twinravens ART on the street!

in Unionville, Ontario on the morning of April 10, 2021. nice work! and big!

and back in November of 2020, in the town of Vanier, Ontario. also very cool!

it would be super cool to get this on a huge billboard somewhere! (anywhere!)

and this one too! of course if these were on billboards i’d have to pull over and taken another look!

a little memory lane while we’re at it, music by James Cohen. artwork by Mark Seabrook. most of these pieces are away in private collections.

bottom line is this: we need to keep working!

Coming Soon!

here is the top half of the promo the folks at the Lunar Lanterns in Unionville have in Now Magazine. cool.

those paintings are some of my fave “Mukwa” pictures, acrylic on canvas board, 16×20″, in private collections except for the blue one at bottom right/left. (i had to keep that one!)

so it’s up there in Unionville, at the Varley Art Gallery, happening in April. i hope to see it myself, up close!

starting to get there… photo of the artist by the Great Terry H., photographer/teacher. that’s yours truly out there on the Manitou River, late in July 2020, deep in Indian Country while the pandemic goes on.

yes… starting to get there indeed…

Bear Moon and Family Stories…

Nice work by the good folks at Lunarfest!

The Inner Me

“I never travel without my diary.  One should always have something sensational to read in the train.”  – Oscar Wilde

Cue this music up before reading further:

And so here we are at the end of another year…  Tomorrow night’s party scene is still up for grabs, we haven’t booked any seats at any shows, so the what have you is mightily up in the air.  New Year’s Eve…  and standing on the doorstep to another whole DIFF decade.  As my dad would say:  after we figured we’d lived through the war we started watching our step a bit more in detail.

Well I’m not in where the bullets are flying and the bombs are going off, but I’m out here alone, my 3 older brothers are dead, my 3 younger ones missing.  I would have liked to have spent at least an hour with them over the holiday season but none of that came to pass.  Instead I’m alone here in my crib.

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Bright eyed and bushy tailed: but a castle aint no home when you’re always in it alone.

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I always wonder where they are: in heaven or in hell.  I’m not a christian like them so I don’t know nothing much about it.  All I know is I joined the resistance when I was age 13 and I’d like to entertain them here at my place, all these years later.

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They always said I’d likely go far, after we were reintroduced, all of us, in our very early 20’s or late teens, I was only 18 at the time and hadn’t seen any of them since 1969, or was it 1971?  All I know is when I saw them again, I knew I didn’t want to be like them.  I’d been away far too long and after sitting with them, I knew I’d likely never be going back.  Little did I know, at that time, they were all trauma survivors with this thing they call in mod times:  PTSD.  They didn’t get the special jungle training that I got and they didn’t have a Major like I had.

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I’ve sat here alone for quite some time, wondering about that shack in the woods, back on the blacker side of the rez, back in the mid to late 60’s.  I know we had a wood stove in there because I remember hauling wood back to the house and I have this vague memory of my mom standing there with an arm load of poplar, cut yes, but not split.  When was my dad planning on doing that?

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In the past decade I’ve been there myself, on my own paradise on the range: hauling wood, poplar too, but doing it the old fashioned way, bringing it out one load at time, using a wheelbarrow, and getting a pretty decent work out along the way.  Of course the road out of the back woods was a 2% decline back to the house, so it was easy rolling out those 12 cords.

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In mod times, like here and now, I wonder, how warm those rooms could have been at night, back in 68: who was up tending the fire?  If memory serves, the upstairs had 2 little bedrooms with old mattresses that were falling apart and coming undone and who knows what kind of hell went on up there…  I was going to ask my older brother about it.  I came up with the idea in a July, a few days later he fell over dead and took the stories with him. He’s been dead now, has it been 5 years?

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When I was in university ages ago, an old Indian man sat us down and he said you boys have nothing to worry about right now, but if you have the good fortune of getting as old as me, down the road in those days you’ll be visited by many an old memory, things you’d left alone up until now, as an old man.  I silently and invisibly scoffed at the idea, I was only 22 at the time.  Pretty soon an Anishnabe Kwe walked in and she gave us the Sweetgrass teaching.  She was working on a braid and explaining things to us and she looked at me and said:  if you reach the age you’ll find yourself going through some strange times and maybe seeing some strange things, either here or over there.  Once again I, to myself, scoffed at the idea and I remember it well:  It won’t happen to me.  That is what I said, back when I was 22, when I was as terrible as an army poised for battle.

