tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2201946207109985002024-03-04T22:15:36.413-08:00Visualeyez 2009Canada's annual festival of performance artUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-83605636512551809672009-09-23T06:39:00.000-07:002009-09-23T06:59:18.947-07:00The Life Aquatic<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwmyZ44P1ZesNbg6KTPwJZ23ydXwgxvWQ7pTC7tuu74ezvCtGcPH5_pD-ilL93cZ2_iXMNdgulVe6jWi7WZmjaig-wX4kSuQW5PkpHrOLX88oMYNRFAjxJeqJ6s0mU9_A5fBxP-o8TtXI/s1600-h/bottles.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwmyZ44P1ZesNbg6KTPwJZ23ydXwgxvWQ7pTC7tuu74ezvCtGcPH5_pD-ilL93cZ2_iXMNdgulVe6jWi7WZmjaig-wX4kSuQW5PkpHrOLX88oMYNRFAjxJeqJ6s0mU9_A5fBxP-o8TtXI/s400/bottles.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384662135893493970" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJczcwKf-6pEILHLIv1xgRl0Uvy0h9pjTbDG1WzIIvtSoloCb3h-1w7UEn6rRiw4Ay7dEKNMJ6lLEh3GJlxNkQPr0Jt6iudltyZJPZZPT53CMYUZZz2_uEPjm7X8zeXrrMLzvkISfT6X4/s1600-h/explain.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 308px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJczcwKf-6pEILHLIv1xgRl0Uvy0h9pjTbDG1WzIIvtSoloCb3h-1w7UEn6rRiw4Ay7dEKNMJ6lLEh3GJlxNkQPr0Jt6iudltyZJPZZPT53CMYUZZz2_uEPjm7X8zeXrrMLzvkISfT6X4/s400/explain.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384662126417058722" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The green mountains</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Tell me</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">To live silently.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The blue skies</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Tell me</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">To live flawlessly.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Cast away your greed</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And remove your anger,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And live like water</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And like wind,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And go.</span><br /><br />--Master Naong (1320-1376)<br /><br /><br />We are saying our good-byes and letting go of each other, but we each contain residues of one another in our streams of consciousness. I began with bottles of water and so shall I end. I will be wrapping up and taking home two souvenir water bottles from Rita Kamacho's performance. One says "love" and the other "gratitude". We were encouraged to take them home and fill them up, meditate on those words and use the water in our daily lives--to drink, to wash, to bathe. I have two other souvenir bottles I keep on my bathroom shelf. One is a bottle of spring water from a tiny hamlet called Springwater Saskatchewan, and the other is from a performance artist named "nation" in Glasgow. That bottle is filled with water from the river Clyde, and reminds me of my love for that vital city.<br /><br />Surprisingly, Rita Kamacho's piece, as described by Todd Janes below reminded me of death, and how our bodies are constantly being renewed by the water cycle, right down to the cellular level. I was thinking how that instead of ashes being the main concern of a funeral as the remains of a beloved, it should really be the image of water.<br /><br />Shall we gather at the virtual river? I don't enter the hot tub of Face Book, fearing it might all go viral. I eschew the chatter of Twitterfalls. Performance artists do need a home at the Canada Council as Todd stated below and I think it's time we did develop some kind of online forum that works as a gathering place and gets us working towards the sustainability of the art form. I also hope for an online performance journal of some kind so that more people have opportunities to write about performance.<br /><br />Finally, I want to thank everyone at Latitude 53 for working so hard to create such a wonderful festival. I hope you all get some spa time soon!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-38183108744205959472009-09-22T16:17:00.001-07:002009-09-26T19:04:56.348-07:00Megan Morman: Cooler<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxAsmRuBx5CzJQ3TG4azD9HWI8mjwbn9OUBB7Tfqk3czkOEi-zXTiadqgGf8rjvtI2bi6pOnJeue5BrG-YPJB9p8utqx9VX7-PNETL3dQN1Mv1uO1AKKlTZYhdbv0y9itGDzbTWkhsik/s1600-h/watercooler.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxAsmRuBx5CzJQ3TG4azD9HWI8mjwbn9OUBB7Tfqk3czkOEi-zXTiadqgGf8rjvtI2bi6pOnJeue5BrG-YPJB9p8utqx9VX7-PNETL3dQN1Mv1uO1AKKlTZYhdbv0y9itGDzbTWkhsik/s400/watercooler.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384435626221486450" border="0" /></a>Megan Morman has packed up her cooler and left the building. I am bereft. I have become very attached to seeing her raise her eyebrows as she jots in her secret little notepad. I miss her sweet, mischievous giggle. After all, creating mischief is what Megan came to the Visualeyez festival to do. I'm also totally addicted to her blog. Like candy, gossip can be addictive and we know it's not always good for us even though it's so much fun.<br /><br />The artist installed a water cooler in the front foyer of Latitude 53 among the comfy couches and crocheted pillows. She left out bowls of candy to lure in her subjects. (It worked.) Megan's spot-on sense of parody nailed the tone of the celebrity tabloids, web sites, and tv shows she mined for this project. She has an amazing work ethic, literally working 12 hour days during the festival to create her slick, web-savvy blog.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISS4V3a6pPBhOZkg6PH-rPfMsGWhizxLLxrtkDDWRELxx_jK5cha5kI4IEu5iXlqQY8bWfyqpZtzavJtKwg0DF3tvDYrXJUv3DrcaVAsauChGZDUikMD80EusRgYsplnVm_EMPqRsF6I/s1600-h/coolercandy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISS4V3a6pPBhOZkg6PH-rPfMsGWhizxLLxrtkDDWRELxx_jK5cha5kI4IEu5iXlqQY8bWfyqpZtzavJtKwg0DF3tvDYrXJUv3DrcaVAsauChGZDUikMD80EusRgYsplnVm_EMPqRsF6I/s400/coolercandy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384435540834683426" border="0" /></a>Megan and I both came from small, midwestern towns where it's easier to gossip than it is to do just about anything else. The essential topics in small towns are birth, deaths, marriages, affairs, and divorces (as opposed to the nasty details of celebrity gossip which include cellulite, sexual peccadillos and sartorial slobbery). Life in a small town becomes blatantly transparent, which is why many of us leave for the comparative anonymity and freedom of life in an urban center. (The irony is that we kind of miss the connections between people. I do, anyway.) Once Megan entered the realm of the art world she was surprised at how vicious artists, art writers, curators and administrators could be. In fact, one time Megan got into trouble herself for a disgruntled posting she made on one of her blogs. It all ended in tears, as these things sometimes do.<br /><br />Having Megan and the festival made us all hyper aware of what we said about other people who weren't in the room at the time. "Will Megan write about that," we wonder? "Was that just a mean thing to say?" In the end we trusted her judgement and sometimes she was asked to change things to protect people's anonymity, which she did without hesitation. It was not her intention to hurt people.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSsVdsB83WMlFWMWPrYVXNpsMoZD6zLvQo2Zl3XMbrJ6ZeoRWy2FBMhecnRMTDibddtLljSMfw_k_dsZ-jjHdQ8vx-yiIKBOSm-440xl-k9FXduTRBScl1w3GuVh4izslM1CZc76FWqXo/s1600-h/chatting.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSsVdsB83WMlFWMWPrYVXNpsMoZD6zLvQo2Zl3XMbrJ6ZeoRWy2FBMhecnRMTDibddtLljSMfw_k_dsZ-jjHdQ8vx-yiIKBOSm-440xl-k9FXduTRBScl1w3GuVh4izslM1CZc76FWqXo/s400/chatting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384435532828099810" border="0" /></a>In my conversations with the artist she talked about her interest in how artists raise their profile in the community. How does one go from being off-radar or even "box office poison" to being the sexy hot performer on the circuit--the "it" boy or girl? Is it achieved bad boy (or girl) style by doing something so outrageous it sends tongues wagging across the nation, or is it when one just does a bad performance? (We all have nightmares about the latter.) Do we become the object of someone's jealousy, fetishistic desire, or ire? After all, much of contemporary art is about fetishizing something.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG3JSmhil-JFTMnsZ20Zc9thGlE6pLkjA-QotZwTTGSZDZG3in84ylHn6Gmipwri0UExaFTfMiGzZIGlOWZsPxNSzHisarR7xn_JlGw2cQGH3PbBawhuy4S0M-FJLEYJCBsgbX4E-Jst4/s1600-h/sourbears.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG3JSmhil-JFTMnsZ20Zc9thGlE6pLkjA-QotZwTTGSZDZG3in84ylHn6Gmipwri0UExaFTfMiGzZIGlOWZsPxNSzHisarR7xn_JlGw2cQGH3PbBawhuy4S0M-FJLEYJCBsgbX4E-Jst4/s400/sourbears.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384435364471170194" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnRdBpK5EC6HMGRBSnbWdInt9H4OJTG4Mvdi4mqOKX_3ae77ZYhxJbQ110E9LkcF_gvdABYnKs7dN1ukEI3YPOuBKCYaWSSsw50K60oqsALXSnEnM-yu4bZzZOD6RYAvPEgoSkKJgt0Q/s1600-h/mints.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnRdBpK5EC6HMGRBSnbWdInt9H4OJTG4Mvdi4mqOKX_3ae77ZYhxJbQ110E9LkcF_gvdABYnKs7dN1ukEI3YPOuBKCYaWSSsw50K60oqsALXSnEnM-yu4bZzZOD6RYAvPEgoSkKJgt0Q/s400/mints.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384435355179711522" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ1oZ9iNTDOkGkWkSiPp9Z0c_Yz4sgFo8G7WdH0HvpV2ko_J3e603yqvuYxinCBjxL1ptqHQw3p0bw6LQOsa3ka4sJtioIO6Aj2BIOx8nNQPpTNjNlPNumsxhlOWsqgXXfRClYeyg8WBo/s1600-h/brittle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ1oZ9iNTDOkGkWkSiPp9Z0c_Yz4sgFo8G7WdH0HvpV2ko_J3e603yqvuYxinCBjxL1ptqHQw3p0bw6LQOsa3ka4sJtioIO6Aj2BIOx8nNQPpTNjNlPNumsxhlOWsqgXXfRClYeyg8WBo/s400/brittle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384435344252505698" border="0" /></a>By raising the participants of this festival to pseudo-super star level, Morman parodies the voyeuristic gaze that performers crave and fear at the same time. The wonderful thing about her piece is that we all had fun playing the game ourselves, making up imaginary scenarios and trying to convince Megan to post them. One day a set of word magnets mysteriously appeared on the bathroom stalls. Custom-made my Megan Morman, they contained our names and racy words that enabled anyone in the bathroom to construct rumors. This reminds us that yes, gossip is intentionally constructed, crafted from fantasies and oral stories passed from person to person. They are dynamic, unpredictable, and generally erode over time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtdOMiRaMQ_l56n31dhJ3rdGghnLBgx4kgHXkyWYEs9NFvV60l_DC5vNOTt-4pAnImUBI58athJFzY5dwHu0CMJ1U-w9XI1MPLzARzJlrfO6dr1NMqVt20JfNudY6J6KT4g1VDB9uywk/s1600-h/tjmagnet.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtdOMiRaMQ_l56n31dhJ3rdGghnLBgx4kgHXkyWYEs9NFvV60l_DC5vNOTt-4pAnImUBI58athJFzY5dwHu0CMJ1U-w9XI1MPLzARzJlrfO6dr1NMqVt20JfNudY6J6KT4g1VDB9uywk/s400/tjmagnet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384435328035248370" border="0" /></a>Morman's piece made us even more aware of the social nature of our art, especially within the context of this particular festival where performers are encouraged to stay for the entire time to engage in social and critical dialogue. Remember the French immersion exchanges from the Trudeau era? Like that, only the language is performance art. It's a truly elucidating and humbling experience to see the work of your peers at this festival, especially the senior artists who maintain a lively engaged practice in the era of a conservative government. Furthermore, the conversations among the artists and curator help to create solidarity, critical feedback, and evolve the practice. It's the talk around the water cooler and the table at Boston Pizza that keeps us grounded and builds trust so we can give critical feedback to each other.<br /><br />Do check out <a href="http://gossip.populust.ca/">Cooler</a>. It's a hoot! I hope it never ends.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-50649451036901824302009-09-22T11:13:00.000-07:002009-09-22T11:54:20.384-07:00T.L. Cowan: The Twisted She Project<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2h2n0PKAzuV_9og68hikRnPK-uLko48d6R9UTRXZjKQwNjoJx3lMeUbrg1BZ2hs2Cy5eW3svdrWXguacdIkac5nRpjT3JRZ8M198JPHKTp3te1XcUOSpOfBlZmIKIXf_SR15MIU1jxk/s1600-h/coraldress.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2h2n0PKAzuV_9og68hikRnPK-uLko48d6R9UTRXZjKQwNjoJx3lMeUbrg1BZ2hs2Cy5eW3svdrWXguacdIkac5nRpjT3JRZ8M198JPHKTp3te1XcUOSpOfBlZmIKIXf_SR15MIU1jxk/s400/coraldress.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384358172481663234" border="0" /></a>What a swell party we had! The audience piled into the gallery and just kept on coming. The audience was presented with a choice of Evian mineral water or a large shot of vodka with a wedge of lemon or lime. The glasses were identical. One knew upon tasting the liquid in the glasses placed in front of the Belvedere vodka bottles, it was the real thing. (Apparently those shots disappeared quickly.) What you choose to hydrate your body with can make all the difference.<br /><br />The stage was set up as in the installation, with video projections on two walls and a vanity dresser painted white in the far corner. The pink lacy dress that had hung in the corner was missing. After the crowd stuffed itself into the venue and Todd gave the artist and her collaborators a lovely introduction, T.L. Cowan appeared in the strapless pale coral dress. She told me that it was unusual for her to wear something that didn't immediately identify her as a queer artist. She often wears punk-influenced boots, nylon stockings, or something that is different from a "tall skinny white woman in a dress". She said that this dress and her lack of heavy makeup made her feel "naked."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSSVi7NgpVURSjDmZEkYDEwVryXXBihXSPAJZFv3NC6fVQi43ZzfsoAfatDPW0ZMcK4YSjTx-Sx8A8v8iyvCCLhjKgDhQCYvVpBG_JP6gqD-sjgVatvINEinStlG6biRhAn8Muy6DJS4Q/s1600-h/dots.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSSVi7NgpVURSjDmZEkYDEwVryXXBihXSPAJZFv3NC6fVQi43ZzfsoAfatDPW0ZMcK4YSjTx-Sx8A8v8iyvCCLhjKgDhQCYvVpBG_JP6gqD-sjgVatvINEinStlG6biRhAn8Muy6DJS4Q/s400/dots.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384358162146210594" border="0" /></a>Cowan writes from a queer feminist perspective about the fluidity of gender and sexual orientation, the life of a "Twisted She." The first poem Cowen reads called "Ballad of She" is based loosely on a Dorothy Livesay poem "Ballad of Me" from The Unquiet Bed (Toronto Ryerson Press, 1967). Cowan's poem is about a girl who looks like a boy and keeps running away from home which stigmatizes her as being abnormal. We admire the child who has the bravodo to test the boundaries of her existence, just as we admire the way Cowan as an adult pushes the limits of limitations and definitions contemporary society tries to delineate, set, and fix.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCGZGKAywk1aYhBbTHWTsWTHwZNVcwhKO8mZTrZyAcOMmlHl5fqAjDa3nGrsS_95eo_VXSLfCZYzoBjHniU42H1eqi92PBZO1KgdpJ_zhdpT0Lqv-y42FEfZEz1SVAYYk5zk-3TsRi1NQ/s1600-h/evian.