Ripening

Oh my god, why do I suck?

I've had a REALLY difficult time blogging lately and I don't know if I have any real excuses/reasons, except for the fact that even though I still only teach once a week, I've been mad busy lately. I'm working on a couple of important (to me) writing projects and I have to say that it's crucial for me to put that energy into those projects when I have it. I've also had some company lately (my mum) and will have more company soon (my sister and squishy nephew) and have been going to the gym a lot and trying to clean the bathroom and dropping my phone one too many times and just generally being awesome.

I think it's the curse of the To Do List. I've started putting down things like, Get Up and Shower and Feed The Cat, because it's just oh so satisfying to check things off a To Do List. I've also been reading a lot lately and have been going back and forth between three novels, (Holding Still For as Long as Possible by Zoe Whittall, The Hour I First Believed by Wally Lamb and February by Lisa Moore) each of which are satisfying for different reasons.

So, anyway, yeah. I have about 10 6FU related blog posts that I've started but can't seem to get the inspiration to finish. I also really need to get back to the major job hunt. You know, the one where I go from business to business and try to look desperately pathetic enough so that someone will hire me for $10 an hour.

This is the tricky part about being mostly unemployed for several months. You get used to it. You learn to enjoy and the panic slowly seeps away. You forget that jobs equal respect and dignity and you ignore the fact that you ever thought you needed those things from society anyway. And if you're an artist of some sort, you spend time working on your craft and suddenly you realize that you can easily fill up the days and feel completely satisfied with your life. Possibly for the first time ever.

I sort of feel like Claire in this really ridiculous scene with Ruth. She's being such a little spoiled brat right here, but I kinda feel it. All she wants to do is go to Spain with Billy and 'ripen' (most hilarious bullshit phrase ever), and all I really want to do is stay in Toronto and work on my writing projects and never ever EVER have to work for a mere $10 an hour at some shit service or retail job again. So I'm feeling kind of like a spoiled baby these days.

Every Day Above Ground Is A Good One

I've been sick this week....

Why am I always getting sick? It feels like this happens every month these days. I also had a few frustrating rejections in my writing world, though I was pretty out of it with my neo-citran high, so I don't really even remember much of the pain of that.

This is going to be a bit of a gummy post. I feel strange every day. There seems to be a lot of huge, potentially life-altering decisions that I need to make soon and I'd rather just cocoon up and dig a little hole inside my head to climb into. Or out of. Or something.

It's been raining in Toronto. A good time to snuggle in bed with loved ones. If you aren't too irritated with your loved ones, that is. Or if you aren't so frustrated with yourself that your loved ones seem particularly out of reach.

There is something about isolation that both feeds me and makes me a bit mad. Crazy mad.

Cacophony

Yes, it's been a few weeks.

There are no real excuses here, but I did have some issues that needed to get cleared up with my new teaching job, and then I began prepping, which of course filled me with anxiety until I was actually IN the classroom. High school students are kind of terrifying. Luckily I have a fairly good poker face (I practiced that face on friday night while playing actual poker) and I don't think they noticed how nervous I really was.

This weekend I went to an incredible art show at the CNE. My cousin was working there and got me a complimentary ticket (Thanks H!). Of course, when she said art show, I was picturing it in Saskatoon terms. A nice sized gallery with maybe a dozen artists. I suggested I would come towards the end of her shift and we could walk around for an hour and then go get some sushi. I got to the Queen Elizabeth building at the CNE and just about fainted. HUNDREDS OF ARTISTS were showing their work at this show, displaying practically every possibly medium. There was installation, photography, painting, drawing, sculpture, blown glass, mixed media, digital art, etc etc. It was fucking amazing.

