with an apology to Sue, (and probably the rest of you who are wondering why they haven't locked me up yet...believe me, i do... a fervent promise to attempt to draw some bunny rabbits or flowers tomorrow. for my good as much as yours.
14 June 2005
on the shoulders of giants.
with an apology to Sue, (and probably the rest of you who are wondering why they haven't locked me up yet...believe me, i do... a fervent promise to attempt to draw some bunny rabbits or flowers tomorrow. for my good as much as yours.
13 June 2005
12 June 2005
email minutiae. (2)
it is to Barker that i owe many proverbially wasted minutes of my day, and i can't bear the thought that this stuff evaporates into the ether without at least a chuckle or two. so onwards, more minutiae...
on the panic of apartment hunting.
Calm thy self, Virginia Wolf.
i know. GAH! where is my coat?! where are my rocks?! where is the river?!
Stop it.
could i live in the river?
No. At least not for long. Well. Maybe if you keep your head above water.
erg. what if it's the wrong place?
i know.
but what if it is?
Quit it.
i'm trying.
(what if it is?)
Stop it.
perhaps i could build a dam.
Ahem. That would make you a beaver.
------
on tattoos and winkles.
NO DIRECTIONAL FLAMES.
Not ON my winkle, on my tummy silly!
NO DIRECTIONAL FLAMES.
Heh heh.
heheh Nothing. no directional flames.
How about travel stamps? Use-by-date stamps? Chaste arrows and dotted lines?
Cut-along-dotted-line directions?
harrumph. how 'bout "RETURN TO SENDER".
Ha!
-----
on sheltered existence.
you Obviously live under a rock.
Well duh.
it's okay. it's an easier transition to the cemetery when the time comes.
I've already picked out my urn.
-----
on morals and ethics.
... I think it's important to discern ethics
from morals.
sigh. okay. i'm not feeling moral or ethical today.
Hmmm... What's that like for you?
on the panic of apartment hunting.
Calm thy self, Virginia Wolf.
i know. GAH! where is my coat?! where are my rocks?! where is the river?!
Stop it.
could i live in the river?
No. At least not for long. Well. Maybe if you keep your head above water.
erg. what if it's the wrong place?
i know.
but what if it is?
Quit it.
i'm trying.
(what if it is?)
Stop it.
perhaps i could build a dam.
Ahem. That would make you a beaver.
------
on tattoos and winkles.
NO DIRECTIONAL FLAMES.
Not ON my winkle, on my tummy silly!
NO DIRECTIONAL FLAMES.
Heh heh.
heheh Nothing. no directional flames.
How about travel stamps? Use-by-date stamps? Chaste arrows and dotted lines?
Cut-along-dotted-line directions?
harrumph. how 'bout "RETURN TO SENDER".
Ha!
-----
on sheltered existence.
you Obviously live under a rock.
Well duh.
it's okay. it's an easier transition to the cemetery when the time comes.
I've already picked out my urn.
-----
on morals and ethics.
... I think it's important to discern ethics
from morals.
sigh. okay. i'm not feeling moral or ethical today.
Hmmm... What's that like for you?
11 June 2005
last but not least before i retire.
i would like to make a public service announcement that the season brochure for Theatre Passe Muraille is now printed and circulating around the city and i'm unexpectedly and Immensely pleased with it. illustration no. 1 on the outside. it's around. find it and ogle. g'night.