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But here we are, like they said, at that time, the empty nest looming like never before.  And all of the brothers now long gone.  I have no idea where the survivors are, how they’re doing, what is going on south of us.  South of me.  There is no “us” anymore.

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Me too, chief.  We’re starting to get there!  I see young whippersnappers all the time and I know I am no longer them!  No middle age either!  Nope.  We’re off to another place, if all goes well, with a wee spot of wisdom or a splash of education, maybe we can get through this.  My dad has been gone a long time but I sure do hear his voice these days, telling me what to watch out for, to watch my step, and above all, what to be thankful for.

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I’m not much of a Christmas person, like I said, I’m not a christian, and I don’t buy into how they sell it: that long ago story from overseas.  It makes for a great cash grab yes, in these mod times, but I’d rather give them the cash than to some corporate who ever and so that is what we do.  I’ve never been one for standing in a line over there at the mall.

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Xmas eve has come and gone.  Xmas day is here and been.  Boxing Day I was in the car, alone, and coming back to here.  And through those days I never heard from any of them.  The survivors I mean.

We haven’t booked any seats at any shows for tomorrow night but I hear it and see it all around:  2020:  The Roaring Twenties!  I guess they are.  And they surely were!  I don’t plan on wandering around these empty rooms on such a night, so if you don’t hear from me between now and then:  Best wishes and I hope you have a happy new year, and I hope this time, 12 months from now, we’ll be sharing a few more stories!

And so this was written right before NYE, right before the pandemic landed on us and turned 2020 into a very weird year.  I still haven’t seen any of the younger lads, they’re out there somewhere.  But the oldest one comes to visit me every now and then, or so it seems.  And it’s weird as he visits as the 19 year old he was, when he passed, and here he is visiting this lad up into his 50’s.  There is something strange about that.

Also strange, I was reading this post and it mentions my dad who lived through the war and whose voice I hear all the time, telling me what to watch out for.  It also mentions my dad who never split the wood we were bringing out of the woods back in 68.  They’re two vastly different men.  One man left me in the woods to starve to death, the other saved my life.  

I might have to go into quarantine for a few weeks and if that is the case I’m going to bring this typewriter with me and write this thing tentatively called “Fighting In Hell” about my art journey as a 60’s Scoop Survivor.  Other cooler heads in the outfit want to call it “Crashing the Thunderbird”, so the title for this thing is still up for grabs.  One thing is for sure, it IS an art journey and I need several days and nights to sit down in a room with a view, in more social isolation, and write this thing.  Maybe play some Erik Satie while I’m writing the first draft.  

I’ll let you know how it goes.

March 11, 2021.

Woodland School style by twinravens

(This was originally posted way back ages ago…  )

here is my version of the Anishnaabe Woodland School of art, founded by the great Norval Morrisseau, and introduced to the art world in Toronto, way back in September 1962.  what a great artist journey/adventure Norval M. went on after that!  all the way to the National Gallery of Canada in 2006/07.  i’m a long way from having my work in the N.G.C.!  but here is my version anyway:

A Self Portrait on November 30th by Mark Seabrook

Self Portrait on November 30th, acrylic on canvas, 30×40 inches.  Private collection.

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Feeding the Wolf, acrylic on canvas, 36×48 inches.  Private collection.

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Anishnabe at Full Moon, acrylic on canvas board, 16×20 inches.  Artist collection.

Bear Clan with White Raven

Bear Clan, acrylic on canvas board, 16×20 inches.  Artist collection.

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Water Spirit, Homage to Norval M., acrylic on canvas, 24×36 inches.  Private collection.  (the paint wasn’t even dry when that one went out the door!)

Moose Nahmiwan
Moose Nahmiwan, acrylic on canvas board, 16×20 inches. Painted on the Range in March 2015.  Private Collection.
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Indian Residential School Survivor, acrylic on canvas, 36×48 inches.  Available for purchase:  $4000

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Anishnabe Woodland Nights, acrylic on canvas board, 16×20 inches.  Private collection.

