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

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

<strong>0213</strong>-<strong>2023</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/ Lee Ka-sing / Shelley Savor<br />

/ Tamara Chatterjee / Wilson Tsang<br />

+ Six portraits (Holly Lee)<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


City Mirage Snow<br />

http://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/12/cms.html<br />

The Painter The Photographer The Alchemist<br />

http://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/12/ppa.html<br />

The galloping jelly pink horse with pea green<br />

spots<br />

http://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/10/phgs.html<br />

Reality Irreality Augmented Reality<br />

http://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/10/rar.html<br />

The Book The Reader The Keeper<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/09/dd202208.html<br />

Windmills Fields and Marina<br />

http://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/07/wmf.html<br />

Island Peninsula Cape<br />

http://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/05/blog-post.html<br />

The Fence the Garden the Connoisseur<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/05/dd202205.html<br />

Hana Picnic Stones<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/04/dd202204.html<br />

Terrain Little Red Riding Hood Rosetta<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/03/dd202203.htm<br />

Donkey camera and auld lang syne<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/02/dd202202.html<br />

The Fountain the Shop the Rhythmic Train<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/01/dd202201.html<br />

The galloping jelly pink horse with pea green spots/ DOUBLE DOUBLE October edition 2022/<br />

Lee Ka-sing

Holly Lee<br />

Nine-Years (2020)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2020/02/ny.html<br />

Istanbul Postcards (2021)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2021/07/ip.html<br />

Six Poems (2022)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/11/6p.html<br />

The Air is like a Butterfly (2021)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2021/07/tab.html<br />

Gary Michael Dault<br />

Still Life Still A Book of Vessels (2022)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/09/bv.html<br />

The Book of The Poem (2022)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/08/bp.html<br />

The Nearby Faraway Small Paintings on<br />

Cardboard (2022)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/09/small-paintings-on-cardboard.html<br />

Time Machine (2021) photographs by Lee<br />

Ka-sing, Haiku by Gary Michael Dault<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2021/12/tm.html<br />

Swan House (2021)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/12/swanhouse.html<br />

DOUBLE DOUBLE Box in a Valise a closecropped<br />

(2020)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2020/05/ddb-cc.html<br />

DOUBLE DOUBLE Box in a Valise on-site<br />

(2020)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2020/05/ddb-os.html<br />

1<br />

Still Life Still A Book of Vessels / Gary Michael Dault

Lee Ka-sing<br />

CODA (2020)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/12/coda.html<br />

Diary of a Sunflower, Book Two (2022)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/12/ds.html<br />

Eighty Two Photographs (2021)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2021/10/82p.html<br />

Time Machine (2021)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2021/12/tm.html<br />

Songs from the Acid-free Paper Box (2022)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/10/sa.html<br />

Songs from the Acid-free Paper Box<br />

Museum edition (2022)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/10/sab.html<br />

“That Afternoon” on Mubi, a dialogue: Tsai<br />

Ming Liang and Lee Kang-Sheng (2022)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/11/ta.html<br />

The Travelogue of a Bitter Melon (2022)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/11/tbm.html<br />

Swan House (2021)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/12/swanhouse.html<br />

“Journeys of Leung Ping Kwan” (<strong>2023</strong>)<br />

http://books.oceanpounds.com/<strong>2023</strong>/01/pk.html<br />

CODA/ Lee Ka-sing

Calendar Beauty Vintage Calendar posters<br />

from China<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2020/03/cb.html<br />

Kai Chan<br />

2K-4.0 (Kai Chan + Lee Ka-sing)<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/10/2k40.html<br />

Twenty Twenty An exhibition by Kai Chan<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2021/09/tt.html<br />

Libby Hague<br />

Libby Hague Watercolours<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/11/lhw.html<br />

Tomio Nitto<br />

The Diary of Wonders<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2021/10/dw.html<br />

Fiona Smyth<br />

CHEEZ 456<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/05/c456.html<br />

Shelley Savor<br />

Mushrooms and Clouds but no Mushroom<br />

Clouds<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/09/mcmc.html<br />

Libby Hague Watercolours/ Libby Hague

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From the Notebooks<br />

(2010-<strong>2023</strong>)<br />

Gary Michael Dault<br />

From the Notebooks, 2010-<strong>2023</strong><br />

Number 166: Florabundance: Still Life Valentine with<br />

Addendum (stapled) Flowers (Jan 2, 2013--February 9, <strong>2023</strong>).

