I have to extend a huge thanks to all that supported NP. Great contacts and friends made, and a lot learned. Respect.

Passions are lying in the mix between sex and art, over at my latest project, The Keyhole Sessions. Hope to see you there.

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As a result, and thanks to the wonder that is social media technology, I’ll be altering NorthPublik a bit. I’ll be updating and adding content via Posterous, the microblogging platform that updates by email. There are so many things I’ve wanted to add to NorthPublik, such as photos, links, quick quips etc, but since these seem to be such small additions, I’ve never found them worth the login to WordPress. With the magic that is Posterous and the use of the almighty smartphone, I’ll be able to quickly add any content that I come across; content that I find worthy of Northpublik.

So stay tuned here. Same bat content, slightly different bat channel…

Just a quick note here as a follow-up to the last post about an alternative life-drawing class. The Keyhole Sessions will commence on Tuesday, May 5th, 2009. Visit thekeyholesessions.com for all info.

Hope to see you there!

Do you remember any of the basic skills you learned in art school [or whatever school you attended for god knows what]? My first year at university was spent struggling to find inspiration on a campus made completely of grey brutalist concrete, whose lone function was the sap the very soul from your being. Cold and dreary, the only days I enjoyed were the quiet weekends in the Fine Arts building, with its giant wall of sloped glass and paint stains from floor to ceiling.

I can remember the classrooms in this building very distinctly: the polished concrete floors marked with scratches from a million grey stools screeching across them; white walls pocked with pushpin holes from semesters of drawings put up for critique. It was in one of these rooms that I attended my first life-drawing class.

We’d always be curious to see who the model would be each week. An overweight 70 year-old with a long grey hair and breasts to match, or a youngish tanned male just looking to make a buck to help further his drinking career in one of the many campus pubs? Either way, the class would calm upon his or her entrance, and within minutes we’d be immersed in only the sound of charcoal or lead scratching on paper, occasionally interrupted by the prof’s instructions to draw blindly, move quickly, don’t pull the tip from the pad.

It was interesting for me to see how my lines would appear. Hurried and messy some days, thoughtful and fine on others. It was nice not to be encumbered by any restraints, other than the most basic of instructions. All our drawings looked different, and there was no right way or wrong way to do it. Just find a comfortable way to create your form and you were good to go.

Long gone are those days when my work wasn’t for a specific purpose, other than the sharpening of basic tools. Now filled with familial and client restraints, it’s rare when I can just do something for myself with no instructions to change this, or remove that. Over the years I’ve lost the tactility of my work. I used to scan anything that would fit on the flatbed glass [including my own body parts], and incorporate layers of texture. I now use only the computer as my both my tool and canvas, and I’ve realized it’s high time to step away from the desk and get some creative air. I need to get back to real sketching.

First stop was a life drawing class held downtown. Having not been in this situation in over 15 years, I wasn’t quite sure what or who to expect.

I entered with my shiny new pad and eraser, and freshly sharpened pencils that I’ve had since school, gathering dust in a drawer all this time. Took note of the attendees, mostly older men that had obviously been coming for a while, with a small smattering of younger student-looking types. We quickly set to work when the model walked in, reminding me of those earlier York U days.

It was an uncomplicated class. Come in, sit down, murmur, draw, leave. No big deal. My first sketches were atrocious. Working with a keyboard and mouse all day, I’d pretty much forgotten how to hold a drawing instrument. But by the end, I was comfortable again and actually pleased with a page or two of sketches. Not bad, but could use some serious honing.

I considered returning the weekly class, but then wondered why I would bother. As easy as it was, it was almost too basic. The model was fine, nothing special [a tad grouchy], and there was certainly a stuffy feeling to the room. The men who have been frequenting the class exchanged their old man quips and the mainstream jazz streaming from the tinny radio was a bit dry for my liking.

My second stop was another life drawing class, also held downtown. This one had more spunk, yet wasn’t that well organized and as a result lost steam halfway through its 3 hour tour. Sadly, nudity is not permitted and this is a big letdown. If the model had a larger repertoire of stimulating poses, it may have made up for these shortcomings, but she did not. And although the audience was more energetic, the restrictions of the class aren’t enough to make me return.

