Happy 148th Canada – for more than half my life, I have had some truly remarkable, uplifting experiences whilst living here. Too, I shared a great love with my Canadian-born task companion, Merlin.
Regrettably, I could neither find the dimensions nor year of creation for the masterful Charles Pachter flag which I would presume is an Oil on Canvas.
Happy Canada Day – my life experience has been immensely enriched for having remained focussed here in this great land.
I decided to see what an intense observation of couples whom I know very well would produce. I trust my own process enough to know that if I allow it to unfold naturally, the results will have a certain integrity – which I think this series does. This portrait, of Janet and Gordon Belray in their garden, references their commitment to one another in the face of serious health issues, and the hope that comes from the garden – a metaphor of restoration and continuation. I feel that the intensity of their connection to one another and their hopes for their children are suspended in this simple examination. – George Hawken.
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Had a most lucid astral plane encounter with George last night. We sat at a deuce visiting. For me, I have come to realise that whenever thusly situated on the astral plane, the encounter will be languorously rhapsodic. Our eye contact was intense and direct and we hardly said anything to each other which, incidentally, was always the case when visiting in person.
George and I were lovers, long ago, and as I was then his muse our passion inspired the lithograph, Pink Chair, which has been previously shared on this blog. I love this piece and on my return from living in Montréal, the artist was then working on this series of portraits. I had hoped to have been included in the series but alas it was not to be.
Speculative Provenance: Likely the Al-Thani family. I would like to think that Sheikha Al Mayassa Al-Thani has acquired this masterpiece for her family’s burgeoning collection. Possibly the most powerful woman in art today; she also happens to be the daughter of the most stylish woman on the planet at present, Sheikha Mozah bint Nasser Al-Missned!
Sold today, May 11, 2015, which would have been my mother, Harella da Braga’s 95th birthday – she is now reincarnated. Harella died in August 1980 in Toronto. Reborn male in London, England; he is male biracial (Caucasian/East Indian) and upper middle class. The winning bid in New York City was 179$m!
Composition: Billie Holiday, Arthur Herzog Jr. c. 1939
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Fine and Mellow
Written: Billie Holiday c. 1939
Live TV recording 1957.
Voice: Billie Holiday
Piano: Mal Waldon
Double Bass: Milt Hinton
Guitar: Danny Barker
Tenor Saxophone: BenWebster & Lester Young & Coleman Hawkins
Baritone Saxophone: Gerry Mulligan
Trombone: Vic Dickenson
Trumpet: Doc Cheatham & Roy Eldridge
Drums: Osie Johnson
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Strange Fruit
Written: Abel Meeropol c. 1937
Composition: Billie Holiday c. 1939
Voice: Billie Holiday.
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Lover Man, Oh Where Can You Be.
Written: Jimmy Davis & Roger Ramirez & James Sherman c. 1941
Live performance 1958, Oakdale Music Theater, Wallingford, Connecticut.
Voice: Billie Holiday
Piano: Mal Waldron
Bass: Milt Hinton
Trumpet: Buck Clayton
Drums: Don Lamond
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One of my all-time favourite Billie Holiday tunes. I first fell in love with it whilst working at the Underground Railroad Restaurant on King Street East just west of Sherbourne Street back in the late 1970s – all whilst finding time to run around the city taking ballet class and studying in high school then later at York University – when Salome Bey was doing her Cabaret show and her husband, Howard Matthews was part owner, along with Jazz drummer, Archie Alleyne. There was an intense and wonderful Jazz education!
Too, there was that memorable Sunday Brunch in late 1982 at the actress, Patricia Neal’s grand Upper West Side apartment which Merlin took on a short-term sublet. Frederick Jones and his Puerto Rican-born lover were there, along with a couple of dancer friends of mine and, of course, fellow dancer and friend of Merlin’s, Miguel Godreau.
