Inside the blues
CBC Radio’s Inside The Music have a fascinating series on Sunday nights on The History of the Blues. I catch it to and from the swimming pool and it always draws me and I remain sitting in the car audio’d in.
Tonight it moved across the border with a Canadian Blues Odyssey hosted by Jackie Richardson. I am having a devil of a time trying to find a listen again link to this episode and the others, so if you can track it down, please post the link in the comments section.
http://www.cbc.ca/radio2/programs/insidethemusic/
Rebecca Belmore: Statement of Defense
Here is a link to a video of a performance by artist Rebecca Belmore outside the VAG yesterday at 3pm
The performance, as I understand it, relates to a lawsuit she is facing from her ex-dealer.
The performance is very moving and I found the sound the plastic makes against the urban sound of cars compelling, it crackles and has a rhythmic sound not unlike money. Even on impact when she drops the parcels with the quilt inside there an interesting and punctuating thud.
There will be more news on this, including a website where people can help out and support her, this information should be available shortly.
Facebook page for Rebecca Belmore Legal Fund now set up here Press release to follow shortly.
At 11.20am Sept 12, 2010, I contemplated turning on the heat. Instead I put on a scarf and filled a hot water bottle and made a pot of tea. It’s been a while since I made a perfect cup of tea and I am surprised to report that this cup perfecto came from two Bewleys teabags. Then I remembered that the woman who gave me these teabags is my most musical friend and therefore I should not have been surprised at what they might brew.
The headache was on a 12 hour cycle. It woke me again at 3am until 7am. But so far today since 10am it is gone. It was a valuable experience.
At the height of the headache this question occurred to me: why do some people hate not just a person, but they hate ahead of that person, behind them and to the East and West of them. Rather than being told more of what you hate I’d prefer to hear why you hate, which, of course, is anywhere but ahead, behind, East and West. It’s the territory of Underneath.
situation to meet the situationists: a headache
Treatment for headache included a viewing of the following
“A video documentary combining exhibition footage of the Situationist International exhibitions with film footage of the 1968 Paris student uprising, and graffiti and slogans based on the ideas of Guy Debord (one of the foremost spokesmen of the Situationist International movement)…”
“You can feel people drifting through their city, you can feel them seeing their city in a new way” (seeing the city? or seeing themselves in a diff way? or seeing others in the city and thus themselves in a new way? I would query..)
“games played on urban sites”
“Play as creative activity”
“a tremendous discovery of talk, it was a month of noise”
Must read more on these publications and films when moins headache.
Saturday has been a five hour headache and counting.
I don’t get headaches.
It began, co-incidentally, during a v interesting discussion about cognitive science, the brain, the web and mortality with a stranger. This is no reflection on either the stranger, an amicable intelligent man, nor the discussion.
At one point I was tempted to ask people in the street for tylanol such was its ferocity. I walked into a mall, visually disturbed, held onto my forehead as I walked to the counter and bought a packet of relief. I actively wanted to hand my head over to them. Took one 400mg, then when stopped at traffic light minutes later scanned the packet to see how soon I could take another one, hoping it would be in 15 minutes.
I think Saturday’s headache may be a result of Friday’s pitter patter panic.
I definitely need to find a sting mat. At the rehearsal yesterday the concrete of the gallery floor rendered any of the more dynamic movements mercy-less. Ouch.
My partner, a visual artist, has often remarked to me that I don’t understand blah and blah about being an artist. (and sometimes blah and blah about being a male, but that’s a completely different blah)
These days I feel he may have a point.
I thought that when we participated in the window exhibition STORAGE together at BLIM last year.
I never realized quite the extent of how hard the labour of performance related art is. It’s a compelling experience though. And I am blessed to be working with Lori who is flexible and responsive and understanding: a true collaborator. And the instigator of this opportunity I hasten to add.
What a fraught and frazzled week full of haters it was in the world.
Part of the process of ageing should surely include dealing with one’s tension rather than foisting it onto others.
Perhaps it could be modified into the DNA code.
Yet it was also a week where I was shown great bravery and courage by someone very close to me.
And where I witnessed people being happy for each other and otherwise.
Thus the weather was mixed, a bit overcast with the odd burst of speckled sunlight.
Everyone is getting married.
Everyone is getting married whose lived together for 10 years to be precise.
Everybody is getting dogs.
Small babies who were in arms are now sprinting around.
I am becoming smaller than many of the children in my son’s class.
My son asked me to play some duets with him on the violin. Fiddle tunes.
My son never asks me to play violin with him.
My left wrist completely seized up after some hard-on-the-ears effort.
I agreed sour gummies were an inadequate compensation for his eardrums.
He taught me the first few phrases of The Boys of Wexford.
It is v difficult for this old dame.
The book I am reviewing landed. Finally.
Vit B may help memory loss. If I remember your name, then it works.
We have run out of cheese.
That’s how my world looked today.