MONDAY ARTPOST 1121-2022

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
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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.

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