Posts tagged ‘painting’

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”.

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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.

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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!

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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!

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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!

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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!)

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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.

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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?

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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.

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

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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!

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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…

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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…  )

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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!

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“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.

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“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…

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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.

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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.

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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!

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

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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…

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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.

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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.

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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:

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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.

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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!)

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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.)

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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 $$$!

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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?

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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.

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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.

 

Life in the Big City No. 3-02-23-020

i’m on the swanky 9th at sunrise, Sunday morning, life on the road: artist doing that art sales thing.  up for grabs:

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Power Bird, acrylic on gallery canvas, 24×36″, by anishnabe artist Mark Seabrook.

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Bear Clan Power, acrylic on gallery canvas, 24×36″, by anishnabe artist Mark Seabrook.

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Power Bird: Body, Mind, Spirit, acrylic on gallery canvas, 24×36″, by anishnabe artist Mark Seabrook.

needless to say: with each finished painting we’re getting closer to the end our days with Stevenson paint.  yikes.

Friday afternoon i called up all the art supplies stores in Toronto asking: do you have any Stevenson acrylic?

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Articulations on Dundas W. had a few stragglers so i snapped those up on Saturday afternoon, knowing full well it could be the last of the Stevenson in the whole city!

while on Dundas, thought i would take a ride down to the AGO.  tis an entertaining drive with many kooky scenes along the way, as seen from the cosy confines of my new car.  the new car wiggles down those streets no problems, but out there on the big four lanes: there is nothing under the hood…

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look up there:  that’s someone’s crib!  talk about a room with a view!  that photo is taken from the corner of McCaul and Dundas, directly behind me is the AGO.  beauty sunny day for a stroll through the mad jungles!

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the club on McCaul, just up the street from the AGO.  love that club name.  hey!  we’ll have to go there sometime in the summer.

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directly across the street from the Sin and Redemption club!  ha ha!  nice work boys.

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“That Weekend @ the Cottage”, Found poetry Book 5, a work in progress.  i’m having a fun go of it with book 5, and as always using that “love” theme, “wild sex” theme and of course: “memory lane” theme, to tell wild stories of passion, sexual adventure, and love tossed.  loving too, the “Weekend at the Cottage” idea as we surely have spent a few!  sweet and sexy x 3.  for more on the Found Poetry idea, scroll through the blog, we have a few fun entries going on about the idea.

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crafty ideas:  that is a Dollarama box (4 bucks), ball point pen and sharpie marker, artwork by Mark Seabrook.  we’re always looking for bright ideas for the art making workshops that we conduct, art making for folks who think they have no artistic abilities.  well we at twinravens art schools surely put that idea to the test!  this little project came together in a short 50 minutes, radio playing in the background.  folks around the table called it a “memory box” while others said it could be used for a “traditional medicines place”.  however you use it, you can personalize it quickly without creating a mess on your table top!

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memory box/medicine keeper box top: art work by Mark Seabrook.  also in the shot:  Book 5, Found Poetry.  in our art making workshops we like to keep the participants hands busy!  strawberry smoothie in the background: try to stay healthy…

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the arts and crafts table:  memory box in back, Found Poetry Book 5 in front.  you don’t need a bunch of swanky and expensive art supplies to have some fun with us!  twinravens brand art making workshops are for everyone anywhere at anytime!

 

Saturday Night Blizzard!

Well maybe it “aint no” blizzard like the folks in NFLD whooped through in the past 24 hours but here in O’sville, outside, now, 6 p.m., it aint pretty.  And it IS ice Flipping cold!  that is why I’m tucked away in here, in the crib, with the fake fire going, fake fireplace on the TV, 2D logs burning bright, warm as toast, snug as a bug, nestled up next to a Henschke Cyril Henschke Cab slash Sauv slash Franc slash Mer mixarama.  The folks are pitching it as extra dry but I’m telling you right now its twice the sweet as I like them.  Ah well.  It IS a snow storm out there.  And those Australian Vins on a cold winter night are something to write home about.  I’d write home if I had one…

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And so!  It IS a blizzard, I’m in for the evening with the vin and a book.  Thought I’d re read the “CLASSIC HORROR STORY” by kooky Sinclair Ross:  The Painted Door.  Of course when I was sporting, many moons ago, we’d make that trip, a mile anyway…

Things have changed since then.  Now, as an old man, we don’t need to wade through classic Canadian horror stories as we have enough of them stowed in our own story telling departments: if it were a library, a mighty library it would be as some of us did!  I was reminded of that when I crossed paths with an old soldier today:  same age as me!  We laughed and cackled our way through stories about the ages, old names, old places, now all dead and gone.  Yet we remain: Two Anishnabe, from the same year, many times in the same places, with the same people, yet never crossing paths until today.  Slick stuff.

