Thursday, September 20, 2007

Seen ...

... on Queen Street ...

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Chris’s Cake and Steak and Chicken Birthday Party Complete with Fire

It was a dark and stormy night and Chris had just turned 29 and WhiteFeather and Sophie and I met in a kitchen full of magical cooking smells to celebrate with him.

In honor of his birthday, Chris got to cook the chicken on a bed of potatoes, vegetables, spices and steak.

WhiteFeather lit the candles and presented the cake to Chris. She said, “We all know how you like to burn things down, but please don’t burn yourself down. It really makes a mess.”

Chris said: “Mmm. Cake. Mmm. Fire.”

With a might bellowing gust of birthday vigor, Chris blew a tempest over the firmament of the cake. And set himself on fire.

After the smoke and sparking shards of cinder subsided, we saw that it wasn’t really all the bad. Chris still had a head, which is a good thing to have.

So we all sang Happy Birthday To You merrily while Chris sat in his chair with a big zany smile on this face and said, “Fire.”

Then we feasted on delicious chicken and steak baked in on a bed of scrumptious everything good and tasty.

And then we painted in watercolors. WhiteFeather painted a picture of Sophie as Goddess and …

… Sophie asked Chris if he could set himself on fire again … just for a moment … so that she could capture his ignitedness in her painting of him.

Chris waved a hand over his head as he painted furiously with his other and flames shot out his hair and then subsided into a few burning embers.

“Thank you,” said Sophie. “Your commitment to art is smokin’!”

Everybody laughed and toasted and Sophie said, “Do you think you could shoot some fire out your nose?”

Chris smiled and said, “Fire.”

Sunday, September 09, 2007

Studio Watch Emerging Artist Series featuring Deanna Musgrave

(NOTE: Presented by Greenarm and organized by The Beaverbook Art Gallery, the Studio Watch Emerging Artist Series selected Deanna Musgrave this year. You can view the magnificent paintings in this exhibition at the New Brunswick Museum at Market Square in Saint John.)

Working at the Casemates Series this summer on those sweltering days with no air conditioning, no fans, not even a drop ice cold Champaign. I was so hot, the paint melted and sometimes wouldn’t stick to the canvas. Well, maybe not that hot. But close.

“No,” said Deanna. “It is that hot. I’ve had to glue my paint to the canvas. I just hope the glue doesn’t melt.”

The glue stuck … and this painting was destined for greatness.

At Studio4ward, Deanna worked long hours, day and night, without sleep or food. These paintings were destined for greatness.

Often, her only companionship was the music from her CD player.

A particularly large piece tried to drive her crazy. “I’m going to make this piece work, or I’m going to eat it,” she said with chilling resolve.

After a monumental three day final push, the piece was finished. She celebrated by eating a cracker. This painting, also, was destined for greatness.

On the day of destiny, Deanna was sitting by a Rick Burns painting at Ingrid Mueller’s Art+Concepts, cool as a cucumber.

And then she remembered, this is my day of destiny. Today was the opening of her exhibition: STUDIO WATCH Emerging Artist Series.

The eyes of the world would be upon her. She took this gracefully.

The exhibition was at the New Brunswick Museum in Saint John. She drove up with Ingrid, who noticed that Deanna seemed a little nervous.

“I haven’t got a clue how to drive a car with a standard transmission,” said Ingrid. “This car has a standard transmission.”

Deanna’s mind was suddenly on anything but an exhibition.

They arrived safely in Saint John and set off to the New Brunswick Museum …

… where Deanna’s family was waiting to greet her.

And from there on, it was amazing.

Thursday, September 06, 2007

Double Opening at Ingrid Mueller's Art+Concepts

I think this time, I'll just let the invites and the pics say it all ...

'Nuff said.

