The Birth of Feeling

Igneous activity.

2012-01-04T16:35:00.000-08:00

In and out of the fire. Shot in 2008 on shitty film.

One of my favorite photographs of all time.

People places things.

2011-10-27T11:20:00.000-07:00

This is my friend Creme, through and through. Winnipeg, 2009.

A hard day's embrace. Winnipeg, 2009.

This is Andrea, one of my best friends in this lifetime. Winnipeg, 2009.

So many dinners shared with Mel, Zach and Rebecca. Winnipeg, 2009.

Wild eyes.

2011-10-26T20:53:00.000-07:00

Wild eyes for Man Ray. I had read about his work in a photography periodical previous to my Tuesday art history lecture on Surrealist art photography of the 1920's, but the recount manifested an even deeper love and respect. I keep falling in love with dead photographers. Legends in my mind.

Old man Man Ray in his Paris studio. Shot by Lothar Wolleh in 1969.

Today while cycling home from school, I was it by a car for the first time in my life. I am not invincible on wheels, this I know. Hard lesson. I saw it coming as it was my haste that caused the impact. Damn! To think, I was sure there was time and space for my slim bike. Not so. It felt so weird to bounce off the passenger door like a ragdoll. Similar feeling of confusion and pain in that moment as I felt the first time I was checked in ringette by a huge teen with a braid called The Train. Alba held up and held me in tight to the traps which turned out to be a very good thing. Ass over tea kettle, not so. On the walk home, I cried in shock for my front wheel which will need a hell of a true. Then again, a wheel is a wheel. All is well. It was a strange experience, not one I would like to repeat anytime soon.

Not sure what to say. Erin is flying into Bangkok as I write, my mind is with her. Flooding presses on as it tends to and I am hoping she will be able to do what she set out to--safely. Eee boy. I love you Frin, wind in your sails tonight.

Baklava.

2011-10-25T12:36:00.000-07:00

Dear Simon,

I went to bed with a fever at noon and woke after a two hour dream. The adventures of Simon and Meg. The dream unfolded outside of a dark bakery on Laurier East. Unsure if the bakery was open or not, we went in looking to satiate my hunger. Inside there sat a strange multigenerational family. They stared at us as we took in the dimly lit spread before us but offered no service. Nothing caught my eye. You ordered Baklava. The order fell on deaf ears leaving you no choice but to reach over and help yourself. It was too sweet for me. We sat side by side in a brown booth in need of repair overlooking the street. You ate something straight out of my mouth and I laughed deeply causing the family to stand up and switch positions at the family table like a staged dance. It was bizarre though there was no time to discuss their behavior. Suddenly Laurier East and Montreal were gone, replaced with slanted streets--cobbled and dusty. My shoe trouble began in the brown booth. You kept encouraging me to choose one of the pairs in my arms as my feet were bare and vulnerable, but I was defiant and held all three pairs in protest. The weather picked up on a dime. Wild wind. Anticipating the windows to blow out, we left in a hurry without thanks. You found a skateboard and two giant format newspapers in the ally and handed one to me. I thought the newspaper was a stupid idea considering the strength of the wind and lack of rain and refused. As I was trying to find a missing grey shoe from my bundle, I looked up in time to watch you fly down a steep cobblestone street without me. I was amazed you were able to ride down considering the conditions. Finally able to make a footwear decision, I bent down close to the ground and recognized the soil between the stones of the street. We were in India. I wanted to tell you, but you were long gone. The straps of my sandals wouldn't clasp though I continued on, carrying my bundle in the direction that you had taken. When the sound of a small child crying caught my ear in the wind, I ran with shoes slapping like palms on my feet. After zigzagging my way down, I finally came upon you and a hysterical blonde girl. After much convincing, she sat on my lap and named her pain. Elbows, knees, wrists. I gave her my favorite pair of little gray shoes to console her. Her feet were bare and she clutched the shoes to her chest. The two of you had collided at a corner while flying downwards on separate streets. She was on an old toy scooter. Emma Albelleny was the name written on the inside of her hat along with a long telephone number. I thought it was strange as it is the same hat you cook in--leather strap, grease and all--but said nothing of it. She was the daughter of a diplomat. I called the number and spoke with her mother who I could see leaning out of a balcony far up the street where I had just bent to fix my shoes. The girl was four, too small to be left alone. Nothing was resolved and she ran away with the shoes before I hung up with her mother. You kneeled down and took my ankle on your knee and tied the broken strap with a braid fashioned out of the newspaper. It impressed me. "Let's go", you said. "Okay". We left and I woke.

January February March April Mayyyygan & Lo.

2011-10-23T15:49:00.000-07:00

Leo shot his first picture yesterday. Slide film. It was shot of an empty intersection. Magic hour. An hour good as any to begin something new. The F2 was a little too heavy for him so I held the strap and he held on and looked through. Had to pull away to find the trigger, but shot nonetheless. It felt so damn good to sit on the step of a depanneur on Fairmount and Casgrain corner, just chattin'. Leo is growing up! Bye bye baby. He is almost two!

I missed him so freaking much this week. Leo was home when I swung by so we suited up for a cold walk. Mittens. I was so impressed with his hand holding. No fuss, no question, he simply understood that it was important to the process. School is making an impression on him, it is incredible to see the changes for the better. More patient. When I ask him questions in English, he nods if he agrees. Words will come tumbling very soon! You can just feel it coming off him. He wants to speak! While we were walking to the park, he looked at me, pointed to my Nikon and said "amra". You betcha baby. Good word. He looked up again and point at himself, "Lo?" "Yup, thats you, LeeOH. Lo". "Mayhan?" "Yup, that's me, Megan. January February March April Mayyyyyyyygan".

God I love that kid.

Jill S, you came up so many times in thought as I played Leo. Recent pictures of Rollin's happy face (smothered in chocolate, amazing) that you SHOT! Well whoa, they have been at the forefront of thought. Beautiful work, keep shooting!!! Looking forward to seeing your expression of life (which is always beautiful no matter the medium) through the lens with that child! Miss him. Anyway, I thought of you.

Weird day in the kitchen. The plates are shifting. Ahhh! Secours!

Margot

We sleep when we're dead.

2011-10-19T22:32:00.000-07:00

Just ate fois gras in three variations. Appetizer, starter, and main with a side of eel and sugar pie at Au Pied de Cochon. Good Lord.

Steve and I sat barside watching young chefs, the names stitched above their hearts: Nico, Alex, the A badge sous chef and Annie the saucier sling plates like I have never seen before. Wild times in a tight kitchen. "They are in the weeds!". Steve said this at one point as I was face deep in our fois gras poutine (nothing better exists, this I am sure). In the weeds, in the shit! What an environment. Nights of these sort (the fliffling kind) make Rags and Rab rush up in thought. Fine diners you women are. You taught me how to hold my fork, probably without realizing so. Thanks. This was the finest Montreal dining I have experienced.

We walked our bikes over and up from Berri to St. Laurent. Then we danced to Snoop Dog on full stomachs. Bon evening.

Face down, bed now, early class.

The Confrontation.

2011-10-19T17:43:00.000-07:00

Young Lady on a bridge. Ektar 100.

Bad Times in Montreal. I was able to be an extra for a friend's film production over the weekend. It was exciting! Being in front of the lens was more comfortable than anticipated. It was a real honor to watch my friend Shannon in character as the Young Lady. There were moments I forgot she was a character. I took photos throughout the course of the day whether Brian's cameras were rolling or not. Extra, extra. Haha, such a rook. I think I will stick with illustration and photography for now.

Fabric printing (silkscreen) begins on Friday. Interestinggggg.

Good one. Shannon in character. Porta 800.

Young lady, friend 1 and 2. Retake walk. Ektar 100.

Guillaume, relaxed as the day is long. Porta 800.

Pizza teens.

2011-10-17T14:49:00.000-07:00

I went out walking and came upon these two eating lunch on a ledge. I asked if I could take their picture, they obliged kindly. Shot with Porta 800 f 60/ 5.6

Arnoulde hides a big slice. "It is okay, the pizza makes the shot". "Oh, okay".

Young teens on Fairmount. Montreal, October 2011.

Thanks.

2011-10-13T18:19:00.000-07:00

My parents came to visit in Montreal! Thanks. Guys.

Giving. Thanksgiving light cast on a long table surrounded by bodies. I was intoxicated while shooting these photos. Party! Enjoy, incorrect exposure et al.

Candle lit cracker station. Montreal, October 2011.

Ode to Bourdain. Em kitchen family on Thanksgiving Sunday. Montreal. October 2011.

Vanessa's cake.

Alex and Reneau, her handsome admirer.

Benoit et Christiane.

Favorite shot of the night. This sums up my life well. Chanel at rest.

Alone in the work room with a tripod. Print by Raymond Biesinger.

Un Conte de Fées.

2011-10-12T11:28:00.000-07:00

Full moon lunacy. As I hauled in the laundry last night, the line heavy with sheets and towels glowed under the full lady's light even though the view wasn't direct. Bright moonlight is magical to me. After folding under the moon, I moved around catching up on the state of the house. Basically doing everything save for my paper. Discipline totally escapes me in these moments. Terrible. I don't know how to change this about myself. I understand it is in my mind and something that is imperative to learn, but I continue to fight it. Studenthood, I forgot what it meant. Difficult and laughably easy in the same breath.

Strange dichotomy, new territory.

Yesterday was a very inspiring day at school. I walked into my ARTH History of Photography class and sat down across from Alfred Stieglitz, a hero of mine. So, 1840 onwards. Lately I have been turning the effect technology has had on photography since the medium's debut in 1839 (partially out of research and partially out of interest) over and over in thought. My history class is wonderful--my favorite--which is so surprising. The images Prof. Murray selects are mostly new to me and it is incredibly inspiring to watch the progression of photography waltz across a screen. Large format. Obviously, quality is lost with this method. Museums are important, this I am learning.

What progression in a relatively short period of time! The book Great Photographers it is very dear to me. I was first introduced to Alfred Stieglitz in said book last February while reading from Laura's collection in the reading chair of our new home. Wonderful. Yesterday was exciting simply for the feeling of piecing together past information with new. Understanding.

Photography took off in 1839 with the introduction of the daguerreotype (a cumbersome and delicate print process on metal and glass plates). Reproductions were impossible until the Calotype took over (paper process, less finicky, reproducible but still not accessible to the public). Photography took hold of the public with the release of the Kodak camera (round frame initially) in 1888, 49 years after the daguerreotype's debut. People could mail order Kodak cameras loaded with 100 exposures for ten dollars. Hefty price. Fill it up, mail it back, wait a week, keep shooting. Genius. I especially love the photos from this time period. People starting to smile with the introduction of capturable spontaneity. People laughing in a pond, modest bathing suits. Families around new babies born in an exciting time! Life was being documented in a way that had never been possible before!

These images inspire me.

Source. Louis Kaplan

Seated Woman with Bird. c. 1855. Source. Hugh Welch Diamond

As far as Alfred Stieglitz was concerned, photography was it's own art form. He spent his entire life proving this point. In the early years of the new century, people by now long used to the idea of photography were beginning to realize the purpose of such technology was much more complex than understood. What could it become? More than a research tool, more than a platform for science. Stieglitz brought his European education back to his home in America and set up art shop, opened photography salons and galleries, as well as editing photography publications such as Camera Work.

Here is a slice from my drawing book, hand copied verbatim from the 1971 Time Inc. publication of Great Photographers.

August 2011, Montreal.

Who knows what will come of school. Most of the time I feel too damn practical for the type of learning that is expected. Mentorship alternatives. Independent production. I understand that proper technique is imperative to any operation, but can this not be learned elsewhere? Hmm. I am constantly struggling with the validity of school in my personal journey. Can I do this on my own? Definitely. Would I have the same access that I am paying for now? No. Not necessarily. I find Montreal very difficult to network within. Winnipeg is incredible in that sense. If you have the drive to make something happen, there is always space to be had and people to call. Growing up is a funny thing. I can't help feeling that I am making some sort of mistake. Then again, I fear the things I do not know. Plow through, try something else? Will I know when it is time to go? So many questions these days.

Emptiness and hesitation. Or is that just practicality and good sense? Je sais pas.

I heard Francois Dompierre's piano rendition of "Un Conte de Fées" from his Flash-back album on Radio Classique this morning and it filled me right up. Goodness I love the sound of the piano. Can't seem to find the song online, sorry. Here is another image, to close.

Bow River, Blackfoot. c. 1926. Edward Sheriff Curtis.

Block print.

2011-10-07T21:35:00.000-07:00

I was able to print for the entire day today. It was glorious. The morning was spent unfolding long bolts of paint stained work muslin across the longest work table you can imagine. Pinning, mixing clear base and pigments decked head to toe in protective gear (one is expected to print with rubber gloves), rolling ink, doing dishes, ripping fabric, printing. Ahhhhhhh, it felt so good. I had the table to myself which is always a pleasure. Quiet thoughtful printing in the afternoon sun. Strange red. Anyway, I thought of Willa as I stamped my fabric.

Love you.

Flying Horse. Block Print motif. Ink on cotton. Montreal, 2011.

Woodshop.

2011-10-06T12:22:00.000-07:00

Hallo. Heute stand ich in einem sonnigen Holz, das Geschäft. Es war herrlich.

Hello. Today I stood in a sunlit wood working shop. It was glorious.

Crisp cold of morning whipping over bare hands on Alba's carefully wrapped bartape. It feels so good to zoom down the hill into the downtown hustle like a fish in traffic. Salmoning upstream to school--trying not to be a jackass on a bicycle--to my parking spot beside the Engineering/ Visual Arts building. I had Fibre art this morning and was completely unprepared but made do. Thankfully it was a studio work period and there was plenty of time and space to relax into a work rhythm. We are working on Block Printing this week so I whipped up a drawing of a horse in motion on linoleum and managed to finish the carving in time for the Supervised studio. After class I went down one floor to the woodshop for some help in creating a wooden base for my horse stamp.

Block printing is essentially motif stamping. I am not really a traditional motif kind of woman in the sense of sprawling patterns of paisley or floral or whatever. A horse can be a motif, right? Unfortunately, my POSITIVE brain could not compute with what was being asked and instead of carving away the negative space (in order for the positive surface to lie higher as a flat ink bed), I carved the lines of the drawing itself (which is backwards). Oh well. Instead of starting over I cut around my image and left a slim border. A visual would be helpful here, but alas I have none. Tomorrow I am set to apply ink with a brayer on the horse, so we will see how it turns out. Check back for a scan tomorrow if interested. Color mixing in the dye lab is incredibly precise (read: garish colors), and I appreciate the freedom I had at one time to mix color at will at Martha Street Studio now more than ever. Technique, technique! Learn it, Madge.

The woodshop was the best part of my day. Bob the carpenter helped me with a certain kindness and calmness that I appreciate in a teacher.

- Can you handle this?
- Definitely.
- Good.

I could see myself working there, the afternoon sun pouring in across rolling wood carts topped with heavy butcher blocks and machinery. Heady wood smell, smelled like QB, smelled like my dad, smelled like home. In other news, I received a new pair of hoops in the mail from Alex, a talented Winnipeg jeweller after losing my original pair. Hallelujah. I feel like a new woman.

Must study now. Good day.

Margot

Time changes us.

2011-10-04T06:10:00.000-07:00

We change with time. This photo is very dear to me. Thanks Richard. I have thought about this moment with Chanel off and on since the day you steadied and shot your Polaroid Land camera. While I continue to be unfamiliar with the camera's print process, this very photo has always had mystery attached to the memory of my mind's eye. Today marked the first time I had seen it since you developed it at your kitchen table in the Village in October of 2009.

One day Chanel and I will look back at this photo and howl. Young ladies, to date.

Chanel et moi by Richard Bars. Montreal, Quebec. October 2009. Polaroid Land camera.

Train talk.

