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MONDAY ARTPOST 1121-2022

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MONDAY

ARTPOST

1121-2022

ISSN1918-6991

MONDAYARTPOST.COM

Columns by Artists and Writers

Bob Black / bq / Cem Turgay /

Fiona Smyth / Gary Michael Dault

/ Holly Lee / Kai Chan / Shelley

Savor / Tamara Chatterjee /

Wilson Tsang / Yam Lau

+“That Afternoon” on Mubi, a dialogue: Tsai

Ming-Liang and Lee Kang-Sheng (Lee Ka-sing)

:‐) Book Review: Shelley Savor - Mushrooms

and Clouds (but no Mushroom Clouds)

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


Book Review

:‐)

Mushrooms and Clouds (but no Mushroom Clouds) by Shelley Savor

56 pages, 8x10 paperback, $35.00

Published by Ocean Pounds, September 2022


Book Review

:‐)

Mushrooms and Clouds (but no Mushroom Clouds) by Shelley Savor

Paperback edition available at BLURB

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

Ebook edition (pdf download) available at Ocean Pounds online shop

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

PATREON Members

Unlimited access all read-on-line edition of books published by Ocean Pounds

Subscribe Membership (monthly membership fee starts from US$5.00)

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CHEEZ

Fiona Smyth


From the Notebooks

(2010-2022)

Gary Michael Dault

Battlefield Flower (Ukraine}

You cannot kill flowers

with a missile or a rocket

Every fallen soldier

carries a flower

growing in his pocket

Number 154: Battlefield Flower (Ukraine}


… 談 笑 間 …

Yam Lau


ART LOGBOOK

Holly Lee

Anselm Kiefer goes big with his massive installation in southern France

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/anselm-kiefer-artwork-30-years-200-acres-180980994/


Open/Endedness

bq 不 清

二 分 法

DICHOTOMY

他 們 一 致 的 靜 止 與 隔 斷

令 我 驚 嘆 , 如 上 了 色 的 燈 塔

於 白 天 是 如 此 的 顯 眼 卻 沒 有 人

注 意 到 。 當 我 們 不 在 這 個 地 方 把

麥 垛 拆 散 時 , 稻 草 人 在 做 什 麼 ?

他 們 會 否 思 考 自 己 如 何

以 另 一 種 形 式 呈 現 ? 平 行 、 重 複 的

與 服 從 的 ⋯⋯

Their synchronized stillness and isolation

Amaze me, like painted lighthouses that are

So visible during the day that no one

Takes notice. What do scarecrows do when

We are not here to unpile the wheat stacks?

Will they be thinking about themselves

In this other format? Parallel, repetitive

And obedient…

我 仍 然 不 知 道 這 些 雲 街 是 如 何

形 成 的 儘 管 我 曾 經 在 一 些 藝 術 教 學 書 籍 裡

見 到 。 閱 讀 令 我

感 到 笨 拙 你 知 道 嗎 , 可 是 大 多 數

距 它 遠 一 點 點 的 我 們 能 夠 再 次

聽 到 什 麼 ? 音 樂 ?

I still have no idea how these cloud streets are

Formed though I have read about them

In some fine art textbooks. Reading has made me

Feeling dumb, you see, but most of us who are

Far enough away from it are able to hear,

What, the music again?


TANGENTS

Wilson Tsang

At a time


Poem a Week

Gary Michael Dault

The Red Lamp

a red lamp

beside

the tracks

lights

if something goes

the wrong way

its glass breaks

its wick burns

a small moon

like a cherry pit

rises

over checkpoints

(After William Plomer, “The Red Fruit Lamp,” in

Celebrations (London: Jonathan Cape, 1972), p.41)


Travelling Palm

Snapshots

Tamara Chatterjee

Canada (August, 2021) – As I reflect

on the last few years; a fairly constant

thought occurs. Milling about the street

neighbourhood streets for my evening walk

was an unyielding primordial urge during the

city lockdowns. With the return to routine

office runs and my faulty knees, it appears the

usual evening salutes and bright covid smiles

are a memory of a season passed.


