to it,
being wisest in the end. What word shall
hold the sorrow sitting at the heart of things.
The majesty and patience of the truth.
Silence will serve; it is an older tongue:
The empty room, the moonlight on the wall.
Speak for the unreturning traveller.
-john hall wheelock

For a handful of years in the nineties l worked with people
who needed assistance. The first job was in a woodworking
day program. I loved that job. A group of men, a pile of tools,
we made picnic tables, doll houses, and little wooden nicknacks
that have probably ended up inthrift stores. My favorite person
was Bob, Bob couldn'tspeak but knew a few signs. One of them
was "fish",which we all practiced because he could sort of say the
word. The sign was wiggling your hand back and forth,like a
snake, or like a belly dancer on her side.Then l worked in the
semi independant living program,these guys lived on their own
and l was there to offer assistance with, well you know, life skills.

Kevin...
I liked kevin, he was funny and he seemed to enjoy my company.
My boss always seemed more concerned about kevin's hygene, and
whether or not his dishes were done, but l kind of felt it more
important to go fishing. We would drive up the old northwest
bay logging road, a secret little lake that made you feel holy. We
would cast off of shore, worms and bobbins, catching fist size trout.
Keving was stubborn, when they discovered that he had diabetes,
well it was very rough on him. FIfty years of drinking soda pop and
licking dairy's cone and suddenly your suppose to eat like a bunny, it
was tough. A couple years later, riding his bike on a beautiful sunny
day, Kevin suffered a heart attack and died.

Lori...
Lori was tough, strong and would always help you if you needed.
He liked to collect things, lots of things, bikes, cars, radio's, tv's, any
thing you could take apart, he was like the guy from "back to the
future". Lori had an unkemptness to him that was appealing. One
year l offered him a shed in my yard, "a place to store a few things",
It didn't take long...he filled it to the roof, he circled the shed with
broken cars, and late at night, when even the owls close their eyes, l
would sometimes hear loud voices. I thought maybe Orson Welles was
right and it was the war of the worlds but no it was just Lori and his
coat hanger wrapped cracklin radio.

I also worked with the beautiful Hugh and have written
about him before, here...

I just want to feel "right as rain"

"Of course compassion condones suffering
in that it recognizes,
yes, suffering is life."
-j campbell

fern and gary...

------------------------------

"Sexual intimacy begins with acknowledgment of and respect for
the mystery and madness of the others sexuality, for it is only
in mystery and madness that soul is revealed."
-t.moore

Brenda and Alan...
Like two different flowers, on two different seasons, one open, one closed.

Alan is fast, quick, they use to call him "speedy". He had spent
some time at Tranquille before they closed down, and like any big
institution, it probably left a imprint. Brenda was softer, slower,
steadier perhaps, they made a good pair.

I photographed their wedding...

I took Alan and Brenda everywhere, camping, hotels in the
big city, art shows, walkabouts... I don't know what l was trying
to do, l guess l thought it was useful, important, real.

This next image got me into a lot of trouble...

...now you can whip me or love me, l've battled it in my head,
but there is no right, no wrong.
Brenda and Alan trusted me, they invited me in, l wanted to
acknowledge this, to acknowledge their intimacy, their love...

---------------------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------------------
a little extra time, check markmaker India Flint

goodbye

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I spy...

2009-05-15T10:17:00.000-07:00

"In this state of life, however, I remained some time, uncertain
what measures to take,and what course of life to lead. An irresistible
reluctance continued to going home;and as I stayed away a while,
the remembrance of the distress I had been in wore off,
and as that abated, the little motion I had in my desires to return
wore off with it,till at last I quite laid aside the thoughts of it,
and looked out for a voyage."
-(Robinson Crusoe - Daniel Defoe)

As l mentioned, l'm in a group show at the Evergreen Cultural Centre
Alternative Identities...we were to take on a different identity and well,
make some pieces with that in mind. You know, l fantasized of being a
spy when l was young, l would dream of wearing a long white overcoat,
having a little leather kit of tools, the kind that gets you into any locked
door. So l don't know why l didn't pick that identity, anyways l decided
on Robinson Crusoe...

This is a box l made with a large lens that you peek through and inside,
two figures, a man and his dog. Here is a little detail of what you see.

...and the painting l made

I tried to be Robinson Crusoe, or to feel, quiet, secluded, wandering alone
in my head. I tried to think of what l would miss... I worked quietly
with my hands, picking up things that laid around, stitching, little pieces
of wood, little frail pieces of fabric, building a memory.

La',tout n'est gu'ordre et beaute',
Luve, calme et volupte'.
(All in simply order and beauty
Generosity, calmness and sensuality)
-baudelaire

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passionate punk...

2009-04-25T14:47:00.000-07:00

“Music and rhythm find their way into the secret places

of the soul”
- Plato

music...it started in grade 7 for me, dancing with Nelly Kazenbroot to the
guess who's"american woman. At home l listened to 45's my parents had given
me, Johnny Horton,"Battle of New Orleans", Elvis, a song about someone
kissing dina in the kitchen, and my favorite "Mr.Bojangles" by Jerry jeff Walker.

He shook his head and as he shook his head I heard someone ask, please
Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles
Mister Bojangles,
dance.

l found a video of Sammy Davis Jr. sing ing Mr.Bojangles, . I had
pants like sammy davis jr., slightly flared at the bottom, l loved
those pants, probably why nelly wanted to dance with me. But
here, you might want to watch/listen to don mclean singing "Vincent"

It's the passion, the passion in the singing that thrills me, that
inspires me. In my studio l listen to Jacque Brel, Nina Simon, Tom waits,
and thrown in there l have Johnny Horton's Battle of New Orleans,
Mr. Bojangles, Blinded by the Light by Manfred Mann. They
remind me of my childhood, passionate punk. They make me feel
good, it's funny how we are shaped by our childhood.

"Friend, when l am dead
Make a cup of the clay l become.
and, if you remember me, drink from it.
Should your lips cling to the cup,
It will be but my earthy kiss."
-Mexican folk song

When l finished college, l wandered back to the island, my home,
then l wandered back to calgary, then back to the island. I was like
a gerbil circling his cage, never realizing that the door was open.
I was my own worst nightmare. Finally l decided to be still,
physically and emotionally. I started painting...
photographs can sometimes be perfect, blameless, especially to
the purists, but l wanted more from my photographs, l wanted
to feel what l had photographed.

So l took a large one and started painting over it, gluing bits and
pieces on it, like a crow dropping nuts on the road.
Caring but not caring. It was the start to my bricolage (early 90's)
I used and still do, old tent canvas, it is cheap, strong and the smell
reminds me of my childhood. I glue the silver prints on with
archival glue, l use to have to get it from a library supplier in ontario,
but now it's like water, you can get it anywhere.

Walter Skulsky

For years I fought with myself, (a good fight) about what l was
doing, photographs, paint, really is it art, is it fair. But really
who cares, along as you do it with passion, with love ,
with your childhood.

ninth ave...

Mickey McGrath at the colonel Belcher

halifax

colonel belcher veteran's hospital (Calgary)

spike and his dog butch

"lust and loneliness"

"This is a deep, permanent human condition
this need to be loved and to love" -annie proulx

I'm in a group show, at the Evergreen Cultural Centre in
Coquitlam, bc. It's a persona show, each of us taking a different
persona. Mine...robinson crusoe
here is a very small detail of what l'm working on for it.

...
okay, bye
one last thing though, maybe check out this blog, she is a young
photographer, poet, hell she probably can sing and dance...
Sarah

rescue dog...

2009-04-12T17:42:00.000-07:00

"A sight for sore eyes it's a long time no see

Workin hard hardly workin, hey man you know me"
-t.waits

I've been busy under the house, building a foundation, cementing,
lifting beams, eating bugs. Well Cedar is kindof like those saint
bernard rescue dogs, you know, a barrel of grappa under their chins.
So l'm hoping that when the house falls on me, he'll be dragging me
out and tending my wounds. Anyways, l'll post something in a few days.

summer camp...

2009-03-25T16:59:00.001-07:00

The power to make things beautiful lies in each
of us already. It is a core so simple and so
deep, that we are born with it.

-C.Alexander

I use this quote at the beginning of every class. Photographic arts,
doll making, assemblage and bricolage, l'm like a traveling magic
show. It takes me a day to load my truck, old canvas, fabric, some
stained, some smelly, dirty rusty tin, banged up wood, blocks of
beeswax, needles and thread, and sometimes my sewing machine.

If it were the middle ages, l'd be tortured and hung up for my alchemist ways.
I taught a couple of two day workshops at the Denman Island Arts Center,
doll making and assemblage. l'm always scared when l go to denman island,
it's lawless you know. The people on denman don't just grow potatoes and corn
There are lots of artists there and they care. So l have to be prepared, l have to satisfy
them. If l don't, who knows, l'd probably wind up on the shore of the mainland, my
limbs sewn together, covered in beeswax, looking like a kewpie doll.

(to all of my students, sorry for the lack of names, if you have
a name or website, let me know and l'll post it.)

Wells, BC. - I've taught a few times at the Island Mountain Arts Center
I've also stayed a winter or two there, out in Stromville. In a cabin, woodstove
and lights powered by car batteries, sometimes l felt like a hairless dog curling
up tight to keep warm. Wells is a magical place and l like teaching there. Last time
l taught for five days, the first two days are the honeymoon, the third day,
it's over, people are sick of working eight hours stitching and sticking and listening
to my banter about the importance "of caring". Some even wished they had taken
the calligraphy class down the hall. I bribe them with cookies, fortune cookies
and chocolate cookies and if they make it to thursday, were okay.
The last day is the best, were all comfortable with each other,
things are just beginning to
develop, in fact that's
when the five days should really start.

Doesn't matter what class you take with me, l get you to make a fabric doll.

"If a child died, Ojibwa Indian women made a "doll of Misfortune"
creating it from feathers and placing it in a cradle, the mother cared for
the doll just as if it were a real baby. She would take it on journeys,
talk to it and give it presents for one year, until she considered the
baby old enough to reach paradise on its own."

Before making a doll, l ask the students to write for ten minutes non-stop
starting with words "I remember". This zen practice of writing is
borrowed/inspired from Natalie Goldberg
The students are brave, most read what they have written,
some tearfully, some with laughter, all with courage.

Metchosin, BC - I taught a five day class last summer at the
Metchosin International summer school of the arts.
This place is beautiful, it's like summer camp without the bully's. You sleep
there, you eat there, and you create. I start this class by making pinhole
cameras out of old record covers. Self portraits, transfers, rusty tin figures,
fabric dolls, encaustic, and collage. The pinhole images are beautiful,

it takes awhile to make the camera light proof. lots of black tape, lots of
frustration, but once done, it's like you just made friends with
Joseph Niepce. The act of building this little crooked box. The act of
building, so important, working with your hands, feeling and fumbling.
Like peeing in a ditch, you can't miss. It's almost primitive, and very
real, you just want to dance naked around a big fire.

