In the mid-1960s when I first attended Montréal’s Ecole des Beaux-Arts, most of us young students struggled to forge some kind of identity for ourselves, either through manner of dress, mysterious behaviour or quirky drawing style. It was a hard thing to do in the light of there being a young woman at the school who already appeared to be a fully-formed genuine ‘artistic article.’ This was the waifish Hannelore Storm. She wore only dark clothes, usually black or grey, black stockings, the only touch of colour was the red cap she wore on her small head, her light-brown hair trimmed in an uneven bob given to her by her Swiss boyfriend (there’s something erotic about having your boyfriend cut your hair and not a hairdresser.) Her work at the time was in the abstract-expressionistic vein and very dark. She knew who she was. But, who could we be? Hannelore was born in Schtetin, Germany (now part of Poland) and her family moved to Montreal some time in the 50s. She married young, 17 I think she said, maybe to get out of the house, the family lived briefly on the South shore before settling in the Kitchener-Waterloo area. Her husband Gunther, also German-born, was a graphic-artist and because he was some years her senior he always seemed like more of a kind uncle or guardian. They were quite poor and lived in a series of broken-down flats in the center of the city. Her Swiss boyfriend also happened to be Gunther’s business partner and somehow they were all fine with this arrangement, very Jules et Jim. Hannelore and Gunther got around town on an old Lambretta scooter. The rest of us still lived at home in suburbs and rode the city buses to school. Her family’s grim experience as displaced-persons in post-war Europe was reflected in her art and and how she lived her life. She was the antithesis of bourgeois and could never be accused of light-heartedness though she could be very cutting and funny. In the late 70s, her more upbeat Quebec co-artists at Studio Graff in Montréal developed the annoying habit of exclaiming ‘c’est l’fun’ upon seeing anything that was either amusing or interesting.. ‘Cest l’fun’.. eh..as-tu vu son truc? c’est l’fun..c’est l’fun..ad nauseum. This expression so grated on her that she ran to her stone and produced a lithograph that screamed out ‘C’EST PAS L’FUN.’ It was very funny.
In the late 60s she went to New York City and worked for a short time as a waitress for Mickey Ruskin at his fabled Max’s Kansas City Bar the fave haunt of NYC’s bohemian nightlifers, its most famous patron being Andy Warhol. Hannelore had all the qualities Mickey R. looked for in his ‘serveuses.’ She was beautiful, thin, European (5☆s for a German accent) and aloof in a angsty sort of way. Somewhere in there, HL (as Dane called her) got a post-grad degree in Seattle before returning to Montreal where she eventually found peace and love with Sid, had daughter France and taught graphic arts for many years at l’Université de Québec à Montréal, all the while working at her art.
Below is a short film I assembled from stock that Hannelore and I shot in either 1973 or 74. (Her 21 year-old brother Christian had just died in a car accident so the atmosphere was charged.) In any case, the premise was that ‘each’ of us would visit the ‘other’ who would be busy at her ‘work.’ She filmed me running along Notre Dame St. East with its wayside cross (a relic from an earlier era,) then we stood in the middle of Papineau St. near Ontario E. in the freezing cold where we got a great view of the big spooky Pont Jacques-Cartier. Later, the voyeurish camera captures her at the drawing table in her apartment with the turret balcony on Guilbault and Clark. The score is Kathleen Ferrier singing Brahms. The text is from the Book of Ecclesiastes “One thing befalleth the beasts and the sons of men; the beast must die, the man dieth also, yea, both must die; to beast and man, the breath is given, and the man is not above the beast; for all things are but vanity.” The 1 min. film was entered in the M60 film festival this past September. The second half of the film where she visits me will be edited down soon. The filming came to a halt when our cat Louis knocked over the old 16mm Bolex that was sitting on a tripod and the parallax correction could never be adjusted again. Sadly, Hannelore left this world just a couple of years ago. Fortunately for us, she was a fairly prolific artist so her work is out there for people to see. She also made a number of experimental films on Super-8, some with her close friend Montreal artist Nancy Petry. Hannelore’s daughter France Suerich-Gulick organized a retrospective of her mother’s work this past Summer at a venue in Pointe St-Charles and I am hoping we will be able to see much more of it soon at some place like the Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal where it certainly belongs.
Memories have come a-floodin’ back on this cold and rainy day so I will post another Hannelore anecdote soon.
