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<strong>MONDAY</strong><br />
<strong>ARTPOST</strong><br />
<strong>1121</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 / Shelley<br />
Savor / Tamara Chatterjee /<br />
Wilson Tsang / Yam Lau<br />
+“That Afternoon” on Mubi, a dialogue: Tsai<br />
Ming-Liang and Lee Kang-Sheng (Lee Ka-sing)<br />
:‐) Book Review: Shelley Savor - Mushrooms<br />
and Clouds (but no Mushroom Clouds)<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
Book Review<br />
:‐)<br />
Mushrooms and Clouds (but no Mushroom Clouds) by Shelley Savor<br />
56 pages, 8x10 paperback, $35.00<br />
Published by Ocean Pounds, September <strong>2022</strong>
Book Review<br />
:‐)<br />
Mushrooms and Clouds (but no Mushroom Clouds) by Shelley Savor<br />
Paperback edition available at BLURB<br />
https://www.blurb.ca/b/11270926-mushrooms-and-clouds-but-no-mushroom-clouds<br />
Ebook edition (pdf download) available at Ocean Pounds online shop<br />
https://oceanpounds.com/products/mushrooms-and-clouds-but-no-mushroom-clouds<br />
PATREON Members<br />
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CHEEZ<br />
Fiona Smyth
From the Notebooks<br />
(2010-<strong>2022</strong>)<br />
Gary Michael Dault<br />
Battlefield Flower (Ukraine}<br />
You cannot kill flowers<br />
with a missile or a rocket<br />
Every fallen soldier<br />
carries a flower<br />
growing in his pocket<br />
Number 154: Battlefield Flower (Ukraine}
… 談 笑 間 …<br />
Yam Lau
ART LOGBOOK<br />
Holly Lee<br />
Anselm Kiefer goes big with his massive installation in southern France<br />
https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/anselm-kiefer-artwork-30-years-200-acres-180980994/
Open/Endedness<br />
bq 不 清<br />
二 分 法<br />
DICHOTOMY<br />
他 們 一 致 的 靜 止 與 隔 斷<br />
令 我 驚 嘆 , 如 上 了 色 的 燈 塔<br />
於 白 天 是 如 此 的 顯 眼 卻 沒 有 人<br />
注 意 到 。 當 我 們 不 在 這 個 地 方 把<br />
麥 垛 拆 散 時 , 稻 草 人 在 做 什 麼 ?<br />
他 們 會 否 思 考 自 己 如 何<br />
以 另 一 種 形 式 呈 現 ? 平 行 、 重 複 的<br />
與 服 從 的 ⋯⋯<br />
Their synchronized stillness and isolation<br />
Amaze me, like painted lighthouses that are<br />
So visible during the day that no one<br />
Takes notice. What do scarecrows do when<br />
We are not here to unpile the wheat stacks?<br />
Will they be thinking about themselves<br />
In this other format? Parallel, repetitive<br />
And obedient…<br />
我 仍 然 不 知 道 這 些 雲 街 是 如 何<br />
形 成 的 儘 管 我 曾 經 在 一 些 藝 術 教 學 書 籍 裡<br />
見 到 。 閱 讀 令 我<br />
感 到 笨 拙 你 知 道 嗎 , 可 是 大 多 數<br />
距 它 遠 一 點 點 的 我 們 能 夠 再 次<br />
聽 到 什 麼 ? 音 樂 ?<br />
I still have no idea how these cloud streets are<br />
Formed though I have read about them<br />
In some fine art textbooks. Reading has made me<br />
Feeling dumb, you see, but most of us who are<br />
Far enough away from it are able to hear,<br />
What, the music again?
TANGENTS<br />
Wilson Tsang<br />
At a time
Poem a Week<br />
Gary Michael Dault<br />
The Red Lamp<br />
a red lamp<br />
beside<br />
the tracks<br />
lights<br />
if something goes<br />
the wrong way<br />
its glass breaks<br />
its wick burns<br />
a small moon<br />
like a cherry pit<br />
rises<br />
over checkpoints<br />
(After William Plomer, “The Red Fruit Lamp,” in<br />
Celebrations (London: Jonathan Cape, 1972), p.41)
Travelling Palm<br />
Snapshots<br />
Tamara Chatterjee<br />
Canada (August, 2021) – As I reflect<br />
on the last few years; a fairly constant<br />
thought occurs. Milling about the street<br />
neighbourhood streets for my evening walk<br />
was an unyielding primordial urge during the<br />
city lockdowns. With the return to routine<br />
office runs and my faulty knees, it appears the<br />
usual evening salutes and bright covid smiles<br />
are a memory of a season passed.