2011-09-29T19:36:00.001-07:00

I spent the evening riding around in artificial light, watching people, watching the rain streak the bus windows, la plume blowing delicately on my neck from the wind of the metro. As much as a pain the rain can be at times when dry clothes are of the essence, I love it dearly. Keeping in mind that school is what I make of it, I packed my camera equipment and one knight's helmet with the green plume and hit the road. Destination East. Whenever I feel lost, I head East. There is no real explanation for this, it just feels right when considering the options of direction.

On the bus ride to the nearest metro (Place-des-Arts) downtown, I met a young woman named Hana who reminded me so much of Lisa Varga. Slice of home in the simple familiarity of dress and speech. Hana kindly obliged to my camera and gave her face, knights helmet and all. The woman sitting beside me as I shot was also curious about my motive. Welllllllllllllllll. My motive is to explore the intimacy of portraiture through the aid of a prop. This knight's helmet embodies the nerve it takes to approach and be approached. The goal of my artwork is to produce approachable and truthful imagery. Nothing is more pleasing than to witness true character unfold like a flower through my lens, even for a moment. Trust. Is. Imperative. I love exploring this, pushing the boundaries of solitary comfort. The look of surprise and bewilderment on the faces of strangers when asked for their portrait are the mental photographs I tuck away in my mind's eye. Too bad the camera isn't capable of such quick looks.

People watching.

Eastward I went, eight, ten, twelve, fifteen stops. Every five stops or so I got off to walk around underground, open to connection of any sort, camera in hand, feather bobbing alongside like a willing pup. I met one man, no name taken as I forgot to ask. We conversed on a darkened bench in French to begin; my words tumbling out in broken particles like a child and he obliged my humble effort by answering my questions with a deliberate slowness and clarity. Merci, mon ami. I should have asked his name. When I asked for his photo, he retreated backwards on the bench with sudden velocity as if suddenly aware of his work clothes. Little did he know how I love work clothes, how I am drawn to workers. Wished I could have explained this to him in french. Maybe the helmet intimidated him, je sais pas. We shook hands when my train arrived and he carried on collecting crumpled metro journals for recycling. One wave, goodbye. Such kindness in those eyes and a strong handshake.

While waiting for the train at Place-des-Arts, two young men caught my eye. Jeans and leather jackets, big black boots. One man was incredibly tall, his friend short by comparison. I approached them after considering them for ten minutes, knowing that I would lose the image in mind if I waited another second. They were very kind and receptive. Laughter dancing around inside eyes, such a sight upon recognition and incredibly hard to capture. They were from Holland, their accents sweet like dessert. The train came before I could take their names. Shoot. It is very important to me record names and addresses when possible. I found it difficult to meter light underground but shot around anyway, who cares.

Last shot was of a cute french boy who laughed at my crappy french and then gave his face out of pity or mirth, I couldn't tell and shot anyway. He wore the helmet with confidence despite the train full of people. Square shoulders, dancing feather, fluorescent lights streaking the perpetual dark of the underground.

First Print.

2011-09-28T21:59:00.000-07:00

First day in the color darkroom today. It was so exciting to grow more comfortable as the hours went on. Can't believe how long I have been waiting for this day. I began printing around twelve thirty and there happened to be a fire drill as my first contact sheet was rolling through the Kolex processor (I had to call that thing's name all day) and was lucky enough to run into Jeanette! We sat on a curb. It felt good to be around her, gave me hope. Then back I went into the dark. It was a really bizarre experience, exciting, addictive, and frustrating in it's process. Faintly familiar. I love trial and error work, this fits. My first printed photo below, due in a few weeks. I couldn't for the life of me get the hang of printing the contact sheet. So I decided to take a BRAIN BREAK, got some water and then tried my hand at a single photo.

School is about to get wild, exciting times ahead.

"Coming out of 13, heading towards the Kolex". I love the darkroom dance, waiting for bodies to sail pass, calling out to each other. I stood in my open doorway in the pitch dark trying to remember the name of the processor on the right side. The Kolex, nice to meet you. My winter was spelled out for me today and I couldn't be happier.

Color print, yee haw.

Steve illuminated by daylight. Scan of 6.5x9.5 my first color print of Concordia. Sept 2011.

Florescent laundry.

2011-09-26T13:01:00.000-07:00

Saw this from Simon's back balcony. Shaky but inspiring to see such color on a line. Ektar 100.

Hayfever.

2011-09-22T13:00:00.000-07:00

Oh hay. Happy Mabon. Out with the old! Rest dead. Shift gears, soft clutch.

Giv'r shit.

Hay Lisa. Your description in a recent letter created this hilarious image of you in my mind. Jean shorts, wild long bob Lisa, in my head you are on a really cool scooter, not a bike. Zipping on WAVERLY, passin' semis. Running Room club jacket in Lilac. Rouge hair, big smile. Thanks for the image, made my week. I miss you so fucking so.

Hay Erin. I am thinking of you. Flashes in my brain. How are you. Have you painted your house chartreuse? I am hoping that in the wake of shit news, there is major room for creativity elsewhere. Sewing? Cleanse? Your house is like your fashion, wild and strong. I miss being in it and around it, braveface colors. I admire that in you! I miss you. The other day I came across a photo shot by Janelle on the day we cruised to Gimli, Manitoba with Meach and Ginger Rogers. Everyone in a dress! I will never forget that afternoon in the home that is now Milky's when you threw wide the doors of your closet to us. Zipper a go-go dress, my freakin' fave. Great day, miss you. Love you Sister Mary Clarence.

Hay Rags. I saw a photo of Willa's juicy wrists on Luminary of Day's post this afternoon. Thank god for that place. Great photo album to cruise backwards in. Oh baby, can't WAIT to see this child enough times once the snow flies that we begin to feel comfortable in each other's arms. Can you hug a baby? Please do. I can't wait to feel the growth of your daughter's (and sons perhaps) shoulders in my arms. Aunty Mergs. We will go on family camping trips someday. I will want to be in charge of lighting the fire. Lord knows when, but I look forward to it heartily. Today I thought of you as I sat down to my Fibers 260 class on the ninth floor. Morning grey light pouring on the work tables in the studio like big pails of paint. For some reason my mind goes to you first thing there. Maybe you are with Willa then or sleeping, either way I am with you then. I miss you. I love you.

Hay Giles. Well, you know. I will be there as quick as can be. Get the snowshoes and a good sports outfit ready.

He's related to you

He's related to you
He's related to you
He's nude as the news, nude as the news
Nude as the news, nude as the news
All over, all over, all over, all over

Cat Power through really large forty year old headphones. My Listening Station is complete. Well, as complete as can be at this point. Speakers will become phase two. I am not there yet. For now I have been enjoying my set up. Realistic STA-225 AM-FM Stereo Receiver with Gemini turntable and Sony DR-5A headphones. The sound is so much better now that I have switched to this pair of phones with a jumbo jack. Big sound. Rebecca asked me on the phone what I have been listening to and I had to laugh when it was time to answer. Two records on rotation and nothing else. Cat Power occasionally (only the What Would the Community Think album currently) and Brahms Piano Trios: The Beaux Arts Trio. The album art is incredible for a classical record. It sold me and the piano, violin and cello combination is beautiful and clean. Brahms died just three years before the turn of the century. Apparently he was a workaholic who was constantly burning his imperfections. When my outlets are spoken for by ongoing projects at my work table (majority of the time) I listen to 99.5 FM Radio Classique Montreal. That is it for now.

Ballet on my mind.

Self-determination.

I read this was a basis for Feminism the other day and I like it. Self-determination. So much better than self-discipline. Okay, school is a discipline but the beauty of it far outshines the shit parts. Today I sat through a safety demo for my Fibers Print and Dye class. Potions, that is what I will be doing through winter. Mixing little bowls of potion. Dyes and pigments are VERY different things. I had never considered the difference until my class this morning. I love the 8:30 classes. Bright eyed and bushy tailed after a quick clip downtown on Alba. Coffeebreak at 10:15 hallelujah. In this time I usually wander the other levels of the building. Back in the studio for a walking tour portion of the demo. It was then I saw my first glimpses of our personal spray room, mixing room, papermaking room (QUOI?!! Nine floors above sea level. I cannot imagine how beautiful it will look in winter).

The yellow room was my favorite as it was well equipped with tools and machines that caused my heart to soar out of my chest upon recognition. It is the room for coating screens, for exposing screens (in a unit that opens like a fridge instead of on it's back like a box, I was so curious), for drying screens in a box (never knew that was a thing [other than old airdry] until today), and for washing out emulsion. Fuck yes. Excuse moi. The spray booths in the yellow room had SAFELIGHTS installed in the backsplash of the basin, covered with plexiglass with the purpose of being able to see if all your emulsion came off and the screen clean for the next project, as those details are often overlooked in florescent light. That might be wrong. I will find out soon enough.

It was an affirming day. Time to shrug the doomcloak. I am in the right place and readier than ever for a room called yellow. Bought a used silk screen for fiber printing at a sale this afternoon and some supplies for printing. WOOOHOO!

Art school is what you make it. As is life. Slowly, I am learning.

Noise.

Le Poulet goes to school.

2011-09-19T13:08:00.000-07:00

First day of preschool.

This was the moment he realized life was about to change drastically. Poor guy.

Through his papa's legs on the first day of school.

Choosing the right chair.

Leo discovers the miniature kitchen just behind the shelf. Thank God.

Raise your hand if you feel weird.

Thank goodness for dads.

At the end of a hard day; soother in mouth. Pictured with Leo is the class Biter.

Through the looking pane at the end of Leo's first day. Proud nanny!

Back to the place he knows best. Day one, you are OUT.

Balance bike for a tiny tot named Leonard!

Dusk pick up.

2011-09-19T12:16:00.000-07:00

Wading through textbooks. An art history reading response shouldn't be that difficult, but it is. Come on brain, switch tracks. Literal to analytical, it is high time. Instead of reading one hundred pages, I am going through photos (not for school). What is my problem? Why is this so challenging? What would life be without its challenges? Boring as hell.

Right now I want to run screaming back to the life I once knew in Manitoba. But that would be too simple. This is hard, this is hard. This is hard. Today I am just too damn literal for art school. I don't understand the technicalities of my camera. Now when I shoot I am unsure where I once used to be sure.

This is so damn humbling. Wow.

For some reason, this photo shot last week while wandering after the sun dropped out of sight on Garbage Day gives me hope. I may never be an art historian, but I recognize beauty in the ordinary and this shot reassures that. Slam the door on self doubt Margot. Pick up your camera, figure it out.

Garbage man. Fujifilm Provia 400X. Shot on Fairmount Ave, Montreal; September 2011.

The Drifters.

2011-09-14T19:13:00.000-07:00

Hello out there. Ca va? It goes and goes at this work table. Time soars like never before!

Spotlight on James Brown y'all.

Currently grooving in my room to Wilson Pickett. Headphones and vinyl. Sweet spot; this is where I come when I get home from school to feel grounded by familiarity, surrounded by things I do know. The album THAT'S SOUL was chosen at random off my self and the first listen after many moons brought me back to Grade Six when I was first introduced to soul music in Mrs. Lopez's art class. Thanks woman. If it weren't for her, Lord knows where I would be in this world.

Someone marked the back of the record sleeve with the name Skinner W in heavy blue pen, dated March/ 73. Speaking of the Seventies, Virginie handed me her father's old Nikon F2 (a camera body introduced to the camera world in '71 following the F series) the other night. It is a beauty. Heavy, mechanical, chrome and black bodied, attached to a 35mm lens which I had never looked through until that moment at the island in Leo's kitchen. Niiiiiiice. The timing was impeccable as my need for a second lens was dire. Doors flung wide once again with an incredible gesture of trust and generosity.

Merci, woman. I will shoot with love.

Oh Aretha, sing it. I LOVE the song I Never Loved A Man The Way I Love You. Super sass.

Today was good. Photo studio class numero deux. I sat around a table nine strong, bewildered by technicalities of the camera flashing on a huge screen before me. Wait! What? In my incomprehension and frustration I thought of my Auntie Marj and my family and the people who have encouraged me relentlessly this year. Yes, this is exactly where I need to be.

Aunty Daryl breathed life and laughter into my system for the millionth time in my life this evening. It felt so damn good to howl into the phone, tears flying, open mouth laughter from the depths all from a single memory. Thanks for putting into words what I was not able to string together on my own. I am a KROEKER. Through and through. Frank KK just to let you know, I am in the messy process of rebuilding my foundation even though I would much prefer to be sailing ahead with production, these things can't be rushed. Never rush production. Even though I am a Kroeker, and rushing and production are what I know.

Devendra! Holy shit, as IF it has been nine months since I last listened to his 2009 release, What We Will Be. Find the song Baby, slap on some headphones, sit down, do yourself a favor and give it a good listen. Babs, how many hundred times did we listen to this over the darkest part of the winter at the Golden Studio, heels on hardwood, wine in hand, shitty make up, fakey fireplace, weird clothes, fur on silk?! Mrs. Banhart to you. I salute you and him both. When I listen to Devendra, I am with you. Now, where have I placed my cauldron of red wine? Where have I placed my dear Rebecca? These things go hand in hand.

Back to rushing and the stark reality of NOT knowing everything. It is okay not to know everything in terms of personal passion, as much as I would like to. I never will. Right now I am studying the history of photography which is deadly interesting, hallelujah.

Leo and I had a slumber party at my house on Friday. Success. Life is good, he still remembers me (irrational fear).

Doll house zeal. I love you Poulet.

Pinstripes and poverty.

2011-09-12T08:54:00.000-07:00

Monday. List du jour Day. Tick tick tick. Cycle cycle cycle. Just came from L. L. Lozeau, a photo shop where I managed to spend one million dollars on one fistful of professional film. And so it begins, photo studies and poverty. Shot my first assignment yesterday: one roll of 36 color exposures, any speed, any light, any subject. Quoi?!?

Met a very kind man named Panesar in the process. He was wearing a smart dress shirt with blue and white pinstripes. Caught my eye. He shot my portrait and I shot his. I wished I had another lens for my little Nikon EM sitting in my backpack in order to shoot him while he looked through my Nikon F3. It felt like the start of something, handing a camera over to the subject to shoot while being photographed.

The list of Needs is endless. And yet at the end of the day, all one needs for a good shot is trust. Where is the balance between what one has and what one needs?

Life is pretty strange these days, the transition of it all has thrown me for a loop. I am constantly checking my agenda in fear of missing an appointment, assignment, class, meeting. Weird! Excitement trumps daily worry. I have to trust in my organizational skills and stay on top of my work. I will find a rhythm, it is too soon to tell.

Off to the library to study as I have no textbooks yet.

Rol + Deb.

2011-09-09T14:35:00.000-07:00

Rol + Deb, Chelsea + Chase. Outside Kenora, Ontario; 2010.

Smoking out windows. Cameron Block; Ontario; 2010.

Red Lake pumps. Ontario; 2010.

Tyska does the wash. Sioux Lookout, Ontario; 2010.

Molly on the Block, Dara in the sky. Cameron Block, Ontario; 2010.

2011-09-07T20:38:00.001-07:00

Colors.

2011-09-07T15:07:00.000-07:00

This morning I walked into my first Photo Studio class and sat down in what was clearly a critique room. Big table, magnet walls. Chih-Chien Wang is my professor. He seems very relaxed and I liked him off the hop. There is something about his mannerisms that remind me of John, the man whose kitchen in which I first began. Anyway, it was wild. Twenty photographers around the table, 23 with staff.

After an introduction to the course ahead, we were led like ducklings by JoJo, a sassy Quebecoise woman who KNOWS HER SHIT. Allllright. She led us first into the Photo Finishing room, beyond the B&W darkroom, through a hallway, into the Color Print room, through a revolving door into the Color darkroom, where I will be spending many an hour come mere weeks from here. Wild! I was surprised to find we were beginning with color printing but the more I read, the more pleased I became.

In my meagre experience with contrast and color darkrooms, they are completely different processes. Contrast printing is wet and hands on, color is dry and rolled through a machine. Technically challenging in their own rites. This I will come to know. While standing in a long hallway with 6 or 7 doors leading to small rooms containing enlargers, JoJo hustled (this woman hustles like no other! She is hysterical) away and turned the lights out. Color developing is done in the pitch dark. Oooooh wee!

