We rented bicycles and got in a good workout while exploring the terrain.
Toronto Islands, Toronto, Canada. June 2016.
Boardwalk, Toronto Islands, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
There's touristy stuff a-plenty on the islands, but there's also a village community.
Village cottage on Toronto Islands, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
A narrow black-top in the village swings a generous curve, where there are well-tended garden beds on the island edge, framing views of the Toronto skyline across the water.
Toronto skyline from Toronto Islands, Toronto, Canada. June 2016.
Toronto skyline from Toronto Islands, Toronto, Canada. June 2016.
Toronto skyline from Toronto Islands, Toronto, Canada. June 2016.
Toronto skyline from Toronto Islands, Toronto, Canada. June 2016.
A little further past this bend and the foliage gives way to rocks and a wide-open view of the city.
Toronto skyline from Toronto Islands, Toronto, Canada. June 2016.
Toronto skyline from Toronto Islands, Toronto, Canada. June 2016.
Toronto Mass Choir, Jazz Festival 2016, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
I am a sucker for the union of many voices. How many eons of humanity are there in which we have curled the sounds we can make with our throats, mouths, tongues, and the manipulation of air through our lips - in unison or in harmony - to effect a communal one-ness?
In listening to gospel music specifically, it evokes for me strength, surrender, hope, determination, acceptance, love, exuberance, action, declaration, courage, unity.
I like the peace in the original artwork and in the quiet looking upon the artwork. The contemplator's head is slightly tilted, like the little girl's.
One of my favorite paintings at the AGO is below. It's by William Kurulek. I can't decide which photographic version I prefer, and I don't have to.
William Kurulek, Home on the Range, AGO, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
William Kurulek, Home on the Range, AGO, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
Exterior stair, AGO, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
When Sandy and I visited the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO), we entered through the front door. On the opposite side of the museum, where the staircase (in the above photo) hangs suspended from the building like a King Kong on the Empire State Building, there was a construction zone that restricted access to this side of the museum campus.
Exterior stair, AGO, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
It was only through a photo series about the AGO design that I saw the above stair structure depicted, and the very first image that came to my mind was of a skeletal profile of a jutting jaw with teeth. Fascinating! I had to find this and see it for myself! My God - Cyclops-sized chomping teeth outside an art museum!
Exterior stair, AGO, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
Sandy indulged me on at least two occasions in visiting the edge of the barricaded Grange Park so I could try to get my own photos. Once in late afternoon and once in the evening. A construction fence created an unhappy barrier to my quest.
Exterior stair, AGO, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
When I mentioned to an architect acquaintance that I'd visited the AGO and uttered Mr. Gehry's name, it triggered a wondrous fire-and-brimstone sermon against the Satanic force that is Gehry and others of his aesthetic persuasion, which is godless. I was impressed.
On the other hand, you can move beyond a few moments in time, as depicted above, to a fuller story as told through Sydney Pollock's 2006 documentary, Sketches of Frank Gehry, below:
Galleria Italia, AGO, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
Some museums in Toronto offer free admission on certain days and times. The Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) is one of those museums, and Sandy and I took advantage one evening, early. We followed a guided tour that covered the museum highlights.
When we walked through the Galleria Italia, I gasped.
Galleria Italia, AGO, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
Galleria Italia, AGO, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
Galleria Italia, AGO, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
Galleria Italia, AGO, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
Galleria Italia, AGO, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
The best work of art in the entire museum, made all the better because your body and its shadow become part of the installation when you walk through it, sit in it, stand in it.
I had to know - who designed this magical ship of light and lines, the Galleria Italia?
Functional art, Lawrence West Station, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
In Subway, Part 2, I'll describe a most startling, fantastical experience on Toronto's subway system.
But for now, I want to share this bit of functional art at the Lawrence West Station that I still find so seductive.
There's both symmetry and asymmetry. Circles, loops, parallel lines, squares, vertical seams, and that line and pedestal of red at the bottom. There's wood, cement, metal, wiring. There's cold and warmth. Monochrome and color. Matte and shine.
Whole-headed chicken, Chinatown, Toronto, Ontario. June 2016.
In Toronto, you gotcher chickens:
Whole-headed
Half old
Black
Air-chilled
"Half old." Refers to the sale of half of a chicken that was old? Or refers to a whole chicken that was middle-aged? Or adolescent?
Half old chicken, Chinatown, Toronto, Ontario. June 2016.
Ah, I thought, when I saw the black chicken. I've seen this before on Food Channel's Chopped.
