Plague Times

Because of the nature of this pandemic, many are drawing allusions to the plague, meaning the Black Death of the Middle Ages. I dug out my plague doctor mask and took some photos and may use it later for a painting. I’ve had a lot of time to reflect during quarantine and finally enough time to fix this broken site and consider what I want to do with it.

There’s a part of me that has a lot to say, and more than a few people have urged me to write a book about my life when they hear of its events, but I’m not ready for that yet. Some have suggested that it would help inform my art to hear my words about it, and that is probably true. Some feedback has told me that my work is far too opaque, and that they can’t figure out the meaning, while others have said that the symbolism is far too obvious. I’ve come to the conclusion that the symbolism just is, much like dream symbolism, it can be hard to understand at times or baffling and other times it is clear as day.

The reference to this pandemic as the plague and my returning to an old habit of dream journaling made me recall one unforgettable dream I had when I was a teenager, the one that started me dream journaling in the first place. I was in a village long ago, one with huts and simple dwellings. I remember the intense rush of emotion as those close to me died one by one. My brother, with whom I had carried on an incestuous relationship (in the dream, I am an only child in this life), had just died of the plague and my nurse had too (I think this was the housekeeper or nanny) and in rage and grief, I spit on her dead face and ran into the forest to a space that was dear to my brother and I.

It was a small stone circle, much smaller than Stonehenge, and it was where my brother and I we went to be alone. As soon as I arrived, however, a vortex-like portal sucked me in and transported me to the present day (my teenage bedroom) where I lay in the bed with all those who had passed away around me, all living, and concerned over my well-being standing at my bedside and so pleased that I had woken up. I was so alarmed to see them alive again, that in a panic I ran from the room and into the street. A car approached me at speed and I remember being stunned–in the dream I did not recognize what a car was–but I recognized the face inside as my brother, then he ran me over and I woke up.

Animosity, 2001

The resonance of this dream was so strong that I remember telling it to friends in bars in college years later. It planted the seed for my belief in reincarnation, as that is exactly what the dream seemed to convey to me, the complete believability that souls carry on through various lifetimes. I experienced it as reality in the dream. Over the years I have had many dreams of a dark-haired man, who I believe to be that brother, from what I recall, he is often an aloof figure but at other times, a pursuer, murderer, villain. I don’t remember ever seeing his face, I’m just being chased, held hostage, threatened with death, or escaping, but I sort of knew it was the same person.

The way I’ve come to understand reincarnation and soulmates is that we don’t just have one soulmate. We have whole soul families, those who have spent many lifetimes with us. They are often our friends, lovers, co-workers, enemies, family. As soul families they are kindred, essence of our essence, and thus feel deeply familiar and resonant. It is said that soulmates are aspects of our higher selves–contained within the same Oversoul, which is also an emanation from Source. They are part of us.

After this teenage dream, I started to read about dream analysis because the number of nightmares I was having was disconcerting. I picked up a book on my mother’s shelf, Jung’s Memories, Dreams, Reflections. I read about the anima and animus, and the shadow. I realized this dream figure was my animus, the masculine energy force that was everything that I was not, the yang to my yin. I came to understand the constant nightmares I had of this murderer over decades was my animus coming for me, looking for integration.

In time, I would come to paint about this subject.

Because of You


Because of you, I see the tender exposure

of a stranger’s long black toes

in cheap rubber sandals and I weep.

I cry at the vulnerability of an orange smoke fox

crossing the road at night.

At the death throes of a squirrel struck by a car

epileptic, then still.

Your beauty is a complication I did not desire,

yet your existence is a wish whispered softly within.

I bleed at random, then profusely, without cease,

soaking pants and sheets, in the streets

like a wounded thing that won’t die.

And somehow, I blame you.

Autumn leaves dance like lapping flames in the road behind

a car’s speed, tail lights burning red. It reminds me of

your strokes of energy glowing green

and yellow with power and love,

delicate, controlled, and full.



Sébastian Maltais & Sebastien Worsnip

I’m writing for The Belgo Report, reviews and updates about what is going on in the biggest art centre in Montreal. My first two pieces were about painting, an encaustic series inspired by  the writings of Camus by Sébastian Maltais and abstract pieces of explosions by Sebastien Worsnip.

camus encaustic painting maltais



Map of Flesh

*note: For archival and other purposes, I’m sharing here my old poetry, most of which was written between 1998 and 2003. Before I turned to painting, my creativity came out in words.*

Map of Flesh


Weaving the red thread through dreams,

wearing the map on my flesh.

