Theo Jansen’s Strandbeests

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Neath Turcot Exhibition at Cafe Victoria Through April

Hope to see a lot of you at the vernissage this Saturday between 4 and 7, if not, please drop by during the month. I feel this is the best show I have done yet in terms of it’s scope of ideas, blending old projects with new and the ever ongoing.

Neath Turcot

Cafe Victoria

4559 Rue Wellington

Verdun

514-564-8088

Metro de l’Eglise

Vernissage  Saturday, April 6, 4-7

 

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The Trashcam Project

Here is a remarkable photography project using  garbage dumpsters as pinhole cameras. The city of Hamburg has allowed it’s trash collectors to drill small holes into these portable bins that are loaded with large sheets of light sensitive paper. And the results are often quite stunning!

From their Flickr page -

Hamburg´s garbagemen portrait their city in the Trashcam Project – with their garbage containers. Standard 1.100 litre containers are transformed to giant pinhole cameras. With these cameras the binmen take pictures of their favourite places to show the beauty and the changes of the city they keep clean every day.

The Trashcam Project was developed by Christoph Blaschke, Mirko Derpmann, Scholz & Friends Berlin and the Hamburg sanitation department. Special thanks to Hamburg based photographer Matthias Hewing (www.matthiashewing.de/) for his professional advice and the challenging lab work with the giant negatives.

Garbageman Hans-Dieter Braatz is taking a picture with a 1.100 litre garbage container transformed into a pinhole camera. It will take 2 minutes of framing and one hour waiting. Picture taken by Mirko Derpmann with a fuji gw690 on Fuji Velvia.

The Speicherstadt in Hamburg photographed with a garbage container by
Hans-Dieter Braatz, Christoph Blaschke and Mirko Derpmann. Shot on a 106×80 cm sheet of ilford multigrade with an hour exposure time.

The skyline of the Hafencity in Hamburg photographed with a pinhole garbage container by garbageman Hans-Peter Strahl, Christoph Blaschke and Mirko Derpmann. Shot on a 106×80 cm sheet of ilford multigrade with six minutes exposure time.

Garbageman Roland Wilhelm takes a picture of himself and his trashcam with a second trashcam. Photographed with a pinhole garbage container by Roland Wilhelm, Christoph Blaschke and Mirko Derpmann at the site of Hamburg´s wase collecting service. Shot on a 106×80 cm sheet of ilford multigrade with six minutes exposure time. Please show some respect for Rolands fantastic ability to not move.

The Marco Polo Tower photographed with a 1.100 litre garbage container by Michael Pfohlmann, Christoph Blaschke and Mirko Derpmann. Shot on Ilford Multigrade with 10 minutes exposure time.

And here is a video, in German, explaining the project.

Trashcam Project Flickr Page

 

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Clay Lipsky – Atomic Overlook

Clay Lipsky – Atomic Overlook

All this reminds me of Alex Colville’s painting, Pacific.

This fellow has evolved to where he now occupies the potential last chapter of history where the only options are waiting and suicide.  He is the typical postarctic human no longer required to take action or even consider it. It’s a nice day, and there may be some more, who knows?

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Josef Hoflehner – Jet Airliner

Josef Hoflehner – Jet Airliner

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Circular River by Kahn & Selesnick

PLATE 2: WE REACH THE FRONTIER OF THE BURYAT TERRITORY AND DISCOVER A PYRAMID OF PRAYER FLAGS. Well over a month since we parachuted onto the Siberian Steppe. Flat, featureless country still; it is impossible to judge scale and distance, havoc is wreaked with depth perception. Last week Bindon strode excitedly towards what he thought was a “bloody enormous oak, all the way out here, imagine that”, only to mysteriously lose sight of it and trip over a thorny shrub towering some three feet above the ground. Yesterday several hours were wasted stalking a tundra Grizzly that turned out to be a marmot.* I am reminded of accounts of fabulous Arctic mirages in the journals of early explorers, shimmering images of urban city skylines or distant mountain ranges caused by inversions in the lower atmosphere. So today, when we spot a pyramid of prayer flags on the distant horizon, Bindon insists on approaching it with abnormal caution, constantly reaching out to see if he can touch it. Our sense of awe, when we finally reach the object, is palpable – we appear to have arrived at the Buryat frontier.

