Showing posts from April, 2009

The Bird Who Couldn't Land

shirt, belt, thin body
cigarettes, names unknown, but known
I meet you in your dreams
the forest is blue-grey with fog, palms, fronds
in the day of being wild
I read your hand
for signs
who knows you better than yourself?

sketch from 2008 while watching Wong Kar-wai's
Days of Being Wild (1990), © Brenda Clews

It's Not A Sure Thing

Am I writing? Sigh, I'm very good at avoiding and playing instead.

This image is silly, but I was messing with ideas for a background image for yet another website, which I probably won't develop. I'm looking for something that can do what I've done at Tripod, but which is more accessible (like a site Cooliris enabled).

This one's a Google homepage, which I'd like because then I can centrally locate it, but Google has set up the basic design, it seems, for a writing-based site, not for images.

Ah well, what's wasted time on the Internet River? Things flow on, and they flow on...

Larry Carlson: The Garment of Al Shaddai

I can't decide if it's her naked joining Siamese twin doubling, no quadrupling, breasts, though we can't see the other two, that disturb or that she is lying on some very stiff grass or a miniature forest, while a river flows past her, with a forest in the background and fuzzed edges so that she, who cannot walk, who has no womb or legs and could only roll if both twins are synchronized, is the focus. She is a beautiful digitalized woman with headbands. She's been cut up and recomposed with her mirror image. She is the creation of an artist. She becomes representative of chubby, mammalian life-forms 'out there' -"in Nature." She's helpless, but looking at the viewer seductively. Does she know she's been digitally altered and that her green screen has dissolved into a scenic outdoor scene in which she is the only representative of human life? Is she mutated? Is she dreaming herself in a totally weird Surreal dream of the 'commercialized wom…

A Face of Charms: Pierced Woman in Edinburgh

Now this is piercing! The art of the dancing face.

I found this photograph of a pierced woman at Holy Caw, a blog of a fellow, Guy Kawasaki, in Edinburgh.

I can imagine the jingling every time she turns her face, but not what it must feel like to have a face of jewelry. Or what the silver feels like in the skin in very cold or hot weather. You'd have to love attention, because you'd be noticed wherever you went.

Something tender about this image, the self-mutilation that's body art and a fashion statement in its own way.

Cleaning the skin and the piercings must be a ritual in itself.

She has a beautiful smile.

A face of charms.

View Out My Bedroom Window

Sigh, okay, playing just a little...

View out my bedroom window, with a little license.

(Droll, dull, yah but black & white is fun.)

(Neva mind the parkin' lot, yo hear?! It neva has more'n two cars in it, and it gives me open space, a view of the sky, way better'n facing a house of windows facing you. In my opinion.)

I am very lucky to have a little apartment in my favourite area of Toronto. In the Summer the 200 year old trees really are magnificent, and many of the houses date back a century.

There hasn't been a day since I moved here that I haven't woken up grateful.

(click on image for larger size)

flickr Earth Mosaic 2009

To commemorate Earth Day, I took this photograph for the flickr Earth Mosaic 2009 - the street that I live on. Nothing special about the photo, but it is home.

(click on image for larger size)

Thelonious Monk ...rhapsodic Jazz

Hours of Thelonious Monk, on earphones, close, intimate, syncopated piano, no-one plays piano like him, trombone, the eroticism of jazz, drums, beat of skins, hours and hours, immersed, deeply, his discography, and I find him unlocking my heart and taking me through the labyrinth of my feelings.

And I remember you. You are there in every note. You are the sensual rhythm. You are at the centre of my heart.


Thelonious, and wonder why I only came to him now, but realize I have been arriving all my life.

His idiosyncratic complexity particularly appeals to me.

sensuous complicated smooth syncopated improvised rhythms he plays as I like to dance without prediction knots and whorls flow and collapse sweeps passions trills the sweet edge of sex lush dark entering each other over and over passages long lingering ecstasies and sorrows

Monk plays with sensitivity, feels every pulse, nuance of the music of his band, the rhythm of the piece being played, his pianistic response always changing,…

Spit of postage-sized yard

Moi, moi, and moi, ho hum. Bo-ring! BUT. Cleaning up the spit of postage-sized yard out back, fun! In the Summer, full shade due to a tree. Perhaps throw some seed for grasses or ground cover - all in all, it'll be a nice place to sit with morning coffee or on hot Summer evenings! Happy, happy.

My son, who actually helped, had gone by this time. And my daughter, who didn't, took the photos. I've included one of her in this group.

(click on photos for larger size)

My beauty. A sweetie unparalleled.

Shhh. This one. What's Photoshop for if you can't de-age? I had given myself
a bright fuscia pink face but found the muted sepia tone nicer.
C'mon, an "art shot" alright!

(pssst -> ... the original untouched one)

::laughing:: xo

The Effects of the Recession

A restless night, too many of us in crisis. I feel myself falling into the flying apart.

My sleepless but drowsy concerns become like Surrealist images where components split apart, twisting in the distance.

A slow-motion spin of walls, wardrobes, kitchen drawers, bits of conversation, kalaidescope of images spanning years, remembered and loosened, geometric and organic, intersplicing in the distances between molecules.

It is a very tidy universe in magnified microcosm despite our messy realities.

Perhaps the holding together doesn't help; perhaps it's time to let go.

