Metric - The Police and the Private - Marina McNeil

A while back I said that Art for Art was inspired by a conversation I had with a friend about a Metric song "The Police and the Private". After our conversation, Alastair (said friend and actual genius thinker behind A4A) sent out an email to five other friends, myself included, asking if we would each write a short story that represented our interpretations of the song. It was summer and none of us did it. But then, when A4A started up mid-November I emailed the gang and asked if we could do it, this time for real. I got nothing but positive responses and I'm pleased to present to you the first of the five short stories by Marina McNeil. In coming months you will also be introduced to the interpretations of "The Police and the Private" by Alastair Pollock, Kristy Kalin, Layne Merryfield and myself.

Here it is, "The Police and the Private":

Before we jump into Marina's short story, here is what she has to say about the creative process and the inspiration she drew from the song:

I first heard Metric late one night while I was watching that old CBC program ZeD (does anyone remember this? It was awesome for a cable-less kid like me). I was 17; coming out of a punk phase, and really fucking pissed off... that kind of anger that comes with youth and just can't be replicated once you age. Throughout university I fell in love with Metric and Emily Haines' funky dance moves, writing feminist school papers, and Natalie Portman's mad acting chops. "The Police and the Private" always reminded me of V for Vendetta and the intensity of a society stretched so taut it is almost about to break. I am attracted to music that can do something unexpected, like pair a sweet low tempo melody with unnerving and tense lyrics. The musicians mess with us, making us think the tune will be a wee ditty we can jam to mindlessly and then make us stop and think about what they're actually saying. Like the first half of V for Vendetta, the song gives us a false sense of calm with something bubbling under the surface.

THE POLICE AND THE PRIVATE

Every day when I wake up I feel as though my heart is beating so fast it is going to break through my ribs, tear open my flesh and race away from my body. It takes 6.5 to 7 minutes to normalize the rapid speed of my pulse, depending on the day. Wednesday in particular requires almost 7.25 minutes for full rate reduction. 

After I have calmed my nerves I begin my morning rituals. At 0704 I rise from bed to put the sheets in order and set out my uniform. Once my clothes are prepared I program the shower to disperse 7.6 litres of water per minute at a temperature of 41 degrees Celsius for optimum cleanliness. After 6.75 minutes of showering I towel dry, perform my hygienic measures, and dress for the day. At 0718 I ingest 1200mg of medication with a pre made meal for maximum early morning sustenance. At 0728 I don my outerwear and wave my hand over the digital membrane to register my residential departure. 

I used to get frequent panic attacks when I was a child. The physicians at the Edification Institute prescribed a variety of treatments but every day I would wake up sweating and shaking, not knowing where I was and shouting words I didn't understand. I felt like a thousand voices were shouting my name inside my own head by I didn't recognize any of them. The other children would stare at me and that made me even more afraid until a nurse would come and carry me off to the infirmary.  This continued for approximately eight to ten more months until I finally settled into the routine of the Institute as it was supplying me with applicable preparation for my designated profession. 

After a brisk walk I arrive at the Quadrant C Eastbound train station at 0747. Quadrant C is one of the Central High Density quadrants of the city and there is always an abundance of activity in the area. On the south side of the train tracks, citizen arrive and take positions on the platform, an architecturally pleasing structure with its slick and clean cement, steel beams holding up a wide and protective glass awning reflecting a glare of morning light. Each citizen stands equidistant from each other behind a yellow safety bar lining the edge of the platform, each at designated train entrance points. 

On the other side of the train tracks are some old dingy cafes and little shops that sell various bits and nostalgias to shady characters that looks though they might be unregistered. Oddities crowd the unwashed windows of these junk boutiques that people slip in and out of like mirages. Peeking eyes can sometimes be glimpsed from the flats above but they quickly disappear once they think they've been spotted. I can't help but wonder about these hidden humans and what they do when they are alone in these cold, dark rooms, afraid of the creak of a door or the eyes of a stranger. 

