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.


 

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.

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.

ringing ears

We had rehearsals today for the first time in almost a month. Jess was in Portugal and Andrew was pissing out his ass in Peru (Dan and I sympathized, as we had similar stomach problems in Fiji - needless to say, we all had a good laugh).

So with them back, we had a really fun Sunday afternoon jam and went over most of the material we've been working on, as well as a couple new diddy's. On top of that, it had to be the loudest jam to date. The boys bought a beautiful new VOX amp for electric guitars, which means we now play with two electrics, bass, keyboards, and drums all at the same time. As you can probably notice from the photo, the space isn't huge. This is the first time I've ever left a rehearsal with my ears ringing probably because we played Rooftops today about six times, which is about this loud and this fast.

Here's a pretty irrelevant shot of my studio. I thought I'd take it because my wide angle lens gives me a pretty nice view of the place. You can check out some of the notes on my Flickr. There's some funny treasures in there.

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.

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.

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.

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.

studio log

music credit: Beirut - The Concubine

click, click, boom

I'm tired. 

Do you ever get that sensation where you know your body needs food but you're just not hungry, or when you know you need to sleep but you just can't? That's good stuff. 

It's been, and will continue to be, a very busy few weeks. Working towards completing works for three separate shows, all within two months of each other, and I've been having trouble connecting works together. I've painted over the same canvas three times already and plan to do so again tomorrow morning. There's a certain click that happens when I begin a new painting and I can usually sense what the finished product will look like by the time of completion. I'll toss and turn every night and wake up early just to work on it, and to see what the final product looks like. Lately this hasn't been happening. My mind has been in other places and I become really unmotivated when I enter the studio to see that my oil brushes have dried over. I really detest cleaning brushes sometimes. This is mostly due to the fact that I don't enjoy the smell of Taltine, and linseed oil can really muck-up your kitchen sink. Needless to say, I'll get it all done.

It is now nearing 3am and all I can seem to focus on is watching GG Allin interviews, which is not necessarily the stuff anyone should be watching before bed. 

Last nights show at The Supermarket went really well. I smacked my hand right near the beginning of the set and it didn't stop bleeding for about twenty minutes. The really sad thing is that I was playing another bands drum kit and I had to wipe the blood off in between tracks.

Tonight we recorded in London with the gentlemen from the Ontario Institute of Audio Recording Technology. That went very well, but I felt that my own bed would be a nice way to cap off the day. We got some Timmies and I drove the boys home to Toronto in our new van. The portable radio scratched and fuzzed between stations the entire way and we heard the same Kings of Leon song three times going in one direction. 

I've been really craving a good, concise, blogathon lately. One where I can rant passionately about something that's been on my mind, except I just haven't really allowed myself the time to do that. Hopefully this weekend. 

Oh, and St. Paddy's was good. I was in bed by twelve and still have splinters embedded in my left hand from climbing a ten foot wooden fence into somebody's backyard. 

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.

triple-step-stairs

It's been a hectic few days, I guess?

My pneumonia is nearly cleared up, which is good, because I'm really tired of babying about it.

Meme came over yesterday while I was painting. We decided to drink wine all afternoon and listen to Portishead. Later, we had a show in Hamilton at The Casbah. Getting there was a story in itself. In classic fashion, we left late and took a cab to Union Station. Thanks to my pro GO Train skills, we got to the ticket office promptly. Once there (and within two minutes of our departure), I had a few quick questions for the boothman. He began pulling out maps and schedules and tinkered away on his computer to re-answer all my questions, and all I could think of was "Duuuude just give me the tickets and let us out of here." Needless to say, Darce and I ran to the bus and made it on within, lets say, 15 seconds.
Once there, we chilled with the guys from Hollerado (hilarious road stories) and knocked out a solid set to a great crowd in a tiny room that smelt like burnt coffee.

Show notables:
- My mom came, and it was her birthday yesterday. That was super awesome of her.
- I experienced a mild case of slidey-drums, which happens to me a lot at small clubs for some reason. That's when you hit a drum and it slides further, and further away each time.
- Super thanks to Cory and Arshea for bringing the gear. Arshea I hope you liked my perscription drugs as a thanks. You rule.
- The Casbah didn't give us free beer? I'm pretty sure that hasn't happened at a venue in over a year.

