still city sleep

365 Things in 365 Days

2012-01-19T10:00:00.000-08:00

John Loerchner and I have just embarked on a ridiculous art project/challenge/experiment to do 365 new things in 365 days (like bake a pie from scratch, bungee jump, build a robot, fly a box-kite, churn butter, learn to knit, canoe down river rapids, climb a mountain in Tibet, and own an ant farm, to name a few).

I am both exhilarated and nauseated with apprehension. But I keep a quote by T.S Elliot near by to remind me that..."Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far it is possible to go." This year I'd like to grab risk by the balls.

If you'd like to follow our progress, you can tap into the project at any time via our 365 blog from January 14 2012 - January 13 2013.

This tree...

2011-12-02T10:59:00.000-08:00

...once lived along a railroad track in my home town of Newmarket, Ontario. That is, until we chopped it down and hauled it back to the city. It now lives happily in my humble, little studio office. Happy December.

Memories Are Like Water

2011-10-28T13:36:00.000-07:00

Finally got around to uploading the raw video documentation for "Memories Are Like Water."

Video, Sound, Light, Movement Installation
Presented at "In Memory Exhibition"
Collaboration by John Loerchner & Laura Mendes

Locations: Swimming Pool, Lake Annnette & Lake Johnson in Banff, Alberta

Memories Are Like Water from Labspace Studio on Vimeo.

A Piece of A City

2011-10-10T12:54:00.000-07:00

A Piece of a City is a new curatorial commission I've started working on with two of my favorite collaborators, John Loerchner & Annie Onyi Cheung. Together we'll be conceiving a large-scale program for the Art on the Danforth Festival (May 2012). We're currently looking for installation and performance artists. All the details right here.

Currently working on a new portfolio site. Up soon. I'll also be posting details on a festival I've been invited to curate with two other cool people. Up real soon.

2011-09-26T07:26:00.001-07:00

130 Degrassi St. Office

2011-09-13T12:01:00.000-07:00

After a fast and furious move from our 2A Pape Ave. studio, two back-to-back art shows, and a three-week work-play trip in Europe, our Degrassi St. pad is finally coming together. I can breathe now.

Dad's old record player.

My little office/dance studio.

Homework: Infrastructures & Collaboration in Social Practices

2011-09-12T17:12:00.000-07:00

Homework: Infrastructures & Collaboration in Social Practices is a four-day residency, two-day conference, and collaboratively-written publication.

Visit the conference from October 17-22. I'll be sitting on a panel and presenting a short talk w/ John Loerchner on the theme of collaboration and curation.

Details here.

The Grid: "Art Show at the Undertaker's"

2011-08-17T19:00:00.000-07:00

A semi hilarious interview w/ the Grid on our In Memory exhibition at the old Queen East funeral parlour.

Published August 17th by Danielle Groen

Other Press for In Memory:
BlogTO Review
Inside Toronto Article

Must See- Mentions:
Canadian Art (Top 5 Featured Shows in Canada of the Week)
National Post (Top 5 Things to do this Weekend)
Now Magazine
BlogTO

memories are like water (Banff video stills)

2011-08-15T18:03:00.000-07:00

Banff shoot, a success.

Water, 13 degrees.

Lakes, Johnson & Annette.

memories are like water (pool stills)

2011-08-07T07:29:00.000-07:00

This weekend I'll be heading to Banff for an underwater shoot with John Loerchner. We're currently working on the framework for a video installation we'll be exhibiting at the In Memory exhibition (August 19-21).

I've been told by naysayers that the water is too cold to swim, but I am up for the challenge. I've done my research. While most of the lakes and rivers are glacially fed, there are a select few that are swimmable (cold but swimmable).

The project is called "memories are like water." These are some of the process stills from our rehearsal shoot in a swimming pool.

In Memory exhibition (August 19-21)

2011-08-07T06:59:00.000-07:00

I am curating a show w/ John Loerchner & Annie Onyi Cheung for Labspace's final installment of a three-part art series. This one (focused on the PAST) is being held at 717 Queen St. East in a defunct funeral parlour. I'll also be exhibiting a collab-installation w/ John in a room fit for a casket.

All the details on the In Memory exhibition here

Moments Intercepted

2011-07-22T21:50:00.000-07:00

From June 6th - July 6th, collaborators from across North America (Toronto, Montreal, New York, Chicago, Vancouver, LA, Halifax, Detroit, Calgary, San Francisco, Florida, etc), took part in a month-long creative challenge dubbed the "Moments Intercepted Project."

This has probably been the most difficult (and rewarding) show I've conceived to date.

July 22-24, 2011
Opening Reception: July 22, 7pm-1am
Labspace Studio

Official Moments Intercepted Site: http://recollectionproject.com/present

I Worry

2011-06-17T12:11:00.000-07:00

Part confessional, part social experiment, part interactive video installation, I WORRY brings together the intimate anxieties of over 100 strangers in a pursuit to answer the question: What do we worry about most?

June 24-26, 2011
Opening Reception: June 24, 7pm-1am
Labspace Studio

Official I Worry Site: http://recollectionproject.com/future

*I Worry is a Spotlight Project production in collaboration w/ Labspace Studio.

The (Re)collection Project

2011-05-19T18:55:00.000-07:00

Another season. Another series. And this one I am extremely excited about. Like all our projects at Labspace Studio, this one comes from a place of discovery, exploration and a genuine obsession with human psychology. We're currently looking for collaborators for all three projects...

The (Re)collection Project is a three-part series of creative projects & social experiments that investigate how people remember the past, experience the present, and think about the future.

I Worry Project | Exhibition: June 24-26
"Part social experiment, part confessional, I Worry is a video project and multimedia exhibition that pieces together the intimate anxieties of over 100 collaborators in a pursuit to answer the question: What do we worry about most?"

Moments Intercepted Project | Exhibition: July 22-24
"Moments, Intercepted is an experience-activated art project & digital archive that uses creativity as a tool to encourage people to be more “present” in their day-to-day lives. Through a series of random & impulsive creative challenges, participants are asked to respond, document & transform everyday moments into miniature art projects."

In Memory Project | Exhibition: August 19-21
"In Memory is a collection of collaborative art installations created by pairs of artists who have been asked to recall, reinterpret and recreate a past memory, together."

For complete details on each project, visit the official re(collection) website:

recollectionproject.com

Snow Day with Nana

2011-04-03T09:40:00.000-07:00

'Snow Day with Nana'

3 part video installation

part of the Snow Days Exhibition at Labspace Studio

To watch videos, visit site

Snow Days exhibition gallery

Snow Days Exhibition

2011-03-14T11:52:00.000-07:00

I've been busy (hence my lack of updates). We're finally ready to launch our Snow Days project.

SNOW DAYS
28 collaborators. 28 projects. 28 days of winter.

During the month of February, an assemblage of artists, scientists, designers, professors & academics, participated in a collaborative challenge to explore their creative process in the form of a 24-hour “Snow Day.”

Opening Show:
Friday, March 18th | 7-midnight

Gallery Hours:
Saturday, March 19th | 10-5pm
Sunday, March 20th | 10-4pm

Visit the online project:
http://labspacestudio.com/projects/snow-days-progress/

Snow Days from Labspace Studio on Vimeo.

Snow Days

2011-01-01T13:09:00.000-08:00

How does weather affect our moods, our every-day patterns of behaviour, our creative process? What results when we commit ourselves mentally to a 24-hour process of self-awareness? What happens when we just let our minds….wander?

In the spirit of winter hibernation, we're launching the new year with a large-scale research exhibition at Labspace Studio: Snow Days. Check out our project page for all the details.

on hibernating

2010-12-20T10:58:00.000-08:00

If we were bears or bats or rodents, we'd be nestled somewhere safe, our bodies in a quiet state of metabolic inactivity and our minds rested.

Instead we're cramming ourselves into shopping malls and sweaty subway cars with a million "to-do's" on our mind. Buy this. Buy that.

I wish we could all be more like bears or bats or rodents. All this running around isn't natural or healthy or productive.