And there's one thing you can't lose
And it's that feel
It's that feel
-t.waits

Red Deer, AB - I am teaching another five day class this summer at
Red Deer College. Last summer l had a wonderful group...
even a couple who had returned second year in a row, l guess l didn't explain
myself clearly enough the first time. (Thank you Paul and Glynis, and

of course thank you Erika and Gillian who always support me
and try to come to nearly all workshops.)

And me and Molley Hoey drank Pruno and Koolaid and she had a
Tattoo gun made out of a cassette Motor and a guitar string and
She soaked a hanky in 3 Roses And rubbed it on the spot
And drew a rickety heart and A bent arrow and it hurt like hell
-t.waits

A “bricoleur” is a kind of handyman who enjoys adroitly drawing upon all
sorts of everyday things - whatever is at hand
- to attend to those things that make the good life.

What has changed is my way of seeing,
l am learning how to look at pictures,
what has changed is my capacity of feeling.
Art opens the heart.
-j.winterson

Winter has passed...

still a little cold...

but were warm...

I listen to him almost every day, and
because Renee at Circling My Head needs
some wailin and moanin, here is Jacque Brel

wandering and wondering...

2009-03-11T20:41:00.000-07:00

In life, change and forgetfulness may give the impression that relationships
are temporary and conditional by the events of time, but to the soul,
remembrance and eternal connectedness are more important.
-t.moore

continuing from my last post...

I took a trip - third year of college l won a 1000.dollar grant and l was
going to travel across Canada. I bought a 30 day via rail pass, could
get on and off when and where l wanted. I bought fourty rolls of black
and white film 400asa. My instructors told me that l was very
fortunate, the landscapes across canada they said. Little did they know.

My first stop was Swift Current, Saskatchewan. I stayed at the Imperial $9.45,
a room, bath and washroom down the hall. Met Charlie Butcher- lived there all
his life, 74years old and had farmed grain for 36 yrs. Lives in town now,
his parents homesteaded in Swift Current.

I met the mayor who instead of the key to the city gave me a swift current pin
and keychain. I gave my cheese buns and five dollars to Luis and Mercy who
were from New York, lost in swift current. Bob, Bunk, Erwin, Mrs Peters
then l met Floyd. He told me that he had been in "mental wards" three times
and his brother was in the kingston pen, "he was framed", says Floyd.
Floyd talked to me about "jerking off" and god. "People don't believe that they
can get back in their mother's womb you know." "My father choked to death,
my mother had a miscarriage." "Animals believe in god you know, everday down
at the zoo people are talking about god and the animals hear, you know."

As l left to board the train, Floyd gave me a stubbly bearded kiss on the cheek.
There was a thunderstorm going on that night, maybe one in Floyd as well.
Arrived in Brandon, Manitoba early the next morning. Stayed at the Crystal

motel for $18.00. Wandered Brandon, weary from the train. Took pics of Vern
in room #9 of my hotel. He's been there six years, 17 years in Brandon.
Moved from Winnipeg where he had a dry cleaning business which folded
when his wife left with the kids - "she got everything." Vern gave me a
polaroid of himself which a friend had taken and he was going to tear up.

I lit a wooden match; I let it all burn down
I've broken every rule; I've wrecked it all down
There are no words in the wind, the trees are all bare
Life's mean as a needle; but why should I care?
-tom waits
Took pics of Jane who had on a "Smile - Pass it on" patch on her jacket.
Brandon was strange to me, hard, dry, but l recognized warmth there...

On my way to Toronto where the train stops for a night. The actual train ride
was okay, slept in my seat, wandered to the bar car every now and then chatting
to people in my still and quiet way. I bought bagels or buns whenever
l stopped, and munched on them, scrunched in my seat like a raccoon
with a secret. Stayed at the youth hostel in Toronto for $14.00 and like the
other cities, wandered, shuffling along unsure of what l was really doing, peeking
here and there, down alleys, in churches, cafe's where l could get toast and
coffee. I had to be careful as l didn't have much money. Took pics at a church, built
in 1849. There was a strawberry luncheon going on in the back and in the front
l met Joe, Mike, and Frank. None of them had whip cream on their faces so
l guess they hadn't been invited.

Frank was hungry and was checking out the donation box inside the church.
My journal from this trip is so embarrassing, l rant and rave about churches,
l whine and fight with myself over what l'm doing.

All your cryin don't do no good
Come on up to the house
Come down off the cross
We can use the wood
Come on up to the house
-tom waits
I met Private Smith, use to be in the army, seven years he told me
He'll be 60 in a week. He got to go to Copenhagen

"where the girls and the booze where for the taking". He was such a nice man to
meet. I hung around union station like a lost traveler, i sat on benches, switching
every now and then so it didn't look like l was thinking. I met a wonderful man
name Bill which l wrote about early on in this blog...Here
You know, one of the first things l learned, not long before this trip while l
ventured the alleys of Calgary, well it was that l could approach anyone. It
didn't matter if they looked hardcore, disturbingly cold, or disenchanted,
gruff or gross. There's this human inside of us all, no matter the ventures
we've taken, it's there and wants to be touched.
I traveled to Halifax after Toronto. Headed straight to Dartmouth when l
arrived. Met Douglas Mysers in a hallway of a rooming house, dark, a single
uncovered bulb hung over his head like a noose.

It was unsettling, he was unsettling.
I stayed at the ymca for $16.50. The next day, traveled up to Sydney, stayed
at the Cliefden house hotel for $24.00. Wandered, wandered, wandered,
and wondered. Went into the Irish club, not many people, very dark, very quiet,
met Jimmy. Jimmy use to be on skid row in Montreal. "The french are great people."

"I,m an alcoholic, use to fish out of Nanaimo, had my steam ticket, fuckin liquor,
lost it, but l knew my ships." Jimmy had a fantastic face, he should be in the mafia l thought.
Traveled to Digby, met Stacy Rogers on the train. 16 next week she tells me. Lives
with her mom who loves harley davidson's and Bob Dylan. Stacy ran away once to

Halifax for three days. She wants to be a lawyer or a singer, she's been smoking
since she was 10. Arrived in Digby at 10pm, not much money so l stayed in a
all night pizza joint until the ferry to Saint John was to leave at 5am
Saint John , like a dusty old chest of drawers, clothes flung in, some dirty, some
stained, some even clean.

I passed through Toronto again, it's unavoidable. I decided l wanted to go to
Niagra Falls. I met the most wonderful couple having lunch there. They were
from a small town of 800 people just outside of London, ont. They came to the falls

39 years ago on their honeymoon and have come back every year since.
Back in Toronto, "Have l begged from you before," he asked me. Pics of Lynda,
i was attracted by the gold glitter on her chest. She wore alot of crosses,
goes to three churches. "Have to pleae everyone," she tells me. When she
got out of the hospital as she had a bio chem breakdown, she started writing.

She has certain powers and when they got too great
she had a breakdown but now can control them.
Back on the train heading to Edmonton. Bits of conversation float down
the aisle, breaking like bubbles over my head. "Stop it or l'll pull your dink,"
says a little girl to her brother. "Maybe l'm not fit to be a security
guard." says George to Marg.

I drift, sleep, waking myself shouting my own dreamlike words "That's Nice"
Edmonton, Jasper, Prince Rupert where l sleep in the front seat of Chet's van.
My trip peters out in Princeton.
How do l end this- l guess l don't, it goes on, a walk through this fog,
grasping at what is human, trying to be human.

Because of all these tears,
these eyes can't hope to see,
the beauty that surround them,
isn't it a pity.

-nina simon

any time left...check out this generous and beautiful blog
Every photo tells a story

a punk...

2009-02-15T16:46:00.000-08:00

I have come home and l'm looking through the window...
I am looking back into a world gone forever. Thinking of a time that
will never return. A book of photographs is looking at me. 25 years
of looking for the right road. Postcards from everywhere. If there
are any answers. I have lost them.
-Robert Frank

I am scrapbooking, a hundred or more paintings, finding
their images and stories. Bear with me...

It started so many years ago now. I was a punk, my head and
body almost transcluscent. It was my first year at college and
l was listening to Joe Cocker. English 101 and we were told to do
a presentation - on anything. I decided l would do a piece on the
homeless, men on the streets. So one morning l borrowed a cheap
plastic camera and headed downtown (calgary) on my "excalibur".
Yes my ten speed was called excalibur, a canadian tire special,
gold in color, and l felt like a knight.

It was was wintery cold, minus something, l bought a styrofoam coffee
and just stood on the street and waited.
Eye contact, cigarettes, l offered him a sip of my coffee. He was short, spoke
with an accent and his name was Meitro. I spent the day with Meitro, we had
bus station sandwiches and we walked and walked. He showed me the bins behind
safeway, lots of broccoli, not so green. He constantly checked telephone and
newspaper slots for spare coin. He showed me where to go and what to do.
Our day together was slow, meandering, and gentle. When l left Meitro that day,
l was filled with such joy, l had survived the round table.

And so it went...My second year of college and l spent it taking pictures of people
on the street. I can't describe the feeliing, l was scared, l had butterflys in my
stomach, l was excited. Those feelings when you know you are truly alive.

I photographed everyone, l was on a binge, l bathed in it. I pimped my smokes
for hints of conversation. I was champagne in a bucket.

I was still a punk, l was still transcluscent, but...

I started to question myself.

Afraid to die alone, afraid to die unloved.
Maybe l needed to care and to be cared.
cont...

When we are no longer children, we are already dead.
-Brancusi

I have to go climb scaffold for two weeks, till then...
Check A Painter's Room, a sacred celebration.
and passion of earth; The Waxing Moon

the cold cold ground...

2009-02-06T16:12:00.000-08:00

Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult
-w.b.yeats

The lamb that ate itself to death...
Years ago l spent a winter on a cattle farm in Rolla, bc. I lived in a cabin and
worked on a painting. The farmer and his wife were so gracious and so lovely.
I would help bring in calves when they were born. Frozen white
ground and wind that would rush through you tearing at your flesh as it left.
I remember having to pull a calf out of it's mother. I pulled so hard,
the farmer and l pulled and pulled, l thought l would turn the cow inside out.,

I helped skin a dead calf, used a utility knife. We wrapped the hide around
another motherless calf in hopes the cow would smell her's and let it feed.
I drank beer in the rolla pub and listened to the farmer's sons sing,
sing, their music was like passion - ferocious.

Huge round bales of hay stretched out on the farm, stacked two high.
One day l noticed a lamb eating at the bales, all alone, biting, chewing,
tearing, all day she ate. The next morning l found her, dead. She had eaten
way too much in one spot, in one sitting, and the top bale had fallen on her.
There was beauty on the farm.
You don't die when you live on a farm
you just become part of the earth's mystery and secrets.

when the road's washed out
they pass the bottle around
and wait in the arms
of the cold cold ground
cold cold ground
tom waits

reverie...

2009-01-28T20:14:00.000-08:00

I"ve been ready to ka boom for a week
Put on your stockings and your powder and blush
Keep it all on the hush, hush, hush

-tomwaits

I have a love/hate relationship with "The old school house art gallery.
...but if your looking for cheap art, it's the place to be feb 1st to the 6th.
They are having a become a art collector deal, only 250. for any of the work.
I am giving them this piece above "the dragonslayers return"
So take a trip to Qualicum, buy some cheap art,
it's really not a bad way to spend money.

"This beauty is within us at the bottom of memory.
It is the beauty of a flight which revives us,
which puts the dynamism of one of life's beauties within us.
In our childhood, reverie gave us freedom.
It is striking that the most favorable field for receiving
the consciousness of freedom is none other than reverie...
it is in reverie that we are free beings.
A potential childhood is within us."

-Gaston Bachelard

...like a carrot still in the ground over winter, check fucoid

winter...

2009-01-03T14:14:00.000-08:00

So close your eyes
Open your heart
To one who's dreaming of you
You can never hold back spring
Baby
-tom waits

The world is
not with us enough
O taste and see
-d.Levertov

There is no one sleeping in the forest right now...
These images -the forest, my family, it all connects...

a christmas story...

2008-12-18T19:45:00.000-08:00

Memory open; memory close;
memory taught me to be a man.
It remembers everything.
It helps the little birds to sing.
It finds the honey for the bee.
It opens and closes,
opens and closes.

-harold monro

Lyle and l go way back, back to the beatles, back to styx and queen, back to
nazereth. We met on pym street, guess we were 15 or 16. The first thing he showed
me were the row of green mail boxes at the end of the street. We practiced picking
locks with bobby pins but no need to worry, we weren't really any good at it.
Cars were important, we bombed around in the bush. I had a 56 ford, my brother
had a 54 dodge and Lyle, well Lyle just navigated. But later,
Lyle got a 64 dodge polara, primer gray with bits of real red. He rebuilt the engine
but could never get it going after that. We even tried towing it down the bypass.
Tied to my mustang with a thick rope Lyle told me l needed to get up to 70 or 80 mph
because the polara was an automatic.

We had a race once - Vancouver to Princeton. Me in my fiat (cereal box) and
Lyle in his chrysler (tank). Ya okay Lyle technically won, but it was so close.
It felt like the "Cannonball Run" and l really wanted to be like Dean Martin.
We both lived in Princeton that summer. I worked in the mill and Lyle wanted
to work in the mill, he just ended up getting kicked out of Princeton by the RCMP.
We both talked of joining the army that summer, even filled out the papers.
Lyle moved to Edmonton, "lots of work out there", he said, "come on".
So l loaded the camero and moved to Edmonton, it was winter.

We lived outside of Edmonton, stayed with his Argentina friend Rod.
Rod was kindof funny. Lyle told me that he could only make out if he was drunk,
real drunk. Years later Rod disappeared, they found his wallet and truck in the
bush, searched for months but never did find him.
Lyle moved back to the island after a couple of months and l stayed.
I moved into a little basement suite downtown Edmonton and got a job with
a security company. I had to wear a uniform, it was pale and worn
like they had found it in someone's attic. and it came with this stupid hat
that felt like you were wearing a table on your head. I drove around at night,
the deep dear night, with a mopey german shepherd and the only good memory l have
is the memory of listening to Bruce Springsteen on the radio.
...singing "santa claus is coming to town".

toymaker...

2008-11-19T10:39:00.001-08:00

Come with me
together, we can take the long way home

-tomwaits

I'll explain next week...

my friend...

2008-10-12T18:06:00.001-07:00

Caress the Sleep of Mortals

Bound to the Mast of Longing

Friend, tie me to the ship's mast
To ride to the rim of life.
Wounded at the ear's edge
Branded in burnt blood.

Friend, do not let me leap
From love's fierce sensual fire.
On dark horses of rising tide.
Brave breakers in beauty's risks.

Friend, if I am empty, embered.
Fill me with your wild cleansing.
Let your siren song of exile
Heal these stripes of wounded will.

-ron atkinson

a smoldering fire...

2008-10-03T21:54:00.000-07:00

There are really three gifts, simultaneous in their effect:
blind hope, fire, and craft (techne').They open up wonders-
and terrors-to human creatures, the wonders and terrors
of being fully cognizant and sensitive creatures of earth.

-eileen gregory (summoning the familiar)

I like the idea of knights, of cowboys, l like stories from
the great depression, l like the history of the gold rush.

Rob has lived in the gully on and off since he was seven, he use to run away
from home and hide there, sleeping under the tree branches.
He knows how to keep dry...

They change their camp every now and then, sometimes because of the city,
sometimes because of the cops, sometimes for a change of scenery.
Rob, Cindy, and Bobby, this was the core - everynow and then
someone else joins, another body curled up on the ground, the
disheveled head of hair sticking out like a scarecrow.

Rob's a good person, like's my dog, tells me stories that l haven't heard before.

I am welcomed when l visit their camp. On cold mornings and when there is
a smoldering fire we huddle around it, feels like a Louis L'Amour novel.
A sense of belonging, a sense of longing.
We need communities based on this...

and the road was like a ribbon and the moon was like a bone
he didn't seem to be like any guy she'd ever known
-tw

sugar and snails...

2008-08-23T17:16:00.000-07:00

What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice,
And everything nice,
That's what little girls are made of.

What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails,
And puppy dog tails,
That's what little boys are made of.

rat of a dog...

2008-08-09T16:48:00.000-07:00

If I was a puppy dog in the early dawn
I'd make it to your house and sleep on your lawn
but I ain'ty no puppydog, you know my name
And the wind blows fortune, the wind blows pain
-tw

l found the perfect mummified rat...dried skin, full skeleton, even had it's tail.
It is really the tail that is the rat's downfall, otherwise we'd be petting them.
Well Cedar ate him, l had washed the rat and left it out in the sun to dry.
Reminds me of the time l found the perfect bat skeleton, l buried it in
a secret place, so secret l didn't even know where...

gully gang...

2008-07-31T13:43:00.000-07:00

Running through the graveyard
we laughed my friends and I
we swore we'd be together
until the day we died
until the day we died
-tw.

...rob cindy bobby, more later...

brotherhood...

2008-06-26T09:47:00.000-07:00

The stars are close and dear and l have joined
the brotherhood of the worlds.
And everythings holy -everything, even me.

-john steinbeck (grapes of wrath)

Huey died two weeks ago...
I've written about huey before - here...
My friend mike was at huey's bedside when he died,
he listened to him breath and not breath
he saw his breaths grow short and disappear,
he saw his pulse slow and stop.
Mike was there when he died
and he gave huey love to take with him.
There is beauty in this...

In uncertainty l am certain that underneath their topmost layers
of fraility men want to be good and want to be loved.
Indeed most of their vices are attempted short cuts to love,
When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents
and influence and genuis, if he dies unloved his life
must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror.
It seems to me that if you or l must choose between two courses
of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try to
live that our death brings no pleasure to the world.

-john steinbeck (east of eden)

shadow...

2008-06-24T17:25:00.000-07:00

I travel your length, like a river,
I travel your body, like a forest,
like a mountain path that ends at a cliff
I travel along the edge of your thoughts,
and my shadow falls from your white forehead,
my shadow shatters, and I gather the pieces
and go with no body, groping my way
-octavio paz

a little light...

2008-05-11T20:22:00.000-07:00

The spiritual body exists wherever passion is dreamed of

as an ideal instead of being feared like a malignant fever;

wherever its fatal character is welcomed, invoked or

imagined as a magnificent and desirable disaster instead

of simply a disaster. It lives in the lives of people who

think that love is their fate...that it is stronger and more

real than happiness, society, or morality.

-denis de rougemont

and lay down here beside me
let me hold you in the dirt
and you'll tremble as the flames
tear the throat out of the night

-tomwaits

I bought a cell phone a while back, came with a cheap built in camera
...not even 1 mp, 0.02 l think, but it's fast and dirty...l like it.

a hundred or so years ago when l studied photography (ACA)
we had to buy a 4x5 format camera. A big box with an expensive lens.
I liked that camera too... l would take it downtown calgary on sunday
mornings, set it up and when someone passed by l would ask if l
could take their picture.

...then a few years out of college l started using a 2 and a quarter format,
a mamiya c330. That was a beautiful camera, a workhorse, big bulky but it
felt like you meant it.

After the large format cameras l realized what l needed. Low light
situations, non intimidating and quiet cameras.

I only needed one lens, but it had to be fast, f1.4. Sometimes a rangefinder,

and always canon. Kinda like ford and chev. I was influenced by what
my daddy drove.
I have trouble with digital but l had to make the effort.
A few months ago l bought a 12mp canon g9. A nice little
camera maybe a little light - l've been tempted to glue a piece of
wood on it for the weight. I understand the appeal of digital,
theres a freedom, "care but don't care"

You can snap a hundred images, without thinking and
sometimes that is good.
but...there's a craft to film. The feel of it, the feel and excitement
of pulling a wet print out of the tray.
I don't know...

art in bloom...

2008-04-12T17:13:00.001-07:00

One way or another, we all have to find what best fosters
the flowering of our humanity in this contemporary life,
and dedicate ourselves to that.
- Joseph Campbell

...my next painting.

rites of sanctuary...

2008-04-05T16:18:00.000-07:00

All suddenly the wind comes soft,
And Spring is here again;
And the hawthorn quickens with buds of green
And my heart with buds of pain.

My heart all Winter lay so numb,
The earth so dead and frore,
That I never thought the Spring would come,
Or my heart wake any more.

But Winter’s broken and earth has woken
And the small birds cry again.
And the hawthorn hedge puts forth its buds,
And my heart puts forth its pain.

-rupert brooke (spring sorrow)

I walk the gully again. The winter months showed signs of settlers.
A camp by the river, ashes of a long night's fire and the start of a stone wall.
A plastic water pistol to ward off predators, in the dark we all look
menacing. There was a grocery cart as well, filled with cardboard boxes.
On the side written in black felt pen, "pictures from living room"

I've seen him in the early dawn, a huddled shape under a sleeping bag,
like a corpse waiting for an identity. When l go in the afternoon, he is gone,
sometimes his sleeping bag is stashed in the bushes along with empty bottles
of mouthwash. He has made a nest now, out of dried bramble, it looks comforting,
and warm and like it would be okay to go back there at night.

"For each person lives in layers of memory and desire
finding an outer form for an inner world space.
Querencia: the unique personality of our very own place.
Querencia: small subtle ways to make ourselves at home.
Querencia: the right of sanctuary to be one's self in.
Each must create by humble pride our den, nest, haven.
Rites of sanctuary find us freedom to be who we are.
-r.atkinson

...those words were written by my friend ron atkinson.
Ron is a brilliant and beautiful man.
...he knows love.

three black suits...