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCGZGKAywk1aYhBbTHWTsWTHwZNVcwhKO8mZTrZyAcOMmlHl5fqAjDa3nGrsS_95eo_VXSLfCZYzoBjHniU42H1eqi92PBZO1KgdpJ_zhdpT0Lqv-y42FEfZEz1SVAYYk5zk-3TsRi1NQ/s400/evian.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384357787693981266" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZnMpAf7L7ZrgsBcoh6eLx3N3rFmEK0jVubiGDzvIpqMIa-fF-03fqpTHLArDJ-3FCBUttSMt5_wR_KcVHmd2pK1SrShiA5bE1vNzhhMNjfELHY-g7teTv4MzewC_EROHf5TsgPfkjKBk/s1600-h/vodka.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZnMpAf7L7ZrgsBcoh6eLx3N3rFmEK0jVubiGDzvIpqMIa-fF-03fqpTHLArDJ-3FCBUttSMt5_wR_KcVHmd2pK1SrShiA5bE1vNzhhMNjfELHY-g7teTv4MzewC_EROHf5TsgPfkjKBk/s400/vodka.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384357778914565250" border="0" /></a>It's hard for me to cherry-pick phrases out of a living body of text like that of TL Cowan's but here I am, choosing a few lines among many that resonate. It's impossible for me to create the artist's line breaks properly here, so my apologies.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">How can I encourage you to imagine my wet, hard nipples drenched in fantasy, while I am sitting here without a webcam and you are all the way over there, without my soup to keep you warm.</span><br /><br />The "you" and "I" in the poem called "You think I talk like a girl?" are confusing, and they are meant to be open and ready for you to plug in the genders your imagination brings to the poem. Cowan talks about the banal aspects of having sex on a water bed, juxtaposed with questions about what specific sexual gestures the subjects in the poem will choose to perform.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What if I put my leg over here?</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Is that better?</span><br /><br /><br />She talks about sweat stains, politics, expectations, finances, grammar, and love. It's like an entire relationship or many relationships shrunk and condensed and distilled into into one poem. The tone is sexy, self-deprecating, at times mocking, and sometimes unexpectedly earnest. In this way the audience enters into the poem because there are so many facets to it. It contains us like water.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8qPS9AXVpzP9-_SatIw_B3prrRIv6CFcKtIogbTUy03d1SEWMx4E4mXwpbBIn_DnRfTqnyx82hbvbk1hZEd2lwvT0320hc2jrGhJ9xTqyOe4KzbYA-52iVreGTWadnJjv_uQ16_HXhgI/s1600-h/girl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8qPS9AXVpzP9-_SatIw_B3prrRIv6CFcKtIogbTUy03d1SEWMx4E4mXwpbBIn_DnRfTqnyx82hbvbk1hZEd2lwvT0320hc2jrGhJ9xTqyOe4KzbYA-52iVreGTWadnJjv_uQ16_HXhgI/s400/girl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384357609313347858" border="0" /></a>"Rachel and Amy" describes a tenuous friendship between two childhood friends, one with a conventional family and Rachel, who is a lesbian punk musician in Vancouver. In contrast to "You think I talk like a girl," the gender and sexual orientation lines out drawn out loud and clear. I don't want to give away the ending, but it left me wondering what would have happened if the sexual orientation roles had been reversed.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEjTJHCon_4GeJJY4D4nfzf3VhSDhFsS0Fyg-WDTlhDsJXL9ci8Capont-ZDTTVW73YA3kEd29j9jju7EWqj-d1HUa3jvsbvxyR_01EflsK4SKOhdETf2aFkT7Wd-OL3noWSPT5rHst0w/s1600-h/sharpestshot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 324px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEjTJHCon_4GeJJY4D4nfzf3VhSDhFsS0Fyg-WDTlhDsJXL9ci8Capont-ZDTTVW73YA3kEd29j9jju7EWqj-d1HUa3jvsbvxyR_01EflsK4SKOhdETf2aFkT7Wd-OL3noWSPT5rHst0w/s400/sharpestshot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384357482913608194" border="0" /></a>"Serenity: A twenty-seven step program for class-transitioning women in their thirties who are torn between an attachment to the street cred of being a dirt bag and the desire for beautiful kitchens and nice clothes."<br /><br />The artist presents a meditation on dealing with the pull towards a higher standard of living as she get older. She fantasizes about a heist or forcing someone to sign over their inheritance to her and ends on a calm note of acceptance. She doesn't pull any punches with the language in this poem:<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">12.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> This is your material existence: your best friend's privilege will sodomize your heart.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">13. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> na-na-na-na-naa-na</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">14.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">there is a hole in your chest for the purpose,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> puckered shyly behind your left nipple.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdx9FDgPOYmuFhyphenhyphen1u_gvOVYDvZ8MTaJnkaT7u5-RCjlNWwI2ev0dv7612Z2uSWdC32JaAaHaMAAC8xvCGiQHm7XB0R4R7c4SeHtvmh4eRBUWZR09lPprPwwAmbMe7y4OmpT-zNUs0x8o/s1600-h/slideshow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdx9FDgPOYmuFhyphenhyphen1u_gvOVYDvZ8MTaJnkaT7u5-RCjlNWwI2ev0dv7612Z2uSWdC32JaAaHaMAAC8xvCGiQHm7XB0R4R7c4SeHtvmh4eRBUWZR09lPprPwwAmbMe7y4OmpT-zNUs0x8o/s400/slideshow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384357473286796114" border="0" /></a>"Red" is a delicious poem about an almost ménage a trois--two women and one man. A man and a woman are having coffee and their anxieties pop out like thought bubbles in a graphic cartoon. Then to make matters worse, the woman each of them has been having sex with for weeks drops in to join them. The tension builds. Later, the second woman gossips about the original couple, saying that they are "perfect for each other" and "tedious in bed."<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Her tampon has dropped and she is probably leaking</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">and his erection is growing even though he is hot.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMFeN-cVZ6Y4wqrStnZ5PJX1bzJcsSU18kg-Azf1tTdYXC8vEs5Z8zZKu-aA6I1FQApvVCSX-1YaIFfCwBecwgaTWKiwHwdrOFYAA2E1evS0Qzc-6m3b01jbjVXIqUDk4HBfHNv4yEwo/s1600-h/slideshow2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 306px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMFeN-cVZ6Y4wqrStnZ5PJX1bzJcsSU18kg-Azf1tTdYXC8vEs5Z8zZKu-aA6I1FQApvVCSX-1YaIFfCwBecwgaTWKiwHwdrOFYAA2E1evS0Qzc-6m3b01jbjVXIqUDk4HBfHNv4yEwo/s400/slideshow2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384357464324746690" border="0" /></a>"This is a picture of me" is my favorite poem of the night. Cowan presnts us with a blank slide show of pictures from her life. She shows us a picture of the "tights that failed," and reminisces about "ripping out the sagging crotch with my teeth". All the "slides" are blank, but presented as if each one of them were real. She shows us a succession of skating costumes: hoola girl, Christmas tree, Teddy Bear. She shows us the photo of her grade five class photo where she is taller than the teacher.<br /><br /><br />"These are the pants, white cotton, that were left at our front door one<br />day."<br /><br /><br />From baptism and communion to her first photo of a lesbian, we laugh in empathy as a human, fluid and unformed in identity, gradually taking on confidence and wisdom as she gets older, but still with that same sense of mischief, humour, and vulnerablity that mark her as a truly adventurous spirit.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiayVDtDzTOp91WFd6_jMVGCS-0LeO38f9Cp6vDZ2t5QhlKi4kW3EXmpaAJ6jNeROHWWYFu28JRPSF-VbICDioOOdW7PHle6Dqt_-U_QApHo9qh8y3AdevLNegkKoH_8rEdoSgpZGAmDPA/s1600-h/projection+best.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiayVDtDzTOp91WFd6_jMVGCS-0LeO38f9Cp6vDZ2t5QhlKi4kW3EXmpaAJ6jNeROHWWYFu28JRPSF-VbICDioOOdW7PHle6Dqt_-U_QApHo9qh8y3AdevLNegkKoH_8rEdoSgpZGAmDPA/s400/projection+best.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384357183837090050" border="0" /></a><br />"Helen" is an excruciating poem about a dysfunctional woman. Time slows down and we become painfully aware of a body alone and challenged beyond its capacity to function. It brings alive our worst fears. "I would write you a nature poem" is a satire on poems the poet doesn't quite get around to writing.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqPgTAGyArbqZIcvwp5wAjR9UXVAmei-gCrm6l9-CC5-6nKoakmtZgzNNgd_nZRQK-clCcRPCvez3ly3-JHvlRXHtKeKFCnBfIk1-FiNmUa7e3FXzRFztSsKHvQEm35OKS-Z8nzraTdjs/s1600-h/moody.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 316px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqPgTAGyArbqZIcvwp5wAjR9UXVAmei-gCrm6l9-CC5-6nKoakmtZgzNNgd_nZRQK-clCcRPCvez3ly3-JHvlRXHtKeKFCnBfIk1-FiNmUa7e3FXzRFztSsKHvQEm35OKS-Z8nzraTdjs/s400/moody.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384357055493924434" border="0" /></a> The performance ends with "Wash me", a serene erotic poem that ties the performance directly into the aquatic theme of the Visualeyez festival.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Let me float, she said.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Her lover held her naked body in the lake, straightened the bends and tipped her</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> head back, chin towards the sky. Held her steady---cheeks, lips, nipples, ribs, and</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> knees slightly breaking the surface--sure hands just holding her up and then</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> vanishing into the lake, leaving her with water lapping in her ears, a hot sun, a</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> slight breeze blowing goose-bumps on exposed flesh.</span><br /><br /><br />The musical soundtrack is composed and performed by the collaborators Jan Olesen (bass), and Mickey Vallee (accordian and electronic) is very successful in that it adds background texture, tension and atmosphere to the performance without overwhelming the text. The imagery created by kellY bollen is subtle and ghost-like with overlapping and dissolving images of hands, hearts, and a young girl. The images on the centre wall created by Elaine Wannechko are ambiguous vegetable/human skin/netting projections. In a feedback session on Sunday the collaborators described how they worked to integrated all the elements of the piece with Kristen Hutchison acting as devisor/third eye.<br /><br />I can testify that an evening with T.L. Cowan is a good night out and I hope we get to see her performing more often. It made me nostalgic for the women's performance festivals that have been lost along the way. Maybe someone like Cowan can help lead a revival.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-44143832190674279962009-09-22T09:38:00.000-07:002009-09-22T09:43:26.965-07:00The Party's OverYes, the pools have been drained, the water cooler is dry and the circus is packing up to leave town, but the blog is still live for a while longer as we have a few more entries to post. So don't delete your link just yet, as there is more on its way, and there's a bit of party food left over in the fridge here at Latitude 53.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-23599393393713243832009-09-21T15:00:00.000-07:002009-09-21T15:41:01.404-07:00Relational Rita<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj43yqMnXhjzCcPEt5kN8kN1Jctd4PkSTcT8WjVAruYzZ3oQnQW_3RevxyDiJ1SFvtF44tHrZVC2lQgWy9oTb2X5yOwY8jm8cxQdzTxzQ-ieStWokyfrkxTnwoIkiNNS9QlLntJaWdPJ4/s1600-h/rita1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj43yqMnXhjzCcPEt5kN8kN1Jctd4PkSTcT8WjVAruYzZ3oQnQW_3RevxyDiJ1SFvtF44tHrZVC2lQgWy9oTb2X5yOwY8jm8cxQdzTxzQ-ieStWokyfrkxTnwoIkiNNS9QlLntJaWdPJ4/s320/rita1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384052032257167698" border="0" /></a>
<br />As I began the walking trek with Rita Kamacho late this morning, I watched carefully how nervous she appeared to be. She is small in stature but full of presence - in that gentle way that knocks you on your bum.
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<br />I have to admit that I was tickled to be watching Rita's performance as I love relational performances, which I would define as intimate encounters between the artist and their collaborators (e.g. the audience, the other person, the recipient). I do also admit freely that all of these words are cumbersome to explain the partnership - but awkwardly deficient in their moniker as while the artist often begin the exchange, their can be - dare I write magical things that come out of it, especially when the person engages and switches an really gets into the interchange with the artist.
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<br />We arrive at Beaver Hills House Park and Rita parks her wheelbarrow filled with small glass bottles, corked, and labeled.The people gather around form a semi-circle - completed by the bar of spigots that in summer shoot out a small water fall in the park. Rita tells us about the way in which vibrations can change water's molecular shape. (Masaru Emoto) She asks each of us to take one bottle marked LOVE and one marked GRATITUDE and to think about the word that is labeled in the small bottle; say it out loud; and use the water for a special occasion. After a few minutes Rita tells us that she will go bother others with her message and physical things to connect with people in the park. As people group together and chat I am struck by our colse knit community of repeat attendees, staff, volunteers, and artists - a beautiful group and how we connect as communities from near and far and how important it is to see the work of other artists and to absorb their actions, thoughts and intentions. This is integral to Visualeyez and I am happy.
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<br />As I try to do as much as possible during the festival I stay for the entire performance - perhaps not always visible, but definitely there - a trick learned from Paul Couillard - one of many. There have been times this year where have not been there for an entire performance - or in the case of Micheal and Jason, missed completely, this unsettles me and I try to find ways of maneuvering these feelings into positive action.
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<br />I watch Rita as she gently places the glass bottles into cardboard white boxes and I am reminded of traditional wedding cake - often a fruit cake! That is cut up and placed in boxes and often mailed to guests and sometimes eaten on the first anniversary. It is true too that I associate food with many things - but family and friend gatherings always involve food. I feel that it is often about the sharing and the prop for conversation, for learning, for sharing, for caring, and for giving and receiving. Rita's one-on-one or one-on-two interactions are with generosity and interest by the people she approaches and engages with. I feel that her actions are gentle and focused on a way that as she leave the people - they are smiling and have a certain gaze of peacefulness in their eyes. I am again pleased to bear witness and grateful that Rita bothered these people.
