In the News

The story is told of how the Americans went to the zoo one day and, while watching the donald, its innocent, cynical, disaffected (take your pick) electorate fell into the donald's waters. Although the donald rescued the electorate, what happened next appeared as though it might not be in the interests of those running this zoo, and so, as one might expect of any unexpected situation that is taken advantage of until it is no long advantageous to do so (think of planes flying into buildings), zoo officials took out the donald as they had done in the past with the john, the malcolm, the robert and the martin.

"Rocket-bye Baby" (1956)

Another background layout by Ernie Nordli, this one from a Chuck Jones Warner Bros production of "Rocket-bye Baby" (1956). You can see it here. Watch for the drone at 4:45!

Haunt

Awful weather yesterday, but only because I was caught in it!

Too many days and nights indoors to not do anything about it.

Attended the Capilano Review AGM in the afternoon and an exhibition by Derya Akay and Anne Low at Lucien Durey's Haunt that evening.

Ptarmigan

A nice line -- and image -- from a post by sitivi.blogspot.ca: "Here every child knows white ptarmigan hides spring feathers."

The Ptarmigan Vase

The Ptarmigan Vase was made in New York City by Tiffany & Co. head jewellery designer George Paulding Farnham in 1906. The vase, which was reported on here and here, is made of metals (copper, silver and gold) from a Selkirk, BC mine that Farnham had a share in. Five years ago the National Gallery of Canada saw enough narrative suet on this bit of kitsch to pay Sotheby's over five times its asking price.

For those interested, you can visit the vase at the Audain Art Museum, where it is on loan for the next three years. Whoever thought to place it next to a Bill Reid, well, the unruly side of me gets the joke (if it was intended as such, which it wasn't, I'm sure), while the compliant part takes issue.

Question: Now that the importance of mining, forestry and fishing have receded somewhat in our provincial and municipal economies, why is no one making art with or about our current engine -- real estate? Where is the real estate stage-play? Where is the real estate feature film? The novel? The song cycle? The visual art exhibition? Are commissioning agents so far up the ass of this current "freak show" housing market as to put a kibosh anything that might draw further attention to it?

from Nathalie Sarraute's "Tropism V"

Underneath this heat there was a great void, silence, everything seemed in suspense: the only thing to be heard, aggressive, strident, was the creaking of a chair being dragged across the tiles, the slamming of a door. In this heat, in this silence, it was a sudden coldness, a rending.

Satellite

I wish I could remember when it happened, though the date is unimportant. What is important is that it happened, and that I was with my friends, who were only just contracting their illnesses -- politics, economics, drugs, AIDS...

We had heard about the satellite, though it was no big deal. A broken Soviet (Russian?) satellite would be re-entering the Earth's atmosphere and, in doing so, burning up.

I am not sure if we had piled into R's car, or if we arrived in two cars. Again, it doesn't matter. Point is we were at the beach -- the one between Spanish Banks and Foreshores -- but not Tower Beach. We had made a fire, smoked some pot, and had allowed things to settle in, get dark.

O, who had a long lean body and who worked as a lifeguard at one of the downtown beaches, kept talking about the VPD's new hovercraft, how "incredibly quiet" it was, how they would be using it soon, while B, his life-long tormentor, kept doubting him, goading him.

P left the circle of our fire to rinse something out. On his way back I saw it. Over his shoulder. A long orange line in the sky. It was moving quickly.

"Look!" I pointed.

P looked over his shoulder. Then he said it, "The satellite!" and everybody looked.

Coming towards us -- the satellite behind them -- were four VPD cops. P was now facing them. He implored the cops to look, but there was no way these cops were going to turn their backs on us when it was their job to give us a hard time, put out our fire and sprinkle out our dope.

Later, in Bino's over coffee, I overheard O remind B for the twenty-second time how "incredibly quiet" that hovercraft was, and B just sitting there, looking sicker for the silence that engulfed him.