Sex, Violence and 4 Letter Language at the Muse Online Conferece (BTW, it's free)

Sex, Violence and 4 Letter Language: They Don't Have To Be Gross

Are your sex scenes porno or literature? How do you know when you've gone too far, or just written it all wrong? When does violence advance the story and character development, and when does it become a bucket of blood thrown over a story that's going nowhere? When does strong language reveal character, and when does it reveal bad writing? Sex, violence and 4 letter words can enhance your story or break it. This workshop will draw on examples from both extremes and encourage open discussion. Warning: This workshop will contain explicit content. But, hey, it will be for the advancement of art.

Registration is free and it's all online. My workshop will not be at a specific time, but will be through a forum-like discussion board (details about this will be released prior to the conference).

The conference runs October 8 - 14 and this workshop will run for the duration.

Register for the conference here:
Free Registration

Check out my workshop here:
Sex, Violence and 4 Letter Language
(you'll have to scroll about halfway down the page)

I'm also in the Double Dragon Publishing workshop (scroll down a little further)

... and in the Twisted Tails Anthology Writers' workshop (scroll down almost to the bottom)

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Saw ...

... and posted ... but Blogger mysteriously ate it ...

Seen ...

... in the UNB SUB ...

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Seen ...

... on Queen Street ...

BlackTop MotorCycle Gang Reading Raid on the Nude Dude’s Stomping Grounds

It was a dark and stormy sunny day by Freddie the Nude Dude when strangeness began to brew from the streets. Weirdness converged from across the street and down the street and from the promenade-like grounds in front of City Hall.

The air filled with a dangerous energy. Sparrows in the concrete stopped twitching. In the belfry, a pigeon saw God and died. Mothers herded their children indoors to safety. But nothing would ever be save again. Nothing would ever be the same again.

The BlackTop MotorCycle Gang was on a raging reading raid and even God's deepest secrets would soon be spread on the sidewalk.

Freddie the Nude Dude was much troubled by the convergence of the BlackTop MotorCycle Gang encroaching on his grounds of personal havoc (see Ladies of the Fountain someday when it’s published).

It started innocuously with WhiteFeather, Old Skull, Broken Joe, Johnny Heinstein and SaraBeth (a murder victim in one of the BTMGer’s novels).

Old Skull said, “I feeling very innocuous.”

“I felt that way once,” said Broken Joe. “The 60s cured me.”

“I’m dead,” said SaraBeth. “I’m feeling really shitty about that. And innocuous.”

“Just look at this,” said Broken Joe, showing the back of his shirt. “Instant cure for innocuous.”

And it worked.

Suddenly feeling innocuousated, Old Skull and Johnny jumped up on the fountain ledge and began reading from Johnny’s infamous Boxes poems.

WhiteFeather – not one to be fooled by pretty words and pre-bicameral thinking – said, “Johnny, I think you spelled the word “a” wrong in the piece that Old Skull just read.”

Johnny became very angry about at the discovery of his “a” literacy, and read so impassionedly that he didn’t notice Chris punching him in the side of the head in the hopes that it would shake his brain cells up enough to recognize the proper spelling of the word “a.”

As Broken Joe watched himself on his computer being watched by the web cam across the street, SaraBeth said, “Who the hell has problems spelling the word ‘a?’ I mean, take the word 4 … now there’s a toughie.”

WhiteFeather read with passion and conviction and never once spelled the word “a” wrong. However, she did mispronounce the word 4. Twice.

But she was very Canadian with the flag flying behind her, so everyone just nodded and said, “Them Canuks, ain’t they just wunnerful people fer cryin’ out loud?”

Suddenly something grew out of WhiteFeather’s leg – something with a camera – and it started taking pictures.

This triggered a picture-taking frenzy, with Old Skull moving in for the still and showing much attitude, Broken Joe capturing pictures of the photo carnage on his laptop through the web cam, and Chris taking pictures with his eyes closed, the visual atrocigraphy being too much to bear.

Biff gave an impassioned reading with a veritable smorgasbord of vile language and literary energy. He gave himself a hernia and punctuated every second sentence with the word “ouch.”

