Strange days; sad, shocking news

Journal

Life is very strange! I mean, more than usual. Another death. Last night I received an email from the sister of my ex-husband Peter Haskell. We were married at New York city hall many moons ago. I remember waiting in the queue, the fleeting, breathless ceremony and Inga, one of the women from the Baby Doll-the bar where I worked-in attendance as our witness. I have pictures, including one of us in the hallway posing with the license.

Apparently he had been shot dead! Murdered. My first thought was No! Then, maybe it’s another *Peter Haskell.* It is so unreal! Horrible. Impossible to fathom. We had exchanged emails only a few days ago regarding a mutual friend’s novel, how Peter was working for him and helping to promote it. I had sent him some leads and information and was waiting on a reply.

How do you assimilate news like this? His poor mother! Can you imagine a coroner calling you up in the middle of the night to ask which funeral home to send the body? Later I found out that the mutual friend is the one who killed him, then called 911.

Still reeling this morning, shock, grief mixed with anger, reading his emails, scanning photos of him and ones that he took. He used to carry this funky, old dinky little camera with him on all our travels and take pictures of anything and everything. He’s in my novel and he was a character. Shit. I’m referring to him in the past tense. I can’t believe he’s dead! “The victim.” Turns out “the shooter,” our mutual friend, is an ex-boyfriend. I met Bruce when my band the 45s had arrived in Los Angeles. That means my ex-husband has been murdered by my ex-boyfriend. WTF? And I met Bruce in LA before I met Peter in San Francisco. I knew he was odd. On our first date, he took me to his hot, stuffy apartment in Hollywood and introduced me to his pet cockroach, Ralph. I did not know he was capable of murder. It would never have occurred to me, he seemed mild-mannered but I do vaguely recall something about wanting a revolver for his glove box and a fixation with explosives. Was it our second date when he took me to the Veterans Administration and a re-enactment of the Civil War where he donned a Confederate uniform over his street clothes in 90 degree heat so he could blow off one of the canons? Might have been the third. I haven’t had the pleasure of reading his book but I am told that the protagonist, at the end, goes out and shoots someone. Writing on the wall or coincidences? A friend said oh, we all are capable of it, why she kept a gun in her house in LA but self-defense is different than murder and Christ, isn’t the proliferation of hand guns a big part of the problem?

Guess I better get used to it. People dying on me. Yes, me included. No one gets out of her alive but what a way to go! I had every intention of seeing Peter the next trip to LA and had thought I would *interview* him, ask what he recalled of our life together so long ago. I have forgotten so much; feel like I want to retrieve whatever I can of the past. Now of course, I’m remembering all the things we did together, the band, the zine, Rattler. We had a brief, tempestuous marriage but remained friends, kindred spirits.

This is a nightmare! I hate guns; hand guns especially have only one purpose. I am pissed! Guess I’m lucky not to have wound up in the crosshairs. Hard to function, to focus. I keep going over it in my mind, trying to fathom what has happened. What a horrible way to die! Poor Peter. What he must have gone through . . . I feel so bad. I took him for granted, took for granted we would see each other again.

I dreamed a of man in the street carrying a big batch of carpet samples. He took offense when I moved out of the way of the protruding handle, then pulled out a gun. I heard a lot of screaming. It might have been me, must have been me.

AURAL Heather biz, timing, ten years after, back to Haida Gwaii

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More from my travel journal:

First comes Mary, Mother of God
Standing on the moon, presiding over the jungle
First comes Mary, Mother of God
sacred to all her Mexican children
in the harbour of her arms

Funny, I compose a melody to the words and then later flounder to find the key. Fortunately my producer Roderick (Shoolbraid) records our initial efforts including the chord progression for guitar. He came up with what he called a Bauhaus beat. I take it he was referring to the band but I’m not sure. He is a visual artist as well though—a painter—and could have been referring to the movement. There might be an absence of ornamentation and certainly harmony between its function and design. Off to a good start in any case and looking forward to working on it more after his return from Europe. He went to his best friend Tanya’s wedding on the island of Ibiza and will have some time in London as well, lucky bloke.

The next recording project will take place after we’ve been performing the material, the ideal situation. I’ve come up with new parts and ideas for some of the spoken word songs from Princess Nut, regret that they aren’t on the CD. Seems there are always regrets, second thoughts with any piece of art but if I don’t despise it then that is enough. For the first time perhaps, I am truly proud of my work. (My boys are gone and it’s so quiet I can hear the breeze in the chimes.)