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Power Bird, acrylic on canvas, 22×28 inches, getting ready to ship out.  Private collection.

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Me, standing next to a Norval Morrisseau acrylic on canvas at the National Gallery of Canada.  A lot of us anishnaabe boys who are painters owe a salute to the great Norval M. and his high and mighty work.

(This is March 10, 2021: A quick art show for you recent followers of the twinravens blog:  we have more on the way!)

memory lane: life and times of a famous native canadian artist…

(this was originally posted in September 2017)

ha!  i say that jokingly!  because i’m out here on the range, going on 21 days now without a note of art conversation, idea expressed verbally, or hint of a hand to hold while under the mighty Milky Way.  she’s new moon boys.  and so, alone under the almighty, with eagles roosting down by the river (what music they make first thing in the morning!) and the great wide open:  there is room to stretch the “art making arms”.  we have some good looking pieces but we’re also getting down to the bottom of the paint barrels.

so last night around 7 i stowed the gear, set a table for one, lit a candle, cracked open a Paul Jaboulet Aine Cornas Domaine de Saint Pierre (2012), sparked up the youtube for a little dinner music and instead got attracted to a documentary about alien abductions.  i watched the nutty scenes, heard the kook house stories, heard the so called experts blabbering on about all this stars and moon and space stuff and…  well the truth is i didn’t know if it was the creep show scenes they were mustering in the doc (the greys were coming out of a bright white light), the gacked out music on the doc soundtrack, the fancy French Rhone, or the 21 days alone at sea, but somehow that alien abduction jazz started rattling my rusty cage!

i put my knife and fork down and looked out the jumbo windows which face the east, they were wide flipping open of course, and kind of wondered if there was anything out there.  the pooch was sitting at attention, head up, ears tuned into something going on out there to the north east.  you have to remember:  out here in the boons, there is no light pollution, no noise pollution, no neighbours, and a whole lot of SFA once the lights go out.  SFA i mean if your jiggly mind doesn’t start playing tricks.

of course we have this guy, Roger, in the house.  Shell brought him in from Ottawa and so here he is, in the house, staring at yours truly, Travis Walton wannabe/Little Boy Blue, alone at his dining table…

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well 21 day days alone…  (see what i mean?), nights too, might cause a fuss when you’re sailing across the universe.  slip that stupid documentary with the spook house scenes in there and you’re cooking with gas.  so i booted up my Facebook and wrote a farewell message to the world, going on about this alien abduction thing and told them i was tired of hiding behind the couch with my bottle of french vin and was going to scurry off to bed, like Yoda in his death scene.

i got up to my room with a view and saw this guy staring at me!!!

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“An Ojibwe in Quebec:  A Self Portrait on June 14th”, 2004, acrylic on canvas, 22×28 inches.  Morgan H. Collection.  (We’re holding onto it for now.)

so by this point in time i’m about ready to soil my drawers.  i thought a little night music might help ease the creeps and me into la la land so i hit the random button on the remote and on came this:

(note the house on the open range and the one tree…  )(looking kind of like a place we sort of know…  )

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my crib, on the open range…

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sunrise on the range, Sept. 21.  the last full day of summer…

and so!  i made it through the night.  i did NOT get abducted by aliens, at least not that i can remember, Roger is still over there gawking at me, and “A Self Portrait on June 14th” is still in the collection here, on hold.  i thought i’d jump in the car and take a little ride into the city and see the madness first hand, up close, where i could catch a whiff, and maybe dust off the cobwebs that will surely develop after 21 days alone at sea, but a cooler and calmer mind at the other end of a long distance phone call this morning put those plans on ice.

and so it is back to the brushes, here, deep in Indian Summer, safe and sound back on earth.