*A Swedish explorer travelling in the Arctic in the late part of the 19th century recalled sketching in his journal a craggy headland with two unusually symmetrical glaciers, the whole of it being part of a large island, only to discover he was looking at a walrus. However, the most disorienting optical phenomenon in the Arctic regions is surely the white-out. It occurs most frequently during periods of blizzard or fog, when every perspective yields an unvarying, all-pervasive whiteness.

PLATE 43: WE ATTEND THE FUNERAL OF A SHAMAN KILLED IN THE BATTLE WITH THE NKVD. We put off our search for Westcott to attend Tusput’s funeral. The other world, Balog tells us, is an inverted image of this world. Everything that goes on here is reversed after death. Day on earth is night in the other world; scarce game here means plentiful game in the hereafter; there, the rivers flow backwards to their sources; what is broken here is made whole; Tusput, sad in life, will be happy in the beyond.
The Buryat believe that if certain privileged persons, especially their shamans, are placed on a platform above the circular river, and fire is set to them and their trappings – their drum, mask, quiver, etc.- they will ascend quickly to the heavens with the smoke. It is not so much death as an initiation. All those who die a violent death will mount the sky. Tusput is fortunate not to have died from disease, for disease is provoked by the hungry spirits of the dead.
The top-hatted sect, as masters of the dead, stage the funeral, set Tusput’s sled on stilts in the river and lead the great procession with his coffin. It is their job to lead the dead to their final abode, their faces daubed with soot and guano into a rude skull to convince them into forsaking the land of the living. The top-hats hold a great banquet by the banks of the river, and for this alone many come from far and wide to attend Tusput’s funeral. Much fermented mare’s milk is offered, and the seance gradually becomes more lively, almost grotesque as all the Buryat in their finery take to quarrelling, but Balog assures us that the fighting is only to insure there would be calm and peace to greet Tusput in the beyond.

Kahn & Selesnick

 

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“Three trees and a Mayan Calendar”

Espace les Neuf Soeurs presents:

“Three trees and a Mayan Calendar”

This Friday November 30 vernissage 5-10 PM

Also open Saturday and Sunday 11 AM to 5 Pm *bring kids!*

 Tree no 1 Artist Arpi is back! He has created a tree using discarded objects as a comment on our throw-away society. He will also have several of his paintings on display and for sale. Arpi’s videos will be on view in the new ‘E space en bas’; here’s a preview.

Tree no 2 Musician and acoustic artist Charles de Mestral’s “Acoustic Tree” will be broadcasting familiar and unfamiliar sounds through 20 speakers mounted on the skeleton of a 200 year old nut tree. This work was a joint creation by Paul Mercier, sculptor, and Charles de Mestral, musician. It dates from 1984.

Tree no 3 Your host Pieter Sijpkes’ Christmas tree will , once again, touch the dome overhead and sparkle with the lights donated by the now -closed Hotel de la Montagne.

The Mayan Clock by Keith Daniels is a ludique comment on the current fascination with things Mayan

Espace les Neuf Soeurs, 1900 Wellington Montreal H3k-1W3; tel: 514 933-1725

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New David Fennario Play – Motherhouse

Don’t forget yer pots and pans!

(en français ci-dessous)
 
DAVID FENNARIO’S LATEST PLAY – A PERFORMANCE IN THE POINT FOR REMEMBRANCE DAY
 
 
You are cordially invited to share an afternoon with David Fennario performing his latest play “Motherhouse”, a 65-minute story about the women workers of the British Munitions Factory in Verdun.
 
The factory employed over 4,000 women to do this work, including David’s mother and grandmother.
 
It is a strong anti-war play about the effects of war on Verdun, which had the highest casualty rate amongst its army recruits of any city in Canada in the two World Wars.
 
 
WHEN :   Sunday, November 11^th  at 2 p.m.
 
WHERE : Carrefour d’éducation populaire de Pointe-Saint-Charles, 2356 rue Centre (metro Charlevoix)
 (Wheelchair accessible)
 
Martine Éloy, spokesperson for Échec à la guerre, will be present to speak about their white poppy campaign.
 

• Fennario requests that everyone bring pots and pans and spoons to bang and clang (on cue !) as sound effects.

 
Lastly, there is a feature documentary film being made about Fennario and the making of “Motherhouse”, directed by Martin Duckworth. A camera crew will be present to capture this memorable performance by Fennario.
 
Please have a look at the attachment. This poster is for the upcoming film to be released in 2013 about David. It was designed and photographed by Thanh Pham, a Montreal graphic designer.
 
Hope to see you on the 11^th !
 
Wear your red squares !
 
 
LA NOUVELLE PIÉCE DE THÉÂTRE DE DAVID FENNARIO
 
Vous êtes chaleureusement invité à écouter David Fennario présenter sa plus récente oeuvre Motherhouse, une pièce de 65 minutes, sur la vie des travailleuses de British Munitions Factory de Verdun.
 
Cette usine employa 4 000 femmes, dont la mère et la grand-mère de l’auteur. Il s’agit d’une pièce résolument contre la guerre et ses conséquences pour Verdun, qui connut le plus haut taux de mortalité parmi ses militaires recrutés au cours des deux Guerres Mondiales.
 
QUAND : Le dimanche 11 novembre (Jour du Souvenir !) à 14 h.
 
OÙ : Carrefour d’éducation populaire de Pointe-Saint-Charles au 2356, rue Centre, (métro Charlevoix)
         (Accessible en fauteuil roulant)

Martine Éloy, porte-parole du Collectif Échec à la Guerre, sera présente pour fournir davantage d’informations sur la campagne du coquelicot blanc.
 
 
Note : la présentation sera en anglais
 

• David Fennario demande à tous d’apporter casseroles et ustensiles afin de participer par un tintamarre aux effets sonores de la pièce.

 
Enfin, parce qu’un documentaire de Martin Duckworth sur David Fennario et sur le “making of ’’ Motherhouse est en cours de réalisation, une équipe sera sur place avec caméra pour enregistrer cette mémorable représentation.
 
S.V.P, jetez un coup d’oeil à la pièce jointe. C’est une affiche créée par le designer graphique montréalais Thanh Pham pour le documentaire sur David Fennario dont la sortie est prévue en 2013.
 
Espérant vous rencontrer le 11 !
 
Portez vos carrés rouges
 

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New Mural In Ville Emard

Murale de l’Arche Montréal : un projet inspirant qui réunit
des graffiteurs et des personnes ayant une déficience intellectuelle

New mural at 6115 Jogues, looks to be on the side of the presbytery of St-Jean-Damascène.

Before

And After

And here is the city blurb.

Montréal, le 6 novembre 2012 – « Quand différentes personnes travaillent ensemble, qu’elles mettent en commun leur passion et leur talent, de petits miracles peuvent survenir. » C’est en ces termes que le maire de l’arrondissement du Sud-Ouest, Benoit Dorais, s’est réjoui de la réalisation d’une murale sur un mur du bâtiment de l’Arche Montréal situé au 6105, rue Jogues. La fresque vient souligner les 35 ans de cet organisme qui offre des services aux personnes présentant une déficience intellectuelle. Elle est inspirée de dessins des participants aux ateliers d’art de l’Alizé à l’Arche.

Pour souligner la concrétisation de ce projet, les principaux acteurs se sont réunis pour une photo : le maire Benoit Dorais, la conseillère de Saint-Paul–Émard Huguette Roy, le directeur de l’Arche Montréal, Alain Ouedraogo, des résidents de l’Arche et les graffiteurs professionnels qui ont réalisé la murale, Arly Padan, résidant du Sud-Ouest, et Tyson Hampton.

