PO'd at my Red Letter Day

Did you ever have one of those days were you wished you had about as much brain activity as a plant? That way you wouldn’t have to relive and re-think about the times in which you can be as dense as apiece of lumber – not the sharpest pencil in the box.
You know, your standing there relieving your bladder, oblivious to the world, just doing your business, pissing into the wind – but it’s not the wet trousers that tell you that you’ve made an error in judgment or even the wind in your face – no, it’s not until you suddenly feel that the socks inside your shoes are wet. You look down to see your wet trousers, while squishing around in your soaking boots and socks. Then just to add to the embarrassment, you look to your left and see a group of nuns blushing in your direction but quickly trying to get out sight.
Yes, today was such a Red Letter Day for me.

So now, I can spend a bunch of time and money on psychology trying to figure out how my brain simply shut off and what happened with those lost moments. I mean this wasn’t just a simple brain-fart; this was a brain shite my drawers full. It was as though I was caught in a bubble of time, were I had no control of my actions until, like a good smack in the face, I suddenly snapped out of it to become aware of my situation. I just cannot understand it.
I’d like to explain it all away by saying that during that little apex in the space-time continuum, aliens abducted me, performed some strange experiment that made me piss myself and then placed me back in time just a few minutes later, completely oblivious as to what had happened. Sadly, that sounds about as suitable to me as this guy (picture below) telling me that, “It’s okay sir, I’m showering under a ‘scared cow’”. Sure buddy then why not use shite-on-a-rope for soap.

I remember some 33 years ago, as a boy of 17, my first trip to Paris. I rushed to my room to relieve myself of the long car drive down from Amsterdam. I stood there pissing into the porcelain bowl only to be astonished that the toilet had both hot and cold-water faucets on it, and there to the left was another toilet standing next to this one. As I stood there, I thought to myself, these French sure are a civilized lot. Just then, my travel companion came into the room with the rest of our baggage and I asked, “Why do the toilets have faucets?” On seeing me, he split his gut laughing hysterically at the sight of me standing there, letting it all hang out, like a little bronze sculpture in Brussels. It seems that the French most assuredly are a civilized lot and I was one heck of a country bumpkin. It seems I was not in fact pissing into the toilet but rather the bidet. Later that night, at the Moulin Rouge I was in desperate need of a toilet. I followed the signs arrived in the room, opened a stall but not a throne to be seen. Every stall had what I thought was a urinal in it. I went back upstairs to ask again and was directed to the same location. I went back down only this time I brought my friend with me. Yet again, I made his day and must have reinforced to him that all North Americans are philistines at best or hayseeds at worst. It seems that the two raised footprints, facing outwards from the wall, with the chromed handles next to them on the stalls wall were the toilet. Laughingly, he instructed me how to grab the handles stand on the footprints, squat and plop into the hole. Yuk and I thought they were civilized – jeez, in Canada we only do this in the bush not in the downtown of Paris. Oh well this story is a little more innocent on my youthful and naïve re-introduction to Europe – innocent like the image below.

So now on top of this red-letter day I can spend the rest of my life trying to figure out how I could be so damn stupid. Are there drugs for this because I’d really like to forget? Man, oh man – do I have a splitting headache.

No, I’m not telling you what it was I did, suffice it to say I’m totally humiliated and besides mom, I don’t want you to know.

I can dance...

A two-step Ragtime named PAS

As one can imagine I not much of a dancer, well okay, the one-step if there is such a thing but the two-step is definitely out. That is the story of my life: two-step ragtime dances titled PAS in my one-and-a-half-step universe. Much like clapping with one hand, I guess. I can pogo though - but that’s PASsé and that’s no PAS des deux for that matter. Un autre faux PAS maybe! Je nais PAS?

It is official, spring is truly here!

It is official, spring is truly here! I saw my first Robin (Turdus Migratorius or Red-Breasted Thrush) this morning. You might ask, “What’s the big deal about seeing this bird?” Where it July or August I’d agree with your question, as it would be nothing special to see one in this part of the world. However, at this time of year this bird truly represents the beginning of spring for us, as it has returned from its winter migration in Mexico. The reason it is so special to see one at this time of year is that the Robin is a songbird. In these northern climes, the return of the songbird is the return of spring, as they eat insects and worms, the return of insects is the return of the Robin and so forth and so one, down the food chain. The bird sang a song for me as it took flight while I tried to get closer to photograph it (Regrettably using the digital zoom, at such distance, made the image inferior to the quality of image I like to present here.). What a sweet sound it was as it caroled its sharp “tyeep” and prolonged “tut-tut-tut” for me.

Another sign of spring also presented its visceral beauty to me this fine morning. The first of the Crocus popped their heads up and bloomed in our still dormant lawn. These delicate and tiny flowers are not the big Crocus, which will soon appear but tender and slim little beauties, which last but a moment but in that moment say so much. They are the first of the Crocus and again reassure us that the time of rejuvenation is truly at hand.

The first of the Crocus have appeared.

Now if I was a quantum physicist how would I explain these ephemeral petit flowers and why are they here? I’ll tell you why, because the Great Creator God made them for his pleasure so that we might enjoy them and of that, we most certainly do. Each leaf cut in a different pattern, each delicate tiny petal resplendent in its brilliance and all screaming that life is joy. While I understand it from the perspective of the food chain, the flowers feed the insects, which feed the birds, etc.; I can never see it simply reduced to mechanics of organisms. Why, well take another look at it and what does it say? They say that all is right with the universe and that these events that provide the food chain all have purpose. That purpose is to glorify the creator God who created it for us so that we could enjoy it forever. That little flower says all that to me and to add to my pleasure I am serenaded by a clear tyeep, tyeep, tyeep and long prolonged tut-tut-tut.

Take another look at these flowers and ask what do they say?

What the Bleep Do We Know?

Well Easter went well. It was nice to be with my parents, sisters and their families. I enjoyed spending time with my wife’s family also. Good food, good company makes for some serious investigation into why we set these social paradigms and why they feel so good to do.

I watched the movie "What the Bleep Do We Know?" by William Arntz, Betsy Chasse, and Mark Vicente last night. This movie starring Marlee Matlin is a pseudo documentary, story and visual effects movie, which discusses reality using quantum physics. The principle theme being to unravel the uncertain world of the quantum field hidden behind what we consider to be our normal, waking reality and the structure of the universe itself or our perceptions of it. It most definitely is a provocative film, which makes us question the existence of God.

I want to talk about this film in length but I have a lot of work to do over the next few days thus I just don’t have the time now, but I will get back to this.