Despite all the misfires, I enjoyed using a pencil again, and infused with the desire to get back to the basics of my craft, I’ve decided to start my own life drawing class. I’m one of those people that often thinks “if you want it done right, do it yourself’” [a blessing and a curse] and this class will fit my style. This class will have an edge that previous classes do not. I’m doing away with the seriousness that so often clouds ‘art education’, and injecting some fun. Gone are the models that walk in with the air of ‘I’m only doing this for the money’, and pose moodily; gone will be the murmurings of older gentlemen with their pipe tobacco scents. All to be replaced with models in tutus and angel wings, corsets and riding crops, army boots and steampunk goggles.

a sample of what to expect from my class

My models will pose with attitude. My models will be more than happy to show off their pink bits and smile about it, partially wrapped in costumes to match. Not content with stopping there, I’m also including models that will be exquisitely tied up shibari-style, by a very talented rigger. For those not familiar with this form of Japanese rope bondage, here are some lovely examples on flickr [you need to sign in to flickr]. Come to the class to see it in the flesh [or rather, on the flesh].

So yes, back to basics I will get, and there’s nothing wrong in having a little fun while I’m at it.

Come join the fun, every Tuesday night, starting in May. All info is set up on a temporary blog [proper site in the works]. PLEASE NOW VISIT THEKEYHOLESESSIONS.COM For $12, it’s a great way to spend a fun night. And you may even learn something. [this class is not for the easily offended]

photo creds: sketches, northpublik; tied girlie, altered aperture

Come Up To My Room, 2007

No, we’re not New York, Milan or Cologne, but Toronto has its fair share of artists and  industrial designers, and for one week [ok, a few days] in February, they come together to show the rest of us how it’s done.

The 3 interiors-based shows that converge in the west end of the city give us a nice balance from small indie boutique show, Radiant Dark; to the medium-sized Gladstone show, Come Up To My Room; to the large scale Interior Design Show.

Starting with the more formal, old-school trade show IDS, this show has been around since 1999 and now attracts more than 50,000 visitors to it’s Direct Energy Centre digs. Aisles upon carpeted aisles of small to giant booths, you’ll bear witness to the swankiest wooden flooring, shiniest Swarovski-jewelled lighting and most luxurious bathrooms [most bigger than my living room]. The dizzying array of both local and international designers is enough to make you take a $20 espresso and biscotti break at one of the über-designed rest-stops nestled in between the aisles.

IDS is an event that shows off its money, mixed in with a bit of ponce. No matter what the year, you’ll always see the standard classics sprinkled in, such as an Egg Chair, or Barcelona chaise. Mid-century modern classics seem to be integral characters to this show and have been for some time. Not that this era of furniture isn’t my absolute favourite, but it would be nice to see something completely removed and innovative. I struggle with this show at times for it’s size and display of designers that no longer need to represent. I also have no need to see the new Audi, lovely as it may be, at an interior design event. Yes, there are always lovely full-room displays, but I’m finding that as the show ages, these rooms starting blending into one another.

If you’re going to go, the real treats are the Prototype displays, and the Student projects. Here is where you’ll see raw innovation, unencumbered by budget, committee or marketing restraints. Studio North is another section where you’ll see only Canadian talent, and these three sections are enough to be worth the trip out to the cold CNE grounds.

If you want to schmooze with the big design dogs that are involved with IDS, you can buy a ticket [pricey at $50] for aMuse, the opening night gala. Here’s your chance to pull out the heels and rub elbows with Toronto’s elite designers. Word of advice: have some drinks and be chatty.

Traveling west, the next stop is Come Up To My Room, The Gladstone Hotel’s hip alternative to the Interior Design Show. Now in its sixth year, this show is the anti-IDS. Set up on the second floor of the beautifully restored Gladstone Hotel at the end of the trendy Queen west strip, CUTMR isn’t just a display of designers’ talent, but it’s a bit of an experience as well. Eleven hotel rooms are taken over by selected designers and transformed into displays that you can touch and interact with [unlike IDS, where much of the furniture presented you're not allowed to sit on. It's a furniture show, for Pete's sake].