Open/Endedness<br />

bq 不 清<br />

雙 數<br />


我 相 信 隔 代 遺 傳 : 他 的 祖 父 是 位<br />

有 學 問 的 人 , 因 此 他 成 為 教 授 之 後<br />

便 決 定 不 要 孩 子 了 : 沒 有 一 顆 雨 點 是<br />

相 同 的 他 說 , 儘 管 這 並 不 怎 麼 重 要<br />

I believe in atavism: his grandfather was a<br />

Man of knowledge, thus as a professor,<br />

He didn’t want any kids: no two rain drops are<br />

Alike, he said, although it didn’t really matter.<br />

跟 長 輩 保 持 聯 絡 是 困 難 的<br />

小 學 老 師 曾 經 教 我 們 如 何 寫 信<br />

可 是 不 久 之 前 , 我 們 教 老 師<br />

如 何 發 短 訊 : 那 是 我 們 最 後 一 次 相 聚<br />

Difficult it is. To stay in touch with elders.<br />

School teachers taught us how to write letters,<br />

But not long ago we showed them<br />

How to text: that was the last time we met.<br />

而 我 並 不 是 一 個 喜 歡 旅 遊 的 人<br />

但 我 享 受 到 別 的 城 市 過 相 同 的 生 活<br />

不 要 告 訴 我 , 你 已 經 學 會 靈 魂 出 竅<br />

一 個 鐵 球 : 幾 乎 無 法 沉 靜 , 無 法 靜 止<br />

And I am not someone who enjoys taking trips,<br />

Though I enjoy going to another city to live an identical life.<br />

Don’t tell me you’ve learned how to astral-project.<br />

A cast iron ball: almost impossible to calm down, to be still.

Archive<br />

Lee Ka-sing<br />

Ka-sing in Guangzhou, 1960 , (opposite page) Ka-sing in Guangzhou, 1959<br />

From https://archive.leekasing.com and https://c.leekasing.com

Greenwood<br />

Kai Chan<br />

“Reading Maruice Sandak”<br />

24 x 31 x 8 cm, wood, masonite, paper, wire, acrylic paint

Leaving Taichung<br />

Station<br />

Bob Black<br />

Late life, fragment<br />

“Today, it seems, was the day I was meant to die.”—Semezdin Mehmedinovic<br />

“We are an echo that runs, skittering,<br />

Through a train of rooms.”—Czeslsa Milosz<br />

Shall I seduce you with loneliness and defeat, dark and damp, or the body’s regeneration?<br />

So here it is:<br />

a small pink ridge hills the middle of my chest, a scar which knuckles along the once taut skin of<br />

itinerant days long before there was a this day, an ill-equipped railroad track caravanning across<br />

the center of my life, perfectly bifurcated, the before and the after formed from an act of scapple<br />

and clamp invasive as the doctor’s voice, ‘if we do not operate, you will die,’ the riddle that gets all<br />

choked out in order to save a life, my own, as it were, the legs’ till which quiver at night when weary<br />

or bubbly of meds, the frosty talks with myself in bed late at night when the dark outside is a tone I<br />

cannot locate clearly as misgivings press against the disfigurement of my body, my head a medical<br />

steel spoon, or an incubus sitting atop me, ghoul-growling and perked pointedly and ripe, this daily<br />

reminder of life’s survival of the bruising and atrophy, the worry a dark cul-de-sac of compost in the

ack yard, a gutter in the back of the throat accumulating an aphid buzzing, the decay and noirish<br />

rebirth of all things, picked apart and unwinding now,<br />

me.<br />

Was it me<br />

who once fed rootless will and darkness, the hunger beneath the disfigurement, the tools of<br />

elongated language that corrupt certainty as we stepped off the margins of our days, together<br />

once on the sand beneath wind-spat umbrellas counting the clicks and uprising from the Pacific,<br />

Kenting’s calling late in the day, once our voice as blue and stormy as a varicose sky when the squall<br />

brew up a package of fear and returned four years later when death returned from its cocoon under<br />

the convex lights above my supine floating in the operation room, your ghost hand still warm<br />

in mine, you a corridor away as I counted backwards from 100, rounding numbers towarding<br />

oblivion, thinking that I would one day whisper to you, again blessed love, if I awoke from that<br />

sterilized theatre unseasonably cold against my skin’ distance’s touch old as my eyes folded down<br />

into the blasé of my waking and the counting, a body’s failure later exposed by a sterilized bone-saw<br />

as the manubrium broke open up as the sternum of a flower’s stamen & sepal on a warm late-April<br />

morning, but this was in truth only mid-March, our heart vegetation or our flesh flora or possibly,<br />

neither.<br />

Shall I bribe you with loneliness and defeat, dark and damp, or the emancipation of my body’s<br />

regeneration?<br />

As I lay<br />

once beneath the lights, a rain dance between raindrops, remembering when we galloped against<br />

one another in the backseat of your father’s car, humidity as kiss, falling stars as buttons uncurled,<br />