What I can say is that the film is deeply entrenched in “critical historical thinking” or the “scientific method”. I’ve never been much of an admirer of Rene Descartes. Therefore, when I hear a number of Cartesian thinkers gathered under one platform to persuade me that our common notion of a god -- as a higher power who created us in his image, and whose approval we must seek in order gain entry into heaven -- is preposterous, I really pay attention. I’ll get back to this some other time in the days to come. I would like to say that it has always astonished me that finite human beings have the vanity to assume to understand the infinite. I’m not saying we shouldn’t study it because I strongly believe the questions need to be asked. What I am saying is that sometimes the answers might be beyond our ability to understand them. Secondly, I’m forever astonished at the hubris of person kind and these Cartesian thinkers in not admitting that their postulations require as much faith as mine in a god. Big Bang = from nothing comes something = leap of faith. Nothing must remain nothing: draw a zero call it nothing and then erase the zero meaning nothing at all. Yet there they sit pontificating on the universe and the nature of god starting with their own perceptions of the universe through measurement. I have always held to the position that what makes a frog a frog is not just its muscle and sinew. Thus, when you kill the frog in order to dissect and understand it you’ve already removed or killed a part of the frog and you don’t have the whole picture. Funny really, because they would accuse me of anthropomorphic projection of what I understand god to be while at the same time doing the same thing in terms of understanding the cosmos using their own strict scientific lexicon. More on this later as well.

What this movie did do for me was to strengthen my resolve that there is indeed a God which I’m sure was not the intent. It angered me at times to hear the sheer arrogance that science uses as a series of presets when it comes to both the perception of the data received and the underlying means of how to interpret it. Even Einstein said, “God doesn’t play dice with the universe.” Without going into the cliché of Einstein equations, he also was noted as pointing out that the speed of light in a vacuum is absolute. So why is relativity always used as a benchmark towards understanding God and human perception? I mean if we made a real test of senses without using an arbitrary test we discover that there is enough of an overlap of truth that we can all understand what is trying to be said: pour scalding hot water on any humans skin and it will burn whether they say it hurts or not. It seems odd to me that science would preoccupy itself with proving or disproving God because like the soul it is not something, which fits within the parameters of measurement. Thus, it requires as much faith in tools and human logic as faith does in believing in a living God of love.

I would highly recommend seeing this film as it most certainly cultivates questions. Serious questions which need to be asked and it does it in a very interesting way. I thought some of the information on how the brain works and sends its messages to the body was riveting. The choice of Marlee Matlin, in the acted scenes, was indeed a brilliant piece of casting; it sends a marvelous message in the use of a deaf actor. Matlin truly is stunning and there are some humorous bits for which I was grateful, at least the directors could laugh, which is a good sign. Ramtha, one the interviewed specialists said some very enlightened things although her pantheistic notion of godhead frustrates me, if we’re all god then what bleed’n difference does it make and who takes responsibility for the weakest links such as murders like Adolph sHitler (This is not a typo as he changed his name from Shitler to Hitler. I always liked what Joseph Beuys said about Hitler: they should have let him into to art school, the outcome of history would have been different.)
I liked the movie because anything, which makes people think and ask, is a rare gem in a world where most are trying to be oblivious to any kind of introspection.

What stops the something of the cosmos from pouring into the nothing of emptiness ?

So what did I do after the film? I went on my back deck to look at the moon and stars working perfectly in a structured universe and thanked God that it all has meaning, even my perception of it. This image is of my backyard looking into the night sky in early spring at around 2:00 am EST.

Happy Easter

HE IS RISEN

HE IS RISEN INDEED

_________________

By the way I don't believe in the Easter Bunny.
Santa told me he didn't exist.

A Perfect Day

Yesterday, my wife Maria, daughter Nicole with her friend Justine and me, went for a short drive down to Lake Erie one of the Great Lakes. Three of the Great Lakes are located very close to us, easily with in a half an hour to one-hour drive from our home. The other two require a bit more of a drive but can be reached by car if we so desire.

I wanted to go and see what the state of the water was like, with winter holding on as long as it has. I wanted to see if there was still ice on the lakes and how much of it was still frozen over. As our backyard is still snow covered, I was half expecting the lake to be one huge ice-cube. I was surprised by the short drive down, as many of the farmer’s fields were in fact bare of snow, although the woods and surrounding forests still had a thick coat of snow on the ground. When we arrived at Port Stanley and headed to the beach, the lake appeared before us calm and clean of ice, except for a few spots here and there where ice still clung to the coves. It was a warm but grey day as the pictures below convey. It was a stunning thing to see the sky meet the water with the shafts of yellow light breaking through the clouds in pillars before us. It was also nice to be with my daughter on such a little outing as at 14 she doesn’t usually want to go on many adventures with us anymore.

What a glorious day it was then, walking on that beach. My darling wife and I walked the sand and admired the marvelous vistas opening up before us in the landscape, while my daughter and her friend did what 14-year-old girls do. Peace and serenity enveloped in the love of family and friends. A perfect day.

Sadly, there was still ice as seen in these pictures and the countryside still has ample snow. However, the signs of spring are beginning to show everywhere. You could see the snow melting and the runoff of water streaming down the fields and meadows. The rivers while not swollen were still filled to their edges with quickly moving water. The birds could be seen everywhere in the sky and along the roadside. We even saw a Red-Winged Blackbird, a Hawk, flocks of Geese migrating back North from their Southern winter habitats, many crows and gulls, but no sign of the true messenger of spring the Red-Breasted Robin.

Ice on Lake Erie, Port Stanley, S.W. Ontario, Canada.

I hope these images can convey the beauty of winter as it slowly releases it's grasp on us, even if it has felt like a death grip at times. I love the melting ice and the forms it takes as the water etches its eroding mark on it. After living for several years along the ocean in both Amsterdam and New York, I truly miss the sea, when I’m away from it. The nice thing about the Great Lakes is that they are so large that you can’t see across to the other side and so you truly feel as though you’re by the sea, a fresh water sea. On days like this, I don’t miss New York City, or Holland, or warmer climates elsewhere, I truly can appreciate the created universe in all its majesty right here before me.Truly, a perfect day.

Very, very small icebergs on Lake Erie ( did I say small).

You don’t need to pinch me: when we got home the girls got in a fight and parted miserably. My son was there to harass me in assisting him with a paper for his University English Poetry class, the theme being Gardens. Diner still needed to be made and work needed to be done.
Yes, a perfect day.
__________________________
“…
Just a perfect day,
Problems all left alone,
Weekenders on our own.
It's such fun.
Just a perfect day,
You made me forget myself.
I thought I was someone else,
Someone good.

Oh it's such a perfect day,
I'm glad I spent it with you.
Oh such a perfect day,
You just keep me hanging on,
You just keep me hanging on.

