This Blog Is Going Smash

Each month, we feature an interview with a contributor whose work stood out to us in some way. This month, we’re featuring Sarah Beck, whose excerpt from her book Currency can be found in our current issue.

Where do you live?

I currently live and work in Toronto, but consider myself a Saskatchewan artist. You can’t take the prairie out of the girl!

When did you start writing?

According to my parents I began very young – they always had a sense that I would become an artist or a writer. Turns out I have done both.

Your bio says that you are an artist, as well as a writer – what are you working on right now?

For the past year I have been preparing for a major exhibition that I am not at liberty to discuss until it is officially announced in August. I will say that it involves disaster, humour and postcards. You can see some of my other artworks on my website (sarahbeck.com).

Your last couple of pieces in TGS are excerpts from a full-length book. Can you tell us more about the book and how it originated?

The book is titled Currency. Originally it was supposed to be an artwork, not a book, to thank the late Kurt Vonnegut who inspired me to become an artist. He asserted that artists and writers can be agents of great change, that we are the canaries in the coal mines of our society.

Within a year of his death I was entering grad school in pursuit of my MFA, so I chose this time to make Kurt a monument. At the time I was also traveling the world to make artworks at major events. The research, the art, the travel and the writing all fed one another, and I ended up instead with an illustrated novel…so Currency is my thesis, the story about my thesis and an artwork. It turned out a little weird!

On Kurt’s advice found in the pages of his books, I began to study paper money for the clues he suggested would reveal the nonsense that concealed great crimes. I began a journey that lead me to explore money, art, colonization, assholes, fakes and escaped animals.

You should read the book – it is far more charming than my description!

What inspires you in your art and writing?

I entered university initially to become a photo journalist, and through a series of twists and turns I think I’ve found the ideal venue to report visually on the world and its events. Vonnegut’s ideas about the arts got me thinking that this would be a great platform to address political and social issues. Frequently I am drawn to ecological and economic events.

My sketch book is filled with stories I’ve ripped from the newspaper. When I respond to the world like Kurt’s previously mentioned canary in a coal mine, that is when I’m on to something. Art and writing give me a way to not only talk back, but to get other people to look at the world from a new point of view. I really like to embrace his use of humour so as to not be lecturing the audience in a didactic way. As long as the world is filled with ecological disasters, imbalance, and strange stories, I will continue to be motivated and inspired to create.

I keep wondering if I have another book in me, but figure when the time is right it will happen. Sooner or later something will make me yell at the TV, or doodle furiously on napkins, so we’ll have to wait and see.

Are you influenced by anyone’s work?

Obviously Vonnegut has been a major influence. Since film school I have been a great admirer of Orson Welles, and not for his outstanding achievements in film, radio and theatre; what gets me is that after bursting onto the scene as a wunderkind, then being ostracized and mocked by his community, he kept going. He needed to make the work he had inside of him. He’d do embarrassing commercials to fund the projects he believed in. He held on tenaciously and pursued his work until the end. It’s easy to be talented and on top, it is very, very hard to be talented and broke, with the odds against you and a head full of projects with little commercial value.

Tired of these rainy June days and looking for something fun to do this weekend? The Vancouver Draw Down is your best bet to get out of the rain, meet some good people, and flex your creative muscles. Here’s the low-down:

The day-long event takes place this Saturday in 18 different locations, from the Vancouver Art Gallery to the Mountain View Cemetary, and every community centre in between. Whether you’re Janice Wu or Joe Who? it’s a great chance to get your drawing on.

All day Saturday.

The Society’s own Zach Bulick will be attending and photo documenting his day on Instagram and Twitter @zachbulick.

And if you can’t make it out but still want relief from the rain, maybe this mix will cheer you up:

Fix for the Fits from joelbentley on 8tracks.

- Joel

This past Sunday, I had the pleasure of visiting the Victoria and Albert Museum in London (“The world’s greatest museum of art and design,” their website boasts). I spent most of our time on Floor 3, which houses their Materials & Techniques collection.

At one point, I wandered into a room of sculptures and found myself looking at this:

The column looked really familiar and I started wondering, “Where have I seen this before?” I consulted the placard: I was looking at Trajan’s Column.

But not. This column is a copy of the “real” Trajan’s Column, which I have also seen in Rome.

The V&A column, a full-scale replica cut in half in order to fit it in the room, is located in the Cast Courts, along with a copy of Michelangelo’s David and the Pórtico da Gloria from the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, among other things.

The sight is amazing – and also a bit strange. A copy of Trajan’s Column, no matter how accurate, still is not Trajan’s Column. Had I not seen the original in Rome, I could not really claim, after visiting the V&A, that I had seen Trajan’s Column.

