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…

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!!!

“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…  )

my crib, on the open range…

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.

(kind of peculiar how things work themselves out…  we’re in it now:  the empty nest…  and i’m back where i started: on the range, alone, in sweet and beautiful Indian Summer.  outside there is a blaze of sun, it’s Sept. 17th, 2021, 25 C at 4 p.m., Friday night, no kids in the house.  it’s just me and Roger.  even the pooch is gone.  cats are all gone.  mice are moving in.  but in this paradise, river running slow, lawn mowed to golf green, eagles singing down by the river, blank canvasses on the table, acrylic paint at the ready, brushes too, and a sky filled with stars in a few short hours, an artist can get along.  we’re in a room with a view and…   i must tell you:  the other day, in the afternoon, while out here alone i saw something big moving across the east field.  it was bigger than a coyote and i wondered about someone’s pooch out on the prowl, but this thing was bigger than a pooch!  i grabbed the binoculars and zoomed in to see it HAD to be a wolf.  if i had to guess, about 250 yards away, meandering across the field going south to north, and BIG!  so i yelled at it and waved but it didn’t acknowledge me, unlike the eagles.  that big wolf just kept going, in no hurry, north across the east field, over the fence and into the almighty out back.  it’s only the second time i’ve seen a wolf.  i asked the locals up at the general store if there had been any word about any wolves running and she said this place is full of wolves.  yikes.  so back in Sept. 2017 when poochie was sitting here looking out to the night, everything super quiet, pitch black, the two of us on our own, me with my splashy Paul Jaboulet and a fancy glass and poochie with her ears up and tuned into something moving out there in the darkness, just to the north east of us, maybe?

anyway.  we don’t have any splashy Paul Jaboulet today nor do we have poochie, or the cats, or the kids or anything else.  what we have is the great wide open and some beautiful climes and the night…  well we’ll just see about that Orion up there at some point in time.  and Nokomis too, maybe watch her set.  to the tune of some Chet Baker and whatever pilsners these fine folks can deliver, up there at the local.  if it IS Indian Summer, bring it on.  i’d be saying:  Nice to see you old friend.)

Update: November 4, 2022: Thank the almighty and a lot of other things that we’re still here! No need to mow the lawn as the neighbour’s goats come over and mow it for me. Started the day over there, shirt sleeve weather, but tonight we’re back on the swanky 9th, going downtown to pick up a package first thing in the morning. 2017… My how times change, how folks come and go, and how SOME! Remain! After all these years. Very cool. And I am thankful for those who stayed with me. Miigwetch! Many thanks. (Moon is high and bright at 9 p.m. Soon we’ll put 56 to bed and go onto the next if all goes well!)

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…

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!!!

“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…  )

my crib, on the open range…

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.

(kind of peculiar how things work themselves out…  we’re in it now:  the empty nest…  and i’m back where i started: on the range, alone, in sweet and beautiful Indian Summer.  outside there is a blaze of sun, it’s Sept. 17th, 2021, 25 C at 4 p.m., Friday night, no kids in the house.  it’s just me and Roger.  even the pooch is gone.  cats are all gone.  mice are moving in.  but in this paradise, river running slow, lawn mowed to golf green, eagles singing down by the river, blank canvasses on the table, acrylic paint at the ready, brushes too, and a sky filled with stars in a few short hours, an artist can get along.  we’re in a room with a view and…   i must tell you:  the other day, in the afternoon, while out here alone i saw something big moving across the east field.  it was bigger than a coyote and i wondered about someone’s pooch out on the prowl, but this thing was bigger than a pooch!  i grabbed the binoculars and zoomed in to see it HAD to be a wolf.  if i had to guess, about 250 yards away, meandering across the field going south to north, and BIG!  so i yelled at it and waved but it didn’t acknowledge me, unlike the eagles.  that big wolf just kept going, in no hurry, north across the east field, over the fence and into the almighty out back.  it’s only the second time i’ve seen a wolf.  i asked the locals up at the general store if there had been any word about any wolves running and she said this place is full of wolves.  yikes.  so back in Sept. 2017 when poochie was sitting here looking out to the night, everything super quiet, pitch black, the two of us on our own, me with my splashy Paul Jaboulet and a fancy glass and poochie with her ears up and tuned into something moving out there in the darkness, just to the north east of us, maybe?

anyway.  we don’t have any splashy Paul Jaboulet today nor do we have poochie, or the cats, or the kids or anything else.  what we have is the great wide open and some beautiful climes and the night…  well we’ll just see about that Orion up there at some point in time.  and Nokomis too, maybe watch her set.  to the tune of some Chet Baker and whatever pilsners these fine folks can deliver, up there at the local.  if it IS Indian Summer, bring it on.  i’d be saying:  Nice to see you old friend.)