Also up for viewing are the Public Space Projects that will appear in the Lobby, stairwell, and 2nd floor reception gallery. So between these works and the 11 rooms, you can grab a glass of wine or locally-brewed beer and wander about the restored hardwood [albeit these rooms can get a bit crowded because of their small size], and perhaps have a chat with the designers who are nicely on hand to discuss their work.

It’s certainly a more casual affair than its more established cousin, IDS, but CUTMR fits perfectly within the neighbourhood that is surrounded by indie galleries and cafés, and permits an intimacy that isn’t offered by larger trade shows. What’s great is that the artists selected are all Canadian, and aren’t bogged down by commercial restraints. It’s a highly creative show, and you can truly see the passion that drives them. It’s a show that you can have fun at, and not feel like you need certain credentials just to walk in the door and look.

They’ve also got a free gala party, loveDesign, that happens on the Saturday night. Again, a non-pretentious event where you can mingle and make new friends. The Gladstone has also launched a separate blog for CUTMR, which looks to be a nice resource for all things related.

Third on our design walkabout is Made’s Radiant Dark, the newest kid on the block, and a convenient 5 minute walk down the street from the Gladstone in a restored factory loft. I have yet to make it to this event [this is its second year], but since it’s conveniently located across the parking lot from my studio, I couldn’t pass it up, even if I tried.

Last year’s Radiant Dark attracted over 500 guests, even though it was a debut show, and had to shuffle a bit due to the Queen Street fire. The show is presented by MADE, a retailer nestled on a sketchy-yet-promising stretch of Dundas Street west. Their mandate is to represent Canadian up & coming talent, found and curated by owners Shaun Moore and Julie Nicholson.

This year’s Radiant Dark’s theme, Elegant Corruptions, will represent artists showcasing lighting, textile and furniture design. Nice that there’s another show that highlights purely Canadian talent. I’m looking forward to this one, since it’s new and I’m always up for anything indie.

Each of these shows offer an array of micro-events from seminars, artist talks and sponsored exhibits. Visit their websites for more on each, and I hope to see you there. This is a great way to spend a few days in the west end. IDS can take a lot out of you, just with its size and the amount of walking around [find a place to check your coat or you'll just get hot and pissy like I do], so take heed. Leave your energy for the fun, smaller shows, and if that’s not enough, Queen West has plenty to offer on any given weekend.

photo creds: IDS shots from the IDS website; CUTMR from the Gladstone site; Radiant Dark from mazzie.ca.

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I have the greatest respect for photographers. Their ability to catch moments in time that includes the surrounding atmosphere is a talent that not many people are blessed with. Try as I might with my point-and-shoot digital, I can never come close to that kind of emotional capture. Simply seeing it my head doesn’t mean I can reproduce it on film [or screen, as it were]. So I’m always on the lookout for interesting photographers, and a few months ago I found another one to add to my list.

I discovered Sabarah Pilon after perusing flickr shortly after Nuit Blanche, back in October 2008. I had participated in a show, so missed checking out the rest of the event, and flickr is the best place to catch shots of large-scale shows [short detour: if you're not using Cool Iris to sift through the thousands of images on flickr, you're not using your brain to it's fullest capacity]. Scrolling through the intensely rich and colourful images, one caught my eye fairly quickly. “Hey! That’s me!” I exclaimed and zoomed in. I was so pleased with the way this photographer had captured the atmosphere of our show that I had to further investigate. I came across some other lovely work from local photographers, but this one really struck me. I was led to some flickr sets and was able to make email contact.

“Warmth”

The sweet Pilon was very kind and willing to share, and I’ve been following her work ever since. She has recently publicly announced sabarahpilon.com offering her photographic services, and the site is chock full of some lovely work. From portraiture to landscape and much in between, you can check out her people, places and things sections.

The Toronto-born 24 year-old never formally studied photography, and her self-taught skill does not give that away. Rarely without her “trusty” digital Nikon D40X, Pilon can be seen snapping away at whatever strikes her fancy, and involves herself in extracurricular endeavours, such as the recently-concluded 365 Days [you can probably guess what that entailed]. Not one to heavily manipulate her work in post, she currently prefers a more simple approach to delivery of her final product. Based on what I’ve seen, the less she manipulates, the more talented a photographer she proves herself to be.

