Tomb of Newton (1784)Click image to biggify.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Photo Life
EPISODE 1
Brand-new-second-hand-tie-dye-t-shirt on. That's how you start the week. I managed to roll out of bed at a decent hour, so even though Kevin and Stefano have already left the house it doesn't feel deserted, just pleasantly quiet. After breakfast I stand in the living room for a minute or so gazing fondly at my little makeshift studio, then begin taking the sheets down from the wall. I'm not sad about packing up the equipment, folding up all the metal legs, winding wires, and zipping up padded black bags. Just handling all that gadgetry; the thrill is still fresh. I try to keep it, right up until the last second, so even with the cumbersome bags over my shoulder and my fully loaded backpack I don't feel so weighed down walking to the bus.
I get off at Granville Street, and cross it just north of 6th ave, before the bridge. There's a red sign on the side of a building just across 6th that says "Beau Photo" in block letters. It's already beginning to feel familiar, like the Vistek of yesteryear. The interior is a little crowded, makeshift even, which makes you feel wonderfully at ease. There's no trace of that spotlight, tiptoe feeling I've begun to expect of camera stores, no what-are-you-doing-here-you're-not-a-professional-you're-not-gonna-throw-down-serious-cash looks from the staff. They are far too honest, I think, to be overly concerned with appearances. I return the strobe, and now it is a little sad. It's funny, I think, how the minute I started to learn about photography, light suddenly became a precious commodity. It's like a type of paint whose available form is constantly varying, a paint that is difficult to control and impossible to touch. And I have painted, and drawn, the old-fashioned way before, and intend to keep trying. But I've never felt more like an artist than when I'm trying to teach my eyes to see only light. I've also never felt more humbled.
The rain thickens on the way to school for my midday classes, and stays that way all afternoon; there is not much to be said about this part of the day.
Brand-new-second-hand-tie-dye-t-shirt on. That's how you start the week. I managed to roll out of bed at a decent hour, so even though Kevin and Stefano have already left the house it doesn't feel deserted, just pleasantly quiet. After breakfast I stand in the living room for a minute or so gazing fondly at my little makeshift studio, then begin taking the sheets down from the wall. I'm not sad about packing up the equipment, folding up all the metal legs, winding wires, and zipping up padded black bags. Just handling all that gadgetry; the thrill is still fresh. I try to keep it, right up until the last second, so even with the cumbersome bags over my shoulder and my fully loaded backpack I don't feel so weighed down walking to the bus.
I get off at Granville Street, and cross it just north of 6th ave, before the bridge. There's a red sign on the side of a building just across 6th that says "Beau Photo" in block letters. It's already beginning to feel familiar, like the Vistek of yesteryear. The interior is a little crowded, makeshift even, which makes you feel wonderfully at ease. There's no trace of that spotlight, tiptoe feeling I've begun to expect of camera stores, no what-are-you-doing-here-you're-not-a-professional-you're-not-gonna-throw-down-serious-cash looks from the staff. They are far too honest, I think, to be overly concerned with appearances. I return the strobe, and now it is a little sad. It's funny, I think, how the minute I started to learn about photography, light suddenly became a precious commodity. It's like a type of paint whose available form is constantly varying, a paint that is difficult to control and impossible to touch. And I have painted, and drawn, the old-fashioned way before, and intend to keep trying. But I've never felt more like an artist than when I'm trying to teach my eyes to see only light. I've also never felt more humbled.
The rain thickens on the way to school for my midday classes, and stays that way all afternoon; there is not much to be said about this part of the day.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Montreal
Bonkers, as they say.
I got a jaywalking ticket the other day crossing University and Milton--just got stood up by a thick-accented, blue-vested (are they bulletproof?) Montreal cop, looking all smug with his $12 haircut and toothy grin. Cost me a good $37. I don't mind paying the fine, but what annoys me is that (a) when writing up the ticket, there were clearly 30 students crossing the intersection in the same fashion as I; (b) when handing me the ticket, he gave me a flimsy little bookmark telling me that the flashing red hand means "Do Not Start Crossing" like I didn't know (I should put that in my favorite novel too!); and (c) when I payed the ticket online, they had to charge me an additional $1.50 for too-lazy-to-go-to-the-station-to-pay-his-fees-so-here's-a-little-kidney-punch.
