brown and red

returning to the land of red and brown
at least there is light and incredible ocean....
warm warm warm....
and mangoes too...
back into studio...this is my backyard above...
blessed really
new work in the making after gestating
little show/exhibition happening....

to be cont.......

summing up....

ah...

wake up ding-dongs

ding-dong

ding-dong

AHHHHHH!!!!

in the flesh...

attended a talk about art reviews yesterday,
you know, critical dialogue and the extrapolated contextual
anyway....

came to light that reviews can happen
with a writer never actually seeing the work...
that a judgement can be made purely from digitalised images, catalogues and thelike

i stop to wonder...what is the point of exhibiting if we
are moving to an online world, an art of mechanised imagery, viewed through screen??
to me, and what is paramount to my practice...
is having the age old hand to art,
slow cooked, heart felt, real thing is where true inspiration lies
in the flesh...

people ask me "do you have a website??" and i pause to wonder
if i really want one...it makes it too easy to access work, too easy to see something
and feel nothing...

i understand the digital reality and yes, here i am on blogger
but after a hefty time away from computer land
i strongly feel more and more that works should be seen
we should see people {face to face} not [facebook]

anyway...a post script to this...i had only seen jean-michel basquiat paintings online...
and recently made a pilgrimage to the musee des beaux arts de montreal,
and saw 2 basquiats in the flesh....am so excited, i buzzed for daze....
totally changed my perspective on it, deepened my love for his messy, anti-aesthetic...
loved it...

heres some crappy digital reproductions for you all to not get it....

random quebecois

ponderings on a culture....
the longer i stay, the more familiar the "couche-tard" becomes
the less confronting the french language...
the forest seems to reveal more secrets
and the trees whisper deeper songs....

Quebec, is a fascinating world....defined by its history, proud in its heritage....
poised between the anglo/francophone...
yet  belonging to neither.....
it weaves its mystery into me....
like the still lakes abundant across the plains,
what depths lie here, one cannot fathom,
yet the light....
shimmering like a million stars on the water
will never leave my heart

pharaoh's son....

here is sit....a rainy day at the base of saint-hilaire....still in quebec....
i meet Mario the pianist/magician/comedian....(who also kicks ass at Patonk)
he sees my name...
"ahh...i didn't know you were a son of David...."
et voila....
"do you have pen and paper....."
"oui oui" i reply....
he writes (in shaky english):
THE SON OF PHARAOH'S DAUGHTER
THE PHARAH'S DAUG  WAS
THE DAUGHTER OF PHARAO'S SON

i like today....and all days.....
the summer has been a god one....