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Saturday, September 16, 2006

Art @ Liberty

Image © Art @ Liberty

Busy, busy, busy ... Who isn't in Toronto? The exciting part is we do make things happen in this city. Helped some friends with an art exhibition they're having across the street from where I'm having my photo exhibition of Moody Toronto. Their show is called Art @ LIberty. It's a series of photos, ranging from topiaries to manholes, taken in the St.Clair neighbourhood. It opens today and runs till October 1st. Both our shows will be part of Artwalk, the St. Clair Arts Festival and Studio Tour, between September 29th to October 1st.javascript:void(0)

Sunday, September 10, 2006

I love you more than you know

That's the title of Jonathan Ames' book that I just read. He is one funny guy. Disarmingly honest, bent on telling every detail about his scatalogical, sexual, and disease-prone obsessions. He's the kind of guy whose one-track-sex-crazy mind makes you want to slap his face, but then the next minute, he is so tender and loving, you just want to hug him.

Friday, September 01, 2006

La confession d'une jeune fille

Time to get back to writing. That's what this blog is supposed to be all about, anyway. Plus I miss French so much. So here's my translation of Marcel Proust's insightful reflection on the intricacies of a young woman's relationship with a certain Lepré.

Si sa beauté était armée pour le vaincre, son esprit ne l’était pas moins pour le juger; elle était prête à cueillir comme une fleur amère le plaisir de le trouver mediocre et ridiculement proportioné à l’amour qu’elle avait pour lui. Ce n’était pas par prudence! elle sentait bien qu’elle serait toujours reprise dans le filet enchanté et que les mailles que son esprit trop incisive aurait rompues pendant la présence de Lepré, à peine serait-il parti que son imagination industrieuse les aurait réparées.

La confession d'une jeune fille - Marcel Proust

If her beauty was armed to conquer, her mind was equally armed to judge. She was ready to pick, like a bitter flower, the pleasure of finding him mediocre and ridiculous in proportion to the love she felt for him. It was not that she was cautious. She knew that she would always be lured back into the enchanted net, and that the stitches that her incisive mind had cut during Lepré's presence, would always be repaired by her industrious imagination within seconds of his departure.