waste not...

One of the assignments I had the 'Design History' students work on this semester yielded some interesting results. They were to find and present a controversial art or Design piece. That is where I was introduced to the Cloaca Machine. Created by Belgian conceptual artist Wim Delvoye, this machine can be fed like a human, it then produces waste like a human which Wim packages and sells investment shares in. Yep, if you are an art collector, you can invest in sh*t art'. What a comment on the whole pretentious art collecting scene! Apparently the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) has one; and Wim has been successful in selling shares. You know what they say, 'do what you love and the money will come'.

smokin' in the boys room?

I used to put it off as long as I could; going to relieve myself in the high school girls washroom. Most of the time it was a cancer pit of second hand smoke and the last place I ever wanted to be. I've been told the boys room was also a location where young men could participate in unapproved activities. Just as some things continue to change, so others never do. My son came home with an interesting tale about the boys room at the middle school where he attends. Apparently there was an empty box of liquor chocolates on the back of a toilet seat around Christmas time, and I imagined several young boys wandering around the school "feelin' real naughty". It struck a humorous cord for me. How much liquor is in one of those boxes anyway? I would think the most you could come out with would be a stomach ache.

quarter moon

This was the view out my truck window as we sped down the highway. When this couple on a bike passed us, we were in for a surprise! The things you see when you don't have a camera!

too much of a good thing

I am feeling a slight twing of guilt as I sit here composing this post. The dad-guy is currently outside digging snow off of our shed which collapsed 2 days ago. We have had an incredible amount of snow! 2 days ago a small amount of white precipitation floated, lazily from the sky. It was that last flake, it caused the feat of engineering which formed our tent shed to finally collapse. Dad-guy has spent most of his weekends moving snow around, trying to prevent such a tragedy, even to the point of renting a bobcat to push the 8 feet high mounds of snow away from our house. Should spring come in like a lion, he reasoned, we could be floating away. How disappointing to now have to rescue and perform triage on the various pieces of equipment that were stored is the collapsed shed. Weather is a force that cannot be predicted or controlled, perhaps that is why it has been a popular topic of conversation for as far back as humans go.

the front

In reference to my gum-chewed hair cut, A few of you said you needed to see the front of me, so here I am. Keep in mind that my hair has now been growing for 2.5 weeks since my cut. So you can imagine how short it was. The painting next to me is one I finished a few weeks ago of a building in Wells, BC.

everyone does it...once

This morning my sleepy 8 year old daughter came out of her room rubbing her eyes. I was excited to see her as I had been away the previous night, but my happiness turned to shock when I saw her bangs. It appeared she had taken the scissors to them last night after her bath. The Dad guy, hadn't really noticed the night before and just put her to bed. Well, I stated in a shocked voice: "what did you do to your hair?" She replied, "nothing", and began to cry and clutch her tummy. After a sympathetic discussion about how most kids try to cut their hair at least once, I tried to fix her creative cut. She now has quite the set of micro-bangs. At the end of it all, one questions still remains in my mind. How could the Dad guy have missed seeing that?

bad hair

Remember when your mom had to cut a big wad of gum outta your hair? Let me take you back to those days with my $47.00 hair hack. I have not received such a bad cut for a very long time, but this one is quite nasty. After being miserable for several days, I had to accept that the ONLY thing I can do to improve this is 'wait'. (Or buy a couple of nice hats) And you thought watching the grass grow took a long time ... no way!

a glimse of holiday past

Monday is the beginning of a new semester at work. My kids start a new semester at school. "Its a new start.", says my son who was plagued by unfinished assignments only a few short weeks ago. The celebrations are over, we have returned to our home and now we hold our breath and wait... No need to make resolutions, the year will bring changes of its own. My resolution, if I had one, would be to react calming and adapt to whatever comes my way. Live one moment at a time, enjoy and be thankful.

season of consciousness...

I try to stay conscious during school plays, get-togethers, company dinners, but it is difficult when running on less than optimum sleep. Why does so much fun have to be packed into 2 weeks out of an entire 52? It' no wonder people feel bored in January! Should I plug more caffine into my body? Preferably in the form of dressed-up lattes and coffee-spiked eggnogs.

I wish you the ability to stay conscious during any fun event you attend this holiday season! Drinking caffine and driving may not be against any law, but too much caffine may be a reason to hand over the keys. Just ask me!

rippin' mad

I can't express my frustration at this moment. My home email address has been compromised by spammers! I 'never' had that happen when I accessed my mail from a mac! Of all the moronic pastimes! Spam is such a scourge! Don't people have anything better to do? sheesh!

reunion

25 years have past since the whole of my future lay ahead of me. High school was left behind and interests were pursued. There are those I remember having had an influence in what paths I would take. This man was one of them. Dave Johannsen still teaches art at Memorial Composite High School in Stony Plain, Alberta. It was my pleasure to reconnect with him and classmates this Thanksgiving weekend.

why even bother...

I have absolutely nothing to say. If you read this then you must have nothing to do. Isn't it great to have a blank mind and lots of time to enjoy it. aahhhhh.....

nabbed

He was in his sixties. He came in with a purpose. I had other customers. I noticed him, greeted him then left him to his shopping. Once the others had left I glanced his way. He was hunched over near the moccasins and his posture was odd. Ask I walked over to get a better look he abruptly headed for the door. A moccasin fell out of his coat. "Whats with the moccasin?" I asked. "I think I just kicked it." he says. After a short while and me insisting that he return the other moccasin, he handed it over. I asked him to leave, he complied, I called security. There was over $580.00 more merchandise on him when they searched him. Who would have thought...

indoor life

"Everything is subordinated to us, fashioned for our use and our pleasure. Egotism itself, which is so necessary to a proper sense of human dignity, is entirely the result of indoor life. Out of doors one becomes abstract and impersonal. One's individuality absolutely leaves one. And then Nature is so indifferent, so unappreciative." (Wilde, The Decay of Lying)

One is unable to perceive the changes that take place each day that charges towards the solstice. However, once spring comes, the ache becomes persistant where all we can think about is going outside! Part of me withers and dies during the northern winter. Like the trees, I become dormant. Oh how I fight the indoor life. By the time I am done my "duties" it is dark outside and I am exhausted from the lack of natural light. I try to fashion my home, to motivate and energize, to inspire, to ignite my desire for life. But nothing can motivate me more than the return daylight. I long for the days when I can become abstract and impersonal, as Mr. Wilde once said.

out of reach

He wanders in and out of my thoughts at this time of year. Like a shadow, a memory - there, but somewhat out of reach. There was a time when he was here. A constant comfort that covered me like a blanket of love and security. It feels so cold now. If I go to the place where I last saw him, it is quiet, and empty. Sometimes, when I dream of him I feel the warmth from before. Its almost as if I can hear him speak. He clears his throat, I am waiting, but no sound comes. It has been 13 years since he passed away and I still love him like it was yesterday.