MONDAY ARTPOST 0822-2022

MONDAY
ARTPOST
0822-2022
ISSN1918-6991
MONDAYARTPOST.COM
Columns by Artists and Writers
Bob Black / bq / Cem Turgay /
Fiona Smyth / Gary Michael Dault
/ Holly Lee / Kai Chan / Kamelia
Pezeshki / Shelley Savor / Tamara
Chatterjee / Wilson Tsang / Yau
Leung / + DOUBLESPREAD (Lee Ka-sing)
/ To be Frank (Chad Tobin)
MONDAY ARTPOST published on Mondays. Columns by Artists and Writers. All Right Reserved. Published since 2002.
An Ocean and Pounds publication. ISSN 1918-6991. email to: mail@oceanpounds.com

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Ralph Waldo Emerson

Caffeine Reveries
Shelley Savor
It Was Late

Greenwood
Kai Chan
Drawing. Watercolour on paper

TANGENTS
Wilson Tsang
Re:start

Yesterday Hong Kong
Yau Leung
Car Park (1963)
8x10 inch, gelatin silver photograph printed in the nineties
signed and titled on verso
From the collection of Lee Ka-sing and Holly Lee

Open/Endedness
bq 不 清
二 重 協 奏 曲
Double Concerto
究 竟 我 們 是 什 麼 , 在 這 片
傲 慢 與 陌 生 的 遼 闊 景 觀 中 度 過
這 麼 多 年 ? 自 稱 超 現 實 主 義 者 的 人
把 自 己 困 在 位 於 一 輛 完 美 地 失 事 的
So what are we, spending all these years in this
Vast landscape of arrogance and
Strangeness? Self-proclaimed surrealists
Trap themselves in the cargo hold of a perfectly
飛 機 的 貨 倉 裡 , 想 像 一 把 史 特 拉 底 瓦 里
小 提 琴 早 熟 的 狀 態 。 而 它 旁 邊 , 一 座 鋼 琴
在 我 們 城 市 的 街 道 上 追 逐 瘋 癲 的
節 拍 器 。 它 是 什 麼 顏 色 的 , 飄 動 於
Wrecked aeroplane, imagining a Stradivarius
Violin at its precocity. And beside it, a piano
Chases the mad metronome In the streets of
our city. What colour is it, fluttering between
黑 白 色 之 間 , 仿 佛 不 是 被 卡 在
運 送 途 中 而 是 在 過 渡 , 學 習 尋 找
深 埋 於 它 期 望 以 外 的
立 足 點 如 樹 木 讓 其 根 部
Black and white, as if not being stuck
In transit but in transition, learning to find
Footings that are buried deep beyond
its expectations like trees having their roots
抵 達 一 個 屬 於 謠 言 的 空 洞 中 心 地 帶 , 一 個
易 於 動 搖 的 真 理 ? 這 刻 那 些 灰 色 的
雲 已 經 以 其 正 常 的 速 度 在 空 中
疾 走 而 又 沒 有 吐 出 它 們 怒 火 般 的 雨 點
Reaching the hollow centre of a rumour, a
Shakable truth? Now that the grey
Clouds have raced across the sky at its
Normal pace without spitting with their fury,
因 此 平 靜 保 持 平 靜 。 人 們
總 是 在 一 個 笑 話 突 破 成 尷 尬
之 前 找 點 東 西 隨 便 說 一 下 , 就 像
地 心 吸 力 在 其 他 星 球 上 所 引 致 的 結 果 。
我 們 該 繫 好 安 全 帶 了 。
The calm remains calm. People
Are always looking for things to say
Before a joke breaks into awkwardness, similar
To what gravity could cause on other planets.
We better buckle up!

