Beautifully overcats and windy. Sitting in the Preferred Club lounge eating a breakfast of salmon, proschutto and mini croissants; strawberries, watermelon & chocolate sauce. The Dominican Republic is known for great chocolate. And I agree. It is great chocolate.


A day of animals...

Two parrots in the tree; two little lizards scambling across the sidewalk at different times; the white crane is nervous; the flamingos are sleeping; a small snake crosses our path.

Blazing sun at noon. Hide in the shade.

Relaxing in leather sling-back chairs while the both the locales and the tourists gaze at the blue-haired freak in red Fluevogs. I enjoy being unique.

Beer is good, water is better.


we arrived. Pretty surreal to be here. Beautiful. I feel like a spoiled tourista.

Waiting for someone to come and kick us out of this amazing room.

They think we are on a honeymoon. Chocolate covered strawberries were waiting. We get a private lounge as a preferred club member. I just ordered Sea Bass for supper as room service. Sue ordered the beef burger. Taking it easy tonight. Eat, relax, maybe a dip in our off deck private jacuzzi.

They are playing GI JOE on the beach on the outdoor screen.
...and here we go.

Into the sun.


The best laid plans so easily go awry. Fissures and spasms create a world of impossibilities. One can not take a train to an island or use the luggage rack as a sleeper cell.


Big brother comes in colours and pairs. Returning home on the bus, I witnessed a pair of volunteer patrolmen. They were in green. Like a lantern. It seems we've gone and divided our city into 'patrols'. There is the West End Biz patrol (the green ones), the Exchange Biz patrol (in yellow), and the Downtown Biz patrol (in red). It looks like a scene from Blackest Night out there, folks.

I don't think the North End has a patrol. They just have gangs.


When did I get so obsessed with the Olympics? I almost hooted with glee at the TV last night.


I don't know if I can do it all. My fight is waning.

Why are we going?

What will this all become?


I'm getting that 'new piece drive' that kicks in when elements start to gel. Patterns emerge from the subconsciousness and I go to bed thinking about mini shelves and dried roots. I'm up at 9am with the table saw and hand saw cutting ragged wood. Wishing I had a chop saw or knew how to cut straight.

Despite the angular cuts, the mini shelves are starting to come together. One is glued in place and drying nicely. I'll construct the second one and then decide what sits there.

The question of staining starts. Raw wood or some stain I found in the basement?



End of the day. Another opening night; a smooth event; working with the Ottawa version of myself. We work well together.


Lots of planning in my head on the new shadow box. Mini shelves. Dried foliage.


There are images swirling in my head; ideas needing flesh. But a roadblock sits there. Projects owed to other parties: Habitat For Humanity's Recreate art auction fundraiser; that fucking chipmunk; a prize for a wedding social. I'm sure there is another.

A roll of watercolour paper sits in my home studio. Four feet wide and thirty feet long. I've got some mad ideas.

Reading Jeffrey Brown's book Funny Mishapen Body reminds me of the lack of support comics received at NSCAD. Brown's feelings towards art and his disconnect ring true to my history and time at NSCAD. I saw a great deal of 'bullshit art' and a small proportion of great talent. That's why after college I ran from fine art and worked on zines; minicomics. But the market was small. Not much in terms of peers. Maybe that's why I am returned to fine art. I saw more potential to tell stories in a new manner.

Is it me, or are there more supports out there for new artists that were not around when I left college. BMO art prizes. New artist grants this and that.

Hmmm. A lost generation.
It had been awhile since an attack of such strength. When I was distracted, the conductor slipped in through the side door of my psyche. The orchestra started off with an adagio and before I knew it the crescendo was in full swing; my nerves played with sharp bows of fire;a pizzicato screaming through my brain.

I had to take a ticket out of there. A small blue pill, barely the size of a tiny watch battery.

Finale set in as a slowly fell to sleep.


Hello, old friend. It's been awhile. The odd sketch now and then but mostly vacancies and dust motes. Over there, the grass wasn't all that green. Sure, a few fancy lawn ornaments and some new neighbours; but too much change. Turn a corner and there is a new freeway where a park use to sit. Gentrified.

Here; an acreage. Your favourite tree will always be there.