<br />TJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11908164746814767478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-33490026462338811422009-09-21T10:21:00.000-07:002009-09-21T10:33:18.791-07:00Heads Up!Rita Kamacho is preparing for her piece called <span style="font-style: italic;">Vibrations Imprints</span> which is ongoing from noon to 2 pm in Beaver Hills House Park. Tonight's closing party starts at 7 pm, with your truly performing along with Juliana Barbarbas, and the musician Michael Rault will perform a 45 minute set at nine pm. Drinks will be served (cash bar) featuring cocktails made with Belvedere Vodka.<br /><br />Get the latest breaking pseudo celebrity gossip from <a href="http://gossip.populust.ca/">Megan Morman</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-67652444603460676432009-09-21T09:36:00.000-07:002009-09-21T10:21:09.916-07:00Renato Vitic Walks on Water<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkqYE8PKCt7N9dP0O5RVA435uycVRv4ly-elqqkI121lEjdkO-oVNO4lCdlIRweoSJVkiZa4kDQ2pgSGFsE0pGEoPT_5xosfvqqsOwMb5_NjIGUfak0LgvSt_eKSz6QYJdRR2eebVBsQ/s1600-h/intro.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkqYE8PKCt7N9dP0O5RVA435uycVRv4ly-elqqkI121lEjdkO-oVNO4lCdlIRweoSJVkiZa4kDQ2pgSGFsE0pGEoPT_5xosfvqqsOwMb5_NjIGUfak0LgvSt_eKSz6QYJdRR2eebVBsQ/s400/intro.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383965469138554802" border="0" /></a>Yesterday Renato Vitic lead us on an art walk through the city center streets. <span style="font-style: italic;">Walking on Water</span> was presented at Visualeyez as part of a show at the Art Gallery of Alberta called <span style="font-style: italic;">The New Flaneurs</span> curated by Marcus Miller. We gathered at the entrance to the gallery and discovered the artist wearing a distinctive red and white checkerboard suit. He was a walking traffic sign. To introduce the piece, Vitic emphasized that the audience helps to create an art walk, that the participants become performers.<br /><br />The artist had mapped out the journey ahead of time and gave us various facts about water in Edmonton and beyond. He peppered his talks with profound quotes about water carefully chosen for each site and set activities for the audience along the way.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnNnqTXzEHhouJtPn5L_Scnwe32j6zzy9VZ1IIWQJ-DA9a7Oum44QZb-DT3wJW9tzX33UP1ATbymNubytPr4RDt8NFw6S4oB0L6YTYA0e0OlTiifOO7XEPYAcZDPlGT6yIWX9kfnRFTZo/s1600-h/sewer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnNnqTXzEHhouJtPn5L_Scnwe32j6zzy9VZ1IIWQJ-DA9a7Oum44QZb-DT3wJW9tzX33UP1ATbymNubytPr4RDt8NFw6S4oB0L6YTYA0e0OlTiifOO7XEPYAcZDPlGT6yIWX9kfnRFTZo/s400/sewer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383965291458582370" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">"Sanitation is more important than independence."</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">--Ghandi</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ew8Nijq0SIt1NlIcqNA4tW21n9LiXN14zAgc7iGsmPQmwa20g6RqRstEX-LqeDmDFzj_IGE92NcTYciRpICR7SgtBVmZFunff2bMker3D7gkgG92_U-LvPz21_nvklFDiSPvi4huef8/s1600-h/sewercrowd.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ew8Nijq0SIt1NlIcqNA4tW21n9LiXN14zAgc7iGsmPQmwa20g6RqRstEX-LqeDmDFzj_IGE92NcTYciRpICR7SgtBVmZFunff2bMker3D7gkgG92_U-LvPz21_nvklFDiSPvi4huef8/s400/sewercrowd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383965283656165170" border="0" /></a>The first stop on Vitic's tour is a storm sewer. Apparently there are 60,000 storm sewers in Edmonton, none of them adorned with art, as they often are in other cities. The artist wryly pointed out there is potential here for some creativity--(Vancouver has a lot of sewer art, in fact they add more every year.) Speaking about the importance of treating sewage, Vitic stated that one out of six people in the world doesn't have clean drinking water.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvAtcMCvIdB8P06qn238zmMP8-kYUlTgah6nSvNh06HtZfCRCOdqi9vqBRkWnzYP59VEoYh3Y1eyGqEOwpDKPCHcluUCCVMeDZ0tSX4BY4RCjQAJmnFHVwemdbFfZGYsAZzD4nDhpPV9Q/s1600-h/checkersewer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvAtcMCvIdB8P06qn238zmMP8-kYUlTgah6nSvNh06HtZfCRCOdqi9vqBRkWnzYP59VEoYh3Y1eyGqEOwpDKPCHcluUCCVMeDZ0tSX4BY4RCjQAJmnFHVwemdbFfZGYsAZzD4nDhpPV9Q/s400/checkersewer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383965274149905970" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBP_fXBjP9ND6x4vJ6Z2ySGU6LSDviiv7wpvKBK_33Rm2y6zBOtRLjF77NNaGlg1pkVnbYins9wToM2P_XKQ4oseVghq8GEMFbaHRje2iRyWPooo7_h3FtaikyjD-SakNlf6mOKwRSBA/s1600-h/moreshoulder.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinBP_fXBjP9ND6x4vJ6Z2ySGU6LSDviiv7wpvKBK_33Rm2y6zBOtRLjF77NNaGlg1pkVnbYins9wToM2P_XKQ4oseVghq8GEMFbaHRje2iRyWPooo7_h3FtaikyjD-SakNlf6mOKwRSBA/s400/moreshoulder.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383964195587722242" border="0" /></a>The audience was asked to put one arm on the shoulder of the person in front of them. Thirty people snaked in a conga line, exploring the concept of "flow" lead by a man in a checkerboard suit in and around the pillars of the buildings. We created quite a spectacle. Spectators laughed and some even tried to join in the fun.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmDzJtJCjTCsO6RplwBJzMYSjpAuAUbGqEE38kziV0JrrcQFGB4B8t5UmeeAMJbTjZcRk2FSpvd9B1RVe2K1b67nw7Xe0NQuMaGnGQKs2yRHFmMu3XOI41gNYFeUTbJp2uaqeQUN1nqo/s1600-h/onward+shoulders.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmDzJtJCjTCsO6RplwBJzMYSjpAuAUbGqEE38kziV0JrrcQFGB4B8t5UmeeAMJbTjZcRk2FSpvd9B1RVe2K1b67nw7Xe0NQuMaGnGQKs2yRHFmMu3XOI41gNYFeUTbJp2uaqeQUN1nqo/s400/onward+shoulders.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383964190135095474" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSktwdrgBo4xM0WyqnsvoX_YrbT5j_B92vBSG8CX0y0SKjbs5FFm1BjfCauOUAeAiWUepv1nyaS-hKG7laDNR3fxtFBgY0z34ErI2eZaRiNs64Kufivm4TuDMZ1MVLpigpuI5zEY3MMuA/s1600-h/pool.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSktwdrgBo4xM0WyqnsvoX_YrbT5j_B92vBSG8CX0y0SKjbs5FFm1BjfCauOUAeAiWUepv1nyaS-hKG7laDNR3fxtFBgY0z34ErI2eZaRiNs64Kufivm4TuDMZ1MVLpigpuI5zEY3MMuA/s400/pool.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383963882908090674" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikaGWejfPvsbwl8wnQBcMzApJTRVPubqDPPmZKe9-lxPCiG2mHPXzH-YZlgvCvNlGxmuBxZ8sGJtC63sPBftNJj1PYDJ-4T981plpmKOAfDq-6pCVKZ1tBonTjvsyvZRR7yh6dEmo_Wro/s1600-h/poolcircle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikaGWejfPvsbwl8wnQBcMzApJTRVPubqDPPmZKe9-lxPCiG2mHPXzH-YZlgvCvNlGxmuBxZ8sGJtC63sPBftNJj1PYDJ-4T981plpmKOAfDq-6pCVKZ1tBonTjvsyvZRR7yh6dEmo_Wro/s400/poolcircle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383963876738012418" border="0" /></a>The second stop on the journey was the pool at city hall, which had recently been turned off and drained. Vitic knows his statistics: apparently every year the city of Edmonton disposes of two million litres of water from its public pools and fountains. Wowza. The good news is that since 2005 they have started to de-chlorinate the water and used it to irrigate city parks and green spaces. Next, Vitic had the crowd form a big circle in the pool, the circle changes, mutates, until it becomes the symbol of infinity.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_omDRmFkU0qbfNFgMZ1CYAjPkOmts2IqRAkwUylxJzRVIcjQ_ggEuaVSRHuc3QTiT7-iD05E9NwTmLRsVPRGeQBTsyVJoRFpYd-nNQxQ5e3Br1VoehHZSXlgtuM8F-v2PDxT3JzQr1k/s1600-h/wetleaves.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_omDRmFkU0qbfNFgMZ1CYAjPkOmts2IqRAkwUylxJzRVIcjQ_ggEuaVSRHuc3QTiT7-iD05E9NwTmLRsVPRGeQBTsyVJoRFpYd-nNQxQ5e3Br1VoehHZSXlgtuM8F-v2PDxT3JzQr1k/s400/wetleaves.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383963858761141714" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisREIN7Y_c2Z3gDj0KCAQVWLAxTF7bnnD9AVMkhE9thNceh89N7g2KMe3fBpU7uCSnNnCghyVBCpV5UNyBUZ0HjgwdQRiLCzeQh3kc-46OXG8YHU-vDA_FY59k5aMj1QFa7Tdi90h6eSg/s1600-h/epcor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisREIN7Y_c2Z3gDj0KCAQVWLAxTF7bnnD9AVMkhE9thNceh89N7g2KMe3fBpU7uCSnNnCghyVBCpV5UNyBUZ0HjgwdQRiLCzeQh3kc-46OXG8YHU-vDA_FY59k5aMj1QFa7Tdi90h6eSg/s400/epcor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383963846126380034" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless, like water. If you pour water into a cup it becomes a cup. You put water into a bottle and it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now water can flow or it can crash. Be water my friend."</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">--Bruce Lee</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrHuzPlSEFFExueWPG6OYywmaTMyreFF4dNIzl8QmKLroD_EFvDSQj515Kfxh4vnjJiVNq0_S7KhQziNoVINdERn9R1UVf43ll6cTkMNyoWpLvkONJsyNyNzjquoNQvAiXw5odRZag6xk/s1600-h/epcorbubbles.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrHuzPlSEFFExueWPG6OYywmaTMyreFF4dNIzl8QmKLroD_EFvDSQj515Kfxh4vnjJiVNq0_S7KhQziNoVINdERn9R1UVf43ll6cTkMNyoWpLvkONJsyNyNzjquoNQvAiXw5odRZag6xk/s400/epcorbubbles.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383963190801290338" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-xgCgzM0BOI5zsQUDgygapXDo6jFTjJYVJxhsys2J8mgVjMkmW63CiGu73v1DyiG6-8bVsRAQ0Jj4-SJqEbNFHa6BndiKPXlJ7jgGa043vPAxFdJBqUzslr-31X2dgTRXzsa2o9oJ07E/s1600-h/cbc.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-xgCgzM0BOI5zsQUDgygapXDo6jFTjJYVJxhsys2J8mgVjMkmW63CiGu73v1DyiG6-8bVsRAQ0Jj4-SJqEbNFHa6BndiKPXlJ7jgGa043vPAxFdJBqUzslr-31X2dgTRXzsa2o9oJ07E/s400/cbc.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383963183948200754" border="0" /></a>The next feature we headed for was the Epcor fountain. The festivities for Edmonton's AIDS walk were in full swing, so we pinned on red ribbons as we listened to the artist talk about the issue of the corporate management of water and the history of water in its use in monuments. He told the story of the doomed emperor Nero who created an artificial lake in the center of Rome as a symbol of his power. The artist told people to get into groups of three and he used velcro to strap their legs together. Vitic instructed the teams to be like water and move to the other side of the square together. Hilarity ensued.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcIGn9WBZjcX222x1OsWUFW-BiNMUvmJQkaNB0MrLSZACqmW3fRQxvsiCnCxFziMxwXBxHdFIzAoxRGfzU8kZxIMkWvJPtjtVw3QoX3nlNRS6b3WXFVUY0DbmxgYsxc8Odpc7eVGNHlBQ/s1600-h/legstraps.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcIGn9WBZjcX222x1OsWUFW-BiNMUvmJQkaNB0MrLSZACqmW3fRQxvsiCnCxFziMxwXBxHdFIzAoxRGfzU8kZxIMkWvJPtjtVw3QoX3nlNRS6b3WXFVUY0DbmxgYsxc8Odpc7eVGNHlBQ/s400/legstraps.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383963175890164722" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsyXDBu__LtGcd4xs4GuMUtmlB6YeFzX-78o_acE5mgZDEflzYUXZqWRQMWcXDtMD-_s9lhwjMOuD1k7Vfhq2XcdrRC3_AWFFlzql4mnX7JTX1_Djgr27TmT54d-IwQc5jBKKKdGD9FuM/s1600-h/differentheights.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsyXDBu__LtGcd4xs4GuMUtmlB6YeFzX-78o_acE5mgZDEflzYUXZqWRQMWcXDtMD-_s9lhwjMOuD1k7Vfhq2XcdrRC3_AWFFlzql4mnX7JTX1_Djgr27TmT54d-IwQc5jBKKKdGD9FuM/s400/differentheights.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383963162635026690" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOD85I4tGMRbAB6FIEwlKZoTowLrj9RJCTOfA5vwpPOHNaQ1LZc_PDqHFGqTyLqFX-KUstCoGRqlDxClB9BjBp2rz1xnHRqw2SW-VNIMXQktghvTFpcNpMbnarX9SR18zjwxsi-N8zRoY/s1600-h/sameheight.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOD85I4tGMRbAB6FIEwlKZoTowLrj9RJCTOfA5vwpPOHNaQ1LZc_PDqHFGqTyLqFX-KUstCoGRqlDxClB9BjBp2rz1xnHRqw2SW-VNIMXQktghvTFpcNpMbnarX9SR18zjwxsi-N8zRoY/s400/sameheight.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383963154184792994" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1I1a_MNWzzSlFZuzFnFbEvJByekOXbMy1tZ2fJl5XLVYSMwNkTZXn5qzOm6ZAEhLVtW6tmn41AHyQzkB5P1FPy-iMGWFDL1MCIddo0caPKO2CE18EJFeDYyrktBiJxgzhCxMc9diB0m0/s1600-h/cacti.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1I1a_MNWzzSlFZuzFnFbEvJByekOXbMy1tZ2fJl5XLVYSMwNkTZXn5qzOm6ZAEhLVtW6tmn41AHyQzkB5P1FPy-iMGWFDL1MCIddo0caPKO2CE18EJFeDYyrktBiJxgzhCxMc9diB0m0/s400/cacti.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383962337542128498" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC5uAxEos9_l1Wt5_D8aLa6Qm0it1D1LZCCzIFS5eXm21m2FTxABXuiDuXW0Cm8xwBrz_EWlfy3JUcp5SrLjNMaxJmcjCyFMUbHSygOj_eBOMGZUsivKtFo_iqo7bzu7mRDIgeNKNasvo/s1600-h/tropical.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC5uAxEos9_l1Wt5_D8aLa6Qm0it1D1LZCCzIFS5eXm21m2FTxABXuiDuXW0Cm8xwBrz_EWlfy3JUcp5SrLjNMaxJmcjCyFMUbHSygOj_eBOMGZUsivKtFo_iqo7bzu7mRDIgeNKNasvo/s400/tropical.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383962326959470882" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Always leave something to wish for; otherwise you will be miserable from your very happiness."</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">--Baltsan Graciau</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJbt5SwdymVwbpy6LSN92dlVRtQmkNsZi5_5NUNnavDoqGqCrQM2RboCAVVLcfrYtT8WoFf_SKfdfyP3q88Imlbgeg7DL9pOQkg0d9P_42hM1k87tdNiSAH4hGPR0MAVEnf155Pyfmg0/s1600-h/coin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJbt5SwdymVwbpy6LSN92dlVRtQmkNsZi5_5NUNnavDoqGqCrQM2RboCAVVLcfrYtT8WoFf_SKfdfyP3q88Imlbgeg7DL9pOQkg0d9P_42hM1k87tdNiSAH4hGPR0MAVEnf155Pyfmg0/s400/coin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383962138911547266" border="0" /></a>Now we headed for a fountain inside the Citadel Theatre. The artist talked about the mythology of fountains and gave us each a Icelandic Kronar to throw into the pond to make a wish. He wanted to use a coin that was under five cents that featured aquatic imagery and this cod-adorned coin fit the bill.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgPDFBWhyphenhyphenuM2UEOfE5V2MLRuNKTRKLrZ3FILnx1HGxJ3TgwrxgJSQJcfTVet0Bii2s_S54X_zBI9pQftgwmIxZFniBaxe40OIFlwwMJLCvo4AKqR46NuB6m8WrAfXF_FEiEPb0NG8udY/s1600-h/crosslight.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgPDFBWhyphenhyphenuM2UEOfE5V2MLRuNKTRKLrZ3FILnx1HGxJ3TgwrxgJSQJcfTVet0Bii2s_S54X_zBI9pQftgwmIxZFniBaxe40OIFlwwMJLCvo4AKqR46NuB6m8WrAfXF_FEiEPb0NG8udY/s400/crosslight.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383961978342351602" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRFofptpju_voNG1GfiqLdUju7ZDGVHLjt3NAiqKnJKgVM9qMhnSX2Skk3aA1N2FtZjnauI3RomWP5XbS0hTK7jahQ4tC5a4K8Ivgs1DrM8LIXc9CkiJenkaTA8JBf-mGnIdpcnk9e8JQ/s1600-h/Shaw.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 329px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRFofptpju_voNG1GfiqLdUju7ZDGVHLjt3NAiqKnJKgVM9qMhnSX2Skk3aA1N2FtZjnauI3RomWP5XbS0hTK7jahQ4tC5a4K8Ivgs1DrM8LIXc9CkiJenkaTA8JBf-mGnIdpcnk9e8JQ/s400/Shaw.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383961683646667330" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvcxH4SVaf237PenhK4lTrMS3L9cxrl9XB6EXte8r4Wz5PvoA5mbA8OUbGhaCO9T6Y0ct_Zce1vSrfwOrLOaPKNFc3-bGlCySYz4SlDJp3rGZcq__awrcIYdH9wof018MwjFaJM2yxTbg/s1600-h/clouds.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvcxH4SVaf237PenhK4lTrMS3L9cxrl9XB6EXte8r4Wz5PvoA5mbA8OUbGhaCO9T6Y0ct_Zce1vSrfwOrLOaPKNFc3-bGlCySYz4SlDJp3rGZcq__awrcIYdH9wof018MwjFaJM2yxTbg/s400/clouds.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383961671868509522" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sometimes if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known."</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">--Winnie the Pooh</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphenaVQiBxCpwvoxkcxmb_GfJFnEG8z1LsCOTTVS0t9XzQj13oytEDNiKdjJ_nreqg9C_XhDvZrF1FP8btVME5NvL2_fARaI4BQrPNLZUmZ07l9jbz1eSemq9WAuYE9sfupQbgFq3STQDA/s1600-h/riverflags.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphenaVQiBxCpwvoxkcxmb_GfJFnEG8z1LsCOTTVS0t9XzQj13oytEDNiKdjJ_nreqg9C_XhDvZrF1FP8btVME5NvL2_fARaI4BQrPNLZUmZ07l9jbz1eSemq9WAuYE9sfupQbgFq3STQDA/s400/riverflags.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383961662887112002" border="0" /></a>Now we crossed Jasper Avenue and stood facing the North Saskatchewan River which the artist tells us originates from the Saskatchewan Glacier on the Columbia Icefields and flows across the Prairies into Lake Winnipeg. It used to be a major fur-trading route until the railway supplanted that role. Vitic asked us to write positive quotes about water on pieces of bristol board to carry on our journey. He helped us staple them to sign boards along the way. As soon as we started walking with the signs, an occasional person in a car would start yelling at the group. Fear of those who want to go against the flow?