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...and sometimes I just like to have a pint of raspberry lager and a basket of deep-fried spicy cod with Dear One, while I sketch the conversation going on between these two summery souls at the next table...


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Once in awhile one gets outa the city.

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I have wished for unrest in the streets and now we have it, but I feel heartsore that the massive protest by Quebec students and their supporters, while tinged with new concern about constitutional rights and freedoms, is, at its core, self-serving and small, when there are bigger things to fight for. Yes I believe in classless access to education, but I have to ask the question, where is the massive street protest against Canada’s auctioning of the far north to mining companies? Where are the banners unfurling against our federal cuts to aboriginal health programs? Who wears a scrap of felt for the land and air and water our federal government refuses to stop treating like its personal casino, and where are the angry young women and men who will speak up against our society’s commodification of everything?

I wonder why no one has questioned the form university education continues to take: that of supposed all-knowing professors pontificating in the old-fashioned way from an outdated mindset in a completely irrelevant charade. Who wants a university education these days, grounded as it is in the very class-entrenched illusions from which we are ostensibly trying to awaken? What about walking the earth for a year, and listening to indigenous people and to animals and to forests and oceans? What about self-directed study combined with individually-chosen mentors and focused pilgrimages through real terrain, instead of the overcrowded and outmoded and senile fossils of our so-called universities? Where are the radicals, the idealists, the visionaries who see beyond the issue of tuition hikes for counterfeit education? When will our society wake up to the fact that we have sold everything out to the illusion that money means all?

I wear a white square because I feel we have become so polarized we need to stop and listen, not just to each extreme of any argument, but to more of the wisdom available to us. We live in a threatened natural world and the voices of our leaders, especially our federal leaders here in Canada, are the washed-out clangings of idiot bells. Where is the uprising against our mercenary, short-sighted and criminal federal government? Is it enough to limit our fight to the issue of tuition hikes that hurt our personal pocketbooks? There are bigger things to fight for, and were the streets of Montreal filled with hundreds and thousands of us fighting for justice, humanity, equality and respect for our planet, I would unfurl my banner and shout alongside. 

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First it was magnolias, now cherry blossom. Even the mechanics' hole-in-the-wall garage on Rue Jean-Talon was infiltrated today with petals, petals that have bloomed and are falling and have fallen all over Montreal. The mechanics had petals on their shoes as they took their cigarette break and read the newspaper. Stacks of tires against the walls had petals all over them. The petals blew in on the men and the men did not drive them away. The men had petals in their hair.


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There's a shop called Kitschy-koo around my corner, past the old Italian men playing cards at their cafe, after the Halal butcher and the letter box so loose and graffitied I can hardly bring myself to mail anything there. At Kitschy-koo I found this photograph in a shoebox, along with other photographs of people I do not know. I chose a handful of photos of glorious menopausal women to insert in my Book of Death, a sketchbook of collages, commentary and photography depicting mortality's maw from a woman's viewpoint. But this photograph is of a young woman and - perhaps - her boys. It's such a happy photo I kept it away from the Book of Death, for now. Maybe I'll put it in there when the going gets in real need of a sprinkle of happiness. I wonder where she is now. I wonder how her boys are now. However they might be, weren't they lovely then? Happy mothers' day, mystery momma.


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Before Akim joined his companions and after we'd talked about finding his passion, he said, "The pigeons are coming back. Now you can draw them." Then he discreetly left me to my task. The reason I needed pigeons you can see below - I'd finished a sketch of my favourite derelict building, at the corner of St. Laurent and Pins, and it needed a pigeon on top but I had forgotten to put one there. I love pigeons. I love how their necks splash a paisley cravat of purple, green and gold, and how their eyes glitter the colour of beer bottles in the sun. I love that they are doves, but plain doves, not fancy doves and never snooty. I hang around with pigeons a lot. I even write poems about them - if I can find my little poem notebook I'll post one later. I seem to have lost it. I might as well say I've misplaced my secret heart. What is wrong with my life that I wouldn't know where my little book of handwritten poems is? This is something I have to fix. In the meantime, here are Akim's pigeons, and the building with which they have now been sort of reunited. May my poems be reunited with me one day soon, before I melt into a rain puddle. 




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Now that I've finished The Sketchbook Project and have sent my sketchbook off to Brooklyn, I've begun a new cahier of Montreal sketches - things I see on my walks around this fabulous city. Today I waited in a park for some pigeons to come near so I could draw them - there were homeless men sleeping on marble slabs, and a group of crusty punks joked around with  a pizza delivery man, thanking him for bringing them the pizza he was about to deliver elsewhere. One young man asked what I was doing.
"I'm waiting for the pigeons to come closer so I can draw them."
"These pigeons are always late. You want to go over  to draw the pigeons two streets over. Those pigeons are never late."
"Those pigeons are punctual pigeons?"
"What?"
"Do you want to see my drawings?"
"Yeah. You have a beautiful smile."
"So do you. These are some oysters they had at Jean-Talon Market today."
"Man. You drew oysters."
"I'm a writer but I draw things when I get sick of words. I like making things."
"Wow. You're making me wonder what I could make."
"I think everybody can make something. You can make something."
"You're making me want to find my passion."
"Well make a song. Draw. Make something."
"Thanks! My name is Akim."
He went back to his little crowd and I heard him say, "No, she's not a cop - she's not a cop - man, you need to be open to more things. She's so not a cop."



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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLYofAOn1sU&feature=share Here's my first little movie, a meditation on a polar bear, for Earth Day 2012.
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For The Sketchbook Project, a sketch of Mister Cat. He is the smart one around here.


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