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…

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!!!

“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…  )

my crib, on the open range…

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.)

Snow on May 9th!

what the flipping flip is up with the snowflakes flying at this time of the year?  yeesh.  its like the whole world has gone bonkers.  this virus crapola has us pinned down 9 weeks now, going on 10, snow is flying, can’t get home, the walls are moving in closer by the minute.

better put the headphones on for this one…

okay so things haven’t gotten quite that artsy around here but if this snow doesn’t stop, i can’t guarantee you any further stories will be true!  but i can guarantee that they will be stories!

last Sunday morning:  east of Ottawa.  it’s the best we can do for now.  i’d rather be driving the backroads between Tehkummah and Snowville this time of year but we’re a long way from that!

i haven’t picked up a paint brush in 9 weeks.  holy mackinaw!  out where we are: the spirit just isn’t here, to do what is needed.  and so the stack of canvas, canvas boards, jars of paint, brushes too, sit.  waiting…

the mighty raven watches but i’m sure doesn’t wonder.  this boy wonders!  when is the all clear going to be given?

we ran this photo a few weeks ago:  since we have no painting going on we’re switching gears and picking up the guitar.  later today i’m going to give this Garage Band thing a turn.  its the onboard computer home studio and today we’re going to see if we can record the twinravens actual “classic”:  No Smoking.  that song goes back way before there was a twinravens actual!

here are the lyrics:  (i don’t know how to fix the double spacing thing so here it is in one block of text)

no smoking.  no unloading.  of your trash.  on my trash.  in the city: an indian’s day is never done!  if this weren’t the city: there’d be no shoes on my feet.  no ugly sounds in my ears.  no ugly sights in my eyes.  the only ones left: are my brother the raven.  brother raccoon.  andek esban anishnabe…  the three of us shunned (x3).  in a white man’s world.  police aint here to serve and protect.  police are here to racially profile.  guys like me in a white man’s world…

the stupid auto correct always wants to change “esban” to “lesbian”!

so yes those are the mod lyrics to No Smoking.  i wrote and recorded the song at the N’Swakamok Native Friendship Centre back in the summer of 1994, in the youth lounge, using a Fostex 4 track recorder which, ha!, used cassette tapes!  i sat myself down and played track one: acoustic rhythm.  track two and three:  lead guitars.  track four:  vocal.  and in the background, it being the youth lounge over at the FC, you could hear some cats playing billiards and so the pool balls were cracking around in an off timed way which i thought really added to the kookiness of the recording.  we were in the city.  it was a song about urban indio reality.  back then it was true and more so today.  i recently added the bit about the cops.  back then i was innocent and believed in things.  today it is different.

No Smoking, just saying, has only been performed live: 3 times!  (the best reading took place at the Rivoli, Queen St. W., July 1995.)

and so we have an acoustic guitar from the pawn shop, we have this Garage Band program, the flashy microphone, and the afternoon off, with snow flying as i write.  we’ll give it all a spin and see if we can make something of it.  time is noon!  the guitar playing  might wake up my old buddy Jazz, she’s still in the bunk.  her hours have gone strange now that the schools have been closed for 9 weeks and will remain closed for another 3 at the least…  the poor kids.  what a rip off it has been for them.

Jasmine Moon is supposed to be in grade 12, graduation coming up, but will there be a party?  yes these poor kids have been ripped off.

here is some super heavy duty:

my beautiful daughter.  and a proud father i am.  and the empty nest is looming like never before…  she talks about her own apt. and a room mate and being closer to the post secondary institution…  which leaves this old boy, i guess, free to go.

who knows.  maybe by next winter i’ll be back to this, back home on the range, back down by the river, back in the old country, far away from the war.