our fingers separated and your breasts awoke beneath the tremor of my unbuckled hope, in the<br />

night when we learned more of ourselves than all those drive-by stars, the charting mythology and<br />

rocket launches when we trapezed the fear and broke our lives toward light, mountain, macadam,<br />

a deer leaping in the ditch and our syllables as awkward as our fingers trembling, was that all a<br />

narcotically induced dream, merely metaphor<br />

or the body’s disfigured memory of this cloven life gnarled between the hemispheres of the heart<br />

and the imperishable four chambers of the slight-of-hand mind, mine<br />

or just the root thirst raven from the soil and nutrients, only<br />

life.<br />

There it goes, all<br />

every lit window dampened by breath and caress<br />

every dark bed cloth dried by press and unrest<br />

how many of us actually in the room that morning or in all the rooms since,<br />

how many of our bodies caress the moon with moonshine, how much desire or goodyear loss left<br />

how many of us now in the dramaturgy of life have we<br />

have we both learned this tumbling, together--<br />

the persisting with a bag of coins brought back from the land of the temporarily dead, still<br />

countable.<br />

Ask the bootlegger and the apple trees reaching upon the holler listening to the tales and takeaways.<br />

Shall I feed you with loneliness and desire or the echo that scampers through the rooms of our life,<br />

renewed?<br />

Something that sits beneath the incision and the reckoning, the words we spoon feed each other to<br />

this day<br />

a god’s drunken smile burning the shelters of us both, a sun along the steep past<br />

the perishing, the resurrection and the refurbished quotidian, every moment of life at last, forever<br />

forward<br />

the living and the near-dead indivisible.


Wilson Tsang<br />

Out of the Window

Poem a Week<br />

Gary Michael Dault<br />

Carless Driver<br />

the carless driver<br />

of our time<br />

keeps his bronzed eyes<br />

on the middle distance<br />

thinking he might see<br />

an automobile<br />

out there somewhere<br />

to which<br />

he might be<br />

happily welded<br />

Found photograph from the Gary Michael Dault exhibition, “I Used to Care but Times Have Changed”<br />

(Anna Leonowens Gallery, NSCAD University, June 30-July 11, 2015”).

CHEEZ<br />

Fiona Smyth


Holly Lee<br />

9000 Paper Balloons, a poetic puppet performance by Maiko Kikuchi and Spencer Lott.<br />

https://ayaogawa.com/9kpb<br />


Caffeine Reveries<br />

Shelley Savor<br />

Love En Route

ProTesT<br />

Cem Turgay

Travelling Palm<br />

Snapshots<br />

Tamara Chatterjee<br />

India (December, 2016) – The repetitive<br />

geometric design carved deep into the earth’s<br />

surface was a spectacular sight. Although<br />

the green hue of the diminutive rainwater,<br />

marked the miraculous site of a bygone era.<br />

We arrived late in the afternoon at Abhaneri<br />

to explore the historical Chand Baori. To my<br />

surprise the moment of revelry came from<br />

happenstance; observing an old Hindu priest<br />

begin his daily rituals.

The Photograph<br />

coordinated by<br />

Kamelia Pezeshki<br />

All Roads Lead to Somewhere Montage No. 10, 2020 by Jim Hurtubise

https://oceanpounds.com<br />

New at Poetry section -<br />

New Look. More Content<br />

Gary Michael Dault: GERTRUDE STEIN DROPS HER<br />

AMBER-HEADED CANE (from Poems Without Point)

An excerpt from City Mirage Snow<br />

DOUBLE DOUBLE December edition 2022<br />

Holly Lee<br />

Six portraits<br />


Six portraits<br />

For the most of us who were born around the fifties, the nineties in Hong Kong were the<br />

best of times. While worrying about the climate of the city’s future, people, inevitably<br />

had to move on. Everything was in motion; everybody worked enthusiastically toward<br />

identifying one thing or the other; Chinese, Hong Kongese, pre-colonial, post-colonial,<br />

and the degree of Britishness affecting and intervening ordinary people’s lives. For a<br />

moment, we did have a cultural identity crisis, and many cultural projects produced<br />

around that period reflected just that issue–who were we, how could we identify<br />

ourselves, as the people of Hong Kong. In 1993, I was invited to work on the third<br />

phase of a project curated and directed by Wong Wo Bik, namely A Metropolis: Visual<br />

Research into Contemporary Hong Kong 1990-1996. My contribution to the project<br />

was to take portraits of selected artists from different areas. Basically, we knew each<br />

other well because there weren’t many working in the arts and it was a small and<br />

tight-knit circle. However, they represented certain aspects of Hong Kong activities<br />

and creativity in the nineties, and were among the best in the art field. I photographed<br />

