Print and DYE.

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.

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

Let's get up.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.