edStuff

a christmas poem for my wife

2011-12-29T20:05:00.000-07:00

let me say it again - this promise. this confession:
i love you.
seasons pass, we struggle and fight, we gain a few pounds
and still, here we are, together

valiant, unshaken, faces set like flint
against arrayed and clamourous foes - knowing we must
never stop walking forward; together.

vital tasks must be determined,
lavishly executed, exhaustively pursued.
i have sometimes failed you in protecting these
essentials, yet still you gift me with
together and together and together.

merry christmas.

2011-12-21T23:09:00.000-07:00

in the midst of these often-too-busy season, may you find the sweet spot of rest.

may 2011 pale in comparison to the joy you experience in 2012.

nicholas samaras: rebetiko psalm

2011-11-27T14:51:00.000-07:00

Then, sing a psalm of the outsider race –
an entire nation of us without borders,
a conglomerate tribe of exiles recognisable

by the same light in our same eyes.
We were Anatolian and Greek under the Ottoman boot.
We were African and immigrant processed

over the waves of the flat, grey Atlantic.
We came from mainlands possessed by others.
Once native, we were suddenly ethnic.

We came from Alatsata, thrown out of our homes
and our country. Everyone was the Lord’s people –
but we were still cast off from even our Holy Altars, thrown

into the dust of the roads leading
out of every town, disinterred from even
the cemeteries of our ancestors –

evicted from the dust of the world
and plunged into the coldest harbours across the seas –
not even our own abroad wanting us – but repelling

us on from the pocked ports of Bodrum, Piraeus,
Liverpool, and Ellis Island, funneling to the factories of Woburn.
And in exile, what did we ever find but ourselves,

a stark room to decorate – the wind
chugging into our scarves, our rolled-up coats for pillows,
the damp wool souring our breath?

We became alienation and exile from everything we’d known.
We left behind the bones of our ancestors in graves
only the wind would comb.

We were emptied eyes and haunted souls
who established shanty towns outside of Athens, who sifted
into new ghettos of the Mani. What could we do

but become the other of ourselves, until we were irreducible?
What could we do but sing into the wind and darkness,
to cup the breeze of our leaving?

We were blues before blues. We were exile and alienation
until the blues were always with us, until
we couldn’t remember a generation or place or time

without blues. We became Rebetes who sang and played
for all the suffering and lost, played for survival and all
the rag-alley years of missing homes and homeland.

In this way, we lived through transit, subsisted through
the squabbled and claimed neighbourhoods of the world.
We lived through countries. We existed through dictatorships.

We endured through emigration and deportation.
The word was refugee, with no countries wanting us.
Our resting was brief – our homes became transit until

we were citizens of transience. Even the wind, empty of us.
So, we filled our emptiness. We were simple and ordinary souls,
some turning to the narcotic of sorrow for loss and misfortune,

some turning to the melodies of the melancholic and crooning –
a spliff of amnesia and a dancing for sorrow.
We tied up with the baglama. Our daily living became the minor

chords of the gittith. Rootless, we became a roots music,
full of grief and passion, romance and bitterness.
When our lives became a haze of coastal cities and alleys,

the cradles of the tavern and the den became our hearth.
The prison and the boarding house became our nests.
When all we could hold was our breaths –

we breathed Alatsata. We breathed ancestors.
Our breathing accompanied castanets and clattering glass,
the droning of worry beads tapped against a sweating drink.

We sang of Smyrna and Pontos. We sang and the songs
possessed us, so we could possess something –
a life, an identity held in our breaths, individuals held together.

We sang for generations, citizens in nameless countries until
we became our own country of song. Singing our breaths, we moved
into ourselves – singing our breaths to make sure we’re alive,

we were a universal tribe cast into the universe, singing to be still,
a soulful psalm of an outsider

nation singing to belong, to be home.

__________________________________

(an audio file of mr. samaras reading the poem can be found here - scroll down)

nicholas samaras: psalm of waking

2011-11-12T11:39:00.000-07:00

Good morning to the birds of heaven.

Good morning to the sun after the insomniac hours.

Good morning to the chenille blanket that held me cozy.

Good morning to the family pictures on the wall, reclaiming their faces.

Good morning to the bedstead of my father and his father before him.

Good morning to my children who, with their stuffed animals,

climb in to cuddle and hold me for more minutes of sleeping.

Good morning to the luxurious stretching of my arms,

legs, and waist—as they reclaim the shape of my body.

A very good morning to the hazy, impressionist trees in early fog

as they rustle the blue sky into solid colour.

Good morning to the free gift that lets me choose a better choice.

Good morning to the birds of heaven as I want to sing

back to them, to give them the company they bless me with.

Good morning to crumbs that feed even the earth.

Good morning to my Lord whom I wish to breathe into my being.

Good morning to my heart that lifts to the birds of heaven

and my fresh chance to again make this one day right,

this one day I hope to appreciate and earn

as I step onto the green and dewy world’s mantled body

and the morning lies before me.

1000 artists' books

2011-11-08T21:41:00.000-07:00

in july of this year i discovered an opportunity to submit to a forthcoming publication by quarry books entitled 1000 artists' books. there were several categories to which i could submit, but the most applicable sections were [obviously] objects as books/ books as objects (sculptural books) or conceptual books (installations).

i submitted 5 different pieces for their perusal:

100 pieces

recipes for kneeling (version one)

(between)

whisper

recipes for kneeling (version two)

in the past few days i have received word that i have made the cut and one of my pieces - recipes for kneeling (version one) - will be included! my friend dea fischer has also been accepted (you can check out her loverly work here and here).

it will be quite an international representation - there will be artists from australia, new zealand, south america, south africa, japan, the UK and parts of europe. i can't wait to see the variety of approaches these artists take as they explore the idea of the book, its form, its functionality and mechanics, its bookness.

i'm so looking forward to this.

john terpstra: the highway that became a footpath

2011-10-17T09:11:00.000-06:00

The Highway That Became a Footpath

(after the other side won the civic election)

And I saw a new heaven and a new earth,
for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away,
and I saw the holy city, coming down out of heaven...
and the holy raving protester who climbed into a tree
to resist the building of the last highway
was still in among the leaves,
but the tree had grown much taller,
and the protester had been living up there for such a long time,
not alone, that several generations of protesters now populated the canopy,
freely trafficking the branches of their swaying neighbourhoods,
as the six-lane highway
wound between the trunks below
as wide only as a footpath,
a red-dirt earthway, busy with pedestrians.
And the highway-that-became-a-footpath
led past the longhouse raised
during the same resistance, down in the valley,
for it still existed (both longhouse and valley existed still)
and other longhouses,
which were standing at that location several centuries earlier,
had re-materialized, their hearth-fires
burning still; an entire village, thriving
beside the hallowed creek that ran through the east end of the city.
And I saw the trees that formed the longhouse walls
take root, and continue to grow,
forty thousand times forty thousand,
their canopy providing all the roof
that the people needed.
And from a privileged perch at the top of the escarpment,
watching as the new city came down out of heaven,
it was clear that the leaves of those trees
were for the healing of the community.

Terpstra, John. "The Highway That Became a Footpath" The Best Canadian Poetry in English. Markham: Tightrope Books, 2009.

in my father's arms by carl leggo

2011-10-06T00:48:00.000-06:00

all my life I have wanted my father to hold me in his arms and tell me, I love you

I went to a counsellor, empty but still full of fear, and she walked

me through the tangled garden of five decades of living in the earth

to a quiet meadow where my father and I stood all alone with

the dandelions, both dazed and lost. I was once more a small boy.

Faraway I heard a soft voice, what do you want? I began to weep.

all my life I have wanted my father to hold me in his arms and tell me, I love you

We are each shaped by the first years of our lives; we learn how

to live with one another from the stories we have been invited to live

with others. Fathers and sons live in an alien world born in contest,

often confused, where we seldom know how to name our desires.

My father says, I'm a depression baby but I'm not depressed.

all my life I have wanted my father to hold me in his arms and tell me, I love you

In middle age I know my desires with an ache that pushes against

the walls of my heart, and I know I will never lie in my father's arms,

but I will still know my father in love, thankful for all the stories, written,

to be written, all fragments, only, subtending the whole and holy

story that always exceeds the geometry of the heart's tangled lines.

edward + the alberta museums association

2011-10-02T15:51:00.000-06:00

this past weekend i attended the annual alberta museums association conference, where i had the opportunity to do the following:

1. introduce the first keynote speaker, one neil pasricha (pass-reach-ah),

2. moderate a session on 'stealing ideas', and

3. facilitate a brainstorming session.

conferences are an interesting thing. they're intended to encourage and equip, challenge and inspire. and this conference did do that. this year's experience, however, was different for me as i was involved in different ways than previously - less of a consumer and more of a producer. which i might enjoy more, actually.

that said, what i was able to attend was helpful and often inspirational. i quite enjoyed neil's presentation. he was honest, funny, humble, transparent. he shared about his life, and why he began his 'blog, and what that has made possible for him. it's really about enjoying the small pleasures of life. i see it as cultivating thankfulness, or a celebration of grace. or seeking out joy.

i was able to take in 3 of the sessions offered. i chose to attend talks about branding, a presentation of student papers and engaging audiences. i took something from all of them. i really appreciated jocelyn daw's discussion of brands as more than simply a logo, or a website design. a brand is about so much more than the aesthetics of an organization - one's "brand" encompasses one's values, their promises, addresses the user's expectations. it is more about how we do 'x', rather than why. after all, people commit to vision, not plans. a good reminder.

the student papers were interesting, but i especially enjoyed jessie beier's presentation about the idea of 'play' and its role in "meaning-making". the presentation was fluid, creative (i love prezi!) and allowed her to play. then again, anyone who quotes baudrillard in the first 2 minutes of their presentation has my attention. moderating the session on stolen ideas was a first for me. what i really enjoyed was the generosity of the participants, the realization that stealing ideas requires adjustments (thanks diane for articulating that thought!). we can 'steal' an idea, but as we all engage different content and present that content in different contexts, the end result - whether program, special event, exhibition - will be quite different. we have to trust that, and not fear the sharing of ideas, and approaches.

my own session was inspired by this year's theme of celebrating our successes as museum professionals. over the past numbers of years, i have been a consistent user of the alberta museums association's list-serve. i am more than willing to ask for assistance, suggestions, resources from others - it adds to my own knowledge and enriches me and my work. in turn, i love being a resource for others and sharing what i know and encouraging (or challenging) others. there are so many creative, knowledgeable and passionate people in the museum community, i wanted to offer a workshop where we could take advantage of that collective resource. i sorted attendees into groups and then gave each person the opportunity to get input from the others in their group for a challenge, situation or project.

when we neared the end of the session, i asked if people had received some suggestions or learned of resources they hadn't previously considered, and approximately 80% of the attendees raised their hands. then i asked how many people had discovered some solutions for challenges, situations or projects they hadn't even mentioned, and the same percentage of people raised their hands. that makes me happy. and pleased. there were some other ideas stirred and plots hatched this weekend, but i'm going to save them. let's just say, i'm looking forward to seeing what unfolds.

once again, i realized that, after more than a decade of working within the arts & culture sector, i am no longer a novice in this field (though there are so many brilliant individuals from whom i can glean and learn), and i felt increasingly affirmed as both a leader and contributor to the larger conversation in and with the community of museum professionals in alberta and beyond.

i have more to learn. and more to give.

contributions, please

2011-09-26T11:50:00.000-06:00

as i work towards a new installation/ exhibition, i would like to solicit input and thoughts from friends, followers and random visitors. obviously i will be working with books and text (both found and generated), but also windows, portals and doors (o my!).

my request to you is your contribution of quotes, poems or books that explore/ comment upon the following ideas (or any others that may tangentially connect for you within the somewhat vaguely offered context) as grist for the mill: books, communication, text, language, writing, reading, orality, aurality, images, art, creativity, seriality, narrative, travel, journey, pilgrimage, culture, imagination, story, myth, philosophy, exploration, discovery...

here's my [first] contribution:

of all man's instruments, the most astonishing is, without any doubt, the book. the others are extensions of his body. the microscope, the telescope, are extensions of his eyes; the telephone an extension of his voice; then we have the plow and the sword, extensions of his arm. but the book is something else: the book is an extension of memory and imagination.