(today is March 4, 2021, minus 20 C this morning.  i love to look back: ah what glorious days there, looking back at them now.  and in Indian Summer, on the range, a paradise!  we’ll get back there some day.)

the Bear Moon

i was invited to be a part of LunarFest 2021 with the theme “Family is Everything”. their online thing is at: lunarfest.gta

here is what they created using 4 of my Bear Moon or Mukwa Geezis sketches! i saw that and thought: very cool!

photo of the artist… very scary. life in the city is far and away from life on the open range… but hey! in that photo above, you can see “Power Bird” on some strange thing of the city, on the corner of some city street, in Vanier, Ontario, Canada! i drive by there every now and again just to have a looksie.

and so that Bird Clan and Fish Clan business: you see i come from a culturally dead family. my native parents don’t know anything about the authentic Anishnabe culture, religion, or history. the assimilation police worked wonders on them. and so for many years in my Indigenous family there were no pow wow dancers, no pow wow singers, no sweat lodges, no visions quests, no naming ceremonies and so on. NOTHING! zilch. well that all changed when i reached the ripe old age of 21. i took the Raven out to the pow wow dance arena way back in 1988!

anyway. so my Indigenous parents have no idea what i’m asking when i ask them what clan we are. i asked my bio dad and of course he’s brain dead on the subject. i asked my bio mom and she was able to ask her mother what the symbols were on the grave markers up there at Sagamok Point and after a lot of going back and forth the old woman remembered it was a bird. which means bird clan, IF i have the story straight. much later we heard from an old timer up there in Sagamok IR that my father’s family might or could be fish. but we don’t know that one for sure.

but the rest of it is true! i did survive the 60’s scoop! unlike 3 of my brothers, RIP. and i did grow up in the town of Mindemoya, on Manitoulin Island. saved i was! rescued! pulled from what going to be imminent disaster and death. another close one…

i’m one of the folks who need to be reminded about the sweetgrass braid teaching and i remember it well, back at the N’Swakamok Native Friendship Centre, summer of 1994. the old gal who gave the teaching was filled to the brim with wisdom of the old way and sitting in her teaching circle is something i’ll never forget.

and there it is! i am very grateful to be included in their event and if the virus hadn’t shut us down, there would have been something very cool happening over there near the town of Unionville.

of course you’ll remember that i am huge fan of the Great Mark Rothko (Jackson Pollock too!). and i’m always on the look out for more stories about the artist and their amazing creations. thank goodness for these mod communications and all the info flooding in at all hours of the night!

wow. imagine that… 1955, 6 g’s a year for everything… and here we are in virus ridden 2021. if you were at the 2008 auction in New York City, aiming to buy Rothko’s No. 15 (1952), you’d need a cool 26 million dollars just to get in at the ground level with the bidding. the painting sold for a cool 45 million after all the hooting and hollering was over with.

wowza. now that is art history!

for now, in my humble shoes, i’ll imagine a Mark Seabrook twinravens original on canvas, 60×72 inches, at an auction down the road somewhere in the future, selling for a cool 45 million, but with me sitting next to it, alive and well! (ha!)

Chi Zoogpo!

aanii. that title up there, the translation is Big Snow! she’s been snowing all night! they were right about at least a foot of the stuff. ah but it is February in Canada, and in particular, O Town! usually what i do is start out from the swanky 9th around 3 a.m., arrive here around 7, set up shop and show, and do the online teaching gig beginning around 915. everyone was going on about a snow storm so i decided to take off yesterday morning and they were right! glad i’m not out there driving in that! or trying to drive in that!

so yes: online art classes! any grade level, anywhere, anytime! the virtual classroom is not the same as being there on the floor, breathing down the necks of art students but during a pandemic, this will have to do! that little computer there hooks up to Google Meet and away we go! depending on the age group, an online virtual art class runs anywhere from 30 minutes up to 75.

in art class one we look at The Woodland School of Art, created by the late and great Norval Morrisseau. and we tackle (ha! no pun intended!) the Fish Clan. through the first 3 classes we look at The Woodland style but in the fourth class we look at mod landscape. fun stuff! why are those railroad tracks in this drawing you ask? you’ll have to attend the class to find out why! no flashy or expensive art tools are needed in these online workshops, we use the basics to get started.