10 June 2005
08 June 2005
ahem.
the very first time i heard about blogs was 4 years ago, i think.
some girl i was waitressing with said "i have a blog" and i said "what's a blog" and she said "it's an online journal thingy" and i said "oh."
and i went home and i looked and i found it, and read some lengthy and meandering ingredients list from her previous night's enterprise making spaghetti sauce.
i'm pretty sure i snorted with tremendous disdain, and never went back.
ahem.
so tonight i was privy to the culinary mastery of my long-time dear friend Scott and it's just left me in a state of True and Utter Bliss. (now i'm a philistine, so i will need to be corrected on the name of the recipe) eggs au gratin with peppers and chorizo. accompanied by a healthy smattering of wine, a scott-made mélange of musical glee from the likes of the Manics,Levellers, Sheep on Drugs,Sigue Sigue Sputnik, the beloved NMA of course (and more), followed by tea, pecan tart and cheesecake courtesy of kensington, and some of the Finest Conversation known to humanity. (sigh)
watched the Office for the first time, followed by a documentary on the making of Withnail & I, and all in all there was so much Anglophilic indulgence that it was almost (Almost) too much to bear.
Long-Time Friends, Good Food, and Cultural Indulgences of a foreign nature are Unparalleled Treasures. Truly, Truly.
some girl i was waitressing with said "i have a blog" and i said "what's a blog" and she said "it's an online journal thingy" and i said "oh."
and i went home and i looked and i found it, and read some lengthy and meandering ingredients list from her previous night's enterprise making spaghetti sauce.
i'm pretty sure i snorted with tremendous disdain, and never went back.
ahem.
so tonight i was privy to the culinary mastery of my long-time dear friend Scott and it's just left me in a state of True and Utter Bliss. (now i'm a philistine, so i will need to be corrected on the name of the recipe) eggs au gratin with peppers and chorizo. accompanied by a healthy smattering of wine, a scott-made mélange of musical glee from the likes of the Manics,Levellers, Sheep on Drugs,Sigue Sigue Sputnik, the beloved NMA of course (and more), followed by tea, pecan tart and cheesecake courtesy of kensington, and some of the Finest Conversation known to humanity. (sigh)
watched the Office for the first time, followed by a documentary on the making of Withnail & I, and all in all there was so much Anglophilic indulgence that it was almost (Almost) too much to bear.
Long-Time Friends, Good Food, and Cultural Indulgences of a foreign nature are Unparalleled Treasures. Truly, Truly.
07 June 2005
IILLLLLOOOOSSTTRRATTTIIOONNNSSS.
ladies and gentlemen of the internet, the website is up. Go hither. try not to chuckle at how freaked i was over the small little dearies, they're much Much bigger (and More Time Consuming to create) in real life; all will be apparent as the year unfolds. and there is one missing. such is the world of strategic marketing and limited webspace. woosh.
all gratuitous praise is welcome, and criticism (Constructive, mind you) as well. now go! WOOOOOO!
all gratuitous praise is welcome, and criticism (Constructive, mind you) as well. now go! WOOOOOO!
06 June 2005
obscenities.
wow i wrote fuck alot last night. must have been the lateness of the hour. perhaps i should put an R rating on this site!
2.06am, and at Last some thoughts on TCAF.
so. dear old things. my day went as planned. i did indeed have tea, i did indeed chat lengthily with my friend Patrick in Delhi (i'm sure you're all Very happy to know he's having a Smashing time there.), and did finish the last Last LAST TPM illustration. survey says the site goes up tomorrow, but i'll post that info when i see it.
which brings me to my promise of days now past, to expound for a moment or five on TCAF, the Toronto Comic Arts Festival, held in its second incarnation in this fair city last weekend.
dear friends. it was disorganized, it was frantic, it was fabulous. the Toronto Comic Arts Festival, for which i volunteered (which is to say, i wandered around feeling important and giving people pee breaks) was the creme de la creme of comics makers from ... other places. you know.
i found a new favourite, james jean (WOW WOW WWWOOWWW! check the Sketchbooks, fellow culture mongers, check the SKETCHBOOKS.), got to hear academics talk about comics thanks to miz Gerard's organizational (and Poorly compensated, may i say) acumen in organizing a panel and speakers, got to mingle with comic artists gloriola Willow Dawson,Alana Machnicki, and Tyrone McCarthy and, most excitingly, hear Phoebe Gloeckner speak again, 'bout comics, life, and, this time around, murder victims in Mexico. woohoo!