It was an exhilarating day to say the least. Exciting times ahead! Can't wait to put on my PRINT APRON. Thank the heavens. Tomorrow I begin my Fibres studio with a class called Fibres: Print and DYE. Can't wait.

Here is some recent work.

Love Margot

Room of whimsy. Montreal; September 2011.

Shot from Mikel's window. Montreal, September 2011.

Stripes for Virginie and her boy. Montreal; September 2011.

A Triumph goodbye. Montreal; September 2011.

Print and DYE.

2011-09-02T15:22:00.000-07:00

Rolled out of bed this morn and hustled downtown to run a few errands and drop off some paperwork at Concordia. I wandered around, familiarizing myself within the walls of the university buildings and eventually made my way to the EV building where all of my classes will take place. My studio classes are on the seventh and ninth floor. Came across the Printmedia studios first. Dear Lord, help me. Delicious. I could smell the solvent through the double doors.

Then I found the door to the Fibres Print & Dye studio. Beautiful. Just the idea of taking a class that combines fabric and print makes me want to SCREAM with joy. I so look forward to stepping through those doors this Wednesday. Wild. I saw the screens stacked neatly inside, aprons ready, not to mention so many things I had no recognition of their use. Exciting new tools, new procedures. I live for procedure work with quality production!!!!!!

Just looking in I was reminded of Jeanette, who is set to begin her masters studies in lithography (I think), a labor intensive form of printmaking. GORGEOUS freaking rooms, the print rooms filled with presses. They blew away. Some dude found me lurking in an empty hall and invited me into the serigraph studio for a firsthand look. Since I could smell it, I went straight to the back and inhaled. Sweet familiarity. Work tables, tilted light tables with room to tuck your knees under on a high chair (my favorite place to spend time), spray booths lined with rules and protective gear. Rules! I have a hunch my wild and free color mixing days are dead and gone. Hellooooo Pantone whatever. Shit. It will only be good for me. Anyway, it felt so bizarre to wander through a place totally foreign but also familiar.

Here comes the weekend. I took the day off today with Chanel's advice in mind: before any big change, take a holiday. Sound advice. Holiday mode commence.

Ickle Miel.

2011-09-02T10:07:00.000-07:00

Drying the paint of the Third Eye; 3-4-1 party. Montreal; August 2011.

Let's get up.

2011-08-31T08:21:00.000-07:00

We got up alright. Steve, Simon and myself around a table, table cloth flipped up, candles burning. "Let's do an exercise!". So we did. A nib and ink exercise. Here is the fruit of our jazzy labor.

Am I writing?
Are you listening?
Where is my beer.

Steve left, Simon right.

Meg left, Simon right.

Steve ripped his work in half and then lit it on fire.

Spraycation 10-4.

2011-08-31T07:36:00.000-07:00

My home and dawn's dew. Ontario; September 2009.

Last night I found myself dreaming of the Spray. In the dream I was back working for PRT on an extended fall contract with these dudes below. Two years ago to date I shot these photos. It was an exciting time. I was in love, holding my camera newly repaired after a long separation and shooting everything in sight. I kept it in the truck and my crew took such care of it when I was deep in the land.

We would congregate every morning at six at the trucks, waiting for Dixon's word that the morning mist was burnt off and we could begin our day on the Spray. Chemical doesn't stick to brush when slick with dew. Thus on wet days we would be shipped off to "clear". Clearing brush is in my humble opinion the worst job out of any I have worked. Hard, depressing and painful. Bigger guys handle the chainsaws and the little squirts haul the cut brush to the chipper. Slowly, over the course of a day, a plot would be cleared around the spruce or pine begging to shoot up--freshly exposed to sun. On hot days it was into the land as early as possible, filling pack after pack, two crews of four divvying up humungeous chunks of land to spray in a four person swath. And we would walk, and we would walk. It was the first time I saw trees shut down, a firsthand introduction to Autumn on an hour to hour basis. Turtle tanks on the back of the crew trucks were filled with ditch water, transfered to barrels trailing behind quads, transferred to packs attached to our backs, transferred through our wands to that lush lush lush.

Kill it all so that there may be life.

It was in this place I learned how to siphon. Bird was ready to teach, any questions I had no matter how minute, weird or vague. It is silly to long for such bizarre work, but I do. The work was mentally difficult, too open to mind wandering in that big land while crawling through, under, over, up, down. Log walking, like a showy circus act that not a single person was aware of. Joy came from strange places.

Bush work has its place. Glad I did it, glad it is far enough in the past to appreciate from an arms length, glad I am here in my room and not there tripping every minute, cursing the very land I love. Glad it is over. Enough dreaming, back to reality.

WAKE UP.

Spray boys talk shop. Deep in the bush, Ontario; September 2009.

Power 90, pack and poison. Ontario; September 2009.

Birdman, my teacher. Block talk. Ontario; September 2009.

Konan on the string box. Ontario; September 2009.

Bird and Klinck relax back at camp. Ontario; September 2009.

These are the mornings I miss. Bush camp, Ontario; September 2009.

Classic Maya. Bush camp, Ontario; September 2009.

Saxson fills a turtle tank; Bush camp, Ontario; September 2009.

Bird surveys land from above. Ontario; September 2009.

Hi Vis marks the spot. Sioux Narrows, Ontario; September 2009.

Loose grip, tight ship.

2011-08-30T18:13:00.000-07:00

Creme introduced me to Cat Power, essentially. What Would The Community Think, his favorite. I always go to her Jukebox album out of bush habit, but the more I listen to What Would The Community Think, the more I understand where he is coming from. Nude as the News sounds so damn good through headphones. Click to have a listen for yourself. Followed by They Tell Me? Ohhhhh baby. Hard to put to words my appreciation for such sound.

Here is some recent photo work. Hopefully these are the last two rolls I pay to have developed. I am sick and tired of paying for a service that I could easily do for myself. Soon enough.

Julie's sparkler; 3-4-1 party. Montreal; August 2011.
This was scanned backwards, now I see.

Gitch on the line. Montreal, August 2011.

Lion and Bull; 3-4-1 party. Montreal; August 2011.

Step 1. Xacto Step 2. Spray

A frenchman named Laurent shot this of Virginie, baby Marie and I.
Studying darkroom. Île aux Chèvres, Quebec; 2011.

CFM shoes. Montreal, August 2011.

Laurent shot this as well. I like his composition, that eyebrow, his woman.
Île aux Chèvres, Quebec; 2011.

Peace; 3-4-1 party. Montreal; August 2011.

J'ai faim.

2011-08-27T13:22:00.000-07:00

After yesterday's morning sadness dissipated, I slapped on some lipstick and got myself together. Bootstraps hauled up. I am no longer employed full time! Ahhhhh! Secouuuuuurs! Always a frightening thing, jumping from certain places to get to others. A to B. J to K or whatever. I wanted to say that I am not sad (as yesterday's post might have implied)! I am EXCITED. Thrilled that the time is nigh.

Art School.

While Leo may no longer be my boss, he is a boy who lives down the street from me always interested in adventure. When Virginie came home from her work yesterday, we watched Leo so freakin' proud on his balance bike with two pairs of misty eyes. The Spry family has been so generous to me. I was reminded 100 times that their door is always open. Je sais, je sais. It is nice to know I have found family in surprising form that I can call to ask: ce qui est pour le dîner?

Now that there is free time where there was once not, I am trying hard to put some projects to bed. Here is a list in no particular weighted order:

- Dogfreak mail project: Bring to completion, plus 1 x LLB
- Victorian House illustration: finish the damn thing!!!
- Storm illustration: begin the damn thing
- Mail three YOTR Rabbits already
- Wedding portrait illustration: finish
- Old Lady Teacart: FINISH

I am a suuuuuuuuuuuuucker for art accessories. Things to aid in the production portion. Art ease. I don't know. I would far rather adorn my work table than body, any day of the week. Bits and bobs will be the death of me. Tiny ships, spools of string, stamps, teacups for anything loose begging to be contained, a miniature haus, bottles and bottles of ink, doll furniture, weird Mexican doll sisters. Papers, papers, papers. They find their way onto my person, the speed of collection shocks me even though I am the one at the helm. Today I bought a stack porcelain watercolor dishes for watercolor.

Here is something I made today, scanned once dry. It is not something that needed to be ticked off my list, it just came to be in the very avoidance of it. I guess this is how I make art. I have a hunch this tactic will not fly by art school standards, whatever those are. Gotta do my thang until I no longer can.

Painted Haus. Flipside perspective. Watercolor on copy. Montreal, August 2011.

For Rags McLaren, you inspire me to letter.

For Stuart, just because. Stencil negative, illustration in pencil; Montreal.

Year of Learning.

2011-08-26T07:30:00.000-07:00

Leo and I. Montreal, May 2011.

Today is my last day as a full time nanny to Leonard Arthur Spry. The routine I know like the back of my hands will soon be pulled out like a rug under foot. I am ready. As Leo drank the contents of his bottle in my arms this morning, I couldn't help but spill tears onto his head. Either he failed to notice or he is used to them by now.

How I will long for the weight of his body curved against my own in the rocking chair. Leo has taught me to recognize patience within myself, to trust my instincts, to read body language when there are no words to choose from. So many nights I can hear his cry in my head causing my body to snap up, ears alert. What does he need? He needs love, nourishment and reassurance just like every baby. The reality of our separation will settle in only after the fact. Leo is my best Montreal friend, there is no denying that.

I will miss cruising around town, just the two of us; Leo high up on my shoulders, little hands folded on the crown of my head. I will miss watching him interact with little people at Parc Outremont where Francophone, Anglophone and Hasidic Jewish children mix together seamlessly. Last week I watched Leo stomp on the precious sand work of four girls who looked about five or six. They were furious with him but he stood his ground, blowing bubbles as if to prove a point. What a guy.

Leo starts baby school on Monday! Virginie invited me to come along for his first day. I think I will die with pride, camera wobbling in my hands. Little backpack on a little boy. I don't know how parents do it, let their babies go. He isn't even mine and already I am misty eyed at the thought of him being scared or uncomfortable in the company of strangers. Don't worry baby, you will familiarize yourself and eventually there will be comfort in place of fear. New toys, new people to stare at, new smells, new pairs of arms to pick you up.

I don't know what to say other than I will miss you dearly, Le Poulet.

This is not the end, but just the beginning.

Day 3 on the job with Le Poulet. Montreal, September 2010.

The Boy Who Eats Stars. Montreal, January 2011.

Crazy poussin. Montreal, January 2011.

Laughing chicken. Montreal, November 2010.

Baby lips. Montreal, April 2011.

Leo with the Croc Slaying hat. Montreal, March 2011.

Planet of a Flower.

2011-08-25T20:44:00.000-07:00

Musical journey tonight. Cymande and Mij. Dove and Yodeling Astrologer. Tres bizarre. The best beats, whistle and falsetto I ever did hear. I can't believe I can listen to records at my leisure these days, attached to the head. The only question during: Who next?

How I missed the Listening Station so. Radio Classique 99.5 FM through the receiver. Its green numbers lit up remind me of the old receiver in Quality Builders shop. I loved adjusting that thing as a small girl sitting up on the high counters, sawdust everywhere.

My procrastinating ways need to stop! There is work piling up and I have yet to begin! Today after a family dinner with Chanel and Lola, I picked up a thin pen and drew a Chinese military man, regal in his stature. I have been drawn to old military imagery lately; rows of guns, ammunition hanging on shoulders, pith helmets.

Thin illustration on velum. Photo swiped from Astral P. August 2011.

Night scene on the back balcony. Montreal, August 2011.

The other day Virginie walked into the garden while I was drawing a woman in army clothes holding a gun. I closed my book, embarrassed. She never asked to see it.

Pith Off illustration. Simple pen ink on cardstock; Montreal, Aug 2011.

Old Fucker illustration. Ink pen on cardstock. Halifax, 2011.

No other options. Montreal, August 2011.

Erin and Derek illustration: Attempt 1. July 2011. Yikes.

I am ram running head first into the woods. Change is stirring, I can feel it moving under my feet. Time with Leo is down to a single day! How can I sum up a year of learning with that child? I love him dearly, this is all I know. Le Poulet, I love you.

As good as stuck. Montreal, August 2011.

Beef Stroganoff.

2011-08-24T21:09:00.000-07:00

I am listening to a record as I type. Kurt Vile. The Listening Station took on a sliver of shape today. I was on a mission, driven by headache, slugging coffee while pushing Leo at top speed on Parc. We were headed for Little Italy but a turntable caught my eye and I was sidetracked, Italy forgotten. So Leo explored while I wheeled and dealed. Went home after five with that heavy partnership in my arms, cords wild. No speakers, that will come. Can't rush these things.

Gonzales' Solo Piano was the first thing I listened to, work music. Jana/ Devendra split next, I haven't heard that in many moons.

Made Kim Kroeker's Beef Stroganoff for Sahra and two squirrels named Simon and Steve. Tablecloth. Great recipe ma.

School is near, I can almost taste it.

Peace like a river.

2011-08-20T16:30:00.000-07:00

Dear Michael in Mauve, it was a moment shared with you inside my closet when I realized that I am as free as I choose to be. The future is nothing but now. This is my home, Montreal. I am so proud to live in this province, grateful for the freedom to pursue my passion here.

Together with Chanel and Lola and so many others, we celebrated the lives we live and the life we share in Montreal. Dear Madge, life is not the destination, but the journey. Aunty Daryl, you wrote something close to this in a fat journal which you gave to me on the eve of my first European adventure. I woke with that adage flying around my head like a bird, Laura and Shira's laughter filling up the space of the kitchen like liquid. It is the damn journey. For once in a lifetime I was nothing but relaxed in my own home spilling with strangers. Sailing in and out of rooms, I found the quiet I was looking for in the closet with Michael. There was a party and I was calm.

To wrap up one fiscal year of my life, I zipped into my coral Tony Chestnut MOH dress in honor of my sister's wedding anniversary, one year ago tomorrow: August 21st, 2010. Happy anniversary. I love you and Derek both very much. Every day is a year, fiscally speaking.

Peace like a river in my soul today. I watched the sun come up on my back balcony wearing nothing but a Creme de la Creme shirt paperthin and panties. Feet dangling. The blackest soles you ever did see.

My hips don't lie. Ma Francais, c'est tres maigre. Take it or leave it Montreal, I am here to learn.

Laughing Ladies illustration. Ink to print copy with marker overlay. Made with love.

3-4-1.

2011-08-19T12:50:00.000-07:00

Cruisin' to Goats' Island; July 2011. Photo by Sara May.

WELL. Today has been lovely thus far. Leo has been a pissy bitch for a greater portion of the day but he is sleeping now, thank god. We swung by the Lady Pad and to my great delight, there was a package from Rags. Not a letter, a package! While Leo danced with Laura, I cut my way through and found a letter too!

Thanks woman, you know me through and through. I was downtown this morn picking up a color crop and had to refrain from stepping into any shops. No no no, no need. It just felt like the kind of day to find a new shirt. Oh well. Shortly thereafter I opened your mail and out fell the Creme de la Creme, a shirt straight off your own damn back. LOVE IT. Wearing it right now.

Tonight Chanel, Lola et moi are celebrating our 3-4-1 Anniversary party at Casa Clark. Shit show, presumably. Laura has lived in Montreal for four years (!!!), Janelle three years (!!!) and one for me. Baby's first year. Shira Time is in town for the grand event and I am praying I wake up tomorrow.

Here are some COLOR photos (just not the same).

Luke Jones of Winnipeg at Parc Outremont; Montreal, August 2011.

Looking out across the St. Lawrence to downtown Montreal; July 2011.

Naked wild child at his chalet. Goats' Island, QC; July 2011.

Tante Lisa, best aunty in the world. Montreal, August 2011.

This is a test. August 2011.

Divergence.