ProTesT
Cem Turgay

CHEEZ
Fiona Smyth

Poem a Week
Gary Michael Dault
On the Grass
the insinuating moon
prepares us
for the big blow
the taste of night
the abolition of the stars
the blackness
of the emptied earth
the sharp point
of old age
stabbing like a dead twig
into the heart
we are like children
listening
to the conversation
of grown-ups
we feel the needles of the moon
pricking the skin
of our forearms
we fall
busily assuming
the insect
we all suffer
more from minuteness
than from grandeur
you fall face down
on the grass
and fancy you have
parachuted
into a jungle
the family cat
is a panther

ART LOGBOOK
Holly Lee
1. Alec Soth’s Obsessive Ode to Image-Making
https://www.newyorker.com/culture/photo-booth/alec-soths-obsessive-ode-to-image-making
2. Alec Soth website
https://alecsoth.com/photography/

The Photograph
coordinated by
Kamelia Pezeshki
Huambo, Angola, 1962 by Jorge Guerra

Leaving Taichung
Station
Bob Black
The following poem, Hong Kong: Songs from the
Rooftops, is an 8-part poem that was written over the
course of the last 5 years. Each part corresponds to
a part of Hong Kong and each part also is dedicated
to a friend. It was completed this past spring. This
poem is dedicated to 8 friends, for whom the city
is a constant conversation in my head and heart,
regardless of the shape and tune.
This poem is dedicated to: Holly & Ka-sing Lee,
Nancy Li, Kai Chan, Yam Lau, Chris Song and Ting,
TimTim Cheng, Tammy Ho and Kristee Quinn.
May they always be filled with voices, food and
sound. Carry on.

Hong Kong: Songs from the Rooftops
“In these shaken times, who more than you holds
In the wind, our bittermelon, steadily facing
Worlds of confused bees and butterflies and a garden gone wild”
-- 梁 秉 鈞 , Bittermelon
pinpoint in a murky pupil,
swim as the scent of red Cypress, Camphor and the skeleton of Cinnamon cracking along the
shadows in a Thai massage room. Mahagony our courage. Hunger
Our spines crackle like the peel of forest wood chipping
We headed for shore
Winging of flag and your accented tales. Once we were tapped From a hand-made book, damp with
photos and black the frames of our galloping time, clocking with electrical tape.
Taped, turned, tackled & thumbed—
Winging of flag and your accented tales
Above the rooftops of Hong Kong, flaging
Bone and feather-less wing, knobby beak and elongated rib of our throats: all that is left of our
singing when the song has gone wrong, all that is left when the singing has gone rung.
we build our bodies then around our homes, ghostlight, teacup, mooncake, peelingpaint, bamboo cage,
teeth in the glass and all
V. Mong Kok: 一 口
The line that leads from the quiver of your lower lip
ricocheting between the sounds of click’d teeth biting
and the stretching of your arm past the falling sky as snow
as nipple as pussy as hope gallop’d in some redemptive story:
that those folk risk more then the calumny of the climate stalks and skwalk.
and still the entirety of the lipping skirt, the sleeping pose, the pillows askew’d:
lip past all that as you drive through the green-background albatross.
and our bodies fall like flake, our arms like breathed smoke, our lives like moss
fingered slowly and blinded.
and the turnpike speaks of the sea and the tossed tired stones of your hope:
and we rise to meet what was not expected,
no lions in winter,
aflight
Is this then, all we knew?
Longing over the pocket of the sea’s lungs before flight
we make our testaments breath
e, elong and gated, we
strong, agile our bent bodies wiser,
wing our teeming hope as light

Travelling Palm
Snapshots
Tamara Chatterjee
Canada (August, 2022) – Tentatively, we
started the day holding steadfast to nostalgic
memories. Like much in life; things change,
pow-wows change, but the regalia, the
drum beats, the sentimental belief of being
interconnected with something else doesn’t
change. The vibe at the Three Fire; with
natures embrace was reminiscent of a more
authentic past.