At 0750, four sharp electronic gongs in a consistent rhythm bring the platform to alertness. Each patron drops their belongings on the ground and stands spread-eagled awaiting passenger screening. But instead of security agents inspecting the platform, a stream of officials fill the sidewalk on the opposite side of the tracks, zoning in on the front door of an out of business sandwich shop. Two thick-looking agents carry a short but effective battering ram and after pounding the door three times the old wood gives way and the officials rush in. Within 1.25 minutes one of the tick agents emerges with a child in his arms thrashing and wailing and fighting to escape. 

When I was in the infirmary at the Institute there was a girl who was sometimes in the cot next to me with her arms all bandaged up. One day when the nurses were out of the room she whispered to me "I know what you scream about" but would not say anything else even though I probed her for answers. Each time I saw her she would say something cryptic like, "You must get out before you are all gone" but one time a nurse overheard us and I didn't see here again until the day I saw her jump from the top of the wireless communications tower. I stopped waking up screaming after that. 

The child in the officer's arms is approximately five to six years of age, although it is hard to tell children's ages with so few of them located in this quadrant. Tearing out of the broken doorway is a bedraggled woman approximately 32-36 years of age. She is shrieking as though someone has torn one of her limbs from its socket, a wail that slices into your heart. Her bony arms under her greying garments scrabble at the official holding her child and she slashes her fingernails across his eyes. Cringing from the pain the agent loosens his grip on the child enough for it to scramble away and be scooped up by its mother. She frantically clutches the child to her and tries to hurry away from the security agents but there are too many, a dozen of them coming from all angles. They snatch and grab and tear the pair apart. The child's oscillating cries hammer the air as the whole platform watches in silence. The mother makes one last grasp from her child as it is loaded onto a truck but is promptly pepper sprayed by an official and thrust down onto the concrete. The truck roars away leaving the mother outside the sandwich shop holding her face in her hands. She slowly raises her head and howls one long howl of agony into the void, crouching on the side of the train tracks, her red and swollen eyes raining tears onto the pavement, helpless and alone. 

I board the train when it arrives 4.5 minutes later at 0800 sharp.

* * *

Marina McNeil, also known as Marina McAwesome, is a graduate of the University of Calgary with a Bachelor of Arts in English. She is currently working at Mount Royal University Admissions, The Mount Royal Conservatory, and as a private tutor. You know you want to read more of her stuff, so check out her blog. For more on Marina visit the contributors page. Woot Woot. 

For more on Metric, say ILOVEMETRIC!!!!

Hello Gumption - Spinning As We Go - David Latos

When David and I first started emailing back and forth about a project for Art for Art, David talked about ideas for a new photo or a composite. However, when David emailed me this week with his photograph, it wasn't so much about the final product that he emphasized but the shared experience, the relevance and the feelings that resonated with him. What Dave sent me was a photo he had taken on a flight home from China last year and as he wrote in his email, "although the photograph in my contribution was not a direct result of the song, it may not otherwise have been shared. I think that's just as powerful, or maybe even more so. It brought relevance in one fashion to a piece of art by me that already existed."

Dave chose Hello Gumption as the source of inspiration and here is a little bio of the band, taken from their MySpace page:

"Hello Gumption is the result of a collaboration between song writers David Arcus and Brendan Quinn. The pair met in the summer of 2007 and began writing compositions for television and radio. A handful of these tracks stood out above the others, and since then, have been turned into full length songs. David and Brendan continue to write together, and as their compositions grow and evolve, so does the inevitability that soon they will have a full length album of their strongest work on their hands."

Their song "Spinning As We Go":

I'm going to let Dave take it from here:

This particular song began as a short for an Excel commercial and later turned into a full-length track. I would describe their music as a bit folksy, and the sound screams "road trip" to me (as in this is the kind of upbeat music that I feel like I want to listen to on a road trip). Heck, ignore my description and form your own opinion about it. I don't feel my description does the music justice, anyway. It seems quaint on some levels (though I don't feel that to be a detractor) and extremely deep on others. To me, this song is about a number of things: romantic relationships, adventures between friends, and the journey of all of humanity as we move forward into the future on our little planet.

I chose this particular photograph because I think it does a great job of expressing the depth of each of these types of relationships as well as provide a bit of a literal basis for the lyrics.

