Mirrors Please

I need a hand.

Well, I actually need some mirrors.

As seen in the rough digital sketch above, I've been toying with the idea of photographing landscapes with large mirrors reflecting the image into several parts of the landscape (the semi-transparent represent the mirrors). However, I don't have many mirrors this size.
If any of you know where I could find some, somebody who has some to spare, or any other information I'd love to hear it. In honesty, the larger the better. If at all possible, some sort of stand as well that it can lean on. Otherwise, I may have to write a blog post directed towards my welder friends. Mirrors without borders are most preferred.
I'm writing this here because I know so many of you are great seekers, foragers, collectors, hustlers, pack rats and researchers.
I'm not asking that you break your day over this, but to just keep your eyes open. Chances are usually good that you'll find one on the sidewalk somewhere. If you snag any leads, let me know through email (andrew.allan.schmidt@gmail.com) asap and I'll reward you with a hug and some beers. You guys are the best. Thanks for looking.

Andy.

i didn't think we had it in us

What started as an innocent trip to the grocery store turned into one of the most violent and radical days to hit my life thus far.

Clearly, I am talking about the recent G20 summit that hit Toronto this past weekend. To not write this on paper would be a devastation to myself. Tess and I were curious to investigate some of the protests we'd heard might be happening downtown Saturday afternoon, so we used our trip to Metro as added incentive to head towards Yonge Street.

After about 20 minutes of produce shopping, security came over the loud speaker to inform us that the building will be locked due to external security threats. I brushed this off as some power-tripping paranoid tactic used to keep everyone under lock and key from something that was hardly considered a threat. This was a very dangerous assumption. Everyone in Metro was asked to move to the back of the store, where we patiently waited in the seafood isle for nearly 30 minutes. Luckily, a man was there that had an iPhone that could stream CP24, which came in handy when discovering that the entire exterior of the building which we were in the basement of was smashed to shit.After waiting another long stint, we were released, and the shit had already hit the fan. I mean that somewhat literally, in the case of American Apparel.


The windows of over 40 established businesses had been destroyed on Yonge street alone. The Time Hortons and Starbucks at the corner of Yonge and College had taken the worst two beatings I'd seen. Car-sized holes had been smashed through the glass windows. Chairs were thrown amongst the street. Displays were carefully "rearranged". Businesses were looted. It was fucking chaos.

We walked everywhere. Once we made it to Bay St. and Adelaide we noticed a heard of people running down the narrow streets only to be followed by a battalion (how often do I get to use that word, really) of riot police and a vehicle that I can only artfully describe as a tank; a tank that stopped for no man or woman. Police created perimeters around the peaceful protests and refused advancements towards city hall, where Jazz Fest had been poorly scheduled (would you like broken glass and flames with your Oscar Peterson covers in the key of C#?).

Finally, we concluded our day with a little organized chaos, ending up in Queens Park. After sneaking our way around the hundreds of officers clad in riot gear and shields, we were on the front lines. For those of you who haven't witnessed any of the Queens Park events in the media, let me describe it as such.

1. People get mad. People start yelling.
2. Riot police in groups of 30 or more forcefully charge aforementioned People.
3. People run for their lives, scared shitless by large men with shields and bats.
4. People stop running. Start yelling again.
5. Riot police release additional riot tactics, including mounted officers, tear gas, paint balls, and rubber bullets. Police reestablish and expand riot line another 100 yards forward, moving North.
6. People run. Some get gassed, some get trampled, some get arrested and beaten.
7. Six guys yell "Pussies!!"

Hey! Who are those handsome dudes seen at 0:25 in that clip? No less than A-Laye and some shawty gettin his grocery list on. (Huge bigs to DP for finding this clip. A true internet G)

And this goes on for about 3 hours. I was one of the people. Thankfully, I was not one of the trampled or gassed, but the danger was very real. I can hopefully say I'll never experience something that forceful for the rest of my life, but I was there willingly, so I couldn't complain if I did.