You're going to reap just what you sow…”

Lou Reed
Transformer (1972)
Perfect Day

Easter's timely message

What makes a person wake up in the morning and write a confessional of their personal psychoses? Is it indeed hubris? Surely, you the reader must know that, I know that, I am not that important. Screwed up maybe but importantly screwed up most certainly not. Consider it a diary of my own turmoil in struggling with myself. Mornings really suck for me until the meds kick in.

Well, it snowed again on Wednesday leaving about 4 cm. (2 inches) of snow on the ground. Thursday, a deep day of introspection for me (as can be seen from yesterdays post), the sun came out and melted much of the freshly fallen snow away. Nevertheless, we still have an abundance of snow on the ground. I went for a walk at the Monastery of the Sisters of the Precious Blood on Wednesday. The ground was still firm with hardened snow making my walking on it easy. I walked through the grounds to assess the trees and what I saw was dormancy everywhere. Not one of the trees had any sign of spring, as there was no swelling of the buds, nothing but winter in all that I saw.

Yesterday, while walking down the drive of my home I looked down in the soil which surrounds my house and saw these tell tale signs that winter may indeed soon break its grasp over us here on the 43rd parallel (London, Ont. Can. AP 43° 2' N 81° 9' W).

Such tender beauty in the smallest of things.

In the soil, warmed by radiating heat of my home, these delicate and beautiful tiny flowers revealed themselves to me. What a joy it was to see them. This being Good Friday, I went out and photographed them so that I could post them here. I don’t think of it as coincidence that these exquisite harbingers of spring could reflect the same hope that Easter brings to me in terms of my faith. I understand completely why those with the power to decide in the past, elected to place this very special holiday in this time of rejuvenation and spring - it wasn’t wasted on me.

Snowbells first to pop their heads from the snow.

By way of information, I shot these images in macro-mode, thus the flowers are at a 1 to 1 ratio, they are so very tiny indeed. When I pulled back even further with the camera you can see that the snow still lays on the ground, even on this warm soil around my home.

Spring works its way through winters grasp.

As for the rest of my land, it is still covered with ample snow but with the sun drawing closer to us here in the northern hemisphere, I’m certain it will disappear soon enough. Easter then suggests the obvious, that there is hope and the beauty of rejuvenation to come – truly a spiritual experience.
To God be the glory.

By my own words, I will be judged.

By my own words, I will be judged.

I have been re-reading some of my posts below and I realize that by the very standards of morality and ethics, which I pontificate, I will at the very least be judged. I say at the least because I know the benchmark will in fact be higher than the bar, which I hold up.

Frightening realization really. It is not unlike the pointing finger cliché: one finger pointing out in criticism of another, but three fingers pointing back towards you.

I must admit that in my shallow life I’ve been, a lair, I’ve put myself above others. I attempted to reach the mountaintop knowing that it would be lonely there. I’ve done so much more that I am utterly ashamed of. The seeds of my own actions have sowed many a field of weeds. Sadly, my actions have hurt others to such a degree that they have found it difficult to forgive me my transgressions.

All these years later, were I asked if I could live my life over would I make any changes? To which my answer is a resounding yes I would. I’d try to be a more loving man. Why? Well in all my faults and derelictions, I have always known that love is supreme. When I looked into the abyss of hopelessness, it was love that called out and said my life had meaning. When in my deepest pain I thought there could never be healing it was love that said my pain had meaning. When I had given up and thrown my lot in with the lost it was always love that called me out of the fog like a beacon from a lighthouse. The God of love has never let me down. Though I’ve turned my back on love in favor of my own selfish ambitions rooted in pure hedonism, it was always love that rescued me from the fruits of such self aggrandizement, which in time only lead to despair. Though I have had little faith, God’s has remained faithful to me even as I spat in loves face.

You know I often say to people that I am a Survivor of my own stupidity. Never have truer words been said. I’m not talking about mistakes or errors in judgments, no not even brain farts. I’m talking about conscious decisions to actually digress from the path of righteousness in favor of stroking my own hubris, sensuality, need for power, to stand in the centre of the universe as though I myself ruled it (damn Nietzsche). Every time I have done, it does not take long for the chickens to come home to roost. You can tell a tree from the fruit that it bears and in my short fifty years, there has been an abundance of sour grapes harvested. The tender mercy in all of this is that love has always been there to catch me and show me the errors of my ways. Love is pure and when God has shown me it, it has always been without out any expectations other than to accept it. Hard to do at times I assure you: I think of Dr. Faust sinking into hell at the end of Goethe’ book, as he descends into the abyss he sees a river of blood streaming over the edge and says, I know if I were to simply reach out and accept God’s forgiveness I will be spared. Sadly, Dr. Faust is unable to accept forgiveness and reach out to the God of love for it. He chose to follow a path of self and in the end; the self could not release his own vanity only to be lost. I’ve seen myself in many ways like Dr. Faust but the difference is that God has not failed me as I’ve reached out and acknowledged my shortcomings.

I am not the centre of the universe. You know I can’t even truly understand the distance from earth to the sun, I know its 93 million miles, but I can’t fathom that. Therefore, how far to the next galaxy or the edge of the cosmos, it’s beyond my perception even if I know the science of it in terms of numbers. I am a finite being – I have a beginning. How big is love then, a love that could create such a marvelous universe? That’s what I’m talking about, when I take myself out of the centre and let God’s love direct me is when I find my greatest moments of joy, peace, and understanding. When I’m in that spot, the love of God, my family and friends, eclipses any desire that I may have for any selfish desire other than to be loved.

So as the victim of my own stupidity, I read what I’ve written and realize that I will myself be judged by what I have written and for that reason I have written this.

Thank you God for giving me love, meaning, hope and something to say in both my work and words.
To God be the glory.

Reality TV's Real Message

Just how eccentric am I?

After watching so-called reality TV, I am convinced that overall message of these shows is on a similar plane to politics. Lying, cheating, and every other such moral dilemma sadly receives just too much affirmation. That is not how life should be lived and this is most definitely not reality! Regrettably, the message being sent is the wrong message - but then would love, generosity, kindness, and compassion sell on prime time TV? If it’s "lonely at the top”, who would aspire to be there when you'd could be with your friends and family? The only real message from reality TV that rings true to my ear is that “Money is the root of all evil!”
That said, I do have a sense of humor and after watching last nights episode (22/03/05) of the Amazing Race I had to laugh and laugh I did. Watching these two play a game and do it so perfectly. When they stepped on that plane, after catching up, seeing the faces of the others who thought they hadn't made it. One of the couples actually remarked "Survive this", assuming they had been left behind, only to watch them walk down the aisle of the jet a moment later… ouch, my side still hurts from laughter.
In the abstract and on a level of pure entertainment, these two do it the very best and I am dually impressed by their luck, sheer ability and competitiveness. So just how whacked out am I…

Rob Mariano and Amber Brkich

ROB and AMBER

Amazing Survivors

For Presidents of the USA

________________________________

;)~

The sin of Hubris and Chelsea Football Club

“Uefa's disciplinary committee yesterday accused Jose Mourinho of "poisoning" football with the claim that the referee Anders Frisk had spoken in his dressing room with the Barcelona manager Frank Rijkaard at the Camp Nou last month.
Yesterday Chelsea, Mourinho, his assistant Steve Clarke and the club's security official Les Miles were charged with bringing the game into disrepute. Mourinho, Clarke and Miles were accused of making "wrong and unfounded" statements over what they claimed they had seen occur at half-time of the Champions League match at the Camp Nou and the trio may now face fines or touchline bans if found guilty at a hearing on March 31.”
“Uefa rages at Mourinho 'poison'”, by Matt Scott. Tuesday March 22, 2005. The Guardian

Beyond The Edge of Reason - is not an oxy-Mourinho

Well I don’t want to harp on about the same thing, time in and time out, but as this is the topic of the day it’s time to do just that, I’m back to the old saw and bending it to make the same ranting sounds yet again.
At the risk of sounding as if I’m wearing a white collar surrounded by black, I am forced to fall back on an intrinsic law of life: “Your sins find you out”. Lies make you feel as though you solve a problem quickly but the long-term results of such behavior lead to huge issues of self-esteem. I think the Chelski thing is exactly such an example as I’ve said time and time again. Even when they “The Mercedes Marxists” or better yet a classic example of an oxymoron “Rich-Russian Backed Team” (i.e., benevolent dictator) win the EPL, look at what they’re doing with their reputation both in England, Europe and amongst fans of the beautiful game worldwide.

Think about it, when Johann Kruyff says things like “before long, an empty Stamford Bridge will stand testament to the fans' disgust at a style of football that makes watching paint dry vastly more appealing. Loathsome Chelsea," said he, "is blight on the modern game. Boredom in blue.” When Officials state that their leaving the game or retiring, because of a clubs official comments and fans conduct. When UEFA charges three of your team’s officials, coaches, security for inappropriate behavior and accuses you publicly of being liars. When the EPL and FA are pressing over charges of tapping up of a cross town rival team (Arsenal). You’d start to think that the proverbial shite was hitting the fan. No not (oxy)Moron-ho and his glaring example of what he thinks of all the various means of professional behavior by a team and it’s coaches towards the whole infrastructure of European football.

Detail from my work: SISYPHUS' DESCENDANTS (Triptych) by Gerard Pas 1993-96.

Chelski leadership is the quintessential example of HUBRIS gone completely amuck. What they don’t realize is that they are creating an environment similar to that of the Greek character “Sisyphus” whose punishment for the same sin of hubris was to push a damn stone up a mountain only to have it role down and push it back up the other side, ad-infinitum. The best I could say about Cheski is that they have the “Midas touch” but with silver instead of gold. Sadly, at the end of the day when everything you touch turns to “silver” what good is it if you lost all that you love about football. Truly, they will reap the seeds that they themselves deserve. I’m glad that UEFA had the “balls” to actually stand up and say “We think your getting to big for your own shoes and this behavior must stop”, by charging three members of the club, something the spineless FA seems reluctant to do. I hate to say it but the chickens are coming home to roost.

What kills me in all of this is that the sin of pride has so blinded Chelski’s management that they probably think they’re right and that fans worldwide don’t see it. Truly, hubris gone mad.

I’m the kinds of person who likes to give second chances but this whole thing has indeed gotten out of hand and Cheski needs at the very least to be censored by the powers that be. This media BS that they dish out as a tissue of lies needs to be stopped. How I don’t know? Maybe, Moron-ho’ parish priest needs to make this good catholic boy say a string of rosaries or put on a hair shirt on under his suit, then again maybe UEFA or FIFA needs to make them smart some with something painful other than a fine.

All said, “Yes Johnny there is a God!” and righteousness does prevail, your sins do find you out. Chelski will indeed get what it deserves with its Midas touch and it’s hubris as we are beginning to see now.
Sadly, is this just the beginning of a new state in the high financed world of sport entertainment, when leaders such as (oxy)Moron-ho become the benchmark of how to behave? A very sad comment on the business of sport and soccer.

I all of this I don’t slight the players of Chelski as they are living out their dream, sadly maybe they don’t realize that money can’t buy you happiness but can most certainly help you spread misery as it seeks company.

GP

Happy birthday Mom and Dad

Happy birthday mom and dad.
Mom (Nicolette) was seventy yesterday and dad (Martin) turns seventy-six today.
I love you both; you gave me life and loved me throughout it to this day.
Thanks!

your love has nurtured me from a happy duckling

into a happier swan - with a little help from Novo-Citalopram

As you can see, I am very happy to celebrate your birthday's with you on these first days of spring.

Frodo has failed.

The ring of power - Frodo has failed!

This explains why George W. Bush has been able to attain the power he has and why he’s not afraid to use it as he does.

My rural countryside here in Ontario.

South-Western Ontario near West Lorne.

Well for the sake of understanding the environment that I live in, I thought I’d show you this image of the surrounding landscape here in South Western Ontario, Canada. This image is taken to the southwest of London near West Lorne, Ontario. This area is very flat and often reminds me of my birthplace, the Netherlands. In the spring and on grey cloudy days it shares a similar sky and skyline as Holland. While I like mountains there is something to understanding where you live particularly if you are a landscape painter, as I have been in the past. I’d recognize this winter scene anywhere in the world that it was shown me, although I will admit the American mid-west has many similarities (Iowa). I took the image while visiting a good friend and excellent artist Ed Zelenak who lives in West Lorne. This image would make an excellent painting.

__________________________________
On other news: Blackburn 0 – 1 Arsenal. Ugly but ultimately a sweet game for the Arsenal. Arsenal will face Blackburn in the weeks to come for the FA Cup semi-final so it was a good test as many of the starting 11 were sidelined by injuries and the youth came out to play. Kudos' to them!

Winter Bamboo

Last years bamboo is still standing in my backyard during this month of March. Still too much snow! We can feel the warmth of spring in the sun now and beg for its quick return.

Can money buy you misery?

You know the old adage if not cliché saying, “Money can’t buy you happiness.” well I’d like use this platitude to elucidate my views of Chelsea FC of the English Premiere League.
Owning a fine high performance German sports car in North America is all about prestige and has nothing to do with using the machine to its maximum capabilities as we have controlled speed limits on all our highways. Thus, you look good on the outside but you can never truly use the insides. Sound boring. Sitting there in a New York traffic jam doesn’t get you where you want to be any faster than the person next to you in the Honda Accord and both cars have air conditioning.
That is how I see Chelsea FC, they may have the prestige of winning, but their style of football is, in my humble opinion, unexciting. It is a defensive style of football that frankly put, puts me to sleep as a fan - truly uninspiring!

Coach Rinus Michels lifts the European Champions Cup for Ajax FC at Wembley in 1971.

During the last weeks, the legendary Dutch coach Rinus Michels passed from this world onto that pitch in the sky on March 3, 2005 at the age of 77. Michels' invented the concept of Total Soccer.
Under Michels, the Netherlands national soccer team recorded some of their most famous victories with a team boasting the great Johan Neeskens and Johan Cruyff.
In 1974, they were defeated 2-1 by Germany in the final of the FIFA World Cup and four years later lost 3-1 to Brazil to become the first back-to-back runners-up in the history of the competition.
Soccer will miss Rinus Michels (1928-2005).

The type of soccer that Michels brought to the game is in antithesis to how Chelsea plays. It comes as no surprise to read the soccer legend and Dutch master Johan Cruyff comment that Chelsea’s style of play is harm to the game. Cruyff considers Chelsea are a real turn-off. Cruyff goes on to say that before long, an empty Stamford Bridge will stand testament to the fans' disgust at a style of football that makes watching paint dry vastly more appealing. Loathsome Chelsea, said he, is a blight on the modern game. Boredom in blue.
According to Cruyff, the result should never justify the means. He said Chelsea's performance in the first leg of the Champions League clash between the league leaders of Spain and England had "done everything to make me loathe football".
Cruyff added: "Barcelona must knock Chelsea out for the good of football. The Chelsea way of playing is clearly results above everything else.

For me Chelsea’s play is as frustrating as owning an Aston Martin DB9 on an American thruway - prestige without pride.

Money can’t buy you everything and most certainly, it can’t buy you happiness. So maybe that’s why Chelsea’s owner the Russian Oligarch, oil billionaire, Roman Abramovich, bought the team to find some kind of expression for his unhappiness. What Abramovich is really doing with his millions of pounds, through Chelsea style of play, is just spreading his misery.
In closing yet another empty vapid platitude, “Misery seeks company”.
Thanks but no thanks Roman.

ps. How can there be a Russian oil billionaire? It seems almost as oxymoronic as considering Joseph Stalin a benevolent dictator.

New symbol of the Evil Empire Chelski FC

______________________________________

pss - it snowed another 6-7 cm (4 inches) last night

Am I crazy or can you see improvements

Now there are probably those of you who after reading this mindless swill, which I’ve written below that think, I’m totally bonkers. You know sometimes when I ask myself why I’m writing this one-sided monologue of a blog that I don’t wonder myself. I thought when I started that it would be away for those who care about my work and me (hi mom) to get a reflection of how I’m doing both as a person and as an artist. Now doubt is creeping in and I ask myself are these not just the machinations of someone who’s gone totally crazy. Maybe, I’m not sure but please let me know what you think.

Then there are other days that I look at how far I’ve come. I mentioned using psycho-pharms or medication in the post below and maybe the results of these tells the real tale of my sanity. My doctors tell me I’m doing well and if I look back at my history indeed maybe, I am doing better.

However, I’d like to postulate a question for the 2 of you that read this blog (no not you mom), okay 1 of you then. Here are some pictures from my history. After seeing them, I’d like to ask: are they a pathology of insanity or a testament of growth?

The first is of me as a baby, before polio and medications. Yes, the doctor slapped my mom and not me when I was born.

Me as a baby - Am I not cute?

The next is of me as an adolescent while using drugs of an illegal nature and most definitely in the higher ranks of narcotics. I’m not much of one for symmetry or balance and after looking at this picture, I think you will understand why.

Me as a teen - didn't I develop perfectly?

The last picture is of me today, all doped up on Novo-Citalopram: legally of course.

Me today - Don't I seem balanced?

So what do you think? Do you see an improvement or am I just wrestling with reality. Is all this mindless gibberish I’ve been writing bringing me to a higher state of enlightenment, or am I just tumbling down the abyss of terminal retardedness?
Truth be told, I can’t tell the difference but that could be because the world is upside down to me.

_____________________________________
On a happy note: Bolton 0 – 1 Arsenal in the FA cup ¼ final today means they’ll advance to the semi-final stage. This might be the only silverware they win this year but I’m also rooting that they place second in the EPL, ahead of Manchester United - known more affectionately by me as ManUre. Go Gunners go.

NUNS - GUNnerS and habits

Okay enough about soccer for the time being. Yeah right, just like the statement this is my last cigarette from a three pack a day smoker. More like this is my last cigarette before the next one. No, I do not smoke cigarettes, just whacky tabacky for me.

Well this is my last post on soccer before the next one then. All this talk about loosing. My trust worthy catholic guilt kicking in. Hanging on to hope. The stress. This has all cultivated some rather strange feelings in me.

On the topic of religion. My catholic guilt actually has no resolution in my life anymore because I became Calvinist long ago. Now it is Calvinist Guilt and the only thing they feel any remorse for is money: a Dutchman can buy from a Jew, sell to a Scott, and still make a profit, being a good example. Besides, I don’t have any money to speak of so all of this is mere hyperbole. Religion, like sport is not worth fighting for unless someone is trying to stop you from exercising it. Truthfully, I am not a total Calvinist either as I don’t really like the idea of organized religion. I believe in God with all my heart and hopefully in deeds as well. I am just a Christian, unlike sports I don’t really think God cares what membership or club card you hold. The rest is purely academic but I love a good dialectical discourse as well as the next – so bring it on, as long as its not just polemics, which goes nowhere anyway.

As for all this talk about sport and religion, well I’ve come to a realization, a paradigm shift if you’d like, a moment of pure cogitation. I’m going to take up another sport, which will hopefully accommodate both streams of interest. I’m going to take up hunting and join a hunting club, as seen in the picture below which also reveals the religious link. Yup, Gerard the hunter, the male Dianna. My name, Gerard from the Teutonic means Spear Power or Spear Thrower. Jeez, you know what else, I look marvelous in a florescent-day-glow orange vest and cap. Where is that confounded rabbit? I killed the wabbit, I killed the wabbit. Who say’s you can’t kill three birds with one stone – my rifle does, lol :)

Nuns with Guns - the club I want to belong to and I also have a habit or two or three...

Now I do have some worries about joining a gun club, because if like soccer clubs they have hooligan fans, what do they do to express they’re disgruntled behavior. Oh, well like the bumper sticker says “Insured by Smith & Weston” - as frightening a thought as that of a Calvinist bill/debt collector!