I've spent the last month "hibernating" in a cold apartment, wrapped in sweaters and blankets. There's something about feeling the cold...keeps my mind alert, I think.

During this period of metabolic slow-down and self reflection, we've conceived the next big project at Labspace.

It's almost ready to come out of its incubation stage. A few more days...

In the meantime, here's a music video. I find when I watch it my brain and my body slows down a little. It's the perfect hibernation song.

a hydro picnic under the stars somewhere in suburbia

2010-11-10T07:38:00.000-08:00

When I think of the Suburbs I think of Newmarket. I think of home. I think of long driveways and big backyards. Neighbors that share things like lawn mowers and soccer balls and designated drivers. I think of days and nights driving with Bill. Sitting in the passenger's seat of his broken down ASTRO mini van listening to Joni. Love struck and high strung. Pining over another tragic break with the same boy. That same lovely boy. Doc martins and lumberjack wool socks pulled up to knee caps. Driving. Manual window rolled down. Bill's cigarette hanging out to dry. Just driving. Always to the same sort of places. A park. A parking lot (on colder nights). Just sitting in suburbia on the closest patch of grass we could find. Pretending we're somewhere else.

(I am not entirely sure what any of that has to do with this installation. But there you have it.)

"a hydro picnic under the stars somewhere in suburbia"

John Loerchner & Laura Mendes

Interactive light installation

Wire, Sod & Lights

Labspace Studio, Hydro Hike Exhibition, 2010

Labspace Studio Relaunched

2010-11-03T14:13:00.000-07:00

Launched!

On a Sunnyside Mourning: Photo Series

2010-10-29T15:59:00.000-07:00

On a Sunnyside Mourning was a site-specific performance installation we created for the Queen West Art Crawl, set against the backdrop of Lake Ontario and the Gardiner Expressway. This durational performance lasted 3 hours-long and was meant to be a tribute and mourning to Parkdale's eroded history.

I just re-discovered our archival photos last night and have put together a little photo series that encapsulates the entire performance (one of the strangest pieces I've been a part of).

Performers/Creators: Emma Baron, Annie Onyi Cheung, Adam Herst, John Loerchner, Laura Mendes, Gram Shmalz, Laura Smith

Photography: David Reyes

2010-10-26T19:50:00.000-07:00

Three and a half years ago we opened Labspace Studio with a mandate to produce quality multidisciplinary programming and to provide affordable work space for artists.

Since then we've grown from a 2-person operation to a small but dedicated staff with a network of artists and supporters. We've produced dozens of large-scale exhibitions and collaborative projects, and have brought together hundreds of emerging and established artists.

We've done it all grant and donation free. Something we're proud of.

But we're ready for more. We're ready to step it up. We're ready for a new challenge.

On November 1st, we're taking a huge step in a new direction and relaunching Labspace with a renewed vision, mandate and business model. We're taking our core strengths and focusing on innovation and sustainability. We're making big, fat, exciting changes to how we do things around here.

Intrigued?

Stay tuned for official details on our brand spankin' new website on November 1st.

Truly,
Labspace Studio crew

Staring at the stars from under

2010-10-26T19:35:00.000-07:00

Currently working on an installation for our upcoming show, Hydro Hike. There will be no dancing or performing whatsoever. I considered it for a second. Then I thought...what are you thinking? No. You can't. You can't even walk. Don't be stubborn. Heal first. So instead, I am working on an immersive sculpture with John, something inspired by this photograph here, something you can crawl under.

ACL Recovery: 3 weeks post surgery

2010-10-25T08:35:00.000-07:00

I am tired and cranky and can barely sleep these days. I can scarcely make out the contours of my knee beneath this mound of swollen, scarred flesh. I may never wear shorts again. But I could deal with that. I've never been a fan of shorts anyhow, or my legs for that matter.

I just want to move again. God, I can't imagine not being able to move again. How lucky am I....that this is just temporary.

2010-10-21T14:07:00.000-07:00

Hydro Hike

2010-10-13T11:46:00.000-07:00

At around 12:30 am on the night of our Rouge Park Exhibition, John and I hailed a cab from the studio and high-tailed it out to some industrial wasteland in Scarborough. As we arrived, the cabbie turned to us and said, "You sure this is where you want me to drop you off? "Yep" we replied, and hopped off with our gear.

Shortly after, our guides, Gram & Alex, stumbled out of the darkness and lead us down a rubble pathway towards a blue-black horizon of hydro lines, and then deep into the thick of Scarberiean forest. Thirty minutes later we arrived at base camp to a perfect little fire along the Don River. This is where our Hydro Hike began.

I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. But I'll say this....Toronto is truly "a city within a park". I once balked at those silly signs. But it's the truth. We walked from Scarborough to the busiest intersection in Toronto, Yonge & Bloor, and did it through fields, trails and forests. It was unreal.

Hydro Hike runs from November 5th-7th at Labspace Studio and features the work of 15 artists on their experience through Toronto's Hydro Fields.

Post-Surgery in Suburbia, on meds.

2010-10-07T06:34:00.000-07:00

Neurotic and overbearing as she can be, God bless my mother. Bless her for cloistering me here in my childhood suburban home; for making me tea; for making my bed; for cooking me breakfast; for icing my knee; for making me watch awful entertainment television; for yelling at me to stop working; for listening to me ramble incoherently; for keeping me company. God bless my mother.

Rumblings in the Rouge

2010-09-25T09:44:00.000-07:00

Our next show in the East-End Expedition Series opens tonight at Labspace Studio with an intimate look at Rouge Park, Toronto's "premiere urban wilderness park". This place is massive and gorgeous and lush and green and overwhelming. A complete paradox. Most people don't even realize it exists, and yet it's just a simple subway ride away.

At just over 50km2, the park is home to variety of ecosystems, wildlife, flora and fauna, creeks, rivers, a sandy beach, two national historical sites, a camp group, hiking trails and the Toronto Zoo.

When I was 21 I worked here for a summer as Education Outreach Coordinator. Just a fancy title for someone who gets paid to look at butterflies, explore trails, savor the summer days, and promote the park along the way. Best summer job I ever had.

Artist friend, Ryan Ringer, came on board to lead this expedition, a paranormal investigation into Rouge's most haunted zones.

For more information on the show visit our East-End Expedition Home.

Oh, and for more information on the entire series, read this lovely article by Loriana from the Town Crier. It's refreshing to get some support from the community.

Moving Day

2010-09-22T12:49:00.000-07:00

Dear little one-bedroom apartment. You will be missed, my love. How I cherished you. You were my first. It didn't matter that you were broken or old or sad. You were perfect in your imperfections. You were perfect for me. But all love affairs must come to an end.

We shall always have....

the roof.

Here

2010-09-20T18:06:00.000-07:00

Here from Labspace Studio on Vimeo.

"Here"

Excerpt from Still City Sleep

Text by Laura Mendes

Music by Adelaide

Still City Sleep

Live Projection and Dance

Laura Mendes & John Loerchner

Land of Talk

2010-09-16T15:32:00.000-07:00

Montreal indie-rock band, Land of Talk, is in Toronto tonight. Heading out now to Lee's Palace for the concert.

When I discovered this song, it consumed me. Fully. Another one of my city songs on repeat. If you cut my head open and feasted for dinner, you'd find this. Enoy...

A Psychic, A Prayer and a Performance

2010-09-13T18:00:00.000-07:00

I don't know how to begin this post, because if you were right here in front of me I'd just spit it out at you in typical Laura fashion: clumsily, semi-dazed, a little dreamy and perhaps, a tad over dramatic. It wouldn't even matter if none of it was logical, cause you would just feel me and know it all made sense somehow.

I just read somewhere that when reading online, the majority of us default to skimming anything longer than a couple paragraphs. We've got lazy brains. Lazy and impatient. So I'll keep this crude and short.

A Psychic

A psychic walked into the gallery last week. A random walk-in. He held my hand, stared at my heart and told my fortune. He knew things. He knew my birthday. He knew what I was thinking. He told me I had a good soul. He said I was full of emotion and love and goodness but that I needed to focus my energy, meditate and pray.