- jorge luis borges

please leave your thoughts, suggestions, questions or comments...

culture making - an exhibition

2011-09-17T22:23:00.000-06:00

this wednesday, september 21 will be the opening reception for culture making, an exhibition coinciding with a conference at king's university college in edmonton, alberta (canada) around the same theme, inspired by andy crouch's book of the same name.

i hope to see you there. if you aren't able to make it, i will take pictures of the exhibition and post them here, including my own piece.

what's in your name?

2011-08-27T20:09:00.001-06:00

something that i do as a more commercial venture are what i call "calling cards". these are pieces that explore the calling that i believe is embedded in one's name. i believe that naming one's children is a prophetic act; which is why it is so important to think through the name(s) you give them.

i research the individual's name(s) and, while [prayerfully] working on the imagery - using primarily collage, though sometimes drawing or painting - i think about a phrase that might encourage, challenge, entreat, remind, provoke that person to live out the calling embedded in, and declared by, their name. it's actually not that different from working on an icon, really. as an example, here is my own name:

edward - "rich guardian", "blessed"; from Old English: ed - wealth, property + ward - guard, "protector" (perhaps both material and spiritual riches?) i.e. a trusted warden of other people's property

patrick - noble, patrician; figuratively, "father"

daniel - Heb: "my God is Judge" or "my Judge is God:, fig. the spirit of all prophecy

van vliet - Dutch: "of, or from, [running] water"

so what are [at least some of] the meanings - dreams, visions - imbedded in my name? what is the [prophetic] calling there to discover? there is certainly a call to be someone who protects, and nurtures. that protection involves wealth - though not necessarily monetary - and both mine and others'. in turn, that wealth is not simply to be squirrelled away, it must be shared, (re)distributed. there is also a call to, and the promise of, maturity and authority; and submission to it. lastly, there is a sense of connection to the spirit of G-d. so how do i encapsulate all these ideas in a single phrase?

perhaps this:

the riches you protect are spiritual

happy birthday marshall mcluhan!

2011-07-21T23:12:00.000-06:00

last night, as a prelude to today's centenary celebration of marshall mcluhan (born right here in edmonton!) i attended a talk at the aga (art gallery of alberta). the evening included a guided tour of the exhibition andy warhol: manufactured with the university of alberta's dr. marco adria, who discussed the similarities between mcluhan and warhol. not only were there a numbver of wonderful and iconic warhol pieces to view, the parallels between the two were striking (and actually reminded me of how much i actually do like warhol's work), and illuminating. interesting points and thoughts:

they both saw their function in the world as being witnesses of the changes and manifestations of culture. ~~not judges~~. ~~not advocates~~. witnesses.
both were devoted, if not devout, catholics, attending mass daily. evidently, warhol always carried an icon with him (and now i need to find out which one) - and the aesthetic of the icon was very common in his work. the centrality of the mass, the communal experience, was core to their projects and work.
they were both concerned with the disappearace of a sense of immanence, for the art object first, but also culturally. art, or images, used to contain a real presence. in the age of advertising, and "the retinal flash", images no longer have a sense of immanence, of weight.
they both embraced mistakes, and one of the manifestations of this is their love of puns. and while puns are playful, it is serious play. warhol's 'real' name was actually warhola, but he took on someone else's misspelling of his name as his own. similarly, mcluhan's book the medium is the massage was supposed to have been the medium is the message. they were willing to explore those kinds of incidents and mine them to see what they revealed.

after the talk, i took another tour around the exhibition. highlights for me were an early 1959 drawing - fish under glass - that paired a beautful line drawing of a fish with gold foil and collage eleemnts alongside a calligraphic recipe written in ink. there were, of course, soup cans - chicken noodle and scotch broth - but there were also several lovely little stencils, which were hand-cut (and not pre-drawn) for silkscreening.

another room held a number of his portraits - silver liz from '63 is classic and tina chow's 2 portarits, with their ghosted eyes, are haunting - but the most intriguing portrait was his blurred and overprinted small 1962 portrait of warren beatty. the idea of celebrity and identity being fugitive is almost palpable.

i have yet to sit down and watch his films (i tend to find film/ video work tedious) but there were 2 pieces - one of a male store mannequin and one of the statue of liberty - composed of 4 photographs stitched together (2 on top, 2 on the bottom) that were quite nice. the images were taken over the course of 1976-86 and then assembled. the last two pieces that really caught my eye were dollar sign from 1981 (so fun!) and a magnificent and hyoog (20'+) eye-popping pink last supper from 1986. the wigs were anti-climactic after that...

PS. the guide used an iPad for his notes and, after he showed us the marshall mcluhan quote he had inscribed on it - "we become what we behold", i now deeply covet one.

?rogress is almost over

2011-06-30T21:15:00.000-06:00

i recently curated ?rogress at the stollery gallery (in the nina haggerty centre for the arts). this exhibition was part of bridgesongs, a music and arts experience that features two nights of live music, an album release, two art galleries, as well as spoken word and artist workshops. it was also part of this year's the works: art & design festival.

bridgesongs is something i've been involved with for a few years now (this is its fifth year). i love how it's about community. i love that it's taking place amidst the blossoming arts community of alberta avenue, and that it seeks to be a part of the revitalization happening there.

so here's how bridge songs works. a theme is chosen, and announced to a group of collaborators consisting of songwriters and artists. these groups begin writing songs and creating art inspired by the theme. a collection of songs is chosen by the songwriters, and, as the bridge songs collective, they get to work refining and recording those songs. meanwhile, a call for submissions is released to bring in art from the community at large.

the goal is that a dialogue is created between the artists and the community through the creation and enjoyment of art. themes explored range from the serious to the playful, drawing in work and audiences from a broad range of genres and demographics. the end result is a truly collaborative, community driven, one of a kind arts experience.

anyway, the exhibition (and thank you dave for allowing me to do it!) features works by pam baergen, benjamin lemphers and tj mclachlan, is open from June 17th to July 5th. the works in the exhibition explore the idea of Progress through lenses of natural, urban, and personal cycles of destruction and (re)construction. or so i maintain. the closing reception is tuesday july 5th, from 7-9 pm. i hope you'll be able to join us.

reflections on NextGen: Canada

2011-05-17T22:21:00.000-06:00

as some of you know, i was accepted as a participant in NextGen: Canada, a professional development workshop or "learning collaboration" opportunity offered in partnership by the alberta museums association, the getty leadership institute at claremont graduate university and the university of alberta museums (and which is based on GLI at CGU's internationally respected Museum Leaders: The Next Generation program. it was an honour to be accepted, and it was a pleasure to meet the other 18 participants, who came from all over the country, and to represent the next generation of canadian museum leaders.

over the next few days and weeks, i hope to be able to capture some of my thoughts and responses (and plans) about this experience and what particularly imapcted me personally and professionally. it was an interesting, enlightening and curious experience, and one that i shall not soon forget. it provided me with some great tools, but also helped to clarify and stir other hopes and dreams. it was timely in that it intersected and parallelled other activities and intentions in my life, and it will be interesting to see how these ideas about, and tools for, leadership play out in other areas of my life...

let me hear your voice

2011-05-01T17:30:00.000-06:00

let me hear your voice

hmm. there it is again.

that push. pressure of thought,

dream, action meeting.

or not meeting. or meeting poorly.

like a half-heard conversation,

missing some important information,

like a kiss not quite planted squarely.

or surely, or fully.

and that’s what it is –

not full. can’t taste this

thing that should be full of life,

of passion, of desire.

fire of hunger, delight, fear

of falling that becomes flight.

hmm. the hum of dream & expectation

humming ‘neath the skin,

drum beat strain & the eternal song

of yes, here it is, this way, this way,

come closer, draw nearer,

let me feel your breath

as you whisper & murmur

& voice the words curled around your spine,

your fingers unfurled,

your heart the world.

dave margoshes: becoming a writer

2011-04-30T08:17:00.001-06:00

What could be easier than learning to write?

Novels, poems, fables with and without morals

they’re all within you, in the heart, the head

the bowel, the tip of the pen a diviner’s rod.

Reach inside and there they are, the people

one knows, their scandalous comments,

the silly things they do, the unforgettable feeling

of a wet eyelash on your burning cheek.

This moment, that, an eruption of violence,

a glancing away, the grandest of entrances,

the telling gesture, the banal and the beautiful,

all conspire with feeling and passion to transport,

to deliver, to inspire. Story emerges

from this cocoon, a crystalline moment, epiphanies

flashing like lightbulbs above the heads

of cartoon characters. All this within you

where you least expect it, not so much in the head

as under the arms, glistening with sweat, stinking

with the knowledge of the body, the writer

neither practitioner nor artisan but miner, digging

within himself for riches unimagined, for salt.

Margoshes, Dave. "Becoming a Writer" The Best Canadian Poetry in English. Toronto: Tightrope Books, 2009.

marilyn bowering: about your name

2011-04-29T07:28:00.000-06:00

5.

If you wish to think about what is invisible,
you start with a loved one,

with their essence, with the touch of lips
in actuality or in potential: as beginning with

electrons and moving to electricity,
and the hydro electric dams on the rivers,

and the changes of names they undergo
according to politics -- that is, you ignore history.

As to the way things are -- this is intelligible
only through a vision of you.

Marvellous colours that are invisible except
to the naked eye, unseen by electronic pulses,

or by mirrors, or by angels talking and drawing
each other's pictures,

unseen by all except me, who happened to find you
in the right place and time.

Because when I look at you I seem to see nothing:
I see the sweetness and light that is above

and beyond all mirrors or the hair combing of angels,
or the polishings of motor cars and mountain bicycles:

it is greatest because it is the simplest, and because it is full
like the air, of the intention to touch.

For that which is most actual is you when I see you
and when I am with you.

You ask how this came about:
it is a question of grace, not practice,

a step in the right direction by chance,
a desire, not thought.

And I meditated on the mind's ascent to love
the whole world before me, and all the roads,

and I waited for you.