Social Isolation Gabfest No. 3

was blabbering up the joint the other day with a few of the hacks going on about great rock and roll bands and i said one of the greatest bunch of wild men and ultra women were in the rock and roll outfit called:  No Reservations.  i got to telling them the story about NR going to the Northern Lights Folk Festival way back whenever it was, a few summers ago, and how, we arrived at the local indio rez for 1 hour of rehearsal, wrote out a set list and headed off to the gig.

now what we have to remember is the great NR hadn’t played a show in a war whooping 17 years!!!  (that’s not good.)  and the gang in NR hadn’t been in the same room together in 17 years!  but they managed to do this:

that is Jen and Shag going through Red Dog Blues with 2 sessions guys.  i have no idea who the 2 session guys are, never saw them before that and haven’t seen them since!  in a perfect world Mr. S.C. would have been there playing the lead guitar, Danny Boy should be there on the sticks and Crazy Davey H.B. should be on the bass, me on 3rd.  Red Dog Blues was one of those 10 or 12 or 20 minute extravaganzas with the guitars going on full.

in this version of the NR classic you have just 50% of NR going to work on the party standard: Red Dog Blues.

but here is the frigging freakish part of it:  that song hadn’t seen the light of day in 17 years!  Shag and Jen never rehearsed it.  they just went up there and did it while we were giving the rig a test run.  (we were booted off the stage right after this one by festival management!)

you have to admit:  that IS pretty amazing stuff: no rehearsal.  no rest of the band.  50% of the team up there going to work and pulling that off, first time in 17 years…

gosh darn that band should still be on the map.  but like the Incredibles, they are out there somewhere, doing other things…

too bad.

here is the other fun video:

showtime:  first time the gang played a live show in a brutal 17 years…  too bad for us and too bad for the WORLD!

ah well.  it made for a great story.

like this one:

Moon Boy, Acrylic on canvas, 36×48 inches:  Private Collection.

does anyone out there know where this one is?  i’d love to see it again up close.  great story:  it was created for a show at the CUBE Gallery in Ottawa way back when.  it was delivered and never made the opening!  someone bought it before the show opened!  the fresh owners agreed to let it stay in the show and so the last time i saw it was in the gallery.

but a few summers ago i crossed paths with a gal who said she was now the owner.  another friend of mine, one of the indios from the trenches, confirmed that yes, someone was indeed the new owner and the painting was no longer at the address after the CUBE gallery show.  so where is it?

if you’re out there, and reading this, email me please!  i need to see it one more time for a new project i’m working.

many thanks and Miigwetch!

Art Journals and Repurposed Books

and so we’ve made it through week 7 in lock down mode!  what a sad state of affairs out there.  and so much insanity in every direction…  especially on the roads where the serious illness really shows itself!  ick.

anyway:  as an artist working through this pandemic nonsense and the stupid goings on: there is always room to create!  remember how, back in the autumn of 018, i was going on about an art making exercise using repurposed books?  flash ahead to present day:  we’re working on book 5 and it’s coming along nicely!  an online friend asked if i would post some pictures of recent pages and so here they are:

Fancy Shawl Dancer with the BIG EYES!  i saw how the kids are drawing these characters with the gigantic eyes and thought i would give that a go, twinravens style, in the art journal repurposed hard cover book!

created fresh this past week!  it’s a kooky look.  not sure if it’s worth anything once the art market opens up again.

fun stuff: and we need to explore!  we need to expand those horizons as best we can.

i LOVE how you can see some of the text under the thinly spread paints.  now remember: all we’re using are ball point pens, sharpie markers, super cheap dollar store acrylic paint, a hardcover book from the goodwill, and our own wild and priceless imaginations!

that’s the stash so far:  4 complete books and the 5th and 6th still in the hopper.  the art making tools are there as well: don’t throw those fading sharpie markers in the trash!  you can use those for “shading”, solid gold art making tools until they’re completely dead.

now where are these art journals going to end up?  for now, over on the book shelves at the cottage.  some nice light reading and looking while chilling, relaxing, shredding and spooking, on a sunny day, far away from the war.  but down the road thirty or forty years?  maybe in one of the kids libraries, daughters, nieces, nephews, who knows.

my online friend also suggested a little video and so here it is, made fresh this morning:

recorded for you, fresh this morning.  you might want the headphones on though as the sound is, well.  i used the apple iPhone to shoot this vid.  all in one take, my ramble is one of those Saturday morning in the city type rambles…  if you get my drift.

we’ll shoot that next video which shows how we create some of those slick looking and colourful backgrounds, but that is for later today.  right now we’re off to wait in line at the LCBO!

