Realizing I kind of snuck it through in a September vacation post, I should do so now: Kerry and I are getting married. We picked up the license yesterday (Jebus help me if Vital Statistics discovers that I don't know my dad's middle name(s) or guessed where my mom was born).But all this meant invitations were in order. More of a formality than anything, since we already procured 13 of the 14 ceremony attendees (at I-do time, mom may be anyplace between Colombia and Argentina), but we are creatives and must oblige expectations.I wish I could put a name to the chap who bemoaned designing his own wedding invites in the font-geek documentary Helvetica but he was bang on: I was, for lack of a better word, intimidated. In the end though, I relied on a treatment that was primarily photographic, relying on the scads of photos accrued over the years (we've been together since 1998) and built a four panel roll-fold creation that tells a loose story as it unfurls, including photos, some basic info and a poem-by-Kerry original.One funny: we realized late that nowhere on the piece does it actually say our names. Pah. You all know who we are.
Sorry about the grainy shot – we don't get too much daylight up here anymore. If you want to see a crisp version, let me know (I'm not about to advertise all our info all high-rez n' stuff here).
I admit that to the untrained eye, I may not appear to be posting as much on my site. That the very mantra that begat this blog at the end of 2004 – that I create something once per week – is going unnoticed and being abused. It's partly true; I don't have near as much to add to the world these days. But the main reason is because I have real things to do. These real things will reveal themselves over the coming days as a handful of personal projects are completed, the first of which…
Kerry's book. Two words I love to type, and two words she – and by extension, I – loved hearing announced on the eve of our September vacation. As details have been sorting themselves out and the concrete began to set, the realization it was real struck when the publishers required a bio and cover design be included in promotional materials sent to retailers. Due to the tidiest of associations, I'm proud to report I got the job to design the cover of The Sleeping Life – Kerry's first book of poetry, scheduled for an April release.
Above is the cover. The black frame is a common design element with all of the publishers' books. The remainder however, was almost wholly art-directed by Kerry. She selected a colour scheme, and we went through my field guides to find just the right bird to inspire the cover's silhouette (a savannah sparrow, I believe – birds are a link through several of the book's poems). The forest background I added to provide a base and anchor the whole thing.
I realized I never came up here – since the computer is in the attic, I consider my blog "up" – to crow about a recent contest I entered and received a fantabulous prize from. The provincial chapter of CPAWS (the Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society) held a summertime ask for Manitoba-based photo submissions for their 2008 calendar via their Naturally In Focus photo contest (view the dozen finalists here). And two of my entries (out of 473 total, though they really, really run the gamut in terms of quality) won berths in the calendar, both snapped on our quick vacation last September to the Whiteshell and Riding Mountain. The photo of a white-tailed deer buck in fog near West Hawk Lake (above) won in the "Manitoba Wildlife" sub-category, and my point-up-and-shoot image of fall aspens in Riding Mountain National Park (below) earned me second place in the "Patterns in Wilderness" section. And though I'm not certain how the prize-doling all worked out, I now have me a sweet $250 certificate for work done at a local framing outlet.
Crisper versions of the deer and aspens can be had here, and here, respectively.
No explanation required. Just goofing around, as Babe Bennett used to say on This Hour Has 22 Minutes. A higher-quality version can be viewed here.(Plush monsters by Melissahead!)
I like the weirdos. There are not too many where I work, but I do make sporadic contact with them during excursions out in the larger world (case in point, this lady ... or this lady). So it gave me great pleasure to receive an email from Kerry late last week about an encounter with a strange man in the concourse beneath Portage & Main. I thought I could elaborate on it here, but truth be told it's best just acting the messenger. Here's her email, verbatim:A random disheveled, bearded guy, probably 50s or 60s, Indian accent. First he was doing something that looked like tai chi. Then he started doing the moonwalk.To himself, while moonwalking: I am walking on the moon. I am walking on the moon.
Randomly to others: Well, what are you guys walking on?
To himself: laughing, laughing.
Other people: ignoring him, walking more quickly.
Me: laughing.
Honestly, I completed this zine contribution so long ago I damned near forgot it existed. That's one reality of the zine business in general, I believe (not overly known for rigid structure or schedule). But if all goes according to plan, my copy should be sitting on my desk at work when I show up tomorrow (I'd been away, whittling my two remaining vacation days into a five-day Nova Scotian Canuck-style Thanksgiving siblingal visit spectacular, where it was infinitely better than the sludge they call weather here upon my return).
So yes, Virginia, there is a HOWieZine still, and its theme was robots – one of the design industry's all-time favourite and most dependable fallbacks for kickass source material. My own submission stemmed from last year's midwinter photo shoot, and subsequent Photoshop-phest, that I had with a few of my more inspiring toys strewn about the house. I decided to turn a one-off photo concept into a vaguely more coherent two-panel storyline. The real trick was attempting to mimic the setup, lighting and all the Photoshop steps I took months ago, in recreating the second panel, because I failed to write down said steps while they were fresh in my brain. Above is the first panel (though the more newly-built recreated scene), and below is the payoff – if one can call it that. But I suppose I am, for one.
My attempt at recalling some of the digital procedure can be had here, from when I wrote about another shot in last winter's toy shoot. And a bigger look at the zine's second panel can be had o'er on Flickr, right about here.
Clockwise from top right: Chris Pointon thanks contributers in attendance for their work; tabletop snapshot of the festivities; the cause célèbre – A Paw In My Face (cover art by Mr. Pointon); one of three poemlets submitted by Kerry; Allan aka El Negro Magnifico finishes up a PIMF street poster.
This past weekend, the cumulative efforts of our city's artistic establishment resulted in the grand release of the first issue of A Paw In My Face. The co-brainchild of Chris Pointon (he of the fabbo Pop77 mixes) and Meagan Radford, A Paw In My Face strives to achieve what the HOWieZine does on its more semi-regular basis: allow creatives to step outside the boundaries of their respective jobs and ... be creative.
Offering a premiere issue theme of love, contributions as varied as photographs, writing, doodles, designs, comics and one modified architectural drawing(!) came together and underwent careful mixing and editing by the two founders – culminating with the release Friday evening at the King's Head Pub. From here, the quest begins for at least one more issue (early indications hint at a theme of hate, how cool is that). For now though, the city's artsier and fartsier establishments get peppered with 200 copies, less handouts at the premiere and one copy stuffed in the hands of Premier Gary Doer, who for reasons unclear was also pubbing it up Friday night.
My own submission, not posted, may be familiar to some of you who drop in here – it was a modified version of this piece, drawn some time ago for Illustration Friday's theme of "song".
"It's no cakewalk being a single parent, juggling a career and family like so many juggling balls ... two, I suppose." – Chief Wiggum, The Simpsons
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I've been so hesitant to draw these days; I finally decided to do something. I started doodling this guy while Kerry and I played Scrabble™ and recovered at the park this weekend (she of stitches from a bike accident, me from a knockout tummy virus). It wasn't until later that evening I checked in with Illustration Friday's current theme – juggle – and began to modify it to suit. I don't really know what's going on with this drawing – just some gangsta doofus who can't juggle potatoes to save his South Side street cred. I apologize if you came for a deeper emotional attachment. I can't give it to you. Be sure to click here for a larger view.
Side note: as a 15-year-old, bored to tears one summer afternoon at home, I picked up three tennis balls and taught myself to juggle. Verging on 32 years of age, I am proud to report that I can now juggle ... three tennis balls. Or three spherical objects roughly the size of a tennis ball.
Photo Friday's current theme of fantasy brings me to this adjusted image taken not too long ago at the beach in Matlock, Manitoba. This is Kerry's nephew, monkeying around in the lake for me and my zoom lens (positioned on a pier about fifteen feet away). I would instruct him to submerge, then to explode through the surface of the water as high as he could. And of course, an experiment like this depends highly on the moment – nabbing the position and expression just so, otherwise losing it – which in itself relies a great deal on hope. The moment lasts milliseconds. Fortunately for me I nabbed this still (click here to see the original, untouched version), and then modified it in black-and-white largely using Photoshop sessions with the dodge and burn tools. Be sure to click here to view a larger version.
Top row (left to right): our only photo together, road-weary in Manistique; Riley the golden doodle; Frank and Sue on the Toronto Islands ferry. Middle row (left to right): blown away on the Bruce Peninsula; Kerry with Big Bay home-made ice-cream; a campsite squirrel prepares to speak. Bottom row (left to right): a Flowerpot Island duck stares me down; I show my good side; Kerry channels The King.