David Latos graduated from the University of Saskatchewan with a Bachelor of Music. He discovered photography well before university, but it wasn't until he was there that it really began to grow on him. Check out more of his work at his website and read more of his bio at the contributors page.

The Rural Alberta Advantage - The Ballad of RAA - Jess Nicol

When I first asked Jess to make a contribution to Art for Art, Jess said she didn't know many Canadian musicians but she'd look into it. I'm not going to lie, I was slightly afraid Jess would email me with a link to Justin Bieber's "Baby". Don't get me wrong, I love Canada's national treasure as much as any eight year old girl (yes, I've even seen him in concert) but Justin Bieber wasn't exactly the style I was looking for.

To my sweet surprise Jess chose The Rural Alberta Advantage, who deceivingly, are from Toronto. Their 2008 release Hometown contains tracks such as: "The Dethbridge in Lethbridge"; "Frank, AB"; and "Edmonton". And if you haven't heard "In the Summertime" I suggest you youtube/google/grooveshark or do whatever it is you do right away. I did a little bit of research to find out why an Ontario based band would focus so heavily on a region of Western Canada and I found out that Nils Edenloff, guitarist and singer, was raised in Fort McMurray and draws on much of his childhood experiences in his songwriting.

This is why Jess is the perfect person to write about The RAA. Jess is an Albertan girl. She has lived here her entire life and only laughed at me when I got lost trying to find her house in Cochrane. She had little sympathy for me, but really, how can you get lost in Cochrane?

Take a listen to The RAA's song, "The Ballad of RAA":

Anyway, here's Jess (Who's that girl??? Who's that girl!!! It's Jess!)

I wrote this poem within the context of listening to the song "The Ballad of RAA". As I listened to it I came to realize that this song is totally about the friendship I have with the amazing person who first introduced it to me. This poem is about heart break, crisis, environment, distance and friendship. It is a reflection on an event, within a time, within a setting, within a life.

A Prairie in Three Parts

1

I lost my heart in the shadow of a mountain

a cut and then the drip                drip

flowing

out         with my pulse

flowing

through              the foothills, past the rose and wheat. 

pulling

stopping 

shedding 

unravel               ling

until

it had gone

now/it has gone

2

fall and tear and break and die

and no and what not yours inside

have you been here before?

Wild rose of the Rockies, you'd know. 

you'd know. 

and now and wait and know and 

no and yes but I can't hide

in the x-ray grass. 

Tell me what the future brings.

two more hours

of time. 

It will pass. 

It will pass. 

With our hands held across the nation

more than we knew

before. 

3

These things will pass. It's the good ones that will last

* * *

For more on The Rural Alberta Advantage, visit their website.

For more on Albertan Jess, visit the contributors page. 

Beast - Devil - Kaitlin Vanderveen

In the past week I have received five new creative projects for A4A. One of my worries concerning Art for Art is its dependence on contributors (somewhat like the unease that comes with group projects...you know, like having to gauge who's going to put in the work and if anyone is actually interested and living in fear of a poor grade from then on). Turns out that plenty of people are interested and even during the nauseating month of November, when it's really crunch time, people are willing to put some time aside for art. When Kaitlin emailed me Thursday night (I believe she had an essay due Friday morning too) she expressed that willingness to create: "Once I got the ball rolling on this, I just couldn't stop." To everyone who has taken that time out of their hectic lives or has corresponded with me with ideas and excitement for a potential project, thank you. Anyway...

Kaitlin decided to write a short story based on Beast's track "Devil". I'll let Kaitlin take it from here:

Beast, a band from Montreal, offers a different kind of music to the songs previously worked with in Art for Art; it's a mix of indie and electronic (you may recognize "Mr. Hurricane", one of Beast's songs from 2008). Betty Bonifassi, the vocalist, has previously worked with DJ Champion, providing the lyrics to his song "No Heaven".

When I started listening to Beast again with this project in mind so many different ideas developed with her assortment of songs! It was hard to narrow it down to one, but I finally picked "Devil". When I first got their CD, the title of the track completely threw me off, but I listened anyway and like it immensely. The song gives me this sense that the world is ending but no one is doing anything differently.