Social Isolation in Sea Major

week 6 in the books, week 7 on the door step:  the madness is full serve but we’re still in the game!  so far…  so good.  we’re past keeping our fingers crossed and now we’re just going with it.  if we ever get out of here, back to that island, we’ll be coming in “aged”.

the crazy stuff you see in every direction these days.  as an anishnabe on the road, you can bet if i want to set me feet in the Manitou River, i’ll be setting my feet in the Manitou River.

mental slippage is starting to show!  check this dude out:  he’s taking his walker up through the drive through at Rotten Ron’s!  as you know the in house dine is closed.  but this dude…  he’s going through counter clock.  i thought maybe it was a suicide in progress.  and check out Riverside to the right, one car rolling down the road at 6:30 p.m., Billings Bridge, O Town.  normally that road would be jam packed with insane drivers!

our beloved mayfair, on Bank Street.  likely taken over by cockroaches by now…  so sad to see.  and THIS was on Friday afternoon, 3:30 p.m., when the war on Bank Street with the insane drivers is usually in full service madness.  that road at that point in time on a Friday is so bad, they have cops standing there between cars looking in at the drivers as they roll past.  this past Friday: you’d have better luck getting run over by a tumble weed!

un flipping believable:  Laurier between Bank and O Connor, at 3:40 p.m., Friday afternoon.  now this one for absolute sure is a complete scene of lunacy during regular blah bitty blah blah.  you can stand on those sidewalks and see the animals rushing like lemmings, the horror.  but not this past Friday.  look at that!

as if.  actually waiting in line to get into the LCBO.  what is the world coming to?  the spooks were in there too!  i managed to get out with my Tenuta Frescobaldi, Castiglioni, 2017.  we’re waiting now for that bad boy to get to room temperature.  wasn’t sure if my imagination was playing tricks on me the last time so we’ll give it another go around just to be sure.  (beauty afternoon for cooking!)

today’s love poem:  That Sunday in August.

your love, sex.  Use it. Build it.  She, resting her hands flat…  feeling everything.  The lovely bed, the beautiful view.  She sent love and assurance.  She whispered “I will find you”.  She opened the floodgate inside and let it wash over.  She turned her inner river on.  

The Night Market.  a sly, charming smile.  Impressive, he said.  

She felt the warmth of his praise.  His magic swirled around her.  

And you liked it didn’t you?  You’re really going to enjoy what you’ve become.  You are mine.  

No, she barely whispered.  Her breath faltered.  Her whole body shuddered.  

You are lovely as ever.  And you are so graceful.  

He extended his hand.  She followed.  Yes, she whispered…

from the Found Poetry Book 5:  Heir of Autumn.  a work in progress.

SUN INFINITY MOON:  the Moosonee Proof.  well the good news is we’ve spotted nearly all the outrageous errors in the first run of the novel!  true:  it was me who made 3 of them.  i let 3 slip past.  but when i said hit the print button, there were things i missed, things i definitely should have seen point blank, for example:  the cover!  the grade five clown they put on my project over at the layout, switched out my “coarse language” for his “course language”…  (ultra super mega DUH!  now:  we’re going back for a reprint with a new cover design and so i sent it over to them and it came back with…  you guessed it:  “course language” on the new and revised cover…  which means i’m going to have to go over there and kick that young dumb ass’s arse up around the moon by now.)

i was okay with the paragraph indent disasters in the first run, which had nothing to do with us!  that was them!  i was willing to let that slide.  but after we got to looking at it up close with our glasses off, like looking for gnat shit in pepper, it was then we saw the howling errors!  like i said, my bad:  i made 3 of them.  but the rest…  good gravy.

also:  i sent copies of the book to twenty so called professors in the indigenous studies departments, at universities around Canada and the US, hoping to hear back.  this was back last August.  i didn’t hear from any of them!  now i will say this:  a lot of these so called indigenous professors, Ph.D.’s, who claim to be indian, to me, sure do look like a bunch of white boys.  white boys in the same way our old scam artist and Grey Owl wannabe Joe Boyden looks…  and Joe B. is the biggest scam artist of them all in recent years.

when you’re an indian, a real indian, who actually looks like an indian, AND have spent the entire work career at the front with actual indians, you can come up with some pretty weird feelings watching white boys passing themselves off as indians, finishing first in the classic game of Cowboys and Indians.  but then: who IS owning and operating these publishing houses? (cool grammar huh?!!!)

