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

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

<strong>0220</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 / Fiona Smyth<br />

/ Gary Michael Dault / Holly Lee / Kai<br />

Chan / Kamelia Pezeshki / Kathleen Hearn<br />

/ Lee Ka-sing / Rita Camacho Lomeli /<br />

Shelley Savor / Tamara Chatterjee /<br />

Wilson Tsang / Yam Lau + Portrait Work,<br />

circa 1988-89 (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 Fountain the Shop the Rhythmic Train<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/01/dd2<strong>0220</strong>1.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/dd2<strong>0220</strong>8.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/dd2<strong>0220</strong>5.html<br />

Hana Picnic Stones<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/04/dd2<strong>0220</strong>4.html<br />

Terrain Little Red Riding Hood Rosetta<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/03/dd2<strong>0220</strong>3.htm<br />

Donkey camera and auld lang syne<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2022/02/dd2<strong>0220</strong>2.html<br />

Donkey camera and auld lang syne/ DOUBLE DOUBLE February edition 2022/<br />

Bill Burns

Nancy & Sally<br />

36 x 32 x 5 cm<br />

balsa wood, rattan, dogwood, pine, acrylic paint<br />

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 />

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 />

Kai Chan<br />

Twenty Twenty An exhibition by Kai Chan<br />

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

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

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

2K 4.0 / Kai Chan

Calendar Beauty Vintage Calendar posters<br />

from China<br />

https://books.oceanpounds.com/2020/03/cb.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 />

CHEEZ 456/ Fiona Smyth

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 />

Time Machine/ Lee Ka-sing

Because of Satie.<br />

Because of Yam. He<br />

mentioned Satie in his<br />

column, many stroke a<br />

chord. One suggested,<br />

let’s do something.<br />

We respond to it.<br />


Kathleen Hearn<br />

Threnody for an Amnesic, <strong>2023</strong>

Greenwood<br />

Kai Chan<br />

“Bonjour Monsieur”<br />

10 x 4 x12 cm , basal wood, dye, acrylic paint

Holly Lee<br />

A dear friend gave her a cassette tape many years ago, labelled “Trois Gymnopédies & Gnossiennes”<br />

by Erik Satie. Back then she did not know the composer nor the pianist. It was a CD her friend<br />

reproduced from one of his vast vinyl collections. Not knowing the beautiful and varying implications<br />

of the title, she was attracted to the simple, hypnotic music, its strength and rippling effect. Halfawake<br />

and half-asleep, she heard the music playing; utterly immersed in a soothing and levitating<br />

state. She began to travel, to breathe, seeing herself in different episodes; calm, blissful, frustrated;<br />

sometimes grateful, and other times, unthankful. The subtle dissonances that seeped deep into her<br />

memory slowly coalesced into strings of words, into characters that keep hitting the keys of her Yin-<br />

Yan interior; back and forth back and forth, in a dialogue of two, exchanging glances, without saying<br />

a word. (The book on the background “Selections from Ten Poets” 十 人 詩 選 , a Chinese book of<br />

poetry published by Youth Literary Book Store in 1998, where my poem WHITE was featured. I wrote<br />

this poem in 1986 as an impression, after Satie.)

