HEY oh, exciting news
I got an a Crake Internship which basically just gives me money to make an art project next semester. I’m going to make a book of poetry called ‘Little Songs for Impatient People’. I’m going to make printed illustrations and hopefully do the typogrophy on a printing press. I’m hoping to bind at least 25 of them.
empty spaces!
also of no relation to me.
I make a lot of mistakes but I feel like I have incredible luck
babies!
of no relation to me. 
Taken with slide film. I love slides. Someday I’m going to take my grandpa’s slides and upload them onto the computer. They’re so beautiful, I don’t know how many times I’ve gone through them. I also shown them to everyone who I can coerce into sitting for an hour in my room. Geology and history and memory.
I consider these photographs to be sort of in progress. I really need to work on my printing technique. I’m thinking I’m going to start making more liberal use of the contrast knob.
I’ve been reading this book on Dianne Arbus and I love her so much I could cry. She is so incredible and she says some of the best things I’ve ever heard. For example
“It’s like going around in a mirrorless world asking everyone you meet to describe you and everyone says endlessly, “you have a face even as I do and your eyes are bluer and big,” and even, “my smile when I look at you is you,” but you don’t believe it and then one day you bump smack into a stone wall and no one hears you say, “ouch,” and your whole problem is solved.”
also
“Everybody has this thing where they need to look one way but they come out looking another way and that’s what people observe. You see someone on the street and essentially what you notice about them is the flaw… Our whole guise is like giving a sign to the world to think of us in a certain way, but there’s a point between what you want people to know about you and what you can’t help people knowing about you. And that has to do with with I’ve always called the gap between intention and effect.”
I think you can see what she’s talking about here so clearly in her photographs. The difference between image and fantasy and what it turns into in reality.
I want to take more pictures and be more careful about them.
Some skeleton inside of you is wearing a grin
like a mexican sugar candy,
teeth scored back, happy happy
My skin is expressive rubber
stretched over top of you.
little lines are gouache, embedded
with collected things,
the dust of the day.
oh but my bones
crack and pop like they’re made of cherry bombs.
Our friendly skeletons hardly bend.
——————
These pictures are taken with a super sweet old simple camera, a hawk-eye brownie.
Peanut Butter
What can I squirrel away?
The smell of morning when no one is listening but the crows
(I can sing to myself because they will not tell anyone,
though they’re smart enough to notice).
Dirty summers
will stick to my fingers
and hands.
Days which pulsed like subway cars,
will jitter and roll
down my throat.
We were all standing around staring at each other,
(or out the window
if our eyes got too close.)
Now, the voices outside are a refrain
yelling and smiling, I love them all.
so I will move like my blood is sticky sweet
to meet the appointments that I meet,
with a smile,
I love them all.
I’ve recently come to really love this photographer called Lars Tunbjork. I’ve been taking lots of pictures recently of kind of… empty spaces? I really like empty spaces. I find myself taking all of these pictures of walls and floors and I think of this:
I think my thermostat is broken. It is always fucking hot in here.
It’s been a while. There will probably be more to come soon.
These are just some doodle type things for friends.
mmmm marks.
For whatever reason Flikr has decided to make it really difficult to find photo URLs. Jerks.
In other news, I’ve dyed my hair black. Humm, life is good. I’ve been scheming, all kinds of things.
We are bright new colours on a bulleten board.
When the lights turn out I can see you running into the river half crazy.
I am staring at the moon, walking blindly into the woods with no light,
lying on the lawn for hours saying nothing.
This house is a photograph of us
it yawns secrets in our faces,
breaths conversations long converted to mythology.
The paint is chipping and a window frame is missing.
We stole things from here and it made us it’s own.
When we pulled up in the driveway,
the yard tangled joyful and new.
It takes memory and carries it,
breaths heavy,
breaths paint and spiders all the way to the trees who don’t care
rebounds, blown flat and laughing at the sky
like it doesn’t matter when it rains.
Speak to me about the presence of time,
dissolving and consistent,
so I don’t have to be so shy when I feel the dull press of fear against my back.
What was in me is never going to exist like it did
played out in sunlight and lamplight and 50 watt bulbs.
We thought we carved canyons in this house,
now Queen Anne’s lace grows like ghostly kingdoms.
I got a chance to interview christopher pratt (a Canadian artist who graduated from Mount A) the other day for the campus radio station, CHMA. COOL.
He was so laid back and interesting and he said a lot of things that I really liked. For example, being an artist is a job like any other and you need to work hard like any other job and he also said that human relationships come before anything else and I think that’s so true too.
He also talked a lot about sackville and what’s changed and what hasn’t. It’s nice to be in a place with so much history
well, maybe I’ll put up the interview once it’s all edited and everything