2011-08-17T16:33:00.000-07:00

To begin what feels like the millionth post du jour, a definition: contrast noun |ˈkänˌtrast|the state of being strikingly different from something else, typically something in juxtaposition or close association

Color and I? We are experiencing a break.

It seems I have entered a love affair with something quite the opposite. It has taken hold with an iron grip. The realization of it caught me off guard today.

In my art, in my dress, in my post, in my sight, BLACK AND WHITE.

Le Chien et Le Chat stencil. Montreal, Quebec; July 2011.

Kind of like printing? Not quite, but cute. Montreal; July 2011.

Île aux Chèvres.

2011-08-17T12:01:00.000-07:00

Parisian dad feeds baby. Île aux Chèvres, Quebec; July 2011.

Life is bon. Summer in Montreal has been incredible. In the clarity of hindsight, I am so grateful to have been able to spend the season in its entirety riiiiiiiiight here, at home. The east coast holiday was top notch, a cherry on top. A few weeks ago, Virginie (Leo's ma) invited me to her chalet that has been in the family since she was a baby. Situated on Goats' Island, you can see Laval and Montreal's downtown clear as a bell from their dock. The mighty St. Lawrence lies between their chalet and the city. Pleased as punch, we packed up and took off to the boat launch in Laval on a Friday. She invited her friends Sara and Laurent and their baby Marie, who were visiting from Paris.

It was a French afternoon. I was invited in to the french flow and was happy to sit on a blanket with that GORGEOUS naked babe (two naked babes when Leo woke to join Marie and I). While the babes slept, we waded in the river, drank beer, explored and took turns with the cameras lying around. Here are some shots I like.

Enjoy.

There is something to this that I love. Laurent's index finger, I think. Île aux Chèvres, Quebec; July 2011.

Hi little girl! This is Marie, she will age like a dream. Île aux Chèvres, Quebec; July 2011.

Leo and his dad in the St. Lawrence. Île aux Chèvres, Quebec; July 2011.

Two little babies sittin' in a row. Île aux Chèvres, Quebec; July 2011.

Creature parents. Île aux Chèvres, Quebec; July 2011.

Brail Blazer READY.

2011-08-15T21:36:00.000-07:00

Stephanie Hall by Amie Milne. Image from Fashion Gone Rogue.

Stephanie Hall by Amie Milne. Image from Fashion Gone Rogue.

2011-08-15T16:06:00.000-07:00

Full moon lunacy carryover. My rooftop recharge seems to have done wonders. Today was a surprise day off from my work with Le Poulet. Love those. I slept in, woke to Steve's 500 pound Ad Hoc cookbook at the foot of my bed. How did it land there? Read in bed.

Nothing beats reading a cookbook in bed at noon on a Lundi.

Ran about town, cruised on Jess, drank some coffee and then got to WORK.

Introducing The Belly to the Sea House project. Whatever the heck that is. I get images stuck in my head sometimes (when I'm lucky), and it always feels good to follow through and put the project to bed. Fred.

One million start-of-somethings. Story of my life.

Trace negative space to your heart's content. Xacto that shit. Stain digits, who cares? Apron, always.

Stencil away. Simple. Montreal; Aug 2011.

Also, it must be said that the photograph pictured below is one of my favorite pictures ever, of all time.

Rags, I swiped it from your Flickr without permission. Sorry, it's too damn good. And thank you. Those are my sister's elbows, stamped same as my own two hands. Eating cake at Rollin's second birthday party at the park. So sorry to have missed that!

Photo by the talented Andrea McLaren, my friend.

Zara Woman.

2011-08-13T13:30:00.000-07:00

Je t'aime Samedi. Yesterday I lay on a rooftop and soaked up the moon. Someone had taken the initiative to paint half of a basketball court on the crushed gravel roof. It was brilliant. I shot some hoops, practiced my lay ups. Was it the Harvest moon? It really had power, whatever it was. Strong reflections caught my eye as we climbed. No camera, but I shot the night as if there was. Four of us walked up and around the concrete skeleton of a huge building, just concrete floors and piers, walls gone, blown out. It was a very strange climb.

The building itself reminded me of climbing around the Royal Bank many summers ago in Winnipeg. That night I saw a man roll down down down a staircase in a wheelchair. Intense. He survived and now hangs around Black Sheep. Wild night, lots of screaming and dancing to music from a stereo, climbing and running, watching so many released balloons float up from below.

Tanya's Grandmother; ink on cardstock. 2010

Arms in crooks.

2011-08-10T15:22:00.000-07:00

This looks nice. Who shot this photo?

Image from myparentswereawesome.

Coast homes.

2011-08-03T15:41:00.000-07:00

This is the house that spoke. Someday, if I were to be so lucky I would like to raise a family here.

House on a hill at low tide; Bell Island, July 2011.

Belly to the sea; Bell Island, July 2011.

Eat your heart out Dwell; Green Bay, Nova Scotia (or near to it); 2011.

I think is just might be my favorite of the LOT. Empty coast home, je veux. Bell Island; 2011.

From the side. Bell Island, July 2011.

Color Harvest.

2011-08-01T20:27:00.000-07:00

Classic, delicious. La Have Islands; July 2011.

Finalement.

Here are some of my favorites from the Color crop (that I picked up after reading Grandpa's Flying Journey book. Made it downtown in six minutes on Alba, whoa la). Trip pictures; the long wait, the computer dump, the sort through. Oddly enough, most of my favorite photos are of Simon. How I miss his island outfits, that easy laughter.

Enjoy.

The empty Belly to the Sea house; kill me. Bell Island; July 2011.

Looking down and looking out of lost sea homes. Bell Island, 2011.

My favorite shot; sums up my holiday well. Bell Island, 2011.

The Smith's fireplace. Out of place, yet appropriate. Bell Island, 2011.

Fool's Cove. Bell Island, 2011.

Looking out across the bay from my rock perch at Fool's Cove. Bell Island, 2011.

Moose pining after Geof; Bell Island, 2011.

Exploring the island yard at Fool's Cove (do you see bike spokes? I do); Bell Island, 2011.

Boys putting the Dory in the water at Fool's Cove; Bell Island, 2011.

Bowl on top of La Have Bakery (dream life for someone); La Have; July 2011.

Choosing his board; La Have, 2011.

Ripping in topsiders, what a guy; La Have, 2011.

Contemplating life at the best swimming hole. Near Lunenburg; July 2011.
Photo. Simon Richards

One of my favorites from the Underwater Cam; in water pictured above.
Photo. Simon Richards

Feet in nature; Fool's Cove. Bell Island, 2011.

Flying with Grandpa.

2011-08-01T20:03:00.000-07:00

Fast day. Leo's ears were bothering him, poor kid. It is terrible seeing a baby in pain, but oh oh oh how I love to hold him close when he is sick. We hung out in the rocking chair for a solid portion of the day. It was the only place he was quiet. In my opinion, there really is nothing better in life than singing a baby to sleep. Wet curls drying into the softest bed of chicken hair. Leo, how I will miss you.

In the morning we cruised to the Jean Talon market. I picked up a bunch of fresh produce to have on hand while Lisa King Craftswoman is in town! Oh I could just burrrrrst at the thought of her in my bed tomorrow. WHAT!?! Excellent. Can't wait to roam town with that woman. Splash parc hang out. Made a pot of soup, whipped up some pork/ veal/ mushroom/ parsley burger patties. Pretty delish, and so simple too.

Came home, zoomed to Outremont to pick up a Mother Parcel (Kim Kroeker, you are out of this world) and ripped it open greedily on the front step of Casa Clark. Inside I found all kinds of things! Animal crackers, soup, wild rice, chocolate, candy (of course), People magazine (haha) and my Grandpa's latest book based on his flying career. I read it cover to cover, so engrossed I forgot I was still wearing my helmet. See cover below.

My Grandpa Syd, the Pilot (and writer).
His latest family book. July 2011.

Grandpa, I was very impressed and proud. It made me cry! I miss my family so blinken' much, and to read stories I had never heard before just hit home. I am assuming it was Grandma who slipped the cash tight into the spine, thank you! I miss you two. I wished there had been more photos of all the Reimer grandkids squeezed into the back of your Archer. Those memories of flying together on Sunday afternoons are some of my most dear. I will never forget my first night flight with you, Mike and my dad. We flew from your airstrip in Rosenort towards Winnipeg and I will never forget the creeping orange glow of the city. Ever a child of the country, I was baffled by the color in the dark and you explained how the lights of the city lit up the night.

One of my greatest pleasures as a young girl was riding in your baby blue VW Bug to the hanger for plane rides. Shit, that car was so awesome. Plane rides! How lucky were we, that that was the norm?! Wild. I loved the process at the hangar; watching you pull the plane out, testing testing testing to make sure that thing was safe, the first noises from the prop, climbing aboard, small feet on the wing, Erin and I taking turns with the headset. Anyway, thank you for your stories; they brought upon a wave of my own sweet flying memories.

I am a granddaughter of a pilot, the sister of one too. Considering the long list of To Do's in my life, learning to fly is high among those. We'll see. For now, you have control.

Love, Megs

Dear Aunty Rags.

2011-07-31T19:11:00.000-07:00

Dear Rags, I wrote to you so many times today. Short spurts, long banging paragraphs on my typewriter, color color color, drawing vines and vans. Thanks for inspiring me. When I look at the photo you sent to me in your last letter, the one of you in your whites and chef hat--busy plating away with such meticulousness--god I feel inspired.

For the first time in what seems like a cool million years, I drew out a concept that had been sloshing around in thought in a letter to you. You shall receive it shortly, I am glad it is going to you. Whatever this thing will become, it has finally begun.

Love you hard tonight, M Doc.

L'Art Prout.

2011-07-30T12:56:00.000-07:00

Work book slice from La Have Islands; July 2011.

These days when I do sit to work at my table, it is always stencil based. My old ink and worn fountain pens are partly to blame, but it is also all I know to do these days. One track mind. I bust out the vellum today and just zipped through with my xacto knife. Tracing paper is imperative at my work station, regardless of the medium in focus. For spray paint I use Krylon indoor/outdoor in flat noir. Spray adhesive is also imperative.

* written in the middle of June, 2011.

Back on drawing, some painting, usually letter-based. Telling. I have always felt comfortable lettering. I get that from my mother, whose block letters were to die for. She would write the titles of block lettered school projects and I would color them in. Thanks for that mom, it is who I am. Also

Double exposure art. Freehand ink on cardstock underlay, ink on tracing paper top. May/ June 2011.

Art fart. Leo's 12 year old cousin Florence taught me that Prout en fracais, means FART in english. Good to know. While on my east coast journey, I spent many a portion of time with my coiled work book. Letters, weird faces of Dave Bancroft (an 86 year old man whom Simon and I met en route) as well as Lisa Bell (never actually met the woman, but made a drawing as Geof wove her story). There was so much of that at Fool's Cove (Simon's beach homebase on Bell Island), stories and expression. Whatever the modus operandi, the medium was up to mood and moon. I wrote a lot, drew, wrote letters, painted idly at the kitchen table while there was a party happening in the next rooom. I felt comfortable to take leave there, take off for a bit. Plenty of time to walk slowly, to stop and really smell.

One day, Simon and I were walking around. I realized I hadn't collected any flowers or leaves, so we did. That day we walked to the tip of the island to sit in our own spaces in a graveyard on the side of a grassy hill. It was tended, there were stumps. The ocean smashing its way with the moon. The water was incredible, it took my breath away each time I looked out. The fog, dancing silkily over and out, and back in again. Sea kayaks spinning like dials in the bay, waiting their turn.

End of the month Scallage. Montreal, July 2011. Photo of moped printed and shot by Craig Dueck.

Bits 'n Bobs. Margot XXX. Montreal 2011.

Missing Erin, painting proud. Click to see her work. Oh So Lovely, her baby.

Social recess/ Work book slice. 2011.

Real expensive hot dogs.

2011-07-30T11:27:00.000-07:00

Saturdate with myself. After downing a bottle of wine with Virginie, pouring out my heart AND crying over the most trivial things (in retrospect), I made it home and settled into the night routine. With a sidelong glance at my drawing books, Year of the Rabbit rabbit limbs, Lady Longbody legs and a bag of batting, I decided to write some letters. My go to, like drawing triangles when I have nothing else. Write a letter Madge, to begin. Then I slept, finally at dawn as the light crept into my back bedroom.

Willa, come for a sleepover. Can't wait to draw with you on a bench one day. Diamonds on a princess belt? You GOT it. Elf shoes for a prince? Absolutement! Rags, what I would give for a walk around Winnipegtown with you two birds today. Can I push the stroller please? It is hotter than Hades here. Sweatin' from the meatiest of body parts. Despite the heat, I left the house to troll around the neighborhood. In my wandering I ended up with a coffee in one hand and a one dollar Darkroom book in my lap. Read for a while, bobbing to the nineteen nineties beats blasting from across the street. Street party, expensive hotdogs, dancing babies. Then I meandered to Monistiraki to say Shalom to Billy, a wonderful man with a great eye for bits and bobs. Picked up some one dollar things for various letters on the go and was psyched when I found another Modigliani post card. Ten points. I love his paintings.

It is not a Saturday without a visit to my neighborhood Japanese paper shop, I am such a sucker for handmade sheets. Departed with two giant sheets--heavily textured pulpy white with rough edges--and a vision of that one house at the mouth of Bell Island burnt forever in my memory. Back to the paint, dip dip drag. Two sheets, in case it gets ugly on the first go (as it tends to).

Off to wig shop for the 3 4 1 Anniversary Costume Party taking place at Casa Clark for Chanel, Lola et moi in a few weeks time. Baby's first birthday as a Montreal drifter. Signage to come.

Happy weekend.

Le Margot.

Nightlife.

2011-07-30T01:20:00.000-07:00

When there are nights of these sort, life normalizes, limbs relax with each sip, and laughter between two women becomes easier and easier. Today as the summer evening stretched her arms wide open to this great city, Leo, Chanel et moi wandered with Dairy Queen in hand, beating the heat. No sugar for the chicken. I babysat Le Poulet in the evening and when his parents woke me after their dinner party, I was sprawled sleeping on the sectional clutching a copy of Nightlife in my hands.

Ass sweat, mom hair, dowdy dress; Margot Pollo. Wild Montreal, the Fear of Missing Out gone right out from under my feet. There was no place I would have rather been this evening than out walking with two of my favorite people, the day's heat settling on our skin like hot fog. Leo in little pants, bareback, flopping ringlets. No-no, his blanket wrapped around his feather neck like the most chic throw.

Then without any sound, Jeremy cracked two bottles of wine and we all got to talking. Damn I love my job and so appreciate the family I have found in the absence of my own. The Sprys, my family. Virginie, what a woman. I walked home at four in the morning, thinking of the conversation between the two of us, and of Rouge. Got a bagel on the walk home down Fairmount without thinking and nodded to all the workers bustling to get the early morning bagel order out the door, onto the trucks. I have done that work, I respect that hustle. Sesame fingers.

It was funny, sharing so many things this evening, hearing the words come out of my mouth: the fear and hope tied tight like one of Simon's sailing knots. Virginie took it in stride and provided me a platform to coo out my excitement at the prospect of feeling at home in a studio once again. She understood my longing, or I felt understood in it.

The print. I have not forsaken you, I am simply waiting.

Now sleepless at four in the morning for the seventh day in a row, my mind lurches forward to a place I do not yet know, to hall smells unfamiliar, my heart swelling with excitement at the thought of being a student of art. SOON. Soon. Soon enough.

Until that day, I plan on enjoying the longest summer I have experienced in three years! What a glorious season, this one. Tomorrow is empty, the only thing on my agenda is an East Coat photo pick up. Color film, underwater cam. And just like that I am transported back in thought to Simon and I kayaking on my second last day of holidays, into a channel of water that sealed the deal: one day I will live on the east coast. His face underwater, eyes open for a flash to the plastic lens. Then a switch, my eyes bursting open in that icy salt water, clear as the day is long. God I miss that place. The water, the rocks, sea grass. Soon enough indeed. Photos will fill in the blanks of diction, I hope.