A Performance

This past month I've been struggling to pull my insides outside of myself into a fully formed performance. Something that I could offer people that would be real and true and honest and devoid of all the bullshit I see in contemporary art these days. I'll save all the details. You can see the pictures below. Nothing feels quite the same as creating something that moves people. I think we succeeded in that (or so they tell us). I prayed for this. I did. The nights when I couldn't find it. When I was lost for music or movement or motivation, I went back and listened to the advice of the wise man and prayed. The atheist, she prayed. Everything seems different now.

Still City Sleep
Performance, Installation and Live Projection
A collaboration by Laura Mendes and John Loerchner

September

2010-09-03T17:58:00.000-07:00

It's September. How did this happen?

I found this lovely stitched leaf here on Anika Mari's site. I've fallen in love with each one. They somehow capture everything I love about Autumn.

A Night with Leslie

2010-08-30T10:04:00.000-07:00

City Songs on Repeat

2010-08-26T14:50:00.000-07:00

I am one of those people who listens to songs on repeat for weeks, months even, just one song, exclusively, over and over and over, until that song invades my whole self and I am walking and thinking and breathing in rhythm to its structure. And then, just like that, for whatever reason it passes through me. And just like that, I am back to normal again.

I phased out Iron & Wine a few years back, stupidly. Sometimes we do foolish things to forget about certain people or places or moments in time.

But I recently discovered this song, Boy with a Coin. It's taken over.

If you see me walking down the street, I am likely listening to it on my iPod, imagining I am some Spanish gypsy in some Spanish town with no place to go, and so, I keep on going.

2010-08-25T20:01:00.000-07:00

Personal Branding is not a substitute for personality.

GenY and the Choice Conspiracy

2010-08-23T18:44:00.000-07:00

There's been a smattering of good articles circling the web this week on the Millennial Generation; that allusive and hard to tether bunch of 20-somethings that few people - least of all 'slick ad gurus' in their 40's - seem to grasp.

Yet these are the guys traveling the world, speaking at conferences, hocking their books about us, and using punchy terms like "GenNext" and "Echo Gen" to package and sell us to a sea of bewildered Baby Boomers. Ironically, the same Baby Boomers who raised us as they saw fit and who now can't help but wonder, "were did we go wrong?"

A Message to Parents:

To the parents who wonder why their 20-something kids aren't chained to the desks of some 9-5 office or are bouncing around like pin-balls without direction, you might ask yourself this: What values did I instill in my children throughout their lives? Did I tell them, with loving kindness, that they could BE anything they wanted to BE?

Some might blame you for filling nonsense into our impressionable minds. Not everyone can BE what they want to BE. Some people are lazy. In fact, most people are lazy. Most people are happy to do the bare minimum. Most people say they want something and won't do it simply because it's too hard or too daunting or too risky.

Don't be fooled Parents, this a human condition, not a GenY condition. Please know that your loving encouragement has nothing to do with our ineptitude to get a 'real job' or settle down in a brick & mortar home and pop out babies. We take full responsibility for this. Call it ineptitude if you will. I prefer to call it choice.

Choice: Freedom or Stagnation?

No one can argue that we have a shortage of choice in our cushy western world. Paper or plastic? Non-fat, full-fat, soy or rice? The ad gurus and cultural theory types will have us believe that 'choice' is the culprit of our GenY paralysis.

Don't be fooled by them. Choice is freedom. Choice allows us to create the lives we want to create for ourselves. If you're ambitious, intelligent and can commit to doing what you 'say' you want to do, choice gives you the ability to get it done. Whether that means choosing to defer marriage or opting out of a 9-5 job you hate, choice is our ticket to freedom. Use it or loose it.

The difference between choosing our life path and choosing our morning coffee is that one requires hard work.

Paralysis vs. Prolonging

There's a difference between paralysis and prolonging youth. One is a handicap. The other is a strategy.

This is my own personal opinion on marriage. Marriage = babies. Babies = time suck. And time is precious. And I'll be honest, I am selfish. I'll admit it. Nothing wrong with being selfish if it's for the greater good (i.e. a society full of self-actualized people). Maybe if the Boomers had been a little more selfish in their 20's there would be less divorces and a lot less women with yoga mats flocking to India to find themselves.

This is not to say that my married girlfriends, who I love and adore, are not self-actualized people. Marriage and kids is a lifestyle choice. It's not for every 20-something. At the end of the day, you define your life. Married or not-married, you have the ability to achieve anything you want, you simply have to choose to work for it.

This is the defining feature of our generation. Freedom to choose.

Love Us or Hate Us Just Don't Label Us

Our harshest critics have called us over educated, entitled, cocky, selfish, indulgent, hard to please, neo-liberal, naive, ego-maniacs. Are they trying to hurt our feelings or just sell their books? We can't blame them really. It's what we do in society, slap a label on things and call it a day.

The reality is that GenY is a mix-bag of all types of thinkers and doers, activists and inactivists, movers and shakers, bums and douche bags.

Choice may very well paralyze the underachievers. But it's choice that enables the achievers to grasp their wildest dreams.

2010-08-22T00:52:00.000-07:00

CONSUME CULTURE LOCALLY

Top 5 Things to do in the City to Feel 5 Again

2010-08-22T00:42:00.000-07:00

5.     Stroll along Queen St. in a rain storm, umbrella-less

4.     Make a treasure map with crayons and explore the Islands

3.     Hang with the lamas in High Park

2.     Get a sugar high at Sugar Mountain

1.     Hock a loogie off the CN tower

Avoidr

2010-08-19T14:24:00.000-07:00

The city. 2+million people. Living, working, shopping, eating, shopping, shopping. 2+million people and yet, there you are walking around, thinking 'who the hell am I going to bump into today?' Who's going to pop into my life after X amount of time on the 504 streetcar or at the Dufferin Mall or at the 7-11?

The ex-boss you told to fuck off? The ex-lover whose heart you broke? The one-night stand you ditched? The ex-friend you grew apart from?

Ah sweet, uncompromising city. Yes, you've made the choice to live here. You chose the chaos over the quiet. Strip clubs over strip malls. Diversity over homogeneity. Chose culture. Engagement. The crazies. The crackheads. The gridlock. The inspiration. Poutine at 2am.

But sometimes, don't you just want to take a stroll. Take a long, quiet stroll down the street in ripped up jeans and dirty clothes, slightly inebriated and tragically introspective, lost in your thoughts and the music and the white noise of city life, without having to think 'who the hell am I going to bump into today?'

In the not so distant future - when we're all a bunch of cyborgs - you'll be able to snap a finger or wiggle an ear, which will trigger an application in your neural network to warn you that 'so and so' is in your given radius.

Until then, there's Avoidr. A new app for foursquare users. Check it out if you're one of those social media types.

If not, smile and keep on walking....

It's business that's all

2010-08-17T13:55:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about art and business: how to manage the two; how to live my life without one canceling out the other; how to make business more artful; how to make art more profitable; how to purge the vanity in it all, the waste, the "look at me" "look at me"; how to get to the nugget, the kernel, the good stuff, the real stuff, the stuff that you find after you dig and dig with calloused fingers and dirty nails until your sweaty palms are bleeding dirt and love and agony, and then, just like that, it appears.

Burn Burn Burn

2010-08-11T10:19:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamt I was somebody else. It was a nightmare of sorts. The kind that is fuzzy and grey and alarming and perplexing and you wake up feeling stunned and restless. I can only remember these things:

1) Looking into a mirror and seeing another woman's face I couldn't recognize.

2) Running around a strange town.

3) Running away from people in a strange town.

4) Trying desperately to find my face.

A dream doctor might tell me I am going through some identity crisis. He might ask me, "Laura have you been feeling depressed lately?" And I'd reply, "I don't think so? I don't think I really know what it feels like to be depressed." And he might say, "Well you might want to consider doing something to reconnect your self to your inner child." Something hokey like that.

So this morning I blared some music in the studio for a couple of hours - Cat Stevens, The Beatles, Radiohead - threw on a dress (I never wear dresses) and danced the shit out of myself (of course, being mindful of my injured knee).

