I’m thinking this and writing this and I have to say something to someone but Pat’s busy, Julie’s out of town, and John’s gone missing. Not that they would understand anyway. Not that even I understand.

De-loused in the Comatorium is cranked on my speakers right now because it’s how I feel. Last week, my neighbour told me he’s never heard a peep from me. Now I question whether I’m pushing my luck. It’s like I stepped out into the darkness of a cool night from a production of Equus. These synapses firing. The jitteriness. It’s ten, I haven’t had dinner, but I’m shaking too much to eat.

I feel like I could write for days and days and days and days. Maybe I’m just happy to have something to write about. Maybe I’m just happy to feel this way again. This self-destructiveness, even in the face of certainty.

A little clock in front of the turquoise man says I’m away, but I’m here. Talk to me, Darren. Where are you? Only you would get it. Only you know how I feel, because you’re probably feeling the same thing right now.

We’re drawn to that which hurts us. In this way, we reveal our vulnerability, and only those who are so vulnerable recognize their own.

It’s time I turned down this music. It’s time I put some food in my stomach. It’s time I scalded myself in the shower. It’s time I got some sleep.

Sometimes you don’t know you’re alive until you’re burning.

It’s been a full year since I did one of these update entries. It’s interesting to read the last one. Addressing the subjects I wrote about: I’ve changed layouts three times, I’ve received over 2000 comments, Balls of Fury was hilarious, and my trip to New Hampshire changed my life.

The Car

I finally, finally, finally got a car.

For years I took the bus, just so I could put the money — otherwise spent on a loan, insurance, gas, or maintenance — towards my mortgage or photo gear. Things like heavy groceries, purchases of large or bulk items, and trips to remote areas with no bus service would leave me dependent on the favours of friends with automobiles. No more.

It’s black 2008 Honda Civic Coupe, like the one above without the tinting. At first, I wanted it in grey metallic but it looked rather blah in the showroom.

I should have it next week. Trips to Montreal (for photography and food) and Toronto (to visit John and Darren) have already been planned, as well as the surrounding areas during the springtime. And if Bronwen and I were still on speaking terms, I’d drive her to the Casino du Lac-Leamy to gamble on the horses.

The Temporary Housemate

Alex is staying with me for two weeks while he does a medical internship at CHEO. The company will be a welcome change. It’ll be nice to have a roommate for a bit and give me an excuse to watch movies that I don’t otherwise make time to watch.

The Photo Gear

Fed up with the deep red of my studio and taping black construction paper to the walls, I bought a black muslin backdrop.

Dolly, being a cat who must sleep on anything new in the house to mark her territory, promptly settled herself on the backdrop as soon as I had finished ironing it.

I also got a Chimera XXS softbox for one of my next projects, which will heavily use macro shots. The softbox will allow me better control of light, as well as more even distribution of light than an umbrella.

Next on the list is a second flash and stand, but it’ll be some time before I can afford that.

Snow is a relatively hard thing to capture on film. With so much white, there’s very little contrast or texture, so nothing to lead the eye. You want to give a sense of being suffocated by all this now, but too much of the same thing in a picture becomes boring. It’s balancing the subject and working with available light that becomes important.

I don’t think we’ve reached the record for snowfall yet, but we’re close. I tried to walk to work, but gave up. Even trudging through the snow to get these shots left me sweating. It’s days like these that I’m thankful that I live in a condo, because my condo fees go towards shoveling the parking lot. People told me they had to shovel their driveways a couple times in one night.

I’m just coming off a moderate cold I’ve had for the last week. All the classic symptoms — runny, stuffy nose, congestion, slight headache, yellow phlegm — but oddly enough, barely a hint sore throat. It’s been unpleasant to say the least.

A little while ago, Tiana wrote “I look in the bowl after to see how impressive it was. I’m pretty sure you do too”.

This cold has made me realize that I not only look in the bowl (I’m sure Freud would diagnose us as being fixated in the anal stage of psychosexual development), but I open my Kleenex after blowing in it as well, to check for discoloured mucus, phlegm, blood, or bits of brain that may have escaped through my nose.

The last three months led up to this night.

After attending Opus 01, I knew I wanted to be a part of this.

John, as a true friend, flew from Toronto to be there for the night. Alex, who was doing a medical internship at a family practice in a nearby city, drove there. Even Pearl also dropped by and I got to meet her.

I was so busy talking with my guests that I didn’t even have time to go into the other rooms to see how the other artists were doing. The house was packed with people again, young and old.

Performances

Jacqueline’s second piece was Sonata in A Minor, by Franz Schubert (unfortunately, her first piece was over ten minutes long, which isn’t allowed on YouTube). I found it to be a rather masculine piece, beginning like a sombre funeral march, leading to a journey of bubbling emotion, so it was mesmerizing to see a girl play it with such conviction. Pay special attention to the burning trill at 5:28, which leads back to the main theme.

Misun told me that when she handed Jacqueline a rose after the performance, it looked like she had run a marathon.

Afterwards, Jacqueline told me after she couldn’t stop looking at my penis through her performance, then quickly corrected herself and said the penis picture, which was hung across from her.

Louise plays the harp by feeling only. She doesn’t have formal any musical training, so she doesn’t write any of her compositions down. It just flows from her fingers, and quite well I might add. As a result, her music is semi-improvised.

John kept telling us how not drunk he was, even though you can clearly seeing him downing glasses of wine in this video.

The after party

When the people left and the doors closed, the real party began for the artists, their guests, and the volunteers. Frédéric and Misun broke out the cold cuts, the fresh and fancy bread, the wine, the cheese and we celebrated a successful night. We had been standing for five hours, so it was time to take a break.

When Dan gave me a reading two years ago, and said that I would be making money off my art within the next 15 years, I never would have believed him.