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<strong>MONDAY</strong><br />

<strong>ARTPOST</strong><br />

<strong>1003</strong>-<strong>2022</strong><br />

ISSN1918-6991<br />

<strong>MONDAY</strong><strong>ARTPOST</strong>.COM<br />

Columns by Artists and Writers<br />

Bob Black / bq / Cem Turgay /<br />

Fiona Smyth / Gary Michael Dault<br />

/ Holly Lee / Kai Chan / Kamelia<br />

Pezeshki / Ngan Chun-tung / Shelley<br />

Savor / Tamara Chatterjee / Wilson<br />

Tsang / + The Second-read and other<br />

Negotiation Matters (Lee Ka-sing)<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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Horace Mann

Greenwood<br />

Kai Chan<br />

Drawing.<br />

watercolour, pastel on paper


Holly Lee<br />

1. The Bentway and Exhibition Place present Confluence, an immersive artwork by Striped Canary<br />

https://the-bentway.prezly.com/concrete-meets-current<br />

2. Thomas Demand to Build a House of Card at MOCA Toronto<br />


Poem a Week<br />

Gary Michael Dault<br />

The Corked Bottle<br />

You can’t see<br />

until it’s late<br />

in the game<br />

that the self<br />

is like liquid<br />

in a corked<br />

bottle<br />

thrown<br />

into the sea<br />

where mere<br />

distance<br />

feels like progress<br />

where what<br />

you really want<br />

after a hundred years<br />

of bobbing around<br />

the world<br />

is to break on the dock<br />

from which<br />

you were thrown<br />

into the water<br />

in the first place

Caffeine Reveries<br />

Shelley Savor<br />

Magic Whispers

Mushrooms and Clouds (but<br />

no Mushroom Clouds)<br />

Paperback Edition<br />

56 pages, 8”x10”, perfect bound.<br />

Published by OCEAN POUNDS.<br />

Order paperback edition at BLURB (CAN$35):<br />

https://www.blurb.ca/b/11270926-mushrooms-and-clouds-but-no-mushroom-clouds<br />

ebook (US$5.00), pdf download. Bonus: access code for read-on-line edition<br />

https://oceanpounds.com/products/mushrooms-and-clouds-but-no-mushroom-clouds<br />

This book was published on the occasion of the exhibition Mushrooms and<br />

Clouds (but no Mushroom Clouds), held at 50 Gladstone Avenue artsalon in<br />

Toronto, October 1-29, <strong>2022</strong>.

Open/Endedness<br />

bq 不 清<br />

奔 跑 中 的 馬<br />


又 來 了 ! 在 這 個 燦 爛 無 雲 的 早 上<br />

濃 密 的 空 氣 充 塞 著 鳥 叫 、 濕 氣<br />

與 糞 肥 。 你 開 車 好 讓<br />

思 緒 遠 離 它 們 , 一 首 首 練 習 曲 在<br />

播 放 , 但 你 始 終 無 法 區 分<br />

蕭 邦 與 李 斯 特 , 儘 管 這 絕 對 是<br />

微 不 足 道 的 。 與 此 同 時 五 金 店 外 邊<br />

那 些 工 匠 又 贏 一 仗<br />

他 們 的 紙 牌 三 公 把 戲 再 一 次 上 演 而<br />

正 如 之 前 所 預 料 , 小 丑 永 是<br />

找 不 到 。 太 陽 已 經 邀 請 了<br />

影 子 到 這 裡 低 調 地 挪 動<br />

於 人 造 的 景 色 與<br />

我 們 城 市 寬 容 的 輪 廓 線<br />

我 們 都 是 由 多 於 一 個 概 念 所 組 成 的<br />

形 象 , 就 像 來 自 神 話 實 驗 室 的 珀 伽 索 斯 和<br />

山 杜 爾 , 祂 們 也 就 是 那 時 代 的 傳 真 機 吧<br />

Here we go again! In this gorgeous cloudless morning.<br />

The dense air is clogged with chirps, moisture<br />

And manure. You drive your car just to keep<br />

Your mind away from them, with études playing in<br />

The background, but you can’t tell the difference between<br />

Chopin and Liszt, though It’s absolutely<br />

Alright. Meanwhile outside the hardware store<br />

The craft people are still winning the battle.<br />

Their three-card monte tricks are presented again and<br />

Again, and as predicted previously, there’s no joker<br />

To be found. The sun has invited<br />

Shadows to lay low here and shift<br />

Along the manufactured landscape and<br />

Forgiving contours of our cities.<br />

We are all images of more than one<br />

Concept like Pegasus and Centaur from the mythology<br />

Laboratory, fax machines of their time.