Once the show was over, the guys wanted to stay the night at a friends. I said hell no because I was epically tired from the show and the traveling and decided to come back home solo. Oh, and I also almost missed that bus by about ten seconds. I sat at the front which is my favorite seat on the bus, which I recommend to everyone traveling by Greyhound.

Aside from all the music mumbo-jumbo, I've been painting as much as possible lately. I have a show in Scarborough at the end of May, and then another big show at Vdara for the month of June. I'll also be in Europe for two weeks in April, which will cut down on a lot of potential canvas time. I figured it out the other day: In order to produce as much quality work as possible for both these shows (and I want them to be the best I've ever created), I'll have to paint for at least three hours, every day, until the beginning of May. Cheers to that.

Okay, I'll cut this here because I'm thinking of bigger things to write about, and I really don't want good topics to be buried under talk of GO Trains.

my buzz is alive

So! Here it goes again. Just a few jots on things, nothing elaborate. 

. Bike and I were out for dinner the other night with my 

mom and aunt. They were in town to see the Sound of Music play at the Princess of Whales theatre. The funny thing was, there was a mix-up in their ticket arrangements and were on their way to seeing it for the second time. At this point, they offered us the tickets and we readily accepted. 

The interesting thing about the story is that we were both half in the bag from dinner. This was mostly due to the Milestones gigantic pints and from not eating nearly all day. So before we went to the show we came back to our place and drank a couple more and made our way. During intermission, we grabbed a couple more beers, to which we found out that your can actually take them into the theatre and enjoy it during the show. During the second half of the show, I found it so hilarious just sitting next to this nice old couple, enjoying a beer as if it were a football game. I then jokingly turned to Bike during Edelweiss and mouthed "FUCK YEAAAH!!!" and shook my beer as if a touchdown had just happened. You kinda had to be there. 

. I sold a painting yesterday to a gentleman named Don and his wife Susan. They were incredibly nice and I am happy to see the piece go to them. Again, super thanks goes to Mickey for being such a huge help in the process. Also, if you're in town you should go see John Chau's work at Vdara for the month of February. The opening last night was awesome and his work is literally in another realm, and it was good to see Eugene. 

The image below was taken from the National Post a couple weeks ago when they reviewed Vdara. That's one of my paintings on the wall, behind Mani. They mentioned "paintings of the tundra" in the article, which was rad. 

. Before the final sale of yesterdays piece, I experienced a pretty wonderful bout of anxiety while walking the streets. To be honest, those situations make me quite frantic and nervous. Some buyers can be so scatter-headed that any specific comments or details can sway a decision greatly in any direction. I nearly vomited on Spadina Ave. and could feel my body wanting to pass out at any moment. This was either caused by too much anxiety, walking for almost 4 hours, too much sun (it's been beautiful here), or too little food. Probably all of that together. 

. Today I'm going to paint, make a Guinness beef stew, and listen to The Wooden Sky. Life is good. 

. There's a new Talkin' Schmidt coming out soon about the Crazy Horse National Monument.

. The days are getting longer. Isn't that great? Yeah, it's great. 

. I'm considering doing podcasts instead of lengthy, wordy posts. I know personally that I'd rather listen to somebody's rants than read them. Plus, I like to crack jokes a lot and it comes across easier when in vocal form. For instance, Jenna's sweet blog www.lovelyandlazy.blogspot.com currently has a clip up of us talking about the Mint. I think it's funny shit. 

. I'll think of something cool to say later.  

LG

This video honestly kills me.