OWL lyrics The powerless people at the bottom of the heap in America think that ‘they’ will be empowered if ‘they’ elect someone like Sarah Palin who to all appearances is one of ‘them.’ ‘They’re wrong. She’s not one of ‘them.’ She’s not a stiff. If she were she would never have gotten to Washington (she’s not there yet but she’s on her way unless a suicidal moose decides to take her out on an Alaskan byway) She’s a shrewd, ambitious and brassy back-country woman whose parents are teachers. George Bush likes to pretend he’s one of ‘them’ too. A stiff, that is. Blaming big government. Isn’t he the President? But he’s not one of ‘them.’ He’s a wealthy under-achieving mama’s boy who aspires to the uneducated classes. That’s why ‘they’ love him. ‘They’ love George Bush more than their own children whom he has uncaringly sacrificed in an unjust, poorly planned war. If you can’t love yourself transfer your love to a ‘gleaming’ version of self. George, Sarah. Maybe yielding up one’s child to the Bush war is an act of love after all, an act of kindness when your kid gets his crotch blown apart for Bush & Co. It’s that or working himself to death down the road at three low-paying jobs just to put bad food on the table for his family.
A troupe of carrots act out the recent brouhaha involving a governor and a girl called Kristen. Welcome to the Imperator’s Club for discerning carrots. (I’d been looking for an excuse to use these little guys again.)
Editor’s note: I’ve removed this version and replaced it with the
original WILD CARROTS which can also be accessed from ‘pages’ on the left of blog.
Wednesday, Oct 31 2007
I just spent a very unpleasant afternoon dealing with a coldblooded supervisor at the FIDO EXTORTION NETWORK (Gitmo has nothing on this guy.) They sure know how to TREAT YOU LIKE DOGSHIT. The contract on my phone was up in Aug 2007. They cut my service on Oct 8 cause I didn’t pay the bill so i’ve been without a phone since then and frankly it’s been liberating and a lot cheaper too, or so I thought. I called today to CANCEL THE SERVICE and pay balance up until Oct 8th and they said NO you have to pay for all of Oct plus another month because it says in the fine print I HAVE TO GIVE THEM 30 days notice. I thought the contract had terminated. I stuck to my rant BUT YOU CUT ME OFF without any notice. He said WE SUSPENDED your service. I said I had a DO NOT RESUSCITATE clause. He refused to listen to my argument saying they’re only doing what other communications i.e. the cable company would do (don’t got), I admit I was screaming at this point, and HE SAID DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, I’M NOT YOUR SON ? (my son is not an automaton) and reminded me that he was a TOP SUPERVISOR AT FIDO Telecommunications. I accused him of EXTORTION. He said I was being rude and just for that HE WOULD NOT CANCEL MY SERVICE. Where are we? In the dock in KAFKAKAland is where. His name is SEABASSCHIEN and he’s a PERFECT BITCH. I’d like to see him full of arrows and bleeding to death. I need an archer.(IS IT CROSSBOW SEASON YET?)
Beaux Arrows de La Fleche writes:
So much for wireless freedom. What zimmy calls the hoax of free speech.
I thought negative billing was outlawed after Ted Rogers and his Cable
cabal got caught. I had to argue with Fie Dough to cancel my call
disruption features. They’ve got us by the bells. Have some wine
That superdupervizor siriusly is a discredit to all doggies. Seems like
more of a hydrant to be such a tyrant in need of repaper training.
Does it not occur to the cur that he ought to be helping and not humping
My Ron Gal Away writes:
A Fido farce ? Feydeau Shurely
Sebastian Caput writes:
There’s no ‘we’ in Fido
Those pooches are all hooped.
Actual quote from Ted Rogers to RCI (Fido’s Ma’Bitch) investors as he
announced a 75% rise in third-quarter profits yesterday: “they might
actually find the results boring.”
Cry me a rivulet of urine running off the curb.
Poor cousin Telus Corp. only posted a 28% jump for the same period,
surprise-surprise: “due to increased wireless data revenue” (your bread’s
not crumbs naan, but not sure you’d be better off throwing it in a
different pond of cute goldfish, chameleons, monkeys, or beavers…), and
let’s wememba T actually threatened to buy Ma’Bell a couple of months
ago. Alexander Graham Cracker, get us some pigeons!