One breath into emptiness.

My skin was caught by landmarks,

the points from which a figure

was made and pulled through.

An amphibian summoning

the will to pull itself out of the water

for the first time.

Is it better to wait until it is as easy

as rolling over and lazily opening

one’s eyes from near-sighted red

to the deathlike blinding white?

Points of discomfort tending to pain,

laying on his chest in the dark,

a chain around my neck

and a wig on my head.

I felt the body’s points like marks

on a map, these points were stitches, stones.

And as the flesh collapsed and withdrew,

then spun itself and reformed, these points

remained and became

the foundation of this strange and wonderful

ancient landscape. Our flesh

ceased to matter.

Now neither fish nor flesh,

siamese twins with newly forming legs,

we emerged and floated,

drawn by a light.

My mouth opened

like a void and the flesh swelled

to meet it not

the flesh but the light

and I became a hole.

Wanda Koop and Bonnie Baxter Vernissage at Galerie Division

Last weekend I attended the vernissage of Wanda Koop and Bonnie Baxter at Galerie Division. It was my first time visiting the Arsenal, and I much enjoyed the large, industrial appearance of the space. Galerie Division is long, with high ceilings  and while spacious, there are several spaces to explore, and hallways to walk through.


I had read about Wanda Koop in Canadian Art, and I’ve long appreciated her use of colour and unusual palette. It was delightful to see her works in person.


Bonnie Baxter was new to me, and I was intrigued to know that she resides only a few towns over from me. Perhaps I shall have the pleasure of meeting her someday. Her works are large, painterly and dark, telling a story that I heard reflects her own life. I adored the mysterious narrative.



The Doppelgänger

The doppelgänger (German for “Double-Walker”) is a pervasive theme in my work, deeply rooted in early childhood associations, growing into a symbolic awareness with a strong sense of self-portraiture and autobiography. The sister, or twin figures, are early incarnations of the doppelgänger, the “other”, related, but separate.  This stage is a bridge between the early undifferentiated consciousness of childhood and the cognizance of other people as individuals, often unfathomable and obscure.
This twin often has a darker aspect, a trickster nature, and as the Jungian shadow she is at the same time a guide or teacher.  The works What Little Girls Are Made Of and Forest Sisters deal with this concept, as well as Dance of Salome.  The first painting of the series to show a true doppelgänger was Watching the Wake, in which a girl recognizes her sleeping double—is it a doppelgänger seeing the sleeping self or the self dreaming the doppelgänger?
After acknowledging the otherness of the double, the psyche, when ready for transformation, can internalize the qualities of the twin.   This is the mystical marriage, the merging of opposites initiated by erotic impulse, stirring the soul to absorb the qualities it lacked until then.  The painting Animosity is a double self-portrait, with myself in feminine form, leaning in longing towards the aloof animus figure, myself as a male.  Raising of the Female Waters, in the Mythos series, shows the connection between the male and female figures which elevate and merge in the waters above the female figure in the foreground