And as I danced there, wild and ravenous, paying no particular attention to technique or form, I decided what the dream meant. The dream was simply just a reminder. A reminder to stay true to everything I am. Simple.

One of my favorite quotes is from Jack Kerouac. It sums up everything I feel and yearn and believe.

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”

A night with Leslie

2010-08-10T15:38:00.000-07:00

Exhibition runs from September 10-12, 2010

Labspace Studio

Expedition Day

2010-08-07T06:54:00.000-07:00

10:00 am: Assembling the camp gear, printing our maps and waiting for the crew to arrive (10 of us in total).

At around noon we head to Leslie Spit for the second adventure in our East-End Expedition Series.

Our first covert operation is the task of bypassing the park ranger on duty without attracting suspicion. We are, of course, only allowed to make day-trips. Gates close promptly at 6pm.

Gear will be minimal. We'll go in and hopefully the ranger/bored city-worker will forget about us and won't ever notice that we never did come out.

Fun, right?

A little background: The Leslie Spit is a 5km span of Toronto's construction refuse, dumped into lake Ontario. Over the past 50 years this waste has unintentionally built up years and layers of history and, unusually, a rich wildlife reserve.

The intent of our expedition is to investigate the depths of the dumping and the ecological impact and growth that has occurred over the past 50 years, then create something (anything) - a research paper, a sculpture, a dance - and present it at the follow-up exhibition at Labspace Studio.

People on Twitter who Should be Phased Out:

2010-08-01T11:24:00.000-07:00

image from letourduweb.fr

(inspired by George Carlin)

- Girls who tweet philosophical quotes by philosophers they know nothing about

- Guys who tweet what they're eating for breakfast, lunch and dinner. So you think you're the next Gordon Ramsay? Start a food blog and carry on.

- Girls who tweet their daily emotions using the following adjectives: happy, sad, angry and astonished. Save it for your diary. Your diary will not tell you how boring you are.

- People who tweet that they're bored. Is this a joke? Are you serious? So all those other tweets of yours are you being fascinated? God help us.

- People who only tweet links to content that is not their own. You are inauthentic and annoying. No amount of interesting links will prove otherwise.

- People who tweet their countdowns to a big trip or vacation as if we're suppose to be excited for them. No one gives a shit-hole that you're traveling in T-minus two days to Jamaica while we're stuck in the city. Have some respect.

- People who tweet while on vacation

- People who claim they "love" twitter and actually mean it

- People who tweet while driving

- People who tweet while making love

- People who tweet while sleeping

- People who tweet while sleeping while dreaming of tweeting

The War on Food: Farmy Project

2010-07-30T06:57:00.000-07:00

Tonight is the closing reception of Farmy, a community wide art and public spaces project, hosted by our lovely friends at Project 165.

As project participants, we headed back to the Spit yesterday to send-off our war trooper to the wind and document the dramatic drop. Our little guy (cast in clay, compost and turnip seed mixture) found a suitable landing in a tall heap of grass. Though, tragically, his legs were lost on the journey.

Over the course of the month, seedy war troopers have been dropped throughout the city in an effort to instigate community involvement, reclaim public spaces and promote local food use in the city.

For more information on the show and Amanda White's project visit the Farmy website.

**And on a related note, if you have yet to watch Food Inc, a fabulous documentary on the food industry, watch it here now.

Farmy Project

Closing Reception: July 30th, 7-10 pm

Project 165

165 Augusta Ave
Kensington

Sullen City Sleepwalker

2010-07-28T17:07:00.000-07:00

I am watching your hands as you speak to me. Something about getting the hell out of Toronto. Something about sullen, city sleepwalkers. Lots of "screw its" I can hear. I am nodding my head in silence, because I feel you. And of course, I don't want you to go. But of course, you will anyhow. So I am watching your hands. How your gangly fingers flit about punctuating your aggression. How your nails look like half-moons. How the hair on your knuckles is darker than the hair on your head. If I never see you again, your hands are what I'll remember. Because I don't remember faces. Not even the ones I've kissed and held. I am not sure why that is. Except that maybe dreams distort faces. And I rarely dream of hands. So I am storing yours in my brain right now. Along with the other hands of people whose faces I cannot remember.

The Art of Minimalism

2010-07-26T11:42:00.000-07:00

One of the best things I did for myself a few years back was get rid of my television set. To some people this might seem extreme. For me it was pretty easy. At best my television set was an architectural feature in my apartment, an overflow bookshelf, a plinth to burn candles. If ever I needed mindless entertainment, I'd simply go online for it, search it out myself and pick and choose the things I wanted to fill my boredom with.

Thus, my television set became a useless, clunky, dusty, space sucker. So I junked it. Besides, more floor space = more room to dance, roll around, and stretch. Something we should all do every day (at least the stretching part).

Around the same time I also gave up a lot of my belongings. I've never needed much. I've never wanted much. For years I've listened to my mother (god bless her) insist upon me that I take advantage of my looks, that I buy pretty clothes, style my hair, polish my nails, or at they very least, care about my appearance.

Between us, I do care about my appearance. I just don't have the patience or the energy or the time or the money to buy stuff. I have zero interest in buying stuff to make me feel prettier, happier or more productive. In fact, I believe the exact opposite to be true.

Getting rid of stuff will actually make you feel prettier, happier and more productive. Here are my reasons why:

1. Getting rid of stuff frees up time.
No TV to dick around on? Well then read a book, write a story, go for a walk, start a revolution.

2. Getting rid of stuff frees up space.
Less stuff means more freedom. Freedom to roll, dance and stretch without bumping into things. Freedom to breath and think without clutter.

3. Getting rid of stuff makes you prettier.
Pretty people, in my humble opinion, are pretty because they don't try. They just are. Vanity is the most common and ugliest of qualities. Let it go. It's killing your beauty. Vanity is the #1 sucker of beauty from this world.

4. Getting rid of stuff makes you mobile.
There's a whole Digital Nomad movement on the rise. Welcome to the 'creative age'. It's all about maximizing creative ideas and minimizing needless commodities. If you've got what it takes (talent & dedication), it's now possible to work from anywhere with very little.

5. Getting rid of stuff saves you money.
This goes without saying. Buy less, save more, do the things that make you happy. Spend less on things and put your money towards experiences. Dinner with friends. Vacations. Live-entertainment. Support the arts.

Finally....

6. Getting rid of stuff makes you happy.
Really there's no quick fix to happiness. Sadness stems from the deluded expectations people put on themselves. At 30 I am gonna have a house, a car, a kid, a sailboat. No, at 30 I am gonna be content. As content as I am now, living without much, not needing much, and loving life fully.

Minimalism is like Veganism. You have to work towards the goal. I am not there yet. I am like a half-ass vegetarian. I'm not even sure I want to get there. Although I must confess, the thought of a being a full-on digital nomad makes me school-girl giddy.

Most of what I own is in this picture (minus the appliances)

Leslie Spit

2010-07-24T10:03:00.000-07:00

This is my kind of place, quiet and awkwardly beautiful. Here everything seems to hang and lull in a perpetual state of E-minor. The sound of water lapping against decades of discarded city waste. The sound of bike tires treading over eroded bricks and broken rubble. I feel comfortable here. A quiet and introspective kind of comfortable. The kind of comfortable that keeps my mind & body in check.

serious research face on discarded lamp posts

Today we're preparing for our Leslie Spit Expedition, scouting sites we can explore with the group, conceptualizing how this collaborative exhibition will take form at Labspace. I've invented names for a few points of interest like 'Smooth Brick Beach' & 'Rebar Point'. From the water in a canoe, Rebar Point looks like a stage. It juts out into the water in a destructively peaceful kind of way. Perfect for a performance perhaps? I have ideas in my head, but I'll let them sit quietly until the actual expedition, when the real research begins.

rebar point from land

The Donut Factory

2010-07-22T09:01:00.000-07:00

101 Pape Avenue
Toronto, ON M4M 2V7

(416) 461-5289

If ever you're stranded at the corner of Pape & Queen Street East at four in the morning, shit faced and hungry, and willing to brave the crackheads and ruffians loitering out front, I highly recommend* The Donut Factory.