Alexandria ON. (an area settled by Highland Regiments) and its insatiable appetite for things military. (especially the steak tartan)
Thursday, Aug 23 2007
Spoke to a yokel yesterday who claims that a search and rescue chopper team, part of the Montebello Summit security escort, made a pit stop on Monday in the parking lot of Tim Whoreton’s to quaff a cuppa javex and use the toilets (I guess they don’t wear disposables like the asstronauts.) This surprise visit impressed the townies no end. During the Great Icestorm of January 1998, when we were without power for 3 weeks, the Canadian Army was camped out in this same parking lot, ostensibly there to dispense emergency supplies to the locals. But some of the town beauties saw a golden opportunity to use Timmy’s convivial atmosphere (had generator) to turn tricks for timbits. I remember seeing one bashful pimply-faced recruit going home? on the arm of a young girl I had once taught to sing old french folk songs. There’s something about a lad in uniform that screams out excitement and danger, even if he is just handing out D cell batteries and bottled water. Ah la guerre!
A sucker for a guy in a kilt and a jimmy cap.
Robert W. ‘Herb’ Service Says:
August 23rd, 2007 at 9:06 pm
There are strange scenes seen on the 417
That would make a Scot turn red
But the strangest sight
On an August Night
As the eagle knights soared past
Were the words that were heard
As the Whirly Birds whirred
As Anzo gave a blast
August 23rd, 2007 at 11:19 pm
itsa surreal neck -o -the – woods out there shirley. I jest herd that the other snowbirds near cornwhal
were infesting ie the ununiformed snowgeese, and that the former farmers were given leave to shoot
5 per day and leave them fallow in the fields to warn off the others. Yet another parimutual manouver.
I just hope that the tropes stationed at camp tim horton here’s a who , for the sake of the health of the
lokels, after rolling up the rim, roll down the ribbed rubber regardless.
August 24th, 2007 at 7:08 pm
the snowbergs flew over today rattling my cage.
what’s this? some kinda promo tour? the law probably says the’ve gotta be twice as loud hear
spruce top parkinsons Says:
August 25th, 2007 at 2:16 pm
ssnowbergs could hae bbine tthe ccause of the metro ffflor prolapsing aatt the bbay.
i’m ssure tthey’ll ffind sumthin tto sell on ttthat new llevel. i ggues the ellevaters
don’t ffit too well now llike the ones hhere. 2 1/2 is where the mmen washrooms r nnow.
yyou have to cliimb up the wwal to get out.
August 26th, 2007 at 1:17 am edit
i’m surprized anyone’s surprized about the Bay’s chicken little
scenario. Why sould anything be different than the olympic stadium. There
seems to be some kind of gravitational force acting on cement here… kind
of reminds me of intelligent design….but none at all. I saw
prezidential hopeful huckabee on the huckster tv> seems charming except that
the charm of evolution-denial wears off pretty fast. Maybe , after the
election is over , he can come here and deny gravity and fix us up with
some new cement high rise cloverleaves. Who are these people and why
aren’t they asylomized…. And why did they change the name of “the
hudson’s bay company” to “the bay”? .. why not just “THE” if they’re going
to shorten it so willy nillilly. See what happens when you cut corners
Monday, Aug 13 2007
ROVING GAMBLER- GYPSY ROVER.
TROVER is legalese for found PLUNDER.
REPBULICAN’s FOLK SONGS? CHENEY COUNTY. I bet Bobby regrets writing John Wesley Hardin.
ROVEin GAMBLER ? Not much of a gamble . UTAH KARL (sic) . Gonna find dem miners IRAQ CANDY MOUNTAIN. It’s enough to make DR. STANLEY ralph (pace zbig I knows it’s your line)
FINAL JEOPARDY 4 MERV.
RIUNITE ON ICE.
Nancy Reagan and JONNY MATHIS IN FLOODS of tiaras
MERV hit it big with LOVELY BUNCH OF COCONUTS ( Not Eva’s).
AMERICAN war effort fuelled by coca ( both nuts & cola.)
The blogosphere slow in august due to PLEIADES & paucity of this & That.
Saturday, Jun 30 2007
the surge is in effect.
i’ve had more hits in one month than the u.s. and coalition have taken in the last year (unsubstantiated.) this is a good thing?
gen. naan, fort braggadacio
Ahmet Amman ( In Reno) writes:
Press on Surges. The Surgin generals report that allah’s swell. Tikrit smell of success
Gen. Naan writes:
Expect unprecedented number of hits, need more bloggy bags.
