Saturday, July 30, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
TODAY I will be showing with Angell again in their annual summer group show, come see some new work.
Philippe Blanchard, Esther Choi, Thrush Holmes, Daniel Hutchinson, Brendan George Ko, Caroline Larsen, and Andrew Myers
Thursday, July 21, 2011
I remember leaving early from work that day. I biked my fastest without ever knowing what to expect when I arrive. I got all sweaty, took a quiet street up north, and hit the construction-wasted Dundas as far as I could go. I had a vague idea of where I was going, how I was getting there. I remember how slow things were going on Dundas that weekend, the road was practically not there. I remember arriving to the place I was suppose to be, I slipped off my bike and caught my seat with my groin, looked to the window of the cafe, and hoped that she didn't see me fall, I looked very un-slick. I enter, I look around, right there in front of me, there she was. Sitting there, like she always existed here, as if she even lived here, just in this cafe, but there was something about her that said she didn't come from these parts, I knew her before this summer, before I ever entered this cafe for the very first time. I remember that first conversation, talking about html, everyday work. I remember the magazine in her hands, the smallness of the table, how the waitress looked very familiar, was she one of Brooke's friends I pondered. I was very indecisive, I wasn't hungry per se, but I could eat, I was feeling hunger-less, like rest-less, wanting rest, but not able to rest. Our flow was flowing, the words all came out, one by one, never too long of a break, this was good I was thinking. My mental image of her was being broken down and reassembled, she looked different, but not in a bad way, it was like seeing some sort of flower, drawn by an artist who hadn't seen what he was drawing himself, but was given a highly detailed description, and having a visual memory of that drawn flower in your head for years, and then one day, you walk into a cafe and you see that flower in real life. I know it's cheesy to use a flower in metaphor for a woman, but I couldn't say bug, nor animal, maybe the Grand Canyon, but then that sounds too grand, the flower, in its everyday beauty, is something that we could never get sick of, so much so that that those of the rarest flower haunt us, capture our imagination, and drive some men wild in the pursuit of something that happens in nature not too often.
There's a wildness about me that takes over my body. The person; the collective thought and mechanism that composes me socially, is taken away, set in a state of hover, fur grows throughout my body, my teeth become fangs, I howl, I grow thirsty, then hungry, then thirsty again. My eyes roll back, then return and they are now yellow, yellow with passion! My clothes are torn, my hair a mess, I have to go pee. I really have to go pee.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
In 2006, the feeling of lightning striking skull and electrifying the cells and the tiny clusters of energy that make up human consciousness were stimulated in my mind. No, I wasn't actually struck by lightning, though I once wrote about it, on here, (here being my blog in case this ever ends up elsewhere for future notice), and had someone come up to me, asking me how it felt to be struck by lightning, to which I responded, "now where did you get a ridiculous idea like that from?". Back to the summer of 06', it like most summers had that heat wave romance sort of thing, where you meet someone, someone new, and new in the sense that they are different, far different from anyone else you ever met, and that their presence, their company, they are refreshing, and adding to the plate, that which is human experience, your experience. The moment we met it was an instant and unmistakable chemistry, we had contact, we were connected, and back then I associated the feeling of previously knowing that person, but from a different time, perhaps a different life. Things got really hot, and there was a struggle, there was relief, with boatloads of tension, pain, hard times, and most of it was like that. It was probably the worst relationship I had, or at least, the worst clear cut relationship that had a clear beginning and a very crystal ending. I remember the feeling of losing everything I had, I was dipping my toes into insanity, she drove me insane. The mind games, the never there, stood up again and again, I was dating a phantom, I couldn't do that, there was no ground to stand on, and I didn't know how to fly. Anyway, I'm going on way too long about this relationship. There was a book I was reading throughout the relationship, and when I finished the book, I was completely, and totally over her. Without a doubt, I had shed, I had peeled, I had been reborn, and had evolved into a new person. I swear there was a mist surrounding my body, as I turned into a vague silhouette clouded by a blue mist, when the smoke cleared I was formed a human ball, naked, with a perfect sphere cut into the ground and the nearby trailer truck, still smoldering from my evolution. That was the moment I started to see the world in what I called, UNCONTROL*.
-Brendan George Ko September 23, 2006
(Robert Pirsig's "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" idea of Quality being the value that exist before object/subject)
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
After all of his hard work, Nathan Cyprys put together a lovely little (it's not really little) exhibition at the heart of the Aurora art scene, The Aurora Cultural Centre, in Aurora, Ontario. The exhibition features work from three unique, young, and enterprising artists, Nathan Cyprys, Myself, and Faye Mullen, who all hail from Southern Ontario (for the most part), went to OCAD (two in photography, and one in sculptural/installation). And to spite being best of friends, these three artists' work have quite the dialogue to exchange with each other. Just ask the talented artist/curator, Lisa Visser, who had some thought-provoking words to say about the estuary of work.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Monday, July 4, 2011
Looking over my fire escape, I see a couple arguing below. The view is mostly of the top of their heads, hand and arm gestures are the only physical signs of distress as one moves closer and farther away from the other.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
A couple of years ago I looked off into the sunset, yeah, it was a romantic sight. I was alone, standing there, just finished throwing some flat circular stones across the ocean when the sky decided to set fire. If I was someone watching me, I would've seen my humble expression, the sunset burning in the reflection of my glasses, and something change within me like watching a cocoon twitch. It has been two years, I haven't turned into any butterfly, I haven't really evolved nor transformed, and I haven't grown a set a wings. In actuality I find myself at a loss of meaning; what has happened, and what all it means. What it all means, the experiences I had that summer, as a runaway, hidden from familiar eyes, relaxing on the beach. I am only moments before that very place, ready to make my escape, wondering what the future is like. I wonder that for the most part, but I also realize that something in me hasn't fully digested, that I am still processing data. In moments like this, when my ear is pressed up against a noisy air conditioning unit, I ponder the ponderful, look to the past for ideas and solutions, and right now, I think, deep, hard, with a flicker of flame in my torch as I descent to past experience. I am recalling my past summer, and merging it with this summer. I am forming a plateau to roam, to loiter, and if I can, plunder. I see this land as something that can be created, in a vision I have high up here (taps temple). What have you, I tell myself, looking at myself, hey there I talk to myself, my neighbors from across the way probably see me talking to myself, ask me if I care (i don't). I look myself deep in the eyes, I wonder there, get lost there, and then I am swallowed whole.