Biff jumped around in pain so much that Chris couldn’t get a well-focused picture. “Stop moving!” he yelled at Biff.

“Ouch!” yelled Biff and jumped to the left.

“I mean it!” yelled Chris.

“Ouch!” yelled Biff and jumped to the right.

Chris threw his camera at Biff’s head.

Mireille said, “Don’t worry, Biff, I got a picture of Chris’s cruelty to poet’s by focusing right between these two fingers and … oops … I guess the camera wasn’t exactly pointing in the same direction. Would you like a picture of my chin?”

Broken Joe did his famous under over flip and shoot away thing and got an even better shot of Mireille’s chin.

Joe was up next to read and did a perfectly Canadian job of spelling the word ‘a’ correctly and never once mispronouncing the word 4.

An unidentified bald guy thought, “Every fucking one of them misspelled the word ‘b.’”

Monday, September 03, 2007

Ladies of the Fountain, Part 2: A Place of Art

“Before we turn the town upside down,” said Alaia, “we should visit a place of art and find out how art has fared in over the last few hundred years.”

“Maybe we’ll meet some artists,” said Tia. “We’ll inspire the hell out of them and then …”

“Art can be so ephemeral,” said Epsy. “In fact, I think I’m going to use my penny on Ralph Fiennes. He’s so … so Gothic. I like Gothic.”

So the Ladies of the Fountain, set off in search for a place of art.

After much travel through the irrelevance of the modern art world, the ladies came across a place of true art, Ingrid Mueller’s Art+Concepts.

Ingrid greeted them with one of her warm smiles and said: “Are you sure you have the right city?”

The ladies looked somewhat disparaged and Ingrid took pity. “Come in. We’ll talk art. By the way, you all look strangely familiar. Have I met you before?”

The ladies gathered together and stood like they’d stood for hundreds of years. “Ring any bells?” said Alaia.

“Hmm,” said Ingrid. “Three … something. Something three. Three of a kind? Three partridges … oh … just sit the hell down and let’s talk.”

Ingrid sent her humble servant, Biffsteinashenblitz, for coffee and baked goods and the exploration of where art has come began.”

“You have many fine pieces of art on these walls,” said Alaia. “Do the mortals come here often to worship you?”

“No,” said Ingrid. “I think the only things people worship these days are TV, iPods, cell phones and Facebook.”

“Zounds!” said Tia. “Do you want us to wreck havoc upon the heads of these false gods?”

“Look!” said Epsy. “I’m a tree sneaking up on a false god, ready to pounce and wreak havoc.”

“No, Epsy!” said Tia. “No. No. No. Explore art first, pounce later.”

“But I think I saw an iPod,” said Epsy. “It might not be around after we’ve explored art.”

“Oh, I think there’s probably a few of them around,” said Tia. “False gods are usually everywhere.”

“Oh, stop tormenting Epsy,” said Alaia. “Let her pounce on the false gods.”

“I was just joking,” said Tia. “Just having a little fun.”

“Thank you, Alaia,” said Epsy. “I think I need a little pouncing after Matt turned out to be such a disappoint. He broke my heart, you know. Do you hear that Ralph? Matt Damon broke my heart.”

“I told you she’s from another world,” said Tia.

The ladies found a mirror with art sitting atop it. “Oh look!” said Tia. “It’s us. My god, we’re beautiful!”

“You certainly are,” said Ingrid. “Perhaps you’re art.”

“You’re not going to nail us to your walls, are you Ingrid,” said Epsy.

“No!” said Ingrid. “I have glass cases. Ha ha! Just joking.”

“You’re such a card,” said Alaia. “But go easy on Epsy. Matt Damon broke her heart.”

“How did he do that?”

“By being Matt Damon.”

“Look!” said Alaia. “I’m giving birth to an art uterus!”

“Careful with that birth,” said Ingrid. “You drop it, you buy it.”

