scorched earth

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there’s an artist in LA called Mark Bradford and he creates oversized pictures out of canvas and paper and paint. he calls his work “social abstraction” or abstract art with a social context “clinging to the edges”. (p.3) i can buy that; art should do more than one thing. the painting above is titled ‘Scorched … Read more

my dad

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after Dad retired from the RCMP he had a rough re-entry into civilian life as a realtor, where you had to explain yourself. he was used to acting with authority in public. although he wasn’t much of a cook, he loved cooking stir fry in a big wok. golf was his church. he had a … Read more

first lines (voice)

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Stephen King says first lines are all about voice. i think a first line is knocking on the door. and i ask: who is there for me? will the door be thrown open with abandon? left ajar for me to enter at my own speed? or is there no one waiting? let me check the … Read more

the centre of the universe

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i’m camped out, third floor of a condominium complex, two flights up from a parking lot overflowing with white diesel work trucks. a mattress set rests on the floor, my bed. the wheels of my suitcase are anointed with red dust. this is a sacred place. it’s hanging in the air like smoke; i feel … Read more

the airport (resurrected)

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the airport has the weirdest carpets. i don’t know where you source a length of carpet with these big graphics. so abstract. the triangles, the edges and misshapen dots. the pattern is so big i cannot focus on it in it’s entirety. i fight the urge to lie down on the carpet of travelers, feel … Read more

rainbow cleaners

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rainbow cleaners is demolished and blue metal fences mark the perimeters of the construction site. soon the earthmoving machines will shove down the concrete foundations that remain, scrape away layers of contaiminated soil. and i wonder what fluids have leaked through the floorboards after 50 years of cleaning service? rainbow cleaners is demolished and there’s … Read more

vegas

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12-years-old, long, clean brown hair, and pouting lips rouged scarlet. she’s pushing a baby carriage down the boulevard and the baby isn’t hers. a sister, by the looks of it. her dad is trailing in her pubescent wake, head swivelling as he checks out the action on the strip. there are people everywhere, on the … Read more

directions gone wrong

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  “where’re we going?” “south.” “we’re going south?” “In this wind, south by southwest.” “isn’t that a Hitchcock movie?” “naw. that’s North by Northwest.” “good to know. you like Hitchcock?” “love him.” “favourite movie?” “Vertigo.” “that one makes me dizzy.” “fear of heights?” “absolutely.” “don’t let go.”  

to baudelaire

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by Jeet Thayil I am over you at last, in Mexico City, in a white space high above the street, my hands steady, the walls unmoving. It’s warm here, and safe, and even in winter the rain is benign. Some mornings I let the sounds of the plaza – a fruit seller, a boy acrobat, … Read more

a marked grave

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writer Mavis Gallant rests in a marked grave in Montparnasse Cemetery in Paris. in 2015 it was difficult to locate without knowledge that she resides, temporarily, in her friend’s family crypt, because Mavis died almost penniless. when faced with fragile, failing health and dwindling finances, she stated, unequivocally, “i have chosen to be a writer, … Read more