i will say this:  i sent a copy over to the book reviewer at Anishnawbek News, over there near North Bay, Ontario (Anishnawbek News is a paper that’s been around for 30 years anyway) and i didn’t hear squat from them!  nothing!  or our old buddy at CBC in Suds:  Waub.  he never returned my call!  same with Rose over at UNRESERVED, cbc crazy indian show one hour a week!

so i’m at a bit of a loss over here wondering:  Just how does a real indian get in the door to one of these big league houses?

some real indians:  that’s me and Mr. S.C., 50% of the rock and roll band:  No Reservations.  AND!!!  Brothers in Arms.

anyway.  the tuned up version of SUN INFINITY MOON will be ready soon.  for those of you who bought a copy of the black and white cover version, the first run, i owe you a 7×9 inch acrylic on canvas board painting!  just send me an email and detail where you bought it, and i’ll send you a selection of 7×9 inch canvas boards you can choose from and i’ll send you one free of charge.  how is that for a deal?

like i said:  i didn’t see all the howling errors in the first version.  i should have taken more time when i looked at the e version the layout folks sent.

ah.  it is what we artists call:  The Artist Proof!  and if you bought one, well i owe you.

bottom line though is:  the HORROR story is there, intact.  with or without the jungly super errors throughout the layouts.  (the hard copy is more horror than the actual story!!!  ha ha!)

here is one of my favourite pages from the novel:  BE WARNED:  COARSE LANGUAGE AND ADULT SUBJECT MATTER.

ha ha!  from:  INFINITY, of SUN INFINITY MOON.

ah well.  here we are, at the end of week 6 in this ridiculous situation the world has gotten itself into, week 7 soon to start.  we’re lucky to have a few levers to pull: what do we want to do:  paint pictures?  write song lyrics?  write stories?  create new music on the guitars?  or maybe it’s time to crack open that red, it must be up to room temperature by now.

lastly:  every now and again i see at the bottom of my posts that the comments are turned off.  i don’t mean for that to happen!  if i could figure out how to use this blog thingy, that stuff would never happen.  because we want you to leave comments!  and we enjoy hearing from you!

many thanks, miigwetch, and best of luck staying healthy!

oh yes and i almost forgot!!!  some of you asked about the H.L. cooking scenes with those sweet “preparations and kitchen sounds”!  found the vid on youtube and so here it is!  you might want to put the headphones on for this one.

always enjoy!

Social Distancing Blues in A

and so we’re in the thick of it now.  wild stuff is running rampant here, there, and everywhere!  it’s Saturday night in the slab and we’re following Doc Spook’s advice: when in like this, enjoy good vins and good cooking!  so i am cooking and the vin is closing in on room temperature.  while we wait for that to happen an IPA from England lights the way!

truth is: i’m not much of a cook.  i always do it Rez style, and i’m talking back woods Rez style, back woods like down by McBean Harbour in Sagamok style.  there AIN’T no flash to what we’re cooking.  but i fancy it in day dreams.  when we’re out there on the open range in sweet home sweet home, back on the Manitou River, down there on the Range, things are different as we’re usually in the company of some very exotic and beautiful ladies in bikinis: and so!  the cooking has to be classic show bizz style.

you better put the headphones on for this one:

that trick with the egg flying and the spat:  i need to learn that one!  mind you:  what we’re doing in our kitchen tonight is baby shit along side what this dude is doing.

and so it is Saturday night: we’re in, where we are hopefully safe.  the cooking is on going.  the vin is.

this is super social distancing!

out there on the streets of O Town:  one morning on the walk to work last week:  the flipping streets were empty save for this black bra.  it was empty too as you can see. how long it’d been there i don’t know but it wasn’t there the day before…

Power Bird with Medicine Bundle, acrylic on canvas board, 16×20 inches, by anishnabe artist and ruthless wild man:  Mark Seabrook.  (experimenting with new paints…  )

Calling Up the Almighty:  Assist. various inks on wood panel, 11×14 inches, by anishnabe artist and exotic dancer:  Mark Seabrook.  while we fuss with the new paint selections, there is room to go back to the good old days.  i’d be one for visiting them!

“Man Changing Into a Thunderbird, panel 1, in reverse”, cheap acrylic paint, various inks, on 1990 issue paper, hard cover repurposed book, Found Poetry Book 5, a work in progress, by anishnabe artist and brutal savage:  Mark Seabrook.  while we’re waiting for paint to dry, we can muddle over what some folks have said to us, me in partic, anywhere along our way.  those “some folks” do not like us!  and they do not like me and my ways of savagery.  to them it is evil and bad.  to me its another day at the office, here in Canada.

