Late at Night [+ my ode to Obama]

I am my mother's daughter. I think the most at night; deep, pensive, questioning, self-depreciating  stuff. 

I have to settle an inner demon. I am in the middle of yet another quarter-life crisis. I've told a close one that it never ends, not even when you reach 21. To note though, I don't think I have ever come out honestly about how much turmoil this wandering chameleon goes through. 

So here goes. I've gone from wanting to be president, to a math nerd finding her inner trashed up rebel, then went into science, freaked out and transferred into media, got bored and shimmied into business, barelled my way to the high boards of finance and fell atop high art. Its been confusing, going into a new mode every 2 years or so. I have wished many times I'd just decide and stick with it. There are just so many options, and I somehow seem to pull them off every time by the skin of my teeth. 

Perhaps I have never hit it sqarely on the head, but now I can rest easy that I have said it out loud; No, I don't know what I am going to do with myself. I'm not brilliant, I'm just very persistent. 

It's not all boo-hooing, weepy, i-can't-do-it though. This month, the arty persistence has paid off in a wonderful show opening next week, 4th FEB 2009.

The Lens Factory [and its curator] presents Catherine Farquharson, documentor of Prom Night in Mississippi. Ten years ago, Morgan Freeman, who lived in the community of Charleston, had offered to fund the first ever interracial Senior Prom in the history of the town's only high school. 

His offer was ignored. 

In 2008, Freeman offered again. This time, the local school board accepted. 

Ta dah. I'm proud of this one. I'm pulling out all the bells and whistles. We're going to interview, publicise, push and nag for more coverage, not because its Black History Month here in Toronto, but because I wouldn't have it any other way. 

You can take a look here. 

Paperwork

I am applying for PR status now, and form-filling isn't the most entertaining, especially when you have to go back 10 years in time explaning what the heck you were doing between 8/2005 to 11/2005. Its very hard to find an alternative word to 'bumming and sleeping till 3PM'. 

There is also a section about where you've stayed in the past 10 years, and I have to account for the last four years of country hopping. How many hotels have I stayed in? Probably 30. "Please state your address, no matter how short the duration". Just great. 

I wonder how long it will take for the world to be just considered 'the world' and countries cease implementing all this border nonsense. It would probably take another millennium, or a nuclear armageddon. We are still as primitive as when we began walking upright, albeit more comfortable with our plasma screens and flushing toilets. "My hut! You stay away from my hut! I kill you if you come in my hut to work! Pay duty tax when you leave my hut! I shall segregate you because you haven't been born in my hut! I shall deny you the right to work to make an honest day's living, since this is my hut and I control how much scum like you should be paid! I don't care if you're hardworking, able-bodied, attractive, young and motivated. You can work if you pay an entry fee to my hut and meet certain criteria that my hut needs; otherwise I WILL strike you down with malevolent force and deport you to another hut 5 feet away. And stop breathing my air!" 

Aren't we a frendly lot? It seems to serve us right that humans are doomed to exist in paperwork. Spreadsheets, forms, credit slips, pay slips, birth certificates, passports, phone bills, subscriptions, bus tickets, newspapers, degrees, death certificates... its the only thing we can show about our understanding of existance. 

Mischevious ways

Muse

This is Matt in Ka Chi, our favorite korean place on Palmerston. Ah, the occupational hazard of having a photographer as a spouse. 

Here is a pic of Matt, again, looking a bit more dapper. This photo was taken in autumn down by the lakeshore, right next to our apartment. 

Gallery Exhibit #1

I curated my first show last night at the gallery. It was a successful launch, with about 90 glasses of wine sold, and a couple of bottles of water for $2 each. The crowd finished 6 packs of fancy cheese, two packs of duck liver pate and 2 party-sized dips with veg. 

We happened to have a spot open on the wall, so I exhibited too. I was up front with another artist. I also had to take pictures of guests to put up on a couple of publications, since it was a group show, and is considered a pretty big thing in the art world here in Toronto. At least in  the west queen west gallery district anyway. Matt bought me a monopod for the event and I used it until it got too crowded. The windows fogged up the front display and I had to wrangle with a couple of artists so we could move it inside, which is like trying to talk to a bunch of over-eager A-students to give away an extra credit. People were schmoozing, I met a friend who was in the same boating class as I, and we got 124 bucks at the end of it from tips. 

Several glasses of pinot noir, a deep conversation with two crazy women and 28 pictures of guests later, I realised I was exhibiting that night. I wasn't just serving alcohol and hanging up coats. I was the curator and one of my pictures was in the front. 

Matt was with me for the entire show, and I will probably not forget this. When I look back, it feels grander than I allowed it to be at the time. 

PS: Good news on the banking job-thing. I met up with a ceo of a private m&a company here and there might be a job for me at a pretty big american bank exactly in time with my PR application. Its a foot in the door that most people would kill for. Its all theoretical, but it might just happen. 

Another Niagara picture

I took this photo on our honeymoon.