Wilson Tsang<br />

mixed tales (part 2)

ProTesT<br />

Cem Turgay

Travelling Palm<br />

Snapshots<br />

Tamara Chatterjee<br />

India (May, 2017) – Turns out when you<br />

roam around in a befuddled state, amid a<br />

vast array of horticulture with your camera<br />

in hand, it means you are open for business.<br />

While distracted from my original intention,<br />

I ended up with a line-up of flower vendors<br />

wanting portraits. A little jasmine here, a<br />

few lotus buds over there, marigolds hanging<br />

out just about everywhere. Miraculously, we<br />

left with our delightful haul of blooms and a<br />

bounty of memorable clicks.

Yesterday Hong Kong<br />

Ngan Chun Tung<br />

Woman painter (1962)<br />

8x10 inch, gelatin siver photograph printed in the nineties<br />

Edition 7/100, signed and titled on verso<br />

From the collection of Lee Ka-sing and Holly Lee

The Photograph<br />

coordinated by<br />

Kamelia Pezeshki<br />

Flamma by Rob Kinghorn

Leaving Taichung<br />

Station<br />

Bob Black<br />

19 Fragments of Youth, Athirst<br />

“Have you feared the future would be nothing to you?”--Whitman<br />

III: 1988<br />

The year I drew my first word from deep inside, my family stood still<br />

as a pitch and sonorous swallow hooved forth: equine.<br />

How could they not know my freedom would come in the shape of a word: steed.<br />

Should they have known?<br />

but still they were confused by the punctuated bursts,<br />

a syntax of observations or a possibly running away<br />

(later, I remind them):<br />

I could not be torn from the horses in the field<br />

and their story-shifting clops and blossoming turns.<br />

“I am made of them, then,” even if,<br />

I could not stand upright fully, I crawled toward<br />

the fit and size of that language<br />

syllable and sound first, before my bones scaled to strides,<br />

as an infant, I grew horse describing all that without a sizable base and language.<br />

Was all this the summit and clap of dream?<br />

Now, can you see, at two I learned a first desultory lesson: fictive freedom<br />

more gene then gumption, even if I could not cough up its spelling and rhyme,<br />

my life shaped into the lines and pauses of a word in the shape of a beast, softening.<br />

“Tell me, from where things come?”<br />

Answerless,<br />

my heart was shaped by distant outer-sized things<br />

instead of the laborious tedium of time and so many men, yet I was two.<br />

And from that moment, though the words did not yet conjugate,<br />

my body made sense of sounded thought and together the world’s joinery unleashed<br />

and I doubled in year and yelp.<br />


IV: 1989<br />

One month before my third birthday, the eel returned<br />

and my grandmother leapt skyward as a cricket in heat.<br />

and at that moment a world away,<br />

synchronous,<br />

my father taught me a first lesson in chemistry and burning:<br />

how to set flame to a map and language and remembering.<br />

While my grandmother re-arranged herself, my fist father became a teacher of broken alchemy.<br />