“Writing on the Wall…”, cheap acrylic paint and various inks on 1990 issue paper, hard cover repurposed book, Found Poetry Book 5.  if you ascertain my meaning…

the guitar is always there, waiting for us.  anyone can pick it up.  (my old buddy Carlos said that!)  and so while we ride out the storm, this Yamaha  FG-345 ii that i scammed out of a pawn shop over there on Montreal Road will assist in the to and from.  i’m an old school guitar player who liked to record on a Fostex.  this Garage Band stuff on board the mac book isn’t like the old school “cassette tape” that i know and love.

recording on said Fostex.  that’s me on the 12 string, one Sunday morning many moons ago.  you can hear Shag in the back ground at the beginning, he’s in the kitchen cooking up breakfast.  but that is also him on the background vocal.  if you do listen to it:  BE WARNED:  coarse language and sexual content. (best to put the headphones on for this one…  )

ah yes.  the Fostex.  a 4 track recorder great for on the spot song writing for old timers like me.  i really like those 12 string notes at 45 seconds into this recording.  i took the song into the No Reservations rehearsal hall but the boys rejected it, saying it was too camp fire.

i on the other hand think its an awesome snap shot of “one of those days”, back when we were a lot younger, when 201 was one of the coolest spots and…  this one though was recorded at the corner of Simcoe and what do you call it, over there in N’Swakamok.

“What to do on Sunday Afternoon” was written and recorded and performed by yours truly!  i just made it up on the spot using Shag’s 12 string.

how grand it would be if Shag and the boys came over to my place and we ran through some of those old No Rez selections and booted around the idea of recording those other 12 songs we had in the hopper.  the world needs to hear things like:  The Creator Song.  Broken Home.  Thunderbird.  Red Doggg Blues.  You Had Me But I didn’t Have You.  Concrete Shoes Love.  Baby You’re a Crocodile.  Bats With Wings.  That Night in the Byway.  and one of my personal faves that we only played in the club:  Drive In Theatre: We Actually Watched the Movie…

we’re still cooking, 2.5 hours in.  i think the vin has arrived at room temp., so my thing is this:  why wait till later?

or as my dad would say:  Why take any chances?

more fun cooking vids from one of my fave movies:

Be safe!  Stay out of trouble!  And don’t get yourself killed, or worse!

Many thanks and hope to hear from you soon!

 

Holy Wowza!!!

i hope you’re reading this!  if so, we’re still in the game!  gosh times have gotten very weird here in the capital city with all the spooky goings on.  we’re not in la la land now, and so we should see many strange things.

Montreal Road and Bradley, Vanier, Ontario, 850 a.m., this morning: normally this street at that hour is an insane runway filled to the brim with mad and barely qualified drivers.  if you want to watch an exercise in psychopathy: this is the place but be warned:  stand back.  the speed limit is 50 km but none of the savages pay any attention that.  today though…  the road was empty!

boiling up a gallon of lemon and ginger tea: i had that stuff in the hopper all day, zipping and reading:

the twinravens reading list for spring, 2020.  that book: The Inconvenient Indian, is an amusing read, but being one of “them”, there is only so much of that one a fella like me can read at one time.  good thing the Vincent Van Gogh book isn’t too far away.  and can someone please tell me wtff is up with James Joyce and A Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man…

The Power of Art and The Visual Dialogue are “toothy” reads…

and speaking of FUN reads (and a great way to cool those anxious heels (ha!), some art making and art therapy is always a great way and time for saving souls):  the found poetry book in progress is filled with fun tales and beautiful pictures created by Yours Truly!  here is an absolute gem:

That Weekend At the Cottage

fearing the sleepless hours to come, lurking somewhere out there in the darkness…

The evening air had cooled to the perfect temperature for dinner with friends.  It was a night for sex, long and slow under the stars with the scent of lavender drifting into the windows and night sparrows chirping in the trees.  I used to know what it was like to be in love, she thought, I used to know that sweet aching need for one man.  But she could no longer remember it.  She could see it, could picture it, but the emotion was gone from her body…

The End.

