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 / Yam Lau
+ A suite of ten paintings (Ying
MONDAY ARTPOST published on Mondays. Columns by Artists and Writers. All Right Reserved. Published since 2002.
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[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 firstname.lastname@example.org)
(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)
Poem a Week
Gary Michael Dault
In one of his Lorca Variations*
says of Lorca and his Spain
to which I now wish to add
glass bird nest
a spun glass bird nest
*Jerome Rothenberg, “Lorca Variations VII”,
Variations (New York: New Directions, 1993),
… 談 笑 間 …
Tai Chi as Space Clearing
I often think of the practice of Tai Chi as a kind of drawing or making an
energy (qi 氣 ) diagram in space. I feel the movement traces invisible lines
that are intensive and self-generating, not unlike those of a weather map.
One feels the diagram is simultaneously abstract and natural; it forms a
living current of energy in the immediate environment.
Aside from health benefits, I think Tai Chi generates gentle and positive
energy that nurtures and cleanses the space. The practice is a sort of “space
clearing”. My next video project will be about Tai Chi as an act of drawing
or composing energy diagrams that have a subtle, yet palpable impact
on the quality of space. In this new work, I envision Tai Chi will produce
intensive lines that could be read as a visual score. This visual score serves
as a template for meditative contemplation. Last Friday I went to Ka-Sing’s
place to make some test footage. He shot some footage with a film camera.
The work made me very happy.
From the Notebooks
Gary Michael Dault
From the Notebooks, 2010-2022
Number 156: Goldflower (October 31, 2022)
bq 不 清
小 古 玩
歷 史 學 家 與 考 古 學 家 把
所 有 的 樂 趣 拿 走 , 像 一 群
好 奇 的 孩 子 走 進 一 間 古 董
瓷 器 店 , 在 野 外 的 蒲 公 英 前
Historians and archeologists take
the fun out of everything like a group of
Curious children walking through an antique
Porcelain store, holding their breath
屏 住 呼 吸 , 直 到
為 時 已 晚 但 同 時 又 為 時 過 早 地
說 出 那 裡 到 底 發 生 了 什 麼 事
一 切 事 情 必 須 緩 慢 地
Before the dandelions in the open until
It’s too late but at the same time too early
To tell what exactly happened there.
Everything must be played out
進 展 如 所 有 交 響 樂 的 第 二
樂 章 —— 嗯 , 幾 乎 所 有 ——
而 到 達 收 結 點 的 時 候
依 照 傳 統 , 我 們 又 不 能 夠
Slowly like all symphonic second
Movements — well, almost all —
And when we get to the end of it
Applauding is not allowed if you believe
鼓 掌 。 我 們 似 乎 喜 歡 好 的 悲 劇
尤 其 那 些 涉 及 某 種 形 式
無 法 把 痛 苦 組 合 起 來 的
折 損 。 那 是 樂 高 積 木 的 作 用
In tradition. We seem to enjoy good tragedies,
Especially those involve in certain form of
Breaking that avoids putting pain
Back together. That’s what Lego are for.
Cake, from Scattered series by Kamelia Pezeshki
Yma Sumac Live in Moscow 1960 chuncho (video 6 mins.)
Republic of Karakalpakstan (November,
2019) – After our foray into the wild and
wacky tour of remains of the Aral Sea; we
ventured back towards the Mizdarkhan
necropolis. Within the archeological rubble;
remnants of arches, crosses and even piles
of stones can be seen. The site dating back
to the 4th century has undergone much
gentrification, but what remains of the
original Zoroastrian site really was a little
marvel against the monotonous great sands
of the silk road. It appears that superstitious
pilgrims pile stones on the structure ensuring
the world remains standing. Bless them!
紅 燒 肉 and Apple
“the big chore is always the same: how to begin a sentence, how to continue it, how to complete it…”—
suddenly,winter breaks through the window, barking from the deep back den of its throat
night trolls for bite or bicker, a black chinook bitching up a storm
and she is up
and about and cannot outwit the pursuit as dreams pry apart the bones from the fat caging her
who can calculate the distance of the shadows in the meadows from the terrain of longing—
ink splattered on paper or our lives dipping falling below sea level
a Rorschach all the while he sleeps
soundly an ocean and eleven time zones away
unaware and tidily awakening:
lives render, lightening flies hang as tombstone, frontier marker or lantern--
who can conclude?
Long is the day in search of words and the oomph that surrounds
the dew on the knuckle branch
the color exiled from a chipped wall
the stain flowering on the pillow from the imprint of your passage.
the elong line that measures the notebook’s blue-space, white between us.
later the morning’s black handle liens into a mortgaged wrist, bowed beneath the tug of hibernal
she sniffs out food and recipes that will warm and wind her down from the departed
somnambulant conjuring nutrient from the earth and the breeze from the sea settles 九 份
a cool longing downward like rust and ore and peanut-braised crème
she finds in the algebra of 紅 燒 肉 and maple and apple, his voice
and where they were one, oneiric
though he is still
soundly an ocean and eleven time zones away,
scootering off, untied and adrift with to aquatic sleep.
Short the night of making rhyme from beast.
Short the space between the syllables of your name, cutlery and nest.
then she marks the wind, minnows teething at her ankles and heart,
marks the way the fork fell and the fat splattered and stained more than just her shirt.
If only your accented words perched closer to me, elliptical upon your thinning lips
she thinks as lentil and laughter and letting-go sways
and language behind her eyes dispatches the winter and the wreck of her sleep
with meal and matter and an Atayal platter--
I am hastening toward you.
late he wanders neighborhoods semblant and moonburned
cars caught in the boulevard’s lamplights, streetwalkers spark and deer pivot red in the bright
he speaks to her softly asking questions like spoonnotes into the night
who triangulates an ocean and crews the meal, eleven time zones,
whose organs know neither distance nor space, wiping way
as the pink crumbs of an eraser’s maker swiped from paper, the old conundrum
do we dare or do we dare?
you in winter full-bellied, I come running wobbly and wicked and wearied of roam,
our hope the chronometer of this, the pace click sweep by click sweep, step
our cuisine and carriage and life carnival carrying us soundly,
an ocean and eleven time zone away
once again toward home.
Ying Chi TANG
Ying Chi TANG
A suite of ten paintings
Ying Chi TANG obtained her bachelor’s degree in
Fine Art from Goldsmiths College of the University
of London in England and master’s and doctoral
degrees in Fine Art from Royal Melbourne Institute
of Technology University in Australia respectively.
She is an active art practitioner who merged various
roles as practicing artist, educator, curator and
writer. She has held over twenty solo exhibitions
and participated in various group exhibitions
internationally She also obtained numerous awards,
such as Professor May-ching Kao Arts Development
Fund (2021), Visiting Fellow at the Hong Kong
Design Institute (2016-17), Artist Residency at
the Hong Kong Museum of Coastal Defence and
Art Quarter Budapest in Hungary (2015), Faculty
of Art of Chiangmai University in Thailand
(2012), Department of Visual Studies of Lingnan
University (2010), and People of the Time at the 60th
Anniversary of the British Council in Hong Kong
(2008), and the Urban Council Fine Arts Award at
the Contemporary Hong Kong Art Biennial (1996).
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