2008-03-08T17:36:00.000-08:00

The ribbon round your neck
against your skin that's pale as bone
It is my favorite thing you've worn
The band is playing our song
And we won't go home, 'til morn
-twaits

I've done four covers for the marc atkinson trio. The first one l did l made three little tin men
with instruments, they had moveable arms, legs and penis's. Penis's so big you could teach
time with them. The second cover l did is this one above, floor tile mosaic, it is my favorite
and this time l was discreet with the clock pieces. I also did a cover for marc's other band
the bills

l did this one while travelling in calgary, l carried around a little black suitcase
filled with bits of fabric, needles and lots of thread and if l had worn a overcoat
l would have looked very suspicious.

Life is whittled
Life's a riddle
Man's a fiddle that life plays on
twaits

Marc is good to me, he lets me do whatever l want.
On this fourth trio cover (which l've just finished) l decided on dolls.
So l carved six little hands, and three little heads and gillian gravenor made
three little bodies with three black suits. And cam purdon made a beautiful
little macaferri guitar. Now l'm not a carver but carving those hands
and heads was such a lovely thing ...like breathing skin.
This image above is one of the first l shot and it looks like a scene out
of a john wayne movie...

...and this is it, the marc atkinson trio, their fourth cd, it will be out soon, a few weeks l imagine.
Marc is a such a wonderful man, he just kindof glows...

family...

2008-01-27T16:37:00.001-08:00

I am family...

Then what to do to find the room where you are?
Deep cave of obsidian glowing with red, with green,
with black light,
high room in the lost tower where you sit spinning.

crack in the floor where the gold ring
waits to be found
-d.levertov

...another smoke

2008-01-01T20:02:00.000-08:00

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
e e cummings

...fresh snow in the gully, the smooth running water, a new year is arriving.

What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?
- George Eliot

"...l just want to see my two daughters." - Spike christmas eve

For some reason l am reminded of spike every now and then. It was many years ago that l
knew him, visited him and his dog butch, a big raggy german shepherd that stood by his side,
waiting for crumbs, waiting for stroking hands, waiting just for him. I would visit
spike and butch every couple of weeks while cycling around downtown,
and would bring smokes and once l brought some meager snack for butch.
I was over there one christmas eve, sharing my smokes, petting butch, shared
in spike's bottle of bad wine,a big generic green gallon bottle . At some point
spike said he was hungry so l volunteered to make him something to eat..
I remember not finding much in his cupboards - just like a fairly tale
there were crumbs with the inside of his fridge being a pale yellow
ketchup stained empty wasteland. All l remember finding was a cabbage
and decided that this would be find, l could boil it and spike wouldn't go hungry.
Well the inside of the cabbage was crawling with little white worms, so that kindof put a
damper on spike's appetitie and we just had another smoke instead. I listened to spike talk of
the neighbor, a young girl with child. He told me that she had been out of diapers, out of food,
out of money, so he gave her the few bucks that he had. He was so proud, so happy with his
gesture, it made me happy, made me feel glad to be there, to be with spike and butch,
to share in something so simple.

now when the streets get hungry, baby
you can almost hear them growl
someone's setting a place for you
when the dogs begin to howl
-twaits

hidden fires...

2007-11-23T11:29:00.001-08:00

"What is it?
The particularly poetic way of envisioning and crafting life has to do with firing
the world through carefully maintained inner flames, with witnessing in image,
memory, and language to the luminosity, the hidden fires in things.
-eileen gregory (summoning the familiar)

chocolate and coffee...

2007-11-12T22:42:00.001-08:00

Drag your wagon and your plow
Over the bones of the dead
Out among the roses and the weeds
You can never go back
And the answer is no
And wishing for it only
Makes it bleed
t.waits

When l was a kid, grade 4 l think, living in Port Hardy and running through the bush
playing "Gunsmoke" l had a toy deringer and wanted to be Marshall Matt Dillon.
One day me and the neighbor girls tried smoking a piece of straw. It was
hot but not great. My dad use to smoke sportsman plain, l loved the yellow package
and they always came with a little card inside, fishing flys or something.

I smoked cigarettes for years. They were great for meeting people on the street,
offer a cigarette and l was in. Alot of guys spend all day looking for cigarettes,
collecting butts off the streets and out of ashtrays, putting them in little dirty baggies
and re-rolling the tobacco. They taste awful.

Then l started rolling my smokes, bought drum tobacco because "tailor-mades"
seemed so deceitful. And when l worked at the homeless shelter, everyone wanted
a smoke, "got a smoke, got a smoke", well Drum tobacco could last longer.

now if your mama saw you smokin why she'd kick your ass
put it out you little juvenile and put it out fast
t.waits

I went to a pipe ten years ago, l loved the wood, the feel of digging into a leather
bag for a pinch of tobacco, it felt so good. And of course the smell, no not the
smelly fragrant kind, but Erinmore from Ireland, smelling of chocolate and coffee.

I have decided to give it up, well gave it up Nov 1st. It is sort of hard,
the pipe was like a friend and foolish as l may sound, it felt like a power of sorts.
If l think about it, l can imagine it very clearly, filling the pipe and drawing
in the smoke. It is still very clear and probably will be for a long time.
I will do it...but l feel sad about it.

You'll soon forget the
Tune that you play
For that is the part
You throw away
Ah, that is the part
You throw away

the moon is down...

2007-11-02T10:23:00.001-07:00

What's he building in there?
What the hell is he building in there?

He has subscriptions to those magazines.
He never waves when he goes by.
He's hiding something from the rest of us.
He's all to himself. I think I know why.
-twaits

...well, from that blog post a couple of columns down, one week, a pile of rusty metal
and here it is, my little sailor boy.

ps. ...if your in Parksville, go see the "Assemblage" show at the parksville arts council

a cat in the woods...

2007-10-28T10:15:00.001-07:00

the moon is full here every night
and I can bathe here in his light
the leaves will bury every year
and no one knows I'm gone
-t.waits

...the tents are gone from the gully, there is no one sleeping under the stars anymore
all that is left is some clothes, old tarp, a black shoe, empty mouthwash bottles - the
generic kind. And then there is this stuffed kitty, pinkish with a long monkey like tail,
someone's stuffed animal. I imagine it gave them comfort, laying in the tent in the gully,
black with rain pouring down, monster steps creeping by, no sleep,
just hold the kitty, cry...

scrap pile...

2007-10-23T18:53:00.000-07:00

He has no friends. But he gets a lot of mail.
I'll bet he spent a little time in jail.
I heard he was up on the roof last night, signalling with a flashlight.
And what's that tune he's always whistling?

What's he building in there?
What's he building in there?
We have a right to know.

t.waits

...give me a week,
and this will be something.

homemade pie...

2007-09-29T11:28:00.000-07:00

If you go down to the woods today, You're sure of a big surprise
If you go down to the woods today, You'd better go in disguise.

I take the boy for a walk every morning 6;45am to the gully.
A stream carries the water down from the mountains and runs through the
gully. It also carries bears, l see their blackberry filled scat, like a big
homemade pie. People go to the gully to drink, and smoke, l see their
empty cans, and their empty soiled pants. People sleep in
the gully, there are now two tents, trying hard to hide behind bushes but
standing out like safety pins. There is also a couple of people sleeping
under the stars, sleeping under the clouds, a blanket thrown over them
like their dead. I go by every morning and wave and say "good morning".
He raises his sleepy arm, his heavy drowsy head and
waves back, "good morning".

For ev'ry bear that ever there was, Will gather there for certain, because
Today's the day the Teddy Bears have their picnic.

breathing heavy...

2007-09-07T22:07:00.001-07:00

The seasons can turn on a dime,
Somehow I forget every time;
These things you've given me
They always will stay
They're broken... but I'll never throw them away
-tomwaits

...these are Sunshine's goats. beautiful animals, they seem so clever, almost tricky

...this one reminds me of coming home from school and watching
"The Flying Nun" everyday.

Martha had goats too...
I use to visit Martha, she lived on many acres in Bowser and
she had many goats. She was in her eighties, out digging in her vast garden,
herding her goats, tending her chickens, chopping her wood. I can't describe her
place, nor her, but it was so complete, "quality without a name".
Her beautiful old sheds and outbuildings, turned silver with age, dancing like.,
her knarly old fruit trees breathing heavy, the soil in her garden
you could smell the richness from the highway. And Martha, silver too, like
the wood, her eyes still bright and filled with want.
I heard from Sunshine that Martha is in a home now.
It seems so wrong, so sad, Martha should be on her land, she should
have died there on her land,in her garden, with her goats.

Maybe when our story's over
We'll go where it's always spring
The band is playing our song again
And all the world is green
-twaits

involuntary stay...

2007-09-07T21:24:00.001-07:00

...dreamt that Paula sent me a note telling me that she had
bad pneumonia and then went on to tell me that love
wasn't about loving the other person lots
but about loving yourself lots.
( journal-sept2000)

Clayton just got out of a involuntary stay in the psych ward. He looks
hollow, sunken, his skin sits on his face like a rubber mask.
I've seen Clayton frequently over the last few months. He gets
angry sometimes, paranoid thinking that everyone is staring at him
He came by one night, angry, angry at his ex girlfriend for not letting
him get his stuff, angry at people who owed him money. I'm patient
with Clayton but his anger made me angry. "Don't bring your
anger here", l said. He followed me into the house, gave me a hug
and started crying.

shinning through...

2007-08-15T22:24:00.000-07:00

And it's you, and it's you,
and it's you, and it's you, and it's you
And it's you, and it's you, shoo-be-doo, ba-da-da.
-tomwaits

whe the soul of a man
is born in the country
there are nets flung at
it to hold back it's light.
You talk to me of nationality,
language, religion.
I shall try to fly by those nets.

-jamesJoyce

...l use to think that you could see the soul,
where the skin stretches tight over the protruding hip bone,
that is where the soul is shining through.

whisper...

2007-08-07T22:10:00.001-07:00

Behold, l do not give lectures
or a little clarity.
When l give, l give myself.

-walt whitman

artdrifters is drifting...
I've given a number of courses this summer, dolls on Denman island, bricolage near
Barkerville, and lately a five day course at Red Deer college.
My students have made me think, making me ponder. It all seems so simple
yet l can't find the words.
"The least strained and most natural movements of the soul are the most beautiful"
-(montaigne)
This quote seems to sum up what l am trying to teach. It's a way of life,
a way of being. A way of connecting to whatever your doing.
I tell them to stop thinking, anyone can learn to draw and paste papers
on a board in a pleasant manner, but show us that you care, show us
what is important to you. Show us your passion.
But...what l'm pondering is how do you teach this.
l have had wonderful students, who do beautiful things.
And l thank them.
cause l'm getting better, l'm getting closer, but l can never get right
there. It's impossible, it's a contradiction of what l'm trying to teach.
It's like a whisper...

cats and rats...

2007-07-26T20:01:00.000-07:00

Blow wind blow - blow me away here
blow wind blow
-tw

This old barn sat behind the house l lived in for all of the nineties. It was in Coombs on
five acres. An oasis of beauty. I learned to plant flowers there, planted things every year,
it became a full time job just to water everyday. And l built things out of rocks l collected,
flower beds that looked like grave tombs, and a set of steps that took me two years to build.
The steps were so natural that you expected salmon to be swimming up them.