Rider on the Storms, various black inks on wood panel, 8×10 inches, by anishnabe artist Mark Seabrook.  Created fresh just the other day!  We ship anywhere!  Email me if you would like to purchase this piece.

that was nice of them!  i’d like to think an original Mark Seabrook acrylic on canvas in any of my styles could brighten up your day!

super switching gears and art styles:

spooky!  i’m always on the look out for something to create in general issue black and white.  this afternoon while on the snoop i stumbled across this who ever’s nice work.  i like what they have happening in the back ground as well.

spooky!  i got to thinking about this one as a starting point for something with an indigenous “twang”.  that indian accent.  that indio rez slang.  (good thing the weekend will soon be here!)

we’re going here, this weekend,  but we’re going to switch out good old Boney for something more like this:

Hell On Earth, Indian Residential School, acrylic on canvas board, 7×9 inches, by anishnabe artist Mark Seabrook.

i think we need to boot this one up to fit that flashy 8×10 inch frame i have here in the living room, the frame at present: is empty.  let’s see what can be done come Saturday.

one more love story:

Indian Summer

She laughed.  “Of course, yes.  That is what I mean.  I fell in love.”

they watched one another for a long moment.  Oh, to see the world with innocent eyes.

When they finally spoke, her voice sounded different, younger and softer than before.

“You are the first person I ever told this to,” she said in a quiet voice.  Her black hair fell across her cheeks.  Slowly, her dark eyes found his.  She was naked.  

“Do you understand?” she whispered.

“Will you make me say it?”  she whispered.

She pulled him forward.  She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, slid her legs around his waist.

“Fill me with fire again,” she breathed.

his bed creaked.  Of course she was gone.  He remembered the thrill he felt as her tanned arms slid around him…

The End.

let’s walk our way through this wilderness of wild times!  and of course enjoy good wines and good conversations with those we are locked in with.

 

Rolling up on March Break

Power Bird at New Moon, acrylic on canvas board, 16×20 inches.  $350, unframed.  We ship anywhere!  Brand new work by Anishnabe artist Mark Seabrook.

Life is getting WEIRD out there, on the streets, at least where I am, and if they ask me I tell them:  we have to hang in there, warmer climes will soon be here.

Saw this the other day and thought yes…  That could almost be a t shirt.  I could wear that  down the streets where I am and maybe…  (It is a wild world out there right now.)

Saw this one too, the other day and thought wow:  You folks over the wire are reading my mind!  The cottage I want is a cool 400 G’s so I better get busy and makes some $$$!

Saw this one as well and was attracted to it for two reasons:  1)  Yes.  At some point in time we’re all going to be dust and bones so forget about it.  Go easy.  Have a good time.  And B)  That is a super cool visual, love the look of it.  Now if that were a 30×30 on gallery canvas I’d be asking the vendor how much?  And do you take cash?

Speaking of vendor:  that is the twinravens.com road show at the York U. pow wow on Saturday, March 7th.  The face masks were out in full force at that one!

York U. put on a great pow wow!  I’ve been on the pow wow trail since 1988!  The Raven, est. 1988, has been here and there over the years and hopefully will be coming out of retirement this summer as we’re entering in…  (yikes!) The Golden Age category.  Gosh.  That was fast!

But I digress:  at the pow, they had their usual exhibition dances and the one that caught my attention was the women’s traditional dance.  There was a young gal there, if I had to guess, 12 or 13 years old, and not wearing the traditional dance regalia you usually see in that exhibition dance.  I watched and it was perfectly clear she knew what she was doing, carrying the ceremonial items in both hands, and standing out for two reasons:  1) she was much younger than the rest of them, to the tune of at least 35 years, and not wearing the regalia of that particular exhibition dance.  And B) her moves were unlike the others and quite unlike anything I’d seen before.

Very interesting.  I got to wondering where she was from but I soon found out as they had the Big 6 crew on hand for an exhibition song where they used the drum that comes from their part of the country.  That young gal got up and danced those songs and for first few, she was the only one up there, going counter clock in the dance arena, and let me tell you those steps she was using: never in my pow days have I seen anything like it.

Pretty soon a Jingle Dress dancer got in there and she was using the Big 6 step that I’d seen for the first time last summer, over there in the mighty Akwesasne.

So yes!  Cultural revival, cultural reclamation, and above all:  Resistance.  A fella like me can see that every now and again and let me tell you seeing that young gal working her original dances and authentic moves really made that trip to the York U. pow something special for me.

Resistance.  Powerful.  Authentic.  Not Colonized.  twinravens.com t shirt on the main streets of Unionville, Ontario, Sunday afternoon, March 8th.  Turns out those t shirts were a good idea.