To talk about the rest of the actions seen throughout Saturday and Sunday would be irrelevant, because you can't even take a shit in your own home without hearing about the ridiculous actions that took place during the Summit.

I must admit that the violence and irreverence that took place throughout the city was absolutely inexplicable and inexcusable. The members of the Black Bloc, as well as the other "anarchist" zeroes that decided to smash stores acted like a bunch of cowards that obviously weren't concerned with the changing of political policies or overthrowing of governments and corporations. They were there for the single purpose of smashing shit under the guise of civilians.



Let me tell you something. Broken glass does not change jack shit. You think a few broken windows are going to change anything? You can throw bricks all day and night and it won't change dick about these corporations you're inflicting violence upon. You think Bell is going to lose sleep over having to call a repair man in the morning to fix a fucking window?
This type of shit is completely amateur and speaks nothing of the words "revolution" or "overthrow". Even as I sit in my chair now, so angered that I can't even get my hands to move fast enough to type, these shitheads are back home getting their moms to wash their black ski masks, lighting a joint, and listening to Rage Against the Machine. You threw a chair. Whoopdy fucking woo.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for the majority of the peaceful protests that took place throughout the summit, but smashing up a few retail outlets simply makes no sense and will change nothing except the status of your boner.

dotting the h's, crossing the b's and a lot of purple and gold tape

I was very recently (the pic was taken in bed after the last phone call made, where I still remain) granted full access to both of my childhood schools.

For those of you who may have been following this progression, for my term final project I am ambitiously photographing every classroom I've ever had from kindergarten to university. I'll post my statement some day, but it really boils down to how the roots of our knowledge (socially and academically) can be quantified within the walls of our learning institutions.

ps I can recite that sentence in under two seconds, as I've been reciting it verbally and by email for weeks.

The idea wasn't the hard part of the project, nor will the actual photographing of the rooms themselves. It's the red tape. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming.

In the case of Mountsfield Public School ( my home from grades JK-8), the case is being taken all the way from the permission of the entire staff, to the Thames Valley District School Board. I had to write a detailed form of my intentions, justifying that no children or staff are to be involved. Additionally, they made me assure them that even small images of students that may be seen in the room must be taken down as well. Now that's some tape forya.

With Beal, the current principal I talked to was rather chipper with my idea and granted me full access to the entire school pretty much as soon as I voiced my idea. Aparently Beal has a slightly higher appreciation for conceptual art than the protection of it's students - which I'm all for. That's always been the case there. On top of that, I get to walk around with Mr. Haney, who was the head of the Art department even when I was there.

Principles are very funny to talk to. As usual, when I want something over the phone from somebody who doesn't know me from Sam Hell, I try to start the conversation off with a positive bang by putting an upper inflection on my "Hi! How are you today?" People are usually impressed by this, because most phone calls are bullshit anyway. Yet you see, with the case of principles, they pretty much answer to nobody. Remember when they'd walk into your classroom when you were a kid with those cool suits, 'staches, and fat guts (generalizing huge here)? They were like kings walking amongst ants, and you knew it too. So when a civilian number such as my own reaches their phone line, my greeting is shot down quite quickly with a "good", then deafening silence.

Try it sometime. Try to get something from an old principle and see how far you get before the ice melts to water. Since we both know you won't and have no reason to, you can probable imagine through my experience what it's like. Both shoots are slated for next Tuesday, then it's CARPal-tunnel-photoshopCS4-hands for 24 afterwards.

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.

americanos with cinnamon

Well friends, it appears we're back at it.

There's been serious talks about recording the next Hue record. We've applied for the government grants, talked to past produced Mikey T, scoped out studio locations, and have begun honing in on certain songs and possible other considerations for the album. The more interesting part of all this is we're possibly recording in March. That's not very far away.