Bowering, Marilyn. "About Your Name" Introductions: Poets Present Poets. Markham: Fitzhenry & Whiteside Limited, 2001.

anne carson: blended text

2011-04-28T07:17:00.000-06:00

(from Sublimes)

You have captured: pinned upon

my heart: the wall of my heart is your love

with one glance: as one

with one bead: as an exile of the kings of royalty

of your eyes: my heart

you have something of mine: a torn thing

again the moon: now

the rule: (who knows)

Carson, Anne. "Blended Text" Decreation: Poetry, Essays, Opera. Toronto: Vintage Books, 2005.

anne carson: and reason remains undaunted

2011-04-27T07:20:00.000-06:00

(from Sublimes)

Searching for things sublime I walked up into the muddy windy big hills

behind the town where trees riot according to their own laws and

one may

observe so many methods of moving green—under, over, around, across,

up the back, higher, fanning, condensing, rifled, flat in the eyes, as if

pacing a

cell, like a litter of grand objects, minutely, absorbed, one leaf at a time,

ocean-furious, nettle-streaked, roping along, unmowed, fresh out of pools,

clear as Babel,

such a tower, scattered through the heart, green in the strong sense, dart-

shook, crownly, carrying the secrets of its own heightening on

up, juster than a shot, gloomier than Milton or even his king of terrors,

idol in its dark parts, as a word coined to mean “storm” (of love) or

“waving lines”

(architectural), scorned, clean, with blazing nostrils, not a servant, not

rapid, rapid.

Carson, Anne. "And Reason remains Undaunted" Decreation: Poetry, Essays, Opera. Toronto: Vintage Canada, 2005.

anne carson: book of isaiah (part II)

2011-04-26T07:18:00.000-06:00

II.

There is a kind of pressure in humans to take whatever is most beloved by them

and smash it.

Religion calls the pressure piety and the smashed thing a sacrifice to God.

Prophets question these names.

What is an idol?

An idol is a useless sacrifice, said Isaiah.

But how do you know which ones are useless? asked the nation in its genius.

Isaiah pondered the various ways he could answer this.

Immense chunks of natural reality fell out of a blue sky

and showers of light upon his mind.

Isaiah chose the way of metaphor.

Our life is a camera obscura, said Isaiah, do you know what that is?

Never heard of it, said the nation.

Imagine yourself in a darkened room, Isaiah instructed.

Okay, said the nation.

The doors are closed, there is a pinhole in the back wall.

A pinhole, the nation repeated.

Light shoots through the pinhole and strikes the opposite wall.

The nation was watching Isaiah, bored and fascinated at once.

You can hold up anything you like in front of that pinhole, said Isaiah,

and worship it on the opposite wall.

Why worship an image? asked the nation.

Exactly, said Isaiah.

The nation chewed on that for a moment.

Then its genius spoke up.

So what about Isaiah’s pinhole?

Ah, said Isaiah.

A memory fell through him as clear heat falls on herbs.

Isaiah remembered the old days, conversing with God under the Branch

and like an old butler waking in an abandoned house the day the revolution began,

Isaiah bent his head.

A burden was upon Isaiah.

Isaiah opened his mouth.

A sigh came from Isaiah’s mouth, the sigh grew into a howl.

The howl ran along the brooks to the mouth of the brooks

and tore the nets of the fishers who cast angle into the brooks

and confounded the workers in fine flax who weave networks

and broke their purpose.

The howl rolled like a rolling thing past slain men and harvests and spoils

and stopped in a ditch between two walls.

Then Isaiah unclamped his mouth from the howl.

Isaiah let his mouth go from the teat.

Isaiah turned, Isaiah walked away.

Isaiah walked for three years naked and barefoot with buttocks uncovered

to the shame of the nation.

All night you could see the Branch roaming against the sky like a soul.

Carson, Anne. "Book of Isaiah" Glass, Irony and God. New York: New Directions Books, 1995.

anne carson: book of isaiah (part I)

2011-04-25T07:18:00.000-06:00

I.

Isaiah awoke angry.

Lapping at Isaiah’s ears black birdsong no it was anger.

God had filled Isaiah’s ears with stingers.

Once God and Isaiah were friends.

God and Isaiah used to converse nightly, Isaiah would rush into the garden.

They conversed under the Branch, night streamed down.

From the sole of the foot to the head God would make Isaiah ring.

Isaiah had loved God and now his love was turned to pain.

Isaiah wanted a name for the pain, he called it sin.

Now Isaiah was a man who believed he was a nation.

Isaiah called the nation Judah and the sin Judah’s condition.

Inside Isaiah God saw the worldsheet burning.

Isaiah and God saw things differently, I can only tell you their actions.

Isaiah addressed the nation.

Man’s brittleness! cried Isaiah.

The nation stirred in its husk and slept again.

Two slabs of bloody meat lay folded on its eyes like wings.

Like a hard glossy painting the nation slept.

Who can invent a new fear?

Yet I have invented sin, thought Isaiah, running his hand over the knobs.

And then, because of a great attraction between them—

which Isaiah fought (for and against) for the rest of his life—

God shattered Isaiah’s indifference.

God washed Isaiah’s hair in fire.

God took the stay.

From beneath its meat wings the nation listened.

You, said Isaiah.

No answer.

I cannot hear you, Isaiah spoke again under the Branch.

Light bleached open the night camera.

God arrived.

God smashed Isaiah like glass through every socket of his nation.

Liar! said God.

Isaiah put his hands on his coat, he put his hand on his face.

Isaiah is a small man, said Isaiah, but no liar.

God paused.

And so that was their contract.

Brittle on both sides, no lying.

Isaiah’s wife came to the doorway, the doorposts had moved.

What’s that sound? said Isaiah’s wife.

The fear of the Lord, said Isaiah.

He grinned in the dark, she went back inside.

Carson, Anne. "Book of Isaiah" Glass, Irony and God. New York: New Directions Books, 1995.

di brandt: jerusalem, the golden

2011-04-24T09:44:00.000-06:00

Jerusalem, the golden, city of my dreams,
dreaming, how i waited all my life for you,
to find you, resplendent, in the sun, your
white stones crying, with joy, Jerusalem,
beloved,lying in the Mediterranean sun,
filled with love, delirious with love, lift up
your heart & sing, my heart dancing, how i
longed for you, all my life, your streets
paved with gold, & children playing, your
diamond studded gates, your rooftops filled
with women, dancing, & flowers in their
hair, the tables laden, heavy, the air filled
with music, & feasting, my love, how i
longed for you, dreaming, my arms aching,
from the day of my birth, my birthgiving,
filled with pangs of hunger & remembering,
how i longed for you, my love, how long,
oh how long i waited for you

Brandt, Di. "Jerusalem, the golden" Jerusalem, beloved. Winnipeg: Turnstone Press, 1995.

an easter song

2011-04-24T08:26:00.001-06:00

Set me as a seal upon your heart,
As a seal upon your arm;
For love is as strong as death,
Jealousy as cruel as the grave;
Its flames are flames of fire,
A most vehement flame.
Many waters cannot quench love,
Nor can the floods drown it.

Song of Solomon

jan zwicky: practising bach (gigue)

2011-04-23T08:32:00.000-06:00

Gigue

There is a sound
that is a whole of many parts,
a sorrowless transparency, like luck,
that opens in the centre of a thing.
An eye, a river, fishheads, death,
gold in your pocket, and a half-wit
son: the substance of the world
is light and blindness and the measure
of our wisdom is our love.
Our diligence: ten fingers and
a healthy set of lungs. Practice
ceaselessly: there is
one art: wind
in the open spaces
grieving, laughing
with us, saying
improvise.

and now, click on this link to hear the gigue.

Zwicky, Jan. "Practising Bach" The Best Canadian Poetry in English. Markham: Tightrope Books, 2009.

an easter piece

2011-04-22T10:39:00.000-06:00

jan zwicky: practising bach (bourée)

2011-04-22T08:19:00.000-06:00

Bourée

Partita, partie -- a whole of many parts. Pythagoras, who is said to have studied with the Egyptians, is also said to have taught that enlightenment meant solving the problem of the One and the Many, of coming to grasp the divine unity of the world through its bits and pieces, as these come to us in language.

This may also be thought of as the problem of metaphor: that metaphor's truth, its charge of meaning, depends on assertion of identity and difference, on erotic coherence and referential strife, on meaning as resonance and meaning revealed through analysis.

Lyric poets are always trying to approach the issue by forcing speech to aspire to the conditions of music. Bach comes at it from the other end: he infuses music with a sense of the terrible concreteness, the particularity, of the world. And enlightenment? -- Acceptance of, delight in, the mystery of incarnation.

and now, click on this link to hear the bourée.

Zwicky, Jan. "Practising Bach" The Best Canadian Poetry in English. Markham: Tightrope Books, 2009.

jan zwicky: practising bach (menuet I/II)

2011-04-21T07:21:00.000-06:00

Menuet I & II

There's nothing special in it. All you have to do
is hit the right key at the right time. Time:
that stream in which we do, and do not,
live. Just practise diligently; it will all go well. You have
five fingers on each hand, just as healthy as my own.
Unison, the octave; the fifth, the fourth, the third.
Of the strings? The viola, if I have a choice.
At the keyboard, don't forget to use your thumb.
God's glory and the recreation of the mind.
What I really need to know:
does the organ have good lungs?
The partita of the world, the dance of being: everything
has to be possible.

and now, click on this link to hear the menuets.

Zwicky, Jan. "Practising Bach" The Best Canadian Poetry in English. Markham: Tightrope Books, 2009.

jan zwicky: practising bach (gavotte)

2011-04-20T07:13:00.000-06:00

Gavotte

E major: June wind
in the buttercups, wild
and bright and tough.
Like luck -- a truth
that's on the surface of a thing,
not because it's shallow, but because
it's open: overtoned.
Because it rings.
Fate, too,
it's character. But it's
the shape -- the cadence
and the counterpoint. Luck
lives in the moment, and it
looks at you: the clear eye,
gold, when being sings.

and now, click on this link to hear the gavotte.

Zwicky, Jan. "Practising Bach" The Best Canadian Poetry in English. Markham: Tightrope Books, 2009.

jan zwicky: practising bach (loure)

2011-04-19T07:18:00.000-06:00

Loure

Why is Bach's music more like speech than any other? Because of its wisdom, I think. Which means its tempering of lyric passion by domesticity, its grounding of the flash of lyric insight in domestic earth, the turf of dailyness.

Let us think of music as a geometry of the emotions. Bach's practice, then, resembles that of the egyptians: Earth's measure as a way of charting the bottomlands of the Nile, the floodwaters of the heart, as a way of charting life. Opera, Greek tragedy, Romantic poetry tell us that sex and death are what we have to focus on if we want to understand any of the rest. Bach's music, by contrast, speaks directly to, and of, life itself -- the resonant ground of sex and death.

And it does this not without ornamentation, but without fuss: the golden ratio in the whelk shell lying on the beach, the leaf whorl opening to sun, the presence of the divine in the chipped dish drying in the rack, that miracle: good days, bad days, a sick kid, a shaft of sunlight on the organ bench. Talk to me, I'm listening.

and now, click on this link to hear the loure.