<br /><br />This is where I ran out of space on my camera. Mea Culpa.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrdg1UgGJaQ-Nz9y8Jk_SCD0EucFhi-mrHpcL_zc7RZGGsjJZ8im2lWxwcIoKJcKaaWMcpTb8i51ZiMsjTcUXdQWpjtf11lzsIlvycX7Jg3VqfwnBDuxbjn30N3AcvkVuaX8p7njDdL4/s1600-h/sign.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrdg1UgGJaQ-Nz9y8Jk_SCD0EucFhi-mrHpcL_zc7RZGGsjJZ8im2lWxwcIoKJcKaaWMcpTb8i51ZiMsjTcUXdQWpjtf11lzsIlvycX7Jg3VqfwnBDuxbjn30N3AcvkVuaX8p7njDdL4/s400/sign.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383961177939006162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Water needed to produce the following food items:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">potatoes: 103 litres/kg</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">wheat: 185 l/kg</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">corn: 289 l/kg</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">rice: 393 l/kg</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">soybeans: 412 l/kg</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">beef: 20, 663 l/kg</span><br /><br /><br />We headed up to the Sobey's grocery stored where Vitic talked about the role of water in the production of food. He asked us to explore the concept of flow once again by having us walk a half a block in fifteen minutes. This got the attention of the Sobey's employees who started snapping photos with their cell phones. Curious bystanders asked me what was going on. One man who was going to ride his bike of the sidewalk had to stop and take another route. The surreal slowness of movement suggested evaporation. There was a race at the finish line to see who could come in last.<br /><br />Our final stop was another dry fountain, this time at Beaver Hills House Park, a fountain somewhat hidden and integrated into the landscape, meant to honour the local Aboriginal community. Ironically there was a sign saying the water was not suitable for swimming or bathing in. "Hey," called a woman on the grass, Can I play checkers?" "Maybe," say Renato, and then he let out a hearty laugh.<br /><br />Finally we ended to tour by having a chat on the patio of Latitude 53, where we were served fine mineral water. "There aren't many professional walkers," Vitic said to me. "It's an activity for amateurs." I asked what he meant and he told me about a kind of Buddhist religion where the monks walk constantly, with a goal to walk virtually circumnavigate the circumference of the earth. He says that there are people who walk behind them to prop them up when they are sleeping. Vitic also said that its an activity that goes across class structures. I liked the accessibility of his walk. It's something that drew in an interesting cross-section of people and the structure was loose enough that you could converse and meet new people so it became a real social event. Also, it was something you could opt in or out of at any time.<br /><br />To be a tourist in your own town is something I love to play at, and art walks are a great vehicle for seeing the everyday in a new way. The Ministry of Walking in Calgary, of whom Vitic is a member, is interested in making people aware of pedestrian culture, and maybe even luring them out of their cars to walk more often and appreciate their environment in a more human way. The implications of art walks are sometimes subtle: the effects trickle down into our bodies and brains and alter the flow of information and attention in ways we might not be conscious of. Some of its poetry percolates into the groundwater of our minds for many weeks later.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-54482620790441844452009-09-21T07:54:00.001-07:002009-09-21T07:57:07.509-07:00Quote of the Day"Visual art is so Derridative"<br />--Todd JanesUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-7533989556057204282009-09-20T16:46:00.001-07:002009-09-21T07:53:23.434-07:00Lola: A Honey of a Gal!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLSwcINUVBff9q9OsPGV60hyphenhyphensZFRURSdJ1JCtCbiooHpXPsjnEGw0zcGi8qNkn2lBvWwS5Y0F4j-Wkg_wST3NU2xBXEqBFLrm74upJkB9EC21vh9vrLYSMTW1TRRYBFNofWOrenQ2UYk/s1600-h/lola.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLSwcINUVBff9q9OsPGV60hyphenhyphensZFRURSdJ1JCtCbiooHpXPsjnEGw0zcGi8qNkn2lBvWwS5Y0F4j-Wkg_wST3NU2xBXEqBFLrm74upJkB9EC21vh9vrLYSMTW1TRRYBFNofWOrenQ2UYk/s400/lola.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383700968080994194" border="0" /></a>I was so pleased to see <a href="http://www.lolacanola.com/">Lola Canola</a> at the downtown farmer's market yesterday. I met her two years ago when I performed Madame Beespeaker at the same market. She was selling honey left and right--people just couldn't get enough of it, and they wanted the really big buckets. She says that people here have become passionate about eating local.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3t9ZCoMP34XvfaHfWUSegx0lAFfI2sFnXtYRA1LfNDtQANtx9NhssjZUgO64RVuJdsWO3_Mw-KAw4b87H-ShDAmsn4jzJGuMYdEDYHd2-HnCKk9hcfqM9jQMWSEwKqO7uNA0HujbmYM/s1600-h/honig.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3t9ZCoMP34XvfaHfWUSegx0lAFfI2sFnXtYRA1LfNDtQANtx9NhssjZUgO64RVuJdsWO3_Mw-KAw4b87H-ShDAmsn4jzJGuMYdEDYHd2-HnCKk9hcfqM9jQMWSEwKqO7uNA0HujbmYM/s400/honig.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383700954832234658" border="0" /></a>I love these prayer flags Lola made with the word "honey" in several different languages.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtuZG2WTRPkkZ9PqbC73gwj3ZFDDSYSkY0zpgOKqMMppGGM3uVLnaw1vzcfR12f6CxOpF_EaCwphz8Bralv_IQF4lF_6mvt1iD2kPWGJDgTzkVINyxZJRn_skDz8TUn9dfEIMn0KL9hs/s1600-h/honeycans.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtuZG2WTRPkkZ9PqbC73gwj3ZFDDSYSkY0zpgOKqMMppGGM3uVLnaw1vzcfR12f6CxOpF_EaCwphz8Bralv_IQF4lF_6mvt1iD2kPWGJDgTzkVINyxZJRn_skDz8TUn9dfEIMn0KL9hs/s400/honeycans.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383700639945738786" border="0" /></a>Kids love the honey sticks. The all time favorite is root beer flavor. The sour flavors are popular with teenagers.<br /><br />"Do you dream about bees," I ask her? "Yes I do," she said, and I worry about them. I dream about our bees, about moths getting into the honey because I forget to put the lid on the hive." Last night I dreamed there was a zucchini at the market that was so big that someone made a table out of it. That'd be one big zuke.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbAwgi5VIOZHjHzlmKvSks03ix8YAj52Xmuieevw_by80ORCEo0WxKKhQbX4MftTD5bYshZEDN7IRbhx4I9GhtwcYqExWAuGgXxev2ixmwW_ux2NJT_ezWK5cf0qXUWAKtDvH81khb1AE/s1600-h/honeycomb.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbAwgi5VIOZHjHzlmKvSks03ix8YAj52Xmuieevw_by80ORCEo0WxKKhQbX4MftTD5bYshZEDN7IRbhx4I9GhtwcYqExWAuGgXxev2ixmwW_ux2NJT_ezWK5cf0qXUWAKtDvH81khb1AE/s400/honeycomb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383700633762094098" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVjLBOcgCjMKe09Kz8LvXMYUhbU3uL8H0Z15OWK9AwS-eBDhk6IPfcHZDAwvzR7WyBLYw-YvgyNJDMrfqUcuXeFuBMXRoic81Z3uVOy1p9DEa467Vjt80Zxh1P1faOE7rsQLJudQsRUo/s1600-h/honeypots.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVjLBOcgCjMKe09Kz8LvXMYUhbU3uL8H0Z15OWK9AwS-eBDhk6IPfcHZDAwvzR7WyBLYw-YvgyNJDMrfqUcuXeFuBMXRoic81Z3uVOy1p9DEa467Vjt80Zxh1P1faOE7rsQLJudQsRUo/s400/honeypots.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383700621698885698" border="0" /></a>This honey is made from alfalfa nectar. People were asking what to do when it crystallizes. "Just gently heat it up," she says. Then she explained how you can place the jar in a water bath in a pot of hot water until it melts down into the liquid state. I bought a chunk of honeycomb to melt onto my porridge in the morning. Yum.<br /><br />Michael Fernandes told me that he lived in a town where there was a beekeeper who always had a few stray bees flying around him as he walked through the town. (I suspect they were wasps attracted to the traces of honey on his skin and clothing.) One woman in the town who got stung by a bee (or was it a wasp?) tried to sue the beekeeper for damages. The case was thrown out of court.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-43525211589994983322009-09-20T00:30:00.000-07:002009-09-20T00:58:45.706-07:00Day four and some<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5JSoo9JMcDBJZWl8dmKIQs3ZBTprDS4meJhYqAE4Mi1nC41bJnCwsst6CrMmK1whdiVqtnnuQZ0wapVs2GrQ6XmEPE9GzyDLSOqXWoGuiqvyZmHjZ4wOJv8QaTJCuOi__cCCbb1F_IE/s1600-h/Photo+11.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5JSoo9JMcDBJZWl8dmKIQs3ZBTprDS4meJhYqAE4Mi1nC41bJnCwsst6CrMmK1whdiVqtnnuQZ0wapVs2GrQ6XmEPE9GzyDLSOqXWoGuiqvyZmHjZ4wOJv8QaTJCuOi__cCCbb1F_IE/s320/Photo+11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383450741226910466" border="0" /></a><br />So it is just over half way past this truncated festival and I am thinking about the richness of gifts that the artist have given to the festival, each other, the audiences, and myself. I am certain part of this is because today when Reona stepped out of the van and into the airport departures area I wanted to tell her how honoured I was that she was part of the festival and how moved I was by her performance - the first time because it just pulled out emotions from me that left me tearful and hopeful at the same time. Today during her performance - which I thought was tighter - I was able to connect with the performance differently and obtain some clarity - yesterday I was moved to tears so they are pretty equal. Tonight, I realize that I have my own special performance traces from her performance residues - scratches on my arms from her barb wire. They hopefully will heal, but the impact will be far longer lasting…<br /><br />As curator I think of a large part of my role is to actually care for the artist, their work and the art which I often attempt and often succeed. It is also hard as these artist come for intense periods of time and create great works, build relationships and create bonds and then leave. While I understand this is life I am struck wondering where is performance art in Canada today and what are we doing collectively to build stronger relationships over our vast nation? Currently, performance art is homeless again - we had a home that was nurtured and developed through the InterArts Office at the Canada Council for the Arts - but now it seems both organizations that continually present and develop performance art and the performance artists are in limbo - InterArts seemingly evicted us from that home and suggested that we return to the empty nest parents of Visual Arts - where, we might assert, were never much but the poor cousin to the cash strapped visual arts in the Assistance to Artist-Run Centres pool. What will happen to performance art as we begin again to rebuild a sense of place? I write this because the talks that I shared with Reona often came around to mentoring and to youth and I think of the positive and timely injection that performance art received in Canada during the InterArts Office's early years; without which Visualeyez might not have continued and many emerging artist developed under that support through grants.<br /><br />In her talk today after her performance Reona said that she never learned to speak the language of her elders - and could learn the language now through universities - but that the language is dead as no new words are actively added - it was likened to Latin. She said that her language was performance art and that this language is universal. This thought sticks to my mind like barbed wire to my skin - I need to let it scratch some more. Maybe sleep will help this idea to grow.TJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11908164746814767478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-14159950488062997782009-09-19T18:15:00.001-07:002009-09-19T18:40:59.208-07:00Reona Brass: Glossolalia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cn_pUhkWq3W4s9WJKi_XjLZ3hsgd2gdDqszbEsTmxXFz1c2-Y4Mg8JXlwh4xbxIZhgWWSpE8fM0sHogZqQZ-aCfdvtsPXcf_yqWuehn-Jy1_Oi_qTaIgfcNZSUbT9zx_wzgzjQXKXt8/s1600-h/wirecu.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cn_pUhkWq3W4s9WJKi_XjLZ3hsgd2gdDqszbEsTmxXFz1c2-Y4Mg8JXlwh4xbxIZhgWWSpE8fM0sHogZqQZ-aCfdvtsPXcf_yqWuehn-Jy1_Oi_qTaIgfcNZSUbT9zx_wzgzjQXKXt8/s400/wirecu.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383354646341486978" border="0" /></a>I read once that barbed wire changed the history of North America. The lives of the First Nations were changed dramatically by fences containing sharp metal barbs that were meant to wound anyone or anything that dared to cross them. A mark of the lines drawn by the executors of the Dominion. A mark of the end of the nomadic way of life. Keeping cattle in, keeping the "noble savages" out.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">"...surrendered lands" means a reserve or part of a reserve or any interest therein, the legal title to which remains vested in Her Majesty, that has been released or surrendered by the band for whose use and benefit it was set apart..."</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQnFWE92GzYVtUFEm2MYwTLBsGrPbdYzj3Nux5NMeyRPD7bZXx5oq1HZ3aAeIIy2MJ5OhNFhFWwAl4iWjF7RAFwMWd_1DC1RXVo3PzeOwOwyxCmi5wKQmw-78qOZVXrWLdWjst5RScQJI/s1600-h/stretch.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQnFWE92GzYVtUFEm2MYwTLBsGrPbdYzj3Nux5NMeyRPD7bZXx5oq1HZ3aAeIIy2MJ5OhNFhFWwAl4iWjF7RAFwMWd_1DC1RXVo3PzeOwOwyxCmi5wKQmw-78qOZVXrWLdWjst5RScQJI/s400/stretch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383354540059768482" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">"...surrendered lands" means a reserve or part of a reserve or any interest therein, the legal title to which remains vested in Her Majesty, that has been released or surrendered by the band for whose use and benefit it was set apart..."</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimsp0bL_Oc0TXu-poKMmuod_ld0fQQi53JMlD0VnnVpE7qqx4NciVMoY5zFVgB_ME7i7DKM-s_TZPzbMwUOHs0LJM0McV1nQcaJbnGUr9k74ntmm8dWQpIkdVb3XfcvpJ93COzdDsycGk/s1600-h/wrestling.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimsp0bL_Oc0TXu-poKMmuod_ld0fQQi53JMlD0VnnVpE7qqx4NciVMoY5zFVgB_ME7i7DKM-s_TZPzbMwUOHs0LJM0McV1nQcaJbnGUr9k74ntmm8dWQpIkdVb3XfcvpJ93COzdDsycGk/s400/wrestling.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383353942456989266" border="0" /></a>As someone who grew up of the prairie, I am familiar with the gesture of searching for the loosest part of a fence, pulling apart the wires and stepping gingerly onto the other side. I wasn't worried about getting caught by the farmer, but I was worried about getting snagged by the wire. It would be painful and there was danger of being infected by the rusty barbs. (One of my friends had a nasty snowmobile accident when he collided with a barbed wire fence.) So when <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Reona</span> Brass started to unroll a spool of silver barbed wire, I was relieved she was wearing thick leather work gloves. Standing at a music stand in a tailored brown business suit and matching shoes, she named the piece Glossolalia, Speaking in Tongues. Then she began to read selections from the Indian Act.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-style: italic;">..."intoxicant" includes alcohol, alcoholic, spirituous, vinous, fermented malt or other intoxicating liquor or combination of liquors and mixed liquor a part of which is spirituous, vinous, fermented or otherwise intoxicating and all drinks, drinkable liquids, preparations or mixtures capable of human consumption that are intoxicating...</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNM_Btj94E8ceHpp4ceJZAIyfFRzCt0hbrwI27kcj5nBYcQ9SwMU-b7G652u_WLXXexz1nDuDynBcMDfb5oy7cskN6mkidGQoaeb7og7sHzyfPAMAL29IO_hL3n2gqUSUTn2K1WLRf4oA/s1600-h/betterdown.