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 Fucked Up a Photo

It was only until recently that I realized where my photographic style is heading / has always been. My father and I were laying on a beach in Florida last week. We'd taken a spontaneous road trip to Naples, FL for a week and found ourselves an afternoon to relax that wasn't actually spent inside a car. There we sat, beneath a 40 degree sun, facing the Gulf of Mexico. I think I was thirteen the last time I saw that water. There was, as there is every summer afternoon in Florida, an incredible storm system developing everywhere around us. Blue skies were turning into black and winds began to pick up. However, this didn't stop most of us from visiting the beach.

Directly next to me was my Mamiya 645 medium-format camera. I purchased it in early May and it hasn't left my side ever since. It literally changed the way I visualize, approach, and execute photographs. The decision to switch to medium-format simply stemmed for my current distaste for both 35mm film (in terms of it's grain seen upon printing) and digital (I don't know if I've ever put my heart into a digital photo my entire life). My Mamiya is fully, fully manual; some shots I'm not even sure will pan-out because I've tried to shoot them on the fly and each exposure requires careful attention to several aspects.

So there I am: dad, a storm, my camera, a beach, and myself. My dad suggested I take a photo of the oncoming storm. To his credit, my dad taught me composition at a very young age. "Get some of those ferns in the foreground, And" he has said to me at ages five, fifteen, and twenty-five. I agreed with him and pulled my camera out whilst being protective of swirling sand. I veered through the viewfinder and opted for a vertical composition (holy shit folks, this is like the punk rock version of photography). However, I noticed something very personally satisying that was creeping into the frame from below: my fathers tanned, hairy, sweating stomach. This balanced the photo perfectly. From top to bottom: the towering storm system that is contained by the frame, descending towards hoards of umbrellas, bodies and sand, only to be anchored in the lower-third portion of the photo by a glistening male stomach. I quickly made the correct exposure adjustments, cranked the advancement lever and took the photo.

For me, all I could think of was how much this photograph summed up "Florida": Sure, there's a view, but there's also a lot of tanned old people.

And that's exactly what attracts me when taking personal photographs. By "personal" I mean images that are intended for nothing other than advancing my own body of work. For lack of better wording, I enjoying aesthetically pleasing photographs with something fucked up about them. Something perhaps that is small in the frame, but just captivating enough to make you question why it's there. To continue the story, I wanted my dad to take a photo with my camera, in an effort to experience a sort of "passing-the-torch-full-circle" moment between the two of us. The only direction I gave was "shoot that way", to which I pointed towards the other end of the beach. As he walked away, I noticed a large family tearing down there beach gear to go home directly in his path. I thought it would have made a great photo to see an oncoming storm and a dissatisfied family heading for the hills. He walked right past them. Seeing as I wanted him to take the photo he wanted (which was not doubt a conventional landscape), I kept my mouth closed and watched him handle a camera older than any of his children.

I want to say this is a rather recent discovery, but not only have I been practicing photography in this fashion, I've been living it. For instance, whenever I put on an outfit, I make sure there's usually one fucked-up aspect to it ie. a nice collared shirt/sweater combination with some nice jeans and white shoes that have been painted black and have blown so far open you can see my socks. Like showing up to a well-dressed b.y.o.b. event and holding a 40 oz Olde English. So, to say that this recent "refining" of a photographic style is news to myself, it really isn't, because I live it every time I walk out my door.

PORTPHOTIO pt. 1

As with any of my creative endeavors, I feel the need to further explain myself.
Recently I posted PORTPHOTIO; an online video rendition of my film-based photography portfolio. There are a few things I should mention before/after you watch this video.

For starters, there are two different photo projects within the video: "Mind Spaces" (0:25-1:45), "If The Ladies Ain't Happy, Nobody Is" (2:30-3:10), and "I Could Have Sworn They Were Just Here" (3:40-4:20), which only contains half of the finished series due to time restrictions.