so here are some tidbits, thoughts, floaty things of some pertinence in the river of pondering. (or the pond of pondering?)
first off, it's all still a boys' club. hands down. i asked the academics (of which two of them were women, Phoebe Gloeckner and Anne Rubinstein) what it was like to be a woman (or what the prevailing opinion was of women) speaking about a marginal genre to the academic world as a marginal gender of sorts.
hear this story.
so Phoebe Gloeckner sells a medical illustration she did of fellatio to a guy by the name of Al Goldstein (yes, the nyc porn king), and they're sitting at the restaurant, and they've finished eating, and he pulls out his wallet and starts counting hundreds onto the table to pay for (said painting), being Ostentatious to say the Least. everyone's watching, and then he looks at her and says "do you feel like a whore now?"
i'd say WHAT A FUCKING COCK. but he'd love that.
which sucks.
(yes, that too.)
GAH.
anyhow.
she (PG) also points out that the first thing out of peoples' mouths so often is something to the tune of "oh, you're SO lucky you can draw! i can't even draw a straight line!", and it lends credence to this idea that people think of artists as these (and i'm quoting) "idiot savants, born with some sort of gift, instead of the artists and consumate Craftspeople they really are."
"LEARNING TO DRAW WELL IS HARD. it's a SKILL."
and to that all i can say is HERE HERE. and it's the Best skill. Ever. that's what i say. it brings with it this attempt to see things for what they are, to dissect and decipher them, and to record them and revisualize them for other people in a personal and meaningful way. YAHOOO! to Drawing.
and with comic artists, they have to be able to do everything well. draw well, express well, write well.
(clink of my proverbial wine glass) TO COMIC BOOK ARTISTS.
most fascinating to me was the story miz Gloeckner told of being phoned up by Mia Kirshner (sp? some actress famous chick? i don't know) and asked to go to Mexico to investigate the serial murders of a bunch of 20 something prostitutes, to record in a comic. so PG goes to Mexico, (sorry, an appendix for the uninitiated, miz Gloeckner illustrates sex manuals, and Very well, i might add.) she goes to Mexico, gets to know the family of one of the victims, and comes back to illustrate the story and realizes that the same illustrations she was once doing to illustrate other peoples' pleasure, the same ones, are now being used to accurately reflect another person's Pain.
there's this line, and both ends of the spectrum meet there, and it's terrifying.
this fascinates and causes me no small amount of anxiety. THIS is what i have been fretting about, with all my porn concern and thoughts on the psychology of sex. the line is thin, ladies and gentlemen, the line is thin.
and the only thing it's made of is respect and compassion. which is hard to find and to define as well, in this day and age.
anyhow, PG decides she's going to do the Mexico story by photographing dolls. (i'm paraphrasing the following here:) 'coz dolls survive, you know. you can do whatever to them and they are still...dolls."
not like drawings.
which may make sense to noone. but makes Alot of sense to me.
DRAWING: truly one of the Ultimate arts and forms of honesty. Truly Truly. (Madly, Deeply)
and interestingly, PG will no longer be illustrating sex manuals.
which brings me to my promise of days now past, to expound for a moment or five on TCAF, the Toronto Comic Arts Festival, held in its second incarnation in this fair city last weekend.
dear friends. it was disorganized, it was frantic, it was fabulous. the Toronto Comic Arts Festival, for which i volunteered (which is to say, i wandered around feeling important and giving people pee breaks) was the creme de la creme of comics makers from ... other places. you know.
i found a new favourite, james jean (WOW WOW WWWOOWWW! check the Sketchbooks, fellow culture mongers, check the SKETCHBOOKS.), got to hear academics talk about comics thanks to miz Gerard's organizational (and Poorly compensated, may i say) acumen in organizing a panel and speakers, got to mingle with comic artists gloriola Willow Dawson,Alana Machnicki, and Tyrone McCarthy and, most excitingly, hear Phoebe Gloeckner speak again, 'bout comics, life, and, this time around, murder victims in Mexico. woohoo!