Black chicken, Chinatown, Toronto, Ontario. June 2016.
And then there was the "air-chilled" chicken:
Air-chilled chicken, downtown Toronto, Ontario. June 2016.
The "air-chilled" chicken label puzzled me. A euphemism for formerly frozen? Or simply refrigerated and never frozen? But I have since educated myself and, holy giblets, who knew?
Although most of the Toronto Jazz Festival venues were outdoors, such as at Phillips Plaza, there were several smaller events tucked into various Toronto nooks and crannies.
An upscale department store, Holt Renfrew, was one such nook. My two take-aways from that experience:
The enjoyable performance Jane Bunnet and Hilario Duran delivered to an appreciative audience; and
Holy mother fuckity-fuck, are you serious that the pretty skirt I saw on sale for an incredible 75% off or something like that was originally priced at many hundreds of dollars, so even at 75% off, it was absurdly expensive? It wasn't as if the materials or colors or design warranted such a grotesque price; I can't even remember what it looked like. I confess that this sort of profligate commerce offends my plebeian sensibilities.
Below is a piece by Jane Bunnet and Hilario Duran at Holt Renfrew:
Setting aside the channeling of my malcontent Irish forebears who likely shook their fists impotently against the robber barons .... Jane Bunnet and Hilario Duran ... they were a fresh musical breeze to whisk away the cares of the world.
Dancing at the Harbourfront, Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.
My God, I love the photo above.
Yeah, I know, the dance instructor's feet are lopped off at the bottom.
But look at the movement in this photo, the color, the facial expressions.
The showmanship of the instructor - magnificent!
After I finish looking him up and down and sideways, my eyes go to the woman in the blue dress, which hugs her just right, whose body slants diagonally, as does her purse strap, as does the placement of her feet - and her side-eye over to the instructor - all marvelous.
Then I admire the sunset-painted toes of the woman on the right, with her luxuriously thick hair, with those latte stripes, so pretty.
Life is good on this fine evening along Lake Ontario.
Tattoo exhibit, Royal Ontario Museum, photo of Fang-od Oggay. June 2016. Photo by Jake Verzosa.
Fang-od Oggay, the subject of the photo above, is a beautiful woman. The above photo was on a super-sized poster outside the ROM (Royal Ontario Museum), enticing passersby to visit the exhibit called Tattoos: Ritual. Identity. Obsession. Art.
The woman as photographic subject pulled me in, as did the dappling of light on the picture.
Below are a couple of other photos of Fang-od Oggay:
Fang-Od Oggay with a man she just tattooed. Credit: Mawg64
I should look so good when I'm 100 years old. Not to mention being so physically and occupationally active.
A number of tattoo connoisseurs make pilgrimages to Fang-Od Oggay in order to get a tattoo from her. Here and here and here are three such stories.
But this post is about art, specifically about who "owns" the art. Well, ownership is part of it, but it's more than that. It's about this question: Who is the artist?
For example, I am featuring Fang-od Oggay in this article. Am I the artist? No. I think it's clear I am not presenting myself as an artist in this article. I am clearly presenting someone else's art.
But whose?
I am featuring a photograph, taken by a professional photographer, whose work was used in an international art exhibit, of Fang-od Oggay, who is wearing the art created by another tattoo artist.
Is the photographer (in this case, Jake Verzosa) the artist? After all, he created the photograph, selecting the subject, the pose, the decision to wear/not wear clothing items, the light, the focus, the crop, the frame, etc. He presumably sold the photo - or the rights to the photo usage - to the exhibitor, as a product of his creativity and skill.
Or is Fang-od Oggay the artist, as the wearer/owner of the art and as a tattoo practitioner in her own right?
Or is the person who placed the tattoos onto Fang-od Oggay the artist?
It's not my intent to single out Mr. Verzosa in any way - it's a universal question I have when we photograph another person's art and then present our photo as a creative product in itself.
The Uncle Tetsu's Not Taken, Toronto, Canada. Summer 2016.
What to Torontonioans stand in line for?
Sweet Jesus and cheesecake, that's what.
Hmmm, writing this brings back a cringe-worthy memory of me standing in line years ago for a recreational food item. It was at the Olean Testical Festival. And the food item was fried turkey testicles. The vendor's supply couldn't keep up with the demand, hence the long line. I stood in line for my measly serving of crispy turkey testicles for an hour. Hopefully, not something I would do today.
Sweet Jesus
Sweet Jesus is an ice cream, pretty much. It's a soft serve with stuff on it. The lines for this ice cream are insanely long.