We ran through our set a few times with the new PA. What a thrill hearing myself in a vocal monitor, a boom stand and mike for Roderick. We’re trying to come up with the perfect cover choice. Considering Cinnamon Girl by Neil Young or a David Bowie song but can’t decide because there are so many great ones. Rebel, Rebel? Ashes to Ashes? Need to work on festival submissions when I return, applying for a Career Development Grant, deadline Oct. 1 and hiring a publicist. Wish we (AURAL Heather) had thought of that before going out on the road in July. Well, I thought of it but mistakenly assumed that my promo efforts along with the label’s would be enough. If you’re laying that much on the line, might as well cough up the dough for PR. Next time. Live and learn.

Ten years! Josef and I are celebrating a whole decade together at the end of this month. We met at the Word on the Street Festival. I was reading Continue reading →

Wildernesses

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The Blogoshphere. I’ve heard some bloggers refer to it as such. One intimated that it was a clan of sorts and my writing had better be good enough. Obviously, she doesn’t know me very well. I think web logs are like the rest of the internet, as varied, unruly and undomesticated as its users and prowlers. Everyone gets in, regardless of race, religion, caste or education; precisely what is exciting about the internet. Its inherent democracy and populism is its nature. After all these years, it is still a wilderness, even amidst the rampant advertising. What you find is often astounding. Yeah, I know there’s a lot of garbage too but you’re on your own there, wading through and discerning what is pertinent. What is pertinent to me is what my blog is about, which is why I dubbed it One Life. My life, which is as significant as any other. “All life is holy.” Charles Darwin or Ed Ricketts? Neither? I will have to track down the source of that quote. Speaking of wilderness, here are some excerpts from the travel journal I kept during my recent trip to the Queen Charlotte Islands. I fear I am still under their spell, which might explain why I’m having some difficulty getting back into the swing of things. Continue reading →

Life unreal

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It’s still sinking in I suppose, doesn’t seem real. Took the nieces out for dinner at the oh so posh Shore Club with its high ceiling and waterfall of glass. It was Diana’s birthday. I’ve heard that people often die on their birthday. It happened with my mother. We were celebrating K’s graduation and L’s birthday so I didn’t bring it up. They only remember her vaguely; it’s been so long since they saw her. I get teary when I think of my sister and I as girls and the way she used to be, the way she always was—sweet, generous, compassionate.

My girls are not girls anymore. They got lost on their way after taking a wrong turn, K at the wheel! I was shocked to find out L is pregnant! She is only 21. I will be there for her no matter what she does but Continue reading →

A death in the family; what’s left of it

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Aug. 3, 2008

Loss a motif . . . I found out yesterday that my sister Diana died. Equally heartbreaking—we were estranged and had not spoken for over ten years. My nephew’s wife called because my other sister doesn’t talk to me either. Sheesh. What a family. I have felt so bad about it for so long but dysfunctionality is not uncommon. Most days I feel relieved I’m not subjected to the distress and bull crap we so capably subjected each other to. Small consolation. The normal, happy family is the rarity. Estrangement is relatively easy to ignore day to day but painfully evident at a time like this or the holidays when people come together to celebrate. Oh, that’s what the gorging and drinking was all about. No one told me. It’s a sad situation and I know it hurts my nephews. Still, it’s better than the afore mentioned bullshit. There are no easy answers, solutions often, in life. I have suggested a few, over the years, and extended the olive branch, more than once. It was still blowing in the wind last time I checked. Continue reading →

Quebec vacation, AURAL Heather eastern Canada/U.S. leg of tour wrap-up, reluctant “poetic statement”

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July 31, 2008

Home sweet home at last. I’ve been on the road for nearly a month! My songbirds are missing, after two weeks without seed. Josef’s birthday. I think he’s 48. Bought him some Daniel’s chocolates but they had no marzipan, which he relishes, being a good German.

In the news, a young man is stabbed and beheaded on a bus from Edmonton to Winnipeg! This progressive country is often host to some of the most gothic and bizarre incidents of violence. I don’t understand how the perpetrator can be charged with second-degree murder. Doesn’t one have to be insane in order to do such a horrific thing? I find myself trying to read between the lines in the news coverage, which never delves beyond the facts, understandably, but how to make sense of such madness? What possessed him to appoint himself executioner? Why did he pick this particular person as his victim?

