The creative process is a cocktail of instinct, skill, culture and a highly creative feverishness. It is not like a drug; it is a particular state when everything happens very quickly, a mixture of consciousness and unconsciousness, of fear and pleasure; it’s a little like making love, the physical act of love. (Francis Bacon)
Is it OK if I go out of my apartment today? Because I might being accused of the cold taking over the city. I would’ve loved to attend his concert tonight. If only I was exposed to a cosmic storm. My primary power would deal with light waves, allowing me to render myself invisible, just like Susan Storm Richards. Yes, I am making fun of it. Therefore j’ai le coeur gros.
Que penses-tu d'être mêre et artiste? Est-ce selon toi une situation difficile, limitative? As-tu fais le choix de ne pas avoir d'enfants pour te consacré pleinement à ton art ou tu n'a pas dit non à cette possibilité?
Une des plus belles créations de ce monde, un enfant, je suppose. J’ai longtemps voulu cette possibilité jusqu’à ce que je gave up on finding love.
Sometimes you create based on emotions. Based on affects emerging from a specific moment in your life or a peculiar time. Based on your own perceptions. Based on logic and cognition vs words and behavior. INTENTIONS. Your own truth. and sometimes it is just the ONLY WAY LEFT for you to deal with things. The only way out.
This was the case with these artworks which with time, through the last past year, built up a corpus. This was my way of reaching for inner peace, trying to understand things and letting go. It helped me turn the page and move on. PAINTRESS’s PAINT (solo show) got its own interest by art lovers and connoisseur and I was invited to show it again. ”In the interval of a paintress and her muse" emerged from misconstrued words, self centeredness and communication failure. DOT [period] (.)
I’m currently working on new projects. Sorry if I hurt somebody’s feeling but i will not apologize for expressing myself and doing what I believed to be the right thing. I did my best to avoid all this mess. We all make mistakes. Yes. I agree. And there is always another chance. But receptive we all are NOT. He was not. (at least with me) This is not against him. This was for me. A dialogue of adoration (not the act of worship but profound regard/love) and deceit that is expressed with paint and raw canvas. You think I went too far? Well don’t push me.. .
I will always be grateful for this muse to allow me to evolve artistically and personally I guess. I saw beautiful thingsin him and still do. I always liked him.
For that matter, I feel the need to precise I legally agreed on the term of the use and modification made on my artwork for the cover album (cover album only. not the booklet - see black right painting below). Howeverpersonally disagreed on what took place surrounding it, before and after.
*the painting was not a commission and wasn’t made for the purpose of the album. It was used for it months after its creation.
This will be my last words and statement about it.
An informal statement of a solid pigment in a liquid vehicle
in the interval between a paintress & her muse & 12 bottles of red wine. Half of it illegally served - I didn’t get the SOP (Special Occasion Permit) on time. Hush-hush, don’t tell the AGCO. Romantic rebel remember? Putting your soul out there for all to consume is not that easy. However receiving only great response so far, discussing and sharing about art & your work is a blessing. Interesting encounters. Lovely people. Random Quebecers dropping by. Art lovers. Artists. Some I admire. i heart TO. Among others Gavin from The Wooden Sky, OCAD (The Ontario College of Art & Design) director with her 94 years old father, survivor of 4 wars he said. And Matthew Barber ‘s parents. His mother suggested I should have dinner at SWAN which I did and loved it. The place has a Berlin feeling. Plus an opportunity offer for the upcoming invited artist summer exhibition at XEXE Gallery in Toronto. And friends. Dear friends. I was totally stressed out to spill my guts out this time, for one reason: my course of action is often misconstrued. And I’d like to think of him as being precious. Regardless his lack of sense of concern and curiosity about me. Regardless his lack of interest in me. I am museless now.