Zwicky, Jan. "Practising Bach" The Best Canadian Poetry in English. Markham: Tightrope Books, 2009.

jan zwicky: practising bach (prelude)

2011-04-18T07:35:00.001-06:00

over the course of this week i will be posting practising bach, a suite of poems by jan zwicky, meant to be read aloud before the various respective segments of bach's partita no. 3 in E major for solo violin, BMV1006. i will post a link to the appropriate section of the piece, as well as the corresponding poetry. take your time.

Prelude

There is, said Pythagoras, a sound

the planet makes: a kind of music

just outside our hearing, the proportion

and the resonance of things -- not

the clang of theory or the wuthering

of human speech, not even

the bright song of sex or hunger, but

the unrung ringing that

supports them all.

The wife, no warning, dead

when you come home. Ducats

in the fishheads that you salvage

from the rubbage heap. Is the cosmos

laughing at us? No. It's saying

improvise. Everywhere you look

there's beauty, and it's rimed

with death. If you find injustice

you'll find humans, and this means

that if you listen, you'll find love.

The substance of the world is light,

is water: here, clear

even when it's dying; even when the dying

seems unbearable, it runs.

**********
and now, click on this link to hear the preludio.

Zwicky, Jan. "Practising Bach" The Best Canadian Poetry in English. Markham: Tightrope Books, 2009.

bp nichol: two words: a wedding

2011-04-17T08:36:00.000-06:00

(for rob & sharon)

There are things you have words for, things you do not have words for. There are words that encompass all your feelings & words that encompass none. There are feelings you have that are like things to you, picked up & placed in the pocket, worn like the cloth the pocket is attached to, like a skin you live inside of. There is a body of feeling, of language, of friends; the body politic, the body we are carried inside of till birth, the body we carry our self inside of till death, a body of knowledge that tells of an afterlife, a heaven, an unknown everything we have many words for but cannot encompass. There are relationships between words & concepts, between things, between life & death, between friends & family, between each other & some other other. We wed words to things, people to feelings, speak of a true wedding of the mind & heart, intuition & intellect, & out of this form our realities. Our realities are wedded one to another, concepts & people are joined, new people conceived within that mesh of flesh & realities, are carried forward in the body of the mother, the family, the bodily love we have for one another. They are creating their own reality every step of the way, daily, another kind of reality is born, each new word, person, expanding our vocabulary, our concepts, new realities are conceived, our old reality changes, the 'real' grows realer every day. We are marrying the flesh to the flesh, the word to the daily flux of lives we know & don't know, our friends grow older and marry, raise children as you once were children with mothers & fathers of your own, grow older, so many things you still lack words for, struggle to wed the inner & outer worlds, the self to some other self or selves, confess your love & struggle with one another, together, conscious there is this word is you, your name, & that you are yet another thing or things you will never encompass, never exhaust the possibilities of, because you are wedded to the flux of life, because we are words and our meanings change.

Nichol, bp. "Two Words: A Wedding" The New Oxford Book of Canadian Verse in English. Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1982.

john terpstra: a prayer to be in paradise with the children

2011-04-16T08:56:00.000-06:00

for a baptism

When I must come to you, o my God, I pray

it be in the early hours of that day,

and just as on these mornings I would rather sleep

I beg the lively company to keep

of kids, in Paradise, where rest and rising meet.

My eyes will open, I will yawn and stretch,

and to the children jumping on the bed

I shall say, "I am Johannes Terpstra,

and this is Paradise, at your pleasure.”

And I shall say to them, "This house has many rooms,

its hallways are for running, take the stairs in twos,

and we'll play inside the mansions of our living God,

for all doors open to the treasures of his kinderlove.”

Let me awaken with these children, Lord, in your home,

this offspring of your fondest word, who roam

the towered heart of day and lift it from the frame

our plans project; and let me be like them, the same.

I shall arise and follow the one who follows his nose,

followed by the sniffling sound of those who have a cold,

by the ones who dawdle and the ones who'd sooner shove,

by those who pile blocks in silence and those who love

to knock all such building down, by the bossy ones

and those who daily bear their brethren, by the talkers,

by the ones who, left alone, begin to eat the garden dirt

because they, o Lord, desire to taste of your creation

which is good.

Let it be with these kids that I awake,

perfectly restored, inside the house your design has made

for the halt, the lame, for those whose raw deformity

stands out: the unloved, or over adored.

And let it be

that angels guide our thousand feet upon the stair

to lead us into hidden access of the secret lair

of your delights: the preparations, boxes, reels,

the paper, crayons, the fountains of water, ferris wheels.

Pamper us there, for whom the faith is one, waking up

on this morning or that. O Lord God, fill the cup

When I must come to you, I pray

it be at any time of any day,

and if my eyes were closed, I shall awake

now, to Paradise, having seen your grace

fall somewhat like rain upon this one child's face.

Terpstra, John. “A Prayer to be in Paradise with the Children”.

leonard cohen: the asthmatic

2011-04-15T07:21:00.000-06:00

Because you will not overthrow your life. You cannot breathe. Because of the panic of homelessness. You cannot breathe. Because you have begun to worship time. You cannot breathe. Because you will never have the beautiful one. You cannot breathe. Because you will not sail into the small harbour and enter the village. You cannot breathe. Because your sorrow will not return to its birthplace. You cannot breathe. Because you believe you were not meant to be so far away. You cannot breathe. Because this is the valley of the shadow of death. You cannot breathe. The boat has brought you here. The butterfly has sealed your escape. Because you cannot be here. You cannot breathe. The butterfly smashed into a silver tray and sealed your escape like a stone rolled into a tunnel. You cannot breathe. Because you do not know what is coming. You cannot breathe. Because this world is yours and it is not yours. You cannot breathe. Because you rest, because you strive, because you do not work. You cannot breathe. Because you let the world come between you and me. You cannot breathe. Because of an idea of the calm breath. You cannot breathe. Here they have orange and lemon trees. Here there are baths of mineral waters. Because you want to choose a way. You cannot breathe. Because you find the language to welcome me. You cannot breathe. The sun is sparkling all over the blue water. The stony shore is laved by the sea. Yellow curtains are sucked against the portholes. The propeller wants everyone to go to sleep. You separate yourself from an unknown woman in a green sweater. Because of your love of conquering. You cannot breathe. Because you will not address me as an equal. Because you have commanded the guards to shut down the doors and take away breathing. Because the world is stamped with order, like a seal in formless wax. Because you have a God of justice. Because the justice is immediate and flawless. You cannot breathe. Because you cannot uphold your separation. Because your strangerhood is defeated. Because you breathe your breath through the mask of purity. Because you consign to the pale of objectivity her green sweater, the flashing islands, your distance from love, and your whole breathless predicament. You cannot breathe.

Cohen, Leonard. "The Asthmatic" Death of a Lady's Man. Toronto: Penguin Books, 1979.

leonard cohen: i should not say you

2011-04-14T07:20:00.000-06:00

I should not say you. I should say O. Now I see why they said, the Name. I crumble before the Name. My heart is stubborn before the Name. Give my heart ease in the presence of the Name. My heart is like something that waits. My heart longs to be a chamber for the Name. I am ignorant. I don't know how to make a place for the Name. I lose the Name in my thrust of greed. I lose it in my mind. This heart is dead. This heart hoards its death. It will not make a place for the Name. Fill me with the Name O most high. I swim in your love but I drown in loneliness. End my waiting. Allow me the Name. Protect me in the terror of your absent Name.

Not by oracles. Not by the Bible. Not by ghosts. Not by spirits seen in a magic lens. Not in shadows. Not in braided manes. Not by appearance in the air. Not by the stars at birth. Not by meteors. Not by winds. Not by sacrificial appearances. Not by the entrails of animals sacrificed. Not by the entrails of a human sacrifice. Not by the entrails of fishes. Not by sacrificial fire. Not by red-hot iron. Not by clamp. Not by muzzle. Not by smoke from the altar. Not by the counting of petals. Not by the signal of wings. Not by mice. Not by birds. Not by a cock picking up grains. Not by the layers of the mountain. Not by the strength of the moon. Not by herbs. Not by water. Not by fountains. Not by a wand. Not by dough of cakes. Not by the falling of sticks. Not by meal. Not by salt. Not by dice. Not by ladders. Not by the flight of an arrow. Not by a balanced hatchet. Not by a suspended ring. Not by a stone on a thread. Not by pebbles drawn from a heap. Not by mirrors. Not by writings in ashes. Not by a change of kings. Not by dreams. Not by the lines of the hands. Not by nails reflecting the sun's rays. Not by numbers. Not by drawing lots. Not by passages in books. Not by the letters forming the name of a person. Not by features. Not by the mode of laughing. Not by the pattern of snakes. Not by walking in a circle. Not by drawing a circle. Not by the rings on the finger. Not by dropping melted wax in water. Not by clouds. Not by currents.

Without the Name the wind is a babble, the flowers are a jargon of longing. Without the Name I am a funeral in the garden. Waiting for the next girl. Waiting for the next prize. Without the Name sealed in my heart I am ashamed. It is not sealed. I am ashamed. Without the Name I bear false witness to the glory. Then I am this false witness. Then let me continue.

Cohen, Leonard. "I Should Not Say You" Death of a Lady's Man. Toronto: Toronto: Penguin Books, 1979.

leonard cohen: 49 (from book of mercy)

2011-04-13T07:17:00.000-06:00

49.

All my life is broken unto you, and all my glory soiled unto you. Do not let the spark of my soul go out in the even sadness. Let me raise the brokenness to you, to the world where the breaking is for love. Do not let the words be mine, but change them into truth. With these lips instruct my heart, and let fall into the world what is broken in the world. Lift me up to the wrestling of faith. Do not leave me where the sparks go out, and the jokes are told in the dark, and new things are called forth and appraised in the scale of the terror. Face me to the rays of love, O source of light, or face me to the majesty of your darkness, but not here, do not leave me here, where death is forgotten, and the new thing grins.

Cohen, Leonard. "49" Book of Mercy. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart Inc, 1984.

leonard cohen: 43 (from book of mercy)

2011-04-12T07:19:00.001-06:00

43.

Holy is your name, holy is your work, holy are the days that return to you. Holy are the years that you uncover. Holy are the hands that are raised to you, and the weeping that is wept to you. Holy is the fire between your will and ours, in which we are refined. Holy is that which is unredeemed, covered with your patience. Holy are the souls lost in your unnaming. Holy, and shining with a great light, is every living thing, established in this world and covered with time, until your name is praised forever.

Cohen, Leonard. "43" Book of Mercy. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart Inc, 1984.

leonard cohen: 42 (from book of mercy)

2011-04-11T07:21:00.001-06:00

42.

It is to you I turn, the table stands on tiptoe. Every object leaps to its place. The closed book rises on its thousand pages and my wakefulness rejoices. I turn to you, my song in the house of night, my shield against the quarrels. I turn to you, who unifies the upward heart. Your name is the foundation of the night. The Accuser, with his thousand voices, stands in the place you are not named. Blessed is the name that holds this house in the firmness of mercy, and binds this song to the rock.

