As Bach violin concertos frolic along the four stray feline pals lounge just outside my door and occasionally Bootsy scratches at the door for my companionship. Even beat-to-shit Faux Extra is lying at my steps while Extra (my most perfect Angel of Darkness) is aloof and Tiger is just plain ol' effusive.
Last night was first Friday in practically my entire lifetime that I did not have to rush about and make images for my column WhatHasHappened. I wore a skirt. I carried my little Coach bag. I drank wine. I supped with Jen and Eric. Went to nouveau O and dug the food but not the suburban vibe happening around us. We were in a parking lot. There was at the end of our meal the Chippewa Street-appropriate thud-thud of top40 dance tunes. Our waiter sucked. When he inquired about dessert I said I want banana pudding. He thought I was joking. I want banana pudding. They had none.
He returned to our table with a comp dessert - banana mousse with macademia nuts in a dark chocolate crust. Not banana puddding but sufficient.
Putting together work and received a fab call from one of my patrons of the art genre, looking for more of my originals to give to her friends - this time a family in Italia.
I sign off, artful, restful and Bachful.
Love.

Met with visiting artist/thinker Ollivier Dyens, who teaches at Concordia in Montréal today. Why, just yesterday, during our seminar, I raised my hand and stated I really don't agree with anything that you're saying...
defending then I was the notion that making images/rendering light via digital is not too far from the same process via film.
Embedded in both is information that an artist/imagemaker must use.
He did not agree with my disagreement.
Today he reinvigorated our disagreeing. By the end of my presentation to him he said that he was beginning to understand what I mean/meant, for whatever that's worth.
I just sent him some jpegs of older work that I think he'll dig.
Made Justy go with me to the macrobiotic joint just around the corner from PSD for organic wine and wholesome fare. He didn't pout too loudly and his pal Jen, married to Steve Bartoo, joined us.
Then back to the lab, where I've been convented since about noon.
It is time to break free for extended hours.
I am happy with my new images, prints, art, pieces.
Tomorrow I meet with Anthony encore to show them.
Then Monday is the half-group again, in prep for the next week which will be another full day and a half of the 15 of us.
This intensive extensive summer session is coming to a quick end.
Am I a master of the DreamWeaver universe?
Does the Pope have Johnny Depp's likeness tattooed on his arse?
Yikes, now that is a perilous image indeed.
Due to annoyances beyond my control (those of you in the know will in fact know know and know) I am taking a leave from AV for the next three weeks - due more to assinine behaviour than my own ass dragging.
My artful and imagistic love.

Spending this AM catching up up up whilst listening to napalm-my-heart Ryan Adams. Such sights last night at Artists and Models, a veritable tapestry of people I know, avoid, talk to, admire and document.
Anna was a cyborg, David Butler was a presidential candidate (along with ex-drag queen Guy) with a fab economic plan advocating shopping, Mark Stockton was wired up in a complex panda head with night vision goggles and other such complex paraphernalia (totally rocked), Mike (formerly of treelinedhighway) was really drunk and he explained so after he was going to start saying something about my weight loss, Curtis was also tipsy but did manage to explain to CG and I how the lovely gigantic prints from former Artists and Models were made (I had several up - 3'x8'... Perfect Heroic Nancy!), the bartender didn't have scotch (?????????) so I had to have a vodka and something (!!), the tall lanky tv guy was all coked up, literary Ed worked the door and didn't quite get the whole way those Tyvek® wristbands were supposed to be installed on a wrist (I looked at mine and said Gee, Ed, I like your technique... he didn't get it), the artwork was of a certain elevated quality, Bruce Adams had an excellent church and art star-inspired chapel with relics of Cindy Sherman and Robert Longo (brilliant) and other various pedestrians interested and engaged me.
(sonic note: I might have to change this Ryan Adams cd as it's about to toss me off the edge into an abyss of heavy-eyed melancholia).
Notes on pre-Artists and Models yesterday:
Had a wedding in ski resort Ellicottville, an hour outside of the Middling City.
I seemed to spend more time staring at the landscape and getting some good deep thinking done than shooting the glowing couple.
I was in a Native landscape where highway signs are bilingual.
I knew the band, always a treat. Sid Winkler Band which features zany Susan Rozler and the amazing music encylopoedia Joe Rozler... young, hip, funny as hell.
I stood behind him for several songs and sang off-colour versions of Wedding Tunes as he sang the veritable versions. Sometimes as I passed on the dancefloor he'd sing a Hi Nancy J into the lyrics and - amazingly - guests would not hear it over their choogling and socializing.
Met a guy who does video production for Court TV. Nice conversation, how can it help my career?
So I'm talking to Susan Rozler for a long while when suddenly she reveals that she thinks she may have malaria. I was in the Philippines. I know about malaria. I avoided it. I took poison once a week to keep it away. I'm thinking she's being funny. Nope, her one kid is in Africa, she visited. BUT when you hear someone has the notion they may have malaria and you are an independenct contractor type you want to run like the West Niled mosquitoes from hell are on your ass, as you never know what in hell it could contagiously be.
Off to further work and social exploits.
My love, most of it.