At the PAINTRESS QUEENDOM right now, couch crashing, gazing at the CN Tower with xmas lights (green and red) from the 19th floor of a tour condo & silent sighing. Overwhelmed. (thinking weird color harmony between those 2 colors] BETWEEN THOSE 2 Astonishing view of the city here. (invisible ink) I will (remotely) forever hold him dear.
the social part of a vernissage sort of freaks me out a bit. Or rather being the center of all the attention is. Not really used to it. The night was successfully fun. It all begun with Mother Nature performance. Apocalyptic style. Power almost went out during Matthew Barber ‘s soundcheck. A cocktail of flurries, wind and glimpse of sunshine through dark clouds. Mann, it SNOWED! Impressive yellow dark orange sky. Beautiful luminosity. Marvelous intensity. Grounded moment. Again, never enough say, it is such an honor to have those remarkable musicians at my opening receptions. Not only great and talented musician and remarkable persons but great inspirations too that feed my soul and bring out the vivacity into my work. Melodious and colorful success filled up with love & friends. Simultaneously listening to Winter Gloves when packing up the gear and leaving for the after party & seeing Charles F fragment of portrait there hanging on the wall ended up the event pretty damn well. 2 of the most popular artworks of the show are the ones I am really fond of.
Distinctive emotional aura experienced instinctively, this Lovesh*t painting. I wonder after how many redos I’d stop sensing its vibrance. The singularity of the model is very important and a face-to-face is absolutely necessary for me. The encounter. The impression left, the affects retained as a consequence of what become next, the painting. Soul’s absorption. The sound that it makes when intertwining mine. Sweep over it. Viscerally. Distance set it all. or revealed by time. I heard a male musician friend of mine telling a story the other night about how he had a coup de foudre with a girl regarding music & creation, that goes beyond sex and romance. WOAH! Love in its various forms. Totally dig that.
The journey’s now within my creative process. After spending a week in paradise, beautiful Magdalen Islands [sunshine + playa + waves + mackerel fishing + boat riding + sunset + landscape + bath clay + wind + kites + surf + blueberry picking + sunshine + playa + waves + beaches + sand + monokini + TOPFREEDOM] & another one between work and drowsiness: allergic reaction to bumblebee’s venom = on drugs for 3 days. Blumblebee stung me in the car on P.E.I while drinking a Slush Puppie! Car stopped by road constructions. Barely surprised to read the next day that bumblebees rarely sting. Lucky me. I took a photograph of that famous bumblebee. Love social insects. Very interesting to observe. An injured bee found on a playground in a park has already featured in one of my video art called The Month Of Busy People which also means December in japanese culture.. .
NOW. Preprod. NO MORE PROCRASTINATION. Good news is 4 paintings are about to be sold. Bad news is I planned on showing them at the Quebec city and TO upcoming shows. Tick tack goes…1 show in Quebec city + 2 shows in TO + 1 meeting in TO + 1 benefit in PA, USA + pending sale artworks + 1 NY proposal.. . The right time to quit my stupid job and paint full time. Wouldn’t it be rad, eh?
\in-ˈten(t)s\ creative process. And as my good friend and wonderful human being Kim Bingham just wrote me, the creative zone is an exciting place to be.
Air Canada Rocket Chips – Destination Chili Citron
Always surreal to look down at all those blue turquoise round and rectangular receptacles next to the houses, streets, trees, cars that looks like miniatures, scale projects from above the ground. We are behaving like insects. Indeed. Beautiful multitude forms of the clouds underneath, indistinguishable without light and shadows. Puffy soft appearance. In between blue and green. Alive. Connected to myself again. Away from this denaturation & altered brain job of mine that is killing me softy. Away from this virtual sh*t that leaves you empty at the end. Away. Distance in space and time. Light informal meal’s coming. Rocket chips Air Canada brand. Translations often amusing. Counting less than ten corn chips in the bag. Well now my stomach is full! At least they don’t serve President’s Choice frozen meal like Transat does! Canada Dry promotes now their soft soda to be made with real ginger, 100% natural flavours. Being in a small airplane can be boring sometimes. Take Off & Landing twice. Yes!
My destination is about to be everything but lemon.. .