The Mind Spaces series, which I have written about before on this site, illustrates how the basis of our knowledge can be defined by simple four-walled rooms, whether through means of education or life experience. If The Ladies Ain't Happy, Nobody Is is a series of cyanotypes that depicts a 5-minute incident that took place between a group of boys and a single girl in Positano, Italy. I Could Have Sworn They Were Just Here is a creative documentary project based off the idea of abandonment and traces of human presence.

Within the video there is also a large amount of travel photography. Seeing as I always bring film cameras with me when I travel (something I do to large scale at least once a year) it is only fitting that I incorporate that work into my portfolio. Within, countries such as Canada, the U.S., Cuba, Australia, Italy, Fiji, New Zealand, can be seen, whether through landscape or portraiture. This is by no means my entire travel catalog. In fact, I have another 15 rolls of used film sitting in my freezer awaiting processing - another reason why I included "pt. 1" in the films title - indicating that this will most likely be an ongoing process.

Thirdly, I should touch on the digital aspect of this project. Aside from a few select photo's that were printed either chromogenically or inkjet (which I can clarify if anyone was really curious), the bulk of the work was shot on film and printed within a darkroom. Considering that I have an equal (if not more) amount of digital photography, I deemed it necessary to leave that work aside for another video project, which could easily occupy a similar amount of time. Separating these two was critical in my mind.

The video format idea was simply an accessibility idea. Seeing as my artistic website is not complete, I felt a different means of showcasing the work was needed. Considering that we live in a media-friendly age, I thought it best that the viewer relax and enjoy having myself flip through the images for them. Oh, YouTube didn't pick up on it, but the song playing is Sentimental X's - Broken Social Scene. It was the least annoying and most time appropriate song on my computer.

Lastly, how has the pun "portphotio" not been used yet? Sure, if you look it up on Google you will see a slew of sites, but most of them direct you to unknown domains and leave you stranded on foreign territory. If you type in "portphotio" on YouTube, it's the only video by that name. To me, being the YouTube junky that I am, that is some sort of milestone. After searching just now, "Paintfolio" doesn't exist either. If anyone reading this steals this idea, you better lawyer up asshole, because I thought of both.

On a lighter note, I really hope you enjoy the film, because it was intended for you all to see. Keep in mind that this is by no means a completed project, but rather an ongoing one.

Andy Schmidt 2010.

ps. If the video does not fit due to its widescreen aspect ratio, view it here.

King Shit

For a while now I've been tampering with the idea of scoring. Not scoring chicks. Scoring films. I'll blame it on the combination of my most recent university elective "Music and Film", as well as the Pianomation project. The course has given me a lot of insight as to the purpose of music in films, as well as the multitude of ways and styles the music can affect the viewer.
Its actually come to the point where I might begin to offer my services to film students seeking unique original scores.

Now, I'm not saying I'm King Shit when it comes to making music. I've had no formal training on any of the instruments I know how to play (except the Chinese dizi flute, which I can actually read music for as well). My familiarity with drums, bass, guitars, piano, percussion etc. are all bi-products of years tinkering (I'll call it tinkering for the sake of not saying "rigorous practice"). I will most often pick up an instrument and play until I'm satisfied with something I've done. Does this lack of training hinder me from my ambitions? No. Does the fact that I will probably never willingly seek lessons make me lose sleep? Not at all. You would be interested to hear how many of your beloved musicians have no idea how to read music, such as Billy Joel, Phil Collins and famed composer Danny Elfman. None of them have a clue, and that's fine by them.