From the Notebooks
(2010-2022)
Gary Michael Dault
From the Notebooks, 2010-2022.
Number 151: Baby Bird Leaves the Nest (August 112, 2022)

Celebrate the launch
of three new books by
Gary Michael Dault
OCEANPOUNDS

The Book of the Poem
Paperback Edition
CAD$35
Order Print-on-Demand paperback edition at BLURB:
https://www.blurb.ca/b/11246718-the-book-of-the-poem
ebook (US$5.00), pdf download. Bonus: access code for read-on-line edition
https://oceanpounds.com/products/bp
This is a Facsimile Edition of “The Book of
the Poem”, a Gary Michael Dault sketch book
from 2017 to 2018. The size of the original
piece is 9.5 x 12 inch (240 x 305 mm), 40
pages, spiral bound.
60 pages, 8.5x11 inch (22x28 cm), paperback, perfect bound
Published by OCEAN POUNDS, 2022
isbn: 978-1-989845-38-7
PAGES from The Book of the Poem are available at OCEAN POUNDS Print Series Program: Each issued
in an edition of five, on 260 g/m Velvet Fine Art Paper. Sheet size: 13 x 9.5 inch. Signed by the artist.
Numbered and with “OP Selection” Blind Stamp.

Still Life Still:
A Book of Vessels
Paperback Edition
CAD$75
Order Print-on-Demand paperback edition at BLURB:
https://www.blurb.ca/b/11244211-still-life-still-a-book-of-vessels
ebook (US$5.00), pdf download. Bonus: access code for read-on-line edition
https://oceanpounds.com/products/bv
164 pages, 8x10 inch (20x25 cm), paperback, perfect bound
Published by OCEAN POUNDS, 2022
isbn: 9781989845363
This is a Facsimile Edition of “A Book of
Vessels”, a Gary Michael Dault sketch book
from 2006-2007. The size of the original
piece is 10.25 x 10.25 inch (260 x 260 mm),
142 pages, spiral bound with covers in thick
cardboard.
PAGES from A Book of Vessels are available at OCEAN POUNDS Print Series Program: Each issued in an
edition of five, on 260 g/m Velvet Fine Art Paper. Sheet size: 13 x 9.5 inch. Signed by the artist. Numbered
and with “OP Selection” Blind Stamp.

The Nearby Faraway: Small
Paintings on Cardboard
Paperback Edition
CAD$95
Order Print-on-Demand paperback edition at BLURB:
https://www.blurb.ca/b/11244181-the-nearby-faraway-small-paintings-oncardboard
ebook (US$5.00), pdf download. Bonus: access code for read-on-line edition
https://oceanpounds.com/products/tnf
220 pages, 8x10 inch (20x25 cm), paperback, perfect bound
Published by OCEAN POUNDS, 2022
isbn: 9781989845356
This book was published on the occasion
of the exhibition “The Nearby Faraway:
Small Paintings on Cardboard”, held at
50 Gladstone Avenue artsalon, Toronto,
in Summer 2022. This book includes 97
paintings produced by Gary Michael Dault in
between 2004 to 2009.

You might also be interested in these - =
Lee Ka-sing’s photographs on SWANHOUSE,
a two-day visit to Gary and Malgorzata
348 pages, 8x10 inch (20x25 cm) paperback, perfect bound
Paperback edition (CAD$120), order at BLURB
https://www.blurb.ca/b/10946788-swan-house
ebook (US$5.00), download pdf.
https://oceanpounds.com/products/swan-house
A collaboration: Photographs by Lee Ka-sing
/ Haiku by Gary Michael Dault
180 pages, 8x10 inch (20x25 cm) paperback, perfect bound
Paperback edition (CAD$75), order at BLURB
https://www.blurb.ca/b/10947020-time-machine
ebook (US$5.00), download pdf.
https://oceanpounds.com/products/time-machine

The Nearby Faraway: Small Paintings on
Cardboard, an exhibition by Gary Michael
Dault. 50 Gladstone Avenue artsalon in
Toronto. Exhibition runs thru September
17, 2022. Visit by appointment:
mail@oceanpounds.com
To view the exhibition online
(or purchase):
https://oceanpounds.com/blogs/exhibition/tnf