This gem of an establishment has been serving the Leslieville community for 22 years strong by a happy-go-lucky Vietnamese man named Van, who likes sprinkled donuts, long walks on the beach and getting his picture taken by anyone willing to take his picture, especially if you're a girl, and you compliment him on his vast and impressive collection of Arizona Ice Teas. No joke, the man's got it all. Flavours I didn't even know existed! Rows and rows, so many pretty coloured cans. It's like an undercover Arizona Ice Tea factory disguised as a donut dive disguised as a crack den.

Needless to say, I will definitely be coming back (in broad daylight).

*recommendation based purely on epic ice tea selection and general pleasant demeanor of store owner.

This blog is not a journal.

2010-07-18T09:11:00.000-07:00

Ce blog n'est pas un journal.

Perhaps it's because I've just spent two hours reading a stranger's personal blog, guiltily consuming every last intimate piece of this woman's not-so-secret life, that I feel obliged to preface this post with the following statement: This blog is not a journal.

Let this be clear. I write fiction and I write truth. And sometimes I let one bleed into the other. But never have I intended this blog to be a journal. I am too neurotic for that. I enjoy my secrets too much.

My actual journal is black and butchered and sits on my bookshelf disguised as paperback fiction. Sometimes I'll carry her around on transit or at the park. But more often than not, she lives in the safety of my apartment where I cannot misplace her. I am notorious for this.

What I am interested to know is what motivates this woman, and women like her, to share their life so candidly. I secretly admire her and at the same time don't understand her at all. I am left wondering - is anything sacred?

I've always preferred the abstract over the concrete; the grey matter between things; the mystery behind people. Often the people that compel me the most are the ones I know nothing about or the ones I knew well and whose faces I can barely remember.

This blog is not a journal so I choose not to delve into the details of my road trip to which, I will confess, were the best three weeks of my life. Instead I'll post some of my favorite photographs and say only that this trip changed my life.

This blog is not a journal. I have too many of those black beasts lamenting on too many things I've now realized were beyond my capacity to change. People I've loved and lost. Choices I've made or didn't make, etc, etc, etc.

Traveling is a humbling journey. Out there on the road, under the stars, in the desert, you realize it's the mysteries that unite us. Not the specifics.

still city sleep

on the road

2010-05-14T12:25:00.000-07:00

I think I've been waiting my whole life for this...

Our Route: Toronto, Vancouver, Seattle, Cape Disappointment, Redwood National Park, San Francisco, Yosemite National Park, Death Valley, Las Vegas, Grand Canyon, Lake Powell, Arches National Park, Warm River, Yellowstone National Park, Clark Fork River, Seattle, Vancouver, Toronto.

The plan: to eat, breath, sleep, live and love the present. to stay as far away from electronic things as possible.

Observer Effect

2010-05-11T11:24:00.001-07:00

(A short preview I wrote for Rouge Concept Gallery. Check it out if you're in the east-end. Some gorgeous work.)

Observer Effect
May 4-30, 2010
Kathleen Finlay, Renato Foti, Kevin Kelly, Stephanie Kretzschmer, Kagame Murray, Sean Carl Newman, William Porper, Andrew Tomkins

In the realm of Quantum Theory there is a notion known as the Observer Effect: the belief that an object or phenomenon cannot exist until it is first observed. Though grounded in scientific theory, the Observer Effect opens the mind to a series of philosophical quandaries; perhaps the most common being the old riddle: “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” In other words, can something truly exist without being perceived? When we begin to look at the world through the Observer Effect, we ultimately begin to understand the inseparability of the observer from the observed and the role of consciousness in the construct of reality.

Photography as a technological medium is based on the principle of reproducing reality through image. In contemporary art, however, this can take multiple forms. A photographer can choose to document reality by simply capturing the image before him; he can also distort or abstract the image from its own reality; he can even create a new reality altogether, freeing the image entirely.

The photographers in Observer Effect, the latest CONTACT Group Exhibition at Rouge Concept Gallery, each investigate these methods through their own personal aesthetics. Two themes serve as undercurrents for this show. The first: Notions of Abstraction – familiar subjects seem unfamiliar through tonal and textural values, shadow play, close-ups and experimentation with light and time exposure.

Such is the case in the work of Kevin Kelly, whose photographs of wooden bulls-eye targets and vintage pin-up posters are transferred to large sheets of metal to create an altered reality of the original. Similarly, Sean Carl Newman, whose photographs delve into the intensely personal world of false memory, has reclaimed negatives from the 1960's as his source of play. By manipulating, scratching and then redeveloping his negatives, Newman creates a tactile world out of an absent and removed one.

The second theme: Magic and Mystery is brought to life in A Clown Story, a photographic series by Kathleen Finlay that tells the tale of a Clown’s cosmic journey to relight the stars. Using digital and Polaroid film, Finlay offers us, as observers, a surrealist feast for the senses.

Observer Effect is part of the Scotiabank CONTACT Photography Festival and runs from May 4-30, 2010.

The Sea

2010-05-09T06:34:00.000-07:00

Our love is not the sea. It has no business
in the affairs of metaphors.

A spool of thread, unspooled
and you suspended there
from the tallest tower is not a metaphor
so much as an image.

Speak to me in images, I would prefer it
or better yet -
in the feel of things.

If it is the sea you wish then the feel of sea:

The salty sting
across your lips, sun-split
from boyish neglect

The electric thrash
of wave against skin
sending you under
then bringing you back

The feel of breathing. Then breath held.

These thoughts we feel
underwater are not unlike the thoughts
we feel before bed.

Surely, the worriers
will worry no matter
where they are

and the lovers
will love no matter how far
love is removed.

What does this say about us?

About the ones who plunge deep
with limbs like fins into the blue
abyss feeling: this is freedom here versus
the ones who feel the urge to
feed the dog or return the email versus
the ones who feel nothing at all?

Give me this Sea in all its
kaleidoscopic ambiguity.
Give me something I can swallow.

Now imagine actually swallowing
an entire sea, fish and all. Now there's
an image for you. The weight of it crushing
your ribs one by one, your belly slowly
expanding to the size of infinity. The feel
of harboring then birthing the most ancient
of life, until you're nothing
but a puddle of skin.

Dare I say that this is the feeling of love?

No, our love is not the sea. It does not heed
to the tides. Let loose, it will not return to shore.

Not even by the cooing force of a patient moon.

Limitation

2010-04-29T05:56:00.000-07:00

Since my injury I've had to cancel 3 shows, including a performance next month with Ballet Creole in Ottawa for the Canada Dance Festival. I am posting this video purely as a reminder to myself that I can pull through this injury, that I can create still, despite my limitations. Climbing Walls was a piece I created (with a healthy body). My only limitation was the wall behind me. Create movement fluidly, rapidly, succinctly, expressively, honestly, quietly with my whole self, between a wall and an audience; that was my challenge.

My mind has begun to conceive little legless dances. Most ideas won't make it to round two. But I am excited none the less. Trusting this west-coast road trip will stir the beast. To invoke distance and freedom from stasis and inertia; that is my challenge.

Playback

2010-04-24T05:05:00.000-07:00

Tonight we'll be hosting some pretty awesome artist friends at Labspace. Stop by if you're into sculpture, interactive installation, performance or anything between.

Full details here:
Playback/Physical Futures Initiative

not the end of the world

2010-04-22T07:51:00.000-07:00

I heard he dumped her on Twitter
as eloquently as one can dump
a girlfriend of four years using
35 characters alone; before packing
it in and fleeing the city, his
day-job and crappy apartment,
his dog and live-in girlfriend,
whose FB status now
reads: "never trust a poet,
those fucking assholes."

They say he left with only
a bowling bag of clothes,
his guitar strapped to his back
and his laptop, of course.

An epic cliche I know,
but I am eating it up,
hoping he'll update his blog
from the remote reaches of
wherever he is: the jungles
of Central America perhaps
or the deep south of
Bible belt USA in some
abandoned farm house.