I’m more of a countryside girl who enjoys urban nightlife. Diversity. I like long walks on the beach. With sun block 45 on my skin and pinky rubber boots when it’s raining. My road trips these days consist on visiting friends outside but nearby the city. Buying strawberries, eating raspberries and craving for blueberries. 35 minutes on 4 wheels. Warm and cool breeze. Great melodies. Good company. Bonfires and swimming, I love the smell of summer on my skin. Drinking wine, getting high. The stars and the moon.
Looking for my sparks. Looking for peace. With grace on my mind. Some positive thoughts apparently I’m having a hard time to swallow. Sore throat. Grateful I am though. And bitter.
My grandma and your grandma - sittin’ by the fire.. .
I am peaceful here. I find balance with nature. the sound of the waves. blow gently and lightly. I found comfort clumsily playing Comptine d’un Autre Été by Yann Tiersen at the piano (trying to). Being here at 5h47 AM last night was an absolute delight. Amazing sunrise. I drove straight at Île d’Orléans after spending hours at the hospital holding my grandmother’s hand. Facing my own finality. Once again. Observing her body, her struggle. Powerless. 52 years older than me. Gave birth 14 times. Remembering my childhood with her. Memories of her washing clothes with her laveuse à tordeuse, of her giving me empty boxes and Sears catalogues to design my own house every week, the brand new dolls, scissors to cut my Barbie’s hair and clothes, Crayons to change their eye colors and lips - I found them all too much alike. And always asking why. In the seventies they were all the same.. .and she gave me love. She was there when my mom was not. My godmother.
I could see fear and relief through her blurred morphine eyes…when I left she was sleeping. The softness of her white hair and the warmth of her hand with me forever. I got lost in the empty hospital and passed the Chapel. God. Sorry. I can’t rely on you. You and I would have too much too argue about. And grandma always knew it. She once called me the little sorceress to a meaning of having great sense and always seeking for the truth, my truth. Gut feeling (which always ends up to be true). And because I was different. And curious. Yeah I did question a priest in a catholic school in grade 5 or 6th about non-sense I found reading the Bible and quoting passages to him and pinpoint the cause of unfairness on this earth… Well yeah I guess I would’ve been burned. Strangely tonight while making that fire on that beach, I had thisIko Iko song in my head.
Frequency’s good within a specific distance. Too much feedback when I come closer. Chaotic sounds. I wanted the simplest thing. Basics. Interaction. Recognition. Friendship, since sex and romance was not an option. Perhaps I wanted it too much. I tried too hard. I pushed too far. I failed. the connection failed. Out of range.
It all started with a plywood sheet. Cutting, gluing, working with nails gun.. . How sweet to unwrap xmas presents to find out you got a nail gun and a multi-angle saw? I guess it’s better than have to go shopping for it yourself. Yes, when you want to be productive and still have money left to eat as a paintress you make your own canvas frames. Certainly not shopping at Omer DeSerres unless you want to start scrapbooking or landscapainting on Sundays. It makes me miss Berlin even more. The art supply store there is amazing: BOESNER Professionelle Künstlermaterialen. Real paradise. I could spend hours in there without getting bored. After breathing like Darth Vader for several hours into my super dust mask, I am ready to varnish them. Once dry, it’s time to stretch the canvas. Stretching canvas hurts my fingers and sometimes blood appears on it. Authenticity? No artist signature needed. One blood test will do. Now, what’s that green tape on my fingers again for?
How musing. I like being backstage with friends and observing the effect famous or almost famous people have on others. Really interesting to me and that’s what made me want to paint Known People when I heard comments regarding my paintings like “Are they famous?” in T.O. at a collective show 5 years ago. No they weren’t. Musicians, yes. Famous, not quite. Yet. Spontaneously replied: ”TO ME THEY ARE!”. What make the celebrities so special? Or rather what make them so special in the eyes of a lot of people? Intrigued I was. Always surrounded by the music scene. I see people how they are not for what they represent. I admire them for their own individuality. Singularity. Working with images is quite interesting. I dislike stardom. Some are just surfacing their own self image, the only thing that counts is the status of being acknowledged as a star. Others have soul. Genuinely kind. Generously kind. These friends are and they’re genuinely doing what they love do to. Success well deserved.