I pretty much had a panic attack as soon as I walked in. And, as if I couldn't have been more overwhelmed, the first artist's work I walked up to look at was none other than the fabulously talented Beverly Hawksley....Hawksley Workman's own mother. For those of you who read this blog who know me well, you know what this would've done for my existence. I was completely star struck. I introduced myself and we chatted for a few minutes. She's a very kind and down to earth person and while I babbled on about how much I worship her son (possibly mentioning at some point that I plan on having his babies....), she said sweetly, 'that's so good to hear, I will pass that message on to him'. Of course her work is stunning. Some of it is printed in Hawksley Workman's book, Hawksley Burns for Isadora.

Anyway, it was basically amazing for me. Here are some Hawksley Workman videos for your viewing pleasure:








And here is my all time favourite HW song:



Cacophony: best word ever.

How does all of this come back to 6FU? One might think it doesn't, but it does. Seriously, how could it not? 6FU has some fabulous songs written and recorded by some fabulous bands/musicians throughout the series, including but not limited to: Arcade Fire, PJ Harvey, Cold Play, Nina Simone, Jem, Sia, Radiohead, Interpol, Death Cab For Cutie, Lamb, and Zero 7. And let's not forget about the great Thomas Newman. There is also a rather large artistic theme running through the series. We have Billy (played by Jeremy Sisto), Brenda's scitzophrentic brother, a photographer and a loose cannon when off his meds. And, of course, Claire, who's artwork and artistic desire (as well as her desire to seek a place among the misfits of her world) features prominately in her story arc on the show, and includes friends and lovers who attend art school with her. Then we have Olivier Castro-Staal, Claire's indignant and self-absorbed art teacher who deflowers her boyfriend Russel's (Ben Foster) gay virginity and then looks Claire in the face and says, 'what a baby...just because I fucked your boyfriend. Real pain is what you need."

But it's not just the characters and their lives. The show itself is a work of art. The shots, the lighting, the sets. Even HBO itself shows its commitment to its artistic vision by these innovative promos they did for each 6FU season:

Season 2 Promo:


Season 3 Promo:


Season 4 Promo:


Season 5 Promo:


Stunning, right? Each one gives teeny tiny hints to what will be coming up in the next season. What a way to advertise for a show. Soon, I'll be looking in more detail at Claire's artwork throughout the show, possibly posting some of my own humble photographs.

I think it's rare to find a show that is well written, incredibly well acted and visually stunning. Perhaps that's why I feel so fulfilled while watching 6FU. All of my senses are completely satisfied. Well, except perhaps touch and taste. But I'm usually eating tasty food while I watch the show. And I'm likely holding the hand of a dear friend.

Best Fight Ever

So while the show may hold the theme of hope at its heart, it also holds immense pain, sadness, rage, fear and grief. I'm not having the best day today, and as always, when life is as disappointingly tragic as it so often is (for the existentialist in me), I can find a certain amount of gratification in HBO. In other words, there is a 6FU scene to go with every occasion.

This is Brenda and Nate's biggest and most horrifyingly amazing fight. It is a kind of monster, all flesh gouging fangs and claws. It is the kind of fight that owns you, that becomes epic and spills out every part of your insides until you're left with the bloody guts to clean up. It is full of truthful hateful accusations. It's the only thing that's comforting me today. Let it comfort you too. Other people, even if they're fictional, have it worse than we do:

Why I Can't Let Anything Go

So, this is my favourite 6FU scene of all time. It seems impossible to pick just one scene from this show, since there are so many that I find poignant and/or hilarious, but this one has always felt like the epitome of what the show is really about. Yes, there is pain. Yes, each of us is walking around bleeding and full of baggage that we often feel we can't get away from. Yes, it is so incredibly frustrating to feel trapped inside a particular emotional response to that pain. It is so very difficult to move forward. But (and here's the kicker), we can. And what if it really is that simple.

(And in case you were wondering, yes, a dear friend did call and sing I'm a lonely Little Petunia...to me on my voice mail. She just gets me.)