so here are some tidbits, thoughts, floaty things of some pertinence in the river of pondering. (or the pond of pondering?)
first off, it's all still a boys' club. hands down. i asked the academics (of which two of them were women, Phoebe Gloeckner and Anne Rubinstein) what it was like to be a woman (or what the prevailing opinion was of women) speaking about a marginal genre to the academic world as a marginal gender of sorts.
hear this story.
so Phoebe Gloeckner sells a medical illustration she did of fellatio to a guy by the name of Al Goldstein (yes, the nyc porn king), and they're sitting at the restaurant, and they've finished eating, and he pulls out his wallet and starts counting hundreds onto the table to pay for (said painting), being Ostentatious to say the Least. everyone's watching, and then he looks at her and says "do you feel like a whore now?"
i'd say WHAT A FUCKING COCK. but he'd love that.
which sucks.
(yes, that too.)
GAH.
anyhow.
she (PG) also points out that the first thing out of peoples' mouths so often is something to the tune of "oh, you're SO lucky you can draw! i can't even draw a straight line!", and it lends credence to this idea that people think of artists as these (and i'm quoting) "idiot savants, born with some sort of gift, instead of the artists and consumate Craftspeople they really are."
"LEARNING TO DRAW WELL IS HARD. it's a SKILL."
and to that all i can say is HERE HERE. and it's the Best skill. Ever. that's what i say. it brings with it this attempt to see things for what they are, to dissect and decipher them, and to record them and revisualize them for other people in a personal and meaningful way. YAHOOO! to Drawing.
and with comic artists, they have to be able to do everything well. draw well, express well, write well.
(clink of my proverbial wine glass) TO COMIC BOOK ARTISTS.
most fascinating to me was the story miz Gloeckner told of being phoned up by Mia Kirshner (sp? some actress famous chick? i don't know) and asked to go to Mexico to investigate the serial murders of a bunch of 20 something prostitutes, to record in a comic. so PG goes to Mexico, (sorry, an appendix for the uninitiated, miz Gloeckner illustrates sex manuals, and Very well, i might add.) she goes to Mexico, gets to know the family of one of the victims, and comes back to illustrate the story and realizes that the same illustrations she was once doing to illustrate other peoples' pleasure, the same ones, are now being used to accurately reflect another person's Pain.
there's this line, and both ends of the spectrum meet there, and it's terrifying.
this fascinates and causes me no small amount of anxiety. THIS is what i have been fretting about, with all my porn concern and thoughts on the psychology of sex. the line is thin, ladies and gentlemen, the line is thin.
and the only thing it's made of is respect and compassion. which is hard to find and to define as well, in this day and age.
anyhow, PG decides she's going to do the Mexico story by photographing dolls. (i'm paraphrasing the following here:) 'coz dolls survive, you know. you can do whatever to them and they are still...dolls."
not like drawings.
which may make sense to noone. but makes Alot of sense to me.
DRAWING: truly one of the Ultimate arts and forms of honesty. Truly Truly. (Madly, Deeply)
and interestingly, PG will no longer be illustrating sex manuals.
"These trousers never quit!"
"-- They play pool! They get lost in creepy tunnels!
They mourn over the lost age of polka!"
----
and with that, dear reader(s), we end the first chapter of "the adventures of stef lenk's astonishing trousers"
said trousers return to me tomorrow, along with miz Gerard, now safely back from grand ole (small l) london.
for chapter 2, i shall accost the incredible and multi-coloured Willow Dawson to take another pair of my self-made pants on her trip to Vancouver.
and, if i'm lucky, the illustrious Kari Minchin will make chapter 3's photographic contribution with stef-pants in her june journey to Canada's west coast! STAY TUNED, GOOD CITIZENS, STAY TUNED!
sigh.
would that i had had the foresight to offer some exemplary britches to Rebecca to bring to the east coast of Canada last week. sigh. ah well, another chapter, another time.
