Published since 2002, an Ocean and Pounds publication
by Kai Chan
"Like an Onion - Looking at myself at the End of 2020 #6 “, 2020, ink on paper, 28 x 22 cm
From the Notebooks (2010-2021)
by Gary Michael Dault
From the Notebooks, 2010-2021.
Number 70: A Possible Portrait of
Blaise Cendrars, April 3, 2020.
by Fiona Smyth
Yesterday Hong Kong
by Yau Leung
Tung Lo Wan, Tang Lung Street
Gelatin silver photograph, 11x14 inches
Work year 1964, printed in the nineties
Signed on verso by the artist
Selected from YESTERDAY HONG KONG (yesterdayhongkong.com)
YESTERDAY HONG KONG - a collection of photographs taken before or around 1997, the same year when Hong Kong was returned to China, since ceded to the Britain in 1842. Selected from the archives of Lee Ka-sing and Holly Lee, the YESTERDAY HONG KONG suite is mainly built around the silver photographs of Hong Kong in the 60s and 70s, taken by three veteran Hong Kong photographers: Yau Leung (1941-1997), Ngan Chun Tung (1927-2005) and Mak Fung (1918-2009). They were represented by Lee Ka-sing during their lifetimes. The collection also extends to the 90s, with additional work by contemporary photographers, and artifacts such as vintage publications and early postcards. Fading memories, changing times, a host of golden-era memorabilia.
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Night Owl Sonata (in one movement) written by Holly Lee / DUET - Twenty three diptychs (2021) Lee Ka-sing
Poem a Week
by Gary Michael Dault
PERSONAL PINK BUDDHA
my personal pink Buddha
sits lightly on a pink cushion
in case of wandering sheep
he faces the night
like an old hand
in the depths
of the dark
he is as immaculate
my personal Buddha
is as pink as bubble gum
as a little girl's bedroom
but my pink Buddha
can rise red to the occasion
be angry as sunrise
when the air leaks out of his peace
OCEAN POUNDS online exhibition
Drawings by Shelley Savor
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by Shelley Savor
by Cem Turgay
by Madeleine Slavick 思樂維
加油 | we shall overcome | kia kaha, Lockdown triptych (2020)
Travelling Palm Snapshots
by Tamara Chatterjee
Madagascar (March, 2010) – Often when I think back to my travels; it's the unexpected characters, I happened to chance upon that spring back to mind. In Brevo; the children broke the shield of hesitation through their inherent inquisitive nature. The day started with a few curious creatures, it ended however with a larger entourage initiating us into their world for a few brief moments.
by Malgorzata Wolak Dault
like a rose
a threadbare soul
coordinated by Kamelia Pezeshki
A Relationship in Quarantine by Elsa Hashemi, 2020
Laid off from work,
Locked down at home,
Nowhere to go,
No one to meet,
Just me, my studio, and everything inside it…
This was exactly when my gazing series started!
I began realizing what objects I was surrounded with,
And got fascinated with their shape, style, color and function.
Even a single spot on the wall started to look significant to me!
So, my relationship with my surroundings started;
And every single day I discovered something new around me,
And I realized what an important role it could have in my life…
That was why I never felt lonely in Quarantine…
The more I kept gazing at my surroundings, the more I felt they were gazing back at me!
STAY WITH ART. INDEXG B&B
Located on the second floor of an art space, INDEXG Bed and Breakfast has 4 guest rooms, all with ensuite bathroom. Since 2008, INDEXG B&B have served curators, artists, art-admirers, collectors and professionals from different cities visiting and working in Toronto.
50 Gladstone Ave, Toronto
Leaving Taichung Station
by Bob Black
-excerpt from Abacus of Ordinary Things
Two Country Boys At Flight
Alit, my brother and I built our speed from wood and wheel and hammered it clacking,
Pulley’d up a hill strung higher than the gawking birds judging upon wires
Excited as much from ambition as gradient,
Until the breath excited from anticipatory plunge counted and we gulped before the striding
And then it came, the leap--
Wheel’d bellies past the cows grazing as blurry smudges lowered in the salt-block built valley,
And we cantered wobbly and algebraically awkward, spinning and depth-dropping
Until, like Icarus, we had shot ourselves out into the air,
The rise below rocketing shadow and shorn, darting toward our reckless falling
And the mirage of home shot across our vision and tumbling bodies wobbled by a patchworked wheel,
Cowlicked cheeks, abrazed palms, creek-soaked limbs and some giddy hope reaching outward
Over the pitched gravel and all we had earlier imagined:
Of the air, of the parabola of the soft dent in the hill, of the me carving into you
And there we went flying, defiant of gravity and any worked-out grace,
The goodness and care our parents had little clue was under assault in the tumbling--
These children, if not disruptors then what to make of their alignment and daring?--
That one misaligned, barnacled moment caught upon the ambition of two restless brothers
Came clicking like a marble beside the acrobatic skidding,
The stone-tip, the wiggled and the wearied, the physics of a road, speed and impatient daring.
And so we went away, for an instant,
(Count it as your own)
My brother and I shot out along the dampened macadam, ochre with the splintered wood falling away
And the skin peels slowly blackening from the pavement's tar
The giddy bodies' blood and scraped toss
Left momentarily imprinted upon a warm country road
And then the rest, abrupt in its unexpectedness,
Wings burned and bent against the mirroring waves mirage'd in the summer swelter.
A forlorn bend in the land, an aching pasture of geography, full and complete,
And two country boys suddenly
Flight and filament broken by rust and rain long before that clear, resplendent afternoon flagged:
An old dream dislodged, our broken laughter level to the distance,
We tossed about as hope, gambled our fading as flight
And then the cicadas prattling and the spun shoe laces and the dragging for an instant the beat of
their two hearts.
An old, manufactured board dislodged from the corner of a cobwebbed farmhouse,
An older calculus,
Aswirl and ascending.
And that is all it took, you know. The Tick. The Tact,
The mess and the flight, turbined and yelping.
All it took, all of sudden taken back, was
Those two country boys,
Galloping their bodies against one another and between the day,
And the going, as I know you know,
Tins and kettles and rain and harnesses: knees and elbows peeled back as old school curtains
Between time and a splintered cantilever of a dare that led to
their ambitions turned upon a triangular spit.
The hill rising,
The sky descending in tumbolt, as they loosened all things
A chamber of sitting moments,
The lexical makeup of the moving,
The syntax of the clipped—the knees bruised, the sky flecked by your spinning
The catacomb of settled things,
Do you recall our unbuckling?
And so we went,
Our mad boy-made galloping
A place's mad pressing and the pulling we were set upon
So long ago,
And now in the cartwheel of your son’s spinning past the open door,
And my own's scampering over a vocabulary richer then both of what we could have imagined.
Is it not understood as such?
Long ago, that Summer day where we both loved and lost for a moment our own spent bodies
And caught in each other's eyes, and unkempt extremities fallen, the embarrassment of a shared lapse and
For much later we understood the recklessness that had set up the winding
Blessed and fortunate and yet unremarkable
And what it came down to was that
Brothers bruised and basic had
Set off in the white August day
And the rest had
for: Damon, Dima and Nate
Published on Mondays, with columns by Artists and Writers
Published since 2002, an Ocean and Pounds publication
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