It's all so recklessly romantic,
don't you think?
To abandon the world
like a wild beast in the night,
leaving only a trail of ashes from
the money you burned from your wallet.

If I was half the poet of he I'd do the same,
except I wouldn't burn my money, that's
just silly. I'd burn my hair off instead
or my entire wardrobe or something
to that effect; call it performance art
and kill two birds with one stone.

I hope he never comes back, gets
torn to itty bits by rabid rain forest raccoons
or Christian fundamentalists so we can
laud him as a true Canadian hero.

And if he's lucky maybe they'll broadcast his
poems on those fancy screens on Subway
platforms. If at the very least
to remind us city folk that
a 5 minute wait for the Bloor train
is not the end of the world.

Woody

2010-04-16T08:33:00.000-07:00

I love this man
though I could never
love a man like him
self-agonizing
hermit, tempestuous
neurotic, love hungry
existentialist, death
fearing urbanite,
brilliant to the bone,
thin as bone.
And yet, I could never
love a man
who does not love
Woody

On Trees

2010-04-14T06:51:00.000-07:00

I've been resisting writing about my injury. I realized this yesterday after trying to write about something else entirely and then noticing I had gone to that sad place unconsciously. I suppose I felt that formalizing it in words would somehow make it more real.

What's real is that sooner or later an orthopedic surgeon will drill holes and screws into my knee to repair a torn ACL. Three months off dancing will turn into a year. More cancelled shows and projects and teaching gigs. Everything stalled.

I cannot explain the feeling of not being able to move. The pain of restraint. It's best to avoid even trying, as unnecessary self-pity can be a dangerous thing. My knee will heal. I am injured, not sick. I am blessed, not hard done by.

For now healing has become my priority. To cope I've been writing feverishly and reading voraciously and have taken up swimming and Tai Chi, both highly physical and meditative activities. I've taken to being among trees. Actively seeking them out in the city and just being present with them. Drawing from their strength and endurance. Imagining entire forests growing out of my knee caps.

In a month I will touch the largest trees on earth. In a month I will take the road-trip of my life, camping through all the major parks along the west coast from Vancouver to San Francisco and then back north through the deserts of Arizona and Utah to end on a small lake in Clark Fork, Idaho. I'll do all this before the surgery and the crutches and the brace and the pain. I am ready for it all now.

"Whoever has learned to listen to trees no longer want to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness."
-Hermann Hesse

after it rains for three days straight

2010-04-09T13:09:00.000-07:00

the edges of a city
loosed from
days of wet

hung out to dry
on this tip
of cigarette

whispers:
"leave me here.
let me linger in this
bedroom unkept"

my words
are just words
if not
poems yet

and this body
another body
the rain has
swept

a tree

2010-04-07T20:10:00.000-07:00

between lunch and dinner
you build a table
out of the leftover
wood from back home

while I make pictures
in sawdust with my toes

you are fine tuning
in your zone, lead to grain,
exacting, the silence

the mathematics of your presence:
the distance between your hand
to my ankle

i am thinking,
always as one thought leads to the next,
you are like a tree: with limbs like road maps -
and oh the places we will go,
and the people we will meet,

and the things we will make.

thumb sucker

2010-04-06T08:55:00.000-07:00

when i think of all the women
who have woken
to the abrasive
sounds of your teeth
grinding in the night
electric rails
of steel against steel

i think of all the years
i was too good

for the ones
who courted
the friends
the admirers

the assholes
the intellectuals

all those years
before meeting you
sleeping beside
a thumb sucker

a wife/mother

2010-04-05T04:48:00.000-07:00

a wife/mother:
would have had dolls in her youth,
a bedroom of plush and plastic
pretty little things
with names like
hannah and skye

and flower-patterned dresses
that are now curtains and
pillow cases

featured on some blog
about fashion and
vintage things

a warrior and a meadow:

the colours of muted
earth tones to match
the kitchen

where we sit
watching your girls
as they lovingly
rock their dolls
to sleep.

circumstance

2010-04-04T09:27:00.000-07:00

you are the empty
the ghost
of an ocean
the hollows
of my stomach

my insides
pulled petal from petal

from the garden
each stone
is you

a drop of water

in a sea
of a thousand
stones

when i grow old
i will find you
in waves of
rippling rock

and i will lay down
upon you

yes, i will lay down
upon you

with arms
opening
and closing

DNA - Rouge Concept Gallery

2010-03-24T07:34:00.000-07:00

Getting paid to write is always nice, especially getting paid to write about art.
My newest client is Rouge Concept, a commercial art & design gallery at Queen & Broadview. Below is a profile I wrote on their latest group show, DNA. Catch it before it closes on April 11.

DNA / Group Exhibition

As a scientific concept, DNA: the ultimate code of creation, is one that is by nature inherently complex. Applied to contemporary art, such a motif invites a rich examination into the creative process, into a work's aesthetic forms, its structures, patterns, materials and compounds, as well as evoking themes of identity and personal history.

From abstraction to portraiture, DNA, the latest Group Exhibition at Rouge Concept, features new work by a group of artists who share a meticulous attention to detail and process. Who seem to relish in manipulating the genetic codes of their work.

We see this in Shawn Skeir's paintings, frenetic grids of colours and textures, layers upon layers of paint evoking movement and light. And in Heather Raymont's landscape, an emotional expanse of textures and oils. Materials are deceiving in the work of Terrance Finnigan, whose large-scale mirrors appear, at first glance, to be oxidized metal. A closer look will reveal their true material form: wood that has been painted on through a painstaking process. In Marianne Botha's painting, at first glance you will see a self-portrait. Yet, look closer beneath the layers and you will find, as if resurfacing from the depths of the painting itself, a second, ghostly face. The use of humour and allegory is applied in the portraits of Quebec artist, Reynald Connolly, whose portraits, though seemingly cryptic, communicate a deep sense of the subject's identity.

On display at DNA will also be the work of Rouge's ongoing featured artists, including Matt Durrant's latest series, Drop Sheet, an explosive body of canvases that capture the artist's unique process of creation.

DNA| Group Exhibition runs from March 2 – April 11

Woodcat

2010-03-22T19:09:00.000-07:00

Every ounce of me loves every ounce of this.

My Friend Don

2010-03-18T11:44:00.000-07:00

First project of the East-End Expedition Series, My Friend Don. Led by our friend and ongoing artistic collaborator, Gram Shmalz. Visit official project website here.

East-End Love

2010-03-16T07:44:00.000-07:00

And another project beings...

This summer I vow to run around, play with dirt, roll in grass and run my paddle through uncharted rivers, all within this city of mine:

"The East End Expedition Series is a string of ongoing, artist-led projects and research-based expeditions that investigate, navigate and re-contextualize the urban natural spaces in Toronto's east-end."

For our project, John and I will be exploring Leslie Spit, this remarkable and underused 5-km long man-made peninsula, that juts into Lake Ontario right around our studio. Project is still very much in the works, but I will continue to post updates on our progress.

For details on the entire series you can visit our project site.

Spreading the east-end love...

BLINDNESS

2010-03-13T09:07:00.000-08:00

To be immersed in darkness, among friends and strangers, each one of us suspended in time, moved by the sounds of this man from Tibet, who sings only of peace, what a gift.

The video:
BLINDNESS

ex nihilo

2010-03-05T07:10:00.000-08:00

I was asked by a gorgeous poetess if she could use my image for the cover of her debut book of poetry. I happily accepted.

The image is from a piece I performed back in June, called "climbing walls", a dance/animation collaborative with John Loerchner.

ex nihilo (Frontenac House) by Adebe D.A. will be out in bookstores near you.

We're hoping to hold the launch here at Labspace this summer.

Hot Soup

2010-03-04T06:25:00.000-08:00

The first Thursday of the month we do soup at Labspace.

BLINDNESS

2010-02-27T10:49:00.000-08:00

This has been taking up much of my time these days....
BLINDNESS

the ages of man

2010-01-31T11:04:00.001-08:00

Bent Fabric

2010-01-30T11:33:00.000-08:00

This is an unfinished project. An abandoned lover. (one of many).