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNM_Btj94E8ceHpp4ceJZAIyfFRzCt0hbrwI27kcj5nBYcQ9SwMU-b7G652u_WLXXexz1nDuDynBcMDfb5oy7cskN6mkidGQoaeb7og7sHzyfPAMAL29IO_hL3n2gqUSUTn2K1WLRf4oA/s400/betterdown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383353774760447090" border="0" /></a>The words made me feel ashamed to be Canadian. They are injurious, repulsive, bathed in an acid bath of legal jargon. I was compelled to the Government of Canada website check if the artist had made the text up. She did not. The connection between the text and the image of the barbed wire was shocking.<br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"><br />"...mentally incompetent Indian" means an Indian who, pursuant to the laws of the province in which he resides, has been found to be mentally defective or incompetent for the purposes of any laws of that province providing for the administration of estates of mentally defective or incompetent persons..."</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrTSRmIdklfQyhRY8TNsb3eCy9JR2YCh6QfdPdtXo4zDoxPa75droz9hDZj2XX-7ZZyjcc3yOZGElPiaxXY1CPKOiS2Sp9rTZlONWdxTIHU9aUSZ9rWfKtzWJ396t3ruszKrpSVhVAdkQ/s1600-h/tanglewalk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 393px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrTSRmIdklfQyhRY8TNsb3eCy9JR2YCh6QfdPdtXo4zDoxPa75droz9hDZj2XX-7ZZyjcc3yOZGElPiaxXY1CPKOiS2Sp9rTZlONWdxTIHU9aUSZ9rWfKtzWJ396t3ruszKrpSVhVAdkQ/s400/tanglewalk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383352714057273362" border="0" /></a>As she read the text her unwrapping action became more intense, she was wrangling physically with the wire and it began to snag on her business suit. She fought with the wire, taking its resistance on as a challenge and becoming more determined and frenzied in her struggle. Finally she stopped and took the time to catch her breath before she lowered herself into the wire, entangling herself in it and crawling through it towards the stage right podium. She stood up and read the words of the Navojo poet, Sherwin Bitsui:<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What land have you cast from the blotted out region of your face?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What nation stung by watermarks was filmed out of extinction and brought forth</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> resembling frost?</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMB2b13iqod6VPKYO7gOYdbo-Q2Q0mDqBZd0iBH0_heDz9Je3n-sBkpBGbUIU_QWk_5R03UwbIlQbwRoAzvyc31htyKCjuTsloQ-rGrwhIkipMjazvl0rB2vL2oEuIE4Mvc6ZyikojacM/s1600-h/betweentwostands.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMB2b13iqod6VPKYO7gOYdbo-Q2Q0mDqBZd0iBH0_heDz9Je3n-sBkpBGbUIU_QWk_5R03UwbIlQbwRoAzvyc31htyKCjuTsloQ-rGrwhIkipMjazvl0rB2vL2oEuIE4Mvc6ZyikojacM/s400/betweentwostands.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383352696437476290" border="0" /></a>Finally, Brass unhooked herself from the wire by shedding her suit to reveal the jeans and a blouse she wore underneath and she stepped free of the wire.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil-I1RWxA-geUMBDGK5iAPSC4Se1yeoUPV8f8eUu20C7A2l3FssMhasXjJSnFRB9hyovQHj2u2a4-aXTzWx280QLq8YVGHEaWCfwFeukHlDRUOwmsNJX-sLvu75xpBNTgRDM2ZhTcEWrA/s1600-h/poem.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil-I1RWxA-geUMBDGK5iAPSC4Se1yeoUPV8f8eUu20C7A2l3FssMhasXjJSnFRB9hyovQHj2u2a4-aXTzWx280QLq8YVGHEaWCfwFeukHlDRUOwmsNJX-sLvu75xpBNTgRDM2ZhTcEWrA/s400/poem.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383352483227838178" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOLV3Dtb-6qV67NlDoELJoXE-O8u7YsKVePCOVus3A4UB-JeiBbYSq8sVS15IQw6Y9lOOCcRzQDFOs51o1J4ZNksu_HVr1zYyozkdJTEGkFTr16iQYgBXV1WnRjeIFJARAWLSzUkqKZEs/s1600-h/steppingfree.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOLV3Dtb-6qV67NlDoELJoXE-O8u7YsKVePCOVus3A4UB-JeiBbYSq8sVS15IQw6Y9lOOCcRzQDFOs51o1J4ZNksu_HVr1zYyozkdJTEGkFTr16iQYgBXV1WnRjeIFJARAWLSzUkqKZEs/s400/steppingfree.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383352463915279442" border="0" /></a>The artist doesn't speak her native Soto language, and performance allows her to escape the vicious traps laid by the words of the Indian Act and other words written in the same spirit. "Performance art is my language," Brass states. It allows her to be hopeful. She is also inspired by the words of her collaborator Navaho poet <a href="http://bitsui.com/">Sherwin Bitsui</a>. "He thinks in Navajo," she says. It is wonderful to see a performance grounded in experience and intention. Brass has been working with barbed wire for four and a half years, she likes physical nature of it, but has grown wary of its ability to injure. For the past few years she has been teaching on her reservation, and she loves to see young people create pieces of performance art so that they can share in her power to create their own language.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-62439788938399410732009-09-19T17:56:00.001-07:002009-09-21T07:54:44.683-07:00Michael Fernandes: The Water Whisperer<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhq-UOGFiAHMbH0GowAo47cmCHOiDwGpq52exyoWzeLV32zibMEPbGqj4EBuUhnFWZPlOd6u4u2Nk56-ZG-qd6DWzxy9d8bIeEeqe2Tw66dftV-z96mOrF1zlZgFi1a3kdnT8lJVwbBk/s1600-h/michael.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqhq-UOGFiAHMbH0GowAo47cmCHOiDwGpq52exyoWzeLV32zibMEPbGqj4EBuUhnFWZPlOd6u4u2Nk56-ZG-qd6DWzxy9d8bIeEeqe2Tw66dftV-z96mOrF1zlZgFi1a3kdnT8lJVwbBk/s400/michael.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383347532170890418" border="0" /></a>This piece is called "Water is a Word," Michael Fernandes announces in a gentle, resonant voice. He is backlit by pin-holes of light leaking into the gallery through perforated boards in the gallery. "Water," he whispers as he looks into the eyes of each audience member in succession. He says "water" as a benediction, as a mantra, and a blessing. I begin to feel hypnotized by the use of repetition and the tone of his voice. The lights behind him have an other-worldly effect like the lights in a tunnel people describe after a near-death experience. The same word is repeated again and again. Then he looks into my eyes, saying the word again and starts to laugh harshly, jarring me awake from my state of relaxation, Then he gradually calms down and resumes repeated the word in a gentle voice and looking into our eyes until he finally leaves the room.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBsnOg_B3lgLNRBCjnLXk3KimmYz-nUQ3NBHGhcxKTAMg8OzWBTd78GIZLZ2NvUMTlfoOQN_F4BgS9QPWHfsWE5kzOUYzzDo9qGB7g_v2yWylHI4fbu_wWKpQXZUGCHWC5LbydEzYtSw4/s1600-h/shadows.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBsnOg_B3lgLNRBCjnLXk3KimmYz-nUQ3NBHGhcxKTAMg8OzWBTd78GIZLZ2NvUMTlfoOQN_F4BgS9QPWHfsWE5kzOUYzzDo9qGB7g_v2yWylHI4fbu_wWKpQXZUGCHWC5LbydEzYtSw4/s400/shadows.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383347521507548962" border="0" /></a>Everyone seems a bit surprised the piece had been so short (about 10 minutes), including the performer! I had also been looking forward to seeing the pinhole images described in the festival program. Fernandes decided that since his piece was so unexpectedly brief he would hold a question and answer session. He admits that he changed his performance after seeing the work of Reona Brass and Naufus Ramirez-Figeroa. He felt that the images and gestures he had planned to perform would have been too empty in comparison. I disagree. I think that he has a beautiful presence as a performer, and he could have filled his original piece with the content that a transparent soul expresses.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhOKKEacVyhx8gIXj5Ujkup-jqUF4a5Dtkt59y8eTWA-pETdnUHPgxmNGUITfd_GInFBQMPHcbSkQ0EJ_tEabuQ1cqKtX4wDfgvdLEJmbwuFTBtgyOfBFiyeutG5_fMU5XFledSms6x8/s1600-h/pinholes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhOKKEacVyhx8gIXj5Ujkup-jqUF4a5Dtkt59y8eTWA-pETdnUHPgxmNGUITfd_GInFBQMPHcbSkQ0EJ_tEabuQ1cqKtX4wDfgvdLEJmbwuFTBtgyOfBFiyeutG5_fMU5XFledSms6x8/s400/pinholes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383347513047143730" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrSe3qq8AAwMUZUHCxSkknud0zr1w8e-xIiZ9R8-aOqfkDfo1WdDjxqkG7Ue9r0RUI_lONlaXQnUGcHHjAUuEPiPf2HnWkB_MT8ZWWrr3RrpjF7GBVIw3z9NrYpJsi3tea-3GRZyRtaTI/s1600-h/justholes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrSe3qq8AAwMUZUHCxSkknud0zr1w8e-xIiZ9R8-aOqfkDfo1WdDjxqkG7Ue9r0RUI_lONlaXQnUGcHHjAUuEPiPf2HnWkB_MT8ZWWrr3RrpjF7GBVIw3z9NrYpJsi3tea-3GRZyRtaTI/s400/justholes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383347498342300706" border="0" /></a>"I didn't know what I was going to do until five minutes before the piece," he said. This work was created out of a desire to pare down his performance to its barest elements to connect to the audience and refresh and ground his practice. Somehow the Q&A led to an discussion of a television show called "The Dog Whisperer." Suddenly Fernandes became very animated and showed us how he'd been coping with an aggressive dog by getting down on all fours and presenting the top of his head. He tells us about a pet psychic in England on television who makes parrots and pythons stand at attention. His friends tell him its all in the editing, but Michael wants to believe. I want to believe too, keeping my mind as open as as a starry Alberta sky where anything is possible. Perhaps that what the ephemeral nature of his piece is really about.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQRGlQzdGQRTbfwDP6NLRrmJp_SJIHd96WZsDj8eJ7mCPmCdje1DZHiOeM4xZnxU_vJF7pKSdjpZKy0IaWbKDsW5rKFJeVs04qCpWUO5HFI75mG291ns6Jtfl9pkYatMcmW2o-8bx99E/s1600-h/justholes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQRGlQzdGQRTbfwDP6NLRrmJp_SJIHd96WZsDj8eJ7mCPmCdje1DZHiOeM4xZnxU_vJF7pKSdjpZKy0IaWbKDsW5rKFJeVs04qCpWUO5HFI75mG291ns6Jtfl9pkYatMcmW2o-8bx99E/s400/justholes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383347493534810130" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-56271676875963898152009-09-19T07:53:00.001-07:002009-09-19T10:40:08.445-07:00IdeaAssassins<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQjQBHpSb91vNwdw7FHCQWzlxy8dVvqxxb-CZWc8xlWXf1WIKPh6id863nIyZ1Mwu987ZCICyMEuhPnv5Fv0Mv7zq4sSn2vFfZSiTqfWDb5qAOZu2t38YE1ah0NhdEId0kF7pGMbWz0w/s1600-h/behindtheset.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQjQBHpSb91vNwdw7FHCQWzlxy8dVvqxxb-CZWc8xlWXf1WIKPh6id863nIyZ1Mwu987ZCICyMEuhPnv5Fv0Mv7zq4sSn2vFfZSiTqfWDb5qAOZu2t38YE1ah0NhdEId0kF7pGMbWz0w/s400/behindtheset.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383193468779932642" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">IdeaAssassins Project: Courtney Lohnes and Kimberly McLeod</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">No. 66--In a Pool</span><br /><br />It was ten o'clock at night and they had turned off the lights inside the room that housed the aging Scona indoor pool. We entered the back door and took off our shoes, enjoying the warmth of the floor on the bottoms of our feet. I was itching with curiosity to see the performers setting up to do their sound check, but we were told to stay away until they were ready. I loved the quality of light coming from the back of the screen in the distance projected onto the water. The quality of light reminded me of a Peter Greenaway movie. Some of the publicity for this piece had hinted that the crowd could enter the pool during the performance, so a couple of performance artists in the festival were really keen to join in. Naufus changed into his bathing trunks and did a little happy dance. There was much talk about whether or not we could swim and the rumor was that there was room for 13 people only because there was only one lifeguard on duty.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcLKfc2tWjFqOWnqgJWpduxjbRq5tsG4cr0pu2CmS6P5AnOUQ_Ncjtvu63wJPQOK-RKaIaAIxS8GXi-N5DiEOCOYFkS7QcG3Vc-f5s9LtH561m74xMuS-R4OF4j4O1bquegRF7pNRgbUA/s1600-h/poolw:flash.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcLKfc2tWjFqOWnqgJWpduxjbRq5tsG4cr0pu2CmS6P5AnOUQ_Ncjtvu63wJPQOK-RKaIaAIxS8GXi-N5DiEOCOYFkS7QcG3Vc-f5s9LtH561m74xMuS-R4OF4j4O1bquegRF7pNRgbUA/s400/poolw:flash.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383193462522118946" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHiDgkkcskpdSgBBJeKIVsDbl_tlhWrQmxoVC0CNAG0XZ3PXdKXvFbeL7Rw3E9OIXER1_YktqZActwN8d9c4oNY9zBSAluG-cFop-NSur9TZpRzGD6C1-ImjGfKCNvmJgcK9_-VU32S-Y/s1600-h/baptism.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHiDgkkcskpdSgBBJeKIVsDbl_tlhWrQmxoVC0CNAG0XZ3PXdKXvFbeL7Rw3E9OIXER1_YktqZActwN8d9c4oNY9zBSAluG-cFop-NSur9TZpRzGD6C1-ImjGfKCNvmJgcK9_-VU32S-Y/s400/baptism.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383192177738985794" border="0" /></a>Once we were lead in we saw one performer laying face down in the water playing dead with a transparent breathing tube, and the other performer told us that we could choose to see the performance however we wanted, as long as we didn't block the video projector facing the screen hung above the water. Naufus slipped into the water and stayed there for the entire show. We were given permission to use a hand-held light so I pointed it at the performers when I wanted to take a photo. (Still, I apologize for my documentation--it was a very challenging lighting situation.) A projection of a nude man swimming on a beautiful pastoral outdoor pool played on the screen.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_lcMVPMLvTNsgXTM3OnJg91gJ4rMHOwGt_Ou9TADyz8l8XcfcamRfUV54WUr7wfU7ocVEMgP0AlfDGU_PCyTiSzR62PwqQ6F_ifNi3K7vyIkR-rNLBIfSIgwEsIxHAYCrHlYxKeyaMg/s1600-h/floatyboards.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_lcMVPMLvTNsgXTM3OnJg91gJ4rMHOwGt_Ou9TADyz8l8XcfcamRfUV54WUr7wfU7ocVEMgP0AlfDGU_PCyTiSzR62PwqQ6F_ifNi3K7vyIkR-rNLBIfSIgwEsIxHAYCrHlYxKeyaMg/s400/floatyboards.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383192172385698658" border="0" /></a>There was a looseness to the structure of this piece that was playful and nonsensical. The artists performed tongue-in-cheek baptisms on one another, they played with breathing into opposite ends of the transparent tube, and played an interactive game of matching a quote with a celebrity face. The quotes were written on papers that floated in the water on flutter boards and the faces looked like they'd been taped to flutter boards. Foam noodles and other pool toys floated in the water around the performers. A chaotic mish-mash of pop culture images from television edited with original images created by the artists played on the white screen; home-made DIY pop culture was mixed with snippets of found mainstream pop culture.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5dRk557nsbwQVC4EkiaOnBSzkxU1qLrfeUXYY1GASjnwN3YWO58xfsbE1nQBuXGGEn11Q5cnionA6Z62WxAR3Po1B3_Zc5UAm5zIfVZAmLeO33hnvJVVUcfxjxP-zEIxIrbMb-C0h5s/s1600-h/Cindyboard.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 296px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5dRk557nsbwQVC4EkiaOnBSzkxU1qLrfeUXYY1GASjnwN3YWO58xfsbE1nQBuXGGEn11Q5cnionA6Z62WxAR3Po1B3_Zc5UAm5zIfVZAmLeO33hnvJVVUcfxjxP-zEIxIrbMb-C0h5s/s400/Cindyboard.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383192022591698674" border="0" /></a>Volunteers were conscripted to join in the fun: Cindy Baker put on a white sandwich board which acted as a screen for a silent video of talking head shots. Three men volunteered to read the same short narrative about a personal experience in a swimming pool in Spain. The performers headed back to the ropes at the far end of the pool and used them to jump into the water while an audience member read a review of Water World, the notorious Kevin Costner movie flop. Arcane statistics were presented on a film that's apparently not really worth recommending.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaTLXg4jErs-t-3EgXP8EsL2srXEicszPIGTolnWhN62rrJIekBxN3Qjig-cqHTUQIWlXJ70dvlc5ZXKvi5RvNiQALJThZPFoW4Ti7ghnr3H6_iNRFxhGh683NO2YDqPcN5jkHEir8VxY/s1600-h/computerscreen.