The stars are close and dear and l have joined
the brotherhood of the worlds.
And everythings holy -everything, even me.
-john steinbeck (grapes of wrath)
Huey died two weeks ago...
I've written about huey before - here...
My friend mike was at huey's bedside when he died,
he listened to him breath and not breath
he saw his breaths grow short and disappear,
he saw his pulse slow and stop.
Mike was there when he died
and he gave huey love to take with him.
There is beauty in this...
In uncertainty l am certain that underneath their topmost layers
of fraility men want to be good and want to be loved.
Indeed most of their vices are attempted short cuts to love,
When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents
and influence and genuis, if he dies unloved his life
must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror.
It seems to me that if you or l must choose between two courses
of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try to
live that our death brings no pleasure to the world.
-john steinbeck (east of eden)
I travel your length, like a river,
I travel your body, like a forest,
like a mountain path that ends at a cliff
I travel along the edge of your thoughts,
and my shadow falls from your white forehead,
my shadow shatters, and I gather the pieces
and go with no body, groping my way
-octavio paz
The spiritual body exists wherever passion is dreamed of
as an ideal instead of being feared like a malignant fever;
wherever its fatal character is welcomed, invoked or
imagined as a magnificent and desirable disaster instead
of simply a disaster. It lives in the lives of people who
think that love is their fate...that it is stronger and more
real than happiness, society, or morality.
-denis de rougemont
and lay down here beside me
let me hold you in the dirt
and you'll tremble as the flames
tear the throat out of the night
-tomwaits
I bought a cell phone a while back, came with a cheap built in camera
...not even 1 mp, 0.02 l think, but it's fast and dirty...l like it.
a hundred or so years ago when l studied photography (ACA)
we had to buy a 4x5 format camera. A big box with an expensive lens.
I liked that camera too... l would take it downtown calgary on sunday
mornings, set it up and when someone passed by l would ask if l
could take their picture.
...then a few years out of college l started using a 2 and a quarter format,
a mamiya c330. That was a beautiful camera, a workhorse, big bulky but it
felt like you meant it.
After the large format cameras l realized what l needed. Low light
situations, non intimidating and quiet cameras.
I only needed one lens, but it had to be fast, f1.4. Sometimes a rangefinder,
and always canon. Kinda like ford and chev. I was influenced by what
my daddy drove.
I have trouble with digital but l had to make the effort.
A few months ago l bought a 12mp canon g9. A nice little
camera maybe a little light - l've been tempted to glue a piece of
wood on it for the weight. I understand the appeal of digital,
theres a freedom, "care but don't care"
You can snap a hundred images, without thinking and
sometimes that is good.
but...there's a craft to film. The feel of it, the feel and excitement
of pulling a wet print out of the tray.
I don't know...
One way or another, we all have to find what best fosters
the flowering of our humanity in this contemporary life,
and dedicate ourselves to that.
- Joseph Campbell
...my next painting.
All suddenly the wind comes soft,
And Spring is here again;
And the hawthorn quickens with buds of green
And my heart with buds of pain.
My heart all Winter lay so numb,
The earth so dead and frore,
That I never thought the Spring would come,
Or my heart wake any more.
But Winter’s broken and earth has woken
And the small birds cry again.
And the hawthorn hedge puts forth its buds,
And my heart puts forth its pain.
-rupert brooke (spring sorrow)
I walk the gully again. The winter months showed signs of settlers.
A camp by the river, ashes of a long night's fire and the start of a stone wall.
A plastic water pistol to ward off predators, in the dark we all look
menacing. There was a grocery cart as well, filled with cardboard boxes.
On the side written in black felt pen, "pictures from living room"
I've seen him in the early dawn, a huddled shape under a sleeping bag,
like a corpse waiting for an identity. When l go in the afternoon, he is gone,
sometimes his sleeping bag is stashed in the bushes along with empty bottles
of mouthwash. He has made a nest now, out of dried bramble, it looks comforting,
and warm and like it would be okay to go back there at night.
"For each person lives in layers of memory and desire
finding an outer form for an inner world space.