On another note, the Levi's Walt Whitman commercials are one of the best commercials I have ever seen. First encounter: in the movie theatre, guessing which celebrity that blurred-out face belongs to (Nicholas Cage? Didn't know his birthday was in January). But bam! Thought I was in the wrong theatre, because there it was: Walt Whitman in all his glory on the screen with these forest adolescents doing artsy stuff like burning branches and running without shirts (like any free-minded individual would do). Anyways, I enjoyed it. Watch it. Buy Levi's or whatever it compels you to do.
I got a jaywalking ticket the other day crossing University and Milton--just got stood up by a thick-accented, blue-vested (are they bulletproof?) Montreal cop, looking all smug with his $12 haircut and toothy grin. Cost me a good $37. I don't mind paying the fine, but what annoys me is that (a) when writing up the ticket, there were clearly 30 students crossing the intersection in the same fashion as I; (b) when handing me the ticket, he gave me a flimsy little bookmark telling me that the flashing red hand means "Do Not Start Crossing" like I didn't know (I should put that in my favorite novel too!); and (c) when I payed the ticket online, they had to charge me an additional $1.50 for too-lazy-to-go-to-the-station-to-pay-his-fees-so-here's-a-little-kidney-punch.
On another note, the Levi's Walt Whitman commercials are one of the best commercials I have ever seen. First encounter: in the movie theatre, guessing which celebrity that blurred-out face belongs to (Nicholas Cage? Didn't know his birthday was in January). But bam! Thought I was in the wrong theatre, because there it was: Walt Whitman in all his glory on the screen with these forest adolescents doing artsy stuff like burning branches and running without shirts (like any free-minded individual would do). Anyways, I enjoyed it. Watch it. Buy Levi's or whatever it compels you to do.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
The Short Story
-Raymond Carver on the effects of a good one.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Kevin
Kevin has lived in the palace flophouse for the longest time out of everyone; about two and a half years now. He's in the third year of his Ph.D. in neuroscience at UBC, where he does experiments on fruit flies all day. He is twenty-seven. A friend of his is a drummer, and keeps a set in the basement that Kevin practices on. He's pretty good.
The first time I met him I was with my dad, in Vancouver for a few days looking for a place to live. The palace was the last place I saw, Kevin asked us to come over at ten o'clock the night before we left. He put water on to boil while he went over the basics, (rent, buses, beach) and threw some peas in before giving us a tour. My dad said afterward, you belong with these people.
Kevin is a good person to know, because in the morning he will knock on your door and shout your name until you wake up and go for coffee with him. He is a good person to know, because he is very casual about being hilarious, and because when he gets drunk he will fix things around the house, help you with your homework, put together your bike, demand that you pat him on the head, and fall asleep on your arm. When he cooks Chinese food or edamame, he will always offer you some. Kevin sometimes plays strange atmospheric music with snippets of zoologists' voices from the 50's and children spouting gibberish that somehow makes you feel like you're at sea. He will also insist on taking you out for a pint on your birthday even if it's a Tuesday and you're both tired and no one else will go. He is a good person to know.
Some choice quotes
In the alley on the way to Coco et Olive on a sunny day, with a scowl on his face:
It's so f***ing pleasant out. MAKES ME SO HAPPY.
After having people over the Thursday before Halloween, setting up a projector, and arranging the couches theatre-style in the living room, while getting himself a beer, with a smug look on his face:
These are the only spirits I believe in.
That same night, after watching Paranormal Activity, which was actually terrifying:
Didn't need dry sheets tonight anyhow.
At a pub hidden in an alleyway behind industrial buildings and called the Narrow for very literal reasons, (bar along one wall, tables along the other, and a space the size of the aisle of an airplane in between) after Paul asks if Stefano is coming:
I think so. ...He's so handsome.
(Paul: I hope he sits next to me.)
Sunday, November 1, 2009
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