The Unofficial Escapescapes Manifesto

One night last year I was walking down Queen Street here in Toronto. It was about 1 a.m. and I was alone. Although it wasn't the weekend, the summer air had the city in full party behavior. As I approached a well-known Toronto bar, I noticed someone being thrown out the front door by security guards. As it turned out, I not only knew who this person was, but also went to high school with him. I won't mention his name because it is not important to the story.
As he laid on the sidewalk looking like a pile of dirty laundry, I walked up to him to see if he was okay. He looked up at me in his brutally intoxicated state and, without even saying hello, says
"Hey man, are you still doing those large prairie landscape paintings?"
"Yes" I said, and continued on my way.
I haven't spoken to him since.

To be completely honest, I have no idea why I make these paintings. To take it a step further, I am almost comfortable saying that I don't even like looking at other landscape paintings, even my own sometimes.


My very first landscape that I can recall painting was when I was 18 and in high school. At that point I had no real direction in my artwork and experimented with still life, abstract, color fields, watercolor and photorealism. In fact, my first landscape piece was actually a seascape done with acrylic (which I later sold to a teacher who hilariously claimed it was the finest piece she'd ever seen come out of the paint department). It didn't stop there. From then on, all I could think of was landscapes. My focus was channeled into not only the landscape genre, but a very specific, almost minimalist approach to rendering each image.

This shift will be approaching its ten year anniversary very soon. Dozens of canvases and numerous showings later, I'm still producing work in the same style as I did all those years ago. The thought of whether or not I've progressed has never crossed my mind. Yet now that I think of it, I suppose that the only progress I've made is in my technique and knowledge of the materials I use. The work itself remains on a constant thread of ideologies and subject matter. Yet what is the work?

These paintings are large: I don't operate well in small spaces because I am not a small person. I like the idea that the canvas size should be an extension of the dimensions of your body, and that your arms, hands, and eyes should have room to roam freely within that space. They are landscapes, yes. There is always a distinct horizon line, one that I can't help but keep perfectly straight. The colors and moods created are fictional, and the palettes I've used have ranged from the natural blue skies to alien tones such as greens, purples, and yellows.

Although they would readily be classified as landscapes, I almost consider them to be more of cloud portrait paintings, which is where I believe the main focus to be in most of the pieces.

As I mentioned in the story at the beginning, some people believe these paintings to be grounded in the prairie landscape. Although I can understand that they give this impression through their flatness, I would have to disagree on some level. When I arrange these works, I am usually more drawn to marsh-like landscapes than farmed land. I find that the presence of water within a landscape provides endless possibilities for reflections, compositions and dynamism. That's not to say that I don't draw inspiration from the prairies: let's not forget that I drove there with specific intent on studying them years ago.

So why do I make them? I'm still not exactly sure. I think it's because they just make so much sense to me. Also, I think the fact that I still make plenty of mistakes when I paint, and will often paint over work in progress or older work (my most recent painting has four others underneath it), keeps me wanting to continue and practice more and more. The title "Escapescapes" comes from this yearning to leave the urban life for nature, so they have that sense of escapism. Having said that, I don't use reference material for most of these works, and that they imaginative love letters to the outside world. They are generally beautified glorifications of landscapes: the colors used are by and large sweet and warm tones - speaking to the hopeful notion that the grass is greener on the other side.
I should also mention that the majority of my work was done within a room with no windows, no power, and no ventilation, so you can see why the idea of escaping to somewhere natural was a necessary idea.


With that in mind, I would be the first to tell you that these works are inherently selfish. I love that people have been moved by these paintings, but it is very personal work and I do it mainly out of self gratification. This is why I've usually had trouble with the idea of doing commissioned work from photographs.

For now, I will continue to produce these works for an upcoming solo show this summer. I have no desire to stop producing these works, and am fortunate to have new spaces to paint and hang work continuously.


 

i sweat

I'm all done my drum recordings.

Am I pleased with the parts? For now, yes.

Am I happy it's over? Fuck no.

We stretched the recording session over two days at the Ontario Institute of Audio Recording Technologies. Since we recorded two songs with some young blood there over a year ago, we were pretty familiar with the studio space. This time around we recorded in a separate room from the control center, which was nice for me because I didn't feel as if I was under a microscope the entire time from everyone watching. Just me and the Lodge.

I thought I'd take this opportunity to explain a few things seen in the second recording diary.



The "acoustic demo's" seen being recorded at the very beginning of the video are strictly for my benefit and will never make the actual recording. They are just for me to play along with and are recorded to a metronome.

I brought six shirts this time mostly for jokes, and for the fact that it's hotter than hell in that room and I play with a little bit of impact to say the least. And I sweat. When I'm drumming, oh boy do I sweat.

What get's me most is when people come up to me after shows, hug me or touch my back, and become disgusted by the amount of sweat on me. What, are you fucking surprised? What do you think would happen to you after an hour of using every extremity to it's peak stamina? Do you think you'd break a sweat after pounding the shit out of something while sitting under KFC heat lamps, on stage, in a 20-plus degree club? You're damn right you would. So please, try not to be surprised when you come in for a hug and I warn you that your clothes may not come out the same once the embrace is over. Because drumming is a sweaty procedure. Trust me.

I should say something about Birdman.
Birdman can simply be described as a "road game" or something to be played amongst close friends. You know that childhood game where you'd make a ring with your fingers and if the person looked into it you get to punch them? It's a more instense version of that.
Basically, if you make eye-contact with someone who's giving you the Birdman face, you have to lay flat on your back - no matter where you are. On the road, in your kitchen, in a restaurant, at the mall: it's all fair game. Meme, BK and I are all really good and crafty at it. It just takes some creativity and a sense of humor and you're off. I think it's hilarious, because it's like the feeling a black person gets when slamming down a Domino, except anyone can play.

The 3 broken sticks? I can't explain that either, because I've been breaking sticks like crazy lately. Even at our cottage show in Kincardine I broke four during one set. Strange.

"2 really tired guys". They went out drinking the night before. Colin barfed under a table at Joe Kool's and I laughed really hard when I heard that. I sided on staying in for a nights sleep.

The fact that the 6 tracks that needed recording was done in 5 hours was a two-sided effort. On my behalf, I was very ready to record and even impressed myself at the speed in which the takes were completed, even though most of the songs were more difficult than the previous recording session. More importantly, our producer Mikey T and recording assistant Jeff worked with a notable expedience that did not go unnoticed. I can honestly say I was thoroughly impressed by their diligence and input they put forth. They met my every demand (such as cue's, playbacks, and coffee breaks) and were patient during equipment change-overs. If there were a manly way to send flowers, those boys would have gardens from me by now.

At the end, the "misunderstanding" was Mike coming in for a hug, which I assumed was a chest-bump. Needless to say, I chest-bumped him and we had a good laugh.

ps. the line from Mike at the end was a Care Bears reference. If that doesn't ring a bell, nothing will.

mizokami san

Have you ever seen an ear do this?

Tomo dropped this bomb on us a couple months back, and nobody was ready.


"Doesn't it look like a dumpling?"

That's as close as you get to me laughing without rolling on the floor.