Summer haze.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.