Drex and Danika were married today! My love to you two on your wedding day: July 29, 2011. While I may not have seen the vision that I know you to be through a misshapen lens, I can imagine it easily. Blessings on your love.

Party of four.

2011-07-28T18:36:00.000-07:00

Yacht chic or Clown chic? Oh the veins of fashion lying in wait within my closet. You know you are free when the pressing question is "what to wear?". Usually it is "why aren't you drawing?". Clown clothes tonight, the lot of them.

Kelly Clarkson practice. Trying to sing aloud, even if the songs are embarrassing. I found one song I would like to attempt to sing at karaoke--The trouble with love is--probably because it reminds me of my sis. Lola and Chanel are seasoned goers. I am downright terrified to step out, but dead curious. What a crock of useless information here today. God! I need to get out more.

Tonight I am going OUT. In a really electric blue dress. In heels. Whoa la. We'll see what Chanel has up her sleeve. We never go out for cocktails here! I used to sit bar side with Rebecca on a weekly basis, drinking the rent down in rouge form. Good form. Oh to be young and free.

Today I made a new friend. It was really the start of something. Uma is her name. She caught my eye at the splash parc, I liked her enthusiasm. She is four. After work with Leo I went to Club Social for a solitary coffee and was mid sentence in a letter to Erin when I saw Uma running top speed towards my position on the bench. This is how our conversation went:

It's you!

Hey girl.

Where is your naked baby?

He is at home eating supper.

I have diabetes.

That's okay. Do you want to wear my hat?

Yes. Can you paint my toes?

Sure.

We huuuuuuuuuuuuung out on the bench for a good hour and a half, her babe dadda shocked at her pool of ice cream lying forgotten beside her. We were in the middle of an elaborate princess drawing, too busy to eat. Her diction was that of a ten year old. She explained how insulin worked, explaining how it made her feel as she gave me a guided tour on her body; fingers connecting pinpricks like constellations.

I showed her my Grandma tattoo, I think she was impressed.

Uma! Four years old. Super sass. She asked me what "chic" meant when she heard it and I laughed through my explanation just imagining the word coming out of her mouth during breakfast the next day. Single parenthood sounds difficult. She was a complete delight and dismissed her dad immediately. He looked like he needed a good rest. The relief on his face was thanks enough. Looking forward to hanging out with Uma from Yellowknife at the Splash tomorrow.

Montreal is filled with drifters, this I know. I am one of them. Sitting beside Uma in my giant hat as magic hour crept in, our bodies slumped against each other, I felt at home. Hallelujah. Just drawing with someone with such a detailed thought process was enchanting! She encouraged my illustration. Thanks girl. One of the most exciting things I have found about moving away is the delight in meeting people! You just never know how a bench encounter can change your life.

My friend Uma, she's a fire cracker. I am back in the babysitting biz folks, yup 25 and ALIVE.

Soup du jour.

2011-07-28T13:15:00.000-07:00

Sleepless is the word these days. No babes to care for in the night, just myself and ten pillows, twisted sheets and a choir of crickets. No complaints really, I simply would like a good night's rest. Since arriving home from the East coast, rest has gone out the window. I spend the darkest part of each night hovering over projects at my work table, cruising the world wide and rereading.

Jeanette Winterson, you write so beautifully. The following paragraph copied in scrawling cursive and then into type from 'Sexing the Cherry'--the idea of it, a flicker of memory--came back around yesterday as I watched a man walk further and further away from my position in the coffee queue.

Here in an excerpt that called out to me. The first time I read this paragraph I was sitting in a park in Bassersdorf, Switzerland. Magic hour.

On more than one occasion I have been ready to abandon my whole life for love. To alter everything that makes sense to me and to move into a different world where the only known will be the beloved. Such a sacrifice must be the result of love... or is it that the life itself was already worn out? I had finished with that life, perhaps, and could not admit it, being stubborn or afraid, or perhaps did not know it, habit being a great binder. I think it is often so that those most in need of change choose to fall in love and then throw up their hands and blame it all on fate. But it is not fate, at least, not if fate is something outside of us; it is a choice made in secret after nights of longing.

I am a charioteer in this game called Love and although I am only twenty two, my am growing tired of longing after a phantom.

* Above excerpt taken from Queens of Machu Picchu, an old post of mine. I was 22 in 2008, pining after a stranger and writing like a maniac in all corners of the world I was crawling then. Anecdotes don't pour out from mind to mains as easily as they used to, but this is not necessarily a bad thing. Keeping things to myself more? I suppose. Young Madge.

Damn! Some things never change.

Sleepless and single, not all bad in actuality. I began sewing again last night after so many ages of looking at lifeless muslin rabbit limbs. And I enjoyed myself whilst!

Life after holidays is wonderful. Leo is beside me lounging in his inflatable pool, soaking up the heat rays. Curls for days, sparkly eyes on a boy who grew again in the space apart from the other. Amazing, that quick growth. His face changed, new words lodged in the memory banks: chaud, pool, cold, chat, compote (apple sauce) and his personal fave, de l'eau de l'eau de l'eau--repeated three times minimum. This kid would flip a lid in Aunty Marj's pool! I hate that my ma has never seen this golden babbling creature, has never hauled his slippery naked body around and around in the water. They would LOVE each other, I have no doubt. His is silly now! Still can't say my name for the life of him, but I know how he feels.

We cruised straight to the splash parc at the top of the afternoon today, the heat pressing. When I got to work he was naked in the pool, stirring a special plastic shape stock around his body with a giant wooden spoon. Soup du jour? Leo Pou (as his mother calls him, short for poussin--chick in anglais). As always, I forgot all the gear that is required for a swim day. Leo was the only naked child at the place, running wild, curls flying, eyes wide with other children wonder.

Only child.

Mail from Tante Lisa over lunch hour at Leo's; Montreal 2011.

I love my job.

Ash bows.

2011-07-24T19:27:00.001-07:00

Found some negatives lying around (my scanner is finicky as hell). A mountain walk, Charles mid statement, a reflection in the window of an Ethiopian restaurant on Avenue du Parc.

Bon fin semaine. Hot bike rides, splash parc, errands, coffee, back balcony breakfast courtesy of Chanel--who's singsong woke me at noon this morning. What a nice way to rise. Made me miss my ma's morning singsongs. Wakey wakey Megsy.

The heat cracked this morning and the wind is coursing through our breathing apartment at the moment. Glorious wind. Radio Classique is on, strings tonight. I spent the top of the afternoon on the same mountain on which the Ash bow photo below was shot. Tam tams on a hot Sunday with Pat and Ryan, my planting brothers.

Ash bows for sweet dreams; Mont Royal, Montreal 2011.

Always something to say, Charles; Montreal 2011.

Where's Wenda? Who knows what happened here; on Ave du Parc, Montreal 2011.

Rapid growth.

2011-07-23T13:23:00.000-07:00

Time machine; Montreal 2011.

Happy pup who joined me at Parc Jeanne Mance; Montreal 2011.

Shannon a la parc; Montreal 2011.

Leonard, 19 months; Montreal 2011.

Laughing Poulet; Montreal 2011.

Contemplating his next move; Montreal 2011.

Nap time at Casa Clark for the gros bebe; Montreal 2011.

Partners in crime; Montreal 2011.
* photo of myself shot by Shannon Laliberte. Merci

East Street.

2011-07-22T14:19:00.000-07:00

Striped bods on the back balcony. Laura and I sit, similarly striped in contrast, happy to be reunited. Tablecloth on the wooden table, what the hell--it is summer. We are in the thick of it.

It feels a bit weird to be back in a city.

I got home at ten this morning via train; haggard and smelly, tired of listening to the worriers sitting behind me. What a ride. I left Halifax Central yesterday noon. Nothing like a good, long train ride to provide a rolling backdrop for a period of quiet reflection.

What. A. Trip! Wild, refreshing, peaceful, delicious. And to think! Two days ago I was kayaking in the ocean and cutting through water ducking under the boom on a sailboat. Glorious.

Here is the first of many photos to come. Shot by Irma De Sie, in the midst of Race Night for sailboats at the mouth of the harbor in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia. Prairie woman on water, hilarious.

Meg, Steve, Simon and Geof on Race Night in Lunenburg. Our boat came in third. Party.

I shot and shot and shot some more. The architecture! Lost sea homes, standing proud, bellies to the salt spray. Simon and I climbed inside homes like this on Bell Island and after testing the strength of the floors like cats, we and shot around each other, surprising the other in forgotten rooms with curling rose wallpaper. Lenses for noses. Pulling cameras away from our faces, smiling. There was such delight in the freedom of each moment.

It was also really nice to shoot alongside someone with a very different eye. I would laugh every time we would race for our respective cameras at the same time. Eventually a gear table came to be and the range in equipment was impressive, not to mention the film stock between the two of us! Easy shootin'.

Two words: underwater cam. Two more words: icy Atlantic.

Days were easy on Bell Island. Coffee, CBC radio, book, paper, ink, rock, veranda, ocean. I wandered, letting my mind stray like a kite while following a deer path in the bush on a Thursday. The life! I hadn't felt so at home, so far from home in a long while. It was a wonderful time spent cooking in an incredible kitchen, reading, throwing horseshoes. No agenda, no pressure.

Grabbed my child sized mountain bike when I felt led and raced off on island roads, bombing hills like a pre teen. Party.

More stories to come.

Photos seem to take the place of words these days and with any luck, so will the batch to come. It is always thrilling to arrive home, organize my film and take an account of what was shot. I can never remember all the scenes frozen. Near the beginning of the holiday, I shot so many photos of my feet in different locations as the beauty of the east coast sea just blew my mind. I was so surprised to recognize so many of the species that make the bush boreal. Black and white spruce! Red and white pine, poplar, birch, ash. The list is endless. I love trees. And I fell in love with the sea.

Mind spinning. Good to be home!

BRAIN BREAK.

Little Houses.

2011-07-02T16:05:00.000-07:00

The Little House, a classic. I have read the storybook version, but this Disney animation was such a surprise. One of the few things I tend to draw from my mind are little houses. Naturally, I was drawn to this.

Lazy Saturday! God, I love the weekends. Spent my Saturday afternoon at the bike shop (new pedals) with Jean-Daniel. He is my bike guy, always the first one to help. Today I met another character whose name I didn't catch! While we were waiting our turn together outside the shop, we began to converse. While eyeing his beautiful bicycle, he explained the source of speed on a bicycle in such a way I had never heard before. While quality components add to a bicycle, he was so passionate in explaining how IMPERATIVE the geometry of one's frame is. Angles. Then he turned to Alba resting against the shop front and broke down all the reasons my mixte will never be fast.

I have been in a frustrated riding place lately. While it feels great to ride with regularity these days, it is becoming painfully obvious that I need a change from fixed gear. I love my bicycle, but I would like to learn to road ride long distances. Road bike, it is time. AHHH! Frightening. This is interesting. Such a move from a single speed to gears demands a completely different set up. Saddle, seat post, front wheel, slicks, pedals, headset, stem and bars are transferrable, yes, but I am in the market for quite a few components. Preferably, I would like to keep Alba as is and start again with an entirely new project.

I have my eye on a little Italian spotted at a Racing shop near my home. Details to come. To build or to buy? Build and buy? Yikes, the cash. It is greedy to have two beautiful bicycles, this won't be the first time. I am simply not ready to let my slow pony go. As far as my future bicycle is concerned, in my head I see a small men's road frame, a small cassette of gears, slim and plain but quality components, a front rack (the one I spotted today in the basement of C&L, custom pizza racks made in Montreal), 700s, quality slicks. Whenever I hear Pat talk about his epic long distance bike rides I long for gears. Maybe I am just a pussy with little stamina.

Longing for longevity. Time will tell. I shot a few photos of said sexy road bike belonging to the interesting man whose name I didn't catch. What knowledge! He poured out with it, ignited by my keen interest and hungry lens. As I was readying to shoot his bicycle portrait, I heard the tink tink of a metal clip and whipped around to the empty spot where Jess was. Gone! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Oh god, my bike. Gone. I ran to the ally, looking desperately for a culprit and one last look at my baby. Gone. I am sure my eyes have never been rounder, such sadness in an instant, camera lifeless in my hands. I looked to the man I was shooting, both of us flabbergasted at the thought. Non! Non! Non!

Then I remembered to look inside the shop. JD had her up in the stand, skinny wrenches around her headset throat. Dear Lord, what a careless loss that could have been. Always lock your bike Madge. Come ON! Lesson learned.

Interesting things are at work. I have a crush on road bike. Summer is in!

2011-07-02T11:34:00.000-07:00

Hi.

Summer balcony at Casa Clark; Montreal 2011.

Knife rack below my favorite Elizabeth Ashton photo "The Magician's Van"; Montreal 2011. Yum.

Tub Worship in living color; Montreal 2011.

Foliage House at the end of Clark; Montreal, June 2011.

House Fuck Cops; Montreal, Magic Hour 2011.

Backside of Casa Clark, Montreal 2011.
(I spy four horses, do you?).

Backside of Old Lady Clark; Montreal, June 2011.

Luan's new look; Montreal, June 2011.

Shooting on the Lachine Canal; Montreal 2011.

Beauties in love on the Lachine; Montreal 2011.

Vogue Taiwan on the Lachine; Montreal, June 2011.

Summer haze.

2011-06-30T13:05:00.000-07:00

Leo is calling "maman" from his playpen in my room. His maman et papa are moving house today so we are staying out of their hair. Day time sleepover at my house. Here is a photo diary of my summer in progress. Lazy afternoons, intricate salads, sitting beside my begonias in the rocking chair, walking around town, camping with Stef on the Lachine Canal at Montreal's Folk Festival on the Canal. Easy breezy.

There has been a shift in the plates, change is stirring.

Begonias for Auntie Marj; Montreal 2011.

Summer lunch; Montreal 2011.

Pepper on the run; Montreal 2011.

There she goes; Montreal 2011.

Wandering around town, Montreal 2011.

Cruising on Fairmount; Montreal 2011.

This looks intense. Ordered chaos; Montreal 2011.

Father's Day lunch with Chanel; Montreal 2011.

Saturday afternoon room clean, these are my feet; Montreal 2011.

Collection of Small Things, a 3D collage; Montreal 2011.

Stef the happy camper (we went Urban Camping); Montreal 2011.

Ghost Sale.

2011-06-28T16:07:00.000-07:00

Below hang the ghost shots, ragged due to not understanding how to operate my camera in bright ass sun. Sun is tricky, the dark trickier.

I miss Chanel, she tells it on the mountain these days (a la British Columbia [what a name]). Be safe!

This is weird, but I came across an old car parked so secretively and obviously at the same time on one of my alley tours. I love looking at it at night, visiting it with Leo in the afternoon. It is strange to feel so connected to an old car with wooden spokes! Shit, thin tires, box frame, it is a BEAUTY. Chanel and I discovered it together a few weeks back on while on a pilgrimage under the full moon. I hope I drove that thing in another lifetime, my corset flying wild from the tailgate! The vehicle itself is very old with impeccable restoration. Time machine, I have no doubt. I have shot many photos of it, all the rolls suspended somewhere out of sight, mid process. We'll see.

Now for a photo entry, the curation of it a bit random. Flop shots in my books, but shots none the less. Their story is faint.

Ghost pictures!

Ghost dog at the Ladybird Sale; Montreal, June 2011.

Ghost Stef drinks Poor Man's Sangria; Montreal, June 2011.

Ghost chaps; Montreal, June 2011.

Ghost laugh; Montreal, June 2011.

Ghost with the Most, Christiane; Montreal, June 2011.

Ladybird Sale ghosts; Montreal, June 2011.

Ghosts of Italian Vogue; Montreal, June 2011.

Laura Beeston and Isabelle Guimond, babes; Montreal, June 2011.

Doors thrown wide.

2011-06-27T20:30:00.000-07:00

June is slip sliding away. Summer, so far so good. After a good day with Le Poulet (one more week in his home until he moves up the street), I had a cat nap in the sun on the front balcony and then hopped on Alba and hightailed it for magic hour at Parc Jeanne Mance. While at the parc with some friends, I met so many Concordia alumni. Art students. Nearly all of them were in some sort of art study. I was most thrilled to meet a girl who reminded me of Molly! Celina, Fibers artist! Maybe this sounds silly, but I can't even explain how thrilling it is to hear word about the programs I am signed up for, never mind to meet people within the actual studio. She is second or third year in, obsessed with any process related to fabric. She told me a bit about the class, the dipping, the dying, the deconstructing, the burning, the weaving. I had to leave I was so excited. School for the arts. I can hardly fathom such a thing!

I left, too much excitement. Simon was wearing his Greek fisherman's hat (black with a fat braid) and it made me long for my Nikon, nowhere near reach. I guess I was seeing in Contrast Vision today, for black all over objects or sudden stripes in my line of vision just get me fired up. I met another girl who is slated to begin photo studies in September as well. She was asking light meter questions and I laughed aloud when she looked to me for answers. I had little to string together for her other than a few funny tips that she clearly did not follow. How does one teach a feeling? Silly. I need to be slapped upside the head with technicalities and numbers. AHHH.

Picked up some photos today with Leo running wild and barefoot in Excellent Photo, a family run print shop in my neighborhood. The Ass Hat behind the counter had no idea what was going on. I came within moments of hopping over the counter to help him with his search.

M-E-G?

Sigh. Yes. M-E-G.

Two of out ten. The rest were overexposed, glaring sun wiping out the picture. Ghosts at a Ladybird Sale. How does one learn anew? Time to trade feelings for pure mechanics. School is NEAR! Shit. Shit. Shit. Liza. Shit. I am excited.

Fibres: Print and Dye

Photo Darkroom: Black and White

These are my two studio focuses this year with many photo theory and history classes in between. Wild times ahead. I need to learn fast before this trade of mine fades away!!!!! Below are two shots that sum up my handle on life these days outside of how I pay my rent: working on art, cooking in this home Laura and I have made for ourselves.

I leave in thirteen days! Can't wait to learn how to tie knots properly.

Dinner with Lola; Montreal, June 2011.

Parent Stencil; Montreal, June 2011.

Bonne ecoute.

2011-06-25T14:28:00.000-07:00

Dusting one's room is work of a rigorous variety. Everything off. I dust about once every two months. Terrible! Je sais. So today while moved by the spirit, I emptied the tops of everything. Came across some weird stuff. The pile of things I have collected over time smaller than the size of ones palm, is vast. It is no wonder I lose things. I also did a quick account of my things, my books. What would I reach for in the account of an emergency? Ma petite camera. Nikon Nancy. Why do I hold onto some things and let go of others? What constitutes nostalgia? So many categories of reasoning here. All from a dusting frenzy. My room is small, my time is my own at the moment (much appreciated), freedom abounds. I spend a lot of time at home.

Cleanliness goes hand in hand with progress, and Lord knows production is nil without an organized environment (I do say this picturing the basement of Martha Street Studio, well planned). To feel no shame in spending such an incredible amount of time at this desk, it is kept clean. I love the process of moving things around. My room is an ongoing 3D collage. Layers upon layers, applied and removed in no order.

I need to alphabetize my records because the chaos is confusing. But first, here is a list.

10 records at the front of the pile:

- Townes Van Zandt's Delta Momma Blues
- Baby Dee's A Book of Songs for Anne Marie
- Joanna Newsom's The Milk-Eyed Mender
- Abner Jay's True Story of Abner Jay
- Kurt Vile's God is Saying This to You...
- Cat Power's Jukebox
- Patti Smith's Horses
- Buffy Sainte Marie's Illuminations
- Brahms/ Gould's 10 Intermezzi for Piano
- Karen Dalton's In My Own Time

10 bedside books:

- Michael Ondaatje's Anil's Ghost
- Robert Hough's The Final Confession of Mabel Stark (my favorite novel)
- Stephanie Harrison's Adaptations: From Short Story to Big Screen
- The Broadview Anthology of Poetry
- Anne Michaels' The Wiinter Vault
- Miriam Toews' The Flying Troutmans
- Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential
- Michael Ondaatje's In the Skin of a Lion
- Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude
- Anne Michael's Fugitive Pieces (top of the pile)

10 Small items lying about:

- a small hunk of Amethyst
- Covergirl 350 Eternal
- orange nailpolish
- a miniature chair from Lisa King
- a tin of nibs
- a shallow mug from A. Daryl filled with rubber bands.
- Annie Kroeker's shears (RIP little bird)
- rabbit parts, cut and ready
- stamps of a house, a crest and the date
- manilla tags

Bonne Saint-Jean!

2011-06-24T14:12:00.000-07:00

Tout la monde, Bonne Saint-Jean! June 24, 2011 perched at my work table. Bon Voyage Chanel, enjoy the mountains of BC.

The old Long and Lean; Winnipeg, MB 2006.

Bell Island.

2011-06-22T07:42:00.000-07:00

Here is to hoping the Kiev will handle any and all salt water spray because I am taking leave in two weeks and hauling the heavy beast along. A train trip is in order! Halifax, Nova Scotia here I come. Lord only knows where this adventure will lead. I can only imagine. July tenth I am set to board a train called The Ocean. Falling asleep in Quebec country only to wake to the Atlantic. Island living for eleven days at my friend Simon's childhood home. Can't wait to explore Fools Cove together on foot, aimless walking in a giant hat and bathing suit, diving for clams, porch poetry and lessons in cooking sea creatures. Holiday.

Fools Cove, Conception Bay, Bell Island.

Sailing, seafood and salt water.

Hallelujah.

On y va.

Sailing, sailing, sailing, sailing home. With __________ in my vessel I can __________ at the storm, __________ at the storm.

Sunday school songs of Christmas past lodged in thought. Red Rock bible camp, there is no escaping your tight grip on memory. No mistaking the loopy grin on my face today. Happy lady. Interesting what hopefulness a sudden journey in the wings can bring. My pa always says it is the looking forward part to a trip that he loves most. I couldn't agree more Cal. Leo and I zipped around the neighborhood today. Errands here, photocopies of poetry for Liza and Lynch. Then we found a Tonka truck resting on top of a junk pile on the sidewalk. Spray painted silver to boot. Leo almost shit his pants he was so excited. Dump dump dump. Dump truck double truck. Dumpedy duuuuump. Happy boy he continues to be, mon ami Le Poulet.

While speaking in short sentences with Lisa today, she brought me back to exactly this time last summer with two words: Percy Lake. Lisa and Jillian had kindly offered to drive me back to Dryden, Ontario to finish up the planting contract (after a week long break; and finish I never did). We drove alllllllll the way to Dryden, through Kenora only to turn back around and head for home. What an incredible journey that was: fancy fries at the craziest Golden Girls-esque lady diner in Dryden, an afternoon dip in Percy Lake on the side of the No. 1 highway, one hundred rolls of film, sad eyes knowing how hard it would be to tear myself away from those women. Tear I did. But not before freezing laughter and nakedness with camera and film.

Percy Lake, we will be back.

Giles and Margot; Percy Lake, Ontario 2010.
Ilford 35mm B&W double exp.

Hi Vis and raspberry lips; Dryden, Ontario 2010.
35mm slide film, double exp/ X process.

The one and only Giles; Percy Lake, Ontario 2010.
Ilford 35mm B&W, double exp.

Boots and No Pants; Percy Lake, Ontario 2010.
35mm slide film/ X process.

Turd Burgs; Percy Lake, Ontario 2010.
Ilford 35mm B&W double exp.

Season fin; Ontario 2010.
35mm slide film/ X process.

The one and only Lisel; Winnipeg, Manitoba 2010.

Tong work.

2011-06-21T08:36:00.000-07:00

In a great show, Spring dropped her towel to reveal herself to any curious enough to look. Summer exposed like body parts, blooms and plumage pushing up and out between small spaces, cracks and crannies. Strong smells, warm winds.

I have been reading a small book of poetry titled The Shanty Horses by Bob McGee. Chanel bought it for me on our Sunday date, walking around the neighborhood in bathing suits and stupid hats. The cover called out to me: James Bay poetry. The language of the poetry transports me to the bush, it is incredible how the universe handles want and sadness simultaneously.

Last night I made dinner for six and ate alone. These funny portions always make me laugh and think of Aunty Marj who always cooked for an army, just in case. I can hear her laughing as casserole dish after steaming casserole dish were laid on the tablecloth "in case someone shows up hungry". Come hungry, hungry family. I was waiting for Simon, hoping he would just show up hungry despite my ongoing issues with communication. Telepathy failed, so I enjoyed my glass of dollar wine and white fish (breaded in milk and Cream of Wheat [thought it was the jar of breadcrumbs, not so]), weird pasta, perfect June evening in my rocking chair beside the begonias.

Forty seven year old virgin.

I just had an incredible conversation with my old friend and colleague Kate. It never fails to amaze me how restorative conversation of these sort can be. Kitty is one of the most determined women I have ever met. Her decisiveness frightened me to death when we first worked together on a sandwich bar, her strength coming out of every movement, fast tong work, fast sandwiches.

* Sorry if those photos offended anyone. I noticed too late their offensive nature, I apologize. No harm meant.

Sunday salute.

2011-06-19T18:31:00.000-07:00

Cal, my dad; Rosenort, 2007.

I love you; Amsterdam, 2007.

Summer haze over here. Woke with the day well on it's way, gasping at the time while rising. Lazy everything; beans and eggs with coffee, bare shoulders, no clothes, bathing suit bottoms, little shoes.

Chanel came over and the nothingness of the day ensued. We wandered and plucked, ate ice cream and poutine, saluting our dad's in between sips of cans of cola, the hot sun on our shoulders through the open window at the sandwich shop.

Happy Father's Day pops. Love you a lot.

Peter Pana Puff; Winnipeg 2008.

Sugar Shack; 2008.

Canada's Greatest Dad; Winnipeg, 2007.

Sprinkler duty; Rosenort, 2008.

Like bees to the hive; Gimli, 2008.

Tap dance.

2011-06-18T19:59:00.000-07:00

Mozart and Hoegaarden on a Samedi midi. I woke at 6 or so this morning, having slept on and off throughout the night. Waking inside of a tent to the sound of rain beating against the fly was wonderful. Steph and I took a very impromptu camping trip last night. Montreal's Folk Festival on the (Lachine) Canal was quite something. We set up our tent and wandered around the modest festival grounds tucked in alongside the canal across from the Atwater Market. Urban camping, there is a first for everything. Success!

I woke up in a tent this morning, my feet sore from dancing so ridiculously wildly last night (sudden tap came right out of me) kicking up dust on the gravel dance floor. I love a good groove. The weather was perfect and the one performance I saw by Belzébuth was incredible. This week I was thinking to myself how I could inspire new work when I came across a list on the internet that recommended changing the scenery, waking up in a surprising place, wood wandering, listening to new music and interacting with new people. Killing birds with one stone. The music made me think of Aunty Daryl, who I could feel somewhere in the crowd, just out of sight.

Steph and I ate breakfast outside and came home by train early in the morning. The Saturday putter around began and I finally cleaned up my work table which was buried in crap and paint supplies. I have been experimenting with gouache lately. I bought a little child's set from a French toy store near my home and have been enjoying playing around. Careful floral, little wreaths, Ash bows. Bored with the paint, I left to pick up my Kiev from Chanel's, loaded it up and took off for a mountain climb. And climb I did. All the way to the top along little footpath's leading to nowhere through the underbrush. Shot around lightly, my eyes having a hard time finding the contrast. Contrast vision. I shoot black and white film very differently than I do color, vice versa.

Came home, had lunch, and went to my favorite store Les Touilleurs to have a look about. Good Lord, french cookware. I love that place. Wandered around and lingered in front of the Global knives just long enough to catch the attention of the staff. A beautiful french woman approached me and we made conversation easily, both of us taken by the other's excitement for cooking utensils. Had I two hundred dollars to toss to the winds, I would have loved to waltz home with an almost cleaver by Global knives and Jamie Oliver's latest cookbook. When I asked her her favorite item to cook, she responded excitedly with "meats". I sighed, my hesitation in cooking meat in part to the lack of a roaster. "I need a god damned roaster". She laughed. Her face was incredible, wish I shot her portrait in store. I just didn't have the gumption to ask for portraits this afternoon. Empty handed, I returned to my home.

Later en route to pick up beer for Chanel's party ce soir, I came across a black and white speckled roaster sitting on the sidewalk. A donner. To give. Perfect size, exactly what I was looking for. Life is funny. Off to Chanel's.

Lee Godie.

2011-06-13T17:11:00.000-07:00

The work of Lee Godie hooked me like talons when I stumbled upon it via the Dossier Journal yesterday evening (the fear of dying behind me, expelled by writing. Bodies are temporary, life is precious). Enchanting and wee bit crazy by the looks and sounds of things, my kind of woman. Childlike but decisive, her scope of color is so warm and delicate. Beautiful colors. My favorite piece is found at the bottom of this modest pile aptly titled 'Portrait (Blue-eyed Woman in Orange Top and Hat)'.

Rest you, Lee Godie. You have found yet another fan in me.

Caris Reid for Dossier Journal, sheds a little light on the eccentricities of the artist:

Lee Godie was a Chicago based outsider artist, who spent much of her adult life homeless, selling her paintings in front of the Art Institute of Chicago for $5 or $100, depending on her mood. Now her paintings can be found at auction houses, selling for thousands of dollars.

* Excerpt taken sans permission from Dossier Journal, click here to see for yourself.

SA Women (A Woman with Orange Leaves)

Paint and pen on canvas

The Seagull (Pink Seagulls)

Paint and Pen on Canvas

Gibbson Girl (sic)

Paint on Canvas

Miss Gibbson (sic) (Gibson Girl in Profile)

Ballpoint Pen on Canvas

Portrait (Blue-eyed Woman in Orange Top and Hat)

Paint and Pen on Canvas

Fin.
Merci.

Fear of dying.

2011-06-12T10:46:00.000-07:00

It was frightening to realize last night while lying in bed that when I do speak up these days, it is usually in a series of anecdotes relating to the past. Am I regressing by holding on to whom I knew I was then? Probably. Life in Montreal is challenging in areas I didn't think to prepare for. Thankfully, the constant passing of time makes forward motion inevitable.

I need to leave the house more, go beyond the neighborhoods surrounding the Mile End, push further to the east, the west, north, south; exploring both on foot and on my bicycle. What am I afraid of? Truthfully, I am afraid of being killed while riding; seeing my own death fast approaching, an accident scene unfolding before it happens. I don't live in constant fear, but I push the thought of death away nearly every time I swing into the saddle. That probably seems silly, but it is true. More often that not, I opt to walk in lieu of riding out of fear. Not sure when the spook will pass, but I trust that it will.

Aunty Marj, you are deeply missed this morning.

Dad Beard and Chanel.

2011-06-11T16:20:00.000-07:00

Just got in from an alley tour. The change in perspective was a welcomed one. Training eyes on the backs of homes illuminated against the dim of dusk. Heavy canopies of vines.

Samedi, a day of rest. Woke late, red wine flowing in place of blood in the bed of my veins. Party time. Last night after entertaining dinner company, I attended an impromptu bush birthday ripper down the street from my home, only to come back to find the Wives and Charles heading to Casa Del Popolo for biere and disco. Rode along happily, guiding Jessica Alba along the bike path. My bicycle is finally straight as an arrow. A little tight in the stem for my taste. Where is the balance? I continue ask myself this. Je sais pas.

Went to Chanel's as per usual. Coffee for breakfast, jazz in the jungle of her living room at the Bro Pad. What company I have found in those Petshop clowns--Dad Beard and Chanel. I like starting my Saturday morning amongst all those happy plants she has on the go. Dealt with my wheel for the low price of fourteen dollars and walked home (sans wheel) triumphantly. Strike. CHECK. Tomorrow pick up and then the first parade ride of the season. Looking forward to coasting around corners on Ruby.