I have a fond like of dystopian novels. The paradox of society continuing in the same manner while it should be falling apart because something is wrong excited me. It's that tone that I carried into my own piece, which I'm having trouble titling.

Here is Beast's track "Devil":

Here's Kaitlin's short story:

The city rose out of the horizon; great towers of steel and glass, shimmering in the desert sun. It was a spectacular sight to behold, but nothing that Erys hadn't seen before. The highway, that black snake that ran, never ending, into the distance, was waiting for her. The last piece of her journey was right in front of her. She gave her bike a small nudge with her foot and revved the engine. She might as well get this over with.

The man-made masterpiece that sat on the barren ground of the desert was a world unto itself. To its inhabitants, the outside that didn't exist. Nothing existed outside the slummy edges. They believed the world was contained to their precious city and to other cities like it. Their logic washingly flawed, but they didn't care.

On occasion, Erys unhappily found a need to enter one of the cities, whichever one happened to be closest to her at the time. While she loved the outlands and made her home there, she needed supplies that the outlands couldn't provide. Food. Medicine. And most importantly, water. For these, she would make the trip into a city. This occasion was no different.

The device at her hip buzzed before an image came up the visor of her helmet.

"Shit, Amiya!" Erys exclaimed, quickly stopping her bike on the side of the road again. "I'm driving!"

"Oh, I'm sorry Erys! I was just checking to see if you were here yet, but I can't see the city behind you," Amiya replied.

"That's because I'm still in the out lands --"

"Mother was getting worried because you're late," Amiya cut her off, refusing to talk about the nightmarish places that her sister called home. "Try and be here before the sun sets, okay? I need your help picking out the baby's eye colour."

The call ended abruptly, leaving Erys fuming. She hated visiting her family. They were blind, like the rest of the city dwellers and her mother highly disapproved of her lifestyle choice. Erys took a deep breath and put her bike back on the road and continued her doomed journey into the city.

The sun was just clipping the mountain range in the distance when she pulled up at the gate outside of the western slums of the city. The entry control guards scanned her passcard and glanced disapprovingly at the bike that was rumbling under her. She saw their eyes flick reflexively towards their own bikes parked beside their gate house. Shiny silver bullets that needed no wheels and nothing but the charge of the sun's rays. She preferred her bike.

The slums were what remained of the old way of life. In some ways, they resembled Erys' own house deep in the clefts of the mountains. They were short, only one or two floors at the most. Many of them had been abandoned. The city was completely different. The road ran right into it, as if it dove into a narrow canyon where the sky was so far above it didn't appear to exist anymore.

Erys compared the experience of living in the city to one of living in a brightly lit, colourful cave; but a cave nonetheless. Everywhere there were light standards, radiating false sunlight for the people who milled about in the artificial gardens of plants painted in shades of green, blue and yellow that were too obnoxious for Erys to stand. Happy images of advertisings sprawled across most flat surfaces an sometimes they even took over the curved surfaces also.

It was so fake. Nothing in the city was real. Sure, the people were real in the sense that they were alive, but everything form their hair to their smiles were fake. That was the way of the city. Erys vowed to make this visit as short as she could.

Her sister's apartment building looked exactly like all the other ones in the sector of the city that Amiya lived in; one hundred floors high, covered in shiny glass windows. Eight hundred families live in this building alone. Erys parked her bike right outside the door of the building, under a large, metal number '247' before walking through the doors that sighed as they automatically opened.

Amiya gave her an enormous hug as Erys walked through the door into her sister's apartment on the 57th floor.

"I'm so happy you could come Erys!" she said cheerfully. "I'm stuck on choosing blue, like our mother's or going for a deep purple. What do you think?"

"You know exactly what I think Amiya."

"Erys! This is a time of joy for your sister; you should put aside your silly little beliefs and be happy with her!"

"Hello mother, it's good to see you too."