Ho Chi ‘Coochie’ Minh writes:
Here we are Out of Castanets Pinin’ for the fascists Darning fishing nets Two types a typin Hope they hit ’submit” - cuz i’m runnin outa rime HOKEY’s CAR MICHAEL
I sent one based on a poplar song. it’s done disaparted.Look in da bin of Po’ Belle
i done looked in the po’belle and came up broken-handed.
if it was a poplar thong it must be in the chipper. makes nice horse bedding.
Tuesday, Jun 26 2007
Mercy. Just like driving a streetcar 50 year ago my DREAMS are fulfilled. I’m The BLOG DRIVER. Everythinngs digital but ANNABLOG. Weather Horrid in HUFFINGTOWN . And CELERITY HOUSE moves like my lasses. Whod dis zz keat and naan ? Me want names of feathers . I wish I was LANNING ON DA LAMPOST. MOBY GRAPE navel drip. Aren’we clever with allah dis (Don’t do dat ) voibal dextrosty. It was either me or CLARENCE T. MASS (USSC) . Both well versed in coke tins. WHERE’S MY LINE. KITTY ( U GOTTA HAVE CARLISLE) HART. Why won’t you be on the wood panel ? Tom ain’t postin cuz TOM POSTON crossed Over Jordan outside of Hamilton. Suzanne’s plush dower giver. JEEZ this is hard woik. She’s po’ but not even kind to me ? De Rack of LAMB is ready. I’m looking for JACK LONDON so’s we can do a wolf blitz.
Jun 26, 6:51 PM
gone roar sharking
Jun 26, 6:55 PM
as smooth a waltz as i’ve ever had with a lamé hearse. you’ve done hoofpest proud.
Lord Twee Mure
Earl of Blackberry writes:
Jun 26, 10:07 PM
How dare this parvenu charlatan opine in such an egregious manner. Dare we say that his pecksniffian perorations fallo short of the mark. The Kenyon reviewers have made to many concessions. This stuff is better suited to Murdoch and Fox news. As for the putative opiner above, I believe hymn to be a fifth (Glencampbell) calumnist associated with LOX news. Lowell come back….
Onan the librarian writes:
Jun 27, 8:57 PM
As we read the WIKIPEDIA 60 bits 50 facts 40 bytes 30 tracts you get da pc ture picture of da rinse grey
Rufus Wainwright and his wonderfully wilde and wacky travelling show. (safe for the lactose intolerant) Saturday, Jun 16 2007
June 15 2007
Rufus played the Salle Maisonneuve in Montreal on Thursday night and I think it might have been the best live show I’ve ever seen though I admit a certain bias given the warp and woof of our shared genetic material. He does all his own band arrangements and their musicality and modernity was astounding. It’s an all male show, beautiful sounding horns and duelling electric guitars, Rufus’ voice was in the best of shape and his piano playing was deft, romantic. There lots of testosterone coming from the bass and drums and other good stuff that guys can do like singing really high and really low. No curdled girl back-ups…Prince has cornered that particular cheese market.
Later, driving up the Main, we caught sight of a bride in the back of a cab. Big stiff white veil on head. She was with two friends. We wondered where they might be headed for at 1 a.m..Maybe Toronto? When we pulled up beside them the bride was holding a sign out the window that advertised “I suck for a buck.” Seemed cheap. Those are outsourcing rates. More evidence that Montreal is turning into a third world city. It was all very funny. A huge contrast with Toronto where last week people stood in line for the chance to idolize a big blue crystal that cost over a 130 million loonies.
Rufus asks, ‘Do I Disappoint you?’ Great song. To answer your question, papillonant though you might be, “Never.”
June 16th, 2007 at 7:02 pm edit
never a truer word was ever said. show was amazing. girl backups are still ok though…. haha.
June 16th, 2007 at 8:14 pm edit
June 16th, 2007 at 9:13 pm edit
Wan Raw Dry Guys Says:
June 17th, 2007 at 10:44 am
While I agree with the tenor alto and bass of the original writer, I detect an air of consanguinity mixed with liberal media bias. I think R should record his version ( fair & balanced) of Foxy Lady™ and give it to Senor O’Really. Having sais that, the` show was superlative. I hope that the next tour will see the brass replaced by bongos.
A Song Update Says:
June 17th, 2007 at 4:33 pm
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t Blog Up the Hall