Images: Some Food We Could Not Eat

This is a collection of images from the exhibition at September Gallery earlier this month, which was dismantled today. I wish I had better photographs of the other artist's works (Tim Ridlen, David Horvitz, Marco Braunshweiner, and Martine Syms) but I don't. The show was currated by Jamielee Polson, as the first of 12 shows in her roving 12 Galleries project. Links soon. Here is a brief description of what you see:

Ugolino - The tree eating a tree, oh how horrible, just like poor Ugolino having to eat the brains of his kids in Dantetown... but this time we don't really know who the kid is; Ugolino has been known to chew on his own fingers too (wiki Ugolino to learn more about his history)



Cool It! - This is a small scale sculpture of my friend Tim, who was chosen to curate this show but instead decided to pick artists he liked and we all di our thing, so Tim the currator was voodooed into this doll and put in the fridge to slow down his rate of spoilage.



Pod is in the Details - a complicated story behind this work, but what you see here is where to stand and what you see when you stand there: colors; my miasma palette.



Nickname Game - call the number from the phone to get a nickname, and then choose (if you want) to accept, reject or take no action on that name. Enpowering me to empower you to open up and vote (as an elective, not in an election)!

See you in Toronto!

*go see

PIGEON FUNK

in Ottawa on the 2nd, Montreal on the 3rd and Toronto on the 4th of October.

Dead Animal Zoo - Clear Creek PArk, PA

These photos were taken at the lovely little lumberjack museum located at Clear Creek State Park campsite near Brookville, Pennsylvania. Brookville is about twenty minutes north of infamous Punksatony, home of Phil the groundhog, and Clear Creek is about twenty minutes North of Brookville. I stayed there on my way to Chicago from New York; my choices came down to Clear Creek or the less appealing Mosquito Lake just West of the PA border in Ohio. I arrived at the campsite office after hours, so was forced to use the honor envelopes to fill out my info and pay for the campsite. However, as I was about to slip my envelope, into which I had placed maybe twelve dollars, the local fee during off season, a park ranger came by and let me into the office so that I might pay inside. I hadn't yet sealed the envelope, to my relief, otherwise she might have caught me trying to shirk full payment. She asked if I was a resident of PA, and for the sake of conversation I told her I was out here looking to maybe set up shop. Upon this news the ranger lady began telling me all about the area's artisans and the little community festivals they have and all the lovely local craft shops, and that I'd chosen a great place to make an artist's living, even. Although I was lying to her (I had no intention of finding a studio in the Pennsylvania Wilds), I'm happy I did so, as it strengthened our repore and I was able to think about what it would be like setting up shop in rural PA; pleasant and dull and no doubt tolerable for most. The camping was extraordinary, btw.

Sponge (A waterfall Enema)

The following is the journal entry that accompanied these images, which were taken by Chris Austin. The text was transcribed onto a wall in graphite, and the photos were hung next to it with tape:

On Sunday afternoon I spent two hours lying in a waterfall's flow in a missionary position, facing the strong current. The performance began when I climbed up the waterfall and tied a red line to a branch caught in the current. I climbed back down, found a large rock and placed in in the flow to act as a stop to keep me from being swept along by the current. I laid with my back to the rock and spread my legs, allowing the current to flow into my ass. I kept my hands cupped over my balls for the first fifteen minutes until they were numb enough to withstand the pounding of the current. I lifted my legs into the air every minute or so to test for exhaustion. After twenty minutes or so my back-rest-stop-rock was caught by the current and lost to the falls. I paused my enema to find another, heavier rock. The second rock did not slip. At around the thirty minute mark I began to shiver. At around the hour mark I lost a contact lense. When the sun dipped behind the trees my state quickly deteriorated, and I began to cramp heavily. At this point I felt my safety was becoming compromised, and I struggled out of the water and up the waterfall to tear the red line from its mooring. When I returned to my clothes I learned that just over two hours had passed since the beginning of the performance.

Ups and Downs: Three Up three down

Here's something: three sets of photographs from the top and bottom of elevations I conquered through my own locomotive skills, which paired together emphasize how vertical movement and turning around can quickly reorganize spatial considerations. I consider these shifts to be blunt, but perhaps you might think them more subtle? These were photographed at the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore, which is a fascinating place: natural splendor set against a sympathetic industrial background - consider visiting if you're in Gary. 

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Lake Michigan Shoreline

Fighting Show Images

I did not put any images of our recent Fighting show up on this blog. Here are a select few now. The show turned out great, and it is still up until the beginning of November. Go see the show, and buy something - the framed pieces are pretty as, well, pretty as pictures.


(You can see more images on the Fecal Face site, under the guest blogs section, and also at the OKOK Gallery site).

Food Pyramid Cont'd

Root Specimens

In the Spring of 2006 my mother and I planted an assortment of vegetables in our garden, which lies in the virile southeast corner of our lot at 2 Rusholme Dr. In order to keep our neighbours from violent retaliation (as they are predominantly Portuguese), we were forced to plant many tomato vines in our garden. But we also decided to plant red and romaine lettuce, eggplant, purple kolrabi, red cabbage, and various herbs to pepper the gaps. Since our garden received more than its required share of sunlight, and since last summer was a wet one, our garden grew as if it were some poor farmer's hot-ticket science expirement gone terribly wrong - our lettuce stalks grew almost four feet high (if you are imagining a four-foot head of lettuce, please stop and imagine a wilted head of lettuce with large shoots bearing small yellow flowers growing out the center of the head instead. That's what it looked like. Or imagine the giant head of lettuce, because it's more fun), and the cabbage leaves made bosky allusions to elephant ears.