Cohen, Leonard. "42" Book of Mercy. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart Inc, 1984.

leonard cohen: (from the book of mercy)

2011-04-10T07:56:00.001-06:00

39.

From you alone to you alone, everlasting to everlasting, all that is not you is suffering, all that is not you is solitude rehearsing the arguments of loss. All that is not you is the man collapsing against his own forehead, and the forehead crushes him. All that is not you goes out and out, gathering the voices of revenge, harvesting lost triumphs far from the real and necessary defeat. It is to you I speak, solitude to unity, failure to mercy, and loss to the light. It is you I welcome here, coming through the coarse glory of my imagination, to this very night, to this very couch, to this very darkness. Grant me a forgiving sleep, and rest my enemy.

Cohen, Leonard. "39" Book of Mercy. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart Inc, 1984.

david helwig: for edward hicks

2011-04-09T08:01:00.001-06:00

At least a hundred times,
here's the marvel,
a hundred times
as you travelled the green country,
you had to put away your sign painting
or turn from preaching the inner light
to the one picture,
the stiff animals gentle,
children among them,
men good.

You must have had violent hands
to have needed so often,
a hundred times at least,
the magic, the talisman,
the peaceable kingdom
made by your hands.

Helwig, David. "For Edward Hicks" The New Oxford Book of Canadian Verse in English. Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1982.

anne compton: even now

2011-04-08T07:45:00.000-06:00

Even now when muscles slacken and bones thin out
-- and why do they, if not to let in light -- the body opens

to cordial air, the courtesy of trees, fork-tailed swallows
in flight, their joints and ligaments ours. Atavistic us.

In early angel state, eye and ear migrate. They're at our elbow.
Down on our knees. The world's infolded in every limb.

In September's stirabout, what was enough, is not enough:
Frost at night and summertime by day, the air is appetite.

The stipple tongue's all over taste. The lucent skin is lavish.

Turns out that old adage about angels on a pin
refers to the body: How the five jig and sing in every cell.

Up out of the year's sleep, the body divines dispersal.
What's next is near, and already we are here in afterthought.

Compton, Anne. "Even Now" The Best Canadian Poetry in English. Toronto: Tightrope Books, 2009.

carla funk: psalm of thirst (part three)

2011-04-07T08:21:00.000-06:00

As deep calls to deep

in the immeasurable electricity of God

so thirst calls to water

the dry-tongued stones licking

the morning air desparate

a man stumbling across

the sun-scorched sand

the word oasis a cold pool

of hope in his mouth

so the porous heart soaks up

what rain and goodness he sends

so my deserts turn to gardens

in the presence of the Lord

Funk, Carla. "Psalm of Thirst" Introductions: Poets Present Poets. Markham: Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 2001.

carla funk: psalm of thirst (part two)

2011-04-06T07:54:00.000-06:00

I'm thirsty the man says

in the early morning on the hill

the first rays of sun swelling the horizon

in his mouth the weight of a whole earth

a thick coat of dust lining his throat

to his lips the hyssop branch

soaked with gall that final drink

swallowing all the light from this place

Funk, Carla. "Psalm of Thirst" Introductions: Poets Present Poets. Markham: Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 2001.

carla funk: psalm of thirst (part one)

2011-04-05T08:28:00.000-06:00

The sun like a burning eye stares
until the river shrivels into lines
and all that remains of the rainy season
is a watering hole sludged with elephant dung
the air a banner of gnats and tsetse flies

as the deer longs for water
so much more the creatures of this place
who bear the blueprint of thirst
in their bone-dry bellies

in this open throat of dry land
the island blends into the plain
and grown pelicans nesting there
begin to leave in search of water
while the young flightless ones left behind
walk over the cracked clay for days
until their charcoal bodies give out
fleck the baked landscape
in small feathered heaps

Funk, Carla. "Psalm of Thirst" Introductions: Poets Present Poets. Markham: Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 2001.

carla funk: messengers

2011-04-04T08:45:00.000-06:00

All mouth and throbbing with the need to
speak they arrive, heels printing into the earth
a colon: the introduction of much
to come. They stand outside
dreams at the foot of your bed, scrolls of their tongues
unfurling, important, blessed tongues
written with indelible ink.

Listen. Someone is dying. Even this
made beautiful.
   Proclaim the glory of everyday
life, bruises and the sweet flesh of earlobe. Swallow
the love you are given.
   Hear me. Unto you a gift is given, no
strings attached. You are favoured. You are
whole.
   Fall on your face and seek wine in the dry
valley. Find flesh among bones. Miracles
are prepared for the tasting.

And you startle at their voices, each
syllable a fire-fly in the ear, flicker and spark
upon waking. This may have been a dream, this
may have been more.

Funk, Carla. "Messengers" Introductions: Poets Present Poets. Markham: Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 2001.

george whipple: a hymn to God the Father

2011-04-03T08:03:00.000-06:00

O God invisible as music, let me know
Thee in the least reflection of Thy much,
in termite, tick and earwig, in the glow-
worm striking matches on the dark, the house-
fly scratching his humungous-huge orbed head;
in all the creepy, crawly, earthbound things,
the bandy ant in black fatigues, the slow
gelatinous, fat snail.

Although I climb
to Thee in prayers that fall as if unsaid,
O Alpha and Omega, Logos, great I AM,
I know Thee in the nit, mosquito, flea;
in pollywog, boll weevil, gnat and louse
- and with the praying mantis, worship Thee.

Whipple, George. "A Hymn to God the Father" Introductions: Poets Present Poets. Markham: Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 2001.

helen tsiriotakis: shadow hand

2011-04-02T08:22:00.000-06:00

Another girl who presents herself as a memory.
One more shape of memory.

The girl approaches the wall, casting a shadow. With chalk she traces her own image, diving down the cliff neck, climbing a hill shoulder, following the length of a long torso. To maintain the shape, she knows she must keep still. She must also keep the distance. If she pinpoints the light, chalkdust draws out her obscurity, radiating messy confessions: under prescriptive scrutiny, she blurs the look of the lens. When she’s too far, lifelines withdraw. She associates with the tip of any diversion. She stands this way for hours, outlining the memory of her body. Until she reaches the part of the wall where her hand collides with the shadow’s hand. No matter the impression she leaves, she confronts her own solitude. Her chalk can’t embody the hand that holds it. This is her alternate route: placing the chalk in her left hand, her right hand leaning against the wall.

Her right hand leaning against the wall.

Tsiriotakis, Helen. "Shadow Hand" Introductions: Poets Present Poets. Markham: Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 2001.

miriam waddington: advice to the young

2011-04-01T07:47:00.000-06:00

Keep bees and

grow asparagus,

watch the tides

and listen to the

wind instead of

the politicians

make up your own

stories and believe

them if you want to

live the good life.

All rituals

are instincts

never fully

trust them but

study to im-

prove biology

with reason.

Digging trenches

for asparagus

is good for the

muscles and

waiting for the

plants to settle

teaches patience

to those who are

usually in too

much of a hurry.

There is morality

in bee-keeping

it teaches how

not to be afraid

of the bee swarm

it teaches how

not to be afraid of

finding new places

and building in them

all over again.

Waddington, Miriam. "Advice to the Young" The New Oxford Book of Canadian Verse in English. Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1982.

national poetry month begins tomorrow!

2011-03-31T08:09:00.000-06:00

this year is the 10th anniversary of national poetry month in canada (and 15th anniversary in the united states), and as such i will be posting a poem by a canadian poet (or two) each day of april. you can find out more here. to quote john steffler, parliamentary poet laureate:

We live inside language, shape and share ourselves with it and use it to handle the surrounding world. In an atmosphere of job-talk, technical jargon, sales pitches, sound bites, bureaucratese and grocery-store chitchat we get mental asthma, we shrink to anaemic fragments. Poetry, with its fireman’s axe, comes to the rescue, opening doors and windows we’d forgotten we had, reviving words slumped in heaps in the basement of our mind, and those resuscitated words are oxygen in our blood. How good it feels to have depths and energy, to share in the hungers and insights poetry radiates. Poetry is language fully alive, excited language, which conveys and generates an excited experience of life.

experts wanted

2011-03-25T11:36:00.000-06:00

from malcom gladwell's blink (and i'm paraphrasing here):

The gift of their expertise is that it allows them to have a much better understanding of what foes on behind the locked door of their unconscious...The first impressions of experts are different. By that I don't mean that experts like different things than the rest of us -- although that is undeniable. When we become an expert in something, our tastes grow more esoteric and complex. What I mean is that it is only experts who are able to reliably account for their reactions.

i know, i know - the word expert is loaded, even suspect. in fact, during university, the whole concept of being an expert (and related ideas such as mastery) were very much "interrogated" as being x-centric (and by x i mean choose your term: western, male, hetero, etc.) and an imposition negotiated by various avenues of power blah blah blah. today, there's a real sense (propogated by sites such as wikipedia, for instance, and the blogosphere - and yes, i appreciate the irony here) that "everyone's an expert" i.e. everyone's opinion about something holds equal weight. even though it doesn't. so we're uncomfortable with the idea. it may even offend us.

regardless, its roots are old - the 14c in fact, from old french - and that springs from the latin: expertus, (from experiri) "to try, test". the sense of "person wise through experience" existed as early as the 15c. expertise (16c french) in turn denotes "expert appraisal, expert's report".

some various definitions include:

a person with a high degree of skill in or knowledge of a certain subject
having or showing knowledge and skill and aptitude
having or showing or requiring special skill
skilled through training or practice

to become an expert means that one must have some experience with something, one must be an explorer, one must have intimate knowledge (a passion?) of and for a subject or activity. there's a full-person'd engagement with something: heart, mind, soul and body.

so here are my questions: what are you an expert on or about? or do you even consider yourself an expert? why or why not? does the idea of being "an expert" make you uncomfortable? why or why not? alternatively, do you know anyone you consider an expert on or about a particular topic? why? i'm curious.

art, faith and integrity in the public square

2011-03-20T09:25:00.000-06:00

this should be great. over the rhine makes beautiful, rich music and the panel topic should provide for some great discussion. greg has a lot of good stuff to say, and i know that val and karen are very much committed to working out this topic in their life and work. unfortunately, i won't be able to attend since i will be participating in the NextGen: Canada program. so if you go, take notes or something.

please.

my studio

2011-03-16T22:17:00.000-06:00

as an artist who works in series, works with installations, and often uses collage (as much as a conceptual approach to artmaking as a medium), i have acquired a lot of miscellaneous bric-a-brac over the years.

and yet, this is nothing compared to what my studio space was like in university (they gave me my own room to work in due to the sheer amount of chaos i generated in my allotted studio space). or the warehouse space i had while in calgary. i miss having room to really spread everything out.

NextGen: Canada (bricolage)

2011-03-13T22:27:00.000-06:00

the other essay i wrote for my submission to the NextGen: Canada program, and the one i actually submitted, was around the idea of bricolage:

Bricolage is the construction or creation of a work from a diverse range of things that happen to be available, or a work created by such a process. It involves incorporating items typically utilized for other purposes. It will inspire staff to create solutions for a problem out of immediately available objects. In today’s economic reality, the ability to creatively combine objects, materials, images, approaches and strategies will be a definite asset for the sustainability of museums, whether operations, funding or programs.