I had chickens and roosters, never collected the eggs just let them wander around pecking
things and then they'd sleep in the big cedar tree. I remember when the chicks were learning
to fly up into the tree at night. On of them was a slow learner so l put up a step ladder
to help him. I remember having to shoot a deer that had been hit on the highway,
"right behind the ear" the lady told me. I remember the cop having to shoot another
deer another time and she didn't shoot it right behind the ear, it bled to death.

My cat loved it there, she killed and ate something everyday, mostly mice but
bunnies when they were in season. Occasionally l had rats, in my basement
and in my studio. I set up a trap in the basement and learnt that you had to
use peanut butter and you had to tape it down with electrical tape and then l
also tied the trap to a post. I heard the snap of the trap one night and went
running down. The rat was trapped- his front legs and his head and he was
squirming around like a rat. I picked up the nearest spear like object and hurled
it at him. It was a poor shot and he wiggled out and got away.

The barn, the barn was beautiful. The first couple of years it was filled with
wild cats. After the cats died off it was filled with rats and then they died off.
Then it was mine, l pulled so many old boards out of that barn l'm surprised
it stood.
It was so hard to move away from that home. l tried for years. I thought l
was too comfortable, l thought that l was spoiled. I tried wandering away
from it at times but like smoking it didn't work. So l moved away
for a year to Prince Albert, Saskatchewan to work in a homeless shelter.
I don't miss it anymore, rarely think of it, but
l have a spot inside me that glows from being there.

sound of feet...

2007-07-21T22:55:00.000-07:00

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain - and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
-robert frost

color of summer...

2007-07-21T22:50:00.002-07:00

So close your eyes
Open you heart
To one who's dreaming of you
You can never hold back spring
Baby
-tw

...earth's colors in the early morning, seeping up out of the ground after a hot summer's night.

a small fire...

2007-07-04T21:42:00.000-07:00

Well I don't need anybody, because I learned, I learned to be alone
Well I said anywhere, anywhere, anywhere I lay my head, boys
Well I gonna call my home
-tomwaits

...l could smell the smoke ten minutes before l found him
I was taking the boy for a walk, to the gully around 6:30 am.
We crossed the stream and saw him, a man sitting, squatting crossed legged in front of a small fire.
Little round logs burning slowly with smoke, he had collected some rocks to put around the fire
and there was a blacken pot next to it. He put his hand up against his head when l approached
kept it there like a shield, didn't say too much, neither of us did, just some light words.
He must be from out of town, else he would have hidden himself further north in the gully
and l think he wanted to hide.

swimming...

2007-06-07T21:44:00.001-07:00

Close your eyes and count to ten
I will got and hid but then
Be sure to find me.I want you to find me
And we'll play all over
We will play all over again

tomwaits

When l was 6 or 7 we moved to Rumble Beach (now Port Alice). A small townhouse kindof
town with a small wading pool just up the street from us. It was round and green and
about a foot deep. I wandered in that pool, sat down in it, and finally layed on my stomach
with my arms stretched out and my face down holding my breath.
I was swimming. I held my breath and l was swimming.
I was so excited that l ran home and told my mom to come and see me swim.

There's a baby swimming in Amy's tummy right now and when it's born, when
he or she comes running to me, arms flapping, dripping wet and telling me to come
see them swim, l will.

just draw it...

2007-06-07T21:33:00.000-07:00

There is nothing ugly in art except that which
is without character, that is to say that which
offers no outer or inner truth.

-rodin

Whenever l give a workshop l always tell my students..."anyone can draw"
And l believe it, you pay enough and you could get a monkey to draw.

Now l know that a well executed drawing can be very lovely and beautiful
but look at your fridge, the only pictures that make it up there are drawn by a
two year old. Why - well they are drawn from the heart, drawn with emotion.

You can always recognize those well executed drawings copied from photographs,
stiff and without life. The sad thing is were all afraid to draw, to create,
its taken from us in grade seven. If you see something, feel something,
remember something, just draw it, draw it in all its stumbleness, draw it
awkardly, draw it blindfolded, just draw it from the heart.

deep patterns...

2007-05-21T11:20:00.000-07:00

To work our way toward a shared and living
language once again, we must first
learn how to discover patterns which
are deep and capable of generating life.

-timeless way of building

It's been awhile since clayton has come by. Everynow and then
l see him riding down the alley on his bike.
Slung over his sholders, a black platic bag stretched tight with bottles.
It's alot of work collecting bottles, and for very little money.
l see people dumping off there truck load of beer cases at the depot
why not just leave them in the alley and put a smile on
someone's face.

What some men will do here for diamonds
What some men will do here for gold
They're wounded but they just keep on climbing
And sleep by the side of the road

There's a hole in the ladder, a fence we can climb
Mad as a hatter, you're thin as a dime
Go out to the meadow, the hills are a-green
Sing me a rainbow, steal me a dream

-tomwaits

mystery of birth...

2007-05-20T14:24:00.000-07:00

mylife

We can never be born enough.
We are human beings; for whom birth is a
supremely welcome mystery,
the mystery of growing:
the mystery which happens only and whenever
we are faithful to ourselves.

-e.e.cummings

cedar...

2007-05-15T11:46:00.000-07:00

With all beings and all things
we shall be as relatives.

-sioux

the orange chair...

2007-04-19T22:24:00.000-07:00

art is a burning bush that both shelters
and makes visible our profounder longings.
-j.winterson

...the orange chair has been with me for a decade and some.
It is a dear old friend because of the memories buried deep in its grain, in the layers of paint.
mike labrie had it first...back in 1995

after mike died l received the chair, well the orange chair and his sewing machine.
the chair still stands, the sewing machine still sews

...years later while wandering around the streets of victoria l heard some shouting
crossing the street l find Alister sitting cross legged on the sidewalk
I asked him what he was shouting about...

I did a painting of Alister ("alister starbuck and his book of revelations")
Near the bottom left l put a color print of the orange chair.
I ran into alister a year or so later and he asked me why l put a picture of a chair in the painting.
"...a place for you to sit" l told him

the chair sits in our kitchen now, every now and then l am reminded of its power.

"Places which are comfortable are comfortable because
they have no inner contradictions,
because there is no little restlessness
disturbing them."

(timeless way of building)

bone of winter...

2007-03-20T11:43:00.000-07:00

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel
the bone structure in the landscape
-the loneliness of it -
the dead feeling of winter.
Something waits beneath it -
the whole story doesn't show.

-andrew wyeth

dying with love...

2007-03-18T10:43:00.001-07:00

"In uncertainty l am certain that underneath their topmost layers of fraility
men want ot be good and want to be loved. Indeed most of their vices
are attempted short cuts to love. When a man comes to die, no matter
what his talents and influence and genius, if he dies unloved his life
must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror. It seems to me
that if you or l must choose between two courses of thought or action,
we should remember our dying and try to live that our death
brings no pleasure to the world."

-john steinbeck (east of eden)

dancing and smoking...

2007-03-03T23:33:00.000-08:00

we were dancin' in the slaughterhouse
If you swing along the beltway
then you skid along the all day
cause I went a little crazy
and I sat upon a high chair
And I'm smokin like a diesel
way out here
Blow wind blow...
-tomwaits

My tobacco smells like chocolate.
Every 12 hours l sit outside and smoke my pipe. At night l hear the
dogs bark and in the morning l hear the crows caw.
These pages are so constrained, so tight, l want to just
scribble and stratch like a kid, tear a hole in these pages.
Maybe it's because l went to a dance tonight,
dancers from the east coast, made me feel glorious.
Made amy dance in the house, she looked so beautiful...

baseball cards...

2007-02-19T23:50:00.000-08:00

...more about my baseball cards later.

love and a rusty axe...

2007-02-05T23:37:00.000-08:00

I wanna believe
In the mercy of the world again
Make it rain
Make it rain
-tomwaits

I have been repairing, rebuilding my fence...
old wood, all wet, some rotten, using logs amy and l pulled from the beach,
some too long so had to take a rusty axe and chop them in half.
There is something wonderful about all of this, building,
adding layer on layer, like art, like life, like love...

Black Beach...

2007-02-05T22:17:00.000-08:00

...and then l asked him with my eyes to ask again yes
and then he asked me would l yes...
and first l put my arms around him yes
and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes
and his heart was going like mad
and yes l said yes l will yes.
-jamesjoyce

making promises...

2006-12-26T18:03:00.000-08:00

I am leaving now, l am going to make some promises, some promises of love...

spitting off the bridge to see how far it is...

2006-12-26T18:02:00.000-08:00

Thank you C.C.

when l am a man...

2006-12-17T00:20:00.000-08:00

When l am a man, then l shall be a hunter
When l am a man, then l shall be a harpooner
When l am a man, then l shall be a canoe-builder
When l am a man, then l shall be a carpenter
When l am a man, then l shall be a artisan
Oh father! ya ha ha ha
-Kwakiutl Indian (from The Family of Man)

...sometimes l remember that there is magic and mystery to this world.

canadian tire revisited...

2006-12-05T16:06:00.000-08:00

well you're high on top
of your mountain of woe
come on up to the house
well you know you should surrender
but you can't let go
you gotta come on up to the house
-tomwaits

...in case you've forgotten to lick the stamps.
my canadian tire monies art-trade

every saturday night...

2006-12-05T15:16:00.000-08:00

I let the dog out
But he didn't come back
Stood on the corner until
My feet got wet
-tomwaits

This is Huey.
I've known him since 1993, use to chop his firewood back then.
and sometimes he would get me to fix something at Muriels.
Muriel is his girlfriend and he calls her "girl".
Huey has the most patience l have ever seen, Muriel doesn't.
I remember driving them both to Calgary one year.
Took us all day and all night and Muriel got very tired.

I have done three paintings of huey.
He is a beautiful man.

and he gave me a ring
that was worn by his mother
and he takes me out dancin
every saturday night.
-tomwaits

this moment...

2006-12-04T13:48:00.000-08:00

This moment is all there is
-rumi

Inconsistency...

2006-12-01T21:09:00.000-08:00

Mike. Doesn't work for me anymore.
I'm too old now.
I get to wonder about tomorrow, will it ever come?

Ken. Why do you say that?

Mike. Inconsistency of living. Do you ever think of that? Inconsistency?
I came here thirty years ago.
My brother told me l'm lucky to have a place like this or something like that.
Thiry years.
I've got little or nothing to show for it.
I just dig out some damned old junk from the refrigerator,
whatever the hell l can find to eat.
And then l go to bed.
Eat and sleep.
Sleep is my narcotic.
To forget the past. Forget the future.

...

2006-11-25T22:09:00.000-08:00

And when i'm buried and in my grave
tell me then so i will know
your tears may fall to make love grow
the briar and the rose
-tomwaits

Sharing Thursa...