Erys dropped herself on Amiya's synthetic leather couch and shoved one of the pieces of food from the plate on the table in her mouth. She wasn't sure what it was, but it tasted a little bit like chalk. She suspected it had been made out of some chemical. She washed it down with a swallow of water from the jug beside the plate.

"Erys."

Her mother's voice had dropped an octave and her eyes narrowed as she watched Erys ignore her. A small growl grew in the back of her throat.

"Here we go again," Amiya sighed.

"Erys, I don't understand why you won't give up this wandering of yours and live in the city sensibly, like your sister. I looked at the advertising boards in the lobby and there's a nice apartment on the 42nd floor that you could move into right away."

"I can't live here mom. I don't get how you can. I've been asking you for years to stop pestering me about it. I like living in the outlands, where I get to actually see the sun. It's still there in the sky you know, it hasn't disappeared. But then you wouldn't know that, would you? All you get is artificial sunlight--"

"Which doesn't give you cancer like the real sun does!" her mother rebutted. "Honestly, Erys, that thing that you call living is just so primitive..." Erys was back up on her feet.

"And your life is blind! Look at you! You're more plastic than you are flesh and Amiya is buying a child from a genetics lab! Can't you see how wrong this is? How terribly backwards this way of living is? It isn't natural! Nothing here is!"

"Erys--"

"No, mother. These cities, these havens of blindness that you praise, they are killing everything. It hasn't rained in over two years because of the resources that the cities suck out of the environment!"

"It rained yesterday..." Amiya interjected, trying to change the subject. "It was forecasted. And they're saying that we're going to get snow next month! Can you believe it?" Erys ignored her.

"You are both chained to this way of life!" Erys exclaimed in frustration. "If the sun didn't rise tomorrow, no one in this damned city would even notice. You'd just keep on going, like everything was perfect, just like yesterday, just like the day before that! I don't know when you would finally stop, if you ever did."

Erys was seething. She stormed toward the door and impatiently prodded the 'open' button.

"Amiya, maybe you should pick bling eyes for your child so she doesn't have to see the dying world that she is being born into. You could save her the pain of watching the world become more and more fake until nothing real is left."

The door finally opened and Erys was quick to put herself through it as Amiya was responding.

"Actually, I'm getting a boy..."

* * *

Kaitlin Vanderveen was born in Calgary and is currently taking a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature at Ambrose University College. She enjoys leaving projects until the last minute and tends to work best between the hours of 11pm and 2am. More on Kaitlin and her writing on the contributors page.

I encourage you all to check out the band Beast and their self-titled album from 2008. Betty has one of the most powerful and evocative voices I've ever heard. You'll be seeing more of them in years to come.

The Dudes - Love is Dangerous - Dominique Ma

When Dominique first approached me about a poem she had written inspired by Calgary's pride and joy The Dudes, I was excited. When Dominique first told me she had used "Love is Dangerous" as her song of choice, I was thrilled. The Dudes are Calgary's most loved band. They are the veteran rock 'n' rollers of Calgary, AB. They are the city's heart and soul. The combination of Danny Vacon's dreamy voice matched with honest lyrics and a rock anthem (courtesy of Bob and Scott) could persuade anyone to do almost anything.

Dominique was hesitant about her poem: "it's going to make me sound like a terrible person." But that's what makes this an incredible contribution to Art for Art and I forced her to let me use it (I'm so so sorry Dom!). I read Dom's poem. I listened to "Love is Dangerous". And then I read and listened simultaneously. Dom's poem "My Fickle Heart" is a companion piece. The wonderful thing about writing is that if you're good, you can take on a voice entirely different to you own and surprise us all (trust me when I say, Dominique is a lovely person and not the playa you're about to encounter). Dom takes on Dan's attitude and gives it to you straight. I love it! Here's what Dom has to say:

In The Dudes' song "Love is Dangerous," I find it interesting that one can be so absorbed in another person, but can then "fall right out of love, just like that!" The 'love' that Danny Vacon claims as dangerous isn't actually love, rather it's obsession or a desire for another's attention. I wrote this poem to illustrate that if one has invested in this type of immature, obsessive "love", then the love they think they feel does become dangerous.