“Butt out”

Pilon classifies her style as ever-changing, matching her own way of life. Often inspired by Icelandic rock band, Sigur Ros, as well as the drive of those friends who share the same passion for photography, her favourite subjects are drawn from both nature and finding hidden moments:

I think there is something really rewarding in being able to capture the feeling you have when you are surrounded in nothing but silence. But, I also love taking candids of people. I think the best shots I’ve taken on photoshoots are the ones that happen between “posed” shots. Right after the camera snaps a shot and the subject relaxes.

“Kristen”

Having only been professionally shooting for about a year, Pilon is ready to expand her business and is currently on the lookout to do some portraiture work. So take some time for yourself and support some new talent. You won’t be disppointed with the results. I know I wasn’t.

psssst… mention you saw this post and Pilon’s hourly rates drop from $75 to $60. So go get yourself a mid-winter treat.

A friend of mine who is a bicycle aficionado recently created what is probably one of the most thoughtful birthday gifts I’ve ever encountered. In combining the two most important aspects of his life – cycling and his girlfriend, Maya –, Stu Campbell created a custom-assembled and handpainted masterpiece.

I interviewed Stu about the production, and Maya about her reaction. Here’s the lowdown about Maya Bankovic’s sick new ride:

northpublik: What was the impetus behind such a gift? Why not just a regular bike?
stu campbell: I have been riding in the city for over ten years and introduced Maya to city riding this past summer.  She instantly loved it, even though she was either riding a friend’s bike significantly inferior to mine or my over-engineered mountain bike which was a little big and uncomfortable for her to ride.  A difference of a couple centimetres here and there on a bike can really make an unbelievable difference in efficiency and enjoyment.  So we spoke quite a bit about fit and what kind of bike she would buy for herself.  I didn’t want a “regular or store bought bike” because, while I could get the fit right I would always have to make concessions regarding the overall look of the bike and quality of the parts.  For example, a bike that fit the aesthetic criteria would have most of the right parts but the grips wouldn’t match the frame color or I didn’t like the pedals or the bike store had hidden a cheap freewheel in it etc. so rather than conceding even the smallest amount, and replacing the odd part, I just built it from scratch and chose every single part on the bike.

np: Where did you find the pieces for the bike?
sc: All the bike parts were purchased from catalogues that Vince, the owner of The Bike Clinic, has at his store [it's the second bike he has built for me. He built my fixed gear Peugeot earlier in the year].  I used the same ones when building my bike at the beginning of the summer.

np: What type of bike is it?
sc: It is a single speed road conversion, which means the frame,—an early 80′s bianchi—was part of a road bike [the kind you see Lance Armstrong riding], a bunch of gears, drop handlebars, etc. that was converted into a much simpler single speed drive system.  It is like the bike most of us rode as kids, but it has a free wheel.  meaning one can pedal backwards freely, hence the front and rear brakes.  The bikes we had as kids used coaster brakes, wherein pedaling backward activated the rear brake.

np: How many separately purchased pieces are there?
sc: Everything is separate.  I bought frame and fork together.  Seat separate.  Stem, handlebars, pedals, brake cable, levers, calipers, bottom bracket, free wheel, cogs, crank, wheels, the rear wheel is hand built, tires, seatpost, chain, brake pads, handgrips. I chose every part on the bike.

np: How long did the assembly take?
sc: The frame was in the shop for two weeks.  most of that was just hiding from maya while waiting for parts to arrive.  it probably took a day maybe two with the wheel build to hook it up totally.

np: Did you have the art style already in mind from the beginning?
sc: When I bought the frame from some dude in Etobicoke off craigslist, I had no idea where the project was going.  He had sandblasted and grinded the frame clean, including grinding off all cable holders to give it a really clean look.  He also put a coat of primer and one thin coat of white car paint on the frame.  This white paint made me think of how people when they break an arm or something get their casts signed.  So I thought it would be cool to have her friends and family represented somehow.  And through conversations with the artist, the idea evolved.