They mourn over the lost age of polka!"
----
and with that, dear reader(s), we end the first chapter of "the adventures of stef lenk's astonishing trousers"
said trousers return to me tomorrow, along with miz Gerard, now safely back from grand ole (small l) london.
for chapter 2, i shall accost the incredible and multi-coloured Willow Dawson to take another pair of my self-made pants on her trip to Vancouver.
and, if i'm lucky, the illustrious Kari Minchin will make chapter 3's photographic contribution with stef-pants in her june journey to Canada's west coast! STAY TUNED, GOOD CITIZENS, STAY TUNED!
sigh.
would that i had had the foresight to offer some exemplary britches to Rebecca to bring to the east coast of Canada last week. sigh. ah well, another chapter, another time.
05 June 2005
special thanks to...
ah.
ladies and gentlemen of the internet, before i begin my day's blogging (ok before i begin my cup of tea which will lead to one last illustration which will lead after that to my days blogging, or to a lengthy discussion with my friend Patrick who is due to call from Delhi today, OR to nothing in particular 'coz i could well decide i've had enough of all of it and do myself in by attempting to stuff myself inside the air conditioner 'coz it's so hot in here)...last night i betook myself to bed with Brick 75 to have a perusal of the final polished product. ahhhh, who says that after three proofreads one doesn't want to see the whole thing again? anyhow, as i flipped away after lingering on the Chris Ware sketches, the Surrey County Lunatic Asylum portraits, and the Kent Nussey ponderings, i found myself on page 173 where i unexpectedly found (dabs hanky to eye momentarily) a SPECIAL THANKS! to ME!! well, a special thanks to lots of important people that i don't know, one gregarious and pee-happy puppy, but me TOO!
sigh.
for those of you have been entertaining yourselves with this trifling blog for sometime, you may remember a while back when i was quite dismayed to be told by one of my teachers at school that i was not extraordinary, i was nothing special, i was just the same as everyone else.
to that i have these three small words:
SPECIAL THANKS TO.
HA.
ladies and gentlemen of the internet, before i begin my day's blogging (ok before i begin my cup of tea which will lead to one last illustration which will lead after that to my days blogging, or to a lengthy discussion with my friend Patrick who is due to call from Delhi today, OR to nothing in particular 'coz i could well decide i've had enough of all of it and do myself in by attempting to stuff myself inside the air conditioner 'coz it's so hot in here)...last night i betook myself to bed with Brick 75 to have a perusal of the final polished product. ahhhh, who says that after three proofreads one doesn't want to see the whole thing again? anyhow, as i flipped away after lingering on the Chris Ware sketches, the Surrey County Lunatic Asylum portraits, and the Kent Nussey ponderings, i found myself on page 173 where i unexpectedly found (dabs hanky to eye momentarily) a SPECIAL THANKS! to ME!! well, a special thanks to lots of important people that i don't know, one gregarious and pee-happy puppy, but me TOO!
sigh.
for those of you have been entertaining yourselves with this trifling blog for sometime, you may remember a while back when i was quite dismayed to be told by one of my teachers at school that i was not extraordinary, i was nothing special, i was just the same as everyone else.
to that i have these three small words:
SPECIAL THANKS TO.
HA.
04 June 2005
the adventures of stef lenk's astonishing trousers: chapter 1. london, ontario.
wherein the even more astonishing Shannon Gerard, in (small l) london for an academic panel on comic books, played violent video games at what she affectionately(?) called a "local dive"
in my astonishing trousers.
(ahem. goodness me! but it's true! those are them! i swear it!)
in my astonishing trousers.
(ahem. goodness me! but it's true! those are them! i swear it!)
email minutiae.
okay, so it's not quite a real post. but i want to take a moment to relay a few bits'n'bobs from my world of email addiction that afforded me momentary respite over the last 10 days, and yes, for those of you who may be interested, i handed said 10 Utterly Completed illustrations to TPM today, and i think they were quite well received. WOOHOO! more details when i know for sure when the site is going up, when they are getting printed, etc.
so. for now, let's see.