I've just completed the most wonderful vacation.
Following the 2005 meteorological disaster that was our venture into the Rockies, it took us a couple of years to fully lick our road-trip wounds. This time we chose the more predicable climes of Ontario, a two-week sojourn chock full of pit-stops, visits to friends and family, toe-dips in four of five Great Lakes (sorry, Erie) and a holiday schedule about as varied as they come.
Beginning with a two-and-a-bit day trek south through the hugh-nigh steaks (as I referred to the U.S. as a tot) from home to London, Ont., the trip started with a late night on the road due to a dirt rally in the metropolis of Bemidji, Minn., that booked the entire town's worth of rooms. Not the best start – but in Grand Rapids we scored a cheap penthouse suite when the late-night hotel-dude couldn't figure out the computer. Our next night in the deathly quiet burgh of Manistique, Mich., also wound up fabulous with the twin discovery of whitefish dinners and Jilbert's ice cream (much props to buddy Lew, the northern Michigan expert, for cluing us in on both).
Back in Canada on our third night, we arrived unscathed at the house of Kerry's friend (and bursting with pregnancy) Christen, husband Phil and golden doodle Riley. Our two days in London were spent enjoying Ontario heat, an amazing performance of King Lear at the nearby Stratford Theater Festival and boundless tomfoolery from Riley the dog. Our time was capped with a day on our own at Pinery Provincial Park on the southern shores of Lake Huron, hiking some stubby trails and renting bikes. We learned that the tulip-tree is the largest in eastern North America. I never heard of the thing, but them suckers are indeed huge.
Our next stop leading into the long weekend was up-the-road Kitchener where daddy Frank and wife Sue lay waiting with an unbelievable palette of food (peaches!), wine and scheduling – a canoe trip on the Grand River, shopping for a brilliant decorative stained-glass window for our home and a day in The Big Smoke exploring Kensington Market, a brick-in-the-belly lunch at Big Fat Burrito with Kerry's now-Torontonian sister Kath, and the Toronto Islands. One day does not do the country's finest city justice, but we came as close as anyone.
The unofficial third leg of our grand tour had us striking out on our own to the Great Outdoors, beginning on the Bruce Peninsula with a one-night stay in tacky Tobermory – and with what now seems like a vacation staple of ours: stumbling into a place airing The Sopranos (a rarity for those on the cheap in Winnipeg). And to answer your next question, yes, Tobermory – population 500 – does have an Indonesian restaurant. Our days on the peninsula were spent in the (by now) never-ending sun trying to get lost on busy-busy Flowerpot Island, camping in the much-appreciated post-Labour Day solitude at Cyprus Lake and hiking scenic spurs of the world-renowned Bruce Trail.
Eleven sunny days into our trip, we left the Bruce after a wet, stormy night in the tent for the ferry that would take our little workhorse Civic to Manitoulin Island and onward to the wild north coast of Lake Superior. What had become our first lousy day of weather culminated in a gloriously colourful hazy evening sky over the aptly-named Lake Superior Provincial Park. And it was here, steps from our tent, on a miles-long beach, before a red-dot sun and after a campfire-trout dinner, that I proposed to Kerry and we decided to get married.
Lake Superior Park, for this reason and so much more, is now entrenched in my memory as one of the more beautiful locales I have seen in my lifetime. It was here my camera was stuffed with multi-part panoramic attempts and my chest caved in a way it only does before the most majestic surroundings. It is a sight to behold first-hand. Besides a pair of beachside sunset meals, Kerry and I viewed Ojibwa pictographs, the tumbling cascades of Sand River, the knee-busting slopes of the Orphan Lake trail and postcard gawkings of the planet's Great Lake. The region's tempestuous weather was on our trail again, and after time that seemed so much longer than it was, we continued on.
And on, as things turned out. Our final two nights intended to be at Sleeping Giant Provincial Park near Thunder Bay were scuttled following a day of rainy, foggy, hilly, winding and semi-trucky driving and the frigid north winds that eventually chased it all away. We had few regrets though. Our time was done.
Stay tuned to Flickr for all the photos as they get uploaded over the following days and weeks.