Now, I'm not saying I'm King Shit when it comes to making music, but by fuck do I love making it. I'm going to risk sounding like an idiot when I say making music is one incredible experience. Seeing as the options are limitless, it's just you versus your instruments. The number of possibilities for harmonies, arrangements, instrumentations, timbres, placement, rhythm, etc. are sitting there waiting for you. It's seriously amusing, and I wish for you all to experience it one day.
I remember my first experience scoring a film. A friend made a silent spaghetti western in his apartment and asked me to provide an impromptu soundtrack. Using a dictaphone, an acoustic guitar, and a jar full of peppercorns, we crafted a soundtrack in about an hours time. The finished product was as satisfying to me as pulling a perfectly exposed print from a developer tray. There's something about seeing a completed piece that just gives you the willies.
I'm fairly new to this idea, and I'm sure my first few attempts would be the audible depiction of a child's first steps, but it scratches me where I itch.
Who knows for sure though. Like I've said before: I could probably compile a list of more than 30 artistic endeavors that have never transpired due to time and money.

drifters

I firmly believe that an artists value should not only be validated through the content of their work, but also the incessant need to create it in the first place.

The only condition in which I'd actually look myself in the mirror and call myself an "artist" (a debate that has been touched upon many times on this site) is that I just want to lay all my ideas down somewhere I can see them. I don't really give a shit if anyone ever sees them; I just need to know I made them. In fact, 90% of all the work I've ever made sits in the dark. However, I experience solace knowing that it even transpired.

It shocks me to hear that some of my closest friends, who's works of art I once loved in the past, have nearly completely abandoned their love for creating more work and/or have barely made any since our last encounter. I don't understand how a once burning passion to created images was simply done and done-with after a certain point in their lives. Isn't it something that should just burn like an ember inside of you?

Personally, I know that once I have an idea in my head, it's go time. I smirk to myself, write or type it in detail (because one time I was drunk and wrote "family security" on a piece of paper and had no idea what the fuck I was getting at the next day), and then sleep on it. That entire night, I'll lay in bed with the sensation that I'd just won the lottery and didn't want to tell anyone. I then damn-near run to my studio within days to get things moving on a canvas. Nothing can get in the way of this kind of speed, because usually I know exactly what the finished pieces are going to look like, almost how a chef can taste the food before it's been prepared.

So for me to hear that ones inspiration to create is all but lost, it confuses me more than anything. I was going to say it saddens and upsets me, but a lack of motivation and drive are not character traits I hold very high. If you want to make it, make it. If not, just keep drifting.

bernini's "david" looks like me

Ahhhhh shit. There goes another one:

i'm on a boat

Why do I seriously look like everybody?

I see look-alikes all the time that I don't post but some are just too good to pass up. Like this one, from Pierre-Auguste Renoir's "Luncheon of the Boating Party". I passed it while studying tonight and noticed myself sitting the corner of the piece, with a Skid Row beater on no less!!

I gots to get me that hat for the summer.

danny in three

I finished this piece a few weeks ago for a required school assignment. I'd been toying with the idea of manipulating photos through various mediums over the past few months and have recently jumped head-first into the pool.

I suppose I was originally inspired by the works of Christo and Jean-Claude a few years back. I was obsessed with Christo's draftsmanship when applying pastel and various other mediums to schematic photographs. For those of you unfamiliar, first: what have you been doing with your life, and second: here's a link.

There will be a lot more of this work coming out of my studio these next couple months. My newest series is driven by memory: I plan to blow up (massive) old black and white photographs and apply washes of color in attempt to recreate how I remember them at the point of when they were initially shot. Exciting, no question.

Percussion Gun

I was fully prepared to write an entire piece about the trials and tribulations of 2009, but decided against it seeing as I'd much rather finish cooking my meatballs and fried spring rolls. End of the decade, blah blah blah. Lotta shit went down, and you don't need to read about it here.

I was actually surprised to hear that 2009 was an awful year for most of my friends. I personally thought it was fucking awesome, but only through the powers of circumstance.

Throughout the year I visited Poland, Germany, Austria, Czech Republic, Hungary, England, New York City, New Baltimore, Detroit, Quebec, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island and Newfoundland. I managed to dodge one of the worst Toronto summers (including the garbage strike) and hung around for the warmest November in over 100 years. I even broke a bone.