••• tea for the perpetually melancholic in the afterlife•••
B: Pfft - it doesn't get easier really, as one gets older - 'cause even
with the hard won wisdom, the stakes just get higher and higher.
s: Quiet. leave me with my optimism. i need some right now.
B: Oh come on, I'm having a bad week, indulge me a little.
s: oh okay. it's all Hell and Misery. i agree. :] should we get plots
nearby so we can enjoy some post-mortem tea in the afterlife?
B: Absolutely - we can make tea from the ashes in the funeral urns.
••• the odiferous and ungainly nature of emotional residue.•••
s: I WANT TO BE ABLE TO DO THAT. i need to unload some emotional residue somewhere. somehow.
B: Ha!
s: i tried to unload it in someone's trash heap on my way home from the book launch tonight, but some fat bastard chased after me "hey lady, you left your emotional residue here. HEY. they don't pick that shit up for days and it starts smelling! go unload it in your own neighbourhood."
sigh. i had to be a good citizen and heed him. Rats.
B: How much emotional residue can anyone stand in one lifetime?
s: oh Christ. i DO NOT KNOW. i'm surprised i'm not Fat with all the residue i'm carrying around. where is it, i tell you? in the (snicker) "shapely largesse" of my biker's thighs? in my bum?
ha.
i just figured it out.
it's in my voluminous hair.
only yesterday i was commenting that my hair is now getting heavier than my head when i wear it up. Hilarious. i've just discovered it. how Apropos.
••• on how not to scare off the easily intimidated.•••
B: Slow down, smile more at the cute ones, talk more slowly, approach people etc. I don't know.
s: harrumph. talk more slowly. it's like asking the tsunami to hold up a minute please, while i get my pool noodle and move my beach chair out of the way.
so. for now, let's see.
••• tea for the perpetually melancholic in the afterlife•••
B: Pfft - it doesn't get easier really, as one gets older - 'cause even
with the hard won wisdom, the stakes just get higher and higher.
s: Quiet. leave me with my optimism. i need some right now.
B: Oh come on, I'm having a bad week, indulge me a little.
s: oh okay. it's all Hell and Misery. i agree. :] should we get plots
nearby so we can enjoy some post-mortem tea in the afterlife?
B: Absolutely - we can make tea from the ashes in the funeral urns.
••• the odiferous and ungainly nature of emotional residue.•••
s: I WANT TO BE ABLE TO DO THAT. i need to unload some emotional residue somewhere. somehow.
B: Ha!
s: i tried to unload it in someone's trash heap on my way home from the book launch tonight, but some fat bastard chased after me "hey lady, you left your emotional residue here. HEY. they don't pick that shit up for days and it starts smelling! go unload it in your own neighbourhood."
sigh. i had to be a good citizen and heed him. Rats.
B: How much emotional residue can anyone stand in one lifetime?
s: oh Christ. i DO NOT KNOW. i'm surprised i'm not Fat with all the residue i'm carrying around. where is it, i tell you? in the (snicker) "shapely largesse" of my biker's thighs? in my bum?
ha.
i just figured it out.
it's in my voluminous hair.
only yesterday i was commenting that my hair is now getting heavier than my head when i wear it up. Hilarious. i've just discovered it. how Apropos.
••• on how not to scare off the easily intimidated.•••
B: Slow down, smile more at the cute ones, talk more slowly, approach people etc. I don't know.
s: harrumph. talk more slowly. it's like asking the tsunami to hold up a minute please, while i get my pool noodle and move my beach chair out of the way.
01 June 2005
play by play.
ladies and gentlemen, for the sweet love of my left hand, i've got 10 illustrations down, ONE to go!!!!
and touch ups of course.
from now on i write a bottle of tequila into every freelance contract i take on.
and touch ups of course.
from now on i write a bottle of tequila into every freelance contract i take on.
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