The other day Bike and I were down in the studio working on some stuff. He was editing some video on my Mac and I was working on a new piece.
He'd noticed I'd been jiving to some Hey Darcy! pretty hard in the basement and decided to shoot a video to see if he could catch my dancing on film. Surely enough, about ten seconds after pressing record, some goofy dance emerges and is forever captured on film.
Maybe it was the joy of being reunited with my favorite sweater, or maybe it was my fancy drumming on that album. Either way, it's funny as hell.

come and get hugged

Hey all. Just wanted to plug the fact that there will be an opening event for my recently-hung work here in Toronto. The show features three large pieces; none of which I've taken photos of yet (on purpose? that means you'll have to come see!). I consider this to be some of my more mature work to date, focusing on a more technical approach to the ever-simple subject matter that is the prairie landscape. Yet, they're big, colorful, and for sale. If anyone has any questions on the night, just shoot me a line by email and I'll give you the all the deets. And if you come I'll hug you, no doubt. Thanks.

andrew.allan.schmidt@gmail.com

monday morning

I had another great day in the studio today. Early start, cup of coffee, full generator and some of my favorite albums to listen to. After I emptied out the piss bucket (this space is underground, don't ask) and cleaned some dry brushes, I got to painting. The most difficult thing I think in landscape painting is revisiting a piece after around a week. Sometimes I need to paint wet-to-dry, so I need to allow the paintings the time to dry out a bit. Colors never seem to match and it's a massive struggle sometimes to get back into that palette and understanding what was where and how they've melded together in the past.

It's cold down there this winter. I can see my breath while I work and it drives me to distraction because I'm constantly warming my hands and blowing my nose. I'm starting to work my way into a more safe way of approaching chemicals and oil paints. It's not uncommon for me to wear plastic gloves and a cotton face mask, and I'll usually leave the door open to make up for my five inch "vent" that couldn't even ventilate a fart. Which leads me to my next point,

For those of you that don't know, I'm half way finished filming a mini-documentary about a trip I took through western North America early this past summer. One part of the trip documented all my painting research and sketches (as well as the trip itself), and the second will include the production of all the artwork, under certain circumstances.
Those being that I am willingly encasing myself in a concrete space for five days with no leaving and no sense of time, with the goal in mind of starting and completing at least six large-scale landscape works. I don't plan on leaving the room for this period which means:

no power (because it's technically a storage space)
no sunlight (also meaning no sense of what time of day it really is)
no watches (because I think that's funny)
no mirrors (because I'd like to see the shit-hole look and surprise when I come out
no running water (again, it's not made for living)
and no light switch (there's no switch; it's a motion-sensor, which means I cant stop moving)

Needless to say, I feel as though I'm getting very close to undertaking this adventure, and it kinda scares me (those who know me well know that I've been talking about this challenge for years now), but it's also really, really exciting.

pirogies, film, and jackholes

I've definitely been slacking in the writing department as of late. But hey! What am I to do when my laptop has been reduced to a pile of Compaq Shitcario? That's right, the days of old trusty are soon coming to an end. Bill Gates has made me squeal for the last time. Time for an upgrade.

Other than that, everything has been hunky-dory in Andyland. Due to some run-ins and meet-ups with some very wise friends, a lot has been put in perspective and I've heard things I needed to hear. These weren't things that I didn't know, but lets just say they were pulled from the back of my mind after being bombarded with useless media exposure.

I'm still painting like a mad man.
I'm working on this one right now that is taking me forever. I utilized two brand new techniques and wrestled with them for over two months, mainly using undercolor and successive layers of complementary tones. Using orange in a blue sky was something I wasn't used to, but has separated the work from my previous alla prima style. Also, with undercolor, I've allowed the background base colors do the talking, as opposed to what was placed on top of white canvas. So instead of trying to create a technically accurate image from one single layer of paint I've begun to build from the bottom, up. It's all very exciting, until I stop moving and the lights turn off.

Carla and I were talking yesterday about getting back into candid photographs using film instead of digital. I like that idea, because the thought of nearly losing all of my digital photos from the past three years in an instance scares the shit out of me! So I think I'll take all of my tip money from
work and put it towards getting my old rolls of film processed, instead of sitting in my freezer chillin' with my pirogies.

My friend Caitlin and I are still discussing my upcoming portfolio website, which still excites me. Don't hold your breath though, this baby won't be seen until sometime in 2009. But that's okay, because I'm still trying to hunt down and document my work from the past decade to put on the site. It's going to be exciting and snazzy. If you know any artist websites (even those that utilize Flash), just leave them in the comment box and I'll be sure to give them a looksy.

I took a really cool self portrait the other day, and I hate taking those. I'll put it up when i get a scanner? Who even has one of those?

