Art for Art


‘Camp, did you hear about the 25cent banana taped to a wall with duct tape that was auctioned off by Sotheby’s in Manhattan as absurdist art? The bid was won by Justin Sun, a crypto entrepreneur, for 5.2 million US dollars plus more than one million in auction-house fees.’ 

            ‘You’re kidding, right? A banana? Duct taped?’

‘Yes, and this is not the first time Mr. Cattelan exhibited and sold a banana, bought a at a local fruit-stand and taped to a wall at an art exhibit.’

Camp just shook his head. ‘And I have trouble selling books for a few dollars which took years to write and produce. 

‘Clare recently went to a Paint Party hosted at the Legion and attended by a score of amateurs. The class included paint, brushes, a canvass and they followed an instructional video by Bob Ross, all for $ 38. She came home with a painting of a woodland theme, proud as a peacock.’

‘Is it art?’

            ‘It was fun and she learned about painting.’

            ‘A painting by Emily Carr from 1912 that was hanging in a barn in the Hamptons and sold for $ 50 and then fetched $ 350’000 at a recent auction in Toronto. Now that is a rare piece of genuine art with a good story and a history.’

            ‘What is the definition of art or is there a consensus of what art is?’ I asked Camp, sure that he would be offering an opinion.

            ‘Here is a definition by Merriam Webster: Art is the conscious use of a skill and creative imagination in the production of aesthetic objects.’

            ‘Why is a banana taped to a wall considered art? It doesn’t meet any of these criteria and yet somebody paid five million bucks for it just to eat it for breakfast.’

            ‘Beats me,’ Camp said. ‘In my opinion art has to inspire. It has to induce a feeling either of joy or controversy; reactions of wonderment or distaste or spurn on a controversy. It can be spontaneous like graffiti or live for centuries like a sculpture or a painting. Take the Lascaux’s prehistoric cave paintings in the Dordogne, France that have been there for 20’000 years or the more recent sculpture of the Gates of Hell by Rodin at the Kunsthaus in Zürich. Both fantastic to behold and yet so different.’

            ‘What about dance or acting. Is that art?’

            ‘Of course. Ballet is an artistic interpretation of stories and fables, as are modern and contemporary dances. Music is art, and so is acting.’

            ‘What about bad or good art, is there such a thing?’

            Camp had to think about that one. ‘I believe it’s up to the beholder or consumer to be the judge of that. Some art like Michelangelo’s David is good art because it is beloved by all as are many paintings and ballets. But a 5million-dollar banana that rots in two days?’ 

            ‘How about two empty glasses of beer on a glass table in front of a scenic harbour view? Could that be an art installation?’

            When Vicky brought about two full foaming mugs of golden liquid, we both agreed that they were pleasing to the eye and inspired pleasure, leisure and comfort. 

            ‘Did you know that a banana taped to a wall is considered art and has just sold for millions of dollars?’ I asked Vicky.

            ‘Why do I get the feeling you want to sell me something?’

            ‘We’re not selling. We’re buying. Liquid art in a glass.’

            ‘You two are totally bananas,’ she said, shaking her head.

A Cold wind is Blowing


November Storms and resulting power outages are normal for this time of year here on the Pacific Northwest Coast. Not like we’re back in the stone age. Still, it’s unsettling when all the lights go out and the house becomes very quiet. No fridge, no heaters, no fans. Also, no TV, no Wifi. We have a wood fire, candles a bbq and each other. Actually, it’s almost a welcome pause from the incessant noise all around us. But it’s not the November winds that make me shiver, it’s the cold wind blowing up from the south., all the way from Florida and Washington D.C.

When I walked into our pub Camp was already at our usual table, intent on his silly phone, nursing a pint.

‘What’s the latest Camp?’ Did I really want to know?

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From Paradise to Hell


Django and Sharma knew the storm was coming. The warnings were on the radio, on the telly and all over social media. First it was a tropical storm, then a hurricane and then the categories escalated from 1 to 4 and it was tracking right on target to their little windward island. No escaping it at that point. Everybody who had the means and the foresight had already left for Trinidad or Barbados.

            ‘What should we do, where do we go? The church or your uncle’s house? He has a concrete basement and it will be safe,’ Django said.

            ‘The church will be safe because it’s the house of God,’ Sharma insisted. Suddenly her faltering belief in the almighty was restored in the face of the fury and anger of the oncoming storm.

            ‘It has only a tin roof but your uncle Polo’s house is concrete and has a utility basement. Let’s go there.  It will be safe. There will also be fewer people there and he did invite us,’ Django insisted. He was the older one and being the man, he pulled rank and made the practical choice for them. They gathered up some personal stuff like their phones and some clothes, a machete and whatever dry foods they had. Some rice and pasta, cans of tomatoes, sardines and a couple of papayas. A last look around their small wooden house, with the hammock out front between two palm trees. The ocean was stirred up with whitecaps and had taken on a greyish hue. The air was hot and still, humid and quiet. The palm leaves waved leisurely in the slight wind that seemed to come from all directions. An ominous and eerie feeling hung in the air with high, fast-moving cirrus clouds the colour of wheat. 

            Dolores and Jami were already sheltering at Polo’s house. Both of them were from the main island but had been living here for a few years now. They were a musical duo, him on guitar and her on saxophone. Dolores also had a sweet, clean voice. They made a meagre living playing some local gigs in the winter when the tourists and yachties crowded the beach bars and the rest of the time they took whatever local jobs they could snag. Jami even tried his hand at fishing but had to give it up because he was prone to sea sickness. ‘I can’t fish when I’m constantly throwing up,’ he said to Dolores who had taken on some cleaning work for a couple of the rich white folks on Resurrection Hill. 

