i will be doing an introductory workshop about exhibiting your work with the bleeding heart art space crew april 20th. developing artist statements, finding the right audience/ venue for our work, submissions processes, etc. here's the blurb:
A workshop on how to exhibit and talk about your work
Once you’ve made your work, who do you share it with, and how do you get it to them?
Join professional artist and curator Edward Van Vliet for an interactive workshop on showing and speaking about visual artwork. Artists will be challenged to consider the audience for their body of work, and how to best connect with that audience.
This workshop will look at what is involved in submitting for gallery shows, including crafting an artist statement and CV. Different types of galleries, as well as alternatives to the gallery system will be discussed.
Artists are encouraged to bring a sampling of work (6-10 images) in digital format (jpg photographs) for projection, as well as current CVs and artist statements for group critique and conversation.
This workshop is geared toward artists working in visual culture (painting, photographs, mixed media, video art, etc.).
register, or find out more, here.
To the west of the highway, cedars
burlapped for winter. Trappist monks moving
slow as a car in storm. Snow on their shoulders.
The bushier ones came in A-frames, hinged at the top.
Rodents scramble up one side. Look at the world from
the peak, scuttle down. Their story, the tracks in the snow.
Everything is after. Do you not find it so? Then,
a road shrine long past. The beginning of a descent.
I was wondering, do you remember the view from there?
Or did that cloth you were called to
enforce a forward focus? Is God's voice when it calls
like snow falling: a flurry that wipes out tracks?
I've been stopped in mine ever since.
Compton, Anne. "How We Care for Trees in Winter" Modern Canadian Poets. Jones, Evan and Todd Swift, eds. Manchester: Carcanet Press Limited, 2010. 152.
tsee-tsee, to see, to sleep, to dream, to smoke the night's
last cigarette, to see, to quote the waxwing
this winter, you can see the stars again, the orange light of the city
rises in the east, and falls on the coat of the waxwing
the December wind scattered tiny apples, fermented blood on snow,
frozen, then warmed in the throat of the waxwing
we breathe the prairie silence, the cold dark sky, listen
to the wind beneath songs of the coyote and the waxwing
the branches of the tree hold their bodies, flutter, give
darkness the last trill note of the waxwing
when you slip into bed, kiss the curve of my neck,
Poet, I say, who wrote of the waxwing?
Sikma, Crystal. "Ghazal: waxwing" Fast Forward: New Saskachewan Poets. Klar, Barbara and Paul Wilson, eds. Saskatoon: Hagios Press, 2007. 68.
There are many cumbersome ways to kill a man:
you can make him carry a plank of wood
to the top of a hill and nail him to it. To do this
properly you require a crowd of people
wearing sandals, a cock that crows, a cloak
to dissect, a sponge, some vinegar and one
man to hammer the nails home.
Or you can take a length of steel,
shaped and chased in a traditional way,
and attempt to pierce the metal cage he wears.
But for this you need white horses,
English trees, men with bows and arrows,
at least two flags, a prince and a
castle to hold your banquet in.
Dispensing with nobility, you say, if the wind
allows, blow gas at him. But then you need
a mile of mud sliced through with ditches,
not to mention blackboots, bomb craters,
more mud, and a plague of rats, a dozen songs
and some round hats made of steel.
In an age of aeroplanes, you may fly
miles above your victim and dispose of him by
pressing one small switch. All you then
require is an ocean to separate you, two
systems of government, a nation's scientists,
several factories, and a psychopath and
land that no one needs for several years.
These are, as I began, cumbersome ways
to kill a man. Simpler, direct, and much more neat
is to see that he is living somewhere in the middle
of the twentieth century, and leave him there.
Brock, Edwin. "Five Ways to Kill a Man" Scanning the Century: The Penguin Book of the Twentieth Century in Poetry. Peter Forbes, Ed. London: Penguin Books, 1999. 290-1.
that love is dependent on memory,
that life is eternal and therefore criminal,
that thought is an invisible veil that covers our eyes,
that death is only another animal,
that beauty is formed by desperation,
that sex is solely a human problem,
that pets are wild in heaven,
that sounds and smells escape us,
that there are bones in the earth without any marker,
that language refers to too many things,
that music hints at what we heard before we sang,
that the circle is loaded,
that nothing we know by forgetting is sacred,
that humor charges the smallest things,
that the gods are animals without their masks,
that stones tell secrets to the wildest creatures,
that nature is an idea and not a place,
that our bodies have diminished in size and strength,
that our faces are terrible,
that our eyes are double when gazed upon,
that snakes do talk, as well as asses,
that we compose our only audience,
that we are geniuses when we wish to kill,
that we are naked despite our clothes,
that our minds are bodies in another world.
de Niord, Chard. "What the Animnals Teach Us" The Pushcart Book of Poetry. Murray, Joan, ed. New York: Pushcart Press, 2006. 464-5.