Elsewhere in London, at King’s Cross-St Pancras Rail Station, I came across this:

A Christmas tree, composed entirely of Lego. A different kind of copy, but a copy nonetheless.

These experiences left me wondering: Why make copies? What is the value of copies?

What do you think, readers?

Teaming up with the bearded wisdom of Shawn Cole and Garth Richardson, Zaac Pick has created an undeniable little gem of an album. 4 songs, bedded in slide guitar, strings, and light percussion, Whitewater is Pick expansive, honest in his melodic chronicling.

Alternatively charmed and depressed by the video for the debut single, “Whitewater.” Tugs at your heartstrings, then breaks them entirely. Or perhaps that says more about me than the video.

Might we indulge ourselves here by making mention that the beautiful artwork for the EP was created by previous TGS contributor, Rachel Pick? We just did.

I belong to a poetry group that meets twice a month. One of the meetings is a “workshop” night where we actually write poetry, and the other is a presentation night where one person gives a talk about a particular poet or group of poets.

Last month, I gave a presentation on Margaret Atwood’s The Journals of Susanna Moodie, while my friend Kate led a workshop where the group collectively wrote several poems using the method of the cadavre exquis – the exquisite corpse — a creative technique invented by the Surrealists.

Here’s what we did:

Each of us was given a blank sheet of paper and the option to choose a “topic” for our poem. (I chose “body.”) Then we each had five minutes to write a few lines of poetry before folding the paper so that only the last line of the poem was visible and passing the sheet of paper on to the next person. We passed twice so that, by the end, each poem had three stanzas.

Writing the first stanza on my own was fairly straightforward, but when I tried to add to the work of others, I found my mind stretched, as I was forced to immerse myself in the previous author’s words and imagine new connections and directions.

The results of the exercise were fun and fascinating. Some of the poems cohered so well it seemed as though one person had written them; other poems featured three completely different voices, even three completely different topics (like, how did we get from Descartes to gossip magazines?).

Another version of the exquisite corpse (which we didn’t try) involves adding to a poem according to a rule — for example, ”The adjective noun adverb verb the adjective noun“.

The name of the technique derives from a phrase that was created by the Surrealists when they first played the game: “Le cadavre exquis boira le vin nouveau” (The exquisite corpse will drink the young wine).

The Surrealists applied the exquisite corpse to drawing as well as writing. The example to the right (which I’ve borrowed from Wikipedia) was done by Man Ray, Joan Miró, Max Morise, and Yves Tanguy.

If you have never tried this method of group writing/creating, I would highly recommend it.

It’s the night of dark delights this wet-weathered eve, and I, for one, have no plans at all.

As many of you can attest, I’ve never been one to back out of any excuse to dress in some ridiculous apparel or another, even if it means complete and utter failure and confusion. (Dare I mention Lady Gaga year? Or the time I dressed up like an elderly male chess tournament champion—and thought it would be a good idea to volunteer at the kids’ function at church . . . Even as a child, misunderstandings were rampant: when I was an Expo ’86 Rainbow Warrior, my neighbours thought I was “weather.”) I guess I’ve always been fascinated by the opportunity to become someone or something else, even if for only one sugar-laden night. Evidently my face suits the task: upon meeting me for the first time, one of my best friends told me, “You look like a cartoon!”

But this year, I’ve no where to go on our dear Hallows’ Eve—no where to make use of this comical visage. I was about to feel sorry for myself when I came across the eerily Linnea-like image below, making me realize that at least I get to choose to dress up like cartoons once a year. No one ever asks them how they feel, never getting to be anything other than “for pretend,” as my nieces call it. What if the Little Mermaid, for once, wanted an evening where she could be me? Kick back and fix comma splices, for example, or prepare a lesson on how to understand elements of reality in fairy tales?

So, Hallo’whoop-de-doo. While the rest of you are out partying tonight, don’t forget to have a moment to remember the plight of our poor Disney Princesses. They’ll never get the chance to know the joys of what I’m doing tonight: sitting at home, still marking papers. All they’ll ever know is the world of fantasy and bonbons. Poor lasses. My heart goes out to you.

-

For more illustrations of ‘real’ised Disney ladies by Finnish design student Jirka Vinse Jonatan Väätäinen, check out his blog here or click through on the image to see his Facebook page.

What can you do with a square sheet of paper? Do you remember making paper cranes and airplanes in elementary school? I do, and they looked nothing like this:

Flying Crane, opus 563 by Robert J Lang

This week I sat down to watch a documentary that’s been calling my name ever since I wandered across it on Netflix. Between the Folds by Vanessa Gould takes a close look at the art of origami, or paper-folding. Of course, this is a film that appeals quite naturally to those of us who consider ourselves to fall on the more ‘artistic’ side of living. But the first thing you’ll notice when you press play, besides the Philip Glass-like score by Gil Talmi, is that this movie is full of computer geeks and brilliant mathematicians. Dr. Erik Demaine, for example, can’t be more than in his mid-twenties, and is the youngest professor ever to be hired at MIT. He’s also the world’s leading origami theorist.