Wait a minute, I am a Canadian and we have rules about guns here – no one should have one unless you’re in a gun club and registered, a native or a legitimate hunter – no handguns allowed unless by very strict rules. No United States of America, 2nd Amendment, Constitutional protection here. We just say no to guns unless you want to go out and kill Bambi’s mother for food because that is okay. Clubbing seals is also allowed because you don’t need to use a gun, you don’t even need to be hungry :(
Wait, hold the presses, I could no longer kill Bambi’s mother as I could bludgeon a baby seal to death. I’m into love, peace and all that feel good shite.

Okay, so maybe it’s another sport for me then. Looks like I’m going to be practicing Cyber Sports on the Net like I’ve already done for years. Yes, I am a cyber athlete just like the one below whose clan I’m hoping on joining.

The inter-net gaming clan I want to join as I also have a habit, or two, or three...

Now all I need to know is what Cyber Athletes, hooligan fans do to exorcise their demons? Do they send spam bombs, vomit in your floppy drives? Someone help me here!

At this point, some of you might be wondering if I’m not more of a goner than the Gooner or Gunner I claim to be. I have just came back from visiting my doctor who says that he’d like me to stay on the meds and together with a compliment of psychological analysis things should work out. Damn, I’ve been on some kind of meds, legal or otherwise, since I was 13 years old and they’re still holding out hope 37 years later. Another reason not to get a gun, stick to the joystick, and mouse: you’ve never read “Man killed by Mouse or Joystick”. No NUNsense!

I always choose for life, always! Pain is my Muse and that’s why I sometimes change my last name to PAinS.

Stay tuned!

ps. It snowed another 2 to 3 cm. (1 inch) last night - you could see the wabbit twacks in the snow this morning.

I’m just Footy Mad

Those of you that are as Footy Mad as I am will already know how I am doing this fine day.

The Arsenal has lost to Bayern in aggregate total goals for the UEFA Champions League Cup.
Thus Arsenals win of 1 – 0 Bayern last night was not enough to displace Bayern who go ahead with 1 goal aggregate from their previous game at Bayern 3 – 1 Arsenal. The tragedy of it all!

So how do I deal with such a loss? Well if a picture is worth a thousand words then here is the picture, which expresses exactly how I feel.

A young soccer supporter expresses just how I feel about loosing.

That said I congratulate Bayern on the win, they worked hard for it and good luck with the rest of the tournament. As for me I’m rooting for Olympique Lyon now in this tournament. I can’t cheer for Chelsea (the evil Empire), I’m an AJAX fan so it’s hard to support PSV, Barcelona is out, so GO LYON. If Lyon loose then GO PSV. If PSV loose then GO LIVERPOOL. If they loose... I'M JUST FOOTY MAD.

Now all of this conjures up the catholic guilt in me. You know the feeling: it was my fault, I didn’t support the team enough, I didn’t believe strong enough, I should have spent more money on team merchandise, damn I should have taken the few dollars I do have and flown to the real London and watched the game at Highbury. So being the good catholic boy I was, I am going to make my penance clear in the hope of bringing the team back to glory for next years cup matches. I have decided to have my bedroom re-decorated, as shown below, and then I know they will be invincible and win everything: English Premiere League, Champions League Cup, FA Cup, Carling Cup, even the bleeding World Cup. For that matter, Arsenal will even win the Stanley Cup as no one is playing for it anyway, eh!

My future bedroom - mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa...

Shite, if that doesn’t work I’ll have my whole house done up like above, even on the outside. However, no club tattoos for me and my family – okay maybe the dog.

Off to get something to help with this gruesome headache – imbibed too many pints last night. Why do English bitters taste so sweet? -> Hey there is something in that question, a message or something…

Ouch my head hurts just from thinking.

ps. Yes it is still very cold and we still have a ton of snow on the ground.

I’m a Arsenal Gooner

Well tonight at 7:45pm GMT is the big night if you live in London, UK otherwise it is 2:45pm EST if you live in London, Canada. What night might that be? It hopefully is the night that Arsenal Football Club wins their UEFA Champions League match with Munchen Bayern.

Bayern currently have the advantage after winning over Arsenal in their first game by a score of 3 to 1. Using the UEFA formula of aggregate goals, both home and away, this means that the Arsenal must beat Bayern with a score line of more than 2 goals: thus Arsenal 2 – 0 Bayern or Arsenal 3 – 1 Bayern. Personally, I am hoping for a score line of Arsenal 3 – 0 Bayern. Don’t pinch me I’m not sleeping.

Thierry Henry #14 - Arsenal's greatest striker.

It may seem like a Sisyphean struggle for Arsenal but not one that they cannot endure and overcome, such is my confidence in the world’s greatest striker Thierry Henry (seen above). The good news is that Dennis Bergkamp will play this game and with his vision of the field, provide Thierry Henry with the service needed to make goals. Overall, it will be a high tempo game and of course, with my shitey luck one game I can’t see because it is just not being aired in North America. Boo Hoo it sucks to be me.

If I had the money of say another big Arsenal supporter, like Spike Lee, I would have jetted over to the real London last night to catch the game today – pinch me I am dreaming (the real London?).

Spike and Thierry - I'm standing behind them :)

So that’s what fills my thoughts today. Not art making, nothing other than how the Arsenal will come back from a crushing defeat at the hands of Bayern and win this day, moving into the quarter finals of the UEFA Champions League. Then maybe the Arsenal will get some more luck, pull Chelsea FC in the ¼ final draw, and school the evil empire and its hordes of Russian blood money. Yes, good can win over evil!


New symbol of the Evil Empire Chelski FC

Therefore, I am lighting a little fire under my arse to warm me up on this cold March night because it’ll be pints and pints of Bacchanalia tonight in London Town; be that the real one or the other one in Canada. Don’t you just love committed fan support or should that read fans support should be committed? Fortunately, this is not an image of Arsenal fans but then again everyone loves a good BBQ although not being cooked alive on one.
So maybe I’ll just wear my Arsenal scarf instead of the fireworks!

Yikes - the sad part of soccer, the bleedin hooligans.

Rise up Arsenal and take what is yours – go gunners go.
I am a gooner!

Other than that, how is your day?

Autoeroticism

Well it seems that I might not in fact be deteriorating right on schedule.

In addition to the problems with my mouth, the onset of Diabetes Type Two, I was also diagnosed with Carpal Tunnel Syndrome some five months ago. I was getting these weird electrical tingles in my right painting hand, sometimes intensifying at night, these tingles would develop into pure and utter pain. Jeez, with all this pain and suffering going on inside my body, you’d think the Muse were somewhat overactive in inspiring me, if indeed pain is the root of inspiration – more pain more art.