Mui Cheuk-Yin (choreographer/dancer); Zunzi (political caricaturist); William Tang<br />

(fashion designer); Yank Wong (painter); Tong King-Sum (sculptor), and Sunny Pang<br />

(dancer/choreographer). A little while ago, in the course of organizing some old<br />

pictures, I came across these six prints again, but found the portrait of Sunny Pang<br />

missing. But somewhere, I located that test strip. As a matter of fact, this series of<br />

portraits had never been officially exhibited. The 8x10 prints that I found, and on view<br />

here, were work prints for the publication documenting the Metropolis project–a book<br />

published in 1996 chronicling the face of Hong Kong in the nineties by over thirty<br />


Mui Cheuk-Yin 梅 卓 燕<br />

(Dancer, Choreographer)

Sunny Pang 彭 錦 耀<br />

(Dancer, Choreographer, Performing artist)

William Tang 鄧 達 智<br />

(Fashion Designer, writer)

Tong King-Sum 唐 景 森<br />


Yank Wong 黃 仁 逵<br />


Zunzi 尊 子<br />


Take-Me from the Archival Bin<br />

This is an art-give-away program.<br />

In the past years, we have accumulated a<br />

certain amount of artifacts – from work prints,<br />

exhibition prints to test prints, etc. We set<br />

up this art-give-away program and hope<br />

some of these works can fall into the hands<br />

of their beholders. Though these items are<br />

free, we will require a shipping fee for each<br />

lot (US$18.00) in order to keep this project<br />

running. Delivery will be via mail system<br />

only (anywhere).<br />

First and foremost, this program is to benefit<br />

the PATREON members, furthermore, the<br />

readers of the <strong>MONDAY</strong> <strong>ARTPOST</strong>. We will<br />

post one lot every week on the last page of<br />

<strong>MONDAY</strong> <strong>ARTPOST</strong>, but, PATREON members<br />

will receive the notification one day in advance.<br />

To subscribe PATREON membership -<br />

https://patreon.com/DoubleDoubleStudio<br />

Every lot is one-off. Items will not be larger<br />

than 8x10 inch, condition is ‘as is’ and no<br />

additional information or description will be<br />

provided, we want to keep the operation as<br />

simple as possible.<br />

It is also a journey of gem discovery, the<br />

sweet reaping of one’s apple of the eye.<br />

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

Cem Turgay lives and works as a photographer in Turkey.<br />

Fiona Smyth is a painter, illustrator, cartoonist and instructor in<br />

OCAD University's Illustration Program. For more than three<br />

decades, Smyth has made a name for herself in the local Toronto<br />

comic scene as well as internationally.<br />

http://fiona-smyth.blogspot.com<br />

Gary Michael Dault lives in Canada and is noted for his art<br />

critics and writings. He paints and writes poetry extensively. In<br />

2022, OCEAN POUNDS published two of his art notebooks in<br />

facsimile editions.<br />

Holly Lee lives in Toronto, where she continues to produce<br />

visual and literal work.<br />

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holly_Lee<br />

Kai Chan immigrated to Canada from Hong Kong in the<br />

sixties. He’s a notable multi-disciplinary artist who has exhibited<br />

widely in Canada and abroad.<br />

www.kaichan.art<br />

Kamelia Pezeshki is a photographer living in Toronto. She<br />

continues to use film and alternative processes to make<br />

photographs.<br />

www.kamelia-pezeshki.com<br />

Ken Lee is a poet and an architectural designer based in<br />

Toronto. He has been composing poetry in Chinese, and is<br />

only recently starting to experiment with writing English poetry<br />

under the pen name, “bq”.<br />

Lee Ka-sing, founder of OCEAN POUNDS, lives in Toronto.<br />

He writes with images, recent work mostly photographs in<br />

sequence, some of them were presented in the format of a book.<br />

www.leekasing.com<br />

Robert Black, born in California, is an award-winning poet<br />

and photographer currently based in Toronto. His work often<br />

deals with themes related to language, transformation, and<br />

disappearance.<br />

Shelley Savor lives in Toronto. She paints and draws with<br />

passion, focusing her theme on city life and urban living<br />

experiences.<br />

Tamara Chatterjee is a Toronto photographer who travels<br />

extensively to many parts of the world.<br />

(LOT <strong>2023</strong>-0212) 140mm x 190mm, archival inkjet print. Use this link to make payment at OCEAN<br />

POUNDS for the shipping (US$18.00) https://oceanpounds.com/products/takeme<strong>2023</strong>-0212<br />

Wilson Tsang is both a visual artist and a musician from Hong<br />

Kong. To date, he has published two art books for children and<br />

four indie music albums.

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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