This union of opposites is recognized through many myths and religious philosophies—Shekinah as the Shabbat bride, for example. A particularly potent instance is the Shakti force of Tantra, the feminine energy symbolized by a coiled snake at the base of the spine.   She rises through the energy centres to reach her consort, Shiva, at the crown, in a wedding of the male and female principles, in essence, jiva (the individual soul) to Brahman (the ultimate reality).  The symbol of the cross and the Star of David both are said to signify the marriage of above to below, or spirit to matter.   This is where Narcissus was bewitched to fall in love with his own reflection rather than discover the other as Self.   Raising of the Female Waters shows the importance of both the male and female principle, the standing male figure gesturing as if tuning an invisible instrument, which is affecting the underwater female figure, and their psychic counterparts which float together above her.
Out of every spiritual union comes a birth, a joyous creation, but also a separation.  A psychological siamese twin is formed, which grows and separates into another double, potentially stronger and more complete.  Works such as Seven Days Drowned and Torso with Seven Breasts in the Multiplicity series allude to the fecundity of nature, and the multiplicity of creation.  Three Graces shows the figure at the far right as a pregnant version, full, ripe, and serene. The birth which comes out of a psychological synthesis is the foundation for the images of multiplicity in my work.  Multiplicity to me stands for the fruitfulness of life, the creativity of the female principle and the union of opposites, and the fate of souls born to earth.  The self-portrait face in Cat’s Cradle is doubled in one head, siamese twin style.  The girls in the bathtub in Dreams of Deprivation are joined at the hip, busy at their own obsessive compulsive tasks in their dry, fully-clothed bath.  The echo of figures in Dance of Salome creates, in effect, more than one dancer.  The relevance of multiple limbs, multiple heads and breasts comes to me in part from the association to the Hindu gods and goddesses, their omniscience and omnipotence, their existence outside of time shown through the multiplicity embodied in their figuration.  Bringing such themes into the personal, in portraiture, pays homage to the idea of self-realization.  The self exists as many in the world of flesh, and in every separation there is pain, but also growth.
The myths of dismemberment and creation of life out of body parts fascinate me—Osiris’s scattering, his res-erection, Dionysius being torn limb from limb by his worshipers and Eve created from Adam’s rib.
The word schizophrenia means literally, “broken soul,” and if we are all descended from one source, spirit enclosed in a body, would we not feel the pain of such a breach?  Taking a look at the world around us, it would seem so.  Self-Portrait in a Yellow Shirt, and Queen of Hearts betray a mood of fragmentation and over-identification with the body and the suffering and anxiety resulting. The separation of the one into many and the return of the many into the one is a psychological epic adventure described in many great works of philosophy, literature and religious texts, such as the Bhagavad-Gita, the Zohar, Buddhist texts, D.H.Lawrence, Rumi, Book of Enoch and so on.
In this series I seek to make a small tribute to the various stages in the migration and transformations of consciousness. Symbols or themes which  convey this for me have been the mirror, water or the ocean, the serpent, sisters/twins and eroticism.
The serpent has represented a vast many things for most cultures throughout history, but at this stage in my work I am dealing with the serpent as the unconscious, as potential energy, powerful yet dangerous.  The serpent appears in Eve in the Garden wrapped around the ankle of a contemplative Eve who casually displays her nakedness while holding an apple.    In Kings in the Bible the priests break up the snakes that are in the temple, and then they are among the people, causing them harm and death.  God tells Moses to set up a fiery serpent on a staff and this will cure them.  How can the same serpents be worthy of being chopped up and destroyed, but later raised up on a staff for good?  The serpent is the Kundalini, the powerful energy which lays dormant awaiting awakening.
Water carries similar associations, the primordial sea from whence all things come, but also the collective unconscious, the source of all ideas, pf thoughts and life.  The snake and the ocean contain a paradoxical meaning because they also represent the whole, unity.   Waterbearer, Dreams of Deprivation, Mirror Jar, The Source, Seven Days Drowned and Raising of the Female Waters all explore themes of this life-giving and sustaining resource.
The mirror is similar to the doppelgänger in scope—in that we must recognize one’s Self outside of oneself in order to move forward.  To first “see” one must look.  The mirror in Narcissa and Her Echo among other works conveys this idea.
In my paintings the symbols of water, the serpent and the mirror are not potent only as mythological tales but also on the archetypal and psychological levels.  They are specific images which resonated with meaning during the intensely visual and profound experiences on LSD in my youth, images which stuck with me much later in my work.
Like Narcissus, we may see our own reflection in the water, the image of our ego, and, bewitched, fall in love, or we may find we are mired deep underwater, and must emerge into a diluvial landscape in order to evolve our reptile consciousness.
Through eroticism and love, we learn to identify with the Other, and to yearn to experience the bliss of union.  Eroticism speaks through the language of desire, connection, creativity and sensation about the meaning of life.    I use eroticism to express the doppelgänger theme in works such as Women in a Brothel, Mirror Jar, Narcissa and Her Echo, Dream of the Beast, and What Little Girls are Made of.   Often touched by darkness, like life, never unshadowed by pain. Art lovers know that looking at a painting can be a sensual experience.   I seek to create a sense of heightened awareness and intensified attention, similar to the kind which is initiated with the arousal of desire or realizing in a dream that you are dreaming.  In this way I invite you in.