L’arrondissement a octroyé un montant de 3 000$ à l’Arche Montréal pour la création de cette murale. « Ce projet rassembleur touche plusieurs enjeux fondamentaux soit l’intégration et la reconnaissance des personnes ayant une déficience, le soutien aux créateurs du Sud-Ouest, l’embellissement ainsi que la gestion des graffiti par des moyens préventifs. De plus, cette fresque inspirante s’intègre harmonieusement au quartier et offre un repère visuel attrayant pour les promeneurs et les usagers du parc Ignace-Bourget situé à proximité. On mise sur le respect du travail de ces graffiteurs pour garantir l’intégrité de l’oeuvre et par le fait même régler un problème récurrent de graffiti sur ce bâtiment », a déclaré le maire Benoit Dorais.

« L’oeuvre met en lumière le talent et le plein potentiel de deux groupes en apparence distincts. Elle permet aussi au grand public d’être mieux sensibilisé au savoir-faire des résidants de l’Arche et à leur place en société. Elle donne de plus l’occasion à des artistes graffiteurs d’exprimer leur talent dans un cadre légal », a ajouté Huguette Roy, aussi présidente de la table de sécurité urbaine de l’arrondissement.

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Art And Pasta In Verdun November 10

It’s a fundraiser for Projet Montreal. We need to get the corrupt parties out of our city and this is a great chance to contribute to the campaign, get to know what’s going on, eat some fine food, maybe purchase  a beautiful work of art by a local artist, or just meet some people who care. Should be a great time!

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Good News For Griffintown Horse Palace

MONTRÉAL – mercredi 24 octobre 2012 (english below) – L’avenir du Horse
Palace de Griffintown semble mieux assuré avec l’annonce jeudi dernier de
l’intention de la Ville de Montréal d’acheter l’enclos devant l’écurie Horse Palace
en vue de son aménagement en espace vert. La présidente de la Fondation du
Horse Palace de Griffintown est enthousiasmée par cette nouvelle. « Le terrain
est la propriété d’un promoteur qui a voulu construire 4 ou 5 étages de haut, » a
déclaré Juliette Patterson. « Le développement aurait caché la vue du Horse
Palace de la rue. Maintenant, l’espace vert en face du Horse Palace restera
accessible à tous.»
L’intention de la Ville d’acheter l’enclos ne garantissant pas l’avenir du Horse
Palace, la fondation à but non lucratif cherche à recueillir les fonds pour acheter
le terrain sur lequel le Horse Palace est situé, et restaurer les écuries de manière
à assurer un lieu moderne et propre aux chevaux des calèches de la ville et pour
ouvrir les écuries au public.
A cette fin, la Fondation du Horse Palace de Griffintown organise un événement
artistique unique avec encan silencieux le dimanche 4 novembre. Dix artistes
vont peindre ou dessiner les chevaux sur place au Horse Palace, suivi d’un
encan silencieux. L’encan débutera à 13 h 30 quand le public est invité à
acheter les oeuvres d’art. « Nous essayons de trouver des moyens novateurs
d’amasser des fonds et d’engager notre communauté en même temps, » dit
Patterson. « La vente aux enchères réunit la communauté artistique et les
chevaux, ainsi que le public, qui peut regarder un événement artistique unique.»
L’achat prévu de l’enclos fait partie du plan d’urbanisme de la Ville de Montréal
pour Griffintown et comprend six espaces verts et places publiques et 93 M$ en
dépenses d’infrastructure au cours des quatre prochaines années.
Pour plus d’informations sur la Fondation du Horse Palace du Griffintown
ou l’encan silencieux, veuillez contacter Shauna Janssen, administratrice,
au 514 865 5872 ou la Fondation au 514-934-6346 ext 2.
MONTREAL – Wednesday, October 24th, 2012 – Saving the Griffintown Horse
Palace from development took one step closer to becoming a reality with today’s
announcement by the city of
Montreal that it is purchasing the paddock next to the Horse Palace to preserve it
as a green space.
The president of the Horse Palace Foundation is thrilled with the news. “The land
was owned by a developer who wanted to build 4 or 5 stories high,” Juliette
Patterson. “Now the green space in front of the Horse Palace will remain
accessible to all.” The development would have hidden the Horse Palace from
street view.
The non-profit foundation is still working to raise funds to purchase the land the
actual Horse Palace sits on and to restore the stables so as to ensure a modern
and clean home for the city’s Calèche horses, and open them to the public.
To that end, the Griffintown Horse palace Foundation is organizing a unique art
event and silent auction on Sunday, November 4th. Ten artists will paint or draw
horses on site at the Horse Palace and their work will be available by silent
auction. Bidding will begin at 1:30 pm and the public is invited to view the art.
The intended purchase of the paddock is part of the city of Montreal’s urban plan
for Griffintown and includes six public green spaces and $93 million in
infrastructure spending over four years.
For more information on the Horse Palace Foundation or the silent art
auction, please contact Shauna Janssen, administrator, at 514 865 5872, or
the Griffintown Horse Palace Foundation, at 514-934-6346 ext 2.

