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Lorna Mills and Sally McKay
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"We feel in wartime comradeship. We confuse this with friendship, with love. There are those who will insist that the comradeship of war is love—the exotic glow that makes us in war feel as one people, one entity, is real, but this is part of war's intoxication. Think back on the days after the attacks on 9-11. Suddenly we no longer felt alone; we connected with strangers, even with people we did not like. We felt we belonged, that we were somehow wrapped in the embrace of the nation, the community; in short, we no longer felt alienated. As this feeling dissipated in the weeks after the attack, there was a kind of nostalgia for its warm glow and wartime always brings with it this comradeship, which is the opposite of friendship.
Friends are predetermined; friendship takes place between men and women who possess an intellectual and emotional affinity for each other. But comradeship—that ecstatic bliss that comes with belonging to the crowd in wartime—is within our reach. We can all have comrades. The danger of the external threat that comes when we have an enemy does not create friendship; it creates comradeship. And those in wartime are deceived about what they are undergoing. And this is why once the threat is over, once war ends, comrades again become strangers to us. This is why after war we fall into despair."
-from a text of a speech by Chris Hedges
(author of "War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning")
Finished with TAAFI yesterday and the last two days at were Porn-O-Rama. I love culturally sanctioned porn, meaning porn I can watch in an art gallery with the pornographers present, and laugh at. Laughing at a cable station is never as much fun.
On Sunday, artist Lisa Pereira presented an Emerging Video Artist Retrospective, with oodles of porn, once again in the Yoga room. (I enjoyed this exciting new direction that the Drake hotel was taking with their Yoga Room) The video I viewed was horoscopic (new word, all mine) with graphic instances of each sun sign's specific sexual proclivities, introduced with brilliantly cheesy 3D graphics. Monday's yoga room presentation were video works by Julian Calleros, who being a lovely young gent, warned me when the sexually explicit material was about to start. He seemed a little disconcerted when I yelled "YAY! MALE HOMOEROTICISM!" and started laughing (I don't know why I love to holler that phrase, I just do.)
Head and Yeti shoulders above the rest was, per usual, Allyson Mitchell. (shocking that over a week has gone by on this blog with out someone raving about her work!) I couldn't get a full shot of the eight foot furry voracious ladies, so these details will have to do.
Images of their naughty bits are in the comment section.
I mentioned Angela Leach here recently - she has a show opening at the Doris McCarthy Gallery tomorrow (Wednesday) night. There's a free bus to shuttle us downtowners out for the show, leaving from 401 Richmond at 5:30 pm, heading back from UTSC at 8 pm. Last time I took the shuttle bus to DMG I saw a cat leap for a hanging birdfeeder and then dangle in the air. It failed to get a bird but put on a great show nonetheless.
I have a few things to mention about Ryan Carriere:
His art is amazing.
The memorial was incredibly sad.
He shouldn't have died. We have known that trucks need sideguards for a long time (ie: there was a well publicized coroner's report in 1998 based on the downtown deaths of cyclists in Toronto that said TRUCKS SHOULD BE REQUIRED TO HAVE SIDEGUARDS).
There is lots more on this here and here and here.