tim’s thought property

The last day of classes came and went without fanfare or ceremony.
As I walked into the bookstore to buy some tape for the construction of the portfolio for my Photography course, it seemed like any other Thursday. When I arrived in the basement of the Fitzgerald, I begun to sort the good from the bad, separate the wheat from the chaff of my recently printed photos.
That last week was a blitz for me, hours upon hours in the darkrooms. I believe I clocked 9 consecutive hours in the colour printing rooms, and just under four in the black and white darkroom all in a single day. Printing colour is a time consuming process and needs total darkness. Black and white is less finicky, but printing on a large scale adds unexpected exposure problems.

As I bundled the final photographs into my portfolio, I paused to reflect on the past year. I could remember the months through the project markers - where I was when I took those photos; what inspired me; what the circumstances were to construct them. I found that this last year had really dragged me over the coals, figuratively.
My first semester had three studios and an English course to divide my time amongst; the second semester had two studios, the English course and a Math course. The amount of time expected for one studio is an equivalent amount of extracurricular time. For six hours of in-class photography, a minimum of six hours outside of that time was needed to maintain quality and balance. My studios this year all demanded such commitment, but they offered little facilities outside campus.
Lithography required printing on large stone blocks, and the printing annex in the school; Ceramics needed the kilns and wheels and Photography had all the chemicals and darkrooms in the basement of the Fitz. Amongst all this I needed to read English poetry and novels, and learn Euclidean Geometry and Hyperbolic planes. Needless to say, I left Math on the lowest end of priorities and received the adequate C+ in the course.

But I have gained so much this year that can’t be graded.
I found a real appreciation for the quality of ceramic art and for printmaking. Although I am by no means a good ceramist, I have found a respect for the medium and the art of it. After a slough of chunky and bottom heavy mugs and wobbly bowls, I can better understand the beauty of a well crafted piece.
There are so many avenues of photography that I want to explore and am excited to try. I branched into medium format photography this year, doing close to half of my projects in 6×6 or 6×7 formats. I even had the opportunity to try large format and rail cameras, although I had to withhold that chance. I had decided to start recording all my ideas down in a little notepad and now have a long list of projects to attempt this summer.
My English professor gave me an appreciation for Renaissance and Romantic poetry that I didn’t have before, as well as a love for Dickens. Reading Great Expectations was a wonderful experience and I have picked up the Pipwick Papers as a ‘light, summer read’.

As I left the Fitzgerald after my portfolio submission, and walked back to my car, I took a deep breath of the mild spring air. I felt a sense of accomplishment at the completion of the school year. I pulled the straps tight, put on my headphones and trekked off campus. Onward to what the summer may hold.

I’m back.
Wading through enough spam to jam a server or to feed a small country (if it were that other kind), I’ve find my way back to this old blog. After some talks with my cybernetic land-lord and long-time friend, Steve, I’ve decided to dust off this old soapbox. I’ve had some fears of becoming a part of the growing white noise of the web, but so be it. I’ll have a minute audience at best, and for those of you who do read this page - thank you. For those of you just browsing, thanks for reading and not spamming.
After this maelstrom of the end of term subsides, I plan to update this page with more frequency. New posts, new links, and so forth.

With scars and stabs, blisters and calluses, my hands have been worn down and worked hard this year.
I was used to getting coffee spills and burns; the common scaldings that come with the work of a barista. I was used to the middle finger callus from writing and throwing frisbee. But I had nearly forgotten what it was like to have hands worn out by creating.

So many times this year, my finger nails have been covered with ink or graphite, the lingering remains of a project in progress. I’d scrub and clean, but there seemed to be a permanent remainder of art supplies upon my fingers. While working with a piece of wood to whittle a free-standing form, I had developed a sizable blister on my right thumb. On the set-up day for open house, I had a second blister form, just above it from putting in thumb tacks.
I may not have the rugged and haggard palms of my father, nor the experience in manual labour to achieve their grain. I’m not working with wood as my brother is, to dry out and solidify my hands to that of a carpenter. Yet my own hands tell the story of an artist - with small scars from a slipped knife, or perhaps the stubborn excess of graphite on my finger nails. I always wanted hands that work hard and show the evidence of it. I feel for the first time, in a long while, that I’m putting my hands to good work.

Grandma passed away on a Tuesday.
She was in the hospital at Christmas for bowel surgery. In January, she was re-admitted for problems with her liver. It was cancer this time.
It feels so strange that she won’t be around any longer. It always seems to be that when something is taken from me, I immediately want it back, regardless of what it is. Something like “you don’t know what you’ve got, til it’s gone”.

I think about how soon her passing was.
I was told on the Saturday, that she had less than a month to live. In three brief days, she was gone.
On my last visit, she was very tired, and she looked thinner. Somehow, there was a resolve in her, I don’t know what it was. She commented on my scarf, I held her hand. I was at a loss for words. How was I supposed to converse with her? I felt small talk too cheap to waste time with, but I still said very little. On my way out, I said “I love ya”, but I feel that it was to quiet to have been heard.

On the morning of the 12th, dressed and in a somber mood, my brothers, cousins and I bore her pall up the aisle of the church. Seeing my grandfather cry, my aunts, uncles and mother cry, it was so hard not to cry as well. I really wish I had made more of an effort to be involved in the life of my grandmother. Hearing all about her character on this day should have been old news to me.
When I think back to all that she has done and all the love she had, I can realize that I did know Grandma’s character. She was a mother. She was a grandmother. She was a great-grandmother. She always acted out of her heart, and she cared for all the people in her life. I should have thanked her, and not only thought of thanking her.
Without my grandmother, I would not have my mother. For that, I can still thank my grandfather.

Each time it’s held, there seems to be a greater and more dynamic twist to Steak Night. This past June, most of us went to the BDI for Ice Cream. That wasn’t that smart of a choice, particularly after all-you-can-eat-ribs. This time, it was the prospect of expansion.

After much talk of movies, and what to see this season, talk came up about Blood Diamond. Bucky had seen it, and had a good opinion of it. The movie was also on Tim’s and my short-list of films to see. As ravenous meat-eaters, we had seen movies on past Steak Nights. Why not this time? After much humming, hawing, and sold-out shows, we bought some beer and watched Little Miss Sunshine at Bucky’s instead.

On the Friday of that week, Tim Penner, Corey Kamp and I went down to the CBS to give blood. This plays into the development of what’s to come, and I’ll explain this blood-giving further down.

What made this Steak Night different than the subsequent Steak Nights, were two ideas. 1)In the spirit of Boxing Day, which has somehow turned into a week long spending spectacle, we should make the festivities of friends and food to a week long event. This could potentially soften the rampant sore stomachs of the Wednesday night eat-a-thon, and it can broaden it out to bigger things. We could watch a Blood Themed film ( like Throne of Blood, or Blood Sport, or Dracula) and also do some good for society.2) Start a website that specializes in Steak Night. Actually, a myspace account. That is in the works as you read this.
As any good marketer would have you believe, the best way to profit is to “grow” a brand. Why have a day of sales, when you can have can have seven? Why offer one iPod, when you can offer a half-dozen?

As I mentioned above, I made a trip to the Canadian Blood Services.
I have had a bit of apprehension about donating blood for years, ever since my first donation, when I had passed out part way through, and only gave a half pints worth. This time, I had done all that I could to do my best - had a good night’s sleep; ate a full meal; drank a lot of water; made sure to not watch my own blood pressure; and stayed as calm as I could. And I did it. I donated without any adverse effects, and I felt great. Then, when I saw a banner in the atrium saying I “saved three lives”, I felt even better, (albeit a bit confused).
That night, Corey, Tim, Brianna and I watched Blood Diamond, which was perhaps one of the best movies I’ve seen in a long while. It had a very hard-hitting realism to it, that I can only compare to Hotel Rwanda. And as I watched the movie, coming to grips with the reality of this - that people die so horribly, even daily, by hate and strife; that people are taken captive or forced into military service; how people of the west are oblivious and ignorant to it all - it made for some real tough drama. Sadly, it took a fictitious re-telling of something that has happened, to begin to effect minds in the West by means of entertainment. It seems that news is all to easy to ignore, but seeing it in a film? Why does that make a difference? Before watching this movie, I was opposed to buying diamonds for financial reasons. After seeing it, I do not want to buy a diamond for ethical reasons.

After that whirlwind kind of week, I thought that perhaps we can bracket some of the fun of food and fellowship, with that of a movie and also by donating blood. After all the all-you-can-eat meat that still is digesting, it’s got to be good for the iron in the blood.