As it were, I went for my second series Electromyography or EMG nerve tests last week and it came back with positive results. My previous test had showed a nerve reaction time of 6.7ms, the normal being about 3.9ms., this last test came back with a 4.7ms time. My doctor Dr. Potter, a fine Scottish man who as well as myself shares an interest in playing the pipes, he playing the Highland Pipes and I the Uilleann Pipes, completely understood my concern as an artist and in particular because I use my right hand to paint. I had in fact gone into this second set of tests with an eye on having the surgery required to alleviate the pain and thus the problem. However, with these recent EMG test results it seems I have won a reprieve from the scalpel for the time being. At Dr. Potters, suggestion we have elected to wait and see what happens in the hope that there could be even better results in the following six months: something like from 4.7ms to 3.9ms.
This came as good news, though tempered by a birds-eye view into the future on how this condition could still worsen.


Please don't cut me there - unless you really have to!

Now the only damn problem is this brace, which I must wear in the evenings and while I sleep. I hate braces because of the years I was forced to wear one on my leg because of Polio Mytelus, which I had contracted as a baby. Oddly, when I first went to visit my family doctor, I had a strange feeling that the pains in my hand might have been a direct result of Post Polio Syndrome; gladly it was not. When I was a boy, I looked for every opportunity to remove the brace from my leg. If it were broken, I would get to wear my running shoes and run free through the neighbourhood instead of lugging that damn 5 pounds of steel around affixed to my body. Anyway, all of this is something that definitely deserves more writing on my part and maybe I will do just that in the days to come. As for now, I am just happy to not be cut by a knife and that there is improvement in the nerve passages of my hand so that I can paint and not feel pain. For all you moribund followers of my work, yes there is still pain when I create but its something which must be resolved on a psychologists couch and not a surgeons table.


The brace I'm now forced to wear - I hate braces
(more on braces in later posts)

The absolute benefit to all this is that I can get on with the very thing, which caused the Repetitive Stress Disorder in the first place but we don’t talk about that in polite society; or do we?

Hugh McIntyre 1936 – 2004 | Nihilist Spasm Band

I thought I would give a little attention to an acquaintance / friend of mine who died recently: Hugh McIntyre 1936 – 2004.


Hugh McIntyre playing his hand made bass with the Nihilist Spasm Band.

I first met Hugh McIntyre, most notably the Bass Player for the Nihilist Spasm Band as a young man of 14 in 1969. At that time, I was attending Catholic Central High School (CCH) in London Canada. As students at CCH, a downtown school, we often used the London Public Central Library to research and find resources for the various assignments handed out by our teachers. I remember the first time I laid eyes on Hugh at the library where he was a librarian, as he was a formidable man, large, weighty and with a full beard and long hair, he demanded your attention. At the time and at such an age I think I probably feared Hugh. I thought he might represent the Book Collector, not in the traditional means of someone who collects books, but rather like the bill or debit collector who the library sent out to get overdue books or truant returns – you know the strong arm of the library. He was a bear of a man and from the outside like a bear deserved respect.

I actually got to know Hugh a few years later when I started studying art at H.B. Beal Technical School (1973) and was drawn into the London art community. I started to attend openings and artistic venues were invariable Hugh would always be. Many an opening at the Forest City Gallery spent sucking on a beer and if only superficially spent exchanging platitudes with Hugh. I was able to see that behind the bear of a man was a bright, sensitive, and creative person.

After graduating from Art School (1974), I took a studio in the downtown core of London and would often spend a Monday night listening to the Nihilist Spasm Band followed afterwards with a few brews down at the Richmond Hotel, then a seedy hardcore beer-drinking establishment, in a world which was then turned onto Disco. Suffice it to say what a rare pleasure it was to listen to the experimental music of the Nihilist Spasm Band and to then join the likes of Greg Curnoe, Hugh McIntyre, John Clement, John Boyle, Bill Exley, Murray Favro, and Art Pratten. Greg and Murray being two artists for whom I had the greatest admiration for, even being lucky enough to have worked for and with Murray on his project “Van Gogh’s Bedroom” a few years before. Murray Favro’s art remains some of the best art I have ever seen even to this day. In many ways, Greg and Murray were responsible for me even believing that one could survive a life as an artist and inspired me to focus on alternatives to the then apathy of Disco and my dedication to the early roots of Punk in Canada. When I became a member of the Forest City Gallery in 1976 (an artist collective), I got even more chances to see Hugh and in life considered it an honour to have been influenced by the likes of these guys in the Nihilist Spasm Band. Not many young artists living in a small Canadian city during the early seventies had such privilege. I owe so much to their pioneering spirit and their generosity in allowing young artists like myself to join in, if even only by joining them for a beer, let alone being a member of the same artists collective.

Then came a time were I spent many years living away from London, Canada but on my return in the eighties there they were. Still producing the same great art, still upholding their community and as generous as I had always known them to be. This is a real testament to the likes of Hugh, Greg and Murray, because their generosity just never waned and because of it I think the London art community could indeed produce excellent art and world-class artists – yes right here in a small Canadian city 1000 km or 600 miles to the west of New York. I mention New York because of my love of Greg Curnoe and the one thing he always taught me and that was “good art can be made anywhere, yes even here”, one didn’t need to be in a major capitol.
When Greg Curnoe died in 1992, after being killed on his bike in a tragic car accident, I got to see a bit more of Hugh at all the events commemorating Greg’s memory, some of which I helped organize at the time. The loss of Greg was a real blow to me as he had been at first a childhood hero, his art touched me even as a teen with visits to the National Gallery of Canada in Ottawa were I saw it prominently displayed – I really liked his shit. Who would have ever thought that he would also become my friend? He showed me confidence in my own work, for which I borrowed his Dadaistic lexicon also, but he also supported me. We went on many a bike ride together as I was a cyclist at the time and he used to love to cajole me with his deep sardonic wit. His premature death came as not only a shock but also a blow to me; suddenly London was missing something of great importance, which in my humble opinion has never been replaced. I even dedicated this piece to Greg after his death based on my relationship with my grandfather who also died the same year. Later, I went on to curate a show of his work with the help of his widow Sheila at Redeemer College where I was a member of the Arts Faculty. I mention Hugh in this correlation with Greg because I always knew him in those circles with Greg Curnoe and Murray Favro: both of whom I owe a great deal and have the ultimate respect for as artists.


By Gerard Pas "Greg Curnoe in the Forest CityMariposa T.T." 1993-94
watercolour on paper
click image to enlarge.

Now much has been written in eulogy of Hugh at the Nihilist Spasm Bands website for which this is the link. Much of what is written there is better than my contribution because it is written by true friends who lived and dealt with Hugh on a daily basis. While I knew Hugh, enjoyed his company on many an occasion, drank too many beers with him on occasion, I would never be so arrogant as to think of myself as anything more than admirer of his character and work as a bassist. That said he left an indelible impression on me as a teen, fleshed out in a real person when I became a man and I will miss him. I grieve his loss to our community and his contributions through his music with the Spasms. All of this has conjured up the same sadness as the day I received a telephone call from a fellow cyclist who had been on the same London Centennial Wheelers ride (our cycling club) announcing that Greg Curnoe was killed earlier that day.
I lament your death Hugh and give credit to you for the great things you have done for London and our artist community. He did so much. I loved his smile!