En route, I ran into a gentleman whose portrait I shot a couple of weeks back (pictured below left). He was disheveled and I wished I had a cigarette to offer him. He was crossing Fairmount while I waited for the light to turn and all he said when he came into my line of vision was "Photographer". A delay, then sudden recognition on my part. "Ah oui, merci pour la photograph". He looks like he could be a famous film star on haggard holiday. Interesting features, brusque speech, impeccable Anglais. We walked side by side and after a time he asked me why I shoot around the neighborhood.

Good question. For practice, was my first answer. To challenge myself to slide out of the comfortable and ask difficult questions, to document, to freeze moments that catch my eye. I often wish my camera was less conspicuous, it is far more difficult than it seems to shoot and run. Then again, it is the very exchange within the portrait session (no matter the length of the encounter) that thrills me. This was the first time in my life I have ever reconnected by chance with a previous Street Portrait subject. It was interesting. Always wishing I had something to give, there was nothing on my person but clothes.

Business card, get on it.

My neighborhood is quite interesting. Summer is in.

Ca va; Montreal, Juin 2011.

The Lookout.

2011-06-10T08:14:00.000-07:00

The ever ending wheel project and some CRAZY shoes; Montreal, June 2011.

Ping of a typewriter, carried through the air from somewhere. The never ending wheel diaries. I am trying to build up a new bicycle. Her name is Ruby, she is a little red pony, Velosport, size 50 or smaller, nothing to write home about. Riser handle bars, a huge change in body position from Jessica Alba's drops. Pretty much in running order, save for the last project pictured. The front wheel, missing two spokes (NEVER ride a wheel with broken/missing spokes, rim tension goes out the window). So there is that, I like the weekend hunt. New seat, new pedals, grease, vinegar, Pledge (yes, I Pledge my bicycle as it is an excellent dust repellant). In other news, a very attractive chef (je pense) lives across the way from Leo's back balcony. I like watching him snip herbs in the afternoon sun, making lists for himself, concocting sauces with a tea towel thrown over his shoulder. Men who can cook? Yes please.

Vendredi, hallelujah. Blue skies, warm sun. Even the birds are excited. Tonight I am making dinner for a new friend, Laure. Fish last night, fish again tonight. Rocket salad with a zingy dressing, bean salad from a recipe of Pat's. This week has held dinner party after dinner party. Last night was no exception. Michelle Hooey's whirlwind Eastern Tour dropped anchor in Montreal and she came by Casa Clark for dinner. That woman is a force. It felt so good to just sit around a table together, Martha Street memories so close to the forefront I could almost taste ink.

Jeanette, Lola, Michelle and myself sat around a table sighing with summer bounty, candles lit, Peter and the Wolf playing behind us. I love summer cooking! Holy hannah I have been so inspired, sure and comfortable in my summer kitchen this week. Feeding five? Two hours to plan, shop and prep? Alright. Yesterday I whipped around my kitchen in a frenzy, thinking of my ma as fish was prepared, vegetables diced and ready to go, a new tomato, spinach sauce on the go to top off the fish.

- smashed garlic, add sliced onion once garlic colors golden (nice and low)
- roast a bit of coriander seed in the oven, grind, add
- splash of red wine, reduce
- nob of butter
- salt and pepper
- around 12 plump italian tomatoes (one size up from cherry), halved
- splash red wine vinegar
- handful of clean spinach
- let this roll for a while on med low; delicious on Tilapia

Coriander seed. One of my favorite spices and totally under utilized in my kitchen. I found it unopened while rooting around for peppercorn (which I am forever running out of). I have been obsessed with concocting salad dressings lately. They are incredibly easy to make, they keep forever in glass in the fridge. Trying to challenge myself to concoct a dressing per week as an attempt to eat more greens. Arugula, kale, spinach, greens greens greens. Yesterday I hit up the PA (neighborhood grocery) with a sizable list for the Martha Street reunion dinner and was shocked when the total was under 20 dollars. What? SEASONAL produce is back, thank goodness. 3 pounds of strawberries for five dollars? I made a cake. It turned out, didn't flop! Went to the Poissonnerie and picked up two pounds of Tilapia (the salmon was $18.99/lb! Too much for this gal). Someday, I hope to get my life in order enough to have a freezer stocked with meat and fish. Simple goal, not so doable right now.

While I may not have much to say these days, I seem to have no problem cooking for the masses. I find it more difficult to cook for one than for five or six. Entertaining holds me accountable to the state of my home, the cleanliness of my bathroom and kitchen (which are very close together). The older I become, the more I appreciate this skill set within me passed down from generations before. I called my mum and she was in her own kitchen, hustling around, seventeen things on the go. Timing is everything, I learned this from her. Nothing beats a full-set summer table, table cloth, napkins, happy bodies, food babies, red red red wine.

If art school flops, I am going to cooking school, no contest there.

Other than cooking and entertaining, I have been shooting. Yesterday while on a mission to wrap up some loose school ends, I picked up a few rolls of 35mm film shot in the last couple of weeks. Sometimes I feel lonely here but in the last few weeks I have met some pretty incredible people. Luan from Brazil and Laure of France, two photographers as kind as the day is long. It was interesting to hang out in the park together, 10 personalities on a blanket. I am finding it easier to be at ease around the people I have met, but am frustrated by my tendency to remain quiet. Unable to understand the flow of conversation 96% of the time, active listening and laughter are it. Luan shot a photo of me at the park the day following the Ladybird Sale. I think it sums up my newfound character to a tee. Reserved, quiet, vulnerable, wistful, steady, content.

Megan at Parc La Fontaine; Montreal, June 2011. Photo by Luan Banzai.

This is Luan, quietly handsome; Montreal, Juin 2011.

Laure in the light; Montreal, June 2011.

Jamille in the rocking chair, a beauty inside and out; Montreal, June 2011.

Teens on Rue Clark; Montreal, Juin 2011.

Leo's ma and pa came to visit; Montreal, Juin 2011.

Barber shop Jade jungle on Parc; Montreal, June 2011.

Jessica Alba's new look Pt. 1; Montreal Juin 2011.

Poisson boisson.

2011-06-07T13:41:00.000-07:00

Makin' tea in my underwear.

Lines from age old Shins on my mind. Leo and I walked around the neighborhood armed with big pieces of chalk earlier today. He scribbled at random, eating more chalk than distributing. I left little hearts all the way to Saint Urbain. I lost interest quickly. Leo has learned how to bite his way out of hand holding.

I miss my girlfriends. Oh achity ache, what I would give to sit and drink coffee with company. Or to hop in a car and hit the beach in a stupid hat, obnoxious colored nailbeds.

It is laughable how little I have to say these days. In lieu of stunning conversation, I am reading. So much it is laughable.

Time for a random list:

- eat more fish
- expand the cooking scope
- go to yoga
- get over the french cycle shop fear and pick up two spokes
- true 26" wheel by weekend
- make more salads
- stand up straight
- stretch in the morning

Recipe from The Glow, 2011.

Jean Guy.

2011-06-05T19:48:00.000-07:00

The unmistakable Glint; Montreal, Juin 2011.

Downloaded the entire discography of Ottis Redding by mistake today. I was shooting for a single album, any, and ended up with the lot. Suits well, what a sound. Soul on my mind, soul in my soul. Woke late both Saturday and Sunday--no baby at my breast--just massive amounts of pillows. Thought of Willa and Rags, then coffee. Woke with hot hands, ooooh weeee! Time to switch to the summer quilt that reminds me of Lisa King and our many journeys to rural Manitoba thrift stores together.

Great Sunday. Top notch, it was one of those. Woke, had a simple breakfast for three on the back balcony. Jamie explained how the brickwork buildings in the ally reminded him of Scotland. Come to think of it, Europe was heavy in conversation today. English, French, Portuguese; European tall tales colliding with force!

I met a portrait photographer from Paris today. Laure is her name. She is participating in a photography internship while visiting Montreal. I was told before moving there would come a day I would connect with someone in such a way the language barrier would pay no matter. Indeed. Today it went unnoticed, despite all the laughter filling in the blanks of diction. Kind woman she was. Half Italian, half Parisienne, so startlingly quiet in her beauty. It was wonderful to meet another medium format photographer while sitting in the park with a circle of people. Beer, wine, almonds filling the spaces between conversing bodies. She gave her face to the lens before we even introduced ourselves.

Blew through so many rolls this weekend between La Ladybird and Parc La Fontaine. Faces were all around, I couldn't help my hands from triggering the camera before my eyes had time to steady and find the line. On Friday it was the elderly Portuguese father and son on a bench on Fairmount. I was feeling ballsy and asked to shoot in passing. The son shot me with "Il est malade". Hands up, one holding my camera in the air. No offence! I hesitated long enough to catch the father elbowing his son in jest. "Ca va!". So I shot the pair and felt stupid afterwards that I didn't have the words to thank them properly or even a card to give. (A card is an absolute must. Anyone know any thing about business cards? Terrifying territory, digital design. Eeee!). Saturday, a shot of an elderly Spanish gentleman playing Spanish guitar on his porch, presented itself. Maybe there was a hat too, I can't remember now. Ours was a wordless exchange, I danced for him instead and he posed afterwards.

Okay, I am going for this thing so many people do. Photography. This weekend clarified any question I had. Too many portraits showed themselves, I have no choice but to study this and am beyond thrilled with the chance to learn. Frightened as hell, nervous excited, but hungry. It is exciting to recognize progress in one's self, even when the direction is the most surprising! Who knows what is to come. It feels good to be steady right now.

I am going steady with myself.

Today I happily spent nearly every single bill made from yesterday's sale at C & L Cycle, my bike shop of choice in Montreal. Quality work and zero intimidation. A new headset for Jessica Alba, new bearings for the rear hub. Jean Francoise, who knew the name of my bicycle before my own was the mechanic today. Learned by watching the pieces come off and replaced anew. In conversation, he would stop while whacking away at the front tube at relay the punch line of the joke he was making to me in english. I could just hear Will Belford laughing in the background of thought this afternoon! Shit, I love the bike shop. This weekend was a crazy one for Montreal cyclists. Tour de Nuit, a night long family ride on the city's bike paths was entertaining throughout the night. I love the enthusiasm. Today's race was the Tour de Lait. Not sure what that one was all about, the race seemed to have zero rhyme or reason as people cycled all over in every direction wearing milk jerseys. Cool! I decided while watching the Tour de Nuit that I would participate in a race by the end of the year! Pressure is on.

Encouraging the inner alien; Montreal, Juin 2011.

Le Poulet strikes again; Montreal, Juin 2011.

Attached at the mouth; Montreal, Juin 2011.

Kirby's Dreamworld; Montreal, Juin 2011.

Ground beef/ Went to school with her.

2011-05-22T18:39:00.000-07:00

Scollage. Printmaking lists from 2009, stencils from this week.

Hamburger Patty. An EPIC Ick Pick reply a la Michael Kroeker on a road trip to god-knows-where, Manitoba including my mother, my sister and my grandmother. My grandma Helen, came up with a word sleuth game that we would play on long drives to Betula Lake and beyond. I remember sitting in the back of the family car, trying in vain to come up with something utterly genius to stump the players with. Come on Megs, Ickity Pickity. Something, nope. Margot the mouse, picking my child brain in silence. I am still working on something that will stump my grandma.

Cold hamburgers in my mouth, cheddar fromage, pinwheel pasta, butter, parsely. Balance? Hardly. More like Food Group Freak Show circus in my body. Shitty dinner, yet another. I walked a lot today, drank a bunch of water. Dropped a slim wrench from my balcony, a Chilean man climbed my fire escape to deliver it back to my greased hands. Bike tuning. I spent majority of Saturday outside on the back balcony moving between stations: sit and shoot, pace and sweep, repotting plants breathed life right into me. Repotted all of the house plants, organized the tuning station. Jess got a tune up last weekend, head to toe. Wheel truing by a real stand up wheel woman, hot man bike mechanic thank you for letting me stare at your incredibly handsome face as you explained why my headset is a mess. Mop of hair. New tape for Alba, and a rookie job at that resulting in a Saturday early morning retape job a la moi (obsessive compulsive disorder, no doubt about it). Bottom line, I know how to tape bars now, not as hard as I feared. She really rides like a horse now. Rocket slick. New headset in the works, clean the bearings grinding like sleeping teeth in the front hub.

I bought a new little bike two weekends ago that Steph can ride while she visits. When she takes leave, this little thing will be open to all guests of Casa Clark. I like the project, the deep clean, the inspection, the dismantle, the steel wool attack. Ruby and Jessica Alba, shiny ladies look out.

Avoiding all social events, I spend many hours at my work table, tethered at the ears with surprising melodies. Classical music drapes the romance room, my bedroom readied for __________ with floral and stripes.

Canon and Gigne for three violins and continuo in D major: Canon in D.

Started painting again. Last night as Chanel and Lola whirled around for a Super Party, my hands dipped brushes of different girth into little pots of ink, pulling red red red red stripes across smooth cardstock still coiled. Quill at the helm of it all. Result? New work, old work revisited, a journey back in time, a journey into the future.

All of this art making thanks to Steph, my roommate. She has come to Montreal from Taiwan for an art placement internship. It is quite a genius way to learn art from a master, without the heavy art school price tag. Her current master is a doll maker from Montreal. She comes home and explains her day of work, and I imagine hundreds of porcelain limbs lying around the studio. Broken doll fingers. Last night, she came home with a schedule in hand for the third A. P. O. Ateliers Portes Ouvertes edition.

The open house welcomed any curious public to take a glance at the inside world of studio art in Mile End. Art neighborhood. I had no idea HOW many studio dot the town. There were so many mediums, rooms at random filled with the most incredible things. Fibers, video, sculpture, serigraph, photography, you name it. An older man named Alfredo warmed my heart. I wandered for hours, quiet in my joy, dying to shoot photos with the hundred pound beast cowering in my shoulder bag even though something kept telling me to just wait. I watched people, listened to french, straining for bits of understanding like prized pieces of meat in stew. Tender goodness, those words. My favorite studio I saw today was a serigraph studio with two walls of windows. Bigger than any of the other rooms, this was a space made for intense printmaking. operation, a hell of a run. I smelled it before I saw it, mind leaping a thousand paces ahead and behind simultaneous, something deep within salivating for the print life I lay to rest in Winnipeg. Solvent h An eavy wanting. In good time.

That seemed to be the message of the day, soak it up and revel. Wait, good will come. I took the long way home, tossing all I had just consumed around in thought. I look forward to the future. The future is now. Mon dieu! My grandma has Facebook.

Wild times. Wild work.

A slice of new work inspired by a Super Party that I did not attend; May 2011.

Parent stencil, ink; May 2011.

Building upon old work, water color and ink; May 2011.

Viva Kurkova.

2011-05-22T17:55:00.000-07:00

Rebecca introduced to me Fashion Gone Rogue. Karolina Kurkova, I am into your moves for Viva! Moda. Another hair chop is in order, inspired by pink number three.

Photos in series taken from Fashion Gone Rogue, merci.

Super sass, bold shoulders. I would like to wear this out.

Lady of the Two Lands.

2011-05-18T16:20:00.000-07:00

Something sparked to life in my brain today.

Snap, bang crash.

Leo loves these sounds. He received his first shiner of his life this week. Ran into a chair. This morning when I opened the door to pick him up out of his crib, he was holding on the railing for dear life and jumping and sing shrieking like a wild animal. I laughed at the picture of him. Where is my camera? No point, he does not stop moving these days. All the more reason to document, I suppose. Oh Leonard, you kill me. He jump jump jump jump jumped on the bed until he bashed his head. Another battle wound, I saw it coming but there was no stopping this jumper. All of these bruises remind me of one particular baby photo of my sister Erin when she was in a similar stage in her young life. Black and blue, boo boo. Sad face on the kitchen counter.