At a mere 55 minutes long, Between the Folds is a worthwhile perusal for you this weekend. Download some paper-folding diagrams, sit back with a glass of wine and put away the scissors and tape. Make something beautiful from a square today.

- Linnea

We’re excited to have some of our favorite contributors back, including Camilla d’Errico in our arts section with ‘Vain Remains’ and Kyle Irion with ‘Every Show Needs an Audience’ in our fiction section.
We’re also featuring a number of new contributors, like Simon Perchik with his poetry series, ‘Five Poems’ .

This month our calendar wallpaper goes back to school with the illustrious Andrea Robin Juby! See more of here work here. (We’re still all talking about her borders for our Sleep issue.)

IN OTHER NEWS

Keep a look out as we’ll be launching a two-year anniversary campaign later this month.

Also, a HUGE thanks to our TGS power couple, Jim and Veronica, who held the ship together and ensured this issue got out with five editors traveling, one moving and waiting out a hurricane, one starting a 12-hours-a-day-Monday-to-Friday job, and two couples wedding planning.

Not only did Jim lay out the entire issue, he also created those beautiful green borders and backgrounds you see.

UPCOMING ISSUES

Accepting Contribution Pitches: We have a few spots left in our October issue – Luck, particularly in our Arts section. And we are also now accepting pitches for our November and December issues: Technology and The Great Outdoors.

You can find our submission guidelines here.

Enjoy!

- Lauren

On a glorious and sunny Friday afternoon up at school, my dear friend Bonny pointed out how dapper my Jordache faux-riding pants were. I must admit, the suede feels nice between my knees, and I started missing my days at horse camp, being the star on the vaulting ring at our summer end rodeo show.

But then I got thinking, why not just become a horse? I was never hugely fond of my high school mascot, the Centaur, for the mere fact that the man-stallion was a figure of raping and pillaging. Didn’t seem fitting for an educational community. So, why not re-think the trans-specie? Create something a little more poised, perhaps. That’s what French artist Marion Laval-Jeantet is doing.

She’s been injecting herself with horse-blood and wearing hooves. Hot.

See the article from WIRED for more, and a live video from the injection performance. In the meantime, a word from Laval-Jeantet herself:

“I had a feeling of being superhuman. I was not normal in my body. I had all of the emotions of a herbivore. I couldn’t sleep and I felt a little bit like a horse.”

Endnote: Bonny and I also watched an interview with Heidi Montag on Entertainment Tonight. In response to questions about going under the knife for 10 operations at once, Ms. Montag recommends doing your research. I would suggest the same for any trans-species surgeries, FYI.

On my first day back living in Vancouver a month ago, I tried something I’d never done before: I rode downtown, then skirted back around False Creek along the Seawall. It was gorgeous, and I knew I had to share the experience. So, over the past month I planned out the perfect day of cycling, which Lauren and I lived out this past weekend.

We started at my place in East Van, a short ride away from the Trout Lake Park Farmer’s Market, our first stop. We perused salt spice mixes, listened to a fantastically dressed accordion player, and picked up some raspberries and cranberry flavoured honey.

From there we made our way down into Chinatown. After a stop at Blim we strolled up to MacLoed’s Books up on Richards and Pender. For anyone who hasn’t been to MacLoed’s before, it’s worth a visit simply for the aesthetic madness of its over-stacked isles.

For lunch we stopped at La Tacqueria and indulged in the best tacos in town.

With the day warming up, we took to the Seawall and made our way around Science World, past the giant birds in the Olympic Village, and on to Granville Island. There we shopped the stationary stores in the Loft before meeting up with some friends for gelato.

Once we’d had our fill we hopped back on our bikes (Lauren now sporting some daisies from the Market in her basket) and crossed under the Burrard St Bridge into Kits. Knowing the main beach would be packed, we opted for the less crowded stretch next to the Maritime Museum, which we quickly realized was the dog beach. We suntanned and read, and watched a three-year-old run helplessly away from a pup Husky intent on wrestling with him. The boy kept saying, “This dog is crazy! This dog is crazy!” over and over as he stumbled over logs. It was just about the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

As the day began to cool and our hunger grew once more, we rode up to 4th to meet some friends at the Noodle Box, marking the end of our ride but not our day; we took our take out to Jericho Beach and traded stories on a beach blanket.

It was the kind of perfect summer day that I live for. What a beautiful city we live in.

- Joel