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WTSP Zombie Halloween Weekend!

October 26 at 8:00pm until October 29 at 5:00am

6011b Avenue Du Parc, Montreal

Public Event · By Soapbox Screamer Mundafar and Jay Mana-fesOctober 26 at 8:00pm until October 29 at 5:00

As  the We The Sheep People collaborative expands it brings you a new art space/café in Mile End which have now become a cultural center. This Halloween come join us “Zombie Style” with 3 nights till the crack of dawn, in case Vampires will be present

https://www.facebook.com/LaGrutaCentreCulturelMileEnd

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Luigi Lucioni’s Soup Can

It’s now 50 years since Andy Warhol painted Campbell’s Soup Cans and became one of the most famous artists in the world. Here is an image by Luigi Lucioni from 1926 that some are saying Warhol probably saw in New York.

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Bloomsday 2012 – The Joycean Works Enter Public Domain

Joyce’s works are entering the public domain.

Why Bloomsday Is Special This Year!

Here is the beginagaining of Ulysses. I strongly recommend that everyone who loves literature give this one a go. It is not an easy read, but rewarding on many levels. Do not be intimidated by it, just jump in and go, and if you aren’t getting it, just move forward until something grabs your eye. And never, ever, underestimate Mr Joyce’s penchant for irony and humour. Whether this is a serious classic or a classic to be taken seriously, don’t forget the Irish love to have fun.

STATELY, PLUMP BUCK MULLIGAN CAME FROM THE STAIRHEAD, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressing gown, ungirdled, was sustained gently-behind him by the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

– Introibo ad altare Dei.

Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called up coarsely:

– Come up, Kinch. Come up, you fearful jesuit.

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.

– Back to barracks, he said sternly.

He added in a preacher’s tone:

– For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.

He peered sideways up and gave a long low whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.

– Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you?

He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.

– The mockery of it, he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek.

He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily half way and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck.

Buck Mulligan’s gay voice went on.

– My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a Hellenic ring, hasn’t it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?

He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:

– Will he come? The jejune jesuit.

Ceasing, he began to shave with care.

– Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.

– Yes, my love?

– How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?

Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.

– God, isn’t he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He thinks you’re not a gentleman. God, these bloody English. Bursting with money and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus; you have the real Oxford manner. He can’t make you out. O, my name for you is the best: Kinch, the knife-blade.

He shaved warily over his chin.

– He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is his guncase?

– A woful lunatic, Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?

– I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the dark with a man I don’t know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a black panther. You saved men from drowning. I’m not a hero, however. If he stays on here I am off.

Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.

– Scutter, he cried thickly.

