Posts tagged ‘love’

February 29th

so much drama in the news these days!  while waiting for paint to dry:  so many strange things coming in over the wire:

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can’t open a cell phone without seeing “stuff”.  WILD stuff…

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made a late night drive to Toronto, as always, listening to CBC, and this one came on and holy SHOOT!  Pat said a few things in this show, good authentic gravy i thought she was talking about me…   (i had to pull over and make a phone call!!!)

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pop up art show:  on the corner of McCaul and Dundas, Toronto, Ontario, Canada.  24×36 inches on gallery canvas.  my Stevenson paint getting lower and lower…

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safely in the gallery on Dundas, across from the AGO.  that is a John Laford hanging with the twinravens.com.

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on Dundas W., Toronto:  everywhere you go these days!  and i’m not talking about Snoop!

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medicine bowl, at the corner of Rideau and Sussex, Monday afternoon, Feb. 24th:  protest/rally, downtown.  they had the hand drums there as well.

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signage at the rally/protest on Monday afternoon, corner of Sussex and Rideau.

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INSANE cbc news story cooking up over the past 18 to 24 months.  what is the world coming to when the so called Senate has someone like this on the payroll?

it’s getting to be that if you’re indian in Canada, you aint safe.

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you know the story?  (Found poetry book number 5, a work in progress.)

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“I was 14, She was 32”, found poem, Found poetry book 5, a work in progress, art therapy exercise number B.  it’s amazing, the fun you can have with a repurposed book, a few sharpie markers, and a guided exercise like black out poetry.  we’re using these fantastic art making exercises to cool many.

while in the storm: i try to use art and peace!  and love!

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okay we’ll try this again.  the last time we darn near let the cat “outa the bag”!!!  whoops!

before we get into the art news check this out:

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that is yours truly many moons ago:  screen shot from a vid.  the only reason i bring that one up is i want you to hear this song: 

that one:  was it really track 4?  all i know is we played it in the live show right after the initial bombardment: 4 thundering NR songs that absolutely got that audience to take notice.  this is the one the ended that bombardment and what a way to start the show.  ah but those were some show bizz daze…  fun times.  (psst:  we need to get the band back together.)

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someone in our recent travels asked if i knew a thing or two about the guitar and i said yes, that in the past, i had dabbled with it.  well another someone in the higher up heard that…  and they also knew about the band.  that “someone” is down the road another 10 year further than me, and let me say this much:  it is fun to know there are a few native folks out there who remember!  folks who are in a driver’s seat.

ah.  here is another for good measure:

we tried to open the show with that one but it was best to close the show with it.  (road show stories too!)(check out Danny Boy on those drums!)(he was a WIZARD!)

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i was standing in the “sweet spot”: where i could hear all the guitars and vocals on the stage!  ha.  with all that rock and roll can you believe at times, on stage, it’s difficult to hear things?

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of course i had to put this one on:  that’s Jen playing the congas, and that’s me watching the clock!  Buffy Ste Marie was up next and we didn’t want to keep her waiting!

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the new t shirt!  you know i’ve seen that shirt running around here and there:  strong, resilient, indigenous.

well.  when you’ve been around a bit, you’re tired of the flavour of the month with these words from overseas trying to tell us what we are.  first it was:  savage.  then it was: indian.  then it was:  native.  then it was:  aboriginal.  now it’s: indigenous.  and i, along with a few other old soldiers wonder what in the heck is it going to be next month?!!!

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so someone asked me what’s up?  i said:  i joined the resistance when i was 13 and have been fighting ever since.  i am powerful, i lived, unlike quite a few of my brothers in arms, who are KIA, or MIA.  i am authentic!  i am a real ANISHNABE.  i am not one of these fake Joseph Boyden/Grey Owl wannabeeze…   i won’t get scammed by a white salesman down on Hazelton Lanes, trying to sell me a 20 000 dollar “FAKE” Norval Morrisseau painting!  and i am not colonized:  i never bought into the religion from overseas and i sure as hell never thought a minute about the so called queen and “big ears”, that son of hers who went and got his ex wife killed and would likely F up a cup of coffee if he had to make it on his own.  nope!  that is supposed to be your future king?

well my queen is Queen:  We Will Rock You/We are…

(“My Melancholy Blues” is a close second!) 

you better listen to that one with the headphones…

wearing the shirt:  that is the GREAT JASMINE MOON, at the 2nd annual AFN Round Dance, O Town, a weekend ago.  and she is ANISHNABE.  still in training.

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speaking of Joe Boyden:  there sure are a lot of his books turning up in the Salvation Army bookshelves!  i know he made his millions playing indian, pulling the wool over who knows how many white eyes, and red eyes (ha!) but let’s just hope for a minute that there is still a chance for us real indian writers.  not sure what word to use these days!  savage.  indian.  native.  aboriginal.  indigenous…  flipping aliens…

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in progress, and using the LAST of the Stevenson paint…  (boo hoo!)  24×36 inches on gallery canvas.  it looks like we might have 6 more paintings at best, in Stevenson before we have to find that new brand.  i’m hoping a professional indio artist will take me under his/her wing/wings.

in the spirit of:

forget about the lame version by Ed V.  this is the real version.  my thing is this: if you can’t do it better than them, leave it alone.  as far as i’m concerned:  Ed V. SUCKED!  i’d say leave it alone dude but we know they handed him a great big fat pay cheque for that one!