"Love is Dangerous" by Calgary's own The Dudes:

Dominique is a psychology student at the University of Calgary. She is music crazy, being a member in two bands and plays piano, violin and guitar while also possessing a stellar voice. She's constantly laughing and making others do the same. She loves her family, her friends and isn't embarrassed to say she sings cheesy pop songs (occasionally). She is not a playa. Here is "My Fickle Heart":

Passion awakens
The urge devours me
I'm left powerless.
A mind enveloped
Indecisive thoughts
The world must know
I search for counsel
Formulate plans.

I crave resolution
But expect none
To catch his eye,
and become the pursued.

My heart throbs
It won't be refused.
Awkward freezes
Modest successes
Smiles, blushes
Dress to impress
All is Vanity
Lay on the charm.

Act relaxed
Welcome distractions
I've lost all focus.
Search for signs
Lack of sleep
Emotions untamed
I pray for help
and hope till it hurts.

Then unexpected
My hopes actualize
I catch his eye, 
I become the pursued.


Without explanation
I wake up one day
Entirely indifferent,
And filled with guilt.
But look, a new fancy
To enslave me
Another victim
Of my fickle Heart.


* * *
For more on Dominique Ma, check out the contributors page.
For more on The Dudes, check out their myspace. I highly recommend seeing them live!!!

Feist - The Park - Sarah Alice Hill

On Monday evening I went to see Feist in concert and I could go on for hours talking about how amazing her performance was. What struck me during her performance is how music can take you back to a time and a place and how music can define an emotion better than words even can. In past months, I've been obsessed with Metals, Feist's newest release, but when I got home from the show, I immersed myself in The Reminder, something I have not done in years. The Reminder transports me to a specific moment in my life partnered with very specific feelings. 

For my contribution to Art for Art, I drew inspiration from Feist's track "The Park". Leslie Feist is a native Calgarian artist who has received international acclaim for her solo albums Let It Die, The Reminder and now with Metals. Feist is also an active member of Canadian indie rock band Broken Social Scene. Feist is typically known for her bittersweet vocals with sounds ranging from folk to indie rock to downright pop. Her track "The Park" possesses those same bittersweet vocals in a lament for love lost. Feist's lyrics call to mind a place occupied by a past love, a place that you visit often in your mind but seems forgotten by the hopeful other. It has become desolate and cold, but could you really expect anything contrary? Feist's voice rings deep with melancholy and yet I sense reconciliation with what is and what has been. There is no regret and perhaps all that remains is a lingering hope. Here it is, "The Park":

In response to "The Park", I wrote a short story, concentrating on a single partner of a relationship, the same way that Feist emphasizes the "you" in her song. The story is obviously part biographical, but you'll never know which parts.

* * *

It is 2007 and she is eighteen years old. She is shy with those she does not know; she has little confidence in her opinions, her convictions and her voice; she is insecure. She often brings her hand to her mouth to hide a smile. She is loud with those she does know. She is acutely aware of her volume, regretfully so. She is sentimental, keeping everything, cataloguing everything else, and writing about what little is left. She is easily taken advantage of. She has wondered, or worried, on more than one occasion, about the possibility of never meeting anyone, of repulsing the human race. She cries when she is stressed, retreating to the far left corner of her closet, where her dresses hang low, to address the bigger issues. She has never been in love. She has never been called beautiful. She does not have a position on the possibility of fate or soul mates. She is bad with decisions. She thinks herself independent, but in fact, possesses very little of it. She buys impractical shoes and listens reluctantly to her mother. She doesn't like the potatoes touching the carrots and neither can be touching the meat; everything has its place. She is clever, in a hardworking bookish sense, but lacks common smarts, street smarts. She likes her eyes, but dislikes her nose. She dislikes confrontation. She doesn't yet know how to pose for a camera. She appreciates that actions speak louder than words but she values words regardless and chooses her own carefully. She likes to be alone, but with the alternative option of company only a room away. 