Good news. I am thrilled and honoured to be selected for Rocksalt: An Anthology of Contemporary BC Poetry, the first in over thirty years. Editors Harold Rhenisch and Mona Fertig requested a poetic statement. Why do I write poetry. What does it mean to me. I was unable to provide one right away, as I was on the road but upon my return found myself procrastinating. I don’t like being pinned down, would rather hide out in the poems. This is what I came up with: Continue reading →

AURAL H on the road II

Journal

July 11-18, 2008

Drove to Hamilton yesterday for our gig, had no problems finding the place, greeted by the owner of the gallery, who parked my car, led us to the gallery inside and got us bottles of water. We did a sound check on another tiny stage, no monitors again. I vowed then and there to buy myself a monitor. There was a guy setting up a camera and lights—we were to be filmed, ugh—I only have about three viable outfits-packed badly again, and wasn’t wearing the best one but people tell me I look good. Still it’s hard to play with the lights shining in your eyes. Every show is a new trial, test. Good thing I had my own mike because the ones they had were entirely inadequate. We are ninja, as Roderick says. The building itself was an interesting space, reminded me of Western Front, had been a casket factory, now called the Pearl. There was a beautiful young girl and her mother there who said hello. Her name was Tiana I think and she was going to sing. We set up and waited. And waited. Finally Klyde showed up, warm rasta man, in fact everyone there was very friendly and accomodating. I chatted with Klyde as Roderick noodled on guitar, helping to enliven the room. We talked of Jamaica, island living and slam, tired subject really but everyone seemed to have a take on it. I explain that I was performing my poetry before slam, when spoken word was inclusive, diverse, exciting and interesting. Finally people began to arrive and the show started in earnest. Klyde got up and did his thing, including a hilarious piece about riding a mini bus in Jamaica. Poor Tiana, after patiently waiting, got onstage only to find that the CD player wasn’t hooked up! We had sat there for hours. It seems to me someone, including us, could have done this as we waited. She sang God Bless The Child and Pappa Was a Rollin’ Stone beautifully. She was very poised for a 14-year old and her interpretations were quite fresh. We got up to play, there was a rowdy bunch in the audience but they were enthusiastic though one woman talked through much of the set, which was nearly as distracting as the bright lights in our face from the cameraman and the fact that I can’t hear myself again! This is mickey mouse bullshit and I’m tired of it. So, we performed to a small but enthusiastic crowd, who danced and demanded an encore. We were swarmed after by several cougars and their boyfriends, one with a big scar on his forehead and a tude to match, leering and making lewd suggestions. We go out of there as fast as we could. I’m glad to have met Klyde though. The show was thrown together at the last minute and he invited us back to do something in the future. We are receiving many invitations, some more attractive than others.

Back in Toronto

I was reading again about the bizarre case of sneakered feet washing up on various BC islands and beaches, which is perhaps why I dreamed of losing a sneaker. I was working on a movie set with one of my boyfriends though I can’t recall which one. I heard someone singing, looked over to see that it was Frank Sinatra, standing at the top of a stone staircase. He was wearing my sneaker! He was frail, embraced me, and though swarmed by others I managed to tell him he was one of my favourite singers. Then one of the crew members Continue reading →

AURAL Heather hits the road

Journal

July 5, 2008

Trying to focus as I listen to the sounds of this bloody hotel, a persistent and burrowing whir—a fan perhaps—cleaning staff and some screaming brats using the hallway for a playground. This is the least of my hotel tales. Back to yesterday, which seems like a long time ago, always the case when traveling, no? Spent the day tying as many loose ends as possible. Roderick called me from the airport to let me know we were on different flights! It hadn’t occurred to me that the agent at Flight Centre would do such a thing. I have no idea whether it was intentional or not but in the middle of my packing, I had to call West Jet to switch flights and pay $50. for the privilege. I would have been late too had I not been alerted as the flight she had me on was leaving a half hour earlier.

Then as I was closing up the suitcase my niece had given me in exchange for a larger one she needed after a shopping spree wouldn’t allow her to close it up, only to discover the zipper was broken! I had to scurry down to the crawl space and find another bag, a much heavier one and one that I don’t relish boosting up into the overheads on the plane. I have been meaning to find and purchase the ultimate carry-on bag but I haven’t had time. As I always say, it’s on my list. In any case, I managed to get to the ferry on time, catch a cab in Horseshoe Bay and get to the airport. I had to check bags this time because I needed to bring our merch-CDs and my book. Red eye to Toronto a typical red eye, awful airline food and too cramped to sleep. I usually bring my own food but guess what, I didn’t have time. Therefore, we were pretty bagged by the time we landed, collected our luggage at the baggage carousel and collected the rental car, both endeavours taking a painfully long time, party due to the clerk and I haggling over car models, insurance and gas. They always try to sell you on a more luxurious model, an *upgrade* and scare you into buying their insurance. Checked in after a hairy drive through rush hour traffic, hotel entrance seemingly inaccessible with all the one-way streets, a lot like Vancouver in that respect. Our fully paid for room was not ready so they put us on the fifth floor after I insisted I would not wait in the lobby. We settled in a bit, decided to go deal with the equipment rental, found a pleasant little cafe along the way that served delicious huevos rancheros and coffee. I am trying hard not to pig out, eat too much, been eating half the serving, wrapping up the rest and eating it later. Restaurants serve such huge servings. it’s ridiculous. In this case, Roderick finished my eggs for me as he polished off a side of sausage.

Walked the rest of the way to Long & McQuade to rent the gear. It was hot, we were tired and the store was typically filled with aspiring rock gods wanking on guitars, loudly. Fortunately the store had the pedals we needed, and the amp, and the guitar. Roderick likes play a Telecaster. We were barely holding it together, figuring we would crash when we returned to the hotel but when we got back to the room we were serenaded with loud tapping and drilling sounds from above. Roderick called down to the desk, we both tried negotiating but they claimed they didn’t have another room available. It’s infuriating when you know you are being bullshitted. So much for Hilton hospitality. Continue reading →

Two takes on a triumphant launch of the nutty Princess

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Post Princess Nut CD launch at the Media Club in Vancouver. Feeling relief and gratified that we’ve arrived at the next level, this level-our act together, taking it on the road. It hasn’t been easy. We’ve persevered through windstorms, computer meltdowns and neurotic or drug-addicted colleagues. Logistics are daunting, to say the least, with both of us living on islands but I felt triumphant the other night onstage. I am proud of us, excited about our sound and where we have evolved to.

We are performing spoken word songs, or spongs for short. I recite a poem to music that Roderick has brilliantly composed and arranged, with various parts sung or spoken. (I am so lucky to be working with Roderick.) Recently we wrote two songs with a more traditional approach but they are still adaptations of poetry. One, Sun Hee, is jazz-influenced though I swore we would never play that stuff. Actually, I love jazz, have listened to a lot of it, but I cannot abide omnipresent, clichéd neo-beat performed with saxaphones, bongo drums and berets. This song just came out jazz-singed however and Roderick says it’s due to the intervals I’m singing. Oh well, it’s an organic process, intuitive. I shouldn’t be surprised by jazz’s influence, or Roderick’s for that matter. He is well-schooled in it. Hmmm. Much the way I worked with previous guitarists, I wrote the melody and then Roderick came up with a chord progression. The other, Nipples, is rather Sonic Youth or Joy Division-ish. I vocalize throughout—verses and choruses—but they are quirky, dictated as they are by the cadence of the poem, producing a song lyric that is highly imagistic, peculiar.

I needed to wallow in a post-show funk for a few days but finally got up the nerve to watch the video of the debut show. I dread watching myself on video, as useful an exercise as it is. Surprise, surprise, I didn’t hate it. The video we shot is so bad though we won’t be able to post it on Myspace or YouTube—the audio is crappy and the colours washed out—but I thought Aural Heather performed well. We “dazzled” according to Pam Southwell of RPW Records and several other people in the audience. I will post a video my dear friend Tom Konyves kindly shot of Nipples. The audio on it isn’t great either but it captures mood well and gave me an idea for harmony parts to add to our backing tracks.

What a night! Audiences don’t know us but if even half the people that said they would come had shown up the place would have been packed. By the end of the evening the club was full though, with a festive, lively atmosphere. I dutifully arrived at the club at six pm for sound check and then waited for Roderick. Sound man Shawn, unlike most, was very friendly and enthusiastic. He played soundtracks from I’m Not There, which I saw and enjoyed very much, and Across The Universe, which I want to see having been highly recommended by several friends.

It’s been a long time since I sat in a rock club waiting on my band. I had nearly forgotten my feelings about sound check, which is that while necessary, the room never sounds the same later in the evening filled with bodies and chatter. Thank god it looks different too. In the dark, with the lights on, a nightclub has ambiance. In afternoon light it just looks shabby and depressing, not to mention the funky smell. Feeling antsy, despite all the chamomile tea I drank, I put on my slippers and continued waiting. New shoes, long-coveted Fluevogs were already hurting my feet. I don’t know how women do it, walk around in high heels all day. Thought I would try to get over my stiletto dread but it didn’t work and turned out to be a bad move, along with the new vintage dress which looked beautiful but wasn’t really appropriate stage wear, mainly because I didn’t feel comfortable so naturally was inhibited. So I will stick to skirts and boots or heels that don’t hobble. Is there such a thing?

Roderick arrived at last, with his lovely paramour, artist/sculptor Lynn Demers. They were staying at the Sheraton Wall Centre so I can understand why they were slow to leave. I heard Roderick ran around their hotel room like a kid, jumping up and down on the bed naked. We set up and worked through sound check. Pam arrived with a box of cds and we documented the momentous occasion with photos. I tried not to pick it apart and just enjoy deliverance at last. I fear the text might be too small, hard to read. The colours are good but the image on the front seems a little distorted, as if you’re looking at it through the bottom of a glass. I could be imagining things. Overall though, it’s beautiful, I have to say.

It was hard to sit and wait all night and our start time kept getting pushed back. I was distracted from my angst by stellar performances by Susan Cormier, Beth Southwell and her band and Kedrick James. Went to the green room for a while, paced, changed my stockings that had already had runs in them. Another torture device—pantyhose. My niece Lisa and her boyfriend Rafael capably manned the merch table. Went back out to visit with friends who made the trek out, some from far away, many distinguished, older men, writers. Hmmm.

Kyle did a swell job of emceeing and was enjoying himself, I could tell. Finally, we got up to do our set. I was pretty nervous but I’m better able to quell my fears now with a mantra and focus on the work at hand. My art. My baby. It was hard to hear and I think I ended up having to shout, feared I may have been a little off key on a couple of tunes but it’s still hard to tell even after watching the video. I need to speak/sing at a normal level, not strain or shout, whether I can hear myself in the monitors or not, otherwise all nuance and inflections are lost. A gaggle of drunken yahoos came in off the street near the end of the set, danced to our last *spong* Whore In The Eddy and demanded an encore. It was hilarious. They would not let us off the stage! I protested that we aren’t a dance band but they were having none of that. We decided to repeat Nipples, just for them. At one point Roderick plied the mike stand with his guitar and they went bonkers. It made for a most memorable launch, a funny topper to the evening.

Had a drink at last and caroused the rest of the evening with all my kooky friends-Randy, aka RC Weslowski, Kedrick James, Rhonda Milne, Susan Cormier, Kyle Hawke, Mark Perrault, Steven Sherer and my main man, Josef. We closed down the Railway, tried to find another nite spot open while we waited for a cab and I ranted, or bitched rather, about the sad state of this one-horse town. We found a Chinese restaurant open. Others in the group claimed it was a gangster haven. I didn’t care, we all went in. It had a weird vibe all right and crappy food. Some dudes against the wall eyeballed us until one came over and said his friend the dentist loved redheads and that I had to come over and meet him. I tried to shoo him away but he was very persistent even though Josef looked him straight in the eye and said, “Yeah, I like that redhead a lot.” Rhonda was already on her way over so I went and said Hello. Creepy guys. I started to panic, said “Okay, well nice meeting you, I’m going back to have something to eat with my husband now,” while Rhonda gabbed with them a bit more. Back at the table she said, “Those guys were weird.” Yeah, no shit sharky. Apparently the dentist reached over and tugged on her dress to look at her breasts! I would have slugged the jerk which could have resulted in an ugly altercation. Good thing I left. Rhonda is adorable and was wearing Kyle’s black top hat that everyone agreed suited her better. With his long, curly, flowing, dark locks Kyle looked like Slash and one Slash is enough!