It was originally created as a photographic landscape to accompany a poem called "Bent Fabric", written by poet, Professor and friend, Andrew Dubois.

There is a pervading sadness in these images. I think there's a sadness in all things left unfinished.

Here are a few fragments...

Photography/Art Direction - John Loerchner
Model/Art Direction - Laura Mendes

"Life doesn't imitate art, it imitates bad television" - Woody Allen

2010-01-23T14:23:00.000-08:00

dear so and so,

please stop asking me if i've seen this television episode or that television episode. chances are i have not. nor will i ever. and i am not a snob. i just think time would be better spent running naked through corn fields.

sincerely,
laura

King Corn

2010-01-23T13:48:00.000-08:00

I am in the midst of writing a story that doesn't want to be written. It's infuriating. No amount of coaxing, relaxation or stimulants will make this story take shape.

On an unrelated note, this morning I ate some M & M pancakes from Disgraceland. Two big ones oozing with processed maple syrup, no doubt made from some form of high fructose corn syrup. Needless to say I feel awful.

If you haven't already, watch the documentary King Corn.

We are what we eat. Never forget that.

Royale Shoes

2010-01-05T13:48:00.000-08:00

*a short little something i found while cleaning my files*

From what I gather Raphael is the Shoe Man who operates (or once operated) Royale Shoes, a curious breed of store located in my neighbourhood. I live in the Western fringes of Little Italy where trendy cafes gradually become dirty Portuguese man-bars, authentic Portuguese restaurants and random Christian paraphernalia shops.

Smack-dab beside the Jehovah Witness Centre is now a Starbucks Coffee. Which, if you ask me, is a pretty good thing for the Jehovah's. Why go door-to-door when you can stand outside a Starbucks?

As for the rest of the neighbourhood, it seems that most stores are either in the final stages of bankruptcy, have closed down entirely or in the curious case of Royale Shoes, have decided to exist as it always has, except without the customers.

At Royale Shoes the lights are always off. The door is always closed. Inside the display case is a haphazard hodge-podge of shoe wares from the 60's, 70's and 80's. These shoes haven't changed since I moved here two years ago.

What's even stranger about a shoe store that appears open but is never in fact open is that every time I walk by Royale Shoes the radio is playing in the front foyer. It's tuned to some Portuguese station playing old Portuguese ballads.

Yesterday I peered inside to find a loaf of bread sitting on the counter beside dusty shoe boxes and scattered newspapers. This loaf of bread is the first sign I've come across that indicates that someone, Raphael I assume, is hiding out inside the defunct shoe store.

I suppose I could easily ask one of the older storeowners in the area about the mysterious whereabouts of Raphael the Shoe Man, but then of course there would be no mystery. Perhaps Raphael owned Royale Shoes with his devoted wife of 50 years - a tiny Portuguese woman with thick ankles, a furry moustache and a warm soul. Perhaps she died a tragic death leaving Raphael with a broken heart and a store full of shoes. Perhaps it was too painful for Raphael to close down the store entirely and so decided to leave it there in her memory. Perhaps those Portuguese ballads are love songs to her. Perhaps?

If Raphael does exist, I am bound to bump into him one of these days. If I ever do I'll tell him the truth - that I've been spying on his store. And he'll tell me, 'I knew you've been all along!' Then we'll chat about shoes and politics and I'll ask him what he thinks of all this development in our quaint neighbourhood, and he'll ask me the same, and whether or not I think the Jehovah's are as much a nuisance to the neighbourhood as the Starbucks.

City in Winter

2009-12-29T22:12:00.000-08:00

On cold nights like this I wish I could fold the city into my palm and squeeze it a couple times. Revive it back to life. Keep it warm in my pocket.

The streets are empty. Bloor West is empty. Not even the Portuguese men are out tonight in their usual packs of five. Tonight they're at home, smoking in front of their television sets and infuriating their wives.

Tonight the moon is big and bare and cold and icy. If it had legs it would kick me in the ass. I had this notion while watching it that I was the only one in the entire city watching the same moon. This sad and angry moon just hanging there like a smear in an otherwise ordinary city sky; without stars; without constellations.

Without people these streets are frozen.

Plant Killer

2009-12-10T11:40:00.000-08:00

I am convinced my rubber plant hates me. All I have to do is look at in a displeasing way and it sheds a leaf. Just like that, *plop*. That's the sound of a rubber leaf falling to the floor with purposeful angst.

To look at it you would never think there was anything wrong with it. It looks healthy and strong enough. It just hates me, that's all.

Eva was over last night and even she noticed its' discontent. "I think your rubber plant is angry dear". I generally trust Eva's instincts. She comes from a long line of Romanian gypsies; or at least that's what she tells me.

I met Eva last year in Kensington Market. She was selling amulets and reading people's palms outside my favorite empanada stand. She wore shiny rings on all ten of her fingers and all ten of her toes and I remember being attracted to their sparkle and to her long, curly hair that hung beneath her waist. She had caught me watching her from afar and called me over to her table. This led to a palm reading and to series of long conversations on the state of culture in Toronto, Degrassi Junior High and the art of Tai Chi. By the end of it all she had asked me out on a date. "You mean like a real date?" I asked. I wasn't sure how to approach the question. I had never been asked out by a woman before, least of all a gorgeous Romanian gypsy. I smiled and bit my lower lip. Something I do when I don't know what to do. She could sense my unease and sweetly replied, "...or we could just simply grab a coffee as friends."

Last night after dinner Eva recommended that we burn some incense and try to awaken the inner spirit of my angry rubber plant. "We need to find the source of its discontent", she said.

In a smoky haze of Nag Champa incense we placed my rubber plant in the centre of my kitchen atop a pedestal of art history text books and a Merriam-Webster Dictionary. We held hands in a circle and Eva began to chant something in what I can only assume was in her native tongue. "Take that rubber plant", I said. Eva squeezed my hand and reminded me to take the process seriously.