Ah, but The Kolrabi, it turned its energy towards producing swollen red bulbous nodes the size of footballs from which its leaves could sprout, and resembled something more alien than even the pugs and curious muts that sometimes trounced our small latticed garden fence. Most of the garden plants were either eaten or pulled in the fall, and most all the rest were quartered and dissolved by the processes of winter months. But the three mutant Kolrabi, they survived through to three days ago, when I finally pulled the stalwarts from their soil because the snows had cleared and the sun and warmth had thawed the plants and they were starting to stink, like rotten cabbage. These plants were unique, and I thought they should be documented, so I called my neighbour Jeremy Jansen, and he brought over his equipment and we shot our specimens hanging from a string (which was Jeremy's idea). These three photographs are the result of almost nine months of preparation on the part of the Kolrabi, and a few serendipidous moments on our part.

63 - The Maple Leaf

With service from New York City (Penn Station) to Toronto, stopping in between at Yonkers, Croton-Harmon, Poughkeepsie, Rhinecliff-Kingston, Hudson, Albany, Schenectady, Amsterdam, Utica, Rome, Syracuse, Rochester, Buffalo, Niagara Falls, St. Catherines, Grimsby, Aldershot, Oakville. A few things worthy of note; they still call 'all aboard' at Penn station, and Via rail still uses steel-wheeled pull carts to transfer luggage. There's a big whistle that still blows hot air out its nozzle to give warning that something big is coming along fast and there's not much chance it'll stop if you're in the way. And the conductors still banter on wittily with passengers who are eager to make small talk. The train is still a classic mode of transportation, and offers an affordable luxury to those who are not opposed to spending a day travelling.






The Maple Leaf runs an old route out of Manhattan under the George Washington Bridge, along the Hudson river Valley, up through the Finger Lakes Gorges and right near past the Great Falls of Niagara, parrallel with the Niagara escarpement and into the golden Horseshoe, coming to settle at Union station. Its predeccesor was the laudable Empire State Express, which was inaugurated in 1891. The Maple Leaf provides its passengers with twelve hours of roomy bliss, provided that you enjoy finding something productive to do with yourself while sitting in a recliner for half a whole day (examples of productive activity might include reading, listening to music, imaginatively opening and exploring small sacks of ponderables etc), soft scenery, moderately priced pre-packaged foods and beverages, and the rickety-roo toilet game. It comes even more highly recommended if you're willing to take the risk of getting stuck sitting next to some blind old goat who has nothing better to do than bother you with their absolutely assinine running commentary of whatever stream of thought comes dripping off their tongue when they open their gummy mouth.



If you don't mind having to answer questions like "You said you're from Toronto? I'm thinking of maybe going to Toronto, Maybe moving there for a bit. Yeah, it's nice. It's been a while since I been there. I'm just headed back to Rochester. Ooh, yep, my sons gonna be home when I get in, and he's gonna bug me you know, about dinner, first thing when I come in the door. He moved back in recently, back home, after school. He's doing some courses and he's gonna take his public service exam pretty soon now. I don't think he knows exactly what he wants to do. But he thinks he's smarter than me, now that he's finished school. He's always telling me to focus. I tell him, that's not why we paid for his education. When I want to know something, I'll ask it, hehe. But you say, you said a good place to live in Toronto is Dale..." at this point you could repeat the same thing you'd said before a few times - "Parkdale." And he'd chime in "that's where you live." And you'd say "Yep" even if it wasn't where you live, because getting him to remember the name of the neighborhood where you live is a whole nother dog and pony show. And he'd continue "And then you said, on the West, no, East side...." and then you'd state, methodically, the name "Riverdale". "Right Riverdale" He'd say. "Or LeslieVille" you'd add, cause you're trying to anticipate his next question, cause he's already asked it about three times now. "Right, LeslieVille..." and so on. and if you don't mind showing this blind old gruff back to his seat everytime he gets up to take a piss or get a little stretch going, then you're going to have a blast.



And then on the way back, if you don't mind seeing a gaggle of old broads get on your car in Albany, and hearing one distinct voice that's louder and more obnoxious than the rest, already complaining about something - the temperature or the seating arrangement or the location of the stairs and the little differences between this train and the last one they were one or whatever; if you don't mind somehow by the luck of your self-absorbed bookish behaviour getting picked by this old galloot to be seat buddies, and having to deal with the retelling of every scrap of detail that a weekend at the VFW (Veteran's Fund for Women) state legislative assembly entails - for example, the pain and agony of an uncomfortable hotel bed and what walking a mile has done to the woman's back, and the mental anguish suffered unjustly but dutifuly by the woman due to the selfish and anal behaviour of each of her fellow legislators at various points throughout the event. And if you don't mind having your reading interupted at steady intervals by reminiscent diatribes lasting anywhere from two to thirty some-odd minutes, then boy oh boy are you in for a ride.



I didn't mind dealing with the old folks (they've got big hearts, its just that their brains have gone rusty), and and the constant stopping due to freighter priority (you see the rails on which many Amtrak trains ride are owned by another company; in the case of the Maple Leaf the tracks are owned by Conrail, and as a result any of their Conrail trains - freighters for the most part - get to head on uninterrupted while the Maple Leaf has to stop and wait), and the long wait at the border, and I had myself one hell of a ride.



The following set of four photogrpahs I took are pushed and grainy, and they are meant to act as antiqued compliments to the softer photos you've seen so far, that might look old, but not quite so old. The majority of these photographs were taken during the first leg of the trip back to Toronto on an impressively foggy Tuesday morning.