I think this artwork would be a cool t-shirt design. Enjoyed the show very much sidestage, front row and I took a seat next to the soundman where I listened to a brand new song for the first time. Different views. Different sonorities.
The act of going from one place to another is amazing. I love it. An indefinite period from A to B without being linear. One thing among others I dig about Japanese culture is their relation with time. In Japanese, events in the present and future share the same tense. Think about it for a second. Isn’t the present that sets our future? I do believe so - and by the time you keep thinking about it, it’s gone. Things that matter are real. Just right there - happening NOW. Right through the present, within every single moment and every moment shared is priceless.
The charm of motel rooms? Ugly floral blankets and curtains. I fell asleep with the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. Love the sea. Love the ocean. We drank wine there at sundown. Beautiful view. A self timer shot moment captured à la Soundgarden’s Black Hole Sun cliché (which I am not going to do an artwork with it but keep it into my photo album). Couldn’t help not arguing with J at the restaurant about how overrated the band Coldplay is. Parachutes was something to me. Very much like it. High on a derived psychoactive drug. Delightful.
The charm of Rimouski? Leaving the next morning! ;)
The thing is when you are road tripping with friends time is missing to document the ambitious idea of doing artworks based on drawing + photography blog thing every time I hit the road. The only moment alone is to rest and sleep. I mean I had little time back at my room to draw but still. Good company often tend to replace gear. Drawing is like reading a book before going to bed. Same effect on me.
2 PM @ Sauvegeau’s. Car and truck rentals meeting point. And this journey began with the truck full of gears passing on Phil’s luggage! Laptop saved. Sunny Sunday, let’s head to Rimouski! Poker was planned for that night. Per diem was the bets. The show was only the day after in Gaspé. Same night The Stills played Qc city. Never been there before and looking forward to seeing PPB playing, was a while since.
I don’t drink coffee on everyday basis. I love it black so it’s got to taste good. A bit tired of Tim Hortons when on the road, Olimpico latte to go was a treat. I owe this wonderful discovery to someone who was special to me. Someone I thought I could count among my friends.
Days Inn Lakeshore. End of King and Queen West. Perfect budget for a paintress (if not a princess). Haven’t slept much that night due to the noise the tramways were making every twenty minutes on the rails on a rainy night [end of the line for tramways] surrounding the only rated star - the hotel just lost the other half when I couldn’t flush the toilet no more and the front desk guy came up with a plunger and said, as I opened the door wider to let him in: “You do it. I wait here.” But at least there was a free high speed wireless internet connection!
Things that makes me TOTALLY pleased when in T.O. are having lunch at the Little Tibet Restaurant, walking down Queen West, having a Bibimbap for dinner and spending hours at the Pages bookstore. Wandering in between. This city makes me happy.
Quebec-Ontario border: the oil light went on. And now remembering what my dad told me when I was sixteen.If you are driving down the highway and your oil light suddenly just lights up, pull to the shoulder. Listen for a second to the engine and then shut it off. Checked the oil…I did. Empty. À sec. How come?
5h45 AM. TORONTO is the motivation to get out of the bed at this hour - bed I’ve been missing since I got this new job. Double checked everything. I cannot forget the new playlist made the night before for the 8 hour drive. Radio sucks. Too much talking without talking on the radio. But since I am writing all this a few days later, I can tell I really enjoyed catching up on CBC Radio 1: Q with Jian Ghomeshi, listening to him talking about the present exhibition @ the Met Museum of Art - The Model as Muse: Embodying Fashion. Key word is CONTENT. Very interesting broadcast. I lost radio frequencies and the radio lost me when I heard [for the second time since I’ve left Qc city] Joan Jett & the Blackhearts telling me to put another dime in the jukebox…So yeah baby I pushed play on my Ipod. I enjoy road tripping by myself as much as I do with friends. Lots of thinking and pondering but mostly, lots of music. Dylan’s I Want You always puts me in a good mood. It was my wake up song for that early, too early morning.