He groomed me and turned the black sky vermilion and incandescent and alive,<br />

and I burned.<br />

An act of defied waking and guidance:<br />

he lead me to a small hill behind our home and recited the truth of geography:<br />

light lit in the groove of pliable things,<br />

pinched an old map of the heavens, constellations shaped into the bodies of his worn hands,<br />

calligraphy of sexton hearts<br />

both hands crampons in altitude and paper word-strewn, characters that built our small house in a<br />

small town<br />

and which, like the stories my grandmother told, looked like broken winter trees<br />

my wakeful hope damp socks and<br />

he looked then and I looked then and he then said:<br />

“Sin, you will see how stars were meant to look when lit” and he struck the match:<br />

and I sped and spread fathoms deep.<br />

And once again, a shallow sky swallowed up the old map and my father’s lantern and all I had<br />

doubted<br />

and all I had glued together, memory<br />

which he quickly crumpled up and we both, wing to claw, forgot<br />

as if those unseen stones in the reedy river behind our house,<br />

everything, everything or something particular, un upturned but.<br />

even that which I did not then know but would ask about much later--<br />

absence as presence<br />

a map set fire and expanding brightly even as it fell apart, drop by black drop<br />

and the drops of held pitch sealed my heart and hips, once spread cracking,<br />

drop by begrimed drop,<br />

dollop dip done.<br />

its gift and its embargo and its meaning<br />

as we march on the years under cover of eureka and euphemis<br />

Beyond his outstretched arm, a copper lantern made of old paper and tears<br />

and thumbprints carried from Hong Kong language and luggage and hope<br />

become a burning kite of spark and wonder and names:<br />

Orion, Cassiopeia, Andromeda, Ursa Minor, Carina, Pyxis, Lupus, Lyra, and my birth sign: Taurus.<br />

And as the map crackled like my grandfather’s rocking chair and my collar an old branch,<br />

I saw the names scatter against the blue-dark sky and become characters from the old country:<br />

心 (Xīn), 尾 (Wěi), 危 (Wēi), 鬼 (Guǐ), 張 (Zhāng), 翼 (Yì), 水 委 (Shui Wei)<br />

and my birthmark: 馬 尾 (Ma Wei, horse’s tail).<br />

And I followed the flame and listened to the sparkled words wing incandescent<br />

at that moment, I felt the bones in my throat loosen<br />

and my life unroped and my understanding unshirted and my body became borderless and words<br />


CHEEZ<br />

Fiona Smyth

From the Notebooks<br />

(2010-<strong>2022</strong>)<br />

Gary Michael Dault<br />

From the Notebooks, 2010-<strong>2022</strong><br />

Number 157: One Golden Apple of the Hesperides (Thursday September 29, <strong>2022</strong>)

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An excerpt from DOUBLE DOUBLE August edition, <strong>2022</strong><br />

The Book. The Reader. The Keeper<br />

Lee Ka-sing<br />

The Second-read<br />

and other<br />

Negotiation Matters.<br />

Photographs<br />


世 界 盡 頭 與 冷 酷 仙 境 ( 村 上 春 樹 ) 林 少 華 譯<br />

上 海 譯 文 出 版 社<br />


三 魚 集 ( 也 斯 )<br />

田 園 書 屋<br />

1988<br />

(The cover of this book was designed by Lee Ka-sing)

Sigmar Polke<br />

San Francisco Museum of Modern Art<br />


Marcel Duchamp (Gloria Moure)<br />

Thames And Hudson<br />


Presents (Hibino Katsuhiko)<br />

Genko-Sha Publishing<br />


Looking At Photographs (Gordon Baldwin)<br />

Getty Museum<br />


Flowers (Irving Penn)<br />

Harmony Books<br />


詩 人 導 演 - 費 穆 ( 黃 愛 玲 編 )<br />

香 港 電 影 評 論 學 會<br />


藝 林 散 葉 ( 鄭 逸 梅 )<br />

中 華 書 局<br />


Tokyo Comedy (Nobuyoshi Araki)<br />

Kon Hiroko<br />


Frank O’Hara Selected Poems (Ed. Mark Ford)<br />

Alfred A. Knopf<br />


Bibliotheca: Views of the Books (Ushioda Tokuko)<br />

Usimaoda<br />


Under the management of Ocean and Pounds<br />

Since 2008, INDEXG B&B have served curators, artists,<br />

art-admirers, collectors and professionals from different<br />

cities visiting and working in Toronto.<br />

INDEXG B&B<br />

48 Gladstone Avenue, Toronto<br />

Booking:<br />

mail@indexgbb.com<br />


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