They lived in a wooden house near the small airport which was basically a big one room shack with a kitchen in one corner and a table with four chairs in the adjacent one. A couple of old assorted chairs with an antique steamer trunk for a coffee table functioned as the living room. A folding partition separated their bed from the rest of the house. There was an outhouse at the back and a shipping container full of instruments they had collected over the years. Acoustic guitars and hand drums, typical of the island; a couple of old electric pianos, a Roland and a Yamaha, some percussion instruments and even a simple drum kit a rock band had left behind. They were hoping to turn their small house into a music school for the kids on the island. Something they had planned to do for a long time. The stashed whatever valuables they had into the container, their PA and amps, their laptop and tablet, a couple of carved African masks, Dolores’ party dress and some pots and dishes they had bought over the years, hoping they would be safe. 

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Wakeup Call


            To top off the November blues, the short dark days and frequent rains, there is now the stunning re-election of Trump, defying all polls which are notoriously wrong.

‘Well Camp, what was your reaction?’

‘Stunned, dismayed but not surprised. Fact is: Americans want Trump with all his faults, lack of integrity, character and respect. They got what they deserve.’

 ‘But what about the rest of the world? Is that it, Camp. Simple as all that?’

Camp shrugged his shoulders. ‘I looked at the demographics of the electorate where we see that Trump gained especially amongst Hispanic men, up 18% from 2020 while the Democrats lost 15%, even amongst Latino women Trump gained 7%. Young voters, the GenZ, shifted away from Harris towards Trump by 7% and from those who never attended college Trump gained 8% of the votes. And the glass ceiling is stronger and made of sterner stuff then everybody thought.’

‘It wasn’t just a squeaker but a decisive victory. Trump even won the popular vote. It’s what you call a slam dunk.’

‘Yeah, I think he even surprised himself.  The good news is: There is now no need for any street violence, and no need for insurrection or lawsuits to challenge the election. He’s won this time around in a secure and legal election and we’re all suffering from a mental shock. And the stock markets are going up.’

‘But people will die because of Trump,’ I said. ‘Ukrainians, Palestinians, pregnant teens. Families with undocumented members will be torn apart. Project 25, Bannon’s baby, will tear down the guard rails of institutions. Obama care will be eliminated leaving millions of people without healthcare. But hey, there are already a lot of people who think that Trump is not as bad as we made him out to be, that it’s the democrats that have to look in the mirror, change their ways.’

‘You may be right. I also think he’s trouble for the world. It’s good vs. evil. It’s not just the Donald but the people gathering around him like at a royal court, curtsying and licking his boots.’ 

‘Not just his boots, I think. Bring on the jesters and troubadours.’

They can now do whatever they want since they flipped the senate, will most likely regain the house of representatives and have the presidency, as well as the Supreme Court.’

‘We’ll see if he does what he said. Like impose massive tariffs on everything that enters the US; demolish and dismantle the country’s intelligence agencies, part of what he calls the deep state; mass deportations of the undocumented which will send a wave of asylum seekers north to Canada. And of course, he said he would end the war in Ukraine and the Middle East with a few phone calls within 24 hours.’

‘There will be internment and deportation camps, trans national agreements will be ripped up and business will not be as usual between Canada and the US.’

‘Let the speculations begin. We’ve already entered a new aera of polls and surveys, predictions and possible outcomes.’

‘Makes me want to get off this never ending merry-go-around.’

‘Or get involved with our local politics. Don’t forget, we have a conservative tsunami building right here in Canada with a leader, Poilievre, who is more like an Avatar than a flesh and blood human being. As Obama says: Do something!’

‘Here in Canada the colours are reversed from the US. The conservatives are blue while the liberals are red. One thing is for sure. Trudeau has overstayed his welcome and is past his expiry date. He needs to step off the stage before he gets swepted off by a blue wave.’

‘I don’t think he knows how to step out of the limelight. Growing up in the prime minister’s household, surrounded by the trappings of power, he’s never known anything different then being the center of attention.’

‘Maybe the Trump doctrine will shock Canadians enough to reconsider a lurch to the right.  Mind you we already have our homegrown reactionary conservatives in Alberta and just narrowly avoided a right-wing takeover here in British Columbia.’

‘It’s a crazy world and we’ll head into some interesting times.’

Our beers were empty and Vicky was spot on with our refills.

‘What do you think of Trump’s win?’ I wanted to know.

‘I think it’s sad. I was rooting for Harris but the bully has won.’

Divided by Choice


‘The difference between the two main parties has never been this great and the chasm that separates their world view never that deep. What’s going to happen next week, after the US election?’ I asked Camp who ambled in, deposited his coat over the chair and took a load off his feet. Must be tiring standing on your feet all day long I thought.

            ‘No matter who wins it will be chaos. If Trump wins, the groan of defeat will be heard all over the world. If Harris somehow squeaks in, the thumping and yelling, the lies and the shouts of anger from the MAGA crowd will be deafening.’

            ‘You think there will be violence? Will the defeated take up arms, smash their way into the news and TV screens into our homes?’

            ‘Well, the Trump crowd will not go quietly into the night. They will cry foul with their chief cheerleader the loudest. With Harris, she will be magnanimous, knowing there will be another day and she will have another chance in four years. What scares me is that windsock J.D. Vance, one cheeseburger and one heartbeat away from the presidency, should Trump somehow win this crazy contest.’

            ‘I’m almost afraid to watch,’ I said. ‘Maybe we’ll just tune in to another episode of ‘Murder in a small Town’, the L.R. Wright TV series that was filmed here last year. It shows up Gibsons just like it is and we like the main characters.’

            ‘Yeah, I haven’t had a chance to watch. Puts our little town on the map. Should be good for tourism. I could sure use more customers at the store.’

            We both looked out at the grey, blