squinchy faced in new york city

After much online price comparing, we booked the hotel reservations for our trip to NYC on Hotwire.com. Then we got ready. We drove up to Huntsville Ontario and picked up Jacob at his summer sports camp. He had done lots of sailing, windsurfing, canoing and kayaking and looked very handsome and strong when we found him in the crowd of parents and departing campers. We wisked him home for a night in his own bed and then drove 5 1/2 hours to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown NY. What a lovely drive through the farmland and mountains. Cooperstown is a pleasant and quaint, expensive though.

We ate breakfast in this little diner was the cheapest and the friendliest. It was packed with locals. The Hall of Fame was crowded. The exhibits of old stuff are the best. My favorite were the antique games. In the museum shop we bought hats and t-shirts and tank tops and a cell phone holder with the Hall's logo for Jacob .

We bought a fitted minor league team hat for Eli but it was small on him when he tried it on back in Toronto, so Jacob inherited that one too! Jacob is a clothes horse of the first order. The store had tons of hats. Jacob wanted a Japanese club hat but that was the only thing they did not stock.

I love to draw Paula when she snoozes, here she is doing it again at our Holiday Inn Midtown Manhattan. I think she's so beautiful. Jacob is sick. As soon as we arrived he got sick. We were really mad at him when he wasn't looking or listening. Maybe we should have gone alone. But he loves to travel.

We had an outdoor pool on the rooftop of our hotel. It was a nice size and and full of people. Almost no one spoke English. Lots of northern Europeans. It was a refreshing dip but gave Jacob ear troubles for the rest of the trip. He was such a trooper when I pushed him to walk to Chelsea and then the Empire State Building, only about 90 blocks, then Paula got him to stand in 1 1/2 hours of lineups to get to the observation deck level of the Empire State Building. We sound like crazy parents no? It was a great view though. The city at night all lit up. Needless to say we took the subway back to the hotel. We flopped on the beds, our legs and feet were aching. Jacob woke up hallucinating and sleepwalking. We heard this thumping sound. He was trying to open the door to the hallway but it was catching on the night latch. Thump! bang. Thump! bang.

Paula tried to comfort him but it wasn't working. I held him and shouted at him, then shook him a bit but it escalated and then he was screaming. I covered his mouth. I was worried that the neighbours would call security or worse the cops might show up. I plopped him in the shower and tried to calm him down and wake him up. It worked and he came out of it. He calmed down and we all went to bed. He barely remembered any of it the next morning.

I had fevered hallucinations as a kid. I hated it worst than anything. I wish someone could have snapped me out of them. My mom just comforted me too as I went slowly crazy in my fever. Sooner or later a doctor would show up at the house and give me a shot. My older son Eli had something similar. I remember when he peed in the oven. We found out when we tried to bake something. What a smell.

We went underground to ride the Manhattan Subway system to Yankee Stadium too. It's hard to draw when you have your family with you. I didn't want to shut them out but I managed to sneak a few sketches in. It helped that I bought a small Fabriano drawing book at Lee's after we visited the New York Artist's League. It was much easier to whip that baby out and bang away with the pencil and eraser. Ok that sounds silly but I'm trying to invent some inspiring drawing speak to give me bigger public journaling balls.

This guy and his wife studied their bibles intently on our ride on the D train to the B train. Another rider, a middle aged black woman, loved my drawing of this man. She just loved it.

We scalped tickets to the Yankees Game. It was the 18th last game before they tear down the historic stadium. There were no tickets anywhere except upper deck at 150 per ticket from the scalpers. Every scalper I met I said "bleachers" to. They turned up their noses and walked away. Until finally one guy said OK at 50 bucks a piece. I stalled a bit and he came back with 40 a pop.

Behind our seats were a couple from north of Denver who paid 90 bucks in advance. We got a nice deal! The scalper walked us right through the ticket turnstile and then practically to our seats where I flipped him the $120. Sweet!

But it was raining and there was a major chance the postponement could turn into an outright rainout. We all waited for about an hour and then hurray! They rolled off the tarp and soon it was 'play ball'. We knew when we bought the tickets that if it rained the money was down the toilet. We were leaving the next day and couldn't use a rain check. I chatted with everyone. It was an alcohol free zone and almost everyone behaved civilly. There were lots of Yankee fans making the pilgrimage to see the hollowed ground of their baseball idols.

On the way back to the hotel on the subway I tried to draw again. The trains move so fast and rock so bad that it's practically impossible to get anything looking right. Plus these New Yorkers, man, they are way too alert and hard to get a long look at. Everyone's eyes are darting around like something bad's going to happen, but maybe I'd get used to it and hey, maybe they don't mean anything by it. It's a very tolerant place and artists are pretty harmless right? Plus they see them all the time. Maybe it was just me.

We wandered through Central Park and listened to a band under a platform. They were fantastic and made me cry. It was magical. This guy sat and listened too. It was the best moment of the trip. Jacob gave them some money as they packed up to go. I wish they played longer.

On our last day we went back to the lower east side. We ate at Kampuchea and everyone shared their food, passing forkfuls and spoonfuls to each other like we were feeding babies. Jacob bought an electric guitar, a cheap knockoff of a stratocaster. It had a classy English name, Washburn, made somewhere in China. He played it on the drive all the way home to Toronto.

We got him a book from which he taught himself chords. We stopped at Economy Candy, a giant candy store and loaded up on chocolate and gum, plus we had to get cupcakes for the road at Sugar Sweet Sunshine. We drove home in 8 1/2 hours. It was liking driving down the street. We floated back to Toronto.

abstracty personalties

Tomorrow Paula and I go up to Huntsville to pick up number 2 son Jacob at camp. He's finished his week of waterfront sports. He sailed. Number 1 son Eli is up near Ottawa, infantry training. 2 months of learning to be a leader. But he injured his back carrying a machine gun and a belt of ammo through a swamp at night in the rain. He fell. Now he's on pain killers and muscle relaxants hoping to heal up, not get drummed out of the course. There's lots of poison ivy cases, some severe enough for hospitalization. He calls a lot to talk. It's nice. Paula and I are here in Toronto. I''m doing abstract drawings and falling in love with her all over again.

a beautiful young girl on the train

The winter in Toronto has it's share of despair. People appear defeated, resigned to zombie apathy, a behavior they despise in others. You have to work hard to feel good here. You don't wake up December through March with the gift of feeling good because of the glorious weather or environment. You have to earn it. And it doesn't come cheap.

The morning faces wear dread and the evening ones appear pummeled. It's not what I'm trying to depict. But what I remember looking through my subway drawing journals. Mostly I feel joy as I draw standing in the crowds of commuters. fighting for balance and elbow room . I'm smiling like crazy inside. But what I see when I look at these pages a half year later just seems lonely and sad.

finished at the art institute of toronto

My tenure as an instructor at the Art Institute of Toronto is over. They've closed the doors of the Graphic Design department and the rest of the school is soon to follow. I've had some wonderful students during the 4 and a half years there. So many really great young men and women. I wish I had done drawings of them all. I really do.

I learned a lot about teaching and I'd like to continue to teach, but with less classes, and focused more on drawing and creativity. I like web design and graphic design but I don't love them. I want to draw as much as possible for the rest of my life.

tear

I started this a little while ago. Now it's finished. The center is a tear drop. Some grief, some joy, some irritated eye.

women sleep less

Men sleep on subway trains. They sprawl and snore. Women catnap with an eye open because it's a dangerous place for females to drop their guard. That's true of any public place isn't it?

Big fat women sleep on subways, they're invulnerable and generally undesirable to the average predatory male. Old women sleep too, they're just overwhelmed and exhausted by the trial and effort of commuting. But most young girls and women are targets, and there are lots of bad men.

paula's hands

My wife has beautiful hands and feet. I love looking at them and caressing them. This is a constant source of pleasure for me.

art practice

What about my studio? The space. The music. The light. No one told me I'd make more art surrounded by strangers in strange places. My teachers never mentioned it. No one said that alone there'd be so much noise inside me, and out in the din of the city there'd be this safe quiet. It's hard to accept.

spider

I still hate them. I don't kill them but I don't want to look too closely.

kind of like cuddling

I'm not sure what I'm stealing from these people. I know it's not their souls. But I am taking liberties. I feel like I do when I look at my wife and children as they sleep, it's safe to be very very close.

a cool new school

This year, his grade six year, we enrolled our son Jacob at Avondale Alternative School. He loves it and so do we. They combine grades 6, 7 and 8 into one classroom and now he's got lots of older friends. The kids are all really sweet. Avondale likes parents to be involved so I did a 5 visit workshop teaching Jacob's class how to make a zine. It went well. They liked the project.

Jacob was in the school play the Music Man. He was part of the barbershop quartet. Jacob was offered a bigger role by the drama teacher but his home room teacher insisted that his participation be limited. This way he'd concentrate better on his studies. I thought it was a lame decision and I was disappointed Paula and I were not consulted. Nevertheless he has thrived this year like no other year before. To see your child eager to face homework, it stunned us. We never imagined that would ever happen.

sleepers and readers

It's easy to draw sleepers and readers. Everyone else is jittery as hell. The nicest people I meet on public transit are the ones sitting near or beside me when I draw. I get a lot of smiles and warm words of encouragement. Never had any outright hostility. It seems I don't offend much when I stare. Maybe that's because I find people so beautiful to look at, they're OK with my attitude.

The whole process of drawing in public is fun because my likenesses are so close that in a few minutes I can nail facial features while the train is moving and I'm standing even. People like seeing the accuracy. It's nice how time spent drawing turns into skills. Now I just wish I had a style. Something unique.

The baby in the stroller was from Israel. His Dad and Bubie were a little uptight with me staring at their child/grandchild. Until I smiled and showed them the drawing. Then they relaxed and the father chatted away with me about his long journey to Canada via Austria and England. He plans to move to San Diego to the warmer weather.

apology

This guy actually apologized for waking up and getting off the train at his stop. I didn't know he was aware I had been staring at him and sketching from the time I got on the train and his nap.

on the subway and at work

When I ride the subway I'm not distracted and I draw alot. When I get home there so much to do and fun stuff to get into. A good friend of mine said that maybe outside will be my studio. That it's the way it might work for me.

three heads

I can't think and I can't talk, but I can run. I used to be fast. I had a chance to get away. Now I'm trapped and forced to tell.

i want to be max ernst

I'm not making abstract art. But this kind of drawing is making me dizzy because of pretending to be a bit Max Ernst. I am going to emulate my pretend mentor. I'm trying this out personally. It's supposed to be a good idea. He'd laugh.

His dad painted. And he lived in a mysterious forest. And the thing I had like him was fevered hallucinations as a kid. I got pukey and disoriented. The doctor gave me shots in bed at home to make them stop.

Does anyone not think Max Ernst was the greatest ever, ever? Are they nuts? Is their head off?

Who can have that much talent and not be murdered by it. Be completely killed by it. It would kill me. It could. Right? How could you survive it?

I can't believe he existed. It's like the bible. It's got to be made up. A team of fabricator's lying and lying. If not then I have to kill myself for being pathetic. Or go on a long fast to be purer. No food until I'm skin.

Why I ask you. Why? Why? Why? Why? I think he inspired artists too much. Now there's too many of us. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Do you think he liked knowing how it would make me feel, looking at his art, wanting to tear out my nervous system and convulse like a spastic colon, just spewing. What a prick!

Where is a pillow. I want to hug my pillow and snuggle. And die. But also I want to have one of those long artist lives like Hokusai, Matisse and George Grosz and all those other great art guys.

See my art Balls! They have potent flowers that are coming!

I've been broken into little pieces by being silly and by wishing. Boo. Look out for my little pieces.

Max Ernst lived in Sedona and I did too. He liked rich women who were into art. Apparently they adored him. I like any women into art but I like to be the richer one even when I'm actually very poor which has happened often. And I don't know if any of them loved me very much.

Miro was cool too. I'd like to have some of him too. My wife was happy to find something new on my blog today. Then she came home and fought with me. I added this and now I'm sad plus there's an echo in here.

I like this drawing. I am starting to enjoy doing drawings again. I've been really hating it for about 49 years. It started in Kindergarten when I noticed how pretty everyone else's paintings looked on their easels. Mine looked like poopy mud and my classmates wore there smocks like artists instead of like a diaper like me, for being so sloppy. They mixed colors better and also knew how to use them alone, like green only as green without other colors piled on. Everything I did turned into a shit looking mess. That's what happens when you use all the colors. Not white light. It just turns poopy.

paula's dad died

Roland is dead. English Roland at 75. He checked into Victoria Hospital with abdominal pain and and exited10 days later a corpse. Pancreatitus was the official cause of death. I watched him go with Paula, her brother Mark and her sister Amanda. Their mother, Roland's long estranged ex-wife, vacationed in Arizona.

The first day we visited Roland in London there was a 50/50 chance he'd pull through, fight back from his coma like state. The waiting room was pleasant. A volunteer shepherded us kindly. Jacob jumped online the courtesy computer station. I drew as Paula commiserated with her siblings.

After visiting Roland for a 1/2 hour we all took a break and headed to the cafeteria. We caught up on family news and Paula and her brother and sister swapped sentimental Dad stories. I pulled out my sketchbook and scanned the room. It was hard to draw Mark. Impossible really. He's like a jittery ghost.

Amanda was easier. Perhaps because her features are so similar to Paula, that and her vanity. The food was horrible. Jacob scarfed up his plastic fries and colored fructose liquid.

My brother Mike has a new house in London. We visited him after the hospital and I coughed all over everything. His wife Ann got sick soon after. We agreed it was the worst flu of our lives.


A huge crowd attended the wake. Roland was very popular and highly respected for his union activism and lifelong devotion to the liberal left New Democratic Party. He had been repeatedy invited to run for office over the years but always declined because of closet skeletons. Instead he became a mentor, much beloved, and a behind the scenes political power broker of significance, largely benign.

Paula's eulogy moved both friends and family. Some close to Roland, intimately familiar with the Parris's tragic family history, privately shared with Paula their sympathies and respect.

After the union hall emptied the family drove in 3 cars to the Thames river, which briskly snakes through London. We scuttled over the icy ground carrying Roland's ashes onto a bridge. We dropped him into the cold rushing water. Some of Roland landed on the foundation of the bridge, most flowed northwestward. Goodbye. I think I liked him, but I wish he had taken better care of Paula, protected her. But it seems he could barely take care of himself.