DOUBLESPREAD from
Double Double studio,
photographs by
Lee Ka-sing
Support and Become a Patreon member of
Double Double studio
https://www.patreon.com/doubledoublestudio
Unlimited access to all read-on-line books,
patrons only contents. Collecting artworks at
discounts.
Patreon Membership: Friend of Double Double ($5), Benefactor Member ($10), Print Collector ($100) Monthly subscription in US currency

Chad Tobin
To be Frank
a portfolio
An excerpt from
Island Peninsula Cape
DOUBLE DOUBLE June edition 2022
200 pages, 8x10 inches, perfect binding
Paperback edition
(Print-on-demand, direct order from BLURB, CAD $85.00)
https://www.blurb.ca/b/11198807-island-peninsula-cape
ebook edition (pdf download, US$5.00)
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To be Frank
AN IMPROBABLE MENTORSHIP WITH A LEGEND
Photographer Chad Tobin spent ten years visiting and
photographing the legendary photographer, Robert Frank.
My heart beats faster. Should I park the car at the bottom
of the driveway or by the house? I think it will be more
respectful if I park at the bottom of the driveway. The engine
idles with my indecision as I begin to question my cold call
actions. Surely he won’t call the cops? Is this trespassing?
This is definitely trespassing. He must have people
approaching him all the time. Maybe this is exactly why I
should turn around and forget this whole thing. At the same
time, I’m here. I think he is here. If I don’t at least try, I will
regret it forever. Turning the engine off, I grab my camera
and the book. Walking up the steep driveway, I notice my
feet in battle with my brain, shuffling one in front of the other
with a hurried step, as if to shut down the inner voice telling
me to turn back. I sheepishly knock at the door. “Yes?” a
gray haired woman answers. Without thinking, I blurt out,
in a quivering pitch, “ I am a photographer. I was wondering
if Mr. Frank would sign my book.” Once I was done, she led
me towards a small studio near the main house and called
out loudly, “Robert, there is a guy here asking if you would
sign his book, and he has the same type of camera as you.” I
hear a voice from inside say, “Send him in.”
From 2009 until 2019, I visited Robert Frank at his summer
home in Mabou, Nova Scotia. After that first unannounced
visit, it became a yearly ritual that eventually turned into
a body of work called To Be Frank, a series of photographs
with Frank woven into the rural landscape to which he would
escape from New York City. Our conversations were mostly

about life, but every once in a while, the discussion would
drift into photography, with Frank providing droplets of
advice and artistic direction. Over the years, I had no plan
for a project. I was simply recording what was happening
before me. It wasn’t until the last few years that I began
putting together To Be Frank, with counsel from Robert,
resulting in an exhibition.
THE BEGINNING
In 2009, I was doing commercial photography which wasn’t
a great fit for me. I was searching for something completely
different and discovered a wedding photographer named
Riccis Valladares, whose distinctive style is evident, with
gritty but quiet tones. I discovered a podcast that Riccis had
been on and, when asked about his method, he explained
that he tries to approach photography in the vein of Robert
Frank and his book The Americans. Once the book was in
my hands, it instantly changed my life. I had this moment
where the world was shut out, and I was like a character in
a film where the audio is cut and everything seems to stand
still. There was something so powerful about the images.
Some are voyeuristic while others are announcing. Most
importantly, the images captured a true representation of
the marginalized population that was not being represented
in the United States in the 1950’s. Frank’s work continues
to be relevant today, in terms of division and racism. The
Americans is a collection of blurry, perfectly sequenced,
beautifully imperfect images that drip with honesty. I started
digesting everything I could about Frank. Books, articles,
and documentaries made up my education. Upon reading
that he had a summer home two hours away, I decided to
make a pilgrimage to connect with him on some level. I took
comfort in knowing that if I didn’t succeed, I would at least
have a story of the attempt and, somehow, that would be
enough.
POWER OF ASSUMPTIONS
I had no idea what to expect when meeting Robert Frank.
His reputation for dealing with people was difficult and
surrounded in mystery. He often declined interviews and