As in any year, most of you may know that, although I believe resolutions are bullshit and meaningless to a degree, a new resolution is to be made for myself.

After a discussion with a professor on the topic of promotion in the art world, he stated in clear black and white that nobody can begin representing your work but yourself. This is in fact true. I don't know what I was waiting for, but I have a studio absolutely full of work that could be hung at any moment. This is where the resolution comes into play.

Man of Action

This year is going to be all about progress. The word itself has always intimidated me. I get comfortable in some situations and find it hard to detach myself from it. However, I slowly realized that progress really isn't hard at all. It's just a matter of movement, motivation, and passion working harmoniously towards an attainable goal.

The other day I clearly, in my mind, mapped out what I want out of my life. Then I realized I'm 23 years old, and that there is still plenty of time. Yet why wait? Why not jump start things and showcase work at all times? - although I've been technically showcasing and selling work at Orange Alert for over two years.

Man of Action is all about, well, action. Making calls, finishing my website (the lack of it is fully my fault - digging up and documenting past work kills my soul), sending emails, getting work, and making connections. I'm ready, and I'll do it. Upswing, baby.

Happy New Day.

April 19, 1990

Today, I decided I'm going to be an artist.

marla and me

I've mentioned it a hundred times over: I am utterly confused by the term artist. He's an artist, she's an artist, they're artists. It all boggles my mind, and I'll tell you why.

The reason I'm so confused by this term is that I thoroughly believe that anyone is capable of making art. We all are. In fact, I know people who are more an artist than I and they don't even make art. It's in the way they carry themselves: the way they articulate words and tinker with anything tangible, almost unconsciously. Then there are those that make art, but do not consciously think it's good enough to display and become discouraged out of any sort of exhibitionism for their work. There are also some that make art and don't even know it.

There are also those that claim to be artists, which is all good, provided you backup your statement, you ballsy prick. Like I said, I've mentioned this argument before.

There is a massive grey area to be seen. For instance, in the dictionary the term "artist" seems fairly straight forward: the centric line states "a person who produces paintings or drawings as a profession or hobby". Fine. Later, the same dictionary mentions singers, dancers, and actors. Except what the hell is a singer creating? All they really do is remember someone's lyrics and make their vocal chords vibrate. However, they do have the capacity to provoke emotion, just as much as Christo's big bedsheets, Serrano's Piss Christ and Rothko's squares of color.

The fact of the matter is, everything that has been indeed deemed "art" has provoked some sort of emotion one way or another. Your kids crayon drawings, your dog barking (ever hear that barking solo from Eels?), the suds on your car. This is where the problem presents itself to me, because all I see is grey.

If somebody were to walk into a room and a friend of mine turns and says "Hey, that guys an artist!" I'd say "Fuck him". Not the most well-rounded argument, but it's a state of mind.

HOWEVER

There are people who I do truly credit as artists. They've paid their due's, and got paid. Fine. My big problem is finding the line between your seven year old kid and the man who hangs work every two weeks in seven countries. A prime example of this can be seen in the film My Kid Could Paint That.

Although I'm not looking for the answer just yet, let it be known that I'm still on my quest. Because nothing makes me feel dirtier than calling myself "an awwwwtist".

tbc.

pink cloud tracing paper

Sometimes, life just isn't fair.

Before summer began, I spent over two months working on the same painting. It barely budged. I would constantly work, re-work, and re-adjust on the same canvas - which is a terrible ordeal for the same piece of fabric when working with oil. I could never settle on a color scheme, nor an image itself. This is the type of thing that misdirects my ambition the most.

However, freakishly, today I nearly finished two in two hours.

Where is the justice?

I only have one real explanation for such ordeals:

Normally, I'll enter the studio with an idea in mind. Seeing as I predominantly work in landscape, I'll have an idea for color schemes, cloud shapes, and terrain. Some days, like today, are just considered "Hail Mary's". That's when you take everything you thought of before hand and just throw it out the window.