From the Notebooks<br />

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

Gary Michael Dault<br />

July 1, 2013 (Erik Satie<br />

died July 1,1925).<br />

the head is still under the ice<br />

the eyes are pearls<br />

even underwater of death<br />

these mischievous eyes<br />

glitter like fishhooks<br />

the future mocks the insider<br />

the pilot fights back with<br />

the blank pinpoint gaze<br />

of the Perpetually Focussed<br />

and the Always Unready

The drawing is titled “House For When I am Old”<br />

and was drawn on July 16, 1987--when I was 47<br />

years old.<br />

I wanted to offer it now to the spirit of Satie--as a<br />

“Gymnopedic House,” although he died too young<br />

(in 1925 at age 59) to inhabit a house specifically<br />

designed for Old Age. So far, the house has gone<br />

unclaimed.<br />

The marginal pencilled guides to the house<br />

read (counterclockwise) “bathroom,” “elevator,”<br />

“Plumbing,” “elevator shaft,” “vista,” “bedroom/<br />

study” and “observatory/greenhouse/reading.”<br />

The house is a reduction of Satie’s infamous and<br />

gloriously hypothetical Ivory Staircase “with its more<br />

than one thousand steps”--a veritable stairway to<br />

paradise (see Satie’s “Marche du Grande Escalier”<br />

from his Enfantillages Pittoresques,1913).<br />

To the composer of Socrate!<br />

Gary Michael Dault

Open/Endedness<br />

bq 不 清<br />

死 了<br />

DEATH<br />

穿 越 過 量 的 脂 肪 而 毫 無 感 覺<br />

我 們 無 法 記 起 窮 瘠 的 往 事 , 故 此<br />

我 們 持 續 矯 揉 造 作 , 赤 裸 上 身<br />

徘 徊 於 非 泳 灘 的 場 所<br />

繼 續 自 言 自 語 , 如 那 三 位<br />

來 自 斯 巴 達 的 青 少 舞 者<br />

他 們 並 肩 而 立 於 一 輛 鑲 滿 鏡 子 的<br />

酒 店 升 降 機 裡 , 欣 賞<br />

薩 蒂 的 裸 體 音 樂 並 且 最 終 意 識 到 他 們<br />

無 法 成 為 對 方 的 圓 心<br />

他 們 知 道 , 當 精 明 的 人 聚 在 一 起 的 時 候<br />

會 以 頓 然 變 得 笨 拙 為 由<br />

在 科 幻 電 影 裡 爭 奪<br />

統 領 宇 宙 的 權 利 。 他 們 將 會<br />

重 新 執 行 中 世 紀 的 刑 法<br />

強 迫 犯 人 戴 上 動 物 面 具<br />

遊 街 , 讓 禽 獸 在 鐵 籠 以 外 觀 賞<br />

他 們 尷 尬 的 步 姿<br />

而 事 發 之 後 他 們 為 事 情<br />

致 歉 並 感 謝 那 些 不 再<br />

追 究 的 人 。 這 是 我 所 知 道<br />

最 文 明 的 生 活 方 式 了 ——<br />

到 鄰 近 剛 開 張 的 炸 雞 店<br />

排 隊 , 我 們 等 待 寂 寞<br />

到 來 而 同 時 又 寂 寞 地<br />

期 待 熟 悉 的 面 孔 在 人 海 中<br />

穿 插 , 然 後 又 分 道 揚 鑣<br />

Passed through excessive fat and felt nothing,<br />

We couldn’t recall our very lean pasts. As<br />

Such we remained cheesy, went topless and<br />

Wandered in places that were not beaches,<br />

Soliloquizing on, like those three<br />

Teenage dancers from Sparta who<br />

Stood side by side inside a hotel elevator<br />

Studded with mirrors, listening to<br />

Satie’s Gymnopédies, and finally realized they<br />

Couldn’t be each other’s circumcenter.<br />

They knew that when astute people got together,<br />

They could use their unexpected clumsiness as an<br />

Excuse to win in sci-fi movies<br />

The right to rule the universe. They would<br />

Reimpose the criminal laws of the medieval times,<br />

Forcing prisoners to march down the streets<br />

In animal masks so that beasts outside their cages<br />

Could watch their awkward gaits.<br />

And after the incident, they apologized for what<br />

Had happened and thanked those who wouldn’t<br />

pursue the matter. This is what we know of<br />

The most civilized way of life —<br />

Going to the new fried chicken restaurant nearby<br />

And queuing up. We wait for loneliness<br />

To arrive, and at the same time, lonesomely<br />

Expecting familiar faces to run<br />

Into us, to turn around, to go our separate ways.


Wilson Tsang<br />

(top) “The Naked Youth”<br />

(which is based on gymnopedie, a translation of the Greek word describing a yearly festival at which young<br />

men danced naked)<br />

(below) “Vexatian”<br />

(inspired by another piano piece of him named Vexation)

The Photograph<br />

coordinated by<br />

Kamelia Pezeshki<br />

Jeannie just sent it this morning, I’ve been listening to Satie and for<br />

me this photograph is like his music, soothing. (Kamelia Pezeshki)<br />

Phosphorescence, cyanotype by Jeannie Hutchins

Yam Lau

Rita Camacho Lomeli<br />

These gifts to Satie are part of an architecture<br />

with invisible walls and ceilings. Through<br />

the repetitive enactment of redrawing a white<br />

surface and revealing an almost imperceptible<br />

shape, these uninflected boundaries persist<br />

for a constant awareness of ambient light and<br />

shadow. They are clothed by thin air, aiming<br />

for an ideal symbiosis with the composer’s<br />

aesthetic sonic objective for austere simplicity<br />

and sparseness.