I wrote this poem a long time ago:

Why I Can’t Let Anything Go

because of genetics because it’s a family trait because

my parents don’t help by never saying no

because my best friend says she likes me better

this way because I just met you three years ago

and we’ve barely scratched the surface because high school

because pizza and beer is all we need

to get along because life is made up of perfect moments

and spending years recovering from them because my dog

can’t hear me yelling because the best and worst piece

of advice you ever gave me was to do what I love because

I got to keep the tiny blue sweater your daughter wore

because there is a picture of seven of us on a mug

on my desk because my turtle died because my gerbil

died because my dog will die someday soon and when

that happens my family will be torn apart because

it’s never been in my nature to live in the present

because every time I meet someone I spend

the first six months wishing they were

someone else because I left all my furniture and

my fish in someone else’s apartment because maybe

he and I were never meant to mean much of anything

because I may miss you more now then when

you’re gone because the movies I watch make me

believe I’m doing everything all wrong but my favourite

TV shows convince me I’m right because we don’t drive

to see the stars anymore because sometimes I miss

my dish rack and shower curtain because I switched

to a single bed because it’s always over long before

I’m ready because once is never enough

We all have trouble with letting go of our attachments; those to people, places, memories and things. We cling to ideas and emotions and our own bad patterns. We are all afraid of change, even if that change could do us a world of good. We are terrified of the unknown. What I love about this scene is how much hope lies in it. The idea that we have the power to change our situation. We can nurture ourselves and our emotions, but also decide when to let it go. It is all within us. We don't have to look outside of ourselves for everything. There is comfort in that, and in the realization that there is control in letting go of control, and strength in allowing ourselves to stop fighting.

I think this scene beautifully articulates the core message behind the show. Hope.

I'm a Lonely Little Petunia

Today I'm trying to write poetry. Basically it just makes me want to cry. So I thought I'd post this little video, in the hopes that someone will sing me this song today:

Sketches of Light and Dark

This is a fun early sketch of the main title theme of 6FU.



Some crazy bizarre differences that I have to say I'm glad they changed for the actual title sequence. In the end product I love the attention to detail with the embalming fluid going into the body, watching the levels of fluid move down, the flowers dying, and the cotton ball being brushed over the eyebrow of the dead person's face. As well, beginning with the crow and tree and ending with the crow and tree has some nice symbolism.

And how everything blows out to white at the end. This happens in every episode; every time someone dies the show fades to white. When it cuts to a new scene (or commercial), it fades to white. When each show ends it fades to white. Which has lead me to wonder about our obvious fascination with white and black, the two colours that are not even technically colours, that represent light and dark, life and death. But in some cases, life is represented as a dark reality and death is the serene afterlife.

The scene where Nate buries Lisa is poignant because of its play with dark and light. There's the white of the headlights, Nate's shirt, the body bag (which has always struck me as interesting since I always think of body bags as being black). Then there's the black of the night sky, the darkness of the grave Nate digs, the silhouette of the Joshua tree in the background. And towards the end, the light of an early dawn.



There are the obvious reasons for the choice made to have the scenes and episodes fade to white (especially right after someone has died). When you die you supposedly go towards some kind of light. You move upward, towards the fat fluffy clouds, the pearly white gates of heaven (if you believe in that sort of thing). You are relieved of the burden of dark reality. It's all very dramatic.

We are manipulated by colours. We can't help but attach emotion to, not only colours, but different shades of colours. We have different names for blue, like baby blue, navy blue, sky blue. These evoke an automatic emotional response. The sun is yellow and warm, therefore yellow is a colour that makes us feel warm and cozy. Vegetables are green, so green represents a healthy crunchy goodness for our bodies. Okay, that's maybe not an emotional response, but associations with food can apply as well. There are times where I've watched a horse grazing on green grass in the middle of a pasture on a hot sunny day and I can hear the horse's teeth chomping and grinding away, turning that grass into a florescent frothy paste and all I want to do is get down on my hands and knees and eat that grass.

