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Saturday, October 31, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
PETER KOLISNYK, MINIMALIST & SUBVERSIVE
PETER KOLISNYK passed from this world last Thursday, October 22, 2009 at Northumberland Hills Hospital in Cobourg, Ontario. (Obituary)
He is remembered by family and friends for living his life with gusto, for his extravagant creativity, for his artistic energy to assist others, especially for the youth of Cobourg. He was not reticent to invest his artistic cred by designing the cover of Phoenix, a newsmagazine put out by Cobourg youth in 1969. On another occasion he contributed a cover design to Refraction, Vol.3, an anthology of poetry by Cobourg young people. The Cobourg Sentinel Star, June 18, 1969, published this review of one his art shows.
I was a pimple-faced hippie when Peter inadvertently became a life/art mentor to me. I recall many meetings in his studio where he tore strips off my poetry and me. He recognized pretentiousness, affectation, didactic posturing and diluted creativity in an instant. He knew when I was sloppy, when I was lazy, when I was slacking, when I was mediocre, when I was being moderate, and called me on it every time. It was a strengthening experience.
Peter’s work delved into the minimalist and conceptualist world, and his attention to detail was excruciating. It was inspiring to watch him set up an expectation and meet it. Many of the manifestations of his creativity can be seen at the Canadian Art Database at the Centre for Contemporary Canadian Art.
He is remembered by family and friends for living his life with gusto, for his extravagant creativity, for his artistic energy to assist others, especially for the youth of Cobourg. He was not reticent to invest his artistic cred by designing the cover of Phoenix, a newsmagazine put out by Cobourg youth in 1969. On another occasion he contributed a cover design to Refraction, Vol.3, an anthology of poetry by Cobourg young people. The Cobourg Sentinel Star, June 18, 1969, published this review of one his art shows.
I was a pimple-faced hippie when Peter inadvertently became a life/art mentor to me. I recall many meetings in his studio where he tore strips off my poetry and me. He recognized pretentiousness, affectation, didactic posturing and diluted creativity in an instant. He knew when I was sloppy, when I was lazy, when I was slacking, when I was mediocre, when I was being moderate, and called me on it every time. It was a strengthening experience.
Peter’s work delved into the minimalist and conceptualist world, and his attention to detail was excruciating. It was inspiring to watch him set up an expectation and meet it. Many of the manifestations of his creativity can be seen at the Canadian Art Database at the Centre for Contemporary Canadian Art.
Peter lived and worked in Cobourg for many many years. The Art Gallery of Northumberland has a number of works by Peter in its permanent collection. Unfortunately Cobourg never took a shine to erect any of his sculptures in the public domain, but Cobourg’s loss, is the gain of many other communities. Here is an example of one of Peter’s works on Queen’s University campus. For the 35 years I lived in Toronto, it was a pleasure to sit in one of his minimal frames at Harbourfront.
I was a teenage hippie when I wrote this inadequate poem about Peter, however, I eventually reached some of his standards and wrote a piece worthy of a literary/arts journal, IMPULSE, Vol. 2 No.4, Spring 1975.
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LEAF IT TO ME
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Merriam-Webster Dictionary: ALLITERATION, the repetition of usually initial consonant sounds in two or more neighboring words or syllables (as wild and woolly, threatening throngs) —called also head rhyme, initial rhyme
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Victoria Park Collage (written 1967)
VICTORIA PARK COLLAGE
The foghorn moans like a taken virgin
I'm here
sitting on a bench
facing Rochester
wondering
where that old man is
I saw here last year
the one whose ragged pockets
contained long-gone tales like lint and dust
Like a serpent the fog steals up the beach
a threat between its teeth
The sounds of somersaulting
sand-throwing children
bounce off the blue-bell waves into the trees
like a happy plague of bees
Hey Bobby: Bobby!
Mom! Mom! Billy Just.
Mom! Mom!
Look at me mom!
MOM! LOOK!!
The fog is harmless
Sandburg knew that
I should have remembered
From the water-works
to the coal-coated piers
like a beautiful necklace
the lovers murmur their private psalms
their eyes happy
as children on swings
The foghorn moans like a taken virgin
Then there are the freaks
stoned
scattered
on the green-wave knolls like autumn leaves
They all have an excuse
each one different
each one sufficient
The wind is perched waiting in the trees for unaware children
The lighthouse like a messiah draped in a toga
of white-washed metal
stands gathering waves
around its concrete knees
I am sure the gulls are parables
Near the shoreline waves curl around splinters of sun
No one here knows
I am engraving their faces
in a Book of Earth
Even if they did
they wouldn't care
And besides
I would have it no other way
The foghorn moans like a taken virgin
The foghorn moans like a taken virgin
I'm here
sitting on a bench
facing Rochester
wondering
where that old man is
I saw here last year
the one whose ragged pockets
contained long-gone tales like lint and dust
Like a serpent the fog steals up the beach
a threat between its teeth
The sounds of somersaulting
sand-throwing children
bounce off the blue-bell waves into the trees
like a happy plague of bees
Hey Bobby: Bobby!
