Heidi Nagtegaal, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
CALL for SUBMISSIONS:
MARK E. SMITH FAN ART
anolderloveretc@gmail.com
Deadline: December 31, 2009.
Christopher Olson, 2009.
MARK E. SMITH FAN ART
anolderloveretc@gmail.comDeadline: December 31, 2009.
Christopher Olson, 2009.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
from harm and held felt fertile
tentacular
of necessary
on the divesting of metric
conveyed
moss
[erotogenic arbitrages]
interactivity as choiceless engagement as indeterminance
oblique
theorist, sidle
tentacular
of necessary
on the divesting of metric
conveyed
moss
[erotogenic arbitrages]
interactivity as choiceless engagement as indeterminance
oblique
theorist, sidle
Erik Rzepka, 2009.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
The works represented here were commissioned by private individuals.
Each owner has generously consented to this posting.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
ON THE ROAD
or
"We're Not with the Band; We are the Band"
Margaret Dragu, 2009.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Friday, October 3, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Ten semi-recent photos from "I just happened to be there", an ongoing series. 1999-present.
All point-and-shoot, cheap 3-pak film, drugstore processing.
Christopher Olson, 2008.
All point-and-shoot, cheap 3-pak film, drugstore processing.
Christopher Olson, 2008.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Basketballer
Funeral Home
Marion Goodman
Math Teacher
Moma
Moose Ghost
Patio Party
Pee Baby Pee
Sam Sullivan
Seventies
The Pope In Rome
Rent
Lunch Strike
Feed Me
Tears, Tears, Tears, Tears
James Douglas Whitman and Owen Plummer, 2008.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Evil NDP Complete
Vanoc Committee
Pooping Announcer
Sausage Complete
Moose Angle Complete
Lost Cat
Drunken Ghost
Community
Pigment Vehicle Pretty
Thomas Mann Psych
James Douglas Whitman and Owen Plummer, 2008.
Monday, July 14, 2008
A Small Selection of Business Cards Collected from the Characters of an
Unidentified, Untold Story:
Waterloo Park Equipped with Teeth
Brethren of Braided Worms
Wormhole Factory
Ladle Who Filters the Daylight
Emily Rosamond, 2008.
Unidentified, Untold Story:
Waterloo Park Equipped with Teeth
Brethren of Braided Worms
Wormhole Factory
Ladle Who Filters the Daylight
Emily Rosamond, 2008.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Did you see that rabbit in the mirror too?
5-7-5
Gold Netting Portends
Ray's Funny Bunny Lingers
Reality Skewed
Dame Mailarta, 2008.
5-7-5
Gold Netting Portends
Ray's Funny Bunny Lingers
Reality Skewed
Dame Mailarta, 2008.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
The Impossible Task
As a Martyr for Satan
Mazed by Power
Mis-taken
Scavenging
Broken Shards of Heart
And Reconsidering
Through Murets
As a Martyr for Satan
Mazed by Power
Mis-taken
Scavenging
Broken Shards of Heart
And Reconsidering
Heather Passmore, 2008.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Dear Friend,
There is so much slippage. The spiral descent is a messy one – a scrambled, uncertain, unexplored part of one’s brain. My shopping cart is empty, hungry for higher thought. Being spoon fed, for so many years, I am ready to wander aimlessly or aim less. The labour that I seek is not of the physical kind, thus I have no wonder full goals in mind.
From the surface this faerie’s tale seems a trite “Alice in Blunderland,” - here I am where you left me, ready to dream, fantasize and chase the dragon of truth - all in the name of meaning. With no bookish aspirations mine is a mind field that grows as wild as the poppy - meandering through lucid metaphor after metaphor.
What is one day in a fuchsia cage? I’m the “strange fruit” that will not rot. Eat, eat, every word; you have asked me to a feast that is never ending.
Time is a plot to keep everything from happening at once. – Henri Bergson
Once upon a time, the clock that was once grandfather became son.
A son, who grew so sick of the life in the city where meaning was built and rebuilt, stripped and refined, renovated and restored; one can barely assess the damage or breathe the air of life. The cycles are like circuits on fire. Narrative and Meta narratives are fired like canons at old tomes. Motherboard grows stronger and Mother Nature weaker. Sure we have Meta analogs but who has the time? The road from manuscript to database is completely digital and does not provide an escape from the dystopia that invades the mind.
At the portal of youth, I knew nothing and lied about everything. The wrinkles and grey hair, now account for some measure of learning, if only by accident. Knowledge is no longer precious, but wisdom is as wanted as the youthfulness I once had.
There is an abbey or ashram that calls me to ponder, to escape the meaningless city.
Compartment after compartment of filth and noise one can hardly think past all the material, visual and textual trauma that is life here. Every thought is strangled by the ticking of the clock. Deadlines are flat lined. Talking is an act of technology, thinking timeless, meaning infinite. You know what I mean? – Is a rhetorical requiem in a chorus as chaotic as the city.
In clever fun,
Sean George, 2008-05-21
There is so much slippage. The spiral descent is a messy one – a scrambled, uncertain, unexplored part of one’s brain. My shopping cart is empty, hungry for higher thought. Being spoon fed, for so many years, I am ready to wander aimlessly or aim less. The labour that I seek is not of the physical kind, thus I have no wonder full goals in mind.
From the surface this faerie’s tale seems a trite “Alice in Blunderland,” - here I am where you left me, ready to dream, fantasize and chase the dragon of truth - all in the name of meaning. With no bookish aspirations mine is a mind field that grows as wild as the poppy - meandering through lucid metaphor after metaphor.
What is one day in a fuchsia cage? I’m the “strange fruit” that will not rot. Eat, eat, every word; you have asked me to a feast that is never ending.
Once upon a time, the clock that was once grandfather became son.
A son, who grew so sick of the life in the city where meaning was built and rebuilt, stripped and refined, renovated and restored; one can barely assess the damage or breathe the air of life. The cycles are like circuits on fire. Narrative and Meta narratives are fired like canons at old tomes. Motherboard grows stronger and Mother Nature weaker. Sure we have Meta analogs but who has the time? The road from manuscript to database is completely digital and does not provide an escape from the dystopia that invades the mind.
At the portal of youth, I knew nothing and lied about everything. The wrinkles and grey hair, now account for some measure of learning, if only by accident. Knowledge is no longer precious, but wisdom is as wanted as the youthfulness I once had.
There is an abbey or ashram that calls me to ponder, to escape the meaningless city.
Compartment after compartment of filth and noise one can hardly think past all the material, visual and textual trauma that is life here. Every thought is strangled by the ticking of the clock. Deadlines are flat lined. Talking is an act of technology, thinking timeless, meaning infinite. You know what I mean? – Is a rhetorical requiem in a chorus as chaotic as the city.
In clever fun,
Sean George, 2008-05-21