We got to that story sharing place where I told him about that night at the International on Kathleen Street, N’Swakamok, summer of 1995:  I was in there with one of the killers, as back up.  He was in there looking for someone but he never told me why he was looking for this person.  We sat ourselves down at a table and ordered drinks and pretty soon this young Anishnabe dude came along and sat himself down at our table.  This dude knew the killer and they were chatting up a storm, going on about “stuff”.  Well I’d heard enough after about 20 seconds and said to the killer:  Is this the guy?

As I said that I was reaching inside my coat with my right hand and the dude FREAKED!  He put his hands up right away and said Hey Man!  I didn’t do anything!

Of course he was right.  I was just reaching into my coat pocket to get my cigarettes, to see if he wanted a Marlboro Red.  Back in those days you could smoke in the bar.  It was kooky to see though how that dude nearly shit his pants when I did that.  Ha ha.

It has been one of those winter days.  Cool too though when you cross paths with folks of the same vintage.

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Girl From the North Country, Found Poetry, Book 5, a work in progress.  Drawing by Mark Seabrook, Anishnabe artist.  Truth is I have NOT been drawing over the past few or several years and…  They were right.  It does go away if you don’t keep at it.

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Anishnabe Kwe, Found Poetry, book 5.  So yes, we’re still working at it.  The book is 400 plus pages and the story is INSANE!!!  So we’re mostly painting over the pages of text and making this one into a book of drawings.  There are a few poems in there but not as many as in the past books.  The drawing practice has been good for this old boy.

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Ed Hopper at the MET.  Remember how I was going on about that meltdown at the MET, back in December?  Well here we are a long way from, and here they are in no particular order, the paintings that brought on the meltdown…

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Have mercy.  You can read a ton of books about this one but when you’re standing where he once stood:  the same distance away I mean, there is a fine line between living out your dream and shitting your pants on the NY subway.

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Good Wowza.  If you are a visual artist, and you walk into a room and see this…  Well lets just say this:  I was in there looking at this and wondered if maybe it might have been better had I been KIA in the Great Hay Wagon Disaster of 78.  (If you don’t know what that is, scroll back through a few blog postings…  )

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Good Gawd!  Anyone out there reading this:  are you a painter?

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Jeepers H. Mary and M.F. Joe!  You read about it.  You see a small picture in an art history book text.  But then there it is.  Wowza x 2.

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Stop.  Stand.  And Stare.  Holy chocolate wagon wheels someone actually created this with their bare hands…  (Q. And what am I doing?  A.  A GREAT BIG FAT NOTHING.)

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OFMFGF.  We went over this in art school for days.  Detailing it, went over it, shoulder to shoulder on our hands and knees, going over every inch of the details with an extremely powerful art history instructor.

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Yup!  I was nearly a sobbing wreck by this point.  Just like that time I watched the first 5 minutes of the movie:  UP.

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Okay.  No words.  There it is.

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Have mercy!

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Absolute melting point:  if you’re an art enthusiast and dreaming…  If you see something like this, in the MET, after all these years…   (Well lets just say it will be the crows nest for me.)

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Here though:  something turned.  I may have rounded a corner with this one.

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Stopped and stared.  Imagined Mr. R. standing there too, cigarettes in hand…  ages ago.

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K.M. in his gear, making the presentation on Thursday night to a darn near a sold out show.  He had his book, getting his words straight, but what I was worried about is that he was going to fall off those great big high heels he was wearing!  He didn’t fall off his shoes and it was a great performance, and a great show:  glad to be there and see it first hand.  That painting of course, if you scroll back through the blog, you’ll  see it up close, from that night long ago…

And so the snow storm continues.

alone at Carter's Bay in a long ago summer time

alone at Carter’s Bay in a long ago summer time

I dream about the beaches back home: the wind and the waves, the sun, the earth, the sky.  The blue and green.  And yes:  The sienna, the gold and silver.