Querencia: the unique personality of our very own place.
Querencia: small subtle ways to make ourselves at home.
Querencia: the right of sanctuary to be one's self in.
Each must create by humble pride our den, nest, haven.
Rites of sanctuary find us freedom to be who we are.
-r.atkinson
...those words were written by my friend ron atkinson.
Ron is a brilliant and beautiful man.
...he knows love.
The ribbon round your neck
against your skin that's pale as bone
It is my favorite thing you've worn
The band is playing our song
And we won't go home, 'til morn
-twaits
I've done four covers for the marc atkinson trio. The first one l did l made three little tin men
with instruments, they had moveable arms, legs and penis's. Penis's so big you could teach
time with them. The second cover l did is this one above, floor tile mosaic, it is my favorite
and this time l was discreet with the clock pieces. I also did a cover for marc's other band
the bills
l did this one while travelling in calgary, l carried around a little black suitcase
filled with bits of fabric, needles and lots of thread and if l had worn a overcoat
l would have looked very suspicious.
Life is whittled
Life's a riddle
Man's a fiddle that life plays on
twaits
Marc is good to me, he lets me do whatever l want.
On this fourth trio cover (which l've just finished) l decided on dolls.
So l carved six little hands, and three little heads and gillian gravenor made
three little bodies with three black suits. And cam purdon made a beautiful
little macaferri guitar. Now l'm not a carver but carving those hands
and heads was such a lovely thing ...like breathing skin.
This image above is one of the first l shot and it looks like a scene out
of a john wayne movie...
...and this is it, the marc atkinson trio, their fourth cd, it will be out soon, a few weeks l imagine.
Marc is a such a wonderful man, he just kindof glows...
I am family...
Then what to do to find the room where you are?
Deep cave of obsidian glowing with red, with green,
with black light,
high room in the lost tower where you sit spinning.
crack in the floor where the gold ring
waits to be found
-d.levertov
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
e e cummings
...fresh snow in the gully, the smooth running water, a new year is arriving.
What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?
- George Eliot
"...l just want to see my two daughters." - Spike christmas eve
For some reason l am reminded of spike every now and then. It was many years ago that l
knew him, visited him and his dog butch, a big raggy german shepherd that stood by his side,
waiting for crumbs, waiting for stroking hands, waiting just for him. I would visit
spike and butch every couple of weeks while cycling around downtown,
and would bring smokes and once l brought some meager snack for butch.
I was over there one christmas eve, sharing my smokes, petting butch, shared
in spike's bottle of bad wine,a big generic green gallon bottle . At some point
spike said he was hungry so l volunteered to make him something to eat..
I remember not finding much in his cupboards - just like a fairly tale
there were crumbs with the inside of his fridge being a pale yellow
ketchup stained empty wasteland. All l remember finding was a cabbage
and decided that this would be find, l could boil it and spike wouldn't go hungry.
Well the inside of the cabbage was crawling with little white worms, so that kindof put a
damper on spike's appetitie and we just had another smoke instead. I listened to spike talk of
the neighbor, a young girl with child. He told me that she had been out of diapers, out of food,
out of money, so he gave her the few bucks that he had. He was so proud, so happy with his
gesture, it made me happy, made me feel glad to be there, to be with spike and butch,
to share in something so simple.
now when the streets get hungry, baby
you can almost hear them growl
someone's setting a place for you
when the dogs begin to howl
-twaits
"What is it?
The particularly poetic way of envisioning and crafting life has to do with firing
the world through carefully maintained inner flames, with witnessing in image,
memory, and language to the luminosity, the hidden fires in things.
-eileen gregory (summoning the familiar)
Drag your wagon and your plow
Over the bones of the dead
Out among the roses and the weeds
You can never go back
And the answer is no
And wishing for it only
Makes it bleed
t.waits
When l was a kid, grade 4 l think, living in Port Hardy and running through the bush
playing "Gunsmoke" l had a toy deringer and wanted to be Marshall Matt Dillon.
One day me and the neighbor girls tried smoking a piece of straw. It was
hot but not great. My dad use to smoke sportsman plain, l loved the yellow package
and they always came with a little card inside, fishing flys or something.
I smoked cigarettes for years. They were great for meeting people on the street,
offer a cigarette and l was in. Alot of guys spend all day looking for cigarettes,
collecting butts off the streets and out of ashtrays, putting them in little dirty baggies
and re-rolling the tobacco. They taste awful.
Then l started rolling my smokes, bought drum tobacco because "tailor-mades"
seemed so deceitful. And when l worked at the homeless shelter, everyone wanted
a smoke, "got a smoke, got a smoke", well Drum tobacco could last longer.
now if your mama saw you smokin why she'd kick your ass
put it out you little juvenile and put it out fast
t.waits
I went to a pipe ten years ago, l loved the wood, the feel of digging into a leather
bag for a pinch of tobacco, it felt so good. And of course the smell, no not the
smelly fragrant kind, but Erinmore from Ireland, smelling of chocolate and coffee.
I have decided to give it up, well gave it up Nov 1st. It is sort of hard,
the pipe was like a friend and foolish as l may sound, it felt like a power of sorts.
If l think about it, l can imagine it very clearly, filling the pipe and drawing
in the smoke. It is still very clear and probably will be for a long time.
I will do it...but l feel sad about it.
You'll soon forget the
Tune that you play
For that is the part
You throw away
Ah, that is the part
You throw away
the moon is full here every night
and I can bathe here in his light
the leaves will bury every year
and no one knows I'm gone
-t.waits
...the tents are gone from the gully, there is no one sleeping under the stars anymore
all that is left is some clothes, old tarp, a black shoe, empty mouthwash bottles - the
generic kind. And then there is this stuffed kitty, pinkish with a long monkey like tail,
someone's stuffed animal. I imagine it gave them comfort, laying in the tent in the gully,
black with rain pouring down, monster steps creeping by, no sleep,
just hold the kitty, cry...
He has no friends. But he gets a lot of mail.
I'll bet he spent a little time in jail.
I heard he was up on the roof last night, signalling with a flashlight.
And what's that tune he's always whistling?
What's he building in there?
What's he building in there?
We have a right to know.
t.waits
...give me a week,
and this will be something.
If you go down to the woods today, You're sure of a big surprise
If you go down to the woods today, You'd better go in disguise.
I take the boy for a walk every morning 6;45am to the gully.
A stream carries the water down from the mountains and runs through the
gully. It also carries bears, l see their blackberry filled scat, like a big
homemade pie. People go to the gully to drink, and smoke, l see their
empty cans, and their empty soiled pants. People sleep in
the gully, there are now two tents, trying hard to hide behind bushes but
standing out like safety pins. There is also a couple of people sleeping
under the stars, sleeping under the clouds, a blanket thrown over them
like their dead. I go by every morning and wave and say "good morning".
He raises his sleepy arm, his heavy drowsy head and
waves back, "good morning".
For ev'ry bear that ever there was, Will gather there for certain, because
Today's the day the Teddy Bears have their picnic.
The seasons can turn on a dime,
Somehow I forget every time;
These things you've given me
They always will stay
They're broken... but I'll never throw them away
-tomwaits
...these are Sunshine's goats. beautiful animals, they seem so clever, almost tricky
...this one reminds me of coming home from school and watching
"The Flying Nun" everyday.
Martha had goats too...
I use to visit Martha, she lived on many acres in Bowser and
she had many goats. She was in her eighties, out digging in her vast garden,
herding her goats, tending her chickens, chopping her wood. I can't describe her
place, nor her, but it was so complete, "quality without a name".
Her beautiful old sheds and outbuildings, turned silver with age, dancing like.,
her knarly old fruit trees breathing heavy, the soil in her garden
you could smell the richness from the highway. And Martha, silver too, like
the wood, her eyes still bright and filled with want.
I heard from Sunshine that Martha is in a home now.
It seems so wrong, so sad, Martha should be on her land, she should
have died there on her land,in her garden, with her goats.
Maybe when our story's over
We'll go where it's always spring
The band is playing our song again
And all the world is green
-twaits
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