Friday, October 1, 2010

Swans on Tobacco Creek.

This morning was one of those really good ones. Like a flower opening, or something equally as nice unfolding. I need to slow myself, ready myself, ground myself. Mitch is so good for me in all of those avenues and then some. We just came from one of the most intense musical experiences that I have personally ever experienced and I am quite tired now. But still, something changed in me today while standing in the middle of that velvet sound bowl, my feet non anchored, bass drum beating the inside of my throat, cello, harp, leopard silk, the most amazing downturned mouth I have ever seen, such noise, such togetherness.

To say the bottom of the barrel least, Swans, led by the sweepingly talented and semi frightening Michael Gira as well as the opening act by Baby Dee did not disappoint. What an experience. Mitch wove some stories and background history into a crash course before as well as en route to the show at Le National. What a man, my man. I was moved to the quick, layers fell away and rolled downwards to the stage in a ball of dust. It had been years since experiencing music in that way.

To reverse again, I must go back again to this morning. Friday morning, my favorite day of the week. One hot bath, a cup of tea, some cinnamon toast, and two short episodes of Sarah's House (I am a shameless lover of interior design television; this not new news). The morning passed lightening quick and then it was half past noon and the doorbell was ringing and it was the Fed Ex Santa holding our new scanner! Party. I scanned everything I could think of (below are some examples of things I have been meaning to transform into jpgs [computer files, Grandma!]). My mother, my father, my siblings, triple denim.

Then I walked around the neighborhood, my neighborhood (which is quite something, I must say) after writing a letter to Eddy on the bench outside of Le Cagibi and I ended up at Monastiraki (as previously mentioned weeks ago, it is without a doubt my favorite place to visit) and was invited to an art opening happening tomorrow evening. Party. I hope JJ (Jeanette; two JJ's in my life now! Crazy) comes along. Anyway, I bought some papers, Monastiraki guy swung me a deal, and I left happy as always. Then I had my first over the counter banter with a stranger (en anglais)-- this amazing older gentleman who works the counter at the Japanese paper store down the street from my home. The first item I found with joy and thanksgiving was this incredible wooden hollowed stump container (sounds stupid, but it took my breath away and was one of those shopping moments where the price tag is irrelevant). It was a song. I was psyched. Now it sits on my work table and I am reminded of another version of home that I have encountered in my twenty four years, the bush. A part of me will always dwell there, even if I don't see it again for many years, it is home.

Oddly enough, today marks the beginning of Pop! Montreal, a wild musical showcase that happens once a year in this town. Bands come from all over to play all over the city. All of this is four days or so?!?! Bananas. It is so hard to choose whom to see. Tonight, Swans. One year ago to date (also the first day of Pop! Montreal, I stood in front of Fairmount Bagel with JJ and proclaimed my love for her city but quickly added that it was not for me. Who knew the girl with the sesame seed mouth announcing "I could never live here" would be the same one living three blocks down from that very spot a year later. Ha! Life is hysterical. I got told by the Universe, something I have heard before from Sula underneath our Celestial Tree (one year and one week ago). And so I am learning (incredibly slowly) to float through life. Floating is something I have a very difficult time with. Grace is something to work at, and there is no better place to practice.

There are many projects in the wings that are sitting pretty, inching their way forwards on their respective shelves within my brain (I tend to think of these thoughts like jars of canned harvest in a stone pantry). It isn't time yet, but things are happening. Or maybe I am just more hopeful.

Rebecca and Nik, thank you for the luck regarding Articule. It was one of the scariest moments of my life (how petty, now in retrospect) but the feeling of sliding into the circle of metal folding chairs in this beautiful gallery tucked away, dry and warm from the heavy rain made perfect sense. I was welcomed by many and my mind is still whirring from words I heard: committee, kids, outreach, membershows, dossiers, window displays, workshops, growth, community. It was amazing to feel so incredibly free to perch high above on the outskirts of an art community unbeknownst to me. I was welcomed to share anything I felt would spruce up their "dream" list. I suggested The Mail. Mailing things to each other, as artists and non for accountability. I probably just coughed the word mail, what a frightening ease-in. I can be so awkward at times! Flaming red, flaming lips. Regardless, the feeling of opportunity for something special to happen with Articule was undeniable. Kids in galleries, Chaos Sundays (an art evening that takes place two Sundays a month dreamt up by a group of seven and duly added to the Dream List. Nothing makes more sense to me.

The Lady Longbodies have caused a bit of a commotion; enough to keep bettering the initial design, enough to keep breaking needles, enough to make a whole bevy. And so, time took the reigns again and off we go! Hi ho. I hope this finds someone somewhere something. In the interim, here is a splash of some of my very favorite people, my family. Viva my scanner. My mum, my dad, my siblings.

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