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Oh la la!  There will be time to get back to those water falls and that river where I call home.  I usually travel at night.  I’ll arrive at sunrise!

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When you live a bit, silly things like a snow storm are nothing.  Rooms in a house, the “Famous Cockroach Incident”, a thousand mile drive at a hundred miles an hour, the summer of 1995, the lawns between her house and mine at age 12, her red jacket…

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I’ve got a home waiting for me.  Yes I’m the road now but I’ll be home soon.  For now though, we have the art, the road, the snow storm, the flash Australian Vin, and the stuff not worth mentioning out the front window, the back window and the side windows:  life i the city in mid January.

Keep on keeping ON!

 

 

For You: Sahara

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Power Bird:  Carry On.  Acrylic on gallery canvas, 24×36 inches.

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Power Bird:  Rolling Up on Winter.  Acrylic on .75 canvas, 18×24 inches.

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Power Birds: October 23rd.  Acrylic on canvas board, 8×10 inches.

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Power Birds: November 5th.  Acrylic on canvas board, 8×10 inches.

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Raven on the Range: April 19th.  Acrylic on canvas board, 5×7 inches.

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Ravens on the Range.  Acrylic on canvas board, 5×7 inches.

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Power Bird: No. 5.  Acrylic on canvas board, 8×10 inches.

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Woodland Raven with Teachings.  Acrylic on canvas board, 18×24 inches.

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The Starlight Tours: The Early Years.  Mixed media, hacked painting, on canvas board, 8×10 inches.  (2nd in a new series.)

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We acknowledge we are living on unceded Algonquin Territory, Trail of…  Mixed media, hacked painting, on canvas, 16×20 inches.  (First in a new series.)

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New Moon on February 14th.  Acrylic on canvas board, 14×18 inches.  (Brighter in this photo as the summer sun is blazing down on the scene.)

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Raven Moon.  Acrylic on canvas, 8×10 inches.

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I Miss You.  Acrylic on .75 canvas, 18×24 inches.

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TV Reception on a Remote Indian Reserve: 60’s Scoop.  Acrylic on .75 canvas, 36×48 inches.

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Happiness is Big Bucks.  Acrylic on canvas board, 5×7 inches.

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Messenger Bird.  Acrylic on canvas board, 7×9 inches, not framed.

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Raven on the Range: October 20.  Acrylic on canvas board, 9×12 inches, not framed.

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Ravens on the Range: October 18th.  Acrylic on canvas board, 9×12 inches, not framed.

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True Story.  Acrylic on canvas board, 9×12 inches.

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Power Bird: October 1st.  Acrylic on canvas board, 7×9 inches, not framed.

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4 Directions.  Acrylic on gallery canvas, 22×28 inches.

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twinravens in June.  Acrylic on .75 canvas, 16×20 inches.

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twinravens on August 5th.  Acrylic on .75 canvas, 16×20 inches.

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Your Artist!  Mark Seabrook, Spanish River Indian Rez, home on Manitoulin Island, temporarily in the town of Ottawa!  At your service.

Walking 5th Ave, New York City

What a day: started at Time Square via the subway and the info lady over there replied: the Met?  Oh my goodness that’s 40 blocks from here, you’ll never make it!  But I checked the over head on Google and it was reported at a measly 2 miles away.  That aint nothin!  So I started out, wearing my HBC CANADA hoodie, advertising.

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Heavy duty Charles Scribner’s and Sons on 5th and East 48th: I thought about the wild writer characters who walked in and out that joint, in days of old.

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Super heavy duty spook house on 5th and East 50th, St. Pat’s big house and there were people using it!

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The Peninsula, swank crib on 5th and West 55th: you need 4 dollar signs in your wallet to walk rightly into that lobby.

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Ah yes…  The Met.  Last time I walked up those steps: April 1985.  It was art school, year one, many moons ago and with every step climbed yesterday, I said: Chi Miigwetch.  Nice to see you again.

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In the great hall, just inside the entrance:  BOOM!  There is a brand new, just installed on Monday night, Kent Monkman actual!  Wow!

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There is the other one, freshly installed on Monday night, December 16th, great hall, the Met, NYC.  Wow.  Kent Monkman went the distance with those ones!

And so: I paid my 25 bucks and walked in.  The gal at the counter was super helpful, I asked:  where are the Pollocks?

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There she is:  Autumn Rhythm (Number 30), 1950.  Seems like I crossed an ocean of time to see this.  I saw it as a 19 year old dumb ass, had no idea what I was looking at.  Thank the almighty I got back yesterday, not as a snot nosed boy art student but as a man whose seen a lot of action and been a bit or two.  Whew!  What an hour.

I walked through some of my fave rooms and saw big time art (painting) history, the work that went straight to my core back in high school, and stayed there!  In no particular order: Franz Kline, Amedeo Modigliani, Edward Hopper, Marsden Hartley, Salvador Dali, Yves Tanguy, Claude Monet, Camille Pissarro, Pablo Picasso, Paul Cezanne, Henri Matisse, Vincent van Gogh, Paul Gauguin, Auguste Renoir, Alfred Sisley, Edgar Degas, Edouard Manet, Honore Daumier, Jules Breton, Joseph Mallord William Turner…  And not just one piece from each artist, they had several of them lined up, a magical tour, a feast for the senses, and eventually an over load!

There came a point in the afternoon where my brain really did experience a meltdown.  And I don’t mean a wave of something overcoming me, I mean an actual brain turning to grey, molasses like goo and oozing out of my ears kind of meltdown.  The eyes have seen enough!  The brain, the poor fuckin thing, is on over load, maximum capacity, burning red hot!  STOP!!!  Pull over!!!

I scrambled for an exit, semi wondering if I’d gone completely wimpy, soft and gooey, and wondered too if anyone else had experienced such a thing and saw this:

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That aint no installation chief!  That aint no set up shot either.  That’s an actual human being, a woman, sitting there with her head up against the wall:  cooling the frontal lobe!  Either that or the marbles have come undone and she’s waiting for the boys in white to haul her off to the funny farm!

I could relate.  I was in meltdown mode myself.  I needed a four fingers drink or some fresh air or both!  And I was lost in there, lost in that maze of big rooms filled with big pictures, scrambling towards an exit.

Then the unthinkable happened:

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Like the apes in 2001: A Space Odyssey, I came across THIS!!!  I stood there, gawking, mouth breathing, I could almost hear that rumbling choir from the movie soundtrack rolling up on me as I walked around it, numb, knuckle dragging.  Something from childhood started to smoulder, a memory, an image, something not yet worked through, slowly started smoking…

I ran like hell, straight out of the Met, going north bound on 5th, steaming!

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Flew past this place, didn’t even stop!  Kept right on going back into the Upper East Side, into the shadows down along 1st and 92nd…

We’re going back in there today, hopefully with a refreshed mind, the marbles securely stowed, the shoes laced up tight.

When I get back to the swanky 9th, I’ll post a few photos of the super heavy duty that we crossed paths with along the way.

More to come.

 

Upper East Side, New York City

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Woke up in the Upper East Side, NYC, this morning, came downstairs and saw this.

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After the drive:  Toronto to NYC via Buffalo, and after the car was parked, we hit the streets and it wasn’t a block from here when we saw this!  ha!  (of course i don’t give a damn about politics here, back home or anywhere for that matter.  as an Indian living under the big boot Indian Act:  we’re used to dealing with mice, going on 150 years now, or more.)

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The Drunken Munkey looked good to us!  And it was quite alright, “Indian” menu, local beers, a table for two, but a third glass of, would have settled the issue.

So I’m back in town specifically to see some Jackson Pollock and Mark Rothko paintings.  It’s been 34 years since I last walked through the front doors at the Met.  Last time, I was just like that drunken monkey:  in body, mind, spirit.  Last time I had no idea what I was looking at.  This time we’re going in with a bit of an education and I hope to enjoy the pictures uninterrupted.

While we’re here we’re going to see that Kent Monkman thing happening tonight at the Met.  I hope to visit the Guggenheim tomorrow.

Temperature at 6 a.m., minus 8.  Sun in the forecast.  Big suits in the lobby, short haired or bald, big fat guts sticking out pushing their ties to a 45, all of them wanting a kiss and a hug from a blond, also in a suit, out they all go, in a New York minute.  CNN with the big headline flashing:  Trump impeached.  Christmas music piped in.  Day 2 on the road.