What is the mind if unfettered, uncomposed, freed of nervous culture?

No answers came, the warden was banished, the bars fell away.

In the tumbling of synapses firing randomly,

Was I freed?

Did I sleep? Fitfully, in relapses. When I woke the world was its illumined glossy enlightened place where warm sunlight spreads across bedspreads and there are hugs and warmth, French-press coffee and fresh bagels.

The world in its nor…

Two Dascha Friedlova Photocollages

Dascha Friedlova, Photocollage, XXVIII Fallen Leaf

Dark, somber, like funeral flowers. A cold draft about the photograph. Feels like the funerary atmosphere of the death of a loved one, the passing of a life, the memories, even as flowers that will wilt and fade soon. One can almost feel the spirit that is looking back at life being here, in the viewpoint of the image. Though it is a warm, sunny Spring day outside, and my room is sunlit, this photograph definitely has a cold feel to it, as if I were in the house or funeral home where these flowers were laid.

Dascha Friedlova, Photocollage, XXXII Equinox Egg

What is being reborn out of what is dying?

It's disturbing, the human figure looks pale, perhaps dead, and the moth the way nature makes everything sustenance for everything else.

Or perhaps it is a surrealist image in which a moth is emerging from a face. The moth looks like its growing out of tendons in the face, that the skin has been stripped.

In the strange imagery of the d…

Pylon by Larry Carlson

PYLON from Larry Carlson on Vimeo.

Began exploring Larry Carlson's videos today. There is a driving simplicity to this one. Though there is an overlay of images, mainly we witness a pulsing, throbbing, multi-colored pylon. It's primal - that heartbeat. Powerful, technologized, loud, slicing the air with its sound wave, but steady, organic. A pulsing diamond in a scaffolding, a sacred geometry structure, a pyramid. The light is bright, luminous, visionary, the colours, rich, primary, vibrant, its beating, pulsing is hypnotizing, and encompasses opposites of calming and energizing. The man who holds the pyramid is still throughout. His steady holding of the pulsing, shifting, changing, transforming pylon works well as a framing to the vital energy of the heart-like beating. Something grounding in that steady hand.

Do I hear all of life's pounding pulse here? Even our sun has 'heartbeats' - maybe a dozen a century.

If the universe itself has a 'heartbeat,' it wou…

Nitter Natter

I'm writing a script this month, as you know. I can't believe how hard it is! Perhaps because I discover what's next as I write, it's a laborious process that is slow at best. I'm trying to polish it as I go, so when it's finished I can send copies to friends. I'm drawing inspiration from Surrealist art, which is fascinating since none of this was pre-planned. Trying, in between realistic scenes, to get into 'that imaginative space,' that strange 'dream-space,' is challenging and often my brain hurts! It's easier to be logical, for sure. The 'strange logic' of the Surrealist image requires neurons to fire a different way! Silly, I know.

I have a Windsor & Newton 'deep edge' 24"x30" primed canvas ready to go (bought with some of the deposit sent for my little painting) - but seem to have pulled or torn some tendons in my right elbow and the doctor says to rest it... though with grocery shopping for me & my…

Granny's 86th Birthday

Granny's 86th birthday - My mother, Florence, is in the middle, behind her is my brother, Allan, and to the left my neice, Freya, and nephew, Shaman.

We were returning from a celebratory birthday brunch at Future Bakery.

My Son's 22nd Birthday

My sweet son turned 22 on April 2nd. My daughter, who's not in the image unfortunately, baked and iced the cake. We were unable to light some of the small candles in the middle, and it was one of those strange things - as I walked with the lit cake the unlit candles lit up! They were all burning! The cake itself was celebrating.

You can see my son, Adrian, my mother, Florence, and a bit of my brother, Raymond. And Keesha our dog. The image is a little distorted since I took it off my webcam, but it's still fun.

Philippe Sainte-Laudy's textured photostream

Philippe Sainte-Laudy: I love this photographer's work, especially these textured images. That I can embed this slideshow here is such a gift! Though do click on the link below and look at them in screen-size.

direct url to Philippe Sainte-Laudy's photostream

The Jade Heart

I joined where you undertake to write a 100 page script in the month of April. As is my way, I approach this project without any ideas for characters, plot or any other preconceptions, preferring to let the story tell itself. I begin where I am, the title riffing off of a necklace I recently beaded, the opening line off a line of a recent post. I am also presently taken with some of Bill Brouard's digital art images, which I find inspiring, and which form a visual core for the description of the two characters in this section.

If I complete the challenge, I intend to condense the hundred pages into about fifteen and perhaps make a little video of some sort, not sure. I'll only leave this up for a few days, Blogger stripping all the correct script formatting that it's written in. This is yesterday's effort - and to me, today, it reads more like a Greek play. It's meant to be a poetic dialogue, that's what I wanted to write. Anyway, sharing...


Introducing Opera Face Gestures for Controlling Your Browser

Opera Face Gestures for Controlling Your Browser. A droll tech Opera blog entry here. It's gotta be the best April Fool's joke I've found on the World Wide Net today. Or maybe they're seriously developing this technology.

Watch the video, then try the facial gestures out on your own screen, then imagine everyone in Starbucks doing this.

I laughed for a long time. I laughed hysterically like a hyena let out of the zoo.