I had a very shape-shifting talk with MB one day, about a year ago. I was yammering about my approach to painting and how, if I don't know something, I do my research. If I'm ignorant to a fact, it would usually induce a big coffee, a big walk, and a big read. I'd never leave anything to chance. I would examine every approach (even chemically, at times), study color wheels and different brush strokes before I even thought of touching oil again.

I'd heard everything she was saying before, but really did need to hear it again.

There are times, artistically, when you really need to let things take their course. This afternoon, for instance, my nose never left the surface of the canvas. I threw every tendency to reevaluate the piece out the window, and let imagination take it's course. Colors shifted seamlessly. Blending happened naturally. I should have prefaced this article by saying that landscape artwork is vastly subjective. I once asked my friend Scott (way back) how to paint proper clouds, to which he answered "there is no real way to do it". I took that advice very literally, and decided to base an entire series of work based off that statement.


I am currently working on Absolute Nothings . This series will be in the works for the next few months, and will combine ideas from past works, with a slight twist. I'll keep you all posted on the progression, which may be a long time coming considering there is mathematical research involved.

ps. Flash portfolio website is in the works.

rebel yell

I love this thing.

When I graduated grade eight, my parents bought me the Canon Rebel G. It was my first camera, save for a few junky disposables. Since then I've used it at least once a month.

It loads film like a dream. The auto focus is still lightning fast. The pop-up flash impresses girls. I've never had a bad exposure (unless due to my manual settings) in all it's years of use. It works as good as the day I got it. It's a very meat and potatoes camera; not very flashy looking, no great features, just a straight up camera.

The sounds it makes sound like it's really getting things done. When you press that shutter button down it really sounds like you've just chopped wood. If it were a household appliance, it would be a washing machine, because as soon as you press go, you know some shit just went down.

I've owned many different cameras in my day, but this one consistently impresses me. I've brought it on every major trip. Whenever I need a reliable camera for a shoot (or multiples), this one is always included in the mix. Even my digital SLR can't stand up to it. I love it so much, I own two. The other one is black. BK, you can have it back whenever you want.

They used to run for about $900 back in the day, but you could probably get yourself the full deal nowadays for around $150. If you're a film enthusiast, I highly recommend this beauty.

DEL

As previously mentioned, I had a show in Scarborough, last week? I'm not sure exactly. My days are becoming so full that I can't tell what day it is anymore, but that's good.

The show went exactly how I thought it would go. I'd show up, hang my single piece (which I'm almost certain was the largest there), walk around for a while kissing babies, then bugger off for a while to enjoy the sun. That day, now looking back, was actually a lot of fun. Dan and I don't really get to just hang out much anymore, so it was fun to kick it together just like old times. The only thing we did all day was crack jokes, and I wish I was exaggerating about that. Later that night we met with some friends and didn't feel like laughing anymore.

I had my wall space good and ready to go. As usual, I was a horrible self-promoter. So bad in fact that I wrote my contact information on what I thought were business cards they provided, which in fact were raffle tickets. hahahah, holy shit. This funny gay couple (who were all over East and DP) were saddened by the fact that I couldn't hang the piece higher on the display. They had a point, but I wasn't too shook by it.

After seeing the light cast by the bulb in the top left corner of this piece I became really attached to that sun spot. I've considered roughing one in.

The free coffee, tea and cookies didn't quite get rid of my hangover, but definitely helped the conversations flow a bit faster.

This character, seen above in the tight red sweats, gold bling, and a child's Raptors jersey, absolutely needs to be mentioned.
The man's name was Ian Moo Young, and I'm pretty sure he was absolutely off his rocker. He showed up to the show with a cart full of shit, including a mop, bottles of liquor, and a big red rug. These would all be included in his wacky display later in the day.
At the beginning of the day I became jealous when seeing him speak to other exhibitors. I just wanted him to, you know, flirt with me a little.