The process of writing and recording is a very fun and tricky thing. Personally, when I sit down at the drum kit to write parts for new songs, I do it somewhat vaguely. Like in painting, I'll rough in an idea to expand from. Timing signatures, fills, splits, cymbal work, absences, different sticks and percussion etc etc. From there, after about a dozen or so run-through's, I should have a pretty good idea of what I'm doing. However, when writing an album, everything counts and you have to be prepared to play those same parts for the rest of your life. I've never actually regretted a single drum line that I've written, but some are just more strenuous than others (like Until Then, which is around 7 minutes of the same thing).

However, it's all quite exciting. I love the process. I pride myself on being fairly expedient in the studio; we're aiming to record all of my drum parts for this record in one day, maybe two. Like the recording process of the last record, I'll have an americano in my hands at all times. I can't drink one of those things without feeling the tight hug of studio headphones wrapped around my ears, and the smell of sound-proofed foam covering the walls.

The writing process has also been quite refreshing this time around. Seeing as we've added two new members to the lineup, the variety of sounds, instruments, and harmonies has opened up gigantic sonic possibilites. The rehearsals have been sounding as good as listening to a record. Writing with five people is a lot of fun, especially since it's less of a stage circus because there is little instrument change-overs when playing live.

Another thing to take into account when writing a record is the songs themselves: not so much the songs on the record, but the ones that don't make it. It's honestly like losing old friends. We have songs we've been playing for literally years that I know won't make this record. Dozens of them. Because as you start to form a record you realize thematically and sonically what it is and where it's going. Some, actually, most songs don't make records because they are either too "this" or too "that". Some rock a little too much, sound like somebody else, or are so over the deep end that it doesn't even sound like it was written by the same band.

Although we'll be cutting songs like chops of meat, the finished product is going to be something very special I think. I want to say it's very different from the last record, which it is, but not too far away. Don't expect to hear any rap or reggae on this record. I will say that we're far less timid this time around, timid in terms of exploration and limitations of the songs themselves. There's grooves, holes, length and chances taken in almost every track. Given that we've had a huge amount of time around to write and demo songs, the work has been allowed to group and expand organically amongst the group, unlike the last record, where the small amount of time to write and record reacted to some material like a miniature dinosaur that expanded in warm water.

Either way, I'll continue to post about any advancements over the next couple months, amongst other things.

I drove the Tut

I was thinking just now about the upcoming King Tut exhibit coming to the AGO in late November, and a lot of questions arose.

For starters, the coffin of King Tut has to actually arrive at the AGO. How does this happen? More interestingly, who gets to ride shotgun with King Tut? Do you think they stop to pee at McDonalds when King Tut himself is in the backseat? What kind of vehicle do they use? You'd hope it was one of those armored bank trucks, but maybe it isn't? Maybe they leave him exposed in the backseat of a Ford Windstar.

This next part came from an interest I had with famous rock stars entering concert halls and arenas. At some point, they're exposed to the air outside, which is funny to think because at one point they had to walk into the building from their bus - which is something people don't really consider because they view them as objects of entertainment, not living, breathing people who take sharp shits and get foot cramps like the rest of us. In the case of King Tut, could you look over at the AGO at one point and see him being carted from the truck? Because, at a certain time, King Tut has to go from the truck to the museum. Now, I know they wouldn't push the Tut out open on the streets, but you get the picture.

How do they know when King Tut arrives? Do they call the museum like it was a pizza delivery? Like they were ordering from Pizza Tut?

"Hey, uhhh, yeah. I'm the King Tut driver, and we're almost here. We can't find Spadina. What? I'm circling around man, and I can't find Spadina. Dundas? Where's Dundas? Dude, King Tut is in the back, where the hell am I going??"

It's not like they're toting around town with lumber in the back. It's the fucking TUT: one of the most incredible and sought-after artifacts known to man. So who's driving the car? Is that something the driver puts on his resume? "I drove The Tut."

To be totally honest, I have another two dozen questions lined up.

p.s. I couldn't resist that Pizza Tut pun. I'm far too Schmidt to pass that little gem up.