a period of rest before the coming...

When you walk in rhythm,

lovely with abandonment,
You seem to be swayed by a wand,
A dancing serpeant.
-Bouldaire




...do you remember who taught you to frenchkiss.

I am going to keep you in the nineties for awhile longer,
l have a few more stories to tell.

I use to think that only the young and the old were worth talking to.
Those in between too busy, running around like a nosebleed
that won't stop. The young have a power, a magic mystical, untamed
and raw, ready to lick the blood from your neck.


"...when the story of the hero's wound is made part
of the story of desire, when the weaving activity of
the soul, the work of memory and imagination, the
weaving of one's story, is informed and suffused
with the hero's violent spiritual flame."

-eileen greagory(summoning the familiar)




I met Sean in the nineties, he came from a program for lost punks.
They asked if l would take him in my studio, mentor him l suppose.
He came to my studio, hung around, rambled poetic lyrics, and he
brought with him, his family. A family of hooded punks, black cloth,
spiked collars, with dreams of a fresh new world. I photographed
Sean one night, with his girl Claire - here






and he says that he loves me
even though its not his baby
and he says that he'll raise him up
like he would his own son
and he gave me a ring
that was worn by his mother

-tom waits

Sam was pregnant. She was a tad older than the rest, and
with growth in her belly she was somewhat of a guide to them,
perhaps she glowed with a secret light.




...part of painting of sam

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Christie and Killie, two more beacons that danced quietly
through this time.




Although they seem to carry a heaviness, they carried your concerns,
your burdens, your wishes, they carried what you lay in bed dreaming of.





"a period of rest before the coming"
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Willie Mae... makes me smile thinking of her.




She could make the world smile. An endless flame, a shinning star,
the drop of dew on a blade of grass. She had cancer, they took
her leg off at the knee.




She would come to my studio now and then, help me with the
painting. I told her to write something on the painting. She
found a quote on my wall and wrote that;

"the ocean doesn't want me today,
but l'll be back tomorrow to play"
-tom waits

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Char- I lived in a little shack in Parksville and beside that shack
was a wood shop of some sort. I would see her drive up on her
bike. Loud , maybe a harley, clad in the blackest leather. I didn't
know if she was boy or girl. I couldn't tell but l wanted to photograph
her. So one day l ran into her and with the flapping of wings in my
tummy l asked her. "Can l photograph you"
Slammed against the wall, one hand on my throat, a fist to the groin.
Well that is what l expected, but no, yes, out came this beautiful
sweetness, "why yes darling, that would be nice"






I photographed her at night in my studio, we talked for hours.
Her life in a small town, it was hard for her, being gay in this town,
being inside a body that she wanted to change.








Am l lucky to have met these people, damn right.
They all burned, burned with a fire, a fire that was true and deep.

But you know...it's there,
in you, in all of us.


"How many years ago
Were you and l unlettered lads
Mad as the mist and snow"

-yeats


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maybe check Fernandes
he has fire

goodbye

-