Moo indeed was off his rocker. After nearly being thrown out for calling a photographer a "shit" and "an asshole", he fled to East and DP to hide from the women running the event. At this point, Moo went on and on for almost two hours about all kinds of things. I can only really skim the surface when talking about what he said, so I'll try. These are some of his accomplishments:

a) He trained several of the top tennis players in the world, and wants to one day, win the Wimbledon. He said he still schools world-ranking youngsters.

b) At one point, he was one of the top filmmakers in Britain, and directed more than one hundred commercials for many corporations throughout the UK.

c) Was good friends with Princess Diana, and that the only reason they never hooked up was because they were both in relationships at the wrong times. And since this was the case, somebody he called The Duke of Devonshire wanted him dead, which leads to the next point.

d) He's killed people. After being chased into a cave by assassins at night, somewhere in the Southern Pacific, he proceeded to kill one man by throwing his machete at him. He killed the other two assassins by spreading a bad of pigs blood (which he seemed to have on him at the time) on the ground the attract the local tigers. Every time he mentioned someone dying, he let out the creepiest laugh I've ever heard.

e) He's dated supermodels and is the eye of any woman he meets. He planned on asking a girl he met at the show if she wanted to be in his next film. I'm just going to assume she said no.

Needless to say, Moo was nuts, and I'm sure only 1% of everything he said was true. Although, his work was interesting and some of the motifs presented were intriguing. Just stuff about how we're all mermaids, and then something about foot fetishes. Whatever.

Either way, the day was an over all success, and it's always fun to drive on the Don Valley Parkway.

i used to rule the world

This video is simply brilliant. I swiped it after seeing it pop up on several blogs in the past few days. Give it a watch...



I was immediately drawn to this video because these 4-chord progression issues present themselves every day when my band writes and records. It's amazing how liberating, and confining the writing process can be, especially with melodies, because you have to surrender yourself to the fact that everything has been done once. All the hooks, every guitar part, every drum beat - it's all coming from somewhere whether you thought of it or not.

With this day and age, you have to be really careful what you write and what it sounds like, because some people aren't too happy when someone jacks their tunes, even if it is to just make a buck off the big guys.

give a fuck? me neither

Tomorrow I am taking part in Del's 13th Annual group exibition.

It's in Scarborough. The ultimate success will be me not getting mugged.

If you really, really feel like coming, the show is located at 275 Bangurgh Circle, Scarborough Ontario. I'm bringing my best friend to help set up and drink coffee together. Other than that, it's just an opportunity for me to kiss babies and sling bullshit.

the secret machine

Sunday's, believe it or not, are usually the most eventfull day in my week. I'll try to put myself into harms way as much as possible.

After clearing my head from last nights mosh-fest with a good old sleep in, I decided it was time for a proper meal. I settled on a breakfast of homemade hash browns, bacon, carmelized onions, creamed spinach, and fried eggs. This took forever because I haven't fully figured out how to make perfect hash browns yet (recipes are my enemy). I cook by trial and error.
Once I was done eating I called my mum and lovingly wished her a happy Mother's Day. She deserves every bit of it, because I have the best mum on the planet, no matter how much you argue with me.

Now, something I usually do with my Sunday's is to go for a nice long walk. This walk usually starts somewhere around St. Clair station, as I will take the subway up there on the Yonge line, just to walk home. However, I decided this was too short for my liking and headed west on Bloor St. I had a savage headache at the time. Listening to Stockholm Syndrome on full blast didn't help too much either, but who cares?

Upon walking into the Annex, I decided visit the local BMV. Here, I do as I usually do in any book store: walk to the travel and maps section. To be totally honest, I have no idea why this happens. It is simply the most attractive section of any book store to me. I think books on travel and maps are romantic and mysterious, full of honesty and curiosity. I have a serious love for old world exploration maps. I'll go into further detail about this love at another time.