It is 2007 and she is eighteen years old. She travels alone, a trip of worldly ambition that falls short. Her travels are defined by the literature she reads and the activities of the characters, not the activities of her own. She spends most time on a bench, beneath a tree, in a park. Soon after, she falls in love. She believes in fate and soul mates, and the one, her one. She develops a preference for holding hands. She orders from the menu so that they both might enjoy it. She changes her rate of breathing. She starts to sleep on her side. She recognizes her weaknesses and lets him make up for them. She fills in his gaps. She starts eating eggs not scrambled. She listens to music through one ear only. She drives with one hand on the wheel. She develops a fondness for silence. She learns to walk in step with him. She learns to walk, in the pouring rain, with an umbrella sheltering the both of them. She learns to never walk out. She learns to view museums at a particular speed. She learns patience, compassion, sincerity, gratitude. She learns to endure. She learns a place, a city, and what it means to love in a metropolis. She is called beautiful. She laughs, uninhibited. She feels the cobblestones as she runs to meet him. She finds another park, another bench, and a partner. She makes deals with God and befriends sacrifice. She knows incredible happiness. She knows devastating sadness. She does all this without realizing. It is a learning curve she doesn't even realize she's on. 

It is 2011 and she is twenty-two years old. She can stand in front of a person and tell them what she wants. She can stand before a boy, perhaps still avoiding a gaze, and tell him the selfish truth. She is beautiful. She can tell the difference between loneliness and being alone. She cries when she feels lonely. She no longer hides among the dresses. She smiles because she is alone. She learns to breath. She believes in surprises but not in sacrifices. She wears her hair long. She is no longer afraid of distance, but of the manipulation distance can muster. She recognizes the difference between friends and friends worth keeping. She understands that some cannot find the words even after actions fall short. She listens to her mother. She is never taken advantage of. She is ambitious but being shy keeps her humble. She is still working on her independence. She is sentimental but not in a recessive sense. She remembers a place, a city, and what it once meant to love there. She sleeps on her sides, her back, her stomach. She is undecided about soul mates and fate and the one. She acknowledges the warmth that comes with naiveté and reconciles with the cold that accompanies experience. She cannot deny being a pessimist. She is wiser than before and there's hope in that history. There's hope in the past and consequently in the future.

* * *

For more on Feist, go to Arts&Crafts or her own website. For more on me (how vain) check out the contributors page. 

Alan Frew - So Blind - Doug Montgomery

It is amazing to me that in the past two weeks, in talking to possible contributors for Art for Art, how many new creative projects have blossomed and how many new artists I have heard of, and from such a variety of genres. What started out as an ambitious school project has turned into an arena for my own education in Canadian music.

Doug Montgomery chose Alan Frew's song "So Blind" as the focus of his contribution. My initial reaction was "who?" and "what?". Turns out Alan Frew is a pretty big deal in Canada. He's originally Scottish but moved to Ontario and made Canada his home. He is a five-time Juno winner, five-time Canadian Classic Award winner and has been nominated for a Grammy (read big deal in Canada). Frew is still active in the Canadian music industry and even co-wrote the theme song of CTV's Canada's Olympic Broadcast Media Consortium for the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Winter Games. He continues to perform across Canada and works extensively in raising funds and promoting the efforts of the men and women of the Canadian Armed Forces. Doug took "So Blind" and offered a poem to A4A. Here is what Doug has to say:

Alan Frew came to fame in the 1980s as lead singer for the Canadian band Glass Tiger. I heard this song while I was 'lingering in torment', and the subtextual bitterness of the song struck me as kindred to my own. The song "So Blind" is from his 1999 solo album, Hold me. I wrote this poem after one of those failed romances that happen every so often. Irrational and youthful as my feelings were at the time, they overwhelmed me with bitterness, anger, you know, the good stuff. The title alludes to Homer's Odyssey and Spencer's The Faerie Queene, in which heroes must navigate the treacherous stretch of sea near the lair of a devouring sea demon. Repetition indicates the helpless vortex of my thoughts at the time, while the imagery is intended to convey vestigial affection.

Here is "So Blind":

Doug Montgomery was born on Prince Edward Island in 1984 (a year after Glass Tiger was formed!!!). He is currently pursuing a Masters degree in Literature at the University of Calgary and previously taught English as a Second Language in Japan. In what little free time he has, he enjoys jogging, traveling, and terrible music like ABBA (I also saw Boney M on his iTunes the other day...sorry Doug).