Kedrick’s singular take on the evening:

In the perpetual Spring, Heather blooming aural heather,
took to the Media Club, brought books and CDs and friends her style
not as Bowen Island but as still so concrete cool, taking a sharp
ended wit to her musical duo’s grinding scronk crunch and broken
howls that take on worlds in their clatter astral baggage, the duo
rocking out a highlight of word zone wilding, best in show.
In true Vancouver fashion we got started late but worth the wait
to see triptop Vancouver poets attend, Jamie Reid, Tom Konyves,
RC Weslowski (what a great audience member, as well) among
them, and so it was, with Susan Cormier kicking things off with her
verbal sculptures all Rauschenberg-like, reading that macaroni letter
of past adventures to rob mclennan (before he gets it) a future pastagram,
and then a band, but I’m bad and went to the smoking pit to prepare
my mind, so I can’t say, and then a perverse warred selection of my
new poems from the endless spew that is my poetic zoo, and then
to Heather’s post-punk-pre-apocalypse perfection. Met wonderful
Vancouver artist Steven Shearer and we all headed off for drinks
at the Railway, chatting with Kyle the stalwart MC DJ jackpot crackpot
spark plug live wire, and kept bevvies abundant till we crawled home
to escape the dawn. In all, a wonderful time-island of word and sound it was.

Photo of Kedrick and a recording of his reading at the launch here:

http://www.kedrickjames.net/poetry/mediaclub/mediaclub.html

The eternal struggle to look good, recent bird spottings, Charles’s MFA in film

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I know why some women “let themselves go.” Looking good is a lot of work! My weight for example. Take my weight. Please. I’ve been struggling with it all my adult life, especially after hitting forty and peri-menopause, which wreaked havoc on my metabolism, mainly by slowing. The pounds creeped on imperceptibly. One day I got on the scale and the needle flew, way, way, way over 150 pounds. At 5’8”, I think my ideal weight is 140 pounds.

I had been thin/pure but was too young and dumb to realize it, always feeling like I was never thin enough, always feeling inadequate in other words. At least I had time to shop and though I couldn’t afford designer labels, was very resourceful and adept at finding highly stylish things to wear. Life was simple. Not so anymore, not with a kid and home schooling and running a household, like this woman in the van in front of me, full of wee ones, including a newborn. She has a look in her eye, like prey. Guess I’ve always suffered from a lack of self-esteem, boo hoo, and now I get to factor in aging as well. Buck up. As they say, aging is not for sissies. At least I have perspective along with the sore feet. My innate fashion sense and high quality garments are more important than ever, thus I spent hours and hours downtown looking for a dress to wear onstage. I’m wiped out!

Thunderstorm last night. Does it explain the vivid dreams I’ve been having? In this one Junior and his pals were seated on a Murphy bed. I was alarmed when I didn’t recognize two of them and asked Junior who they were. He, they, wouldn’t tell me. I got frustrated and closed the bed up, with them inside. I asked Junior to open it again, to give me the key. He laughed, said he didn’t know where it was. He found this very amusing but I was getting scared, on the verge of panic. I couldn’t open it!

Bird enchantment report: I spotted a new species by the feeder yesterday though this guy was on the ground. I thought it was a sea bird but looked it up in my guidebook and found out it was a woodpecker, a female. I get such a thrill every time I successfully identify a species. I can see why people get hooked on birding. Apparently, though most woodpeckers spend most of their time in trees, some will forage on the ground for insects. I was surprised to identify an exotic bird that resembled a parrot as an Evening Grosbeak. The poet in me is equally enchanted with bird names and categories: Loons, Grebes, Shearwaters, Petrels, Boobies, Gannets, Bitterns, Egrets, Spoonbills, Limpkins, Rails, Coots, Lapwings, Plovers, Skuas, Jacanas, Oystercatchers, Stilts, Terns, Skimmers, Auks, Cukoos, Nightjars, Trogons, Tryrant Flycatchers, Shrikes, Vireos, Larks, Wrentits, Verdins, Creepers, Nuthatches, Warblers, Gnatcatchers, Thrashers, Bulbuls, Accentors, Wagtails, Pipits, Tanagers, Towhees, Longspurs, Weavers.

Enjoyed an evening with new friends Tina Schliessler and Charles Wilkinson at their house in Deep Cove where they were celebrating his MFA in film from UBC. Tina is the artist whose phainting graces the cover of our new Aural Heather new cd, Princess Nut. I had the privilege of meeting their many intriguing and fabulous friends and family, including one of Tina’s favourite subjects, her son Pablo. I chatted with Charles about Tina’s enormous talent, humility and ability to put her subjects at ease. He said my face looked different in the flesh. I hope he meant it in a good way and there you have it, the afore mentioned insecurities roiling to the fore once more. Later Charles screened a documentary he directed called Down Here, a portrayal of several women that reside in the downtown eastside. The subject has been covered before yes, notably by my dear friend Lincoln Clarkes’ Heroines project, but Charles’s approach was equally uncompromising, authentic and quite striking with excellent cinematography and editing.