np: Who was the artist?
sc: Nadia Tan, a friend and housemate of Maya’s.

np: How did you collect all the info about Maya’s life? Why choose these specific events/objects to represent?
sc: Nadia did that, we decided that we would ask four of her friends plus her mom and her sister to contribute ideas.  So in that sense it is a little bit of a lilith fair concert.  And Nadia did that over the phone.  Once we had the ideas it was a question of which ones could be represented on the bike.  For example, Maya and I first made out in an old convent when we were working on the werewolf movie, The House Next Door, and I wanted the convent represented, but I didn’t have any pics of it. It didn’t really look like a convent “should” anyway,  and we couldn’t think of a way to do it and make it look good.  So we left it off, however, Nadia was able to draw a werewolf which looks awesome.

np: How long did the art take?
sc: To actually apply the art took four days.  But not full days; Nadia would take breaks from the film she was editing and work 10-30 minutes at a time.

np: How closely did you work with Nadia?
sc: Once we had the general concept down, I let her do her thing.  Aside from my beautiful singing voice I have few artistic abilities.  We had three or four meetings, then spoke on the phone a few times.

np: How was the art drawn on? How is it protected?
sc: The frame has a can of white rattle can paint on it.  Then the art done in sharpie and rattle can black “oil based”  then 10 coats of clear.

np: What locks did you get for this masterpiece?
sc: Due to a lack of space Maya must leave it on her patio, so for that we got four feet of the biggest link chain we could find and a giant padlock.  I had to stand on the bolt cutter to cut the chain at the hardware store.  For around town she has the standard u lock, and when we leave our bikes out for extended periods of time, i.e. seeing a movie, we use her u lock and my two u locks and a cable lock to link the bikes together to a post or whatever.  About $400 worth of locks.  Together they weigh about the same as her bike: 22lbs.

np: What will you do if Igor or his cohorts get their hands on it?
sc: Hopefully Igor will be in he clink. I’d like say I’d get revenge on those mofo’s, but the reality is if it is stolen, we’ll just have to build another one.

np: Anything else you’d like to mention?
sc: I had Nadia leave the underside of the bike empty so that I could write personal things to Maya.  I didn’t want her riding around like some dork with “happy birthday” or “i love you” written on the side of her bike.

Tying all of the images together is a “subway map” lines and nodes.  Maps are a point of interest for Maya and her family, and a nod to her coffee cup with the Paris underground map on it and her piggy bank with the NYC underground on it.

It was a surprise present so I hade to keep it secret from her for about two months. Which meant hiding the frame in closets and the bike store plus hoping all the co-conspirators could keep it secret. The bike shop is equidistant of my apt. and Maya’s and we’d pass it on the way to each other’s place.  For two weeks when we would be walking together we would pass the frame hanging in the window and I would have a nervous little giggle to myself.

Maya’s response to her gift:

As cliché as it sounds, I was stunned. There was this beautiful, immaculate shiny thing sitting in the middle of the living room, it was perfect. I loved the design immediately, and how stark and bold the black and white is. Stu and Nadia were perceptive enough to pick up on the fact that I love the aesthetic of maps (I hadn’t even realized this, but it’s true). So the concept behind it is a subway map through somebody’s subconscious. I understood it right away and was in awe of how creative they are. What was even more shocking was seeing drawings of my mom’s various traditional meals on the frame, alongside childhood stuffed animals, jokes from my angsty teenage years and obscure memories from travel destinations. I feel so lucky to be riding a piece of art around the city.

I get a lot of double takes at red lights, no comments but quite a few stare-downs and gazes kind of following it as they pass. This bike is cooler than I am, that’s for sure.

Toronto being the bike city that it is, chock full of aluminum, carbonfibre and standard paint colours, it’s nice to see real ownership taking place over personal property that can often be too anonymous. Sure, there are the few bikes with baskets  adorned with silk flowers, or those that have traditional “custom” paint jobs — a colour or two of shiny paint — but this is one that completely stands out,  a real one-of-kind piece of art.