He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen’s upper pocket, said:

– Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.

Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly. Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:

– The bard’s noserag. A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen. You can almost taste it, can’t you?

He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair oakpale hair stirring slightly.

– God, he said quietly. Isn’t the sea what Algy calls it: a grey sweet mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. Epi oinopa ponton. Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks. I must teach you. You must read them in the original. Thalatta! Thalatta! She is our great sweet mother. Come and look.

Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbour mouth of Kingstown.

– Our mighty mother, Buck Mulligan said.

He turned abruptly his great searching eyes from the sea to Stephen’s face.

– The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That’s why she won’t let me have anything to do with you.

– Someone killed her, Stephen said gloomily.

– You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother asked you, Buck Mulligan said. I’m hyperborean as much as you. But to think of your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and pray for her. And you refused. There is something sinister in you.

He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. A tolerant smile curled his lips.

– But a lovely mummer, he murmured to himself. Kinch, the loveliest mummer of them all.

He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously.

Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve. Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose brown grave-clothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a great sweet mother by the well-fed voice beside him. The ring of bay and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.

Buck Mulligan wiped again his razorblade.

– Ah, poor dogsbody, he said in a kind voice. I must give you a shirt and few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks?

– They fit well enough, Stephen answered.

Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his underlip.

– The mockery of it, he said contentedly, secondleg they should be. God knows what poxy bowsy left them off. I have a lovely pair with a hair stripe, grey. You’ll look spiffing in them. I’m not joking, Kinch. You look damn well when you’re dressed.

– Thanks, Stephen said. I can’t wear them if they are grey.

– He can’t wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror. Etiquette is etiquette. He kills his mother but he can’t wear grey trousers.

He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt the smooth skin.

Stephen turned his gaze from the sea and to the plump face with its smokeblue mobile eyes.

– That fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said Buck Mulligan, says you have g.p.i. He’s up in Dottyville with Conolly Norman. General paralysis of the insane.

He swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the sea. His curling shaven lips laughed and the edges of his white glittering teeth. Laughter seized all his strong wellknit trunk.

– Look at yourself, he said, you dreadful bard.

Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft by a crooked crack, hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose this face for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too.

– I pinched it out of the skivvy’s room, Buck Mulligan said. It does her all right. The aunt always keeps plain-looking servants for Malachi. Lead him not into temptation. And her name is Ursula.

Laughing again, he brought the mirror away from Stephen’s peering eyes.

– The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a mirror, he said. If Wilde were only alive to see you.

Drawing back and pointing, Stephen said with bitterness:

– It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked lookingglass of a Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen’s and walked with him round the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where he had thrust them.

– It’s not fair to tease you like that, Kinch, is it? he said kindly. God knows you have more spirit than any of them.

Parried again. He fears the lancet of my art as I fear that of his. The cold steelpen.

– Cracked lookingglass of a servant. Tell that to the oxy chap downstairs and touch him for a guinea. He’s stinking with money and thinks you’re not a gentleman. His old fellow made his tin by selling jalap to Zulus or some bloody swindle or other. God, Kinch, if you and I could only work together we might do something for the island. Hellenise it.

Cranly’s arm. His arm.

Continued here.

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Funeral For The Main On Sunday

From OTL Blog

A funeral for will be held on the Lower Main, beginning in front of Cafe Cleopatra, on Sunday, May 27th at 3pm. It’s being planned by artists, heritage activists and community stakeholders to lament the loss of unique part of Montreal’s heritage and culture.

The dramatic funeral is in response to a cultural disaster that has been unfolding on the Lower Main over the past several years, which is about to meet its tragic and illogical conclusion. Like a slow-moving train-wreck, on Monday, May 14, 2012, workers begandemolishing an irreplacable part of the cherished and endangered Lower Main, a National Historic Site, after years of cultural war that saw corporate developers and unscrupulous politicians battle artists, heritage activists and community stakeholders. More here.

Demolition by neglect – is an old strategy still in effect.

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