Leaving Taichung<br />

Station<br />

Bob Black<br />

Mamihlapinatapai, blues<br />

“in the midst of my,<br />

to you, Shadow, burdensome,<br />

Speech.”—Paul Celan<br />

No. 1<br />

Imagine if<br />

music sang as a masquerade<br />

a September night rang at November’s door, intemperate in degree and measure<br />

the voice-spun sky was a finger poked glance in the passenger window of a darting taxi<br />

and in the dark, you turned a corner and fell,<br />

as time broke out into a fight in the subway like two elk colliding chest to feverish chest<br />

the world of words, the well-dressed cadences<br />

the dispassionate spit, the fetal clamor in expensive suits<br />

the studded straps of night and the rapping trees, nightly gone,<br />

all of it, gone.<br />

Imagine if<br />

the blue lit apartment light in the corner suit was an extra set of eyes<br />

the car lights weaving up the long boulevard outpaced the old man’s newly polished set of teeth<br />

the wind an extra set of arms,<br />

your voice filled by the body gone missing in the lake<br />

another’s voice filled by the meandering return<br />

this too imagine, gone.<br />

*Author’s note: The word mamihlapinatapai is derived from the Yaghan language of Tierra del Fuego,<br />

listed in The Guinness Book of World Records as the “most succinct word”, and is considered one of<br />

the hardest words to translate. It has been translated as “a look that without words is shared by two<br />

people who want to initiate something, but that neither will start” or “looking at each other hoping<br />

that the other will offer to do something which both parties desire but are unwilling to do”<br />

A romantic interpretation of the meaning has also been given, as “that look across the table when two<br />

people are sharing an unspoken but private moment. When each knows the other understands and is<br />

in agreement with what is being expressed. An expressive and meaningful silence.”<br />

This poem was written over the last 2 weeks as an Ode to Erik Satie’s piece GNOSSIENNES, which<br />

has 6 parts and a kind of coda. The poem was specifically about the piece and my own understanding<br />

of the meaning of the work and what it evokes.<br />

I hope an understanding of Satie or his work is not necessary to enjoy the poem.<br />

thank you<br />

Bob<br />

Beneath the wing of the clipped church balustrade, you pointed toward a verse of light and remained<br />

mute but bewildered.<br />

No.2<br />

Do you remember,<br />

his voice filled by the backbite of your body beckoning,<br />

beloved tales steep upon a return,<br />

the chronic fever of the land she carried between her teeth<br />

the tributaries lit on the snow hill, falling<br />

the sky uncloaked and split,<br />

two boys stumbling over one another on a verdant hill<br />

an owl galloped over them in wing upon the clawed upon sky<br />

there you were, both, grasping<br />

and how have you, since, calendared the unlocking of your days?<br />

that for a moment caught fire in your disappearing.<br />

Do you remember,

November’s vexatious sky, croquis et agaceries<br />

the ongoing longingness of things, the lift and the leverage of love, born nodding<br />

the knotting of wrists and the notes snug, lacrimal along leonine scars, breathing.<br />

Do you remember,<br />

the sharp chord of your amalgamation<br />

the sentence that rivers as long as the curve of your index finger<br />

stretching in the morning toward the green clover tongued by a fox and fog,<br />

she once held breathing,<br />

the match struck against the pane upon<br />

the shadow eluded and the name<br />

do you remember the why sky and white gourd, gone.<br />

Beneath the wing of the clipped church balustrade, you pointed toward a verse of light, going<br />

No. 3<br />

Imagine then contamination<br />

light flushed upon skin as water pink’d upon the bone of paper<br />

nick of time and spine of weather, stained,<br />

the alphabet’s ligament and line<br />

all that once left to vanish<br />

the hunger and contained<br />

a palimpsest upon which an arrangement of bound-buckets remain<br />

bricks and mortar, the order we uttered gone.<br />

Beneath the wing of the clipped black<br />

No. 4<br />

Do you remember<br />

the world’s lubricious leveling, when the sky revoked colors,<br />

when the sky was blushing and you reached into the cold stream<br />

your skin alphabetized stones as nations<br />

the weather thrushed the as you lay on the embankment’s table<br />

the shield of your crackling body upon the grass<br />

a divestment, benighted and the day tugged upon your soften’d self,<br />

pithy as memorizing lips,<br />

concomitant and coiled.<br />

Do you remember<br />

who twined from your ribs, your heart the spinning architecture’s eventide,<br />

the day wrapped neatly with ligature and spun<br />

the seasons curled up in the back of your throat<br />

the tooth-gap space counting a mouthful of ok’s slipped through<br />

the space parsing them from you,<br />

the music and lights wintering, the bones orchestrating<br />

the world’s cantor and hearts go running as leaves scratching in the ditch,<br />

ghost stories from the songs once lived<br />

the only voice in your body was the spin and hum of the world<br />

phantoms and a graveyard’s story spilling out the whiskey glass let dropped on the stones<br />

and in the end<br />

you lived in winter full-bellied and wobbled<br />

spacing hope toward home<br />

Imagine if beneath the wing of the clipped church balustrade, you cuddled<br />

No. 5<br />

Imagine if<br />

it is autumn and there the separating and tugging and it is autumn and it is each of us and it is we of<br />

flight,<br />

it is autumn and there, gone and tagging, do you remember?<br />

Imagine if beneath the wing, nothing not even air<br />

No. 6<br />

Imagine if<br />

the throat of a wolf, long ago wintered from the wind, the color of lost bodies<br />

the color of your eyes wading far into the sea, shore break and loss,<br />

your children in the dark recesses of the bramble and cave, light spiders in and the moon threads a<br />

silver’d path,<br />

your limbs carve constellations into the chest of the sky and there you are both waking,<br />

do you remember, this?<br />

Do you remember<br />

the mantis shell left as a transparent shirt on the green branch,<br />

the white paper stronger than the predation of life, the devotional singing of the Shadow,<br />

the space between the pulled bark parsing me from you<br />

when once we lay in the quiet night reciting snow upon our lips and all you spoke was gone<br />

my head and heart from the moiety and circumference, Copernicus and you, bewildered<br />

our notes and 88 heart keys, gone.<br />

Do you remember we were of flight in ivory and ebony spruce.<br />

No. 7: Coda<br />

along the sea, trees taught flower to stone<br />

the land born fecund with opossum and beetle bone<br />

the heart left behind the cicada’s shell into the side of a tree, a thumbprint of time<br />

and the tempo rescued from the lumber, sand and swamp<br />

loss lead us home to our watery self, together and at last alone.

Travelling Palm<br />

Snapshots<br />

Tamara Chatterjee<br />

France (March, 2022) – Trying to find<br />

inspiration in this week’s theme, I found<br />

myself listening to Erik Satie’s: Gymnopédies.<br />

It reminded me of a calm spring afternoon;<br />

meandering along the banks - waltzing<br />

through the city’s green spaces, entangled in<br />

its musical architecture. The dreamy melodic<br />

notes; whispering sweet fantasies - an absurd<br />

opposite of the music’s title reference...<br />


Caffeine Reveries<br />

Shelley Savor<br />

Satie’s Home Walks Slowly

https://oceanpounds.com<br />

New Look. More Content

ProTesT<br />

Cem Turgay


Holly Lee<br />

The Final Days of Georgian Nomads. Photographs by Natela Grigalashvili, interview by Misho Antadze<br />


CHEEZ<br />

Fiona Smyth

Poem a Week<br />

Gary Michael Dault<br />

The Window (for H.M. Tomlinson)<br />

would it be possible<br />

to get a glimpse of the sea?<br />

could you open<br />

that anise window?<br />

there’s already a dab of light<br />

on my spoon<br />

there is a stormy ladle<br />

on the sideboard<br />

grey with old lightning<br />

the door rattles<br />

with each pull<br />

of breaking surf<br />

I don’t want much<br />

just a glimpse<br />

of the red rooster moon<br />

on a straw cloud<br />

high over the bay<br />

no ships left<br />

just the sound of<br />

fat rivets letting go<br />

Note: H.M.Tomlinson (1873-1958) was a British novelist and travel writer<br />

whose books about the sea and the futility of war I greatly admire. My<br />

favourites among his books are Gallions Reach (1927), All Our Yesterdays<br />

(1930) and The Snows of Helicon (1933).


Lee Ka-sing<br />

Chang Chao-tang 張 照 堂 ,Antonio Mak 麥 顯 揚 ,Taipei 1985<br />

(opposite page) Antonio Mak 麥 顯 揚 ,Taipei 1985<br />

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

Holly Lee<br />

Portrait Work<br />

(circa 1988-89)

Portrait Work<br />

(circa 1988-89)<br />

I love large format portrait photographs. There is no randomness about it and therefore<br />

possesses some predictability in nature. One can always count on to obtaining a fine<br />

picture. A precise frame with selected setting. It also reveals the relationship between<br />

the sitter and the image maker, the level of comfortableness and trust, with one putting<br />

forward the most genuine, and best-in-appearance self, the other, doubting every<br />

second the ability to capture that magic instance hundred percent.<br />

After almost ten years beginning and engaging in commercial work, I started to miss<br />

the black and white portrait series I did years ago (Pictures of Friends, Artists and<br />

People I Know). I went back to work on more, but ended up just a few, of family and<br />


Iris Lee 李 思 菱 , my daughter at the studio on No. 3 Castle Road<br />

11x14 inches, vintage fibre-based gelatin silver photograph, contact from 8x10 negative

Lau Kin-Wai 劉 健 威 and Leung Mei-Sang 梁 微 生 at home<br />

11x14 inches, vintage fibre-based gelatin silver photograph, contact from 8x10 negative

Tommy Li Kam-Fai 李 錦 煇 with brother, at the Illustration Workshop<br />

11x14 inches, vintage fibre-based gelatin silver photograph, contact from 8x10 negative

Kwan Mong-Nam 關 夢 南 at home<br />

Direct scan from 8x10 negative

Kwan Mong-Nam 關 夢 南 at home with wife<br />

Direct scan from 8x10 negative

Three sisters (Kwan Mong-Nam’s daughters)<br />

Direct scan from 8x10 negative

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 OCAD<br />

University's Illustration Program. For more than three decades, Smyth<br />

has made a name for herself in the local Toronto comic scene as well as<br />

internationally.<br />

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

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

writings. He paints and writes poetry extensively. In 2022, OCEAN<br />

POUNDS published two of his art notebooks in facsimile editions.<br />

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

literal work.<br />

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

Kai Chan immigrated to Canada from Hong Kong in the sixties. He’s<br />

a notable multi-disciplinary artist who has exhibited widely in Canada<br />

and abroad.<br />

www.kaichan.art<br />

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

use film and alternative processes to make photographs.<br />

www.kamelia-pezeshki.com<br />

Kathleen Hearn is a Toronto-based visual artist and educator. Her<br />

practice involves long-term negotiations, collaborations and cooperations,<br />

often working with teens to give voice to their own<br />

representations.<br />

www.kathleenhearn.com<br />

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

has been composing poetry in Chinese, and is only recently starting to<br />

experiment with writing English poetry under the pen name, “bq”.<br />

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

with images, recent work mostly photographs in sequence, some of<br />

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

www.leekasing.com<br />

Rita Camacho Lomeli is a multidisciplinary artist and educator based<br />

in Toronto. Her work reveals the contemporary condition of objects and<br />

spaces. She makes drawings, print works, and installations.<br />

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

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

themes related to language, transformation, and disappearance.<br />

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

focusing her theme on city life and urban living experiences.<br />

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

to many parts of the world.<br />

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

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

music albums.<br />

(LOT <strong>2023</strong>-<strong>0220</strong>) 140mm x 190mm, c-type photograph. Use this link to make payment at OCEAN<br />

POUNDS for the shipping (US$18.00) https://oceanpounds.com/products/<strong>2023</strong>-<strong>0220</strong><br />

Yam Lau, born in British Hong Kong, is an artist and writer based in<br />

Toronto; he is currently an Associate Professor at York University. Lau’s<br />

creative work explores new expressions and qualities of space, time and<br />

the image. He is represented by Christie Contemporary.

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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