2006-10-22T13:50:00.000-07:00

Oh it's time time time, and it's time time time
And it's time time time that you love
And it's time time time
-tom waits

I took a two day workshop last week, "non violent physical crisis intervention". It didn't give me any new moves to try on Amy but it did remind me of my brother and wrestling. Growing up with him, we fought, almost everyday, wrestling actually. We would jump on each other, sit on each other and pound away at arms and legs until they become numb. Sometimes we would get very mad at each other. We also shared our cousin Thursa, whenever they visited one of us would go off in the woods to kiss Thrusa. One time l took her down to the beach to kiss and my brother followed and said it was his turn. It seemed fair so l said okay. Our very last fight was when we each threw a fist, he hit me in the face, l hit him in the face. We just sort of stared at each other and that was the last time we ever fought. I worked with him a while ago, somedays l would get very mad at his gruffness and it would make me sad. I love my brother, l have come to appreciate him in the last couple of years, l appreciate his gruffness, l can see the love in his heart, l can see the twinkle of life in his eyes. It makes me cry...l want him to know he is loved...

broken cigarettes...

2006-10-18T17:55:00.000-07:00

All i need's my railroad boots,
And my leather jacket,
As i say goodbye to ruby's arms,
Although my heart is breaking,
-tom waits

...the hood is out of jail, eight months in, now tougher, bigger, and dropping by to see if l have any work. I don't really care about the hood. but Clayton came by and l do care about clayton. He hasn't been by in quite awhile. Came by last night, anxious and with the sky falling sat and smoke a couple broken cigarettes. Laid off from the fish plant, cops looking for him, seems he assaulted someone, says he is looking for all of the people that owe him money. Tiffany won't let him see his daughter. Tears came to his eyes, "they should have put me in the hospital for a couple of days." Clayton just needs to be cared for, just a couple of days, someone to care for him...

life...

2006-09-29T10:04:00.000-07:00

"The purpose of art is not a rarified, intellectual distillate.
-It is life, intensified, brilliant life."
-alain arias

...

2006-09-23T22:22:00.000-07:00

-john and claire at the queens

"...when the story of the hero's wound is made part of the story of desire,
when the weaving activity of the soul, the work of memory and
imagination, the weaving of one's story, is informed
and suffused with hero's violent spiritual flame."

-eileen gregory (summoning the familiar)

14 years...

2006-09-23T00:33:00.000-07:00

"Sing, sweetness, to the last palpitation of the evening and the breeze."
-st.john perse

...my cat died a week ago.
I had my cat since she was a kitten, and we lived on a acerage for her first ten years. She was a great hunter, would bring me daily mice. I remember the first year she caught a bunny, l tried to save it, put it in a box with grass and left it on the porch overnight. The bunny never lived. My cat would kill and eat bunnies, would eat the whole thing, skull, bones and would only leave the stomach. Once she played with a bunny for hours it seemed until finally l had to kill the poor little rabbit. I think my cat was delighted with this, licked my hand as if l had finally learned what l had to do to eat. I never took my cat to a vet, saved the one time to get her fixed. The one time she got really sick l just put her on my bed for a week feeding her with dishes of milk and soft stuff.
I never named my cat, l couldn't think of a name that didn't sound stupid...so l just called her beauty sometimes, fathead when l was mad at her. She always slept with me, under my arm against my chest, didn't matter when l slept, she just would come and join me.
She stopped killing things after l returned from prince albert. I had left her with a friend of a friend for a year while l was away. She was so sickly when l got her back but the first night back, it was as if we had never been apart.
She was very sick the last two or three weeks before she died. She stopped purring. She stopped eating. it makes me cry. Amy and Mike helped me look after her, they loved her while l was away. She loved them.
My cat was so beautiful.

my cat...

2006-09-15T22:35:00.000-07:00

l've had my cat for around fourteen years now, she is beautiful. I am trying to make her feel comfortable and l am hoping she is peaceful, she is dying.

huey and muriel...

2006-08-20T20:04:00.000-07:00

"My head is spinning round, my heart is in my shoes, yeah
I went and set the Thames on fire, oh, now l must come back down
She's laughing in her sleeve boys, I can feel it in my bones
Oh, but anywhere l'm gonna lay my head, l'm gonna call my home"
-tomwaits

Huey and Muriel

mylove...

2006-07-28T10:15:00.000-07:00

In a land there's a town
And in that town there's
A house
And in that house
There's a woman
And in that woman
There's a heart I love
-tw

And shall not loveliness be loved forever.
-euripides

wally...

2006-07-28T10:05:00.000-07:00

sticks and stones will break my bones,
but i always will be true, and when
your mama is dead and gone,
i'll sing this lullabye just for you,
and what becomes of all the little boys,
who never comb their hair
-tw

I am going through years of photos, years of stories, trying to put them together someway.
Many many years ago l started photographing on the street, just quick and hurried, like something that would be taken away from me if l wasn't fast enough. Then l met wally, he was the first that l spent time with, that l got to know.
Walter Skulsky died a very lonely man on a mattress in a rooming house. My first encounter with wally was at a corner store. Exchange of small talk and cigarettes. I asked him if l could come over to where he lived and photograph him. Next day l arrived greeted at the door by wally in his well worn long johns. "Hi, remember me, can l come in. I have some cigarettes,"
I set up this big 4x5 camera and shot very quickly as l was sure he would kick me out. We then sat at a small table, it was just a room, a bare mattress, a empty fridge and the bathroom down the hall.
Wally was always quiet never initiating a conversation, however he answered most of the questions l posed to him. I took prints of wally to him and hung them on his wall, l must have seemed very unusual to him. One time he was nude. I took my place across the table as l normally did. I didn't take any pictures.
"fukin, fukin buttons, where am l going to put all these fukin buttons, on my fukin ass." This was wally's reply to my question as to why he didn't wear any of the buttons l had brought him. I always brought him weird stuff, chocolate bar, a old radio.
I went away for the summer, travelled across canada by train. I came to see him, his rooming house was empty, the neighbor next door said they buried him last week, her husband had found him dead.
It struck that wally had died without love, without knowing someone out there loved him.
He died of loneliness...

Bricolage...

2006-07-16T21:17:00.000-07:00

Let's put a new coat of paint on this lonesome old town
Set 'em up, we'll be knockin' em down.
You wear a dress, baby, and I'll wear a tie.
We'll laugh at that old bloodshot moon in that burgundy sky
-T.W.

I've just finished giving a five day bricolage workshop, go to artdriftersand see their wonderful work.

sleeping with letters...

2006-07-02T20:50:00.000-07:00

a 12 year old's diary...

2006-06-22T11:49:00.000-07:00

"i'll get a dollar from my mamas purse
and buy that skull and crossbones ring
and you can wear it around your neck
on an old piece of string"
-tw

Clayton doesn't bring me canadian tire money anymore. ...don't you remember, scroll down and find it, my steal of a deal. Have you forgotten what it feels like to lick a envelope, to send someone something real.

"Now the street's turning blue, the dogs are barking and the night has come
And there's tears that are falling from your blue eyes now"
-tw

...sitting in a victoria cementary the other day smoking my pipe l realized if you were homeless how the cementary would be a good place to sleep at night, there is a cold water tap, and the odd cement shelter, very quiet. It also dawned on me how difficult it must be to find a washroom, no one wants to let you use the washroom in the city. Goddamn l even find it difficult so if you can imagine being perhaps a little scruffy or perhaps not looking like the ideal upstanding type of person, damn.

It's the cool of the evening the sun's goin' down,
i want to hold you in my arms i want to push you around,
i want to break your bottle and spill out all your charms,
come on baby we'll set off all the burglar alarms,
goin' downtown down downtown."
-tw

I also had another thought in the cementary. Every year or so l use to think "boy was l stupid" but...l would then realized what l had learned in the year, l would feel that l was wiser. The last couple of years l didn't get that feeling, yes the stupid one maybe but not the wiser one, until this year...

You see these flower pictures, taken with my cheapdigitalcamera and they are blurry because it is stuck on macro and l can't figure out how to turn that off. The flower pics, like what a 12 year old would put on the front of their diary and it would be so easy to turn this blog into something like what a 12 year old would write in their diary.

Down the shore everything's alright,
you're with your baby on a saturday night,
don't you know that all my dreams come true,
when i'm walkin' down the street with you,
sing sha la la la la la sha la la la.
-tw

My friends ronanddonna, their life, their love, it makes me thrive for that great love.

Le Que Sabe...

2006-06-18T16:18:00.000-07:00

"...found an old dog and he seems to like me."
tw

"Sprung from the loins of Aunt Daisy"
This is a painting l did many years ago of Sid Barron. Sid was a painter and for many years a cartoonist for the victoria times and toronto star. Sid was pretty incredible, bright, funny, and always a joy to be around. He told me the story of his aunt when l was photographing him, told me that her name was Daisy and that she was wonderful, full of laughter and always so good to Sid. It was many years later that he found out that aunt Daisy was really his mother.
I ran into Sid's wife "Jesi" last week and she told me that Sid had died last april.
Le Que Sabe

shelter...

2006-06-10T07:34:00.000-07:00

...when journeying one must never halt until
wood and shelter are obtained.

rolling a drum...

2006-06-02T10:07:00.003-07:00

Hush a wild violet, hush a band of gold
Hush you're in a story I heard somebody told
Tear the promise from my heart, tear my heart today
You have found another, oh baby I must go away
So hang down your head for sorrow, hang down your head for me
-tomwaits

This is george. I met george at the homeless shelter in prince albert. He lived there for about five months, was ever so queit and gentle and slowly we became acquainted.
He fell in love with a girl in PA and for a couple of months was so blissful, so in love, a smile that you could walk on. Then he had to go to manitoba for the summer, do some guiding, make some money. He showed up at the shelter a couple months later back from guiding, eager to see his love.
...but his love had found another, in his absence her heart had not grown fonder, her heart had wandered and found someone else.
George was devastated, he mourned this love for many weeks, he drowned himself in whatever liquor he could find, he started coming into the shelter drunk, but because he was still the gentle and quiet george l would let him in and he would quietly and sadly go to sleep.
My last few days at the shelter l remember sitting with george in the lobby just quietly and with few words visiting. I remeamber rolling a drum cigarette for him. Now yes l know how horrible cigarettes are but if there was anything good in them it was this, it was rolling george a drum, an act so personal and almost intimate. He shook my hand and said goodbye, he shook my hand with warmth and friendship. I hope George is back guiding in manitoba, l hope George is in love.

avon lady brings love...

2006-05-28T23:27:00.000-07:00

"In art, intentions are not sufficient and as we say in spanish,
Love must be proved by facts and not by reasons.
What one does is what counts and not what one
had the intention of doing."
-picasso, 1923

Oh ken! My mother's new boyfriend is a real ass-hole...Don't you wanna come over here and marry her for me?
(Claire, from a 1996 postcard)
The painting above is of sean and claire one night in a empty old house, they played dress-up, they played house.

Clayton continues to come by almost everyday. The hood and his girl do not. The hood is in jail again and the girl has a new hood, saw them pulling a trailer and old boat by hand up the alley one early morning. The price of metal is up. Clayton has a new girlfriend and one night of garbage can cruising he found a old ring, a old avon ring. He gave the new girlfriend the ring and she wears it. He seems pretty happy and told me that he even went to one of the respectful relationship meetings he is suppose to attend. They talked about abuse, all kinds of abuse.

This is bill and thelma. It took me ten years before l finally got a good photograph of them. Bill reminds me of tom waits with his thick wavey hair and gravely voice and sometimes even the words he speaks. The night l took these photographs bill spoke about turning sixty five next year and how depressed he was of this. "If l had a gun ken...l would kill myself." he said. but he had been drinking and l knew and he knew that it was loud talk. Bill was full of tender emotion that night, telling me what a good person l was, what a good friend. Even thelma joined in, wanting to smother my cheeks with kisses, wet dog eared kisses. "Oh stop it thelma" bill would say. "Leave him alone for god's sake." They were both tender. Not long after that night thelma had a bad stroke, ended up on the mainland in a long term care hospital.

"Someone told me there's a girl out there
with love in her eyes
and flowers in her hair."
-lz

sailing...

2006-05-22T23:49:00.000-07:00

...izzy, l did this painting a few years ago. And now l am preparing a show, a series of paintings of love. So this other photograph of isabelle l will paint. ...because what l remember is, through her sea of pain izzy has this incredible love for humanity.

3. final story of mickey

2006-05-17T21:40:00.000-07:00

"...no one gets to see exactly what we see." (amyrubin)

..."Let's go Mickey...remember today...we're going for a drive." I had even marked it on his calendar, a big X, Sept.27th. Hauling Mickey's clothes out of the closet he asked for his dungees. "You mean your jeans Mickey?" A plain white shirt, and his brown sweater. "Can you shave me Kenny?" Well we got out his old plugged up electric razor and l proceeded to shave him. His face was like a hot water bottle, warm and rubbery. "Don't forget the moustache." "Watch the sideburns...feel it." he said. Save for the aftershave lotion Mickey shuffles to the bathroom to comb his hair. A young boy getting ready for sunday school.
The first 15 minutes were held in silence as we drove around calgary with both of us filling the car with a heavy fog of smoke, Export A plain. My question breaks the silence. "Get out much Mickey?" "Naw, don't get out much...the guys in the park..like flys...get a bottle, get a bottle."
Lived in New York, Mickey did, until they kicked him out for an expired work visa. He used to frequent High Park and listen to political rallys until 4 or 5 am. Drinking red wine and fcking snake on the canals in Montreal. Five years in a prison war camp in europe and escaping three times, once under potatoe peels. His boxing days, winning the bantam weight division in Saint John in 1936. From coast to coast Mickey has worked and played only to pass out in calgary and wind up in the Colonel Belcher Veteran's Hospital.
Two weeks later l stop in to see Mickey again. He remembers our car ride. I change his calendar again.
Mickey's friend "Jello"

smiling and shaking...

2006-05-06T19:31:00.000-07:00

...one of my first adventures with mixed media- black and white photographs, tissue paper, a little paint, early 90's l believe. The photograph l took in calgary, was walking down ninth ave and came upon this friendly sort, "Come on, were going to sit...do some drinkin." he said. I followed him to this open tin shack, three walls and a roof, all of tin, a old couch and some upturned buckets. Three of them, all friendly with one of them silent and shaking. They proceeded to puncture a can of lysol and drain it into a gallon wine jug of water. A swig every fifteen minutes seemed to be the routine and when passed to me l politely declined.
Years later while working at a homeless shelter in Prince Albert l noticed that the lysol has been replaced with mouthwash, lysterine.
This is dave, he came into the shelter late one night, dropped off by social services. He was seventy, he was scared, he was shaking. I smiled at him and told him not to worry, l told him things would be okay. I gave him a empty room and wished him a good sleep. A couple of months later dave gave me this poem he had wrote.
"I wandered Lonely as a cloud
That floats on high over hill and dale
When all at once l saw a host
A host of golden daffodils
Beside the trees Below the lake
There l saw myself a fluttering in the breeze."

Dave ended up in a private resthome of sorts way out in the country. I don't think he liked it, couldn't get to town easily and sometimes he needed to get a drink or to talk with other people.

"So what becomes of all the little boys, who run away from home, well the
world just keeps gettin' bigger, once you get out on your own, so here's to
all the little boys, the sandman takes you where, you'll be sleepin' with a
pillowman, on the nickel over there.
-tom waits

rust and canadian tire paper...

2006-05-04T22:07:00.000-07:00

Step right up, step right up, step right up,
Everyone's a winner, bargains galore
That's right, you too can be the proud owner
Of the quality goes in before the name goes on
One-tenth of a dollar, one-tenth of a dollar, we got service after sales
You need perfume? we got perfume, how 'bout an engagement ring?
Something for the little lady, something for the little lady,
Something for the little lady, hmm
-tom waits
clayton was by again today and gave me some more canadian tire money and it got me thinking. I want you all to send me your canadian tire money. Yes come on, you will never use it, it will sit in your glovebox or kitchen drawer until you move out, you'll leave it with the dirt and dust. So l got a deal for ya. Send me your canadian tire money and l will send you some rusty metal. Yes yes it's true l give clayton double the value in coin but unless your homeless l will give you a rusty metal stranger instead. The more c.t. money you send, the better the shape. Here's a couple of examples of what a couple pieces of C T paper will get you.

So for those that would like some rusty stranger but don't live in canada, well l don't know what your gonna do, send me something that would equal this, something you have found, a old piece of glass, rusty bottle caps, old postcards, jackknives, old fabric, comeon doit. Here's my address; kflett, 3728-6th Ave.,Port Alberni, BC., canada, V9Y-4M1

this bikeman made from rusty cans and given to my bestfriend mike. You would need to have quite a wad of C.T. paper to get something like this.

The Great Sea...

2006-05-04T15:12:00.000-07:00

The Great Sea
has sent me adrift
it moves me as a weed
in the great river
earth and the great weather
move me
have carried me away
and moved my inward parts
with joy
-eskimo shaman

vacum salesman...

2006-05-01T16:24:00.000-07:00

...the hood and his girl haven't been around this week but...the other night a guy trying to sell me two twenty gallon cans of paint. Then at one am l'm outside routing through my rusty metal like a rat in peanut butter and l hear a shout from across the dark street. "Hey, Hey." It's the paint guy again, this time he has a vacum in hand. "Hey, you want to buy a vacum - ten buck." "No thanks, l'm busted ." He looks across the street at the neighbors house..."Guess their asleep hey." "what you doing up so late, can't sleep?" "Ya" l say and then ask him why he is up so late. "Can't sleep either." he says. Damn l should had ask him what the hell his is doing selling vacum cleaners at one in the morning.

Clayton was by again yesterday - everyday. He didn't bring me anymore dead lawnmowers but he did bring me some more canadian tire money. Boy, one day l'm gonna walk into CT with a wad so thick the tellers will cry.
clayton missed his "respectful relationship" meeting, and his probation meeting. I told him to tell them that he is homeless. "I am homeless" he says.

"A DragonSlayor's Whisper" (rusty metal, leather, bees wax, cat)

s i l e n c e

2006-05-01T16:04:00.000-07:00

There is a mystery too deep for words;
the silence of the dead comes nearer to it,
Being wisest in the end. What word shall hold
the sorrow sitting at the heart of things,
The majesty and patience of the truth.
Silence will serve; it is an older tongue:
The empty room, the moonlight on the wall.
Speak for the unreturning traveller.
-john hall wheelock

2. The nauseating fog...

2006-05-01T15:57:00.000-07:00

I remember when l left
Without bothering to pack
You know l up and left with
Just the clothes l had on my back
Now l'm sorry for what l've done
And l'm out here on my own
Well it was a train that took me away from here
But a train can't bring me home
-tom waits

"You should become an accountant...good money in that." Mickey informs me as l sit next to him on the bed. The room stinks of smoke, heavy smoke like a sort of fog, only nauseating. TV is on blaring out some obscure soap opera. The heat must be cranked up as the room is almost unbearable, combined with the fog, creating a boiler room.
"Yap, yap, yap." Mickey replies in response to his marital status. Mickey was married once however left his wife because of his mother in law. "Always yapping, yap, yap, yap." He was married for eight years and in turn created two off spring, a boy and a girl. Funny l can't picture Mickey being a father, sure a husband, as l picture him being the wild sailor, money in his pocket, melting some girls heart, with his cute boyish looks, promises of things to come. A real ladies man. "Yap, yap, yap, yapping mother in law." Mickey tells me his daughter doesn't drink. "Wife never did either...my son's a bum...always borrowing money...the bum won't get any money out of me." Mickey tells me he hasn't seen either for about eight years. We both remain quiet, each of us pondering the last bits of our conversation, like sherlock holmes and watson trying to piece it all together. Both having different reasons.
Mickey offers me another smoke, Export A plain, shit, l decline thinking l might have just lost one lung because of his damn smokes.
I question Mickey's choice of clothes as he's wearing his pajama's, colonel belcher specials. "Got drunk yesterday, in the park, passed out...now l'm grounded for a month...can't leave the grounds." A small polite laugh comes from both of us.
"Do you believe in alcoholic?" Mickey asks me. I'm hestitant, not sure which way to go. Like trying to please a teacher, l want to please Mickey. "What do you mean?" I reply, trying to play the idiot.
"No such work, l don't believe it...you just like booze, that's all...no such word as alcoholic." Mickey says. The subject is ended now and Mickey and l drop into silence, into the nauseating fog.

1. Mickey's overcoat...

2006-04-23T21:33:00.000-07:00

"The world is round
And so l'll go around
You must risk something that matters
My hands are strong
I'll take any man here
If it's worth the going
It's worth the ride."
-tom waits (a little rain)

another old old story, another old old friend...Mickey McGrath. Mickey was my second lesson. Here is a portion of a story l wrote then;

"I've been stood up, l had a date and she stands me up ...bitchwoman!" These are the thoughts rolling through my head as l wander aimlessly down 4th street. My vengeance is distracted as l notice a litle old man shuffling down the street towards me.
"Hi, how's it going?" l ask. "Could you help me to the chink store?" "My eyesight...gone bad." I proceeded to escort Michael McGrath, his fragile arm linked in mine, to the corner store and back. This was my first of many encounters with Mickey.
Mickey resided in the Colonel Belcher Veteran's Hospital, floor 3x. He invited me up to his room. There were four beds in the room, with each bed seperated by a wall of fabric. Mickey had, he explained, the choice area, in the corner with window light and only a short walk to the bathroom. We smoked, we talked and l took photographs.

He's always in his pajama's now, hair never combed and the calendar, always needs to be changed. Maybe he expects it now. I remember my first encounter with Mickey. I changed his calendar then. A calendar, on a wall at the post of his bed. A wall filled with papers, pictures, cards and calendars, all out dated and aged like that in a laundromat. Pictures of the pope, pictures of jesus, catholic paraphernalia. You wouldn't think Mickey a religious man but it's been in his life, like an overcoat. The army, beer, whores, yappy mothers in law, and religion are the materials of Mickey's overcoat.

the hood, his girl and clayton's dead gifts...