Merlin the night we met, Friday, October 1, 1982, had excused himself from dinner at the Afro-Cuban restaurant, around from my West 49th Street apartment, on 9th Avenue in Hell’s Kitchen. He had gone to make a phone call – ah yes, there was an age before the cellphone’s ubiquity – and cancelled getting together with Miguel. They had been dating after Miguel had appeared in Ken Russell’s 1980 film, Altered States starring, William Hurt and who at that time was a member of the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater.
Just in case, I had proven an utter bore, Merlin had made alternate plans; however, after I had passed most of dinner to the groovy music massaging his burgeoning lap across the deuce from me with my nimbly dexterous pointed feet, Miguel did not stand a chance.
Besides, one does not exactly say no to one’s task companion when first meeting on the physical plane… again, especially when it was planned. In any event, after fruit-filled pancakes drowned in Canadian maple syrup, Merlin and I – who by then had had multiple ménage-à-trois with Miguel – blew each other soft kisses whilst he sat admiringly looking at Miguel and me slow dance to this truly haunting tune.
Merlin almost never danced; however, our pas de deux between the sheets has left Merlin an unsurpassed lover of magical skills.
Happy Birthday Billie Holiday and, wherever you are, may your current incarnation be a most blessed lucid dream. You know, I really ought to do her overleaves…
One of my favourite pieces in the current Jean-Michel Basquiat exhibition at the AGO. The reviewers in both the Globe and Mail and NOW magazine haven’t a fucking clue what they are talking about; certainly, in the case of the latter it is the sort of sly invidiousness that one can ever expect of Canadians in their cool animus towards Blacks and the Black artistic aesthetic. Later for the likes of sphinctered, snow-driven dreck comme lui…
Of course, all that glorious fecund green serves as a good enough reason to say, Happy St. Patrick’s Day. As James Joyce so deftly illustrated, we are all Irish for being possessed of imagination… we are all dreamers – I certainly am. I love you more!
Today, thanks to Mike Leigh’s deft and masterful vision, as if in a lucid astral plane dream spanning the spiral arms of time, I vicariously drank of William Turner’s very soul. What a gloriously fitting work of cinematic art is Mr. Turner. And what a rich artistic era, too, working with a cadre of giants like, John Constable et al. More than that, thanks to his creative genius, Timothy Spall thoroughly ensouled his role; his truly was a masterful turn. Joshua McGuire’s performance was riveting.
Today, I managed to have awaken from a long slumber of non-stop work shifts and multiple jobs and managed en route to another to slip into the Jean-Michel Basquiat show at the AGO.
I had missed the opening weekend and just did not want Black History month to end without having seen it at least once.
I was floored. I had never before paid attention to his works because to see art reproduced in print and definitely online are quite another matter. To have moved through this exhibition was the most lucid of flying dreams.
The Self-Portraits, Chinese New Year/Year of the Boar, Every Untitled work, the above collaborative work with Andy Warhol and most especially, Oreo, all provoked such wonder, and they each affected a deep soulful resonance.
What can one say, the man was an unparalleled genius and, most of all, he loved Jazz; he loved Charlie Parker!
I got on my Samsung Note 4 and texted everyone I know demanding that they haul arse toute de suite to be wowed. My adorable sister will come to town on the weekend, to gaze and praise. We’ll have a blast.
The sense of colour, attack and the unmistakable afrocentrism are what really moved me and above it all is this W. E. B. Du Bois quote which I had long forgotten; it sits beneath the description for the painting Black Soap 1981:
“It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity.”
And how the lunatic racial predators love laughing their vapid skulls in seething grudge; indeed, Jazz has its roots in klezmer!
So very nice to see that the hunter has fast emerged in this millennium’s infancy as the prey. Is it any wonder as their real and unwavering enemy rages terror on their civilisation that they turn around and grow even more resentful, spiteful, murderous towards us, thereby betraying their cowardice?
What can they do? When for so long the racial predator has reigned supreme and unchallenged, along comes a genuine foe with an even greater sanguineous appetite for the hunt.
Keep whistling, you can’t possibly be preyed on. Why should karma apply to the racial predator indeed?
This show has been a marvellous feast; it is one to which I will return and ravenously devour… time and again.
Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul. 