Sunday morning, February 14th, 2021: the boon docks north east of Markham, Ontario, just north of highway 7. i like to take a Sunday morning drive no matter the season. doesn’t matter where we are either! no train on Sunday morning! i was out there waiting for the store to open so i could buy some Valentine’s Day flowers…

hanging with the likes of Norval Morrisseau! that’s at the Bay of Spirits gallery across the street from the Art Gallery of Ontario. and speaking of the Fish Clan, there it is, cruising with the Power Bird.

sadly there have been no art shows and no university pow wows or any opportunities at all anywhere. the last show i did was the York University pow wow way back on March 7, 2020. what a downer!

ah. things will turn around soon i hope! before they do, it is the online and virtual classroom with your Anishnabe instructor: Mark Seabrook, B.A., B.Ed. ah yes! we are qualified!

2021…

i made the huge mistake of watching the movie: The Lighthouse, on Xmas day…

we had the big screen in our social isolation and everyone (all 4 of us) kicked out a few movie titles. my first two were boo’d down. title one: U Turn. title two: Falling Down. (truth is they ARE older movies… ) title 3 was also boo’d down! Dead Ringers. but then i remembered a movie i was booked to see back in the good old days, when you could go into a theatre and see it on the big screen with the big sound. rest in peace those days! the movie of course, The Lighthouse. everyone agreed. i had no idea it was extreme horror…

you see: when i was a kid i sailed the Chi Cheemaun every day for 8 weeks in the summertime, four summers worth. we’d sail the great lake Huron and the mighty Georgian Bay, the blues of which are hard to imagine, ye have to seen them. when we sailed past the Cove Island Lighthouse, argh maties, i’d stop and stare, wondering: what would it be like to be posted there back in the old days?

i also spent many a recent summer afternoon up there on the far west end of the great Manitoulin Island, up there past Meldrum Bay, up where the lighthouse is on the so called Mississagi Strait. one gin soaked afternoon we decided to take the tour and went into the lighthouse and dwelling place of the keeper… talk about death warmed over and cloned! i stood at one of those bedroom windows and looked out, imagined being there in 1931 in late autumn, the winds a howling…

have mercy. so the movie: The Lighthouse, i kind of took personally. (i know, the wrong thing to do.)

and yes. Xmas Day. the Lighthouse. me, the viewer, swimming at the bottom of a cabernet sav. whew! bad move!

we got past it! and started working our way into and through NYE. i was happy about that but not happy to know i’d never be seeing my older brothers again and my younger brothers, i have no idea where they are or what happened to them or became of them. and so i drove back to O Town alone.

Man Sits Alone on O Town Park Bench, the night before NYE

i saw this scene and knew, or guessed, i wasn’t the only one out there on their own… (i was still rattling about The Lighthouse… )

Moon Boy, 36×48 inches, acrylic on canvas, Private Collection (with a story or two too!)

after i’d settled into 2021 i started thinking about this madness going on, covid and all, the state of emergency, once again being told not to go anywhere, not to mingle. not to do anything! but instead to keep our heads down and lay low!

that’s UE, survivor of an EAGLE attack!
and that’s Mooch, survivor of a flood!

i can report that these two cats ARE going bonkers, cabin fever style, and they are tearing up the joint. truth is though, this is the first time i’ve seen them sitting there like that, side by side, on the same chair! usually when they’re that close they’re ripping each other to pieces!

of course when i see that i wonder about my old buddy Percy, now listed as KIA. i let him out back on August 16th, never imagined it was the last time i was going to see him. but then i think too, way back, to my old buddy Spooky from Hornpayne, c. 1997. now that lad was a black cat who was a soldier! then just a little while ago, a few weeks back, i saw my friend Sadaf had posted a very cool photo of her and her old buddy Merlin.

Sadaf and Merlin

now i don’t know Merlin, never shook hands with him, but gosh he sure has the eyes that the old Spookster had, and Percy too.

(we’re going to do that book: Spooky and our Trip to the Moon, but we’re going to do it colouring book style! that is going to happen this year!)

twinravens artwork at The Bay of Spirits

nice to see the folks there across from the AGO have this one on display. that is a 24×36 inch on gallery canvas, acrylic paint, and possibly one of 4 paintings on hand, at the Bay of Spirits. i will say that 2020 was a terrible year for painting production in my camp.

phone case

but there are other things to look into with paintings that have already been out and about. here is a phone case! i thought that one looked pretty slick!

okay so here we go! off to a new adventure: 2021. things are starting out not so hotski but we have to hang in there, keep our heads down, fingers crossed, and keep moving forward. and we have to know that when the summer time comes we can get back to the range, back to our paradise on this sweet earth!

my home sweet home back on Manitoulin Island

you see what i mean?