ProTesT<br />
Cem Turgay
Leaving Taichung<br />
Station<br />
Bob Black<br />
Letter Home<br />
“the currency of suffering”—Yam Lau<br />
Once<br />
even in the dark recesses of bramble and cave light<br />
breath spidered across an old alleyway bumpered and bricked-up<br />
the scooter gears like bone treasure, the left-behind scarf of teens teetering in the night<br />
the wing of the drunk cat skeletal in the corner,<br />
out and about as shadow orbits the red-written walls<br />
in the moon-early morning on a damp sheet night trapped<br />
between the fridge and the cask of cachaça carried longitudes,<br />
the moolah marked up in the old woman’s hands, satellites<br />
the abbot asking from a hat for snake blood and coin<br />
and<br />
between the tofu set up with oil, his eyes set us tumbling<br />
in the night the burnished path, a picking away of threadbare words and tatters,<br />
the names they called out, centrifugal,<br />
the orbits their bodies scribbled, inward<br />
the world down the valley gaping outward, a portent<br />
“I laid down against the anger trapped along the rail as a train stood up in the dark”<br />
and chagrin boiled on the stove and the aunt’s temperament rusted the door hinge<br />
the barking gone on up the hill and the mail scampered black in the rain<br />
the temple red oiled and the lantern anger relieved each of the night walkers,<br />
home for the holiday and the hearts in Mailiao grew into coins for the taking<br />
away.<br />
The veins bewitching the legs of the entangled forest somewhere far in the distance<br />
Penghu lost upon your young skin, the ignition of the fishing boats far past the shore,<br />
red bobbles and starburst winging and she opened:<br />
her many limbs, multitudinous breathe that carved the sky with tackle and knife—<br />
were we through, were we?<br />
Earlier<br />
the crept innocence of the elbow, the bow in the bend of the back, softening<br />
the moles and the wayward strand of the hair,<br />
contraction and contradiction in the book wings that tell a greater vulnerability:<br />
the tenderness of stars, the tenacity of the headland’s stack and pull,<br />
and she turned the corner and headed to Chiayi,<br />
wagging the prowling mouth of the shadows like a wolf who hadn’t gnawed on a bone in months<br />
and toward her unkempt mother’s spattered wings inimical in their lent sting<br />
her entire life the waxwing fallen unexplained and pivot marks print-stained.<br />
Later<br />
the bearers banged her basket across the floor on the way to entombment<br />
banshees brittle up the bringing air<br />
and there you stood mama when you were still a child of twenty<br />
grandfather in the ground, grandmother wading in back, dad running dates in his head<br />
and I of unrecognizable thought caught up in the air<br />
the family, the congregation, the liturgy like hair fallen from the Taibao temple’s saplings under a<br />
breeze<br />
all that long ago, the age of trees or the bruise behind the bush<br />
the currency of grief we learned to exchange each of us somehow benign<br />
long tumbling and ruffled<br />
yet all along, breathing.
Caffeine Reveries<br />
Shelley Savor<br />
Walking in the Winter Darkness
Greenwood<br />
Kai Chan<br />
Study<br />
paper, wire
Order this duo-cover Exhibition Catalogue at BLURB<br />
https://www.blurb.ca/b/11309704-2k-4-0<br />
64 pages, 8.5x11 inch, paperback, CAD$35 each<br />
[2K 4.0] the fourth collaborative exhibition by Kai Chan<br />
and Lee Ka-sing. Exhibition runs thru December 10, <strong>2022</strong>,<br />
at 50 Gladstone Avenue artsalon, Toronto<br />
(visit by appointment mail@oceanpounds.com)<br />
(on wall) 16 works (Pairing) by Kai Chan<br />
(on table) an artist book by Lee Ka-sing<br />
View the artist book:<br />
[Songs from the Acid-free Paper Box] (for Holly)<br />
https://books.oceanpounds.com/<strong>2022</strong>/10/sab.html
Lee Ka-sing<br />
“That Afternoon” on<br />
Mubi, a dialogue: Tsai<br />
Ming-Liang and Lee<br />
Kang-Sheng<br />
(a hard-bound book in<br />
full version)<br />
“That Afternoon” on Mubi, a dialogue: Tsai Ming-Liang and Lee Kang-Sheng<br />
A poem (sixteen photographs in sequence) by Lee Ka-sing (<strong>2022</strong>). Published by<br />
OCEAN POUNDS, November <strong>2022</strong>. 36 pages, 8x10 inch, hard-bound.
“That Afternoon” on Mubi,<br />
a dialogue: Tsai Ming-Liang<br />
and Lee Kang-Sheng
在 Mubi 頻 道 看 蔡 明 亮 那 日 下 午 ,<br />
對 談 李 康 生
a poem by Lee Ka-sing
“That Afternoon” on Mubi, a dialogue: Tsai Ming-Liang and Lee Kang-Sheng ( 在 Mubi<br />
頻 道 看 蔡 明 亮 那 日 下 午 , 對 談 李 康 生 ) A poem (sixteen photographs in sequence) by<br />
Lee Ka-sing (<strong>2022</strong>). Published by OCEAN POUNDS, November <strong>2022</strong>. Design by DOUBLE<br />
DOUBLE studio. First edition, hardcover ISBN: 978-1-989845-50-9. All Rights Reserved.<br />
Individual copyrights belong to the artist. For information to reproduce selections from<br />
this book, write to mail@oceanpounds.com OCEAN POUNDS 50 Gladstone Avenue,<br />
Toronto, Ontario, Canada M6J 3K6 www.oceanpounds.com<br />
在 Mubi 頻 道 看 蔡 明 亮 那 日 下 午 , 對 談 李 康 生 first appeared in “Voice & Verse”<br />
( 聲 韻 詩 刊 ) Issue 65, <strong>2022</strong>.
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