It also describes how people acquire objects from across social divisions to create new cultural identities (especially sub-cultures). Objects that possess one meaning (or no meaning) in the dominant culture are acquired and given a new, (hopefully) subversive meaning. And isn’t this part of what we, as museums, want to do? To help people see the world anew? To see it afresh?

Alternatively, it means to fiddle. To tinker. To improvise. To blend. It is a way to learn and solve problems by trying, testing, playing around. This approach to exhibitions, programs, events would lead to more playful, engaging opportunities, not to mention alleviating workplace stresses. This activity of playing and testing, and of embracing the provisional, contributes to the development of the following:

An intimate knowledge of resources
Careful observation and listening (looking for the best objects and ideas in the best combination)
Increased trust in one's ideas
Self-correcting structures (though with feedback) – asking the questions: Do these things fit? How?

Valuing “tinkering” and allowing systems and programs to evolve from the bottom-up, rather than implementing from the top-down, organizations will end up with something that is deeply rooted in the organizational culture specific to that organization, as well as the social and cultural context of that institution, and is much less easily imitated.

This will lead to and encourage more innovative and unique ideas, reflecting individual institutions’ own identity and staff and contexts, rather than simply importing various templates and merely inserting new information in the usual frameworks. This will create more buzz, more engagement, more investment in the museum’s various communities. Creativity attracts. It attracts visitors and supporters. It attracts investors.

This is, in many ways, how I imagine NextGen Canada. A place where various different and unique individuals get thrown together and, through their energy, passion and creativity explore, share and create new ways of seeing and doing museum work.

NextGen: Canada (identity)

2011-03-12T17:47:00.000-07:00

as part of my NextGen: Canada application, i was asked to write an essay:

Apply an abstract concept from an outside / alternative industry to the museum field. Describe its utility in a museum context. Connect your example to what you believe to be a tough issue facing museums today. In closing, address what motivates you to participate in NextGen: Canada. (Approximately 400 words)

only 400 words? and i have to trim down my resume to 2 pages? taking on the challenge to be succinct, thorough and passionate, here is the first essay i wrote:

A core idea or concept that informs everything I do is IDENTITY. Who are you? What do you represent or stand for? Establishing a sense of identity (you can also think of it as “branding”) is crucial in today's economic and cultural climate, as it informs how and what we do and why we do it. It is foundational and essential as everything we do will be an outflow of that identity. It is even more important for smaller institutions. The temptation to be something you’re not, or to do things that are foreign to you, constantly assails us.

It is crucial to understand who you are - skills, interests, passions, goals – both individually and corporately. That enables you to maintain focus and purpose without being swayed by emotions such as fear. It enables you to maintain direction without being seduced by “the latest x”. It will enable you to ensure that whatever changes, it is only of use if it enables you to maintain your vision – to be effective, and maintain integrity. It is crucial to operate from this position of strength. It will instill confidence in who one is, what one does, and how one does it. It will provide wisdom and guidance as we gain new skills and knowledge. It will help us better receive suggestions (i.e. critique), instruction and correction from others as our identity will not be affirmed by what we do, or are perceived; but by who we are and what we believe. And therefore, a greater sense of fulfillment.

In turn, this will create a stronger sense of community. If one knows who one is - their uniqueness - then it is much easier to share knowledge and skills, and share resources. Everyone does things in different ways, and towards different ends. We will choose to have the right things, and do the right things, in the right places with the right people. If one’s identity isn’t established, people and institutions attempt to be all things to all people, and will lose sight of the vision they were created to fulfill. We don’t exist to please others; we exist to serve others. It’s a crucial difference.

And this is why NextGen: Canada is such an exciting opportunity. It is an opportunity to grow. To become stronger. To be challenged. To be encouraged. To be inspired. And to meet others of the same spirit.

NextGen: Canada!

2011-03-11T18:11:00.000-07:00

i don't post much here about my museum life, but i am currently the director/ curator at a small(ish) community museum. it's been an interesting 5+ years, and i am constantly learning new things about how to run a museum (and frankly, i wish the learning curve would plateau every once in a while). i basically oversee all the museum's operations, from programming and exhibitions to marketing and promotions, and from governance and grant-writing to strategic planning. i recently received word that i was accepted to the NextGen: Canada program. here's the blurb:

NextGen: Canada is a multifaceted learning and career development program offered in collaboration with the Alberta Museums Association (AMA), the Getty Leadership Institute at Claremont Graduate University (GLI@CGU), and the University of Alberta Museums.

As museums continue to grow into the twenty-first century, the next generation of leaders should have the latest and best skills at their disposal. NextGen: Canada is based on the GLI@CGU’s internationally respected Museum Leaders: The Next Generation program, but has been designed by Canadians for Canadians. The program is dedicated to providing a career development opportunity to exceptional museum professionals who have a desire to develop their leadership abilities, an ambition to build capacity within museums of any size or scope, and an aspiration to be directors or hold senior leadership positions in the museum sector.

i'm very excited, and honoured, to have been selected. there will be 19 of us, from all over canada - from the maritimes, prairies, central canada and the north - and from numerous types of museums and galleries. i look forward to learning new things, and developing my leadership 'tool-kit', but mostly i am excited about meeting 18 other individuals with passion, creativity and vision. you can view the announcement and PDF here. stay tuned...

bridgesongs 2011: ?rogress

2011-03-04T00:10:00.000-07:00

my friend dave von bieker is involved with a little something called Bridge Songs, and has kindly allowed me to be a part of it by curating an exhibition around its theme. here is some information about the event, and a link to the call for submissions.

Bridge Songs is an arts experience including original music, spoken word, short film, an album release and two visual art galleries. We are currently seeking submissions of visual art and short film.

The Event Space will house a large gallery that can accommodate many artists across a range of backgrounds and experience. The Event Space is in the Cycle Building on Alberta Avenue. Dates for the event are June 17-19.

The Feature Gallery, spanning from June 17th to 30th in the Nina Haggerty Stollery Gallery, will be juried, based on artistic merit but also relevance to theme and cohesion with other submissions. Only 3-4 artists will be selected due to space limitations. Both 2D and 3D work are welcome.

Artists are invited to submit to the either gallery or both. Those not selected for the Feature Gallery will have the option to have their work displayed in the Event Space instead.

*************************

This year's theme: ?rogress

With every step forward and every tick of the clock we would do well to ask, “Is this progress”?

Progress is variously defined as moving, walking or going forward. It advances. It implies growth and development, an advancement to higher stages, improvement – becoming better or more complete. It can also denote a journey of state or a circuit; especially, one made by a sovereign through parts of their own dominions. Lastly, it can also refer to the advance or growth of modern, industrialized society, its technology, and its trappings (which every good post-modernist knows is patently false).

To the hopeful, we are a world merging together into a glorious global village where walls fade in the morning mist of technology’s brave new dawn. Political parties, religious denominations and cultural stripes matter less and less as community and relationship and connectedness matter more and more.

To the pessimist the world is going to hell in a very large hand basket. The speeding information superhighway pulls us to frightening places and enables us to fight old wars with new weapons. Our very identities are no longer safe, as the reality of relationship is traded for the convenience of blurted communications mediated through well-crafted avatars.

Individually, and societally, progress often seems tenuous at best. We focus on two steps backward and forget forward moves. We forge new year’s fitness commitments only to laze and binge by springtime. We dig freshly into spiritual commitments that fizzle out and leave us wearied. We stare into the glaring eyes of habits that just won’t die. We remain haunted by past regrets we cannot seem to shake. The “me” I don’t like seems to wake me up each morning, and the “me” I want to be seems to leave me in his racing dust.

Time is moving forward and we are aging, year by year. But are we growing? Is this progress? Future. Past. Dawning utopia. Impending apocalypse. The long lost golden age. I am building a better me. I am fighting my demons. This is all of that and more. This is progress.

deadlines are as follows:

Feature Gallery (June 17-30, 2011) submission deadline April 15, 2011
Event Space (June 17-19, 2011) submission deadline May 31, 2011
Short Film Presentation (in the Event Space) submission deadline May 31, 2011

for more information, or to download the call for submissions, please go here.

eidos, eidetic, eidolon!

2011-03-01T22:37:00.000-07:00

i found a great word recently, courtesy of a.word.a.day, and enjoyed the resulting etymological trail. the word was eidos (n): "the formal sum of a culture, its intellectual character, ideas, etc." as is probably self-evident, it's from the greek eidos (form, idea), and ultimately from the indo-european root weid (to see), which is in turn the source of words such as wise, view, supervise, wit, and eidetic.

interestingly, eidetic - which means both "marked by extraordinarily accurate and vivid recall" and "pertaining to the faculty of projecting images" was derived from the german eidetisch, and coined by german psychologist erich jaensch (1883-1940) circa 1924. it also hails from the greek eidetikos - "pertaining to images" and/or "pertaining to knowledge," from eidesis (knowledge), and again from eidos (form, shape), and the indo-european root *weid, as above.

eidos is descended from oid - suffix for "like, like that of," from greek oeides, from eidos, which is related to idein (to see), eidenai ("to know"; lit. "to see"); all of which are ultimately derived from the proto-indo-european root *weid-es, from base *weid (to see, to know). this root is also the root for vision.

vision hails from the late 13c. - "something seen in the imagination or in the supernatural", from anglo-french visioun, old french vision, from latin visionem (act of seeing, sight, thing seen), in turn derived from videre (to see) and from proto-indo-european base *weid (to know, to see).

this root has a plethora of derivatives: sanskrit's veda (i know); avestan vaeda (i know); greek oida and doric woida (i know) and idein (to see); old irish fis (vision), find (white - i.e. clearly seen), fiuss (knowledge); welsh gwyn, gaulish vindos, breton gwenn (all of which denote white); gothic/ old swedish/ old english witan (to know); gothic weitan (to see); english wise and german wissen (to know); lithuanian vysti (to see), bulgarian vidya (i see); polish widzieć (to see) and wiedzieć (to know); russian videt' (to see), vest' (news) and old russian vedat' (to know). the meaning of "sense of sight" is first recorded in the late 15c. vision's denotation of "statesman-like foresight, political sagacity" is attested from 1926.

by now, you're probably wondering where i'm going with this...well, hold on. all this talk of beholding, seeing, knowing, vision started me thinking about that other eidos word: idol.

idol, which from the mid-13c., denotes the "image of a deity as an object of (pagan) worship," from old french idole, from lay latin idolum (image - mental or physical, form). it was used in church latin for "false god". it was derived from the greek eidolon (appearance), later "mental image, apparition, phantom," and also "material image, statue," and again from eidos! its figurative sense of "something idolized" is first recorded in the 1560s. the application of its meaning as "a person so adored" is from the 1590s. idolatry (mid-13c.) comes from old french idolatrie, shortened from lay latin idololatria, from greek eidololatria (worship of idols), from eidolon "image" + latreia "worship, service."

so now i'm thinking about culture and its idols (and our idols);
the way we worship the things we see;
and the way what we see shapes what we worship;
and how what we behold becomes part of us;

and how we serve those images, whether cultural or internal;
and how vision and "knowing" are inextricably and intimately linked together;
the connection of [internal] vision to the supernatural (perhaps even prophetic?)...

and that, my friends, is a deeply satisfying and engaging word search.

another valentine's day poem for my wife

2011-02-23T08:18:00.001-07:00

lovely. simply lovely. & still

i look for all that passion

submerged, to rise to the surface

& flood over me, passion

voiced & unvoiced, hands

all aflutter, lips atwitter, bodies

nesting places for our hearts

voiced & unvoiced, words

lingering upon the skin, deepening

images of our desire. this love

erupts into the slumbering world,

this passion the song i sing to you.

have you seen these films?