Around this time, I got a call from John Bean. Oh John, my friend. We decided to meet up for a pint a half an hour from the time of his call, so it was time to get some food first.

I stopped by the local Ginger to grab a quick bite. It was here that I also experienced my latest panic attack. I should first mention that panic attacks are nothing new to me. I used to get them quite predictibly when I was young. I couldn't watch an IMAX movie without having a freak-out session. The sheer size of the screen would cause panic. Yet they have become less frequent, thankfully, over the past several years. But by god are they horrible. It feels like a bad drug trip without the excuse. With drugs you can at least convince yourself that there are powers at work that are beyond your control. When it's a straight-up panic attack it's scarier because it's just you and your mind working against each other.


These are your usual symptoms:

• Rapid heart beat, pounding heart or palpitations
• Sweating
• Shaking visibly or inside
• Choking sensations or lump in throat
  
• Smothering or shortness of breath sensations
• Nausea, bloating, indigestion or abdominal discomfort
• Dizziness or unsteadiness
• Feeling light-headed
• Derealization (feeling unreal or dreamy)
• Depersonalization (feeling outside yourself or like you don't exist)
• Fear of losing control or going crazy
• Paresthesias (numbness or tingling sensations) in face, extremities or body
• Chills or hot flushes
• Skin losing color
• Blushing or skin blotches

However some symptoms are more present than others, the major symptoms I experience are Derealization, Depersonalization, and Paresthesias (and not because they are all big words). There may be others but I am almost always alone when they occur.

Basically, try to imagine that your head is floating, severed from your body, and that you aren't even present existentially. The only way to remind yourself that you have arms and legs is to either attempt moving them or to pinch them, just to remind you that they are still there. Anti-gravitational pull seems to take effect and you'll feel like you're about to be sucked into the ceiling at top speed. You can't read, you can't hear a thing, and the person you thought you were is reduced to a pile of functionless matter. Everything shakes, and everything is scary; even the comics section of the paper you so dearly love.

Luckily, the thought of seeing John kept me grounded enough to stomach my meal and meet him at Bathurst station.

Long story short: we went to the Green Room, downed a few jugs of Tankhouse, and chatted each other up. John is a great listener. He lets me chew his ears off. We talk a lot about film, hip hop, girl problems, old friends, modern day technological problems, and things that make us laugh - amongst other things. Our usual policy is: meet for a beer when the sun is up, leave our beer when the sun is down. Tonight was no different. John is one of those friends that I know I'll be checking out girls with when we're 60. I can just see it coming.



Regardless, that was my Sunday. How was yours?

I am a business

So I decided to get my taxes done yesterday. Nearing the end of the session at H&R Block (which was terribly located on the fifth floor of The Bay near the kids clothing section, and they only told me the address of the building), I was asked if I had any other source of income. I bit the bullet and reluctantly said that I was an artist (and not because of tax evasion purposes). After a bunch of questions and fine print reading, I qualified to be a small business owner!

In reality it's probably not all that cool, but this will definitely be beneficial for me seeing as I can claim all of my material expenses on my income tax returns. And that is a lot of money. I roughly estimated that over one thousand was spent within the last eight months. But, you have to give to get I guess.

I'm really looking forward to this. I've always enjoyed personal banking, not business. I still go to my branch to pay my bills and make transactions. In fact, I've never even attempted online banking before. There's something about the tangible exchange of money that just feels more sound in my mind, and it gets me out of the house. Does this mean I have to starting wearing my suits? Sweet! I fucking love wearing suits.

if this post is riddled with spelling mistakes, please cut me some slack. it was done one-handed

studio log

music credit: Beirut - The Concubine

more than this

Please excuse the amazingly bad quality of these images. They were all taken in iPhoto. There's some awesome window glare on pretty much all of them. I assure you they look better in person. Oh, ps, the last image is actually not that small. Fooooled you.