We seem to give colours these meanings that aren't intrinsic. Red represents passion, strength, intensity, and is, perhaps, slightly dangerous. Pink is love and romance. We specify and attribute certain colours to different holidays and seasons. Orange is obviously Thanksgiving (or Halloween, whichever you decide to celebrate as your seasonal holiday). Red and green are Christmas. Pink is Valentine's day. We have visual cues in our world for our emotional state.

A while ago I started working on two poems, one called Sketches of White the other called Sketches of Black. I found definitions for each colour and worked with those as found poems. Then I incorporated lines from the definitions and wrote poems around those. Here are the found poems and the excerpts from these pieces.

Sketches of White (excerpt)

having the colour of fresh snow
or milk, which results from the reflection of
nearly all visible wavelengths, belonging
to people with naturally pale skin, unblemished,
especially in character, heated to such a high
degree that the substance turns white in colour,
the transparent liquid that surrounds the yolk
of an egg and turns white when the egg is cooked,
the part of the eyeball surrounding the iris, the white
outermost ring of an archery target or a shot
that lands in it, a white or light-coloured piece
or set of pieces in a game such as in chess or
checkers, or the player using them, a butterfly
that is predominantly white in colour, to make
or leave blank spaces in something, especially
something printed, to become or cause something
to become white, relating to a pure musical tone
that lacks warmth, colour and resonance.

The light that comes through the crack in the door,
the squares of the screen window, the part of the eyeball
surrounding the iris the slit between your legs, it bends
finds itself in compromising positions. The petals
of an orchid, velvet to the touch. Cuticles. The wind
is white. It blows knives against your cheeks. You used
to send my family sheets and pillowcases, starched stiff

as quills.  The tiles of your kitchen, the long thin cigarettes

you would smoke.  Your hair, a silvery ashen disk circling

your head. Halo. the white outermost ring of an archery

target or a shot that lands in it
Even at night there is white in the streets, headlights

are a blur in puddles, bags people are carrying, the heaviness

that settles in all of us.

Sketches of Black (excerpt)

being the color of coal or carbon
with no light
served without adding milk or cream
dealing with very serious things in a humorous

and often macabre way
carried out in the utmost secrecy
filled with anger or hostility
covered with mud, soil, or any other

dark substance

causing or associated with severely

bad conditions or misfortune
extremely dishonourable and deserving the most

serious criticism
evil, or associated with evil
a color value that has no hue as a result of the

absorption of nearly all light
from all visible wavelengths
a pigment or dye that is the color of carbon or coal
fabric or clothing that is black in color
complete darkness
a black piece in a game such as chess or checkers
a player in games such as chess or checkers who is

playing with the black pieces
a black ball in snooker, which is the last ball to be sunk

Perhaps this makes me evil,
or associated with evil, and the heart that I swore
was an accurate compass, weeding me along
the bottom of the ocean, guiding my hands to new
invertebrate beasts, had been passed down through a
generation whose colour value has no hue
as a result of the absorption of nearly all light

from all visible wavelengths,
a pigment or dye.
That is the colour of carbon or coal,
the burn that settles in pocked ashes, or a drag queen’s
sequined feathery eyelashes. Don’t touch me
was all you mumbled when I reached for your hand.

Between us, the hood of the car, space coloured by

the complete darkness, by a black
piece in a game such as chess or checkers. Always a player
in games such as chess or checkers, who is playing
with the black pieces.
Snake eyes, rattle in the night, screech of
rubber smoking the pavement, and your foot

on the gas.  There is no time left to know you.
A black ring. A target. A black ball in snooker.
Too many accidents cause us to be weary. To remain

wary.  the last ball to be sunk.


Black and white, dark and light. These two colours are how we make sense of the world, how we order it out of chaos, how we make choices and how we defend those choices. How we shape the world into sense. Even those of us who continually see the grey in ideas and situations, can't help but stumble into a more confined territory. And since black and white aren't actually considered colours, we are essentially colour blind.