Sweet Jesus has legions of disciples, but there are always Thomases and Judases in the mix. Here's one such disgruntled from the Globe and Mail, written by Chris Nuttall-Smith. It is a masterpiece of disdain. An excerpt:
The El Chapo cone at Sweet Jesus, a
shark-jumping, lineup-clogged soft-serve ice cream phenomenon just north
of King Street West, on John Street, presents like a medical exhibit
from the lost causes cabinet of a journeyman Victorian-era surgeon.
Bulbous and misshapen, the cone is dipped in what tastes like Dollarama
clearance bin chocolate, be-drizzled with spasms of sauce and rolled in
deep-fried pork skin. Its most prominent colour is a looming,
viruliferous brown.
The experience of eating that cone, which
Sweet Jesus promoted around Cinco de Mayo earlier this month, is a lot
how I imagine it’d feel to slurp on a stick of freezer-burned margarine
dipped in Nestle Quik and week-old bacon drippings. As for the wisdom of
celebrating one of Mexico’s most beloved national holidays with a paean
to the country’s most murderous drug lord, I’m slightly less certain,
though I do look forward to the launch of Sweet Jesus’s Maurice (Mom)
Boucher cone this Canada Day.
I don't know if Sweet Jesus is any good, according to my tastes. Didn't try it. But it sure knows how to market itself.
Uncle Tetsu's Japanese cheesecake, Toronto, Canada. June 2016.
Uncle Tetsu's Japanese cheesecake
Sandy, friend Heloise, and I spent an afternoon together, poking around Toronto neighborhoods. Sandy had an envie to try out the madly-popular Uncle Tetsu's cheesecake. We arrived at one of the Uncle Tetsu locations, where I was intrigued to see there were two Uncle Tetsu storefronts side by side. One pink and one green. One had a very long line out onto the sidewalk; the other didn't.
I had no interest in the long line for cheesecake in front of the pink storefront, so I walked into the green one, thinking maybe this was an alternative highway to the cheesecake heaven for my friends. But no, the green store offered different goods. Something related to "matcha," about which I knew nothing. After understanding there was no cheesecake here, I opted for a bright green matcha ice cream cone.
Unremarkable flavor but pretty color.
Sandy and Heloise succeeded in buying the cheesecake. Later, over lunch, in one of Toronto's underground warrens, they tried same and pronounced it ... good but not particularly noteworthy.
Below is an entertaining video from Taiwan about the popularity and the making of Uncle Tetsu's Japanese cheesecake:
The remark from one customer offers much insight: "I saw a lot of people lining up, so I lined up too."
Holy heck. I think if I were a new business, I might pay people to line up for my goods for this very human reaction.
And before I go to some sort of dismissive thought about any herding instinct of us humans, I remind myself of when my daughter and I took a road trip from Missouri to Alaska. Always on the lookout for big animals such as bears, moose, or elk, if we saw a vehicle pulled over on the side of the road, we'd at times also pull over just in case its inhabitants had seen something.
But I must know. What did the Globe and Mail's Chris Nuttall-Smith have to say about Uncle Tetsu's cheesecake? He didn't disappoint, building suspense almost to the very end before he pronounces his verdict. I won't spoil it for you, other than to note that Mr. Nuttall-Smith had observed the same phenomenon as quoted in the video: "Hype breeds hype: A lot of the people in the line both times I’ve been
were in the lineup because of the lineup. They wanted to know what all
the fuss was about."
We're all willing to queue for an hour or longer for something, I suppose. What am I willing to stand in line for?
My hostess, Sandy, and I walked over to Toronto's Chinatown several times, either looking for groceries or passing through to somewhere else.
This little flyer art - what else does one call it? I don't know - was affixed to a shop window with outsized fresh apples, oranges, and grapes - surely juicy and sweet, all of them - alongside someone's graffitti.
I Love You Still. Chinatown, Toronto, Ontario. June 2016.
"I love you still."
The drawing and message, so simple, but troubling. Or sweet. Or sweetly troubling. Or troublingly sweet. I've looked at the drawing and its message many times. It continues to tantalize. Is it a message of love or a message of worrisome subjugation?
The juxtaposition of the provocative drawing and the straightforward fruit reminds me of a window in a cafe in Rodeo, New Mexico. Salvation? Or pie?
Over the course of my series on Toronto, I think you may come to the same conclusion I did: Notwithstanding its tame veneer, there is something just a little whack about Toronto.
I present Exhibit A, to wit:
I've seen many cities and towns that sponsor art events that focus on a particular animal or object. A few examples:
