Tag Archives: art

England Pre-Memory – Punch In The Gut

Art, England, Personal Bits

Like George Lucas I’m going to jump back to a time before my move to England with a couple stories that inspired me to travel across the pond. Enjoy!

I’m 18 years old and I’m sitting in line with other hopefuls at OCAD (then The Ontario College of Art). I’ve not decided entirely what I want to do with my life and my father is getting nervous that he’s going to have a live-in son until he shuffles off this mortal coil. I do know I want to stay in the art field but I had not decided exactly where I was going to take my talents. My portfolio, chock full of wildly coloured pastels of muscular torsos I had been drawing for months, sits on my bouncing knee. Compared to the rest of the hopefuls, my manner of dress is utterly “Sears” to their “Queen Street West”: one small girl is decked out entirely in leather in her shock Rough Trade look, her hair teased higher than my hopes. This is 1983, remember. I’m there to sign up for their Fine Arts program and let that take me wherever I wanted to go.

I enter the room and here is where my memory shatters up to a point: The room is narrow, almost another hallway. It’s dark, or I sort of recall that it was dark. There are three people at a desk and two look through my portfolio. I was so nervous that I didn’t catch who everyone behind that desk was. Only now, in my 40s, someone told me that one of the people looking at my work was a student and I assume the one not looking at my portfolio was a teacher or admissions officer. I do remember they asked all the questions.

What were my interests, favorite art period, method, incentives, history, my personal history, more personal history? Suddenly it was over. Fast. They breezed through my work and shut the portfolio. Not a good sign.

Then one of them laid it on the line (and I’m paraphrasing here): I was a privileged middle class white kid who had not experienced anything in life, certainly not enough to create any kind of meaningful art and that I should get out of Ontario and see real art. It was like a punch in the gut. The fact that I was living in my Dad’s basement and working nights at a hotel and had never travelled further than , made the OCAD’s assessment of me sting a little more.

They were right. If I wanted to be a serious artist I had to go see the real thing. Including all life’s little roadbumps that came up getting to those galleries. Of course, for weeks I was utterly crushed and moped around like my life was over.

Then my sister called. She asked how I was and offered words of encouragement and then suggested that I move to England under the Student Work Abroad Program. I can remember vividly how a light came on over my head. This is exactly what I needed to do.

Philosophizing Over That Stone

Celebs and Media

stone_destinyAn interesting synchronicity is occurring between art and real life: The movie The Stone of Destiny is soon to be released and the reenactment of the Plains of Abraham isn’t soon to be happening any time soon, well at least not on the actual ground it took place on.

Hear me out: Both instances are about a chunk of earth, both recall emotions of loss and embarrassment, both political in nature.

In the case of the movie, I can see how our Scottish heroes would want to return that symbol of power, no matter how faded, to it’s former residence – everyone loves an underdog and lets face it, Scottish accents are still bloody hot since Trainspotting. This is of course polar opposite to the feelings of Quebec Federalists who are kiboshed by a strong Separatist movement, blocking the reenactment. Every story needs a villain and in both cases, the victorious English wind up looking like Caesar-like thugs who keep their subservient masses on short tame leashes.

Then I think, “What if Canada was invaded and had some symbol removed from it, would I care enough to dare steal back?”

I’m still thinking about that.

Not being a sport fan I can recognize that many would say Mr Stanley’s Cup or some such figure. But I doubt that, since sports fans were so quick to roll over when the Hockey Night In Canada song was sold off for a song.

The CN Tower? Way too involved.

Rick Mercer? Hmmm, no. He’d annoy his way out of his captor’s grasp and make his way back to us.

The plucky Bonhomme? Close. At least he’s as Canadian as Mickey Mouse is to the US. See English Canada doesn’t really have a symbol, we’ve got most of ours from Quebec or Eastern Canada, so I can’t really think of anything.

Regardless, I would defend her if I had to. But only like Red Dawn, only if the attacking army actually interrupted my iPhone usage.

Full Circle

Personal Bits

The phone rings last night and it’s the Old Audio Dude (my third in line brother), he’s coming to Toronto with Heather and The Mop, my incredibly thick-haired nephew. No really, this kid’s hair is incredible considering he came from our gene pool of hairy backed, thin-on-top family. He can take solace (or sadness?) in knowing that no Mii editor, no Xbox avatar creator, no PS3 Home builder, will every be able to recreate his large, unruly mane.

I digress.

He’s here in town and to give Heather the day to herself, SharkBoy and I are going to treat him to a march down Queen West and a movie (Marley and Me). I think there might be robot shopping involved. Expect pictures. What makes me feel incredibly old and expectant, is the fact that he’s the exact age when I started to come with my Dad to Toronto on business trips and run around alone on the subway downtown (yeah, they use to let 13 year old kids wander the streets alone back in the 70s).

I’m slightly weirded out that this is how the legacy is passed on – trips to the Silver Snail with $20 in his pocket, a ticket to a movie and popcorn, chased down with big gulps of sugar water. That arcade is closed so I can’t show him that – he’s voiced his desire to plug into our PS3/Wii/Xbox combo until his eyes bleed, anyway. If I had more time I’d take him to the Science Centre but that’s too late. Oh well, we’ll teach him the fine art of shopping. Every young lad should learn that early.

A Night of Art-ness

Celebs and Media, Distractions, Personal Bits, Toronto

Da At Art With HeartLast night was a busy one for me. Da and I decided to do some Father/Son bonding while hobnobbing (what the hell does that word mean, anyway?) with Toronto’s art elite at Art With Heart.

Da’s never been in the Carlu and was curious as to it’s grandeur. It didn’t disappoint. It’s a beautiful deco setting and the art that was placed throughout was amazing (the website doesn’t convey the demanding presence some pieces command). I have to comment here that the volunteer staff were clockwork perfect. Pleasant, informed docets docents (Andrew helps me spelling!) cheerfully provided information on the art and never patronized. In all, a very organized successful event… I hope. I haven’t heard any numbers back yet, but the joint was packed, and considering Fashion sCares is this Saturday, I hope they made their target numbers!

Find My Brother!Then we shuffled down to Canadian Stage to see my brother in Frost/Nixon. I have to admit that due to some of the reviews coming out of Vancouver, I wasn’t hopeful for this production. But when the curtain fell, I can tell you I was very entertained and greatly surprised. They have worked out all the problems mentioned in previous reviews, except the worrisome opinion that Len Cariou’s Nixon was not satisfactorily mimicking enough, which I tend to agree. I yearned to see the Nixon I remembered as a kid but got a sketch of that ideal. Not saying he did a bad job, he was captivating, but there was no jowly “Rich Little” kind of character play (which my brother does rather spookily at one point).

Oddly enough most of the cast and crew had been in science fiction TV shows (Battlestar, Stargate, RoboCop), including my brother, at one point in their career. Does this say something about Canadian culture?

Tonight, Sharkboy and I are off to see A Chorus Line with Mumsey! I’m being exposed to more culture than an open chest wound in an emergency ward!

Art With Heart

Celebs and Media, Queer stuff, Toronto

Once a year Casey House asks artists to donate work to their annual Art With Heart auction to raise funds for their AIDS/HIV hospice here in town. Every year there’s been one piece that collectors will go ga ga over (last year it was a Ken Danby, donated shortly after his death) and this year is no exception: Who wouldn’t want a Attila Richard Lukacs hanging in their bathroom? And a steal at $750!

Two pieces in particular made my culture vulture turn a lumpy beak: Gum Blonde – a portrait of Madonna made entirely of chewed bubble gum and an abstract of lines and circles named Damn it Jim I’m a Doctor not a Magician. There are tons more at amazing prices all listed at artwithheart.ca

Auction:
The Carlu, 444 Yonge Street, 7th Floor
Tuesday, October 28th, 2008
7:00 p.m. (sharp)
Valet parking will be provided

Free Public Previews
Ritchies Auctioneers, 380 King Street East
Tuesday, October 21st to
Friday, October 24th, 2008 (11:00 a.m. – 5:30 p.m.)

Reception and Final Viewing:
5:30 – 7:00 p.m.

Tickets $125 per person
To order tickets, please contact the Casey House Foundation
T: 416.962.4040 ext 236
F: 416.962.5595
E: heart@caseyhouse.on.ca

Disclaimer: I volunteered my skills to concept, create and build the AwH website.

End of an Era

Personal Bits, Tech

…I’m speaking to a Mr Robot?

I’m back from the store. My roommates gather around as I reveal with a flourish: the four head VCR. It cost me close to $500 on special at Sears. Cheers and back slapping ensue for a solid minute. Quickly we hook it up to the TV and settle in for a marathon of movies.

Yes. Can you tell me that figure again?

I’m waiting in line at the College. I see a girl run out of the registrar’s office in tears. I’m worried that that will be me in a few minutes. After supplies and rent and a decent week’s worth of food, I’ve got enough to play a fist full of video games in the common area.

Certainly. After the three payments of $535, $410 and $437 made in the month of May…

I’m staring at my first computer in the dark cave of my living room. I’ve made my first piece of digital art on the tiny 15″ screen: a combination of a picture of myself that I’ve applied a Peter Max type filter and some warped text over my head. I found it easy to do.

…I guess you did your taxes in one go for three years, Mr Robot?

My first web page I did as a joke (much like all my web interactions). It was a hommage to Jon Erik Hexum: All the images I could find combined with a sad midi file; uncontrollably embedded into the page; animated GIFs of torches bookended a 20 second poem I had written. My teacher laughed at the tackiness of it, saying I “grokked” the Web. But he didn’t understand why Jon Erik.

Yes. I did. Which leaves me with…?

I’m standing in the student book shop, wondering if instead of paying the $10 for another pad of newsprint for life drawing class, I could flip all my drawings from the last month over and use the back, meanwhile I could eat cheap pork chops and still have enough to go to Katrinas and have at least two drinks with my friends (who all have paying jobs) this weekend.

Well it looks like we’re showing a balance of $411.05. I guess you’ll be paying this off within 30 days? Just add $3 for the interest.

And with that, the albatross that has been around my neck for the last 20 years flies away.

I have paid off my student loan.

Not My Grandfather’s Son

Personal Bits

Pi ApartmentMy Da called the other day to announce a friend of his was getting rid of his G5 Mac Tower, would I be interested?

Deep inside me, somewhere near the core of my soul, right next to revulsions and unexplainable desire, a strand of my persona twanged as if a horny romantic lute player strummed his instrument to get poon. Computer parts for sale? Oh? Must. Get.

I’m no collector of electronics but I know someone who has an actual server in his living room… and I am so jealous. I could easily turn my office into that apartment from the movie Pi. Untethered, I definitely would have one machine for fun, a machine for storage, a machine for music, a machine for gaming, a machine for graphics and a machine to look at porn. I keep my addiction in check, thankfully, otherwise I doubt I would be married right now.

My Da snaps me back to reality: “Are you interested?” The computer is about 2 years old. No mention of monitor or keyboard or hard drive size or RAM. Or price for that matter. The lute player strums harder. Hell yeah, I’m interested!

Hell ya! But then suddenly I remember my grandfather. When he left this mortal coil, the family was charged with emptying out his 4 car garage, which was full to the rafters not with cars (I think there was only two cars in it), but with …stuff. Grandfather was an A-List pack rat and had no control over his hoarding. No one to say “Put that back!” Sure Grandmother would say the odd remark about the garage, but she really had no dominance over his addiction. The family decided to have a huge garage sale on the front lawn of the house and in the process of bringing stuff out, they found 14 gas powered lawn mowers. Fourteen. One Four. Da said that maybe two worked. Tops. I was living in England at the time and I saw pictures of the hoard – quality stuff like an intact moose head, barely moth eaten and a top had that would have made Taco cry. In addition to the vault of stuff, they found that grandfather had opened up several bank accounts just to get the free toasters/kettles/appliances. Not to sure how many accounts he had in the Greater Toronto, but there were many appliances. And most were in the garage.

Was I interested? Hell.. yeah?

My thoughts go to my Da himself. A while back he had so much artwork on his walls his condo rivaled The Louvre. In his retired travels he dragged art back from Mexico, China and other parts of the world. He’s since reformed but he does have one piece of art hanging beneath a window sill. Yes, beneath, below the line of sight just because, well… there was a big blank wall spot, I guess. I often wonder if there is another apartment in his name in the city somewhere, full of Dawn Snells, David Hockey prints and Toller Cranston limited editions, to be discovered posthumously, via an unmarked key left in a shoe box under his bed. Currently, he volunteers at the Gardiner Museum of Ceramics’ gift shop and slowly, slowly, his condo is filling up with bowls, cups, nick-nacks and most recently, a $2500 statue that was busted in storage and given to him by the manager. I can hear the ghost of his father coo into his ear: “‘It is still gooooood! Glue the haaaaand back on!”

Then I think of the storage locker I have down the street. Five 60L Rubbermaid containers that hold 30 or so pieces of mouth blown glass. One 90L Rubbermaid that holds approximately $1000 in robot toys. A milk crate of British import records.

“Uh. No thanks,” I conceded. The horny lute player cries.

Sound it Out

Personal Bits

Just in from an ultrasound, kiddies! Apparently my last blood test suggested an “enlarged liver” so my Doc, ever cautious, ordered me to the lab.

Upon entering the lab at St George’s Medical Arts Building, I had to wait until the receptionist had finished with her conversation to a friend on her cell. Normally I would have been upset with a wait like this but her conversation (which she meant for me to hear) was one of desperation. She was trying to find a home for a border collie that had been abused by her neighbours. She asked me instantly if I wanted him. I don’t and she tells me of the struggle this dog has had. She seems like a caring sort, confirmed when she confesses to having 4 cats and one dog already.

I was ushered into the changing cubicles where surprise sooprize, I had the same technician doing my scan as the last time I was there a few years back for a lump. In my boob. (Her words. Slowly. Hushed. Conspiratory: “Is the lump. In you boob…gone?”) So instantly she was friendly and chatty, taking a moment to laugh at the big BUTCH pin on my knapsack. “Nothing but underwear, socks and shoes. Put this robe on backwards and this one on forwards. I don’t want you wandering the hall bare butt.” I remember how much I liked her the first time.

Into the scanning suite. Up goes the gown and a sheet of paper towel is tucked into and draped over my underwear. I lie down and she grabs the KY in squeezy bottle.

“Do you have BBQ flavour?” I ask as she covers my hairy chest and belly with the thankfully warm lube.

“HA! There’s a first,” she comments.

She can’t stop asking about my lump she looked at two years ago. She meekly raises her ultrasound wand and ask “Can I look at your… boob… with my… wand?” I let her. All clear. She’s happy.

She slips her wand over my right side. I start to laugh. She starts to laugh. “Sorry. It always kills me when big biker dudes like yourself giggle when I touch them. Can you take out your belly ring?”

In walks the Dog Savior receptionist with the Wand Waving Tech’s next appointment file, resulting in joking banter about hiding my underwear with the paper towel. “What’s he got under there?” The Dog Savior asks, pointing at my Bounty covered BVDs. These two have sussed me out in seconds.

“A cat,” I say. First thing into my head since she’s a dog lover.

“I think we’re the ones with cats,” says the Wand Waver.

Hilarity ensues.

The Wand Waver digs her sensor into my abdomen and makes clucking sounds. “Can’t you find it?” I ask.

I get a playful dirty look. “Oh, I’ll find it,” she says.

After a time she tells me that I have a “horseshoe kidney”, a conjoined kidney, which is rare but not surprising. She’s snapping pictures of my innards all this time and we move on to the liver, the star of the show. I ask for a nice 8×10 colour or at least wallet sized photos.

“Now see, you were original before with the BBQ,” she says.