arely spoke about his seminal bodies of work. The more
information about him I read, the less I felt like I understood
him. Stepping into the room with Robert Frank for the first
time felt like stepping into a time machine. Nothing in the
room looked like it was newer than 1976. The furniture was
well-worn and cracked, and only the essentials of living
were present. I was asked to take a wooden seat, and this
warm and friendly man started asking me questions about
who I was and my life. I was in total shock and found myself
just trying to soak in the experience. He had a presence
that really made you feel comfortable. I slowly mustered the
courage to ask my own questions. On that first encounter,
he spent time going through my copy of The Americans. He
told me a number of stories about how some of the images
were made and was very humble about his body of work.
When I exclaimed that the girl from the elevator photograph
in The Americans had recognized herself at a gallery in San
Francisco, he had a huge smile on his face and thought it was
wonderful. Robert then took my rangefinder camera, took a
photograph of me, and passed it back. I asked him if I could
take his photo and he said, “Sure, go ahead.” I quietly took
a frame. He signed my book, and I thanked him and went on
my way in a total haze, buzzing with goosebumps.
PORTRAIT AS A PASSPORT
I was determined to return again the next summer, but I
wasn’t sure how to approach the situation. After thinking
about it, I decided to return with the environmental portrait
that I had taken of Robert. Photography could be my reason
to return again. The two hour drive passed quickly, and I
soon found myself walking up that same uphill driveway, this
time with a little more confidence. Robert was outside, sitting
in a chair and looking at the ocean. He smiled a friendly
smile and said hello. I exclaimed a less-nervous hello and
explained that I had visited last summer and that I had a gift
for him. Robert said that he gets a lot of visitors and asked
me to forgive him for not remembering me. Then he motioned
for me to sit with him. I sat down, and Robert looked at the
photo and said “Handsome fellow.” We began to chat and
soon his wife, artist June Leaf, joined us and remembered me
from my first visit. After a couple of hours of chatting

and making a few frames of Robert, I thanked him and June
for the lovely visit and asked if it was okay if I dropped by
again. Robert said, “Yes, of course.” He thanked me for the
photograph, and I was on my way again.
HABITUAL DAY TRIPS
Each summer, I made the trip to visit Robert and June,
bringing with me the previous year’s print. It became a
routine that I sometimes had to approach with caution, as
he was not always in the mood to be photographed. Many of
my visits were spent sitting outside with Frank, taking in the
ocean view. He often did not want to talk about photography,
but every once in a while, the subject came up, and he would
ask me about my current photo projects and would even help
with selecting the best images. Frank took interest in the
work I had done in Tokyo, due to his love of Japan. During
our visits, I continued to make photographs of both Frank
and his surroundings. The weather-laced house became a
third character in the narrative, as it was where he felt the
most at peace. The simple surroundings and modest contents
of the house were strong indicators to me of how he managed
to slip in and out of situations in 1950’s America, with an
unobtrusive presence.
SUMMER GOODBYES
Two weeks before Robert Frank passed away, I visited him
for the last time. He was his usual self, asking questions and
encouraging me to look at the nature before us. I had heard
from a friend of Robert’s that his health was not good, and
he seemed very frail. We visited for two hours, and I tried
to enjoy every second and let the glow of the sun wash over
us. When I got up to leave, I squeezed his hand and said,
“I will see you next time.” Robert squeezed my hand back.
As I headed to my car, I thought about that first visit, when I
parked at the bottom of the long driveway. Robert had asked
me where my car was, and I explained that I had parked
down below to be respectful. Robert looked at me in that
serene way he always seemed to have and said, “That was
very nice.” (Chad Tobin)

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