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.

"YTV, pull that shit down!"

Mike and I recorded the Basement Edition of Talkin' Schmidt last night. The topics include:

BK: Lego vs. Legos , Excess Disney Sequels, Useless Hand-held Phone Tactics, Backpackers, Call of Brutal Children

Andy: Matilda and Satanic Messages, Ex Girlfriend w/ Boyfriend Etiquette, Anonymous Donors, Vegetable Commercial Motifs / Dad vs. Dolphins

Collectively: Specific Souvenir Requests, Chicken Soup for the Damaged Readers Soul

It was all filmed quite quickly and efficiently. Seeing as we haven't filmed an episode in almost a year, the topics flowed rather smoothly. The Crown Royal didn't hurt things either. Christmas time will do that to you

amazing!

Before leaving for home, I decided that it would be a good idea to deep clean the house. Here in Toronto, the garbage system outside of waste and recycling also has a bin for organic compost. Seeing as I hadn't changed my bin in a while, it was go time.

There must have been some seriously rotten shit in there, because as soon as I removed the bag from the bin, I barfed!! Blluughghhaaaahhhuuuuwwa!!! Amazing! It smelled so rotten that I barfed right there on my lino floor!

I think barfing is the funniest shit ever. One time my dogs got sprayed by a skunk back home and the sheer smell of the skunky-dogs getting washed in the tub made my sister barf. I thought that was amazing.

I've never personally barfed from smell alone, until about ten minutes ago. It happened instantly. So rad.

I've never had a big problem with barfing. Most of my close friends know this. I used to barf on purpose after big nights of binge drinking, just so I wouldn't feel like shit in the morning. I don't do it anymore. Come to think of it, I've gone through all kinds of drinking ritual phases. Two sweet barfing instances come to mind: one was with Tiff on the Nathan Phillips Square ice rink last winter after drinking super expired McDonalds milk (one halfwit security guard thought we were bulimic, so I made him smell the milk), and the second with Meme in the city hall parking lot on top of a Smart Car, which subsequently led to Meme spewing the most amazing rice barf of all time.

Barf is awesome. Don't be afraid of it, unless you have the flu, then prepare for shittyness.

Honorable Mention goes to Lwam last Saturday night at the Madison, which was based on a gag reflex rather than drunkenness. Beautiful Heinekin barf cascading down a set of wooden stairs followed by the roar of 20 screaming jocks? RAD TO THE BONER.

saturday morning funny papers

This kind of made me laugh. For those of you who like Seven, or Radiohead, or both.

balance

I just printed everything I've written over the past year.

It's 57 pages and over 27,000 words.

It's actually quite liberating to have that much written material in your hands.

I think over the break I'll read and re-evaluate key points and questions, and maybe use those towards something bigger and more concise. Because, if I were to go back and elaborate on most of the ideas and questions presented, the number of pages could have doubled.

I'd love for some other writers out there to try the same, and maybe an exchange could be made.

mon calimarian cruiser

This little momma is going in the "Funniest Shit Ever" bin. Being the gigantic Star Wars nerd that I am, I almost died when I first saw this. If you're ever in Ein-Steins bar on College Street on any given night and you hear "It's a Frap!", it's for sure me.

elwy

Next term I have to work on a series of anywhere between 12-15 images. I get excited by these because there is more room for exploration. I'd rather let the narrative of a series speak to the work rather than a single image. I've been working in this format for years now.

Seeing as it will be photography-based, I have begun to toy with many ideas; specifically those that lend themselves more towards a series than singular images. I was really inspired by seeing a rotten piece of fruit the other day. I've considered doing lively, punchy, saturated depictions of rotting fruit.

Another idea (and one I think is well thought on my behalf) is to document every classroom I've ever sat in. From junior kindergarten through to university. From Mountsfield, to H.B. Beal, to Ryerson.

I should preface this next part by saying I'm fascinated by the brain. Ultimately. The fact that the mind can retain so much is beyond my comprehension. If you've ever spent an extended period of time with me, I'm sure you've heard me say the words:

"Isn't it funny how such a strange memory literally takes up space within your brain? Those Dr. Dre lyrics honestly occupy real estate within your brain. And where?"

With this in mind, I found the idea of the classroom fascinating. These rooms were genuinely the breeding grounds for knowledge. Everything from the square block in the circle hole to addition/subtraction to first crushes to the tuba to french to long division etc. These places still remain four-walled establishments, yet within them there is an aura of curiosity, bullshit, and learning.

One of the aims of the series (should I choose to accept it) is to capture the different ambiance's of each room from start to finish. Seeing as we are young, distracted, and impressionable in our early years of education, teachers tended to decorate the walls and ceilings with mosaics of Clifford, the alphabet, Sesame Street, and diagrams displaying parts of the body. As a few years pass, the facade becomes more scientific, more literal. Entering high school, the sutdents are either subject to posters of Spain, or the coldness of white walls and banging lockers.

However these interiors may look, they undoubtedly form the people we are today. With that in mind, I would be more than happy to visit each individual place to reiterate not only where I am now, but how (and why) I got here.

Although I'm sure nobody cares about the technical side of the project, the entire thing will be shot on a 4x5 camera, and will be entirely funded by me prostituting myself through perilous Glory Hole visits.

Robin Shouldn't

I always knew they'd make a sequel to Gladiator. I just don't know why they'd call Maximus by the name "Robin Hood". Russell can't touch Errol Flynn with a ten foot dick.

rosebud

For whatever reason, over the past few months the only thing I've felt like doing in my spare time is cooking and watching Citizen Kane. I have over one hundred movies in my house and I only ever feel like watching that one.

Aside from the incredibly gorgeous camera work, as well as the quality of the black and white footage, the film almost sounds like an album. I find when I'm cooking at home and watching say, a kung fu movie, I become more distracted with the visuals and end up burning my pork fried rice because I've been staring at the screen. However in the case of Citizen Kane, the movie relies far more on the narratives presented than the shots themselves. The script is slick and concise, which is why I could probably listen to the film on an mp3 player, if such a thing was possible.

If any of you readers have never seen the film, contact me and I'll run to your house to watch it with you, with a bottle of wine (I say that because most of the readers of this blog are femmes).