Spring clean-up.

Where I Learned

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For the final project of my Foundations of Digital Images course, we were asked to create a series of nine images which examine space and the way we see it. The aim is to present a new or unusual perspective; an idea which stems from the Situationists, who we've been studying this term. I'll write more on them later, because they are fascinating. We were allowed to use found imagery; the focus was on concept, but I'll take any opportunity to do a photography project. I decided to do something with the palace, and spaces within it which have a unique meaning for me. The goal was to make that meaning more apparent, and maybe remind the viewer of the weight of experience and how it shapes what we see. Anyways it's a little campy maybe but I'm proud of it, which is a new thing, for me, so here you go, blog, enjoy.

Ben

Copying Emily's Biography Style (EBS)

Benjamin Borden roomed with me for 84 days. He hails from Texas, but moved to Washington D.C. to attend boarding school before starting bouncing around and ending up at McGill University. Ben had many great stories, partially because he was older than I, and partially because he always was himself. Ben worked in the McGill Islamic Studies department, and therefore had a few samples from ancient hymns, which he always incorporated into his music. Anytime he was on his computer, he was always compiling his samples into new sounds and songs. He was the only real hipster I've ever known. He built his pink fixie and always whined that he wanted to go back to Montreal to ride that damn thing. He worked as a bike messenger back in D.C., and got hit by a car. He was never afraid to be himself. I remember about the 20th night of our encounter, he came back after a long night complaining about how he was dancing in south Beijing and injured his foot while jumping. I shrugged him off, but 3 days later we were at the hospital and the doctor molded a cast for him and gave him crutches. (It cost about $25 CAD for all that work). Thus Ben was now on crutches, but that didn't stop him from attending concerts, going around town, and just enjoying life. It seemed as thought all his clothes were just the surpluses from old conferences of times past, and he once told me that he only wore black skinny Levi'ses. He bought his glasses at this budget shop in South Texas for $40, everything included. Often he would walk out of the door with the same clothes he slept in. Surprisingly, his girlfriend was from Calgary, and I managed to briefly Skype her to reminisce about how close MacEwan was to Sandstone. She made modern art for a living, being funded by the Government of Canada and having some of her work being put in exhibitions. Ben studied in Urban Planning, and talked to me about his friends in Architecture: about the hierachy of the business, how to free-lance in China, and designing bathrooms in highrises. I was fascinated by everything he had to say. He looked 5 years younger with no beard, like his innocence was replaced every time he shaved. His favorite snack were those purple taro biscuits: spheres of taro goodness, wrapped in a flaky crust. I remember we once went to a bakery and just ate Taro for dinner. He was always in and out and I sometimes didn't see him for a few days, and he would reappear suddenly, telling me of a crazy story of him in a spa filled with naked men in some part of town. I remember when we went to a random metro stop and got off. To the left were grandparents doing Tai Chi in a park. To the right was an enormous building with the highest of brand names, only solicited by the richest of the rich. We danced until it got dark and then cabbed home. He once told me he doesn't use shampoo for his hair, however once I told him he could use mine, he admitted that he had snuck a little from time to time. When it was time to go back to Canada, we said our goodbyes and promised to meet up in Montreal. But as way lead on to way, we never did. He went to Toronto, and then Montreal, and then to Europe with his band to tour for a few months. I never really thought much of it until today. But when he comes back to Montreal to put on a show, I will be there, watching from the back.

Notebook Excerpt I

I was reading through my notebook the other day to discover a gem of a quote that I had penned in about 6 months ago. I scribbled it in very late one night, and thought I would transcribe it for you:

From James Cone's "Martin & Malcolm & America"
King attacked the Negro-white problem by advocating integration, which he often interpreted as Negroes having the same opportunities as whites, living with them, going to school with them, and becoming like them. He often communicated the idea that unless Negroes are in the same schools as whites and socialize with them, they cannot be free or equal to whites. But by becoming integrated with whites, a few (and only a few) Blacks acquired middle-class income, status, and values which separated them from the black masses, especially their religion. For integration, by its very definition, alienated blacks from their cultural history and thereby from those religious values that empowered them to fight for freedom. To be "free" meant to become white, and to be white in America has always meant the opposite of being black. King's American dream had to be universal, that is white, before it could capture the imagination of the majority of white people in the United States. In fact, the success of black persons in the mainstream of Americal is primarily dependent on their willingness to deny their African identity and become just an American.

Melanna

Melanna has an anchor tattooed on her right wrist. It suits her.
She grew up on a farm outside Calgary where she was home schooled. She is frequently brutally honest, and often charmingly crude. After a string of nomadic years in Alberta, BC, and Europe, she came to Vancouver to attend a college for holistic nutrition. In September Melanna hopes to attend UBC to pursue her lifelong passion for midwifery. She spent last summer fighting forest fires in Nelson, BC. She laughs entirely too loud. Sometimes Melanna eats grains of sea salt straight out of the jar like I eat grains of fresh ground pepper. We will do this at the same time some days, like the yin and yang of flavour addicts.
Melanna is one of the few people I've ever met who still speak as though words are a gift; as though through them truth is achievable. On more occasions than I can count, she has kept me sane; anchored. On as many others, she has made me delicious healthy meals. She makes miso soup so divinely comforting it wraps your insides in a blanket and you huddle instinctively and humbly around the bowl like it holds salvation. Imagine this liquid gold being brought to you when you are sick. Melanna does this. She also dances; in her room she cranks Matisyahu or Miike Snow or Frightened Rabbit or Kid Cudi or Pheonix or gratuitous club anthems like that one about the Sexy Bitch, and just jumps around. Sometimes I join her, and we wholeheartedly shake and jump and yell and twist and flail all thoughts away with no concern for grace or pride until Sexy Bitch starts to sound like perfect innocence.
Melanna looks like the best Sunday you ever had, and like nature. She leaves for a few days at a time every two weeks or so, wearing cowichan sweaters and hiking shoes and a backpack, to see Russ in Kamloops, who is a mountain biker and easy going the way flannel is comfortable. She sounds like sleepovers, momentous revelations, and fire. This is also how she eats; with steady fervour. She smells like home and joie de vivre, and best of all, coconut. I've never met anyone with such a healthy awareness of freedom, and of exactly what she wants and needs, so much so that it feels healthy just to be around her. She is as much an anchor as she is the perfect lack of one. She gave me a bracelet for Christmas. It sits on my wrist right where that tattoo sits on hers, because I want to be reminded of all of these things, because they seem significant to me.

Some choice quotes
Upon returning from a trip to Victoria, when her still-packed backpack falls to the floor with a sharp thud:
(GASP) MY COLESLAW!
Showing me a bottle of pills on her shelf in the fridge:
Emily I want you to take one of these every other day on an empty stomach. I stole them from Whole Foods, they'll really help keep your energy up, and they're probiotic.
To an inebriated stranger, on a dare at the Cambie one night, for which I bought her a coffee every day for some time, followed by a suddenly sober response, and then we high fived and laughed for five minutes in the washroom:
Are you too drunk to get a boner?
In response to a listless comment I made lying on the floor beside the fireplace:
You're very poetic when you're depressed.
Out of nowhere:
There was a paperclip in the washroom at the airport, I knew I should have taken it.