She swayed gently back and forth, pushing out harsh and unrecognizable sounds from her lips. She asked me to repeat these sounds and so I did, quietly. Eva began to dance. I could see the movement starting from deep within her centre, convulsing and radiating out to the top of her head. "Dance with me", she said, and squeezed my hands harder. "I need another glass of wine", I said. But Eva shook her head and spun me around. "Dance with me!" Eva removed her head scarf and threw it across the room to reveal an untamed mess of tendrils. She then removed her knitted sweater, folded it and placed it on my kitchen table. Her chanting grew louder and she began to spin in circles. I stood there and watched her. I watched her as she removed her socks and then I watched her as she stepped out of her thick cotton dress. "I don't understand at all", I said. "Just dance with me", she replied.

~~~

I am entirely convinced my rubber plant hates me. If it only mildly hated me yesterday, it most certainly loathes me today. This morning it sits where we left it, at the centre of my kitchen, among empty wine glasses and ashes. It looks sad today. More sad than angry.

Somehow I know I won't see Eva again.

mobiles

2009-12-02T07:24:00.000-08:00

they fascinate me. their simplicity. their complexity.

i've been toying with an idea for a new group show: an entire gallery filled with mobiles.

the image came to me last night. how beautiful that would be. a sky of mobiles suspended in space.

the dancer in me is searching for a way to seamlessly integrate dancing bodies into the show.

a mobile + a body = suspension, weightlessness, precariousness, balance, symmetry...

research begins today for a show that will hopefully unfold in the spring.

some mobiles i adore:

to the wind

2009-12-01T16:46:00.000-08:00

Last spring I left my laptop in the back of a cab. I was doing too many things. Arguing with someone on the phone. Fumbling through my black-hole-of-a-purse. Trying to pay my fare in the dark.

I just left it sitting there.

Never saw it again.

It literally contained the archive of my whole life (or at least anything I produced from the age of 20 to 26: pretty much my whole life). Everything you could possibly not want to loose I lost in the back of that cab: essays, photographs (some seriously private photographs), short stories, poems I'd never show anyone, financial documents, a year's worth of personal journals in the form of voice recordings. All these things I would never ever ever want anyone to see or hear.

Poof. Gone.

Someone out there knows way too much about me.

I decided rather than hate myself for the mistake, I would instead take comfort in knowing that I had finally released all the things & secrets & thoughts I had been stockpiling all these years.

To the wind.

I am not the type to write a blog, least of all a blog about myself. I am the type to hide things away in secret compartments and buried files on my hard drive.

I am trying something different here.

There's something strangely satisfying about it all.

In the knowing and not knowing whose reading my thoughts.

on being a bridesmaid (part II)...

2009-11-28T09:02:00.000-08:00

You are a goddess. Standing there in that gorgeous spanish gown. The whole store envying you. Mothers and daughters and bridesmaids. She will make a lovely wife, they say.

You are a goddess, always to me. In your jeans. In your pajamas. With vomit in the corners of your mouth.

You are goddess, for leaving. He could never unleash you.

I am breathing sighs of relief with you. Together. Slowly exhaling this wedding. Together. Slowly inhaling all that lies ahead.

part I

2009-11-27T08:10:00.000-08:00

first love.

1
exists in photographs
and letters
the kind you can hold
in your hands.

2
and i am here.
and you're somewhere.

3
i want to grow old
knowing
you're safe.

2009-11-26T17:59:00.000-08:00

this is my secret blog.

consume culture locally

2009-11-25T19:44:00.000-08:00

straight from kensington. love, love.

bad karaoke

2009-11-13T08:10:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be inspired. What inspires me to want to make work? Who inspires me the most? What it means to be uninspired? How do I pull myself out of those times of creative drought. How do I inspire other people?

I've come to accept many things about myself. One is that I will always question every step I make. I will always be a little afraid to let you in. I will always be a little afraid of what you'll find.

I've also come to realize many things about this world of ours. One is that virtually everyone feels as I do. Even the most audacious artist fears what they don't know.

In all of this 'thinking' and 'analyzing' and 'reflecting' that I've been doing, I've come to realize that the ultimate thing that inspires me is you. Knowing you. Knowing pieces of you. Identifying with you. Hating you. Loving you. Learning from you.

Being an honest person, an honest artist, an honest and artful human being is what inspires me.

It's like sitting in a karaoke bar and listening to someone sing an awful version of 'I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston. Their pitch is way off. They sound like dying road kill. But there they are standing in front of you, singing with unbridled passion and energy. I envy this person. I love this person in fact. I love this person for everything they are in that moment. For sharing with me something I can understand.

In everything I do from now on I want to be honest and open.

2009-11-12T05:43:00.000-08:00

a) you move me

b) i can't sleep

c) you'll find me underwater

d) naked

e) glowing

some things i cannot change:

2009-11-09T14:54:00.000-08:00

I will always cut you off if walking beside you. It's not that I have poor alignment. I just like being close to you and so I gravitate to your strides.

I will always be a little clumsy and spill drinks on your lap. It's not that I am uncoordinated. I just get lost in thoughts, images, and conversations. They are more interesting than the reality of objects in space.

I will never be the girl who wears dresses and pretty things. I am not sure why this is. I've tried. It feels awkward and laboured.

I will always be the kind of girl who wishes she were a little thinner.

I will always be a little happier if the sun is out.

I will always be a little too critical for my own good.

I will always like you a little more if you're a Woody Allen fan.

I will never tell you I agree with you if I don't. Even if it hurts your feelings.

I will always, despite the discrimination, favour artists over business men.

I will never be a good cook. It's not that I don't know how to cook. I just don't get joy out of the process.

I will always firmly believe that less is more.

I will always prefer walking to running.

I will always prefer dancing to walking.

on being a bridesmaid...

2009-10-17T09:16:00.000-07:00

When we lived together back on College street, the question would often surface. Who first? Back then marriage was banter over cigarettes and wine. Who first? You'd point at me with your smoke and roll your eyes. Then I'd give you the finger, flick my ashes your way.

The other day, when you asked me how much I'd be willing to spend on a bridesmaid's dress, and I said, "Um, I don't know, maybe 100 bucks?", your eyes drooped a little. I realize now that was an awfully insensitive thing to say. You must know I was being sincere, right? I just don't know protocol, tradition, anything about this. I need a handbook. I need to get over the fact that neither of us smoke anymore. That wine gives me headaches now. That you're the first. That nothing stays the same.

Dear...

2009-10-14T06:16:00.000-07:00

Dear Autumn. Today I wish this
body of mine to move like falling leaves.
Graceful surrender.

Autumn

2009-09-30T12:53:00.000-07:00

I am that girl who wears sweaters 2 sizes too large. Who wears toques indoors and wool socks to bed. I am that girl who won't by a jacket because 3 sweaters layered is warm enough. I am that girl who likes simple songs played on simple instruments. And simple things like wood and rock and clean and tidy and black and white.

2009-09-23T06:36:00.000-07:00

I feel anxious and sore. My sage plant is wilting and the sky is dull today. I miss summer already.

09.09.09

2009-09-09T11:34:00.000-07:00

currently:

roof gazing. sipping beers. with a lovely boy. on my birthday. life tastes sweet.

and on a related note:
09.09.09

the hipsters are coming...

2009-09-05T18:04:00.000-07:00

An old article in Eye Weekly predicting the hipster influx in the Bloor/Ossington/Dufferin hood....a good read...
http://www.eyeweekly.com/article/34268

I remember, fresh out of university, trying to open a gallery with some friends in a shoddy storefront apartment at 1200 Bloor, just west of Dufferin. We had little to no street traffic and spent most of the time mingling with crack heads, psychics and old Muslim & Portuguese men. A lot can change in 4 years.

days that end in 'y'

2009-09-02T05:05:00.000-07:00

'days that end in 'y' was a short lived project I started with John last summer, preempted by a yard sale in which I irrationally sold nearly everything I owed. This included my entire wardrobe and a whole whack of books and cd's I had been stockpiling.

I am not sure what spurred the whole yard sale. I think it was that I simply felt bogged down with all the things and clutter and products I owed. I really only needed a 1/4 of that stuff to go about my day to day life. One day I woke up and sold it all. At the time it felt completely and utterly satisfying, until I woke up the next morning and realized I had nothing to wear and no money to buy new clothes.

So we started a little screen printing project called 'days that end in y'. We designed 7 shirts for each day of the week and vowed to wear these shirts, and only these shirts, until we could no longer stand to wear them. It never happened. Winter came along. Screen printing inside became a nuisance. The project was put on hold. For a year.

And here I am. In a new apartment. Unpacked the last bit of my clothes last night and found my Wednesday shirt. And today is Wednesday. An omen? I think I'll try to re-start this failed project.

2009-08-31T06:01:00.000-07:00

1956

She met him in front of the Paradise Cinema and noticed his collar first. Stiff like cardboard and yellowed from old sweat. His neck was thick and red with coarse stubble that trailed into sporadic mounds of hair upon his chest. She noticed these mounds before she could notice his eyes which she glanced at awkwardly, then back again to the mounds. God what awful mounds! she thought before noticing his belly that hung like a deflated tire. His eyes were warm if not a little dopey. She could love these eyes, perhaps. Despite the obvious.

~~~~~~

He met her in front of the Paradise Cinema and noticed her breasts first. The way they bounced in rhythm to the radio playing overhead as she approached. The way the fabric of her dress concealed them ever so modestly, just enough to show off their peaks below milky white collar bones. Her breasts were large, perhaps larger than any breasts he had ever held before. And he hadn't held many. His fingers trembled slightly as his gaze moved to her eyes which he glanced at momentarily before glancing back to her breasts. He could love these breasts, most certainly.

The Paradise

2009-08-30T05:10:00.000-07:00

1944-2006

2009-08-28T17:54:00.000-07:00

the first cool night

i want to remember right now. the hum of air vents. the way we left. another year. this rooftop. the end of summer. i want to write books that feel like tonight. devastatingly cool.

Orange

2009-08-27T12:03:00.000-07:00

Orange

2009-08-26T14:04:00.001-07:00