ProTesT

Cem Turgay


Leaving Taichung

Station

Bob Black

Letter Home

“the currency of suffering”—Yam Lau

Once

even in the dark recesses of bramble and cave light

breath spidered across an old alleyway bumpered and bricked-up

the scooter gears like bone treasure, the left-behind scarf of teens teetering in the night

the wing of the drunk cat skeletal in the corner,

out and about as shadow orbits the red-written walls

in the moon-early morning on a damp sheet night trapped

between the fridge and the cask of cachaça carried longitudes,

the moolah marked up in the old woman’s hands, satellites

the abbot asking from a hat for snake blood and coin

and

between the tofu set up with oil, his eyes set us tumbling

in the night the burnished path, a picking away of threadbare words and tatters,

the names they called out, centrifugal,

the orbits their bodies scribbled, inward

the world down the valley gaping outward, a portent

“I laid down against the anger trapped along the rail as a train stood up in the dark”

and chagrin boiled on the stove and the aunt’s temperament rusted the door hinge

the barking gone on up the hill and the mail scampered black in the rain

the temple red oiled and the lantern anger relieved each of the night walkers,

home for the holiday and the hearts in Mailiao grew into coins for the taking

away.

The veins bewitching the legs of the entangled forest somewhere far in the distance

Penghu lost upon your young skin, the ignition of the fishing boats far past the shore,

red bobbles and starburst winging and she opened:

her many limbs, multitudinous breathe that carved the sky with tackle and knife—

were we through, were we?

Earlier

the crept innocence of the elbow, the bow in the bend of the back, softening

the moles and the wayward strand of the hair,

contraction and contradiction in the book wings that tell a greater vulnerability:

the tenderness of stars, the tenacity of the headland’s stack and pull,

and she turned the corner and headed to Chiayi,

wagging the prowling mouth of the shadows like a wolf who hadn’t gnawed on a bone in months

and toward her unkempt mother’s spattered wings inimical in their lent sting

her entire life the waxwing fallen unexplained and pivot marks print-stained.

Later

the bearers banged her basket across the floor on the way to entombment

banshees brittle up the bringing air

and there you stood mama when you were still a child of twenty

grandfather in the ground, grandmother wading in back, dad running dates in his head

and I of unrecognizable thought caught up in the air

the family, the congregation, the liturgy like hair fallen from the Taibao temple’s saplings under a

breeze

all that long ago, the age of trees or the bruise behind the bush

the currency of grief we learned to exchange each of us somehow benign

long tumbling and ruffled

yet all along, breathing.


Caffeine Reveries

Shelley Savor

Walking in the Winter Darkness


Greenwood

Kai Chan

Study

paper, wire


Order this duo-cover Exhibition Catalogue at BLURB

https://www.blurb.ca/b/11309704-2k-4-0

64 pages, 8.5x11 inch, paperback, CAD$35 each

[2K 4.0] the fourth collaborative exhibition by Kai Chan

and Lee Ka-sing. Exhibition runs thru December 10, 2022,

at 50 Gladstone Avenue artsalon, Toronto

(visit by appointment mail@oceanpounds.com)

(on wall) 16 works (Pairing) by Kai Chan

(on table) an artist book by Lee Ka-sing

View the artist book:

[Songs from the Acid-free Paper Box] (for Holly)

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/10/sab.html


Lee Ka-sing

“That Afternoon” on

Mubi, a dialogue: Tsai

Ming-Liang and Lee

Kang-Sheng

(a hard-bound book in

full version)

“That Afternoon” on Mubi, a dialogue: Tsai Ming-Liang and Lee Kang-Sheng

A poem (sixteen photographs in sequence) by Lee Ka-sing (2022). Published by

OCEAN POUNDS, November 2022. 36 pages, 8x10 inch, hard-bound.


“That Afternoon” on Mubi,

a dialogue: Tsai Ming-Liang

and Lee Kang-Sheng


在 Mubi 頻 道 看 蔡 明 亮 那 日 下 午 ,

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

頻 道 看 蔡 明 亮 那 日 下 午 , 對 談 李 康 生 ) A poem (sixteen photographs in sequence) by

Lee Ka-sing (2022). Published by OCEAN POUNDS, November 2022. Design by DOUBLE

DOUBLE studio. First edition, hardcover ISBN: 978-1-989845-50-9. All Rights Reserved.

Individual copyrights belong to the artist. For information to reproduce selections from

this book, write to mail@oceanpounds.com OCEAN POUNDS 50 Gladstone Avenue,

Toronto, Ontario, Canada M6J 3K6 www.oceanpounds.com

在 Mubi 頻 道 看 蔡 明 亮 那 日 下 午 , 對 談 李 康 生 first appeared in “Voice & Verse”

( 聲 韻 詩 刊 ) Issue 65, 2022.


Under the management of Ocean and Pounds

Since 2008, INDEXG B&B have served curators, artists,

art-admirers, collectors and professionals from different

cities visiting and working in Toronto.

INDEXG B&B

48 Gladstone Avenue, Toronto

Booking:

mail@indexgbb.com

416.535.6957

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