2006-04-20T13:38:00.000-07:00

...I'll get a dollar from my mamas purse
And buy that skull and crossbones ring
And you can wear it around your neck
On an old piece of string
...I'll take a rusty nail
And scratch your initials on my arm
And l'll show you how to sneak up
On the roof of the drugstore.
-tomwaits (kentucky ave)
...the hood and his girl

The hood and his girl came by one night last week, trying to tell me about james being in jail now and that is why my roof tiles were stolen.
...then again last night, this time just the girl. "have you seen ronnie?" "Do you have a hotplate or something to cook on." she asked. All of our conversations end with something about sparing some money.

... you know when l came home from downsouth this week there was another dead lawnmower in my yard, lined up next to the other one that appeared the week before. Clayton is like my cat (cause she used to bring me dead things all the time as well).
Clayton finds them in back alleys, and he finds other things as well from the sally ann and other thrift store depots. I guess l've already said that l like clayton, the hood and his girl are okay, l mean they are in this little world of "dog chasing tail" so l feel for them.

How could clayton come from prince albert, sk all the way to port alberni, bc. Well he met a girl online, yessir he used the prince albert library internet and met a girl. Her name is tiffany and he came here to port alberni, moved in with her, they had a baby together, now they don't live together and clayton finds dead things.
tiffany and baby
...and this is max, who knew clayton
I remember seeing max around town (prince albert) long before he came into the shelter - all bundled up in black, even dark black shades and behind the dark black shades, a dark black eye. He finally came in, said he was in town for his dad's funeral. Stayed with us for a few months. Was quiet at first but settled in pretty good, a tough guy, in and out of prison he bragged about his fights, his girls. Came into the shelter one night at 2am drunk but l let him in thinking he'd go to bed quiet like. But he was in a fightin mood, yelling, cursing ..."l hate all you white people." Well funny thing was l didn't throw him out - played cards with him instead. He finally left the shelter, then a few months later we got word that they had found max alongside a river in BC., dead.
this is adolf. He use to come into the shelter every couple of months for a one night stay. He use to always laugh whenever he saw me smoking my pipe.
"Old man swearing at the sidewalk
I'm overcome
Seems that we'd both forgotten
forgotten to go home."
-johnny cash

a long long time ago...

2006-04-16T12:09:00.000-07:00

Down by the Riverside motel, it's 10 below and falling
by a 99 cent store she closed her eyes and started swaying
but it's so hard to dance that way when it's cold and there's no music
well your old hometown is so far away but, inside your head there's a record
that's playing, a song called

Hold on, hold on
you really got to hold on
Take my hand, l'm standing right here
and just hold on.
-tom waits

...my first trip across canada, many years ago.
...he's an interesting looking man, probably not much over 45. He wears well worn brown cords, 70's style, flared at the bottom. A very used looking shirt, that once was white, with stylized western designs on it. Over this he sports a vest, the kind your dad use to wear while working on the weekends.
I'm trying to think of a way of introducing myself. Approaching the bench, l knelt down at the end. Now being within a foot of his face l notice more detail. Well weathered and tanned like that of a man of the sea, his face. His open mouth revealed broken, blackened teeth. His left eye askew, probably as a result of a barroom brawl. His hair looked like it had been cut by hedge cutters, perhaps a self-helped job to rid himself of lice. A man walking on the edge...
"Smoke?" I said, pushing my pack up towards him. Smiling, "Thanks," he said, as he lit both of our smokes. Once again my seductive ploy had met with success. We remain quiet, he and l silently watching the city rush by. The silence is finally broken. "Nice day hey." Jesus, if this had been my first date l would have blown it. "Ya," he says, looking up and confirming my statement. He smiles again, acknowledging my presence. With such a beautiful sincere smile he resembles that of a naive young boy. Cigarettes and names were exchanged and he began to tell me stories of the trains. "I use to ride the rails." Riding the rails took Bill many directions as well as providing him with a multitude of jobs. Construction, work on the BC highways, and trapping with his uncle were among the handful. His uncle had helped him out of many tough spots, providing occasional work.
Giving him several smokes, Bill placed them in a baggy containing a few dozen cigarette butts. Bill picks butts off the street and he rolls them. "But l watch who throws them away so l won't catch any mouth diseases." Thinking on that, l wonder what Bill would do with the excess time if he didn't worry about where his next smoke was coming from.
With all types of traffic crossing back and forth, we concentrated on the females, with Bill commenting, "Lots of pretty girls go by here." I agreed. "Lots of ugly ones too, but the ugly ones have nicer personalitites." We share laughter of Bill's profound comments.
Again smokes and lights were exchanged and this time Bill offers me his dirty white lighter, to keep. "Thanks Bill."
The conversation returned again to his past work, his plumbing jobs, his handling of dynamite in Winnipeg. "Lots of work in Winnipeg, I can go back there you know."As well, Bill tells me of the plentiful supply of work in BC. "I'm going back there next month," he says, "Lots of work." I have a train to catch and as l leave l tell him, "Go to BC. Bill." He nods and smiles. A half hour later while waiting in the boarding line l spot Bill in the lobby. He has his little baggy out and is picking butts from the ashtray. I hope he goes to BC. I hope he goes trapping with his uncle.

...

2006-04-06T17:05:00.000-07:00

"Sun come up it was blue and gold
Sun come up it was blue and gold
Sun come up it was blue and gold
ever since l put your picture
in a frame"
-tom waits

"Ne Me Quitte Pas" -2006

So take in your hands the face of a flower.
Take in your hands the curve of a cup.
Hold in your hands the face of your love.
Hold what you may not hold for long."
- these words from my dear friend Ron Atkinson (his book "To Hold Awhile")

...piss and vinegar

2006-04-06T10:27:00.000-07:00

"How many years ago

Were you and l unlettered lads

Mad as the mist and snow."
-keats"

This is my brother Darryl on a bus in Calgary. He was young, brave, tough and stupid. He is still tough and brave but in a contained way. Many years ago when l lived in calgary l had him come live with me. He was just getting out of a program for young, brave, tough and stupid kids. Well one night he had a party, l was tolerant and when they all left at one or two am l noticed one of them taking a bottle of my finest wine. Actually it was only some cheap redwine but it bothered me so l approached him and asked for it back. His friend a mountain of a man pushed me and said "fight him". Well l had a choice fight the mountain or fight the winethief. I fought the winethief but goddamn he was like a badly run yoyou kept getting back up, over and over. Finally everyone tired and went home but l never did get my cheap redwine back.

I love my brother Darryl.

like a spy...

2006-04-01T16:53:00.000-08:00

"Let that be the poetry we search for: worn with the hand's obligations,
as by acids, steeped in sweat and in smoke, smelling of lilies and urine,
spattered diversely by the trades that we live by,
inside the law or beyond it."
-pablo neruda

"...score me some paper" from the young hood who banged on my door late the other night and then again this morning at six am. He had a box and opened it slowly and with excitement, new runners and for a little money they could be mine.
Clayton showed up later... clayton has travelled the same road as me, from PA to PA (prince albert to port alberni). I like clayton, he is quiet and unassuming. He dropped hints about needing a place to stay, and l almost told him to camp in my backyard, but ...he was a bit ugly last year so...not yet. (april 1,2006)

"...Charlie l'm pregnant, living on 9th street, above a dirty bookstore,
stop taking dope, quit drinking whiskey"
-t.waits
...there's a coolness in the air now - l like it. I was reminded yesterday about a booklet l wrote in as a kid - little secret codes, like a spy.
"I gave roy bird my shoes" says Jackson who came into the shelter one day looking for a pair of shoes. Wayne is in jail again-maybe for murder. Mark is back in the shelter and john and lloyd.
-from journal sept.2003, prince albert, sk.

Paulo from cuba in prince albert

mexico city

2006-03-31T09:35:00.000-08:00

"I'm going to bed with every dream..."
-t.waits

2006-03-24T10:28:00.000-08:00

...these are the moments which are not calcuble, and cannot be assessed in words; they live on in the solution of memory,
like wonderful creatures, unique of their kind, dredged up from the floors of some unexplored ocean."
-l.durrel (justine)

Like stones on a beach, years of waves have rounded them, shaped them, "shaping stones". I feel shaped by my past, and l am revisiting my past, revisiting some old friends.

"My Father, My Son"

2006-03-02T18:45:00.000-08:00

"Art has deep and difficult eyes and for many the gaze is too insistent. Better to pretend that art is dumb, or at least has nothing to say that makes sense to us.
If art, all art, is concerned with truth, then a society in denial will not find much use for it."
-j.winterson

"My Father, My Son"

"I don't know where to go
I don't know what to say
I don't know what to do"
-mike

...i am going to tell you a story, a old rusty story about my friend.
When l was just a teen growing up here on the island l use to see this man riding around on his bike, usually wearing a orange skirt, and towing behind him on a rope, a tiny little dog.

It was many years later, now somewhat a man, l was in my studio (which was downtown and opened to the public) and in walks a drunk mike. He was interested in what l was doing, and l somewhat interested in what he was doing. He told me to come and visit anytime, he lived in the woods in a old log cabin.

"I sit here, sipping my drink of wine, no toothache, no headache or troubles as the birds sing within the trees. With a can of sardines and dried bread, that's my fancy banquet" -from mike's own journal

The first time l went to visit mike, l went at night. He shouted at me to come in...and when l entered...he was sitting in the corner in a big wooden chair he had made, a bottle of vodka in one hand, a century sam cigar in the other, and a big happy smile on his face. The air was thick with smoke from a leaky wood stove, the floor you couldn't see, covered in bottles, clothes, pistatio shells, cantelope peels and other things. Wow, l thought.... it was my first of many visits.

"...changes like the tides, most days low ebb, rare days...raging high tides" -mike's journal

When mike was young, he collected lingerie, yes he would steal lingerie off of the neighbor's clotheslines. His dad finally found his stash, hidden under the basement stairs. Mike use to say "Lights me up like a torch" and many times he was referring to his lingerie hobby. He also liked to wear women's clothing, mostly undergarments but occasionaly dresses that he had made. There are many reasons a person likes to wear women's clothing, but l think for mike, it was a date, a date with himself.

Mike had many sketch books, even attended the vancouver school of art in the sixties before his father squashed that.

"I'm a blasted off old man. My father was in charge of all the people going to war and , as a result, he blocked my name out. He blocked my name out.
Blocked me out."

Mike lived in a small town, and he didn't have any friends, people thought he was weird and he so wanted contact, companionship, friendship. Sometimes he would call me at four in the morning, "l love you, l love you" he would holler.

In the last year of our friendship he was becoming weak, l would find him on the floor unable to get up. ...and he was hallucinating, would call me, telling me there was a little gypsy in the corner of the room. I would go over and remove the pile of clothes and wheelbarrow from the corner, but he still saw it.

Mike was brilliant and passionate, he had a soul.

I went to mexico city for two months but left friends to watch over him. He died while l was gone.

"when you coming home son...l just don't know..."
(cats in the cradle)