 

The Dream at the End of the World

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Opening pages of Found Poetry Book 4: The Dream at the End of the World.  I loved that title and to boot: printed way back in 1991, the paper is quality stuff that can handle the sharpie markers, highlighters and thinly spread dollar store acrylic paint.  I keep saying “thinly spread” as no matter how good the paper quality is in these old books, if you layer on gobs of acrylic, bad things are going to happen to your book project.  I’ve seen it happen with a few participants and yes it can get messy fast.  And that’s when the tears start…

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Remember: this is meant to be a long term art making project.  As you can see I started this one way back on September 4, 019.  Here we are at December 15th and I have 3 pages to go!  The opening “found poem”, is 2 pages of love…

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Found poems…  Love this stuff!  As I said to participants:  what literary surprises are waiting for us with every page?

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The End of Art School, found poem No. 3, is an 8 page beauty that goes like this:

in a dream, rising up through the tranquil sleep of a warm May evening, left in its wake a delicious sense of peace, of afternoon sunlight, the dream terrain, i felt the thrill of recognition, was offering, up to him again.  

his life was out of control, sidetracked by untidy passions, impulsive missteps, messy obsessions…

daring was in his art, and his ambition seemed limitless, he was an accomplished poet as well as a musician, still, he was beginning to feel like a hired hand, and he was weary of focusing his energy on works that were not his own.

disturbing, nihilistic, quietly bizarre…

its perpetual distraction.  as summer approached, the power of his stories, the dream had shown him the way.

flirtatious, seductive, she staged mad crushes, they had become favourites among the creative elite, they were famous among the famous.

his only refuge was his imagination, he invented his own planet, “I was always trying to get away.”

found his freedom, possessed of a diffident charm, and sensible in summer, thrillingly remote, was vital and clamorous, the ancient native, life burst through the seams, wonderfully excessive, costume balls, expeditions and martinis, cleanliness and efficiency.

steady, hot, with a moon that is like a sun when it is full, a madhouse: the piano in their isolated house was wildly out of tune…

trance dancing-all of it was part of the pageantry, Sahara, the sky had a life of its own, baptism of solitude, silent country, sensation of existing in the midst of something that is absolute: the absolute has no price.

mystical undercurrents ran deep, a man transforming, the supple nature of reality, on the other side of the looking glass, alienness intoxicating, insupportable jealousy, I shall be away. 

pursued the exotic, self indulgent, he kept up his creative momentum, he transported himself, an untamed twenty year old, the two began to spin fantasies.

a protagonist in his novel, restless souls who wanted to explore life outside, purpose and spirit, it was a mystery, She laughed: “You KNOW I don’t want you to go.”

a close friend of both, i dimly remember my own face and not yours, how psychosomatic can you get?

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Of course there is room for drawing: “Fancy Shawl Dancer, who IS Mother Earth”,  sharpie marker, thinly spread dollar store acrylic.

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And room too, for experimenting with the draw and the subject of the draw:  black ball point pen with sharpie marker on acrylic paint.  Maybe there is an opportunity to create a new series of pictures from the sketches in these pages.

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Some days are tougher than others…  Sharpie marker on acrylic paint.

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“True Love: age 22, (I knew her name)”, Found poem, a 12 page extravaganza!

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Once into it, these sketches can be pretty telling…  (life on the road…  )

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And of course there is room for fun stuff!  The end page of a wildly sexual poem, from the Road Taken!

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Ah yes: room to explore, room to create, and maybe a new series of paintings in the development stages…

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Heavy duty and ultra supra TELLING!  Wow.  This drawing is from the last of the pages in the book, 384 pages of found poems, drawings, journals, love stories, memory brambles lane, black circles under blood shot eyes, spinning out in a parking lot, from soup to nuts, insanity before xmas in the city.

Yes the found poetry book project is a work in progress and an exciting exercise for the creative soul.  On Monday I’ll be back in the goodwill on the snoop, looking for another interesting title with high quality paper.

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Power Bird, acrylic on canvas, 18×24 inches, by anishnabe artist Mark Seabrook.  Made fresh this past week and using a new brand of acrylic paint!  The last of my Stevenson Professional Acrylic, and I mean the last, we’re down to the bottom of the barrels, I’m pretty sure we only have a half dozen paintings remaining in those paint barrels.  Very sad for me as Stevenson was my brand since all the way back in art school.

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Power Birds, acrylic on canvas, 24×36 inches, by anishnabe artist Mark Seabrook.  Originally it was a black and white but with this new brand of paint in the house, it’s time to explore and see what she can do.

Just ten days before Xmas and…  yikes: another year will be in the books.