Classic Holiday Story time!

The latest news on the Indian front!

thursday afternoon shortly before happy hour i thought i’d take one last look at the latest Indigenous news on cbc.ca and found this one hot off the press! i read with amusements as it seemed like i’d heard this bed time story before!

Old news around the Indian campfire.

not sure if Joe is playing the Indian card these days, he IS lying mighty low now that his ex is pitching her latest work.

Hail to the Chief, Canadian version!

i rolled into the Swanky 9th last night around midnight, settled in for a few, turned on the news and BOOM! here is the latest.

now don’t get me wrong: good work is good work. if someone is doing good work, it needs to be enjoyed.

more old news on CBC, from another story, many moons ago…

as a visible minority walking down the capital city streets i don’t have to go far before i run into racism from crooked cops, general issue slack jawed gawkers, suits and who knows what all, and some of those white boys still call me Chief! (i stole the line out of the movie “Jeremiah Johnson” and i reply calling them: pilgrim. i hear this: Hey Chief! and i yell back: Howdy Pilgrim! (ha!))

but i digress! i read with interest the latest story and wonder: who is it in the HR dept. who give these folks the green light? and what kind of wool is over their eyes?

it didn’t take long before the funny papers started in on it! thank goodness for lightning speed entertainment on a Friday afternoon. (story broke on Thursday near quitting time)

also in the funny papers on Thursday and Friday: it does make a fella like me wonder, yeah, why didn’t they? but it is entertainment and we’re paying for it.

more funny papers from the end of the work week.

i saw this one and like i said: good work is good work. or in this case, amazing work is always going to be amazing. holy wowza! it reminded me of that melt down scene from the Met, one year ago:

at the MET, December 2019

we went over this one back in art school, and i remember the instructor saying to us, all of us, YOU couldn’t paint that water… (and they were right! but then neither could the instructors!)

sunrise on December 19th, as seen from the Swanky 9th

well this old Indian boy keeps moving forward and thank goodness we’re still on the right side of the daisies. this morning’s sunrise was indeed a pleasure and last night’s moonset, also a pleasure. mighty cool though!

we’re going to use this one for a thing that might be coming up in Unionville in the new year. if it goes as planned we’ll share a few photos here. we’re also using this one for the re boot of SUN INFINITY MOON which goes back to the printers very soon! i hope and pray in the re boot we have all the i’s dotted and all the t’s crossed… (sheesh.)

SUN INFINITY MOON artist proof

it was fun to see it in hard copy but we need to go quite a few better.

the re boot

hopefully we’ll be seeing this soon but not before Xmas which i’d hoped for.

cool hair do

and we won’t be sporting this slick hair style come anytime soon as the deal in Scotland has been put on hold. me and Joe ain’t going. (the real Joe, not the fake Joe) so for now, the hair stays.

we’re rolling up on that holiday season when we can take a few days off and move to the rear, get some hot chow and maybe switch out the socks. looks like it won’t be the same as in years past, virus, grey zones and all.

for me anyway, it’s one of those times of the year where i find myself staring out the window, a new year not far away, and what’s up there, ahead not far? but also a time to reflect. what have i done with this year in pandemic?

so if you catch me standing there, staring out the window, you know what’s going on!

for me the holiday season is always a chance to pull over, look back, think about the future, and enjoy the wild and crazy here and right now news stories! yes indeed! news, for a fella like me, worth watching.

Feeding the Wolves, acrylic on canvas, 36×48″, Private Collection

well if there are two wolves we’ll have to continue to pay attention. (the two wolves: not authentica! the anishnabe and the wolf: authentica!)

UPDATE!!!

FRESH AND HOT OFF THE PRESSES! I GUESS THE “TRICKSTER” AIN’T SO TRICKY AFTER ALL…