Here is Doug's poem, titled Scylla:

I'm always searching, searching
searching through my dreams.
Always walking walking
walking to the sea...

I find you there, I find you there,
'with emeralds woven in your hair',
your heart is in your hands--
My fists beating on the sands.

Sometimes you're smiling, smiling,
smiling as you sing,
the dying words of my lost life:
I'll say them now My Dear--

You may have come from long ago,

you may have won me had you known,

the words to please me, raise me high,

Higher than your wings may fly:

Content yourself with victory,

this Happiness I lend.

I'll call you my dear friend.


See more on Doug at the contributors page.
Learn more about Alan Frew here. 

Great Lake Swimmers - I Saw You in the Wild - Suzanne Tetrault

Art for Art's second contribution is made by Suzanne Tetrault who takes her inspiration from the track "I Saw You in the Wind" by the Great Lake Swimmers. Artist, photographer and blogger, Suzanne's photo of her friend Paige takes us back to summer and keeps us warm on this cold November night. Here are Suzanne's thoughts on the track and the inspiration she drew from it:

Great Lake Swimmers are a Canadian band from Wainfleet, Ontario that have come to define the genre of melodic folk. The quiet, rhythmic melody of "I Saw You in the Wild" is unassuming but pulses slowly with guitar and the soft voice of lead singer Tom Dekker. It brings to mind wild forests with dense underbrush that snaps quietly under your feet, and the calm harmony of a quiet wood. It is the feeling of silently walking through the untouched forest with streaks of light leaking through the trees but a perpetual chill resting like dew on your skin.

Here is the track:

Suzanne Tetrault recently graduated university with a Bachelor of Applied Interior Design and is now working as an interior designer in Calgary, AB. Suzanne has many passions that manifest themselves in her style, her work and her attitude. The many rooms of her heart are occupied by photography, food (although she's a celiac), soccer, summer (go figure), traveling, and her friends. She is responsible for my life in the event of a zombie apocalypse. 

Here is Suzanne's photograph:

For more on Suzanne and her amazing work, see the contributors page!

Share your thoughts and ideas about either Suzanne's photograph or the song (or both) in the comments section bellow. Art for Art appreciates the discussion of art and music as much as the creation of art and music, so feel free to write away. For more on Great Lake Swimmers, check out their website: http://www.greatlakeswimmers.com/

Timber Timbre - Black Water - Katie Mooney

I'm thrilled to present not only Art for Art's very first blog post, but its very first artistic contribution by Calgary local, Katie Mooney. Katie drew inspiration from Timber Timbre's track "Black Water" (see below) and created a poster out of her listening experience. Read what Katie has to say about the track and her own creative process:

Timber Timbre is an Ontario based band known for their shadowy dense sound. When Timber Timbre's fourth album Creep on Creepin' On came out last summer, the fourth track on the record, "Black Water", was a stand out favourite. The band has a very distinct tone - dark, almost swampy, with a blues base. This track is no exception. As soon as I hear "Black Water" I picture a slow motion action scene, almost like an astronaut suspended in space, or a deep sea diver floating at the bottom of the ocean. "Black Water" calls to mind unknown depths and the deep dark secrets that linger there.

View Timber Timbre's music video here:

Katie Mooney is an Interior Design student at Mount Royal University in Calgary, Alberta. When she is not working or drafting, she spends her time swooning over bearded bands, starting (but never quite finishing) craft projects, and collecting vintage matchbooks, shoes, and useless home oddities. She loves her sister, McDonald's, and the colour red.

Katie borrows Irving Penn's photo "Deep Sea Diver" from his Small Trades series.

Katie's contribution:

Feel free to share your thoughts on Katie's project, as well as any of your own ideas and thoughts inspired by Timber Timbre in the comments section below. Art for Art is always happy to hear from you. I encourage you to check out more tracks by Timber Timbre, either at their official website or at their Canadian record label, Arts&Crafts.