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaTLXg4jErs-t-3EgXP8EsL2srXEicszPIGTolnWhN62rrJIekBxN3Qjig-cqHTUQIWlXJ70dvlc5ZXKvi5RvNiQALJThZPFoW4Ti7ghnr3H6_iNRFxhGh683NO2YDqPcN5jkHEir8VxY/s400/computerscreen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383192011779162370" border="0" /></a>Knowing that this particular pool is doomed to be shut down for good lends a melancholy tinge to this piece. However, the performers seemed to have a lot of fun. They each have a strong presence on the screen, as you can see in their Youtube videos. The anarchy of web surfing and channel surfing entered the performance paradigm. There is a work-in-progress <a href="http://ideaassassins.wordpress.com/">interactive web </a>component to the piece that contains Youtube videos with each of the artists reciting the same pool story from Spain. In No.66-- In a Pool the IdeaAssasins have created a collage of images that the viewer is left to sort and untangle or just let float and drift through one's mind like autumn detritus on a dark and murky pool.<br /><br />What effect does a life mired in the banal trivia of pop television and pop web culture have on the evolution of identity and consciousness? That old gem the "opiate of the masses" comes to a cynical mind. Every time a new form of technology emerges, it is criticized for the negative effects it will have on corrupting the youth of its age. The positive features of current web culture include the ease at which the audience can also become a generator of culture on Youtube, Facebook, Twitter, etc. Furthermore, virtual water coolers in the form of online forums make intelligent critique on the work possible among people a great geological distance apart. What could happen is a slow erosion of national identity itself, breaking down barriers between provinces and countries. What could happen is an erosion between mainstream and domestic culture. What could happen is an erosion between product--sponsored (Proctor and Gamble et al) culture and DIY "vanity" culture. The possibilities are intriguing and IdeaAssassins are part of the movement of young artists who will be exploring them.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-30094969353072825972009-09-18T15:42:00.001-07:002009-09-18T15:53:50.508-07:00The Twisted She Project Installation is Up!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZszcRurnLCwIZ8yBKMXNZJxzbspc8YSYMmGwM7lxxsHCjLlBtvzhxtIwF83Ie1Y50QiFbV5_b04SEeqSwvbHSxTGr7hh6e083wlLw20Wpkfd6GCmPC0XyKmZdMXRXJ_Qn-ke8lctKug/s1600-h/dressdetail.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZszcRurnLCwIZ8yBKMXNZJxzbspc8YSYMmGwM7lxxsHCjLlBtvzhxtIwF83Ie1Y50QiFbV5_b04SEeqSwvbHSxTGr7hh6e083wlLw20Wpkfd6GCmPC0XyKmZdMXRXJ_Qn-ke8lctKug/s400/dressdetail.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382941717175801426" border="0" /></a>Here is a sneak peek at the installation up right now for your viewing pleasure at the Latitude 53 gallery during viewing hours (10 am-6 pm) today and tomorrow. T.L. Cowan will be performing with her collaborators this Saturday at 8 pm. If you want to get a tasting sample of what you'll experience, come and have a listen to the soundscape, read the text and a look at some of the evocative imagery. The show is the culmination of many years of the artist's work, so it promises to be something very special.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-34472501585599954622009-09-18T15:24:00.001-07:002009-09-18T15:41:20.233-07:00Lunch at Leva, Sweets at Cibo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUdeOpZ5ic_dNBkXYY_b_QgY_7svvNMHKRaGJygpXRnbW6slHHL5DgRkfwc2A5CBXx1zCZuwIcqIyWSDggHv99wvnLZrCgAwBXOF6YMC5dNLO_saDNyU-L_wofwGe3dFFnyvOoRDEkpg/s1600-h/tiramisu.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjUdeOpZ5ic_dNBkXYY_b_QgY_7svvNMHKRaGJygpXRnbW6slHHL5DgRkfwc2A5CBXx1zCZuwIcqIyWSDggHv99wvnLZrCgAwBXOF6YMC5dNLO_saDNyU-L_wofwGe3dFFnyvOoRDEkpg/s400/tiramisu.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382937252082856162" border="0" /></a>It's a gorgeous fall afternoon, warm and sunny with the leaves starting to turn from green to orange and yellow, so Edmonton performance artist Lance McLean and I headed over the bridge for lunch on the south side in the university district. Lance thought I might like Leva because they use fresh, local ingredients, and he was right. I had a delicious thin-crust pizza with porcini cream, Cambozola, mozzarella, potato, and mushrooms. We talked about life, the universe, and performance art while black and white magpies dove through the yellowing trees over head. I had a view of the the herb garden planted in the boulevard in front of the café where they grow the basil for their margherita pizzas.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSs6wD8Cl-z-QWHm2S5RNdVu8oirZPKi6jQYS8wAa-oIEjXP1asvpUsi1ON19VAVe81HhqmGTAdYuoOYNgU4AsqCroUhp7tv7WG695wMarOF5ewRe-lMaHxMSz_nqmYAK-lgfverRkE7k/s1600-h/gelato.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSs6wD8Cl-z-QWHm2S5RNdVu8oirZPKi6jQYS8wAa-oIEjXP1asvpUsi1ON19VAVe81HhqmGTAdYuoOYNgU4AsqCroUhp7tv7WG695wMarOF5ewRe-lMaHxMSz_nqmYAK-lgfverRkE7k/s400/gelato.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382937244478907986" border="0" /></a>Next, we headed to Cibo for dessert, which is right by the Garneau Theatre. I had read that they had hired a fancy French chef for the desserts, but they were decidedly Italian. I had the tiramisu and Lance had a nutty gelato. They were both good, but the dessert counter at Leva had looked a bit more interesting, just so ya know. I know there's a debate going on out there on which place has the best gelati. Get out there and enjoy the sunshine, Edmontonians! Tonight we party at the pool.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-5622494480349031992009-09-18T08:44:00.000-07:002009-09-18T08:51:40.859-07:00Technical DifficultiesGood morning folks, there is a glitch in the system that is not allowing my to upload photos, so in the meantime, check out the latest gossip collected last night as we dined at Hawali from the woman who dishes dirt with a giggle and a snort--<a href="http://gossip.populust.ca/">Megan Morman</a>. There might even be a story about you! No one is safe, I tell you. Her spies are everywhere.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-43935035038597522992009-09-18T08:25:00.000-07:002009-09-18T09:50:26.318-07:00From Sea to Bloody Sea<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSuKsUVIrC-GG9epLwC0TimtjIminoTaqGBV92Amb9sCqiwpJ9nPBI-oI_ZYpVVqRw5APFvhx0c9Z0G9l4q2LmYWAkIv7IG9CuKRWy1UduqtgG1zjF-He8sDsC9b_BYzTep_EKwyfoK78/s1600-h/bowed.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSuKsUVIrC-GG9epLwC0TimtjIminoTaqGBV92Amb9sCqiwpJ9nPBI-oI_ZYpVVqRw5APFvhx0c9Z0G9l4q2LmYWAkIv7IG9CuKRWy1UduqtgG1zjF-He8sDsC9b_BYzTep_EKwyfoK78/s400/bowed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382845437302545090" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br />Canada, bracketed by two oceans… The maple leaf bracketed by two blood red stripes… Our national motto: From Sea to Sea… The Queen in England; the Queen with her blood red crown; her face and breasts as pale as a Canadian winter.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">-</span>-Naufús Ramírez-Figueroa<br /><br />It had just started to rain. The piper wore a striking kilt in the Anderson tartan which features a sky blue background. He played a traditional song called <span style="font-style: italic;">The Haunting</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Sky Boat Song</span> in the parking lot while the Naufús Ramírez-Figueroa listened with his head slightly bowed. After a few minutes, the artist began to strip off his clothes and then cover his shoulders with a white sheet. We followed the piper and the performer in a procession up the stairs to the gallery where Ramirez-Figuera stood between two bowls. One was filled with a creamy white liquid, and one contained a thick red substance which I knew was pig's blood. (It's one of those props you have to order in advance, and so I overheard the staff having few conversations about the logistics of procuring it.) A grotesque rubber mask of the Queen Elizabeth II lay on the floor. Megan Morman handed out maple-leaf shaped cookies.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQhdv_0fDZ-pKKSr70G1RomqFyTP8VYibxWLgr3G_BAScS4Y4U3leoTZp8x5YC-rUEGXKqgync-d9VA2-hYdQnaWnLG01PSbQnC6_DM0K8OA67hdLyROQkeZBZdSPSzx0yWvXsmDE48PI/s1600-h/frontalsheet.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQhdv_0fDZ-pKKSr70G1RomqFyTP8VYibxWLgr3G_BAScS4Y4U3leoTZp8x5YC-rUEGXKqgync-d9VA2-hYdQnaWnLG01PSbQnC6_DM0K8OA67hdLyROQkeZBZdSPSzx0yWvXsmDE48PI/s400/frontalsheet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382845352561325186" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVopQLE1Og1cEuhMp9U11lKdfJSeEFOSGVyhcSVVOf72DTkMBJxednwfBNIH2TiWbPQ76nxK5JTyGQX_dcH5h2o1Ak2RMI_7z9if0PvLmxT3f7GAUqhlsFayzmqTUSE_U5wBWqnwWHQCo/s1600-h/kilt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVopQLE1Og1cEuhMp9U11lKdfJSeEFOSGVyhcSVVOf72DTkMBJxednwfBNIH2TiWbPQ76nxK5JTyGQX_dcH5h2o1Ak2RMI_7z9if0PvLmxT3f7GAUqhlsFayzmqTUSE_U5wBWqnwWHQCo/s400/kilt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382845260027007202" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVHdHV-pAjvBm9JPq03ETAPwgY7h2YLo26ljWfwRszHWFZk-bN20RktRCNybvyjwPFoF_I6c1nynvZ_2EUxU-cwV6bgYD78fclhUv0IHu5cGm_tm5_m0eMO-z98-4ZV0o9JwSejNJdnpw/s1600-h/2bowls.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVHdHV-pAjvBm9JPq03ETAPwgY7h2YLo26ljWfwRszHWFZk-bN20RktRCNybvyjwPFoF_I6c1nynvZ_2EUxU-cwV6bgYD78fclhUv0IHu5cGm_tm5_m0eMO-z98-4ZV0o9JwSejNJdnpw/s400/2bowls.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382845163217320882" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyRiIUSqOdq3eNL4M4otB3J_1w37B9HbU6QF74HhG4EvqBUjgSHlta5BxdNy_W1gdyTt8eCfwedtzWYbPDOv0H6CcS_RlvtyxDiFsQZyuP31YzX90SwrvhuQrRvQxAg0mZKq0Kv30ueqI/s1600-h/diving.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyRiIUSqOdq3eNL4M4otB3J_1w37B9HbU6QF74HhG4EvqBUjgSHlta5BxdNy_W1gdyTt8eCfwedtzWYbPDOv0H6CcS_RlvtyxDiFsQZyuP31YzX90SwrvhuQrRvQxAg0mZKq0Kv30ueqI/s400/diving.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382844937864516018" border="0" /></a>Ramirez Figueroa poured the white liquid onto the floor in a vertical line, then he donned the mask of the queen and confidently dove into the cream on his belly. He lay in one spot and rubbed the cream onto his breasts, breathing heavily into the rubber mask. At this point the white parts of the mask started to look like a skull. He stood and started a quasi-burlesque dance while the bagpiper played a version of Rod Stewart's hit song "If You Think I'm Sexy." Next the artist took the red bowl and poured it over the front of his body, so he became covered in layers of white and red--the colours of the Canadian flag. The odor of pig's blood overlaid with sickly sweet maple flavouring became overwhelming.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDzFzU3h8FTtjJB1bvXq7PjMVEBLR7Qo1PzY7r31Yqs90Lgl1GQ4fbgwTdX_x9lb3kg_ecvacE1PFxLbrMF4vKf_KP166F4HBO90s_XB_NtoqSVh-NUliaOM-mhsAtPw2Bw8iqSbYvwo/s1600-h/frontalsheet.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDzFzU3h8FTtjJB1bvXq7PjMVEBLR7Qo1PzY7r31Yqs90Lgl1GQ4fbgwTdX_x9lb3kg_ecvacE1PFxLbrMF4vKf_KP166F4HBO90s_XB_NtoqSVh-NUliaOM-mhsAtPw2Bw8iqSbYvwo/s400/frontalsheet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382844822358106370" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAlbQfoOvVoAxEcIMfX5261WHuRX9Wo6nm21f3Xa7IH9p6NnAE-XgwZMmVcP_EYbFyctMRvJZGCIGteTL3TCjyZg0P-wO7pl-C4ULi7QKAnn2cw3LmOsO9JUF3qR22znZ_K9fPFtEc-no/s1600-h/boobies.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAlbQfoOvVoAxEcIMfX5261WHuRX9Wo6nm21f3Xa7IH9p6NnAE-XgwZMmVcP_EYbFyctMRvJZGCIGteTL3TCjyZg0P-wO7pl-C4ULi7QKAnn2cw3LmOsO9JUF3qR22znZ_K9fPFtEc-no/s400/boobies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382844611579457586" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">I have never seen the Queen in person but I have felt her stir under the bed covers… I’ve been to Buckingham and waited patiently outside its gates. I was a faithful subject. My blood red: like her royal red: like her red painted lips: like the maple left… I waited outside Buckingham but she never came out, never invited me for tea, never made me feel hers… England likes to eat, eat countries. Its eaten two male members of my family… The Queen has white milk in her breast, she is the mother to all Canadians… She has a comforting smile… One day, I’ll be happy when I can kiss her wrinkly hand.</span><br />--Naufús Ramírez-Figueroa<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6lB-inzma77pwURgFTDubqo5gwUqVk646DLpyiqCgpQqEwBUIDdCKxqzeyBtJib2zJUOUOvkXL-2m9i1-Iok6hBM57WeHMsigzNHyKVFzTKhA3stEL4GgoqHc_tP_GX4owxXBle7hk2E/s1600-h/dippy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6lB-inzma77pwURgFTDubqo5gwUqVk646DLpyiqCgpQqEwBUIDdCKxqzeyBtJib2zJUOUOvkXL-2m9i1-Iok6hBM57WeHMsigzNHyKVFzTKhA3stEL4GgoqHc_tP_GX4owxXBle7hk2E/s400/dippy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382844423975612258" border="0" /></a>The artist filled the bowl again with blood and dipped one end of the sheet in it and then the other, leaving the center white. He hung the sheet from one end of the room to the other, stopping to get more rope when it turned out the end didn't quite reach. I assume he meant to dip the horizontal edges rather than the vertical edges, but the reference to the Canadian flag was still very clear. It could also have been read as a comment on how discussions on Canada evolve around north-south or east-west paradigms. Ramírez-Figueroa got down on his hands and knees, dipped his hair in a bowl of blood and began to use it to paint the white parts of the flag red. Finally, he threw the rest of the blood on the flag making it thickly soaked in blood and brilliantly scarlet. The piper played "Oh Canada" while Naufus put on the mask again and cut out the face so that his face showed through under the rubber crown--a grotesque form of royal drag.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9tZbtTtDceco3XZ61Hpko8GHSxVxb-cNWf8CBsdJiqToTbsZklTEAjjI_yr2GnoLT5nMSjC3420SuY1f4VS5sXi8BGhgqdXrLQKqTWsY3wNxTxNXUHQP1HOyfMJU5c9q2bxm9YCDZzsU/s1600-h/hairbrush.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9tZbtTtDceco3XZ61Hpko8GHSxVxb-cNWf8CBsdJiqToTbsZklTEAjjI_yr2GnoLT5nMSjC3420SuY1f4VS5sXi8BGhgqdXrLQKqTWsY3wNxTxNXUHQP1HOyfMJU5c9q2bxm9YCDZzsU/s400/hairbrush.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382844241086543874" border="0" /></a>The performance was focused, dramatic, funny, and shocking. I left feeling a bit dazed and nauseous afterwards, needing to distance myself from the scene. The bagpiper who had been hired for this gig looked a bit shell-shocked himself, so a few of us sat around the water cooler and processed how we felt about the piece. He was fairly new to this king of ritualistic performance art, and Cindy Baker widely advised him to "let the images hit you and decide what they mean to you." The artist's poetic text in the performance program illuminates the powerful imagery in his performance. "Sid Vicious would have loved it!" I told him as I talked about the history of anti-monarchy and anarchy in England itself. There were some tense moments when piper had had a few moments of doubt before the piece began. He wasn't sure if he was ready to participate in the ritual because he was trained to see the bagpipe as an honorific instrument used in patriotic ceremonies. I told him he'd been very brave to collaborate with an artist he hadn't met or rehearsed with before hand, (they'd had a telephone conversation). especially an artist who pushes the limits the way Naufus does. He's been warned about the unconventional nature of the piece and it had been described in detail over the phone. Megan Mormon later told me she thought he was unsettled when he realized the blood in the performance was real, not paint or stage blood.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5SJtiz2H_OktOZuqVheTny6QFXGecRmaRcVjTNXk4DCLuDCoTwE38MER8viN8djcmLHDBuKSTMD_jsgN_iuZoI-oXuPxtiSvo4fPZ5Uw2lKKR_mNP5cjeg419hGKjZnm5vxcZKtvktT0/s1600-h/endimage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 324px; height: 382px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5SJtiz2H_OktOZuqVheTny6QFXGecRmaRcVjTNXk4DCLuDCoTwE38MER8viN8djcmLHDBuKSTMD_jsgN_iuZoI-oXuPxtiSvo4fPZ5Uw2lKKR_mNP5cjeg419hGKjZnm5vxcZKtvktT0/s400/endimage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382843907658984194" border="0" /></a><br />As a Guatemalan refugee growing up in Vancouver, Naufus was taught to pay allegiance to our queen. However, recent events in parliament and a group of fellow immigrants made him question her authority. When Michaelle Jean held the destiny of Canada in her hands after Stephen Harper suspended parliament in December, 2008, the artist and his friends asked each other why the symbol of colonization still held so much power in a democratic country. Naufus began to feel torn about enjoying the high standard of living , the queen's milk, that a colonized first world country that has a bloody past and present.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjoozmybKLZAFxQiRyFQC5Mrgjiu1pXAvsHYcbU6mqa72zervAwwCtwAuKc3sMA5568bbbdVsaOam5JzUke6XXhA5aHgBy3iMIZ9Ckg6Bdh4kS2HQOHXc78oyiqiaY8IwLXLRY9uNbUYY/s1600-h/red.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjoozmybKLZAFxQiRyFQC5Mrgjiu1pXAvsHYcbU6mqa72zervAwwCtwAuKc3sMA5568bbbdVsaOam5JzUke6XXhA5aHgBy3iMIZ9Ckg6Bdh4kS2HQOHXc78oyiqiaY8IwLXLRY9uNbUYY/s400/red.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382843796534046786" border="0" /></a><br />The title of the piece, A Mari usque ad Mare ("From Sea to Sea"), is Canada's official motto. It originates from the Latin version of Psalm 72:8, "He shall have dominion also from sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the earth." (King James version). It was not applicable until 1871 when BC joined Confederation and the Dominion of Canada reached from the Pacific to the Atlantic Ocean. Some say the motto should be changed to reflect the third sea that boarders our country in the North, the Arctic Ocean, especially now that climate change has been affected that part of our country so dramatically and Stephen Harper has been raising issues of Arctic Sovereignty. Other people say the paternalistic motto should be scrapped altogether. Naufus pointed out to me that one point "from sea to sea" was visually depicted graphically on a suggested design for the Canadian flag which has become known as "Pearson's Pennant." It had a central image of three maple leaves and two rectangles of sea blue on the edges instead of blood red.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-24692530769951931812009-09-17T14:04:00.000-07:002009-09-17T14:34:54.435-07:00Hug the Chef, Kiss the Bagpiper<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVGWvJB6TrN1Ilf1cxPt4lofskRaPu6wYivVMYxnLMI1y9-GAgd5iSiOMhcLqJqeYnnSVJfbCQYM2QH1oloAbLDlR9SUAclIcf0iHlEQKw_8rzOw6NzbbRavp61Siq1fdO2T8t68vZsY/s1600-h/cool+helmut.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVGWvJB6TrN1Ilf1cxPt4lofskRaPu6wYivVMYxnLMI1y9-GAgd5iSiOMhcLqJqeYnnSVJfbCQYM2QH1oloAbLDlR9SUAclIcf0iHlEQKw_8rzOw6NzbbRavp61Siq1fdO2T8t68vZsY/s400/cool+helmut.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382546070753060530" border="0" /></a>This morning Hannah came to work wearing the latest in bicycle helmet fashion. She's a fantastic baker and we love her breakfast cookies!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6pInkYjz3YxKNSIqxOjH3SnK6M6aabq7XWERRBIO6WZYlBZ-FfU_Fcd-Wjcv8wQUOQLWSPrxfL8guZdxcwDNNHdGN3R3dWHC2nHX4zPrIY1n8n63WsVkvHAJ5Clb-SfZZ2F6BnQb5nU/s1600-h/morecandy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6pInkYjz3YxKNSIqxOjH3SnK6M6aabq7XWERRBIO6WZYlBZ-FfU_Fcd-Wjcv8wQUOQLWSPrxfL8guZdxcwDNNHdGN3R3dWHC2nHX4zPrIY1n8n63WsVkvHAJ5Clb-SfZZ2F6BnQb5nU/s400/morecandy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382546062757675746" border="0" /></a>Megan Mormon lures us to the water cooler with candy corn and all sorts where we sink into the comfy couches and let our guard down while she giggles and takes notes in a tiny book. What she misses, Adam twitters. The walls have ears my friends.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj479vXOhk5qcjwRT70TA6ty5rLrfWbXyVOS3bZApAVxLfMvSzDsWc_WEtFRKJr__6F5kxKJ8tTgyuqR5eLPyo0cLlwt2yXnkjbTDQXTV0WdYuTEW1HE8pFbPnkfCDUvVB0S8DbjNDhbI/s1600-h/watergang.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj479vXOhk5qcjwRT70TA6ty5rLrfWbXyVOS3bZApAVxLfMvSzDsWc_WEtFRKJr__6F5kxKJ8tTgyuqR5eLPyo0cLlwt2yXnkjbTDQXTV0WdYuTEW1HE8pFbPnkfCDUvVB0S8DbjNDhbI/s400/watergang.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382545857118491106" border="0" /></a>Jason Fielding and his partner chat with us a bit about his piece, setting us straight about some of historical references. He was puzzled that we would be concerned over the question of whether or not he was Métis, and said that in his research he discovered that European traders would marry First Nations women who belonged to tribes along the waterways that the men traded along. "Before there were Métis, there were European fur traders," he says. I think its interesting that we immediately tend to associate the fur trader costume with people of Métis heritage. I love Canada's fascination about which ethnic heritage we all come from and as an artist it's come to the point where you need to choose whether you state your identity out front or deliberately leave it ambiguous. Anyway, I wrote about how I read the piece below without knowing where his family came to Canada from orginally. I also asked his father, whom I happened to meet at the performance, because it's a question I ask almost anyone as a matter of curiousity.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVcgd-JBR26qNznr2ZbZVxtK8tXoWqGudIIQH3EANjHRljd5K3XMIfdsnKoVnE-9Aw7jMH2R3Q-OwhL0AFjJ8-vJckVM1Ucq9L5yFpN8R9yjWPPHVo4q5U81oMi-yiQHh8mAWk0nmB_6g/s1600-h/hug.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVcgd-JBR26qNznr2ZbZVxtK8tXoWqGudIIQH3EANjHRljd5K3XMIfdsnKoVnE-9Aw7jMH2R3Q-OwhL0AFjJ8-vJckVM1Ucq9L5yFpN8R9yjWPPHVo4q5U81oMi-yiQHh8mAWk0nmB_6g/s400/hug.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382545845697169026" border="0" /></a>Hugs to the chef, who is cooking up something that is definitely not breakfast cookies.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_0oNEwayl5WP2soSlczFx9_jvEW2I1nH_GAFuFgOJsVb9e_jxPf3GBLQJhyRigckwcg0b3vreql5kyQ0STda7UCxRcrgZolHrjWwz1IK2Mks9KWh0ueCvksa42we5icGnIHSahrsvoE/s1600-h/creamy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_0oNEwayl5WP2soSlczFx9_jvEW2I1nH_GAFuFgOJsVb9e_jxPf3GBLQJhyRigckwcg0b3vreql5kyQ0STda7UCxRcrgZolHrjWwz1IK2Mks9KWh0ueCvksa42we5icGnIHSahrsvoE/s400/creamy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382545836938978114" border="0" /></a>Anyhoo, please do use the comments function here on this blog, even if you choose to be completely anonymous, or call your self Dirty Sox. Converse! Engage! And if I consider your post offensive or inappropriate I will just trash it. Because I can.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-19972190949754510912009-09-17T10:38:00.000-07:002009-09-17T10:42:43.707-07:00Heads Up! Location Change AlertToday Jason Fielding will begin his piece at the city hall fountain at noon and walk down to the North Saskatchewan River along 100th street. Bring something to trade for one of his custom-made water bottles.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/quSC_pzsJJw&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/quSC_pzsJJw&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9It5lwz2Qk0&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9It5lwz2Qk0&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-7193405882047593722009-09-17T08:04:00.000-07:002009-09-17T08:15:22.546-07:00Heads Up! Time Change Alert<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDROO9vExuVrIRdDE5WOqzxSEbr4oK9qwOicvqaOnab1cgLHUP4JRRAVXaWhzz1XW4iukTsrvNhA5n6xcwtRyTq7TjDyT_gIh9ISibSduS1N_0fatPz7kDOfBac5iLx-hK_kDk0VdpRas/s1600-h/beefbowl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDROO9vExuVrIRdDE5WOqzxSEbr4oK9qwOicvqaOnab1cgLHUP4JRRAVXaWhzz1XW4iukTsrvNhA5n6xcwtRyTq7TjDyT_gIh9ISibSduS1N_0fatPz7kDOfBac5iLx-hK_kDk0VdpRas/s400/beefbowl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382452785527666306" border="0" /></a>I wanted to be sure you folks who aren't on Twitter know that Naufus's piece will start at approximately 5 pm today, not 4 pm as it states in the program, and it will last approximately one hour, as opposed to three. The costumes and props sound have piqued my curiousity, to be sure, and I hear that Megan Morman and Cindy Baker will be making special guest celebrity appearances. Naufus has also posted a recipe in the comments thread of the post on the "beef from hell" below, so be sure to bookmark that and copy it into your cookbooks.<br /><br />Yesterday Megan, TL and I headed to Soul Soup on Rice Howard Way for lunchtime sustenance. (See the photo above.) No sign of Todd J. He must have something that keeps pulling him down to Cow Town. Could it be the superior all you can eat buffets? Only his hair dresser and podiatrist know for sure.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-80955162242215582262009-09-16T19:19:00.000-07:002009-09-17T10:28:37.357-07:00Portage: The Lost Trader<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Yd-8YfMcVTKcuErvlTCBvBWe02ISaUnT9e7R1mp5y7-Gjz6MuDAI4rzE4SzjaroV7eamvT6hsGU5GGuzlfy1fZIj-VMZ4awgCGrRxXXo5PyXSHn4zsup1oI-kWksByVt_j4Z4WrVFL4/s1600-h/steepstairs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Yd-8YfMcVTKcuErvlTCBvBWe02ISaUnT9e7R1mp5y7-Gjz6MuDAI4rzE4SzjaroV7eamvT6hsGU5GGuzlfy1fZIj-VMZ4awgCGrRxXXo5PyXSHn4zsup1oI-kWksByVt_j4Z4WrVFL4/s400/steepstairs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382444499761521042" border="0" /></a>"Ya gotta be crazy to carry a canoe in this heat," a passerby says as he watches Jason Fielding portage up the steep stairs to the Hotel MacDonald from the river valley below. No kidding. Especially when you're kitted out in full fur-trader duds complete with fur-lined boots and a coonskin cap. Here is our 1970's grade school textbook illustration come to life in the Edmonton city centre at 30 degrees Celsius in the shade. I was one of four paparazzi documenting the event. As I snap photos, a voice in my head creates captions: "the voyageur at rest," "the voyageur snacking on high protein pemmican", and "the fur trader waits for a green light." As Fielding carries the canoe from one body of water to another, he creates a picturesque endurance performance. Jason's piece fits very well into the theme of this year's Visualeyz festival, because it's all about water--travelling from the North Saskatchewan River to the fountain and pool at City Hall illustrates the natural and artificial--the wild and the domesticated in this Albertan city. Much of the city's water system is hidden, and Jason's piece made me very aware of the urban plumbing that is such an integral part of urban life. How many sewer lines did we cross, I wondered in those few blocks we traveled from the hotel MacDonald to City Hall.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUQQ10bstVfBTJ6czIVzFZzTjxEey4tfAx9uu36XQ6wRN9kFadsu_tUSPHCiDoTh0jqzJNKfG7kwtw71eBSaIBfHbEG7nibaG3O4cyfNSivLzGIcaJllrL-E2oSH5cIhvXJi8OsDBgkSo/s1600-h/snack.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUQQ10bstVfBTJ6czIVzFZzTjxEey4tfAx9uu36XQ6wRN9kFadsu_tUSPHCiDoTh0jqzJNKfG7kwtw71eBSaIBfHbEG7nibaG3O4cyfNSivLzGIcaJllrL-E2oSH5cIhvXJi8OsDBgkSo/s400/snack.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382444466840232370" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZLNQE8Z0bXghYLlly7YcWeCKsFBDl1xQLwKlHzbRBH4wfoFczuV5r657E81YWdgWTRPN8O8VjHV0FLxcjVUfOllH9hu3qDqvHY_JJj-ma1kQvi-bVO2Z05_i6yZPJJxHgf0R8YxU_4-k/s1600-h/text+book.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZLNQE8Z0bXghYLlly7YcWeCKsFBDl1xQLwKlHzbRBH4wfoFczuV5r657E81YWdgWTRPN8O8VjHV0FLxcjVUfOllH9hu3qDqvHY_JJj-ma1kQvi-bVO2Z05_i6yZPJJxHgf0R8YxU_4-k/s400/text+book.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382444444713199010" border="0" /></a>The artist performed age-old gestures: opening a leather pouch and wrapping a piece of pemmican pulled from a leather bag, scanning the river bank with one hand shading the eyes. However, the setting was not pure wilderness, but strikingly urbane. Joggers on their lunch break grinned and let him pass or frowned and pushed by, putting their leisure time to "good use" for the working of the body/machine. Women in stilettos and tight business suits snapped photos on cell phones. One man joked about seeing "Mr. Canoe Head" walking down the street. Negotiating pedestrians and traffic was tricky with Fielding's reduced sightlines. His partner, also a paparazzo, worked as a third eye, protecting the artist and the audience from any accidents.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNyOsk_LEJkeGSyCVhzgI4EdvjqYSxzwUmcjONAd3Cfc4AcKIi4pw3AP8DtPilvu2rNLY_LVOa4nMFnxX9WUYpKYOROZQ6UAe4lX-w7DTaqJoS1H9HLPgiRpxRi6mWPCRT2YvFeyuSDoI/s1600-h/coonhat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNyOsk_LEJkeGSyCVhzgI4EdvjqYSxzwUmcjONAd3Cfc4AcKIi4pw3AP8DtPilvu2rNLY_LVOa4nMFnxX9WUYpKYOROZQ6UAe4lX-w7DTaqJoS1H9HLPgiRpxRi6mWPCRT2YvFeyuSDoI/s400/coonhat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382442977469518082" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLobRTSIVKUiXHdR-4F22-oWTosSn-SOBpYCNGJ2U7jqPeKSUPKekv0QoXU4lbBsD6fa9J6vx9tj11NKwBgj8HGQdmgnHhgs1g5PH9buGsKAjXH7EFzYhr1qFO2l0FQ2fOXwzkdMY8NQY/s1600-h/waterbottle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLobRTSIVKUiXHdR-4F22-oWTosSn-SOBpYCNGJ2U7jqPeKSUPKekv0QoXU4lbBsD6fa9J6vx9tj11NKwBgj8HGQdmgnHhgs1g5PH9buGsKAjXH7EFzYhr1qFO2l0FQ2fOXwzkdMY8NQY/s400/waterbottle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382257530034529138" border="0" /></a>Once at the city hall plaza, Fielding took off his outer layer, and cooled off his body in the fountains. Next, he took water bottles he'd created his own labels for and laid them out on a beaver skin to sell and trade. The festival guide describes the bottles containing 'pure, pristine water from the Canadian Rockies'. The label features a painterly picture of the artist as a romantic figure from Canada's heritage. A little pile of coins and objects accrued as people took bottles of water and Jason ended the performance by sitting in his canoe and giving water to people--in particular a busking break dancer and a man collecting empty bottles and drink containers for change. This image brings up essential issues of around value of water. What is the cost of managing or mismanaging our water resources in the era of climate change?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_SNjsOqkXxJxzVGXoKXHYCEpt5l7XfzSCZKfGcFuqyVzWKK2-niRGqayFI7anCVpUUOojuuI1OmvaABJcsN-BNmZUvKH8BDKuNA7X9hJZl2SJ_lvTjg18KIKeHcOj-nJnt0i2x54QJHQ/s1600-h/hardwork.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_SNjsOqkXxJxzVGXoKXHYCEpt5l7XfzSCZKfGcFuqyVzWKK2-niRGqayFI7anCVpUUOojuuI1OmvaABJcsN-BNmZUvKH8BDKuNA7X9hJZl2SJ_lvTjg18KIKeHcOj-nJnt0i2x54QJHQ/s400/hardwork.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382257525453406994" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxj4tGtIVJmCBt6Qao4eR7kkwsNs_LeYeyaR8gY_GhyUSuERSwtQfRFCCoBfnbp-bEU8KIjMwuoi4MY16Z2y-j7mwsXoFOuKoMhX7XbTBQGyQt9M4YQ8JX9GqvLMdIeSuokAHSLs8YBRE/s1600-h/hotel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxj4tGtIVJmCBt6Qao4eR7kkwsNs_LeYeyaR8gY_GhyUSuERSwtQfRFCCoBfnbp-bEU8KIjMwuoi4MY16Z2y-j7mwsXoFOuKoMhX7XbTBQGyQt9M4YQ8JX9GqvLMdIeSuokAHSLs8YBRE/s400/hotel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382257520915356722" border="0" /></a>I assume Fielding's performance is informed by the piece Terrence Houle and Trevor Freeman did at the Live Biennial in Vancouver called<a href="http://livebiennale.blogspot.com/2007/10/terence-houle-and-trevor-freeman.html"> </a><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://livebiennale.blogspot.com/2007/10/terence-houle-and-trevor-freeman.html">Portage</a>. How are the pieces different? Houle is a member of the First Blood nation and Fielding not Métis or native, but is of European descent. As artists/audience members we were all mumbling our worries about appropriation after the performance. Then it struck me later that as a person of European descent I was able to enter the piece and feel implicated in its underlying message, rather than keeping my distance as I may have otherwise. For me, the tone becomes less satirical, more romantic with a dark undertow, like the sewer beneath the fountain. Fielding has an eye for painterly posing and as a result, he create a persona that is romantic, even a bit sexy. However, when you think about the reality of our European ancestors trading small-pox ridden blankets for fur, and the lack of fresh drinking water on a number of reservations, the reality is shameful. In March 2008, there were 53 boil water advisories issued in aboriginal communities in Canada. ( <a href="http://www.water-matters.org/node/286">www.watermatters.org</a>)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdCehIPxHbxdG4VD7UmZGh4uTd3DpdBUsyS91asJfn0GEGrbU4XDcwIbURAaK9ghSBs3qoZz7VgVieg_OmUNzD50TQF343E4aybkRLRLUMtdK3-i5IU92sEKofn-cT-xBXj2watsF0f4/s1600-h/taxi.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdCehIPxHbxdG4VD7UmZGh4uTd3DpdBUsyS91asJfn0GEGrbU4XDcwIbURAaK9ghSBs3qoZz7VgVieg_OmUNzD50TQF343E4aybkRLRLUMtdK3-i5IU92sEKofn-cT-xBXj2watsF0f4/s400/taxi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382257511551590802" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVAvF0RRDG-rkq2n0rbJ3MiW_jA3chs8alveDJsHV6ecEz6zKC-FJQ94WZu4fer5ygtPGmZzxYxmJO8Y4KqFERIAF4pPyFdN3Tj9Pz24lGdGOelmjPCCn24Djjnmw3YXCJcGNp0dUXeU/s1600-h/cityhall.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVAvF0RRDG-rkq2n0rbJ3MiW_jA3chs8alveDJsHV6ecEz6zKC-FJQ94WZu4fer5ygtPGmZzxYxmJO8Y4KqFERIAF4pPyFdN3Tj9Pz24lGdGOelmjPCCn24Djjnmw3YXCJcGNp0dUXeU/s400/cityhall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382257507421990146" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkV1mFIARpWIgE9nv3Fz19XNi3WoM3W6yI30lepOsXcrPcnP90kuW0HE0rpWn03pdzUr3b1GVRnIbn3FeN-bC_A0zsbXnJqErSHX6dJk0EiP-dKptzVK4KnGyrakMf7AuPOMyhH9x5qe0/s1600-h/pool.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkV1mFIARpWIgE9nv3Fz19XNi3WoM3W6yI30lepOsXcrPcnP90kuW0HE0rpWn03pdzUr3b1GVRnIbn3FeN-bC_A0zsbXnJqErSHX6dJk0EiP-dKptzVK4KnGyrakMf7AuPOMyhH9x5qe0/s400/pool.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382256373307249762" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2vS9uozzvrupkoJ_cOQjNHpzv5P_ceGWD3eiG-OIxzkt6cbOFwg_8RbKZ4fL0_jYoymtVChyphenhyphenfViAW7rNFjkLyXU0SCO5rCSGa1jdtX4hYduR5XMAgNjTgxXJQxdzUc6BJKzn-YyIXO1I/s1600-h/beaverwater.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2vS9uozzvrupkoJ_cOQjNHpzv5P_ceGWD3eiG-OIxzkt6cbOFwg_8RbKZ4fL0_jYoymtVChyphenhyphenfViAW7rNFjkLyXU0SCO5rCSGa1jdtX4hYduR5XMAgNjTgxXJQxdzUc6BJKzn-YyIXO1I/s400/beaverwater.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382256364432247010" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi86b0gmacVmsJ1BiJdXNT9TeZeYs1Zb-9QJMiitG4EL_pYMiXLOvlXIzRhtvuIncSVUjVcrvCyZp5-9x2txcR92HZyP7HomUxMOX4QkJcS84poMs4UFb_oY1rwJSI3J5HKKxSS-zxhlkM/s1600-h/tokens.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi86b0gmacVmsJ1BiJdXNT9TeZeYs1Zb-9QJMiitG4EL_pYMiXLOvlXIzRhtvuIncSVUjVcrvCyZp5-9x2txcR92HZyP7HomUxMOX4QkJcS84poMs4UFb_oY1rwJSI3J5HKKxSS-zxhlkM/s400/tokens.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382256347494363762" border="0" /></a>The very idea of "wilderness" makes us think of an unlimited supply of pure water, but the way our population is growing and using the resources threatens that. As an "upstream province", Alberta in particular carries its burden of responsibility for the management of its water resources. <a href="http://www.rwsandford.ca/">Robert William Sanford</a> explains the concept of banked water as ground water, glacial water, etc. in his book <span style="font-style: italic;">Water, Weather, and the Mountain West</span>, published in 2007 by Rocky Mountain Books. (I reccommend it as a textbook for this festival.) Population growth, irrigation, urban sprawl and other factors are depleting stored water systems, including Alberta's glaciers. There is a tension to Jason's piece about the distance between two particular sources of water that acts as a metaphor to the stress we're becoming aware of in terms of the effect global warming will also have on Alberta's rich stores of "banked" water. Who will control the water, and what will the trade-off be for those who can't afford to buy glacial spring water in plastic bottles? What will happen to those communities, many of them reservations, who don't have access to clean drinking water right now? What does the fur trader torn from the pages of our fading textbooks and lost in the city think of these questions?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-62484353847937879342009-09-16T13:57:00.000-07:002009-09-16T13:57:11.690-07:00Jason Fielding<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 11px;">Photos by Michael Holly. <a href="http://visualeyez2009.latitude53.org/artists/JasonFielding">More information on the performance.</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNmHyFADPcHjmjKHwgYRg_7emwYKqk88xuKC_UxMKePE1Mx2FAB8zOyGRAQezGJfxAPtE-AKtePSKBNlIbRgHWvF_UOoC4ny9IcLeUFvOr57lucgpto8lqr8sJ_mQOAFIeqGkB9tPowc/s1600-h/portage-065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNmHyFADPcHjmjKHwgYRg_7emwYKqk88xuKC_UxMKePE1Mx2FAB8zOyGRAQezGJfxAPtE-AKtePSKBNlIbRgHWvF_UOoC4ny9IcLeUFvOr57lucgpto8lqr8sJ_mQOAFIeqGkB9tPowc/s320/portage-065.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEn8zY1CUQD17k_Attkylt70TGs7a70P01zPnNOzsZx-M1QBjgPsuivWBXseKeCbmm_c_-PjTOlIBHSMoonNmSxRJN0ZuRf43b0MABdnNyJ1qk9CcHLuf7A5hsXcxH2AkdFu57Lvi8UoA/s1600-h/portage-044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEn8zY1CUQD17k_Attkylt70TGs7a70P01zPnNOzsZx-M1QBjgPsuivWBXseKeCbmm_c_-PjTOlIBHSMoonNmSxRJN0ZuRf43b0MABdnNyJ1qk9CcHLuf7A5hsXcxH2AkdFu57Lvi8UoA/s320/portage-044.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPpKqlnr63I1sC8QrgBJW0t9eBzfDBjT0bN1BSMilKdGiytOAFcg9v_1Vxt3iVJ1piuzUzIBpbNdTt9NMHgUkIK7U-bPFBwbvmVZQz2dna4aEwg34vpxAL1eSYA1UNFGxOyFZ4i6PQdog/s1600-h/portage-125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPpKqlnr63I1sC8QrgBJW0t9eBzfDBjT0bN1BSMilKdGiytOAFcg9v_1Vxt3iVJ1piuzUzIBpbNdTt9NMHgUkIK7U-bPFBwbvmVZQz2dna4aEwg34vpxAL1eSYA1UNFGxOyFZ4i6PQdog/s320/portage-125.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiE8x8W3Uh6x5D_atvY6KNpkz21yMW-Ge91HiDCjmIMWAsPM3P2XGbSNcJVFqLAw1LCJvQ8vAMhnGsp4A0AIC2hpkjpgIclnWTARqrwqtjeMgXwZuT5pKTGEQayUi3RjPgn4qmm_ApGcM/s1600-h/portage-100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiE8x8W3Uh6x5D_atvY6KNpkz21yMW-Ge91HiDCjmIMWAsPM3P2XGbSNcJVFqLAw1LCJvQ8vAMhnGsp4A0AIC2hpkjpgIclnWTARqrwqtjeMgXwZuT5pKTGEQayUi3RjPgn4qmm_ApGcM/s320/portage-100.jpg" /></a></div><div><br />
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</span></span></div>adamwbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15456009574118434934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-44779470732616732112009-09-16T09:19:00.000-07:002009-09-16T09:35:05.990-07:00Festival Director Eats Beef From Hell<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg-nOXKeY0mC1jZGDgYj9GtInaLWGkjngjO6pLCtUMcAekkB8J9CC963-vZOUE3otvKFnEOOCbND_TBCnRvbuXwgAqH1DwI2I17qkBObQTI7QrzCddIgMeLxvH0_Ut9ZDnsOui5EY3pVE/s1600-h/toddappy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 255px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg-nOXKeY0mC1jZGDgYj9GtInaLWGkjngjO6pLCtUMcAekkB8J9CC963-vZOUE3otvKFnEOOCbND_TBCnRvbuXwgAqH1DwI2I17qkBObQTI7QrzCddIgMeLxvH0_Ut9ZDnsOui5EY3pVE/s400/toddappy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382101283167111442" border="0" /></a>As Megan Morman is my roomie and she is doing a piece about <a href="http://gossip.populust.ca/">gossip</a>, I feel justified in giving y'all a larger than life (read quasi-fictional) peek at the behind-the-scenes life at the festival. Luckily the performers that have arrived so far are good Eaters and so Todd took us to one of his favourite little gems called <a href="http://www.viphalay.com/">Viphalay</a>, a Laos and Thai restaurant in the corner of a tiny unassuming strip mall. Vancouver has been all abuzz about the opening of a Thai restaurant on West 4th called Maenam, but I had a better meal here at this lovely little family-run business. Todd says he's never had a bad dish at Viphalay, and he's a good person to ask because he's probably eaten every dish on the menu.<br /><br />The table shared an appetizer platter. I loved that the appies were crisp, 2-bite-sized morsels and not monsterous pieces dripping with oil. The prawns in a sticky red-wine sauce stood out. It had an earthiness to it that helped balance out some of the sweetness that can tend to get cloying for my tastes. The same was true of the curries as well--the potatoes and roasted peanuts tended to ground the dishes nicely. Todd ate almost all the platter, but we didn't say anything because he's the director, so one tends to look the other way in these circumstances. We also shared a delicately balanced green curry, a crisp fresh papaya salad and a richly nuanced Massamun curry with hints of cinnamon. Naufus said the latter dish reminded him of food in Guatamala. Again, Todd tended to take more than his fair share of coconut rice, but he has a go go gadget boarderhouse reach that tends to make food disappear faster than you can say Portage La Prairie Popsicles.<br /><br />Naufus had the dish with the most interesting description. Hell's Beef or Nua Na Lok was described as "Firey strips of marbled beef marinated in our own homemade roasted garlic and chili hot sauce and fire-roasted in Hell's oven."* Only in Alberta you say. Pity. I had a bite of hell's beef and we agreed it was a bit dry and hell was not as hot as we'd imagined. It did have a nice slow burn though. TL Cowan had a boat full of spicy seafood soup (Tom Yum Gai), which she was very pleased with and vowed to come back and have again the next day to clear out her cold. Todd wanted to have the bananas fried in spring roll wrappers, but we all politely escorted him out of the building before he tried to order flaming ouzo for the entire table. Naufus headed to the Wee Book Inn for magazines for his "collage project" and Megan and I gossiped and philosophized into the wee hours.<br /><br />*Hell's Beef could be a new chapter in Michael Pollan's book <span style="font-style: italic;">The Omnivore's Dilemma</span>, or look for it in a performance art piece coming to funeral chapel-turned arts space near you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-88768504328300070682009-09-15T17:05:00.000-07:002009-09-15T17:46:02.878-07:00Water Miles<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3cgq9YB4XJv_Om3M9Sd9wV7fkJmDJqu_-SC36bENKf5l6R5K7IXV6kzmSwEUTMVSDfTxPvwMeoXPGPBt2vnBVd7PUCwmukXb4cKQ_fUeMmljFXMVle26xzKChmV1RdksaXDjlWAhEzgE/s1600-h/2hives.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3cgq9YB4XJv_Om3M9Sd9wV7fkJmDJqu_-SC36bENKf5l6R5K7IXV6kzmSwEUTMVSDfTxPvwMeoXPGPBt2vnBVd7PUCwmukXb4cKQ_fUeMmljFXMVle26xzKChmV1RdksaXDjlWAhEzgE/s400/2hives.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381850783242399026" border="0" /></a>After bidding goodbye to the two block diet bees in my back yard in Vancouver this morning, I headed to the airport to catch a flight to Edmonton. The last thing I packed was my water bottle as an after-thought. Oh yeah, since the theme is "water" I'd better bring my own bottle. The guys that just went down for trying to smuggle liquid explosives onto jets have just gone down for their <a href="http://http//www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2009/sep/14/airline-bomb-plotters-jailed-life">plot</a>. As a result of that nefarious attempt at death and destruction we may bring our own water bottles to the airport, but not our own water, liquids or gels. Security seems to get a bit looser every time I go to the airport ever since 9/11 crackdown which occurred eight years ago, but water is verboten. I accidently brought my gardening scissors with the flowery handles and they were politely confiscated.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfl4HUOBbRVlmycNnIdvQmWt7McrzxX6sUQ62s24_CIRtOx7QJdhXAXfNZNsNtLwHh07_e4HIaIQkQwNygA7qn9XkNLxA5sz2rRFMB0tWIxsmiW_KHPlJ7IsKips1dWjIzwixaNl0iiUY/s1600-h/waterpals.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfl4HUOBbRVlmycNnIdvQmWt7McrzxX6sUQ62s24_CIRtOx7QJdhXAXfNZNsNtLwHh07_e4HIaIQkQwNygA7qn9XkNLxA5sz2rRFMB0tWIxsmiW_KHPlJ7IsKips1dWjIzwixaNl0iiUY/s400/waterpals.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381850765884893378" border="0" /></a>I brought my bottle, and some green beans and tomatoes from my garden as well as some herbs for tea. (All came out to be examined while the search for the shears went through.) As someone who worries about food miles, I also put thought into where my water comes from. The tap water in Vancouver is some of the best in the world, so I have no problem feeling secure about drinking it. When we do buy sparkling water for a treat, we try to buy local. So when I bought my magazine inside the gate past security, I bought a bottle from Whistler. I should have just filled my bottle from a water tap or a fountain, but I got all paranoid about germs. Sigh. We do really have to break the plastic bottle habit.<br /><br />I grew up in the prairie dry belt, aka Palliser's Triangle, so I was taught how precious water is and that it should never be wasted. We actually pumped water from a well in the middle of town, like in some old-fashioned Can lit story and it was cold and pure and sweet. When I see people washing the sidewalk with garden hoses in Vancouver, it makes my physically ill. "What's the problem?" people say, "It's a rainforest climate." Well, there are plenty of problems with water in Canada right now and plenty more looming in our future and the future of the globe. I'm looking forward to seeing how the artists in this festival explore the personal and political sides of water in physical terms.<br /><br />I can't wait to gossip around the water cooler and watch Jason Fielding portage in the heat of the midday sun tomorrow at the southwest edge of the Hotel MacDonald.<br /><br />Conserve water. Keep hydrated. Stay tuned to the water channel.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-220194620710998500.post-23273352283174479232009-08-23T23:34:00.000-07:002009-08-23T23:44:07.174-07:00welcome<span style="font-family:arial;">Hello!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It is just a few days less than a month and Visualeyez will hit Edmonton and I am both nervous and excited about this year. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Please keep checking back to this site to find out more information and details about the exciting artists scheduled for 2009.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This year Visualeyez… Canada's Annual Performance Art Festival will feature over ten artists with a strong Alberta and Edmonton component, a diversity of Canadian performance artists with solid performance art histories and dynamic international artist with strong Canadian ties.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I am also excited to announce that <span style="font-weight: bold;">Lori Weidenhammer </span>will be the festival animator for 2009. Lori Weidenhammer is a Vancouver performance based interdisciplinary artist </span><span style="font-family:arial;">originally from Saskatchewan. For the past three years she has been appearing </span><span style="font-family:arial;">as the persona Madame Beespeaker on a regular basis, at the Regina Folkfest (Neutral Ground), Visualeyez (Latitude 53), Van Dusen Botanical Gardens (Second Site), and UBC Farm. Her collaborative media works with Peter Courtemanche have been shown in Canada and abroad, including Divining for Lost Sound (Bregenz, Austria), Brain Dress (Grunt Gallery, Vancouver) The Haunted Crinoline (The Dunlop Gallery, Regina), and The Laughing Dress (Video Pool, Winnipeg). She is one of members of a group of Vancouver community artists in The Means </span><span style="font-family:arial;">of Production Artists’ Raw Resource Collective (MOPARRC), a food security volunteer and activist Weidenhammer works with students of all ages on identifying native plants, eating locally, gardening for pollinators (i.e. honeybees), and guerilla gardening. She is passionate about art that that transforms the relationship between the artist and the viewer and creates community bonds. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Hold on and hang tight as Visualeyez floods the streets of Edmonton as we explore this year's theme of water.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Todd </span>TJhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11908164746814767478noreply@blogger.com0