I've also been finding myself in a constant state of laundry. I just can't stay on top of it.

I've considered making a new swear word. It's called "jackhole". It's a combination of jack-off and dick hole (another curse i've been really into). I guess I kind of took it from Marc Johnson, when he mention "gnarly jackasshole" in Modus Operandi. I like jackhole better though. It's fun to say and makes a fantastic descriptive word, ie. "Well, the guy was being a fucking jackhole, so I left."

I've also strangely developed an accent? Not entirely, but I've noticed it coming out every once in a while when I speak. It's a mix of a west-coast Canadian tone, and a little southern cowboy delivery on certain words.

I was rummaging through some old stuff back in London last week and I came across an illustrated short story I'd written in 1993. It was fucking genius. It was about a bull that didn't grow hair until he was in his twenties, and then died because bulls don't live that long. If that's not strange enough, at the end I went on about how his friends and family surrounded his grave, every night! There was also an illustration of this, which I want tattooed on my body. Sounds about right. I can imagine now, a tattoo drawn by myself when I was seven of two bulls standing at the burial site of a dead and buried bull. You can even see the outline of the dead body. I was advanced. That's another things I need to scan.

My doppio-long-espresso-con-pana has left me over-caffeinated, so I'll stop writing. That was the whitest thing I think I'll ever write. Rock those khaki's!

over, and under.

stan's the man

I just simply love these shoes.

In my opinion, the classic Adidas Stan Smith II's are some of the finest shoes ever created. They're sleek, comfortable, stylin, and more importantly, durable. I've dragged these shoes (literally) through the mud, across nearly every terrain imaginable. They've been with me through it all: everyday walking, skateboarding,mountain trails, bars, running, dance parties, on the beach, driving, playing on stage, climbing the cn tower, puddles, and the paint studio. They've seen everything from my own crowning achievements to heartbreak. From summer afternoons to shitty winter mornings.

One thing I've always done with these shoes is paint them. I believe that maintaining the color of these shoes is some sort of a duty that I must uphold, as an owner. So, while sacrificing looking like a douche bag, I paint them. I usually stick with plain gesso paint. Although water-based, I find this paint to be more durable than your standard acrylics. I dabbled for a while with the idea of oil paint, but I simply never had the time to let them dry, as well as the price of the paint itself. You can usually tell how old the pair of shoes are by seeing how thick the paint is getting on the surface, almost as if you were taking a cross-section of a tree and counting the rings to see how old they were.

Then, when the day comes, I'll paint them another color. At this point, the shoe has lost all structural integrity and has fallen towards the shitter. The laces are crusted together with paint, the toe cover lifts open like the hood of a car, and there is virtually no grip whatsoever. At this point in my head I'll say to myself "Fuck this. They look so stupid anyway, I might as well paint them another color." I like to call these ones Limited Edition, when in reality, they are just old-dirty-painted-runners. My favorites have to be the blue pair, only because they've been gesso'd so hard that it looks like a desert floor from all the cracking. To be honest, as stupid as they look, I (think) I get more respect for wearing them. I've even heard some people say they love them (drunk girls).

The only considerable downside to loving these shoes is that, for me, they are nearly impossible to find. With fancy new shoe designs hitting the counters every week (no thanks to kids between the ages of 15-27, who love that ugly America's Dance Crew multicolored shit with laces), the older models get pushed further and further back in the orders. Here in Toronto, I've visited every downtown Adidas location, which is an embarrassment in itself, with no luck. In fact, I've been without a fresh pair of Stans for almost six months now, and it's getting annoying. It's not that they're not in stock, it's just that they usually aren't carrying my gargantuan shoe size of 13.5. Also, because of the hours that I work, I usually don't feel like walking to one of these locations every day, so I'll set aside one day a week to go to these stores to ask if any are available. According to their employees, the shoes are always that "other" location. Nay nay.

So, I've finally decided to throw in the towel and shop for them online.

I really don't have a point, or even a clever line to go out on.
All I have is this amazing picture of a bull eating shit by the hand of a flaming matador, which has probably proved more entertaining than the entire purpose of this blog entry.

Bulls are funny like that.