Adieu Hugh may we meet with God.
Now I can finally return those overdue books.

Snow, dogs, shite and shovel.

I spent a little time looking at what I have been focused on in this blog over the last while. It seems I’ve been lamenting the snow in several articles. I have written about shovels. I spent some time talking about dogs and my longest post (in terms of cm.) has been on shite.
All of this has conjured up a horrible image in my mind. It is of what I like the least of spring thaw and it relates directly to all of the above. What might that be? Well they are not the flowers of spring, but they do pop out from under the snow and produce an odiferous scent into the air. Those freshly thawed dog turds, which only spring, can reveal in all its majesty and to my disgust. Yes, that will be me with the damn shovel cleaning up the legacy of winter in the short weeks to come. Yuk.

Why write a blog on dog poop? For no other reason than to convey the fact that the mundane exists even in the life of an artist. It is not all about sitting in a café with a beret on soaking up the suds, as the muse whisper inspiration into our ears. No sometimes it is as boring as shoveling poop, driving the kids, getting groceries, making dinner everyday, cleaning up and all those domestic responsibilities that we all face. Reassuring isn’t it!



Yuk, the one thing about spring I'm not looking forward to.

Always that wry little smile.

Well, the sun burst out of the grey today and cast its warming glow over all of creation. How resplendent nature becomes when embraced with the warming rays of the sun. I'd thought you should see it in juxtaposition to the summer light. Here are two images from the same sculpture in my backyard, one in summer and the other winter. Funny the Buddha just doesn't seem to mind the cold and smiles glibly through it all. Me I'm freezing my balls off and Buddha just smiles. In the summer I'm sweating like a sprinkler system and the Buddha just smiles. You know there are days I'd like to wipe that smirk right of Buddha's face but happily this isn't one of them. I would nevertheless like to postulate the question "How do you wipe the smile of the Buddha’s face?" You wipe it off with a hammer of course or a lot of sandpaper ;)

Here is something to smile about Arsenal 3 vs Portsmouth 0 - March 5, 2005. Go Gunners Go! You'd need a canon to wipe the smile off of my face -> Manchester United 0 vs Cyrstal Palace 0. Oh yeah!

Warhol lived a dogs life - Bad dog.

Do you think dogs suffer from human emotions such as jealousy? Well if you own dogs you know that they of course do. Many times I've reached out to greet another dog only to have my little Jack Russell Terrier, named "Skipper", brood with discontent, occasionally making his disapproval apparent with a snarl or a shove.

So it is today, that after portraying my working poodle's pulling the sled (in post below) Skipper wants a little of his fifteen minutes of fame, which in dog years equates to 1 hr. 45 min. of fame - which again proves that it's a dogs life having even 1hr. 30 min. more time in the limelight. Based on this conclusion, Warhol must have been a dog as he certainly had more than his conditional fifteen minutes of fame. Maybe Warhol's additional time is similar to the pigs in George Orwell's "Animal Farm" - all animals are equal, it's just that some animals are more equal than others. Warhol you dog! (I first exhibited with Warhol when I was in my early twenty's.)

Back to my dog and our time.
Thus, I thought I'd give our family pet a little nudge of recognition for all the joy he's brought to our lives here - even if he can't pull a sled and runs around outside on three legs, alternating three of his four, while trying to keep one paw warm. In this picture he is in the living room of our home listening to one of my favourite songs of all time "What About Me?" by The Nihilist Spasm Band.

Good boy, good boy Skipper.

CanaDada - true north strong and free

It has gotten so bad that I've had to resort to using the dogs and sled to go and fetch milk these days. Unlike New York traffic between 4-6pm on the Brooklyn Queens Expressway BQE, it is starting to seem like the bloody Iditarod Race the closer you get to the store to get your supplies here. Oh well the dogs like the exercise and I look good in a gore-tek parka, a woolen hat, gore-tek pants, thermal long-johns, sweaters, lined mitts, snow blind glasses, and big felt lined boots. What I can't understand is why I can't get any respect from all those guys with their husky dog teams down at the store, I mean they are King Size Poodles pulling my sled.

It's all warm and cozy looking out of my kitchen window at all this snow. Did I mention that, yes it is still snowing? I guess it is what you have to pay for the privelege of living in "The True North Strong and Free".

Snow Shovels and Dada in CanaDada

Marcel Duchamp
"In Advance of the Broken Arm or Shovel" Replica 1964
Original: Nov. 1915, New York (lost)
wood and galvanized-iron
American snow shovel
readymade
no dimensions recorded

It seems to me that these days, with all this snow, I am involved in some kind of subversive Dadaist performance piece. In as much as I'm being forced to spend a couple of hours everyday shoveling snow from my driveway and walkways using Marcel Duchamp's provocative piece from 1915 titled "In Advance of the Broken Arm or Shovel". Therefore, instead of being in my studio I'm outside manipulating the Duchamp piece (above) around my property in Canada. I truly think that Joseph Beuys' statement that "The silence of Duchamp is overrated." is a very fitting in light of all the use I'm getting of his piece in the form of the snow shovel. Maybe he should of painted a landscape or two instead of remaining silent in his later years. Then again, maybe living in New York taught him the value of this shovel in our society as it was easier to shovel winter (rain) out of the driveway in Paris than in the North and North East of North America.

Less of More - please

More snow, more shoveling, more snow, more shoveling, more pain in the back. Hey how about Less of More in the vain of Ludwig Mies van der Rohe. It just keeps snowing here, telling us that nature does not constrain itself to the dictates of Der Plastiek and we're getting More of More. This image is of my family home in Canada or we're I and my loved ones live and shovel. Remember to call before you visit and for Pete's sake bring a snow blower.

It just keeps snowing with another 15-20 cm (6-8 inches) of snow last night and still snowing. This image is from my deck looking into our backyard with my studio to the right (beige building). My, my, there is just too much snow in these frozen 4 hectares of Canada. I'm rooting for the lamb and not the lion this spring.

Good news Arsenal won their FA Cup Tie Match/Game with Sheffield United last night 4-2 on penalty kicks. Go Gunners go!

Ornamental grasses bend under the weight of the last night's snowfall in the backyard of my family home in Canada. They stood all winter but alas as spring approaches they ready themselves for this years new growth.

Another 15 cm. of snow (6 in.) last night to the metre (3 ft.) we already have. Thus March comes in like a lion and hopefully will leave like a lamb. This image is taken from my backyard. It is beautiful but winter is just too long in Canada.