Mom! Mom! Billy Just.
Mom! Mom!
Look at me mom!
MOM! LOOK!!
The fog is harmless
Sandburg knew that
I should have remembered
From the water-works
to the coal-coated piers
like a beautiful necklace
the lovers murmur their private psalms
their eyes happy
as children on swings
The foghorn moans like a taken virgin
Then there are the freaks
stoned
scattered
on the green-wave knolls like autumn leaves
They all have an excuse
each one different
each one sufficient
The wind is perched waiting in the trees for unaware children
The lighthouse like a messiah draped in a toga
of white-washed metal
stands gathering waves
around its concrete knees
I am sure the gulls are parables
Near the shoreline waves curl around splinters of sun
No one here knows
I am engraving their faces
in a Book of Earth
Even if they did
they wouldn't care
And besides
I would have it no other way
The foghorn moans like a taken virgin
Leoore Kandel; one of my favs
Lenore Kandel hung out with Beat poets and was immortalized by Jack Kerouac, wrote a book of love poetry banned as obscene and seized by police, and believed in communal living, anarchic street theater, belly dancing, and all things beautiful.
Ms. Kandel, a lyric poet and one of the shining lights of San Francisco's famous counterculture of the '60s, died on Oct. 18 in San Francisco. She was 77 and had been diagnosed with lung cancer two weeks earlier.
More here
Ms. Kandel, a lyric poet and one of the shining lights of San Francisco's famous counterculture of the '60s, died on Oct. 18 in San Francisco. She was 77 and had been diagnosed with lung cancer two weeks earlier.
More here
by IRVING LAYTON
“…creativity is antagonistic, is in eternal opposition to everything that would destroy creativity and introduce those lifeless structures that are inimical to growth…"
The Malahat Review, October 1972
The Malahat Review, October 1972
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Old Man In the Park (written 1968)
Click on image to enlarge
OLD MAN IN THE PARKIn shy Victoria Park
where the only life left
in decaying October
are dead leaves littering
well-abused lawns
and a lone old man
sitting on a despondent bench.
With an old tweed cap
from the Salvation Army
resting like a bad habit
on his wrinkled head
he sits meditating memories
across the horizon
across writhing Lake Ontario.
Watching from the street
I wish like a child
to sit on the lap
of that magnificent old man
with white whiskers
like thinly spread frosting
on his history-worn face
and listen to the tales
I’ve heard that old men tell.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Call It Like It Ain't or We Blow You Up
Meanwhile, a Taliban group also sent two letters to the Lahore Press Club – one on October 12 and the other on October 14 – warning that if the media “does not stop portraying us as terrorists ... we will blow up offices of journalists and media organisations”.MORE...
Somali Islamists Whip Women Wearing Bras
MOGADISHU, Oct 16 (Reuters) - Somalia's hardline Islamist group al Shabaab has publicly whipped women for wearing bras they say violate Islam by constituting a deception, north Mogadishu residents said on Friday.The insurgent group, which seeks to impose a strict form of sharia Islamic law throughout Somalia, amputated a foot and a hand each from two young men accused of robbery earlier this month. They have also banned movies, musical ringtones, dancing at wedding ceremonies and playing or watching soccer.
Residents said gunmen had been rounding up any woman seen with a firm bust and then had them publicly whipped by masked men. The women were then told to remove their bras and shake their breasts.
"Al shabaab forced us to wear their type of veil and now they order us to shake our breasts," a resident, Halima, told Reuters, adding that her daughters had been whipped on Thursday
MORE ...
Friday, October 16, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Kite Krazy On Cobourg Beach
The uTube commentary by Ms Chief 770: "My hubby flying his custom made stunt kites.(all "stunts" preformed by Wayne)" Extraordinary stuff done April 17, 2007.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Richard Norlock Works(?) the Standing Committee of Human Rights, October 5
Richard Norlock, Conservative MP, was a working member of the Standing Committee of Human Rights reviewing Section 13 of the Human Rights Act, the so called `hate-speech`provision. Monday, October 5, Ezra Levant, the only person in the Western world charged by the state for publishing the notorious Danish Mohammed cartoons., and Mark Steyn, columnist for Macleans magazine. The Honourable Norlock distinguished himself by asking no questions whatsoever. Hmmmmm.
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Monday, October 5, 2009
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