My days are filled with tenderness (hallelujah). Leo needs a lot of love, hugs, and morale support these days. He demands it. I have never loved something so much as I do his little hugs. HUGS from a baby boy, awesome. We hug a lot. It has been mellow over there these days. With the tenderness and tears and dancing to classical music and BAHHHHHH (ball) chasing, Le Poulet is a tired gros bebe (big baby). While he sleeps it off, I read. Tante Daryl gifted me Miriam Toews' latest novel Irma Voth. Hysterical; Leo stares while I laugh aloud in the middle of sentences over lunch hour.

I underlined this a few days ago on page 64 (I am trying to enjoy this book like an aperitif, slow and steady):

I told her I thought her neck was as long if not longer than my forearm, like Nefertiti.

Turning back, I smiled seeing 10 pts for Old Nef scribbled in the margin. There she is. Nothing pleases me more than eyes alighting on her name in the books stacked beside my bed. I spotted her in an Ondaatje tale. I was acquainted with Nefertiti four years ago in Berlin while blazing through Europe with Rabbi and Kit. It was a chance encounter. I knew who she was through Claire Labreque's art history course at U of W, but I never expected to see her little bust in realtime. Realtime, Berlin. Whoa, I will never forget that day; different points of learning coming together like a rewound bow or a spiderweb lacing the way to the forefront of thought. Recognition is a beautiful thing.

Miriam Toews, I love you and your crazy brain. C'est bon, Mexico!

Here is some work that spilled out of me last night, thanks be to the Queen Nef tip off a la Irma Voth. Queen Nef on my mind. What will come of this? Lord only knows. To reiterate, drawing elegance is hard to do.

I find.

Lady of Grace, my current girl crush.

Babytrain: Part Deux.

2011-05-17T18:51:00.000-07:00

Bram and Avery with apple juice; Winnipeg, 2011.

Yorke Sisters and their babies; Winnipeg, 2011.

Yorke Sister mash up/ Ave breastfeeding; Winnipeg, 2011.

Willa Margaux; Winnipeg, 2011.

Giant Peach.

2011-05-17T18:40:00.000-07:00

Peach, I am ready for you. Or maybe something along the lines of Citrus Nut. Whomever dressed this room, I applaud. This photo is great. I hope I live in a home with such a feel someday. Mystery cat a blur, just like my hands. What a palette. Photo taken without permission from Design*sponge. Click to explore further.

Stupid grin and sew forth.

2011-05-16T15:20:00.000-07:00

I had a weird encounter with a man child on the weekend. A date? Not worthy of the title. I was wearing a floor length dress dripping black for Chanel's goth princess birthday party in the lazers. Knowing the lazer dance was drawing to a close, I pitched "bike ride" to the bearded child while he apparently heard "bed ride". Good lord, where has the decency gone? I left him slack jawed at the bottom of the stairs, and ran for cover. Not wanted on the voyage. I nanny for a living, no need to woo another baby.

Humph.

With that said, I am single as ever and happy as a clam. With every new date, I am reminded how the search is pointless. The weekend was wonderful, regardless. Lola's parents were in town from Winnipeg for a daughter visit and they spoiled the whole Casa Clark family. Italian dinner, one hundred bottles of vin, and one insane trip to Ikea which resulted in a complete turn around for this single lady. After a four year hunt for bedding, I found what I was looking for. Coral floral overlay on white with a splash of red and blue, a little orange, a little yellow and beige stripes. Nice. Perfect palette for pull-ins. Stripes and floral, of course. This purchase inspired me to make over my bed. Thrift sheets, get out of here. Is this important information? Soul feeding? Not really, though the change in duvet also welcomed a change in attitude. Perhaps it was the rest of two consecutive days off. Whatever it was, the change was a welcome one.

On Sunday, I woke early to rain with a hunger to SEW. So sew I did. From morning to night. Along with bedding, new throw pillows were also acquired. Pillows without covers. Pillow covers are daunting. No, in actuality it is the first cut into beautiful fabric which is scary. But, I am in this new FACE FEAR zone (perhaps brought on without the fiscal planting season which is incredibly mental). To be honest, it feels a bit headstrong and crazy at times to be in such a place, but also empowering with every fear conquered. May has marked a New Year for the last couple of years and the present is no different. Happy New Year. There comes a wild need for physical and mental challenge with the birth of Spring and defeating fear seems to be working for me. Fear of sewing? Odd; but lately, yes.

Fear of failure.

After an inspirational fruit bowl and ten million cups of coffee at Arts Cafe with Chanel, back to my empty home I went. It is amazing what the internet offers (and quite frightening). A quick tutorial view and I was on my way, winging it, laughing at the thought my dad's tiny mother Annie spinning in her grave as she watched my sewing spew forth. Laughing at the thought of Grandma and I making the very first Lady Longbody on her old Elna machine back in July 2010. Learning curve! Crooked lines to straight. I started with a mock up in muslin for the first pillow cover and experimented until I had a good handle on the process. In retrospect, this is how I make art. Trial and error and a whollllllle lotta luck. Few things please me more in this approach than when the end result matches that of the initial vision.

The fruit of my Sunday labors are three beautiful pillow covers ranging in size from 16" square to 26" square, two of which are made of muslin and one with striped cotton. The last cover of the day is one I hope to have forever. If I were a pillow, let me tell you I would be the big fat down pillow draped in navy and white stripes with the orange piping sitting proudly on the bed. Figuring out the piping situation was a funny process, no tutorial necessary when you can just rip apart something else to see how it is done. Now more than ever I know I learn with my hands and eyes, not my ears sadly. This will take more discipline as the years pass, I imagine.

It felt great to work myself out of the slump that has been slowly filling my lungs with watery despair. Especially with a project I am incredibly proud of. I make art, but rarely does the resulting medium leave me with a feeling of I made this??! Yup. Laura's mom Anna taught me the art of basting (goodbye pins). This simple tip n' trick changed my handle on sewing completely.

Writing seems to be low priority right now. Missing home, family, Grandma, siblings, friends, babies, Girl Club. Hearing Rouge's voice this morning barely satiated the hunger for all of these things, but it was good while it lasted. What I would give for a drive to Percy Lake (or anywhere) with the triplets.

Nothing new to report.

Said pillow, sewn envelop style with piping. Montreal, 2011.

Crib to mountain.

2011-05-11T11:47:00.000-07:00

'Been lying down in the forest lately. Writing letters to Eddy (camp highballer) from my new found spot in the forest on Mount Royale. A tall tree stand of elms called out to me while hiking through the neighborhood bush with Chanel last weekend. One beer, pinner dinner for one, heavy cardstock ripped from my drawing book, date stamp, ink pad, a breeze in my ear. I forgot how much I love the sound of creaking trees.

'Been in a weird state of late, again. Tired of swinging low, nothing to say, nothing to write, empty brained and blank. Blanko meow. Didn't make it to the forest yesterday (other than a quick mountain perch with Simon while Leo slept and then woke in a start. Crib to mountain, he was freaked out) because Steph, mine and Lo's new roommate from Taiwan arrived to Montreal! Steph and I rode the bus home and walked into a dinner spread fit for queens, a la Lo and JJ. Family dinner at Casa Clark, it was wonderful.

Summer is settling in upon shoulders, surprising warmth, bucket hats for the baby, big round eyes and a mouthful of sand. Oh Leo, how I love you.

Tree stand/ Mess tent; Sioux Lookout, Ontario 2011.

Easter shoes.

2011-05-03T21:01:00.000-07:00

Le Poulet and I; Montreal, April 2011.
Photo. Meghan Kinita

Clam, crab, cockle, cowrie.
That means no
Where I come from
I am cold
Out waiting for the day to come
I chew my lips
And I scratch my nose
Feels so good to be a rose

Oh don't, don't you lift me up
Like I'm that shy
No no no no no
Just give it up
There are bats all dissolving in a row
Into the wishy-washy dark that can't let go
I cannot let go
So I thank the Lord
And I thank his sword
'Tho it be mincing up the morning, slightly bored

Oh, oh morning without warning like a hole
And I watch you go

There are some mornings when the sky looks like a road
There are some dragons who were built to have and hold
And some machines are dropped from great heights lovingly
And some great bellies ache with many bumblebees
And they sting so terribly

I do as I please
Now I'm on my knees
Your skin is something that I stir into my tea
And I am watching you
And you are starry, starry, starry
And I'm tumbling down
And I check a frown
It's why I love this town
Well, just look around
Just see me serenaded hourly !
And celebrated sourly :
And Dedicated dourly
Waltzing with the open sea
Clam, crab, cockle, cowrie
Oh will you just look at me

A song sung by a musical friend of the ages, Joanna Newsom.

Give me the harp, give me the rain.

Breakthrough day. The rain was a cleansing thing, Le Poulet and I wandered in and out of it from 10 until 1 today. Umbrellas for heads on hustling walkers in Mile End. Bakery smells pouring out of doorway steam holes, the smells turning to fog before my eyes. Wafts of heady flower shops puffing into my nose made my heart sail to Gerry and Toots, the very women who taught me how to sing to orchids and the importance of misting ones plants.

Leo and I passed the pre-lunch lull at my house, my mind away from the big baby all up in and already so far into the meal plan that began cooking in thought at 9 this morning with the crack of Jamie Oliver's spine. What a cook, I hope to feed my family in such a way someday. Two long naps and a trip to the record store in between. Orders, credits, selling vinyl that was sitting neglected (get rid of slim rotation), following Leo as he shopped around, checking out the bottoms of the shelves heavy with music. I forget his low line of vision sometimes. Nice day.

To think I ended my day around a table with mes soeurs and Rob Vilar. A tablecloth, my first attempt at roasting fowl, Chanel's Snack-and-a-half ice cream sandwiches for dessert. Candles, italian disco, Culinary Propaganda.

I retired to my darkroom. Ha, if only. I retired to my bedroom, workshop, office, sewing room, studio, dressing room, and turned negatives into positives with the magic aide of a large bed scanner. Voila, my Easter getaway to Winnipeg in a nutshell. Highlights captured, snap, rumble, shake, release.

Shot with the Russian, Illford black and white.

Willa meets Auntie Kim; Winnipeg, April 2011.

Suddenly pals, Kind Izzy and Maiya Papaya; Winnipeg, April 2011.

My Grandpa, Syd Reimer at the Great Fire; Rosenort, Manitoba. April, 2011.

A blaze that brought a crowd; Rosenort, Manitoba. April, 2011.

Thinking of Auntie Marj while elbowing to the front; Rosenort, Manitoba. April, 2011.

Rest you, Dick Zach; Rosenort, Manitoba. April, 2011.

La Promenade au Musee.

2011-05-01T18:51:00.000-07:00

PROMENADE AU MUSEE Album jeunesse en cours. Illustration by Mayumi Otero.

Promenade Au Musee is a work in progress collection of illustrations by artist Mayumi Otero, source initially found at Booooooom. I love the soft usage of transparency, what delicate lines. Tigers! Perfect. Makes my hunger for the print shop louder than ever. Growl, soon.

Today the bears go back to the woods for a May first meeting, back in the land by Wednesday. Rough up those hands. Liza, you are there! Hotel living, scrutinizing grocery lists. As you bear down, I am freeing myself from apron strings. My kitchen weekends will be down to a dull roar as I am now only a back up prep woman. Today was my first Sunday off in Montreal in many moons. I woke early and went decidedly back to my princess bed. Rose at noon, heard Laura laughing in her bed. Ha! Made a pot of coffee, Chanel rolled over with hot nanner muffins. Ate in the sun on the balcony. What?! Red necks, warm chocolate swimming in the channels of my gums. Blessed start to the day. Painted my toes Mango Time or whatever.

Garage sailing on bikes with Lola and Chanel, found a pair of Cheap Mondays, roughed up and ripped. Perfect. Went on my merry way, just Jess and I in search. Came home, went back out to find the women in a children's park, bursting at the seams. Babies in stripes for acres, an empty fountain, trainwheels gone wild, bobbleheads on rollerblades, tiny Mister Potato Head glasses on a little head. Great afternoon. Came home to Casa Clark via Face Lane, and ended up talking shop and tuning bikes, Crown and coke with lime, boozing and jazzing the Sunday to smithereens.

Six rolled around and I left for dinner at Ben and Tania's (my job at Em was to keep Ben's mise smooth runnin' on the line). Tania cooked Mama Columbian food. Cod drenched in the best flavor I have had in a long while. Fresh guacamole and fried plantains. Holy guacamole. What a dinner. We ate outside in the backyard on an after thought wooden table. Early Sunday dinner, talk of politics, the youth vote, ORANGE CRUSH. Ben made sure I watched Guns N Roses 'November Rain' music video, full at the dinner table at dusk, before leaving. Well, that was something to bear witness.

While I long for the land and the company that comes in those conditions, the long solitary drives, named bush trucks bombing down logging roads with a jerry tank shoved behind my back for clutch leverage and a radio between my legs, 10-4 Birdman; I am so excited for summer in the city. Today was just a lick of what is to come. Wonderful.

Bon Voyage, spring planters everywhere.

Illustration by Mayumi Otero.

Part I.

2011-04-30T15:51:00.000-07:00

And so it began; Winnipeg, 2011.

Bram and his boy; Winnipeg, 2011.

Lady Milan; Winnipeg, 2011.

Tracy and her boy Gunnar; Winnipeg, 2011.

Gentle Tilia; Winnipeg, 2011.

Chick Pea princess Ollie; Winnipeg, 2011.

Modern mama; Winnipeg, 2011.

Dayna and her girl Olive; Winnipeg, 2011.

Bram and his boy Avery; Winnipeg, 2011.

Sisters Milan and Rowan; Winnipeg, 2011.

Dream boat Gunnar; Winnipeg, 2011.

Rollin; Winnipeg, 2011.

Jill and Andrea with Ollie in the middle; Winnipeg, 2011.

Coming out of the shadow.

2011-04-29T18:04:00.000-07:00

Grief is grief is grief is grief. Every one deals with loss differently. These photos are my favorite of the latest crop, shot in Winnipeg on Easter weekend. A favorite holiday of mine, and a hard one this year without Auntie Marj whipping around her kitchen, potatoes enough to feed an army, creamed peas, table cloths as familiar as my own hands. This year was a little different, but wonderful in it's own rite. There were no creamed peas and change of scenery.

There was a hole at the table. But there was still laughter.

And then there was Romeo.

Six weeks old, this boy birthed by my beautiful and strong cousin Kate. I so respect the way her and Jay run their family ship. Babies have a quiet way about them, reminding the ones old enough to understand the depth of loss the importance of birth, of newness, of hopefulness, of fresh beginnings. These photos mean a lot to me as they were a gift given. The more photos I take, the more I am beginning to understand and appreciate the subject. Everyone has a story to tell. Even babies.

My eyes alighted on a short sentence today while reading yet another book on midwifery--death is the shadow of birth (Anita Diamant).

Not sure of this flow from mind to mains at the moment, life and death are ringing in my ears. With my weeping return to my home in Montreal came a new understanding of where I come from, and who I am becoming thanks be to my family.

Uncle Jim, congratulations on the birth of your new grandson. Romeo James, named after a good man.

Proud Grandpa; Winnipeg, 2011.

Right light; Winnipeg, 2011.

Long gone.

2011-04-28T14:59:00.000-07:00

There are days where I want to toss my computer as far from one spot as possible. I love throwing things. Especially in the bush. I also like pushing over trees, chicos, yelling TIMBER to no one. No no ever sees those moments. That is part of the beauty of the woods. Treeplanting became an outlet, a psychical, manual labored outlet. I long to be out there now, on the cusp of diving back into the land again, readying my hands, stretching for duty, head free, warm winds. Hallelujah. I look forward to the next season.

There are days where I question the validity of this on going and open post I have created here. It is frightening at times, the collection of it. But then there are days like today where I appreciate the fact that I can announce to whomever reading that I am nearly ready to dive in again. The future is now.

Chop.

Long gone; Montreal, 2011.

Russian leftovers.

2011-04-27T21:38:00.000-07:00

Felling trees on rue Waverly; Montreal, 2011.

A chic porch; Montreal, 2011.

Slick; Montreal, 2011.

Alley cat making her way down Groll; Montreal, 2011.