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<strong>MONDAY</strong><br />
<strong>ARTPOST</strong><br />
<strong>0530</strong>-<strong>2022</strong><br />
ISSN1918-6991<br />
<strong>MONDAY</strong><strong>ARTPOST</strong>.COM<br />
Columns by Artists and Writers<br />
Bob Black / Cem Turgay / Fiona<br />
Smyth / Gary Michael Dault / Holly<br />
Lee / Kai Chan / Kamelia Pezeshki<br />
/ Lee Ka-sing / Ngan Chun-tung /<br />
Shelley Savor / Tamara Chatterjee /<br />
Wilson Tsang + Gary Michael Dault:<br />
The Raw and the Cooked: The George<br />
Bernard Shaw Vegetarian Cookbook<br />
<strong>MONDAY</strong> <strong>ARTPOST</strong> published on Mondays. Columns by Artists and Writers. All Right Reserved. Published since 2002.<br />
An Ocean and Pounds publication. ISSN 1918-6991. email to: mail@oceanpounds.com
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Bill Mckibben
The Photograph<br />
coordinated by<br />
Kamelia Pezeshki<br />
Consumption series by Bob Carnie
Neighbourhood<br />
Lee Ka-sing
Poem a Week<br />
Gary Michael Dault<br />
Narcissus<br />
I’d like to be<br />
Narcissus<br />
the man<br />
not the flower<br />
to gaze upon myself<br />
in warmest hour<br />
in a watery<br />
reversible equation<br />
tried over and over<br />
the power<br />
that brings you back<br />
to yourself<br />
by using vanity’s lever<br />
the surface of the pool<br />
is still<br />
your beauty<br />
hides discreetly away<br />
leaving you little to say<br />
a sigh<br />
is not a position<br />
nor can it ever be<br />
completion
ProTesT<br />
Cem Turgay
TANGENTS<br />
Wilson Tsang<br />
Albedo
Greenwood<br />
Kai Chan<br />
Drawing, ink and pastel on paper
Caffeine Reveries<br />
Shelley Savor<br />
Falling Angels
ART LOGBOOK<br />
Holly Lee<br />
1. Matthew Wong: Blue View (exhibition review in Orientations)<br />
https://www.orientations.com.hk/highlights/matthew-wong-blue-view-at-the-art-gallery-of-ontario-canada-13-august-202118-april-<strong>2022</strong><br />
2. (from George) Who Was Janet Sobel, the Ukrainian-Born Abstract Artist Who Created Drip<br />
Paintings Years Before Jackson Pollock?<br />
https://news.artnet.com/art-world/janet-sobel-ukrainian-abstract-artist-2111646
CHEEZ<br />
Fiona Smyth
Yesterday Hong Kong<br />
Ngan Chun-tung<br />
Bus Terminal (Tsim Sha Tsui, 1958)<br />
Photo taken during Typhoon signal No. 10 was hoisted. The background was the Kowloon railway station built<br />
in 1916, and demolished in 1978. The clock tower was kept as a landmark of Hong Kong and became a declared<br />
monument in 1990.<br />
Gelatin silver photograph, 8x10 inch<br />
From the collection of Lee Ka-sing and Holly Lee
Leaving Taichung<br />
Station<br />
Bob Black<br />
Trois couleurs: 最 好 的 時 光<br />
“Does the world have nothing inside but sorrow?”–Andrei Platonov<br />
“On windy or rainy days, naturally there are times when these clocks would stop…”-- 陳 黎<br />
Part IV: Coda<br />
Toronto and onward<br />
what else is there to do in time<br />
of shadow and sorrow:<br />
cantilevered over death<br />
stood straight, wept<br />
into red pillows transformed,<br />
substituted songs<br />
blue for magenta, life for death, the land for the sky and it stood there, as the canary lights across<br />
illed with light and the thinning and<br />
so,<br />
this morning<br />
thin the bone-light<br />
shale shell the burning pulpy heart. You:<br />
the color the scent the chrysalis and cover.<br />
all that gaining going
all the oxen: memory born of deprivation<br />
the mirage funneled beneath the sun of a life’s assignations. Can we reproduce those swaying<br />
moments or reconstruct the corridors of waves, like gestures seen in passing that batter our lives<br />
into shape and spleen? Splintered raft, cadenced lap of language, weighted scent and a castoff look.<br />
All those things tendered in exchange for the what-has-gone-missing,<br />
the oxen of the sun.<br />
I<br />
n a word and picture, a small anterior hatch through which we try to see things forward to stake out<br />
a clearer path from the engulfed past of places receding, the long haul, line of clink and clatter.<br />
and so a rhyme comes forth, the inkling of a thought, a gesture of sorts, an image with the shape<br />
and gored of a bared fruit, seeding itself into my body, gestation and resignation: a weaving at the<br />
loom, an attempt to stitch together a patch and work of watches and winches, a story born of the<br />
many stories circling in time’s head which rushes like the electric snap between pulse of space and<br />
dendrite:<br />
the oxen of the sun, does this really explain,<br />
anything?<br />
spreading and becoming and what began as green became a wilding color and we flowered magenta<br />
for we had plucked death and we shuffled off the flora that once grew wild in 林 口 區 , the red<br />
restaurants skeletoning the alleyways of 淡 水 區 , the red warm water of 礁 溪 and the red rivers<br />
and beaches and our skin reddened in the red sun of 萬 里 桐 , all of that, our red life which has now<br />
beckoned us color, scent and chrysalis: our cover<br />
alive<br />
Wing it and set that free.