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ah yes:  No Rez, we need to get that band back together.  the principles are still around!  and we’ll say this!  those songs are still relevant today:  like:  Putting Up a Barricade!  Native Pride.  Civilized Man.  Road Is So Long.  Dreamcatcher.  Logging Road.  Hollywood Indian.  actuals.  authentica.  NR was the real deal and still is.

i used to think the term “survivor” was a bit too big, but yes, i was way wrong about that.

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i know the dad who adopted me and saved my life, he was a ww2 survivor.  truth be told i’m not so sure how he came back from that.  but he was a survivor.  my 3 older brothers are dead and my 3 younger ones are missing.  what does that make me?

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at any rate:  the poison runs thick and strong, and it’s in us.  we need to water it out of us.  if we can keep the water clean which seems like a chore these days with the pipe lines and train derailments and jumbo jets and etc.

(cue in the music, Frankie!)

 

And SO! x 2

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I hate to see it go as it IS one of my personal faves:  but it is going.  And gone.  That is acrylic in a water colour technique, finish depending on the “tooth” of the canvas board.

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Another of my personal faves, shipped out, and gone.  The empty spaces on my walls…  Like a lot of things going on around here.  Thank goodness for Nadja, there in the blond hair, she’ll keep a close eye on things.

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Going back to the MET:  that story…  of me walking in there, stone aged, and seeing this!  Have mercy: I’m going to see a quack.  Hopefully we can sort out the weird-ness of what… what is this weird attraction?  The quack is also an art historian (hobby horse!) and knows a thing or two about the Indians and land reserved for Indians.  Plus…  she IS pretty attractive dot dot dot…

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Other MAD scenes in the MET:  this was actually in there, in the MET, on a Thursday afternoon in December…  (kooky…  )

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Check out the date:  March 10, 1995.  My how some drawings tell the tale!

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Flash Back!  May 1991.  That’s me, in Belmont, Manitoba on a Saturday afternoon.  We’re on the road to Whitehorse, a well oiled machine, show bizz, rock and roll.  But on this afternoon I had to get the van serviced so I took off alone, left the apes in Brandon, and found myself in Belmont.  Put the van in the line  up and started walking through this one horse town.  Took lunch at the diner, fresh, old time sandwiches made while you wait.  Wrote a letter to my sister. Thought about “her”.  Imagined myself back home, swimming in the warm waters off the south end of the island.  Tanned my feet both front and back.  Read the NY Times, the paper was at least 12 years old.  Drank a sweet fifth of Hoola, with a cut of water.  Rolled in the sunshine.  Imagined the war: on going, in lands far away.  Smoked home grown.  Wore my black bikini.  Settled under the sun.  Drove the island roads with the window down, my left arm hanging out the window.

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When I got back home from Scotland the lawn was a mess!  Lucky for me we had a suitcase filled with 20 dollar bills.  So I fired up the lawn mower and tried to rescue my lawn.  This is 10 days into July, 2018:  I was out there alone.  The girls were on the road.  What madness went on and off and out and in.  I snapped this photo of the crib at sunrise and remembered when I was over there, all I could think about in those final hours over there, was getting back home.  And surprise!  There I was.

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Sunrise in summer:  on the range.  This was in July 018, smoking hot and super dry!  I was there and I was thanking my lucky stars I’d made it home!  I was VERY happy being there in the summer of 018.  Wonderful memories.

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Middle

In the grand and glorious summers of the past, this one in August 014, we see many a grand and glorious scene:  this one looking due north, out where the horses are.  We were in the house and noticed the wind had changed so we went out for a looksie and saw the north sky had turned to a boiling thousand shades of grey!  Fantastic!

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On stage with NR back in 017:  We need to get the band back together.

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Sister JEN!  Working the magic.  She owns the show.  Summer of 017.

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Before the gig:  we might look cool but we’re not!  We’re both scared.  It is show business.  And no matter how many times you do the show, rehearse the show, when you put a crowd of folks out there, you’ll have butterflies deluxe.

Mask making with Mark!

Mask making with Mark!

Mask making:  that hand design… We’ve alway been ahead of the curve.  (the mask making exercise is SOLID GOLD real estate.)  All ages, no matter where.

Closing poem:

CRUSING BACK THE RANCH WITH MY YOUNG FRIEND

to see what we can see
come night time in a room
full of books, paintings, feathers and bones
the window wishes west
while the sun is arriving
at six in the summertime
she sleeps above the trees
below the stars
not a second close
enough to please me even mildly
in a red willow wind
curtains whisper quiet sins
moon
the island still
silent stars
the way she was stolen
by your quiet smile
into the night
when the drums are distant
shadows of the pines
cooling dew grass
the fringes on her shawl
the ferns are spooky
barefoot during the night
the feathers and bones
of a crooked crow dying
modern day pow boy
wishing well into the night
think about the moons you have missed
treating your life like you had nine
words by mark seabrook