On Coming and Going - 2017
If the utility knife is not on this shelf, check the other shelf.
If you just came from the other shelf and the utility knife isn’t here either, the installation is closed.
If the utility knife is on this shelf:
Pick up the utility knife.
Let your arm hang naturally.
Touch the utility knife to the wall.
Walk to the other shelf.
Leave the utility knife there.
If you just came from the other shelf and the utility knife isn’t here either, the installation is closed.
If the utility knife is on this shelf:
Pick up the utility knife.
Let your arm hang naturally.
Touch the utility knife to the wall.
Walk to the other shelf.
Leave the utility knife there.
My son was born shortly before my 19th birthday. My grandfather didn’t trust his hands at the time, so he said he’d rather not hold the baby when he visited us in the hospital. Needless to say, I didn’t have my shit together at all. But arrangements were made for a time when he could properly meet his great-grandson. On that day, I was in a hurry. There was somewhere else to be. I put in the brief requisite time, took the requisite picture. He held the kid, okay, sure, let’s go. See you at Thanksgiving. But we didn’t. He died before my son or I saw him again.
That’s when I started to learn about him as an adult who had lived a full life, as more than the kindhearted but gruff and prickly-bearded old man who took me to McDonald’s early in the morning.
I sewed this quilt with the help of his second-born, my mother. The top is made of his shirts. The backing is a wool blanket that was left behind at the scene of a car accident at which he had stopped to help. (Being a good Protestant, and thinking it might have been stolen as a souvenir, he brought it to the police, who after some time, gave it back to him.)
My son appreciates the warmth of the quilt, but finds the wool a little scratchy. Every night he meets the man I had only begun to know.
That’s when I started to learn about him as an adult who had lived a full life, as more than the kindhearted but gruff and prickly-bearded old man who took me to McDonald’s early in the morning.
I sewed this quilt with the help of his second-born, my mother. The top is made of his shirts. The backing is a wool blanket that was left behind at the scene of a car accident at which he had stopped to help. (Being a good Protestant, and thinking it might have been stolen as a souvenir, he brought it to the police, who after some time, gave it back to him.)
My son appreciates the warmth of the quilt, but finds the wool a little scratchy. Every night he meets the man I had only begun to know.
For about nine months, I lived in the front room of a house in Toronto with an ever-changing cast of people. I don’t remember any of their names, except for Mike’s. He was an aspiring DJ who showed up late one night in my room in a Spider-Man unitard and mask without explanation. I don’t know where he lived while his room was being fumigated because of bed bugs, but it seemed to be somewhere in the house. This is where I lived. Amidst this – this house and its Mikes – I briefly met someone who was moving out because his visa had expired. I told him I was an artist and he showed me a small rock. He made a meditative practice of picking them up from construction sites and, over the course of many months, sanding their facets by hand. On the occasion of this exhibition, I decided to do the same.
I went back to that house and picked up a handful of rocks in front of it. These are on the left. I also picked up a handful of rocks from the construction site just outside this gallery. These are on the right.
Please feel welcome to handle the rocks with care.
I went back to that house and picked up a handful of rocks in front of it. These are on the left. I also picked up a handful of rocks from the construction site just outside this gallery. These are on the right.
Please feel welcome to handle the rocks with care.
Lists found between here and the parking lot
Chine-collé on Arches 400lb cold press
All items donated to the Compassion Society of Halton
Chine-collé on Arches 400lb cold press
All items donated to the Compassion Society of Halton
I carried this blank one-sided record with me for the first 24 hours of this year. All that is recorded on it are the scratches etched by happenstantial encounters with my everyday world.
Press START to listen if the record isn’t already playing.
Press START to listen if the record isn’t already playing.
One cubic foot of concrete cast in wet clay
One cubic foot of concrete cast in wood on fire
One cubic foot of concrete cast in a cardboard box
One cubic foot of concrete cast in wood on fire
One cubic foot of concrete cast in a cardboard box
My skin soaked, pressed, and dried
My great-grandfather had a farm dog he loved. Her name was Princess. One day, she didn’t come home for supper. The man drove off to find her with a broken heart and a so-it-goes pragmatism. Not far down the road, she had been hit and killed by a car. He brought her back to his farm and buried her in the brush.
Every few years after that, there was a new dog and no mention of what happened to the last one. The new dog was always named Princess.
When I was seven, I found this jawbone – now cast in bronze – on my great-grandfather’s farm. I concluded that it had belonged to a wolf after some research. Nobody told me about the Princesses until I was older.
Every few years after that, there was a new dog and no mention of what happened to the last one. The new dog was always named Princess.
When I was seven, I found this jawbone – now cast in bronze – on my great-grandfather’s farm. I concluded that it had belonged to a wolf after some research. Nobody told me about the Princesses until I was older.
Collaboration with 1500 darkling beetle larvae and their gut microbes that allow them to eat polystyrene foam
Untitled (Stump Metal)
This collection of documents that belonged to William was found in a receding snow bank in the spring of 2015. They tell a story written by institutions. His name appears many times, but not once in his own writing.
Please feel welcome to handle the prints with care.
Please feel welcome to handle the prints with care.
And Stop
An infinite loop of a video by Kaeson Teszeri (age five) at Art Toronto 2015
Featuring James Lahey’s Rose Skull (On Competition Red) (2015)
An infinite loop of a video by Kaeson Teszeri (age five) at Art Toronto 2015
Featuring James Lahey’s Rose Skull (On Competition Red) (2015)