From the Notebooks<br />
(2010-<strong>2022</strong>)<br />
Gary Michael Dault<br />
Number 139: White Rabbit (May 25, <strong>2022</strong>)--from a new notebook of small-scale watercolours (White Rabbit is<br />
five inches square).
Travelling Palm<br />
Snapshots<br />
Tamara Chatterjee<br />
Uzbekistan 2019 – While quite beautiful,<br />
sadly it appears most of the historical<br />
restoration in Shahrisabz is more<br />
reconstruction. If memory serves correct;<br />
the light seeping in from the late afternoon<br />
light, glimmered against the turquoise hued<br />
hexagonal tiles and hints of gold paint. Inside<br />
the confines of the Kok Gombaz Masjid the<br />
immaculate interior showed little signs of its<br />
age. I lingered longer than my companion to<br />
admire those little details left over from the<br />
Timurid empire.
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The Raw and the Cooked,<br />
MYTHOLOGIQUES<br />
(A column on the<br />
culture of eating and<br />
cooking)
Gary Michael Dault:<br />
The Raw and the<br />
Cooked: The George<br />
Bernard Shaw<br />
Vegetarian Cookbook<br />
(London: Angus &<br />
Robertson Publishers,<br />
1972).
The great Anglo-Irish playwright, George Bernard Shaw died on November 2, 1950 at age 94. For<br />
his first quarter of a century, he ate meat. He was twenty-five when he became a vegetarian.<br />
Shaw always claimed that it was the poet Shelley who opened his eyes to the “savagery” of his diet<br />
when he discovered these two lines in Shelley’s poem The Revolt of Islam:<br />
Never again my blood of bird or beast<br />
Stain with its venomous stream a human feast!<br />
On the other hand, as some commentators suggest, it may only have been poverty that kept the young<br />
playwright from a life of rich carnivorous repasts. At any rate, he gave up eating meat altogether in<br />
1881. “Meat is poisonous to the system,” he once wrote. “No one should live on dead things.” And<br />
he didn’t (unless you regard harvested vegetables as “dead”).<br />
Shaw married in 1898, when he was forty-two, and though Mrs. Shaw (Charlotte Payne-Townshend)<br />
was not a vegetarian, she cheerfully supervised Shaw’s vegetarian meals for the whole of their 45<br />
year marriage. When she died, in 1943, he persuaded his wife’s nurse, Mrs. Alice Laden, to<br />
remain in his employ as his housekeeper. She also took over the organizing of the writer’s meals<br />
(her own husband had been a vegetarian, which made things considerably easier for her). The<br />
GBS Vegetarian Cookbook comprises the actual recipes making up the Shaw diet--though as editor<br />
R.J.Minnet notes, most of them have been expanded to make them sufficient for four people--not<br />
just for Shaw alone.<br />
Mrs. Laden’s menus, printed as a sort of forward to the book, are anything but spartan or punishingly<br />
monastic. Indeed everything strikes this unapologetic vegetarian as utterly delicious and sometimes<br />
even a tad exotic. Here are some choices: Baked Potato and Cabbage Pie, Stuffed Onions,<br />
Vegetable Curry, Aubergine au Gratin, Mushroom Souffle, Savoury Croquettes, Walnut Souffle, and<br />
so on.
And lots of sweets. Shaw loved sweets: Coffee Mousse, Apricot Mould, Baked Bananas,<br />
Gooseberry Crumble, Chestnut Ice...it’s a long and delectable list.<br />
Here--as a single example--is Alice Laden’s recipe for a Mushroom Souffle: It is simplicity<br />
itself (though I think I might have added some tarragon and Marjoram):<br />
6 ounces mushrooms<br />
3 eggs<br />
3 ounces butter<br />
2 1/2 ounces flour<br />
1/2 pint milk<br />
salt and pepper<br />
“Wash and dry the mushrooms and chop very finely. Brown lightly in the butter. Stir in the flour and<br />
seasonings. Gradually add the milk, bringing it to the boil and stirring until thickened. Allow to cool<br />
and then beat in the yolks of the eggs singly. Whip the whites to a stiff froth and fold in. Pour into a<br />
deep, buttered baking dish and bake for 30 minutes in a slow to moderate oven.”<br />
Shaw once had this to say about his future funeral: “My hearse will be followed not by<br />
mourning coaches but by herds of oxen, sheep, swine, flocks of poultry and a small travelling<br />
aquarium of live fish, all wearing white scarves in honour of the man who perished rather than eat his<br />
fellow creatures,”<br />
All drawings are by Tony Matthews
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