There seems to be a major disconnect taking place here. Because is it possible to imagine two more mutually exclusionary representations of both a country and a land mass? The one on the left from outside Canada, and specifically from the United States. And the one on the right from inside Canada, as a country whose sense of “identity” has, since the end of the American Revolution in 1783, been based largely on distinguishing itself from the much more populous, powerful, and frequently expansionist nation state to the south. This does seem a bit ridiculous. As well as a little …
I have added a small picture to the top of the left hand column. That picture will be a thumbnail sample of various art galleries I like, and I think most of them with be Canadian First Nations artists. It’s one way to honour my Aboriginal heritage and foreground it a little here. The current link is to a gallery of work by Coast Salish artist Susan Point. Enjoy.
Portrait of a woman in pink and blue by Joash Woodrow Joash Woodrow has made his debut. Although he has been working since the 1950s and has produced over 3500 paintings, the 77 year-old reclusive British artist has, until now, worked in complete solitude. During the course of clearing out Woodrow’s three-bedroom house in March, 2001, his brother Saul sent a box of 100 books to an antique bookshop, and unknowingly included several in which Woodrow had painted over the pages. The owner, Richard Axe, intrigued at the bold, colourful illustrations, contacted an artist friend, who called Andrew Stewart, owner …
There is some amazing writing and thinking going on at Interconnected at the moment. Distance is the half-life of causality. Quantum fluctuations evaporate and disperse in the isness; shouts get diluted in the atmosphere. I can’t pretend to understand most of what he is saying in the posts that follow, but it makes for a highly time-intensive and challenging browse.
Three parts of a longer poem by George Albon, from his book Thousands Count Out Loud: He reassured himself with the smallest, the almost unborn thought. It held a center that harpies clawed. * It is going between (the bus). Part of me will actually miss this music. A gust of wind like gale. * Waking, life, & white shines out from the blue sky with a sound in it, window. These put me in mind of the summeriness of today: clear moving air, with lots of blue and white in it. These poems come via: Overlap: Drew Gardner’s Blog. …