So if you happen to see happy Maya striding around on her designer wheels, take a quick, good look. She may be a streak of black and white, pedaling fast to reach her man.

photo cred: all photos courtesy Maya Bankovic

So there are times throughout the day when I notice something visually that I want to share. Whether it be the composition, the colour, the subject, whatever, I try to snap it when I can.

Here’s the first.

It’s been so long since the AGO started it’s Transformation, beginning with closing down space by space, that I’d almost forgotten it existed. It wasn’t until I Stumbled [the best procrastination app on the web] across its website that I realized we are mere breaths away from its reopening.

For a long time I avoided the AGO as I was forced to attend many of its shows during high school and was often bored by what I saw. Maybe it was just my pompous youth, but I never felt I saw anything unique there, and I often preferred the smaller indie galleries that are scattered around the AGO’s footprint. Let’s face it, the MOMA or Louvre it’s not — nor will it ever be — but it’s ours, so I hope the new exhibits include a better balance of contemporary and cutting edge artists. I do like Jenny Holzer and General Idea, but it’s time to move on.

Having started as the Art Museum of Toronto in 1900, the AGO has been under some form of transformation since its inception. There was no physical home for it until 1911, and almost every decade since then has seen some form of significant change. Darling & Pearson [which became Darling, Pearson & Cleveland by the time they were re-engaged in the 30s] where the first to architect space for the AMT. John C. Parkin were hired for the opening of Stage I and II in the 70s, and Barton Myers completed Stage III in 1993. The expansion that we are seeing this decade is predominantly thanks to gallery friend Ken Thomson’s donation of his 2000 piece collection and $50 million gift.

Starchitect Frank Gehry was awarded the momentous project but it seems that the new AGO will not display too much of the grand, sweeping forms that is Gehry’s signature style. The plans appear to be quite sedate when compared to such ambitious projects like Bilbao or the Jay Pritzker Music Pavillion. I’m curious as to why this is. We’ve already shown our abilities to welcome accept innovative design [the Libeskind angular tumor that is now the ROM; Alsop's stilted Sharp Centre for Design at OCAD, incomplete with bathrooms because the plumbing would ruin the silhouette], so why stop now?

Guggenheim Museum | Bilbao, Spain

[side notes: you can find some pretty slick construction photos on flickr without looking too hard; and check out Sketches of Frank Gehry, a doc by one of my fave directors, the late Sydney Pollack, who was a close friend of Gehry]

Even if it’s typical polite and safe-playing Toronto that is the reason behind the simpler design, it’s nice to see another unveiling belonging to the larger city renaissance project. Add the AGO to the list that includes the new National Ballet School, The Telus Centre for Performance and Learning, The Four Seasons Centre and the Gardiner [go figure KPMB features a lot in this architectural rejuvenation; lovely, but certainly not as adventurous as Gehry or Alsop].

Gehry’s AGO: Really? You got that from a napkin sketch?

Not just a facelift, but the AGO has undergone an entire rebranding, complete with new logo, done by none other than Bruce Mau. Long-time friend of the AGO, Mau has been involved with many of the gallery’s projects, including housing Massive Change as the AGO’s final major show. I can’t say that I love the new logo. I’m not one for fitting shapes into black boxes as they tend to force a specific meaning onto an entity. I also feel it looks kind of dated — a bit too 80s. I have a feeling that if I submitted this while at school, that prof that I hated would have pinned it up and skinned me alive in front of the class, à la Winter Sorbeck in the Cheese Monkeys. I will concede that letterforms pick up on the energy of a typical Gehry sketch, complete with frenetic linework.

It’s a new look nonetheless, and it’s what the AGO needs. I don’t know many people who have frequented the gallery, which, for all its previous shortcomings, is a shame. We need to support our art institutions, both large and small [I must say, though, it's hard when admission fees are quite steep: $50 and all you've done is walk through the doors. It's hard to expose your kid to large scale works when you can't afford the cover; yes, I'm talking to you, ROM].

So after many months of waiting, we are finally all invited to attend the grand reopening of the AGO this Friday, and you can enjoy it all weekend free of charge. So there’s no excuse not to go.

photo creds: AGO, Scott Norsworthy; Bilbao, unknown; AGO, Gehry Int’l Architects