2011-02-19T10:00:00.002-07:00

a little while ago, art&faith released its 2011 list of top 100 spiritually significant films. you can find the list here, along with links to a more detailed synopses.

1. The Passion of Joan of Arc (La Passion de Jeanne D'arc), 1928
2. Andrei Rublev (Andrey Rublyov) 1973
3. The Word (Ordet), 1955
4. The Decalogue (Dekalog), 1989
5. Au Hasard Balthazar,1966
6. Make Way for Tomorrow, 1937
7. The Gospel According to Matthew (Il vangelo second Matteo), 1964
8. The Son (Le Fils), 2002
9. To Live (Ikiru), 1952
10. Babette’s Feast (Babettes Gaestebud), 1988*
11. The Mirror (Zerkalo), 1975
12. Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, 1927
13. The Seventh Seal (Det Sjunde Inseglet), 1957
14. Three Colors Trilogy (Trois couleurs), 1993/1994/1994*
15. Stalker, 1979
16. Magnolia, 1999*
17. Winter Light, 1962
18. The Searchers, 1956

19. Tokyo Story (Tokyo monogatari), 1953
20. La Promesse, 1992
21. Tender Mercies, 1983
22. The Apostle, 1997*

23. The Diary of a Country Priest (Le Journal D'un Cure De Campagne), 1951

24. Bicycle Thieves (Ladri di biciclette), 1948

25. A Man for All Seasons, 1966
26. The Miracle Maker, 2000*

27. Paths of Glory, 1957
28. Grave of the Fireflies, 1988
29. Wild Strawberries (Smultronstallet), 1957
30. Into Great Silence (Le grand silence), 2005
31. Munyurangabo, 2007
32. Apu Trilogy (Pather Panchali, Aparajito, Apu Sansar), 1955/1956/1959
33. Flowers of St. Francis (Francesco, Guillare de Dio), 1950
34. Nights of Cabiria (Les Nuits de Cabiria), 1957
35. The Night of the Hunter, 1955

36. 2001: A Space Odyssey, 1968*
37. Chariots of Fire, 1981*
38. The Straight Story, 1999

39. Touch of Evil, 1958
40. It's a Wonderful Life, 1946*
41. 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days (4 Luni, 3 Saptamani, 2 Zile), 2007
42. Apocalypse Now, 1979*
43. Code Unknown: Incomplete Tales of Several Journeys, 2000
44. Black Narcissus, 1947
45. Day of Wrath (Vredens dag), 1943
46. The Child (L'Enfant), 2005

47. Close-Up (Nema-ye Nazdik), 1990
48. Yi Yi: A One and a Two, 2000
49. Ponette, 1996
50. The Burmese Harp, 1956

51. Stroszek, 1977
52. Places in the Heart, 1984
53. The New World, 2005

54. Still Life (Sanxia haoren), 2006
55. Jesus of Montreal (Jesus De Montreal), 1989*
56. Death of Mr. Lazarescu, 2005
57. Eureka, 2000
58. Heartbeat Detector (La question humaine), 2007
59. Summer Hours (L'heure d'été), 2008
60. Playtime, 1967
61. Ran, 1985*
62. Rashômon, 1950*
63. The Double Life of Veronique, 1991*
64. My Night at Maud's (Ma nuit chez Maud), 1969
65. Becket, 1964
66. Silent Light (Stella Licht), 2007
67. Wings of Desire (Der Himmel über Berlin), 1987
68. A Man Escaped (Un condamne a mort s'est eschappe ou Le vent soufflé ou il veut), 1956
69. Faust, 1926
70. Lawrence of Arabia, 1962*
71. Koyaanisqatsi, 1982*
72. Paris, Texas, 1984
73. My Life to Live (Vivre sa vie: Film en douze tableaux), 1962
74. How Green Was My Valley, 1941
75. The Return (Vozvrashchenie), 2003
76. M, 1931
77. The Island (Ostrov), 2006
78. Days of Heaven, 1978
79. Crimes and Misdemeanors, 1989*
80. Paprika, 2006
81. Floating Weeds (Ukigusa), 1959
82. Born Into Brothels, 2004
83. Vertigo, 1958*
84. Syndromes and a Century (Sang sattawat), 2006
85. After Life (Wandafuru raifu), 1998
86. Spirited Away, 2001
87. The Trial, 1962

88. The Rules of the Game, 1939
89. Sullivan's Travels, 1941
90. Schindler's List, 1993*
91. Dogville, 2003*
92. There Will Be Blood, 2007*
93. The Spirit of the Beehive (El espíritu de la colmena), 1973

94. Early Summer (Bakushû), 1951
95. Amadeus, 1984*
96. Fiddler on the Roof, 1971
97. Sophie Scholl: die letzten Tag (Sophie Scholl: the Final Days), 2007
98. Ratcatcher, 1999
99. The Iron Giant, 1999*

100. The Story of the Weeping Camel, 2003

i've only seen 22 of these (i've marked them with asterisks*). i definitely want to track down a number of these films (and the above synopses tell me enough to intrigue me as well). how many have of these you seen? are there others you would recommend?

a valentine's day poem for my wife

2011-02-14T18:28:00.001-07:00

(memory can be a weight. measure it.

you’re not finished yet. breathe.)

linger here, remembering

in the quiet of the day;

stop all that thinking

about what if? & what next?

victory continues to whisper in our ears,

around corners; we speak out hope in a

never-ending call & response,

violently seizing the kingdom,

leaving behind ghosts & bones

in the pursuit of that true voice

emerging into the light, & out of

the wild, dry desert.

"nothing is original"

2011-02-09T00:06:00.000-07:00

i've always been bothered by the notion that the goal of an artist (or of any person, really) is to be "original". as if that's possible, what with nothing being new under the sun and all. over the years, it has accumulated meanings more reflective of western individualism, until it now signifies the creation of something unique and hitherto undreamt of. in many ways, it is the golden calf of the [immature] artist. such hubris. such pride. too much pressure. please - let us determine in our hearts to die to this particular notion of "originality".

instead let's embrace this idea of originality (he said as he raced to his OED): authenticity, or genuineness. "original" is from the late 14c. from the latin originalis, from originem, meaning "beginning, source, birth" (from orori "to rise"). the use of the word in the 1430s denoted something being derived from something - it grew out of, or from, an original source. think of it involving an ancestry, or parentage. there is the idea that an original work reflects the individual's own personality, style, etc., but that it is also part of a larger tradition i.e. it is a derivation of an already existing thing (whether style, subject, trope, etc.). the sense of novelty, of something being new and never before seen or thought of is a more modern idea. and it can be crippling.

so let's embrace originality in a way that more accurately reflects its original sense. let's embrace our own originality - let us pursue authenticity, and genuineness. let us be convinced of what we're making and why. let us leave the vicissitudes of economics and fashion to their own devices, and trust that what we make will speak to those it must. let us hold fast to the stories we must tell, and the songs we must sing. let us give up novelty. originality means that we are unafraid of influence, that we use the past and the present as foundations upon which we can build. it means we bring ourselves to the old, old stories.

community (and intimacy)

2011-02-01T08:33:00.000-07:00

...it is not hyperbole to suggest that art, when applied at the community level, can be a powerful tool for re-establishing individual and community identity through a process that acknowledges the existence and fosters the development of local culture.

it's a splendid and logical role for art, given that it is so poorly suited for the creation of mass culture. whether we're talking about painting or dance, theatre or poetry, we're talking about something that is intimate in its scale and ability to accommodate an audience. this intimacy is tacit permission for artists (whether trained professionals or amateurs inspired by the presence of a professional) to deal with the specifics of the immediate world around them. it is this intimacy that gives a voice to a local culture.

-steven durland

i guess another way to say this is: serve. while i enjoy my arts with a healthy dose of spectacle, i believe that the artist's purpose, as well as their art's, purpose is to serve. self-expression in and of itself isn't the point. nor is therapy. it's about communication. connection. communion.

the arts give voice. what song shall we sing? choose your words (and images. and gestures. and sounds.) carefully. what is your art giving shape to?

a limning we will go...

2011-01-25T10:34:00.003-07:00

i subscribe to numerous "word-a-day" feeds (because i love language and words) and often discover lovely little tidbits about language and words and meaning...recently wordsmith sent me limn. a lovely word for those of us who seek to portray the world and communicate to others through these abstract and powerful gestures of art and words.

limn - pronunciation: (lim)

meaning:

1. to portray in words.
2. to draw or paint, especially in outline.

etymology: via french, from latin luminare (to illuminate), from lumen (light). ultimately from the indo-european root leuk- (light), which is also the source of words such as lunar, lunatic, light, lightning, lucid, illuminate, illustrate, translucent, lux, lynx, and lucubrate. earliest documented use: 1440.

naturally, i had to go look up/ click on the link for lucubrate.

lucubrate - pronunciation: (LOO-kyoo-brayt)

meaning: To work (such as study, write, discourse) laboriously or learnedly.

etymology: here's a word that literally encapsulates the idiom "to burn the midnight oil". it's derived from latin lucubrare (to work by lamplight), from lucere (to shine). ultimately from the indo-european root leuk- (light) that's resulted in other words such as lunar, lunatic, light, lightning, lucid, illuminate, illustrate, translucent, lux, and lynx.

what i love about this is the connection of illumination and discipline, of drawing something out and engaging with it/ learning about it - and thinking through it. write. draw. repeat.

(btw - i highly recommend wordsmith as it not only offers great words, its daily email also links to wordgames and articles that relate to language and lexicographical information of all kinds. yum.)

another top '10

2011-01-20T10:30:00.000-07:00

i've never done this before, but - stirred by a friend's list - i thought i might post my top picks of 2010. please let me know your own top 2010 arts experiences.

books

my name is asher lev by chaim potok. over the years, people would repeatedly mention this book to me and tell that I “need to read it”. It certainly gripped my imagination, and it moved me emotionally as well as intellectually. its exploration of identity (as artist, and as member of a family, culture, faith community), and responsibility (as a member of the above) challenged me and affirmed me (and i blogged about it here repeatedly between june and october of 2010). some passages stirred hope and life in me, while others were far too familiar a refrain. i didn’t accept it all, but then the book presents numerous voices and positions on art, and the use and abuse of art and its power.

honorable mention(s): book of mercy by leonard cohen. such beautiful old testament lyricism. so raw. so metaphorific. also, a re-read of larry shiner’s the invention of art: a cultural history. a rich, challenging book about the concept and use of art in western culture. a must-read for any artist. and one more -- for the beauty of the church: casting a vision for the arts by david taylor. a well-balanced collections of essays that explores the role of the arts within the church (though not in that 'white cube'), without getting overly theological (though there is theology) or isolationist or 'super-spiritual' (by which i mean it is quite practical as well).

art

barbara kruger at the tijdelijk stedelijk. i’d always wanted to see her work in an installation. i knew what i liked intellectually about her text pieces – the cacophony of voices, the political and social commentary, the propagandist agenda – but i wasn’t prepared for the experience of standing in the space and being both visually and physically assaulted by the texts.

honorable mention(s): either blazzamo by kristi malakoff at latitude 53 – beautiful, precious, obsessive ‘collages’ that truly took my breath away; or storm room by janet cardiff and george miller at the art gallery of alberta. transporting.

film

band of brothers. as a series, it was brutal and absorbing. while the historical aspect was interesting, the real draw for me was the depiction of the relationships between the soldiers in easy company and the psychological, rather than physical, toll of war. the power of those relationships to instill hope, purpose, faith.

honorable mention: inception. while i was gobsmacked the first time around by the effects and the intricacies and the audacity, what i took away from this film was how important a father’s role is in shaping identity (an aspect of the film that i have yet to see anyone discuss). who cares about the dream(s)? (i think it all takes place in cobb’s limbo, anyway). what about the power a father has to shape and either inspire and affirm and bless or crush and embitter a son?

music

mumford & sons. the rise and fall and repeatedly glorious codas of their songs are transcendent (yeah, i said it). the lyrics are rich: love - it will not betray you/ dismay or enslave you, it will set you free/ be more like the man you were made to be, and I found myself hooting and hollering along repeatedly, exuberant and deeply moved.

honorable mention(s): every jesus culture CD i own (and that would be 4) was purchased this year. a breath of fresh air, ‘worship’ music with musicianship and a prophetic declarative edge. many others were listened to, but these had much of my eartime. other faves this year include janelle monae’s the arch android, with its audacious and far-ranging operatic scope, and not without generous helpings of funk and soul. janelle's performance on letterman was astounding.

late in the year sufjan stevens’ all delighted people EP and the age of adz loomed large on my various musical listening devices. while there is definitely some growth and exploration (i'm enjoying the tinge of electronica and the wider range of singing), i’m finding myself less often connected to the music/ songs. i find that my enjoyment is sometimes an intellectual or conceptual one as he riffs on a theme or sequence (not unlike much classical music). but i’m not so often moved by it…in any case, my plan is to keep his stuff on heavy rotation for awhile.

dance

dark matters by kid pivot. this theatre/dance mash-up utilized puppetry, projections, martial arts, humour (slapstick), theatre and, of course, contemporary dance. it was about the things we don't wish to discuss - the things we would like to keep hidden, the things that haunt us – and how these “dark matters” affect our movement and interaction. it was also a piece about the creative process as much as anything else, and about the relationship and tension between creation and destruction. an astounding production.

honorable mention(s): every version of so you think you can dance, whether united states, canada, holland…unlike all the other instant fame reality TV competitions, SYTYCD’s final 18 or 20 or 22 participants can all dance - they are skilled, passionate and dedicated artists, and there are a lot of talented choreographers whose creative visions have resulted in some truly moving pieces. every episode i watch there is a performance i marvel at. it makes me wish i had pursued dance, or choreography.

i must also mention 2 other things. at the risk of blowing my own horn, the we are artists workshop i presented with iloveartists, and my 3 exhibitions this fall/winter were hugely impactful for me personally.

we are artists was a workshop i presented around the identity and calling of the artist. it was an honor to be asked to do it, and i hope to do more in the future. not only was it great to be able to affirm and challenge fellow [christian] creatives, it was also a great learning experience for me (and affirmed me in my calling).

i’m not finished yet, off the wall, and your thoughts, like stars were a challenge to pull off as i had determined that i would try to make new work for each exhibition (which i mostly succeeded in). there were a number of experiments, and i need to rethink some of the pieces, but on the whole i was humbled by the ways in which people responded to my work. it was gratifying to know that the spirit could use my pieces to speak to some pretty deep things, and that people responded on many different levels: intellectually, emotionally and spiritually. i feel like i am able to keep moving forward, and i trust some of my planned pieces more (or rather, trust that God is somehow involved with them).

here's to 2011!

conceptual art, anyone?

2011-01-14T14:29:00.002-07:00

i'm not sure what you think about conceptual art, but i'm a big fan. admittedly, "conceptual art" as a descriptive term is a bit of a grab-bag, but we can variously frame it like this:

Conceptual art is art in which the concept(s) or idea(s) involved in the work take precedence over traditional aesthetic and material concerns (from wikipedia)
A genre of art in which the transmission of ideas is more important than the creation of an art object (from wiktionary)
Art that is intended to convey an idea or a concept to the perceiver, rejecting the creation or appreciation of a traditional art object such as a painting or a sculpture as a precious commodity (from artLex)
Art that focuses on the idea expressed and the process of creating the work (from artsConnected)
Type of modern art in which the idea or ideas that a work expresses are considered its essential point, with its visual appearance being of secondary (often negligible) importance (from talktalk)
Conceptual art is based on the concept that art may exist solely as an idea and not in the physical realm (from absoluteArts)

i'm a big fan of sol lewitt's work, especially his wall drawings (mass moca has a long-term installation you can peruse here). he is a seminal and important figure in the development of conceptual art, and published numerous "manifestoes". here is one that i think has a lot of interesting ideas to contemplate regarding the process of [thinking about] making art, and reception of art works (or the relationship of the art object and the viewer/ reader). whether you self-identify as a conceptual artist or not, i'd be interested in discussing which statements resonate with you, or that you disagree vehemently with, and why.

Sentences on Conceptual Art by Sol Lewitt (1968)

1. Conceptual artists are mystics rather than rationalists. They leap to conclusions that logic cannot reach.

2. Rational judgements repeat rational judgements.

3. Irrational judgements lead to new experience.

4. Formal art is essentially rational.

5. Irrational thoughts should be followed absolutely and logically.

6. If the artist changes his mind midway through the execution of the piece he compromises the result and repeats past results.

7. The artist's will is secondary to the process he initiates from idea to completion. His wilfulness may only be ego.

8. When words such as painting and sculpture are used, they connote a whole tradition and imply a consequent acceptance of this tradition, thus placing limitations on the artist who would be reluctant to make art that goes beyond the limitations.

9. The concept and idea are different. The former implies a general direction while the latter is the component. Ideas implement the concept.

10. Ideas can be works of art; they are in a chain of development that may eventually find some form. All ideas need not be made physical.

11. Ideas do not necessarily proceed in logical order. They may set one off in unexpected directions, but an idea must necessarily be completed in the mind before the next one is formed.

12. For each work of art that becomes physical there are many variations that do not.

13. A work of art may be understood as a conductor from the artist's mind to the viewer's. But it may never reach the viewer, or it may never leave the artist's mind.

14. The words of one artist to another may induce an idea chain, if they share the same concept.

15. Since no form is intrinsically superior to another, the artist may use any form, from an expression of words (written or spoken) to physical reality, equally.

16. If words are used, and they proceed from ideas about art, then they are art and not literature; numbers are not mathematics.

17. All ideas are art if they are concerned with art and fall within the conventions of art.

18. One usually understands the art of the past by applying the convention of the present, thus misunderstanding the art of the past.

19. The conventions of art are altered by works of art.

20. Successful art changes our understanding of the conventions by altering our perceptions.

21. Perception of ideas leads to new ideas.

22. The artist cannot imagine his art, and cannot perceive it until it is complete.

23. The artist may misperceive (understand it differently from the artist) a work of art but still be set off in his own chain of thought by that misconstrual.

24. Perception is subjective.

25. The artist may not necessarily understand his own art. His perception is neither better nor worse than that of others.

26. An artist may perceive the art of others better than his own.

27. The concept of a work of art may involve the matter of the piece or the process in which it is made.

28. Once the idea of the piece is established in the artist's mind and the final form is decided, the process is carried out blindly. There are many side effects that the artist cannot imagine. These may be used as ideas for new works.

29. The process is mechanical and should not be tampered with. It should run its course.

30. There are many elements involved in a work of art. The most important are the most obvious.

31. If an artist uses the same form in a group of works, and changes the material, one would assume the artist's concept involved the material.

32. Banal ideas cannot be rescued by beautiful execution.

33. It is difficult to bungle a good idea.

34. When an artist learns his craft too well he makes slick art.

35. These sentences comment on art, but are not art.

First published in 0-9 (New York), 1969, and Art-Language (England), May 1969

i'd be very interested in which points stand out to you - whether they ring true and strike a chord, or whether you think they are absolute bunk - and why.

be it resolved that...

2011-01-03T16:02:00.000-07:00

i don't really make new year's resolutions. so i thought i might instead set some goals for 2011. naturally, there are a lot of personal things i want to work on: being a better husband, playing more with my boys, spending more time with G-d, exercising patience, making better use of my time, getting better at call of duty, exercising more, etc. - but there are also a number of things more directly art related that i hope to accomplish this year. so here they are:

last year i had 3 exhibitions - this year i would like to have 4, including at least 1 in a city where i haven't previously exhibited
complete 5 new pieces, whether individual pieces, installations or large-scale series (i already know that at least one will be a video piece)
curate 1 exhibition
refine my lightbooks so the light sources are easier to replace for potential buyers/ gallerists
develop a commercial line of my work, whether paintings, prints or even cards
i have developed a 3 session workshop that focusses on our identity and calling as artists -- i'd like to present that workshop again this year
apply to at least one grant for personal/ professional training purposes/ conferences
write poetry again and submit pieces to 2 magazines, or else work towards a chapbook of my poems
finally start work on my screenplay/ novel
practice playing my guitar (i miss leading worship) - i suppose i'll write a song or two, and hopefully we'll sing one in our church
consolidate all my various notebooks and sketchbooks, and only use one at a time

please feel free to ask me how any of these things are progressing, and let me know if you have any suggestions for resources that relate to any of these areas. i need all the help and encouragement i can get.

the eLABorations have begun!

2011-01-01T12:54:00.001-07:00

check them out over at the eLABorations blog!

the eLABorations are about to begin...

2010-12-31T12:08:00.003-07:00

starting tomorrow, i will be a starting a new blog: eLABorations.

this ‘blog will be an extension of my ongoing series in which i use slogans and phrases superimposed over various images. as a way to add another variable into the mix, i have invited some friends to play with that idea collaboratively.

what i am interested in is the juxtaposition between image and text, and how the change in image shifts how we 'read' that image - i.e. how we interpret it - in light of the text.

each month i will be posting a minimum of 10 images, which i have paired with a randomly chosen text of my choice. the resulting combinations will be posted here on the first of every month, for the duration of 2011.

i hope you will drop by and visit regularly (or at least monthly), and comment on (and perhaps even discuss) how the images and text dance and inter-play; especially as the project moves forward.

it all begins tomorrow...