“I feel a pounce coming on,” said Alaia.

Ingrid and the ladies converged on a painting. “You see this smudge of red, Epsy?” said Ingrid.

“Um … yes,” said Epsy.

“It reminds me of you,” said Ingrid.

“Hm … um … well,” said Epsy.

“Ingrid’s right!” said Alaia. “It’s such a beautiful smudge of red.”

“A thoughtful and intelligent smudge of red,” said Tia.

“And look at the eye with the tear coming out of it,” said Alaia. “To show your heartbreak.”

“This painting bespeaks great truths,” said Epsy.

They moved to another part of the gallery and played a game of rock-scissors-paper to decide who among the group had the closest affinity to the wolfen painting on the wall.

“Ha ha,” said Epsy. “I’ve got titanium scissors. They cut right through rock.”

“Has titanium been even invented yet?” asked Alaia.

“Yes,” said Ingrid. “But this is the first time I’ve seen it used in scissors.”

“I think they’re both from another planet,” said Tia.

And then Epsy found out that, as the winner, she had to go on a date with the model for the other painting.

Ingrid took the ladies into the reading section of Art+Concepts.

“These are some of the better magazines on art,” she said. “They may help you to catch up with what’s going on now in the art world.”

“Don’t any of these people speak Greek?” said Alaia.

Tia and Epsy studied the modern documents closely.

“You certainly have a lot of art documents,” said Alaia. “Do you read all of them?”

“Nobody reads them,” said Ingrid. “But the pictures are nice to look at.”

“I’m not seeing the art in here,” said Epsy. “It’s just pictures and words.”

“That woman is going to drive me crazy,” said Tia.

“She’ll be OK after she’s gotten a few beer into her,” said Alaia.

“These are just a guide,” said Ingrid. “You ignore what the critic says so that you don’t catch any nasty intellectual diseases like pomposity and superficiality and you look at the pictures and ask yourself if you like it.”

“So why are there more words than pictures?” said Alaia.

“Words cost less to print than pictures,” said Ingrid. “And besides, people need to be told how to think. Or they won’t think. They might actually have to come into a gallery, and think for themselves.”

“When was the last time you went into a gallery and thought for yourself,” said Epsy to the world in general.

Whereupon, Alaia lifted her hem and said, “I’ve always thought that my belly button is a work of art. It’s like a donut …”

“Don’t even go there,” said Tia.

“Now, this is a piece of real art,” said Ingrid. “I makes you pause for a moment and think. Notice the almost facial formation? That’s something to think about. It’s like it’s looking back at you.”

“Sort of in your face art?” said Alaia.

“I think I see our old buddy Pan in there,” said Tia.

“I have craft in my hand and I am observing art through craft,” said Epsy.

“Does anyone know what that hell she’s talking about?” said Tia.

“I think I see art through craft looking over art,” said Epsy.

“Oh, look, Epsy,” said Tia. “It’s Ralph Fiennes in the alley. “He’s with whatshername.”

“Do they always go on like this?” said Ingrid to Alaia.

“Wait till they’ve packed back a flagon of wine,” said Alaia.

Epsy looked at Ingrid through craft and said, “Ingrid! You’re art!”

Looking at Epsy through her own craft, Ingrid said, “Epsy, You’re art!”

“I don’t believe it,” said Tia. “The girl’s contagious!”

“Oh hell, they’re having fun,” said Alaia.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Tia. “Which reminds me … we need to be getting out there and spilling havoc on the town … and drinking beer and wine.”

The three ladies said goodbye to Ingrid and thanked her for having them in for a … sort of exploration of art.

“We’ll be back tomorrow … after we’ve turned the town upside down,” said Alaia.

Ingrid went to her office and fell immediately asleep. When she woke, she thought that the visit from the three ladies had all been a dream until she looked at the her desktop and saw ….

Art.

Coming soon: Ladies of the Fountain, Part 3