Wednesday, December 06, 2006
On the road for a few days, I-5 Vancouver --> Seattle, Mr. Stephen Morrissey and Mssrs. Becker and Fagen riding shotgun.

A lovely day in the sun today, hiking up the Capilano River canyon in the cold.

A brief moment of happiness.

Back soon!
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Warhol, cultural critique, neo-avant-garde... (Jeff Wall Hermes lecture via YouTube; lecture text available here soon)

"One could develep a mimesis, still within the institution of art, of any and every one of the potential new domains of creativity suggested by the conceptual reduction, but without thereby having to renounce the making of artworks..."

(Thus Broodthaers as curator of an imaginary museum; Andrea Fraser as gallery docent; Mark Dion as scientific researcher, & etc. Wall is, I think, largely negative about these developments, but it is possible to imagine a further kink in the conceptual chain: a ordinary person coming to art not by making objects, but by reading and thinking about art, thereby perceiving the possibility of the mimesis of the role of "artist." Such an individual could theorize a practice of "art production" self-reflexively reporting on that complicated mimetic game. Eg.,

A.'s mimesis: art director and CEO of an "artistic corporation." A factory.

B's mimesis: A.)

I just bought a big stack of vintage Georgette Heyer regency romances. Not depicted: another Heyer title described by publisher Pan Books as "gay and frothy."
Magnolia buds visible now on bare branches.

Light warm West Coast rain wetting the sidewalks, the remnant snow, my upturned face.

Visiting my parents' empty house last night, having walked all the way from downtown.

The fireplace ticking over.

A picture of a much younger self propped up on my dad's drafting desk in the den. An awkward, lanky teenager, all arms and legs, with wide-framed glasses and a surprising shock of brown-black hair, combed up in a wave. A conference nametag pinned to my shirt. Head cocked to one side.

An air of perpetual surprise.
Monday, December 04, 2006

(A distant Nekobasu relative, via dru, via this page, "backatcha" for this link, originally drawn to my attention by J.)

Paul Cezanne, Le Cabanon de Jourdan, 1906

Another View of the Malkin Bowl, 2006
To Stanley Park under grey December sky, with the Nikon. Trudging across wet grass, snow remnants here and there on the lawns. The arch of the Malkin Bowl's roof overhead. Fiddling with the exposure meter, trying to reconcile sky and structure while overfamiliar black squirrels scrabble up my pantlegs.



Mr. Rodney Graham, live in concert:

Unplugged: We are all sensitive people here...

Plugged 'n orchestrated: Nothing really works out right...

(Those links are working again now)
Sunday, December 03, 2006

One Hundred Famous Ghosts (41), 2006

Sunday morning sky, slow-mo grey. Each North Shore tree distinct, white-edged, in the last sunfalls on the snowy slopes. Cutblocks for condos, white scars, crisscrossed with the black threads of new crescents and courts. Cranes halfway up the hillside, building new Anthem and Polygon properties. Erecting granite countertops and Douglas fir floors. A thousand working-class hammers driving lattes and arugula, chunky black-frame glasses, and "that laid-back West Coast vibe."

A World Class City that actually resembles its backlit caricature out in YVR's arrival halls.
More shock-of-recognition thefts from Theft:

" argument both within itself and against itself..."

"I was born out of style and was still out of style when I came down on the train from Bacchus Marsh. My trousers were too short, my socks were white and I will commit similar sins of style when I am in my coffin, my ligaments all gone, bone by bone, my flesh mixed down with dirt."

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