This little vial, along with a few drops of anti-coagulant, is filled with blood. My blood. I needed some for a photography project I’m working on, so I got a friend of mine in the medical industry to take it from me.
Now I’ve both figuratively and literally bled for my work.
The third Emergence Exposition was the first summer show. With daylight coming through the house, and the doors and windows open, there was a different mood floating around. People also dressed lightly and in bright colours, adding to the sense of airiness.
Along with the mind-blowing visual artwork, there were performances by Con Brio, a string quartet, and Aura Giles, a modern flutist with huge lungs.
One of the most memorable parts of the night, however, was a performance of an original composition by John Alac, where he tells a story of a man about to be executed, using only his guitar. The number of different sounds he gets from plucking, tapping, scratching his strings is quite amazing, although what really blew my mind was the way he got the sound of a bell to toll at 4:06.
(You can watch this in High Definition on the Vimeo site. It looks much nicer.)
The woman I’ve been looking for my entire life.
Her name was Christine. She was thin lipped. Frail limbed. Not the least bit camera shy, as she pulled her shirt up to expose a breast, like she had fallen on the grass this way and the folds in her clothes rearranged themselves on her body.
Here she is on a horse in the night. Here she is, grim-faced, cradling her son. There was a scar on her neck from a suicide attempt years earlier, and through a series of photographs, you could see the scar heal.
For seven years she was married, before she successfully jumped to her death from the 9th floor of an apartment in East Berlin.
This is someone who understood his art, his morbidity, his need to capture her suicide in a frame, then publish the image of her body on the pavement, looking down from the 9th floor, along with insouciant pictures of a teacup, a playground, a tank, three plants.
And as soon as I had found her, she’s gone.
Should I be happy that she existed? Should I be sad that she’s gone? Should I be punished for comparing the women I’ve had to her?
Is this painful, or beautiful, or both?
I’ve sold 10 of my fruit and body prints so far. Officially, I’ve made a small profit, with the money being used to pay off the debt incurred from the purchase of much photo gear.
When Dan did my reading two years ago, he mentioned that I see colours differently from other people, and that I should try making money off my art.
Back then, I was far from considering myself an “artist”. I used my camera to express myself in capturing memories, not in delivering messages. At the first Emergence Exposition, Nisha would introduce me to people as a photographer. I would add the word amateur as a prefix, but Nisha would correct me and say aspiring. I suppose I’m more inclined to agree with her now. Being able to support myself like this (albeit in a small way) makes a big difference.
The best part of the entire process though, is meeting people. Not just meeting people I ask to model for me, but when I’m delivering prints as well. I get to see where they’re going to hang the pictures, and I get to meet their kids, their parents, their pets, their friends.
Most recently, it was Tiana, who has two dogs, a cat, and a husband. I didn’t get to meet Brent (or the cat) but I’m sure the opportunity will present itself at some time in the future.
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.
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.
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.
Note: All media in this post has an extremely warm colour tone. I decided to keep it instead of balancing it to neutral white, because I enjoy the cozy feel of it, which expresses the mood of the house-gallery.
I feel utterly intoxicated.
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.
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.
For feedback, I showed Frédéric some of my initial work for the next exposition, a couple concept photos that capture the essence of my theme.
He told me I was being shy. That my work isn’t shocking or disturbing enough. Technically, it’s perfect, but lacking the qualities that make it art. For my subject, there’s a fine line between artistry and commercialism, and I haven’t yet crossed that line.
It made perfect sense, what he said.
My subject includes a lot of skin. But as a photographer who doesn’t have an established reputation, I find it extremely difficult to get people to take their clothes off, even for non-nude photos. I’m trying to work on a limited budget, with limited materials. I can’t afford to pay people to be my models, so I rely on the favours of friends1.
Working with models is a challenge in itself. There’s an element of uncertainty and unreliability when dealing with people, and being a control freak, this has proven to be extremely frustrating. It would have been simpler to photograph objects instead of people, but human shapes are the source of my interest.
It’s also difficult for me to photograph what is not considered “conventionally” beautiful (to my tastes, at least). Bless the beautiful, I once wrote.
In addition to all this, it’s hard for me to forget the meaning I’ve always placed in what I create. For this exhibit, I’m trying to create out of pure aestheticism. It’s not an easy thing to do, but I have to let go of these old habits.
At this point, the success of the show is still uncertain. Hopefully I’ll be able to pull it off in time. January will be busy. I know if I can overcome these challenges, I’ll be able to overcome so much more.
It’s become a test of myself more than anything else.
Good news. Wait no. Great fucking news.
I met with Frédéric, the owner of the Salon, and after showing him a portfolio of my pictures, he agreed to let me have an exhibit in the next show in February.
As this wasn’t only his art gallery but his house as well, I offered to let him make the decision after seeing my completed work. He told me there was no need, as he trusted me based on what he had seen in my portfolio, which I felt was a very nice compliment.
As artists (and I use this in the loosest sense of the word to describe myself), we’re very different. I told him that I like to study photographic techniques, especially in photos that I like, and apply those techniques to what I want to express or show. When I look at a piece of visual art, I look at meaning and intent. When I create, I keep the same thing in mind. Frédéric, on the other hand, is more of a gut-feeling type of artist. He does what he feels is right, and doesn’t worry as much about the underlying message.
He asked if I was single, and I told him I was. “Good”, he said, “That’ll help you focus”. It made me think of a quote by Alexander Dumas:
Woman inspires us to great things, and prevents us from achieving them.
I made a remark about how I’d have a forum to develop my ideas now, projects I never pursued because I didn’t have a way to get them to a wider audience. He told me that I shouldn’t worry about an audience, and gave me an example to demonstrate his point: if you create the most beautiful thing you’ve ever done and you keep it in your basement, it isn’t art because no one sees it1, but to get caught up in that dilemma, and to not create simply because of that, is a tragedy.
So now I can pursue and develop one of my photo project ideas. I have to decide on a theme. I have see how much enlargement I can do to my photos without too much loss of quality. I have to decide on the size of the final prints. I have to decide on the frame size and shape. I have to get the final prints framed.
I’ve always wanted to create accessible art2.
Perhaps this will be my chance.
A few days before the show, I found out that Krista and Shane were playing a small venue in town. Usually I make it a point to see an artist just once in my life, but last time was different; I was expecting Lederhosen Lucil, but was treated to an entirely different and unfamiliar sound. This time, it was my chance to see Krista and Shane perform after becoming familiar with the songs. Turns out the venue was in un petit salon des arts. This place boasted a mixture of different artforms; music, metal sculptures, photographs, paintings, and graphic poems.
I didn’t really feel like going out that night, but I forced myself to go, reminding myself that I could say the same thing any other night and I’d never get anywhere.
When I arrived, the Salon was to capacity. I couldn’t even get in the entrance; there were people physically blocking the door. My chance to get in came after a few had made room by leaving, then I saw a path up the stairs and took it.
Enter six degrees of separation.