Saturday, September 28, 2013


Instagram has taken over my blogging these days. Social media has it's way of doing that, luring you astray to the next thing. Not that instagram is anything new, nor am I as a user (it's been over a year), but my visual expression has moved there for a while, that little diary framed in it's square walls. Joined by fellow photographers, stylists and art directors that I work with, our daily musings are inspired inside and out of our work day. I find that it brings a sense of security that my mind (well visually at least) is still looking. My daughter has joined me and I'm refreshed by her seriousness of the craft.  At 10, she is attempting to create a visual poetry of the world around her. Not with the usual tween obsessions, but influenced by the streams of artist friends (both young and old) she is exploring and expressing her way of looking.

A few of my favorites from Aya's roll...

We Have An Anchor

Beautiful piece at the BAM last night by Jem Cohen. Meditative filmic views of Cape Breton and phenomenal driving music woven by the words of Elizabeth Bishop and Don Domanski, among others.

Jem Cohen: We Have An Anchor from EMPAC @ Rensselaer on Vimeo.

Fata Morgana
you’re walking alone in the forest the moon is directly overhead eating her supper of astronomy and wedding-gifts
there’s a thousand miles of trees in every direction
which means there’s just enough blood to go around

so you mustn’t spill a drop
of course every second tree is the Tree of Death
every third one
the Tree of Life

while all the others
are doors to atonement but you mustn’t knock

you’re like me
and want a straight line through everything
but there aren’t any here no path from A to B
no A or B

you’re not lost
this is the earth you’re not human but a fox or a rabbit

your life behind a desk was an illusion
the shining city a madness brought on by fatigue

there aren’t any cars or telephones there never were
not a single clothesline or shoelace in all the world

your heartbeats are so many peapods being cracked open between a finger and a thumb
your footprints swallow themselves as you walk along

what I said about the moon was a lie there were never any weddings
or any gifts
not an astronomer to be found

the moon is devouring you just you tonight
with your long ears pricked up in their sad salute to fear

this hour is called Abandonment
this night Bottomless
I would call you Insignificant
if you weren’t already named Essential
if you weren’t the very centre of the world. 

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

pot of gold

It never goes away
Steel sitting in the recesses of mandibles
But you don't cry
It's laughable that body reacting to voices behind doors and wet leaves
And it's been two years
Yes and more
More, as history falls dripping
The sky is vast and liquid, embracing
Look up!
Hips rising
Parting the clouds
Living takes place where the rays come in
Illuminating sewers and blown trash
Turning them into the art we exhibit in the halls where our loved ones used to be
'cause that's all you can do
'cause you are rich and the dust will turn to gold.