Monthly Archives: February 2008

Last Day of the Exhibition

An article in the Metro.

There’s a lit­tle arti­cle in The Metro today about the gallery. In the pic­ture, around the harpist, is part of my Fruit and Body series. I’ve decided to make it a lim­ited edi­tion print of 100 each at 18″×12″. So far I’ve sold four, with two potentials.

It’s the last day of the exhibit. I’ll be there again tonight because another paper wants some pic­tures of the artists, and so I can meet with any guests, includ­ing one of my buy­ers. If you stop by, don’t for­get to sign the guestbook!

Psychoanalytic Reflections 02

My ther­a­pist is still get­ting to know me. Now I have books to read and work­sheets to fill out. It’s some­what strange; I’ve been putting myself through self-help for years, but I’ve never traced it so far back to my child­hood. I don’t like to blame my par­ents because I see how Darren and Pat have sur­vived far “worse” but it’s get­ting more and more obvi­ous that there’s trauma in my child­hood that still affects me to this day.

  • Apparently, I’m mod­er­ately depressed, and “mod­er­ate” is not normal.
  • We’ve fig­ured out that my unassertive­ness is the result of con­flict avoid­ance. Even if I prac­tice a sit­u­a­tion in my head where I say some­thing that may bring up con­flict, I often can’t fol­low through. I feel help­less to fix this, and this leads to a self-defeating attitude.
    • This stems from my child­hood. I’ve almost never argued with my par­ents (there were two times in my life I felt strongly enough to stand up against them, both end­ing in me sub­mit­ting because there was no rea­son­ing with them). I’ve always felt like I wouldn’t be loved unless I got good grades and did every­thing I was told. In other words, it was an extremely con­di­tional love.
    • This means I care about what peo­ple think of me, and I define or eval­u­ate my self-worth through them. Knowing this pisses me off because philo­soph­i­cally and prag­mat­i­cally I don’t agree, but can’t do any­thing about it.
  • Every time I’ve been in ther­apy, I’ve cried at least once. This hap­pens when­ever I bring up spe­cific aspects of my rela­tion­ship with my parents.
  • Hearing my ther­a­pist say, “Wow, that’s bad” brings me a com­fort­ing val­i­da­tion to what I feel.
  • Aside from being slightly ver­bose, my ther­a­pist is great. He’s a non-judgmental, eth­i­cal, open-minded intel­lec­tual. He’s also a good listener.

The Spot

If a woman sleeps alone, it puts a shame on all men. God has a very big heart but there is one sin he will not for­give: if a woman calls a man to her bed and he will not go.

—Zorba the Greek

There exists a spot on every woman that needs to be kissed.

It can be as innocu­ous as the curl of the lip, the web of the hand, or a mark on a land­scape of skin.

It’s the respon­si­bil­ity of a man to find this spot. Not as a ser­vice to the woman — some­times she isn’t even aware of such a spot — but as a ser­vice to the cre­ator of such things.

Hanging Party

I feel utterly intoxicated.

Reading poems around the piano

With a ham­mer and a lad­der, we hung my pic­tures tonight, care­fully decid­ing where to place each one to bal­ance the colours, the ori­en­ta­tions, the shapes, and the concepts.

Amongst the wine and the wood, the kids and the colours, we stopped to admire the art in the house. Adrienne dropped by to share her lat­est graphic poems with us, along with her alco­holic find­ings. “From The Desk Of” Penelope was writ­ten that day, dense and deep, full of details taken for granted. The words must write them­selves, I thought.

Thumbnail: Poem reading
Thumbnail: My fruit and body series wall
Thumbnail: Old fashioned side-table
Thumbnail: Akio
Thumbnail: A hammer and a poem
Thumbnail: Old style heater
Thumbnail: Frederic and Akio
Thumbnail: Nicole Beaumont artwork
Thumbnail: Akio on the ladder
Thumbnail: Wine, ice, and salad

Misun and I seem to share a kin­ship through our appre­ci­a­tion of expres­sion, some­thing I’ve never had with my friends. Not that there’s any­thing wrong with them, but I’ve always felt like they can’t relate to me when it comes to emo­tions or cre­ativ­ity. As I seem to be the cre­ative brother she’s always wanted, and she seems to be the sup­port­ive sis­ter I’ve always needed, we agreed to be adopted siblings.

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In a recent inter­view, Frédéric said, in his ebul­lient Parisian accent, that one of the rea­sons he wanted to open the Salon is to pro­mote dia­logue and inter­ac­tion. Perhaps it’s this hunger for dia­logue that con­nects us. He also men­tioned to me he was stressed out about being inter­viewed; being put on the spot made him freeze up. I told him I had the same prob­lem with pretty girls. “You’re affected by beauty”, he said, some­thing I knew, but not some­thing that every­one understands.

I left, feel­ing like I was a part of some­thing won­der­ful, some­thing greater than myself.

In The News

On the bus today, a reporter from the CBC called me for an inter­view. She started ask­ing me why I got into pho­tog­ra­phy, where I wanted to go with it, and the like. It was strange to be answer­ing these ques­tions because as far as I’ve gone with my pho­tog­ra­phy, no one has ever asked them before. I sup­pose most peo­ple assume it’s like another hobby, with­out pur­pose or meaning.

Newspaper article

There was also a lit­tle men­tion of my name in the local fran­coph­one paper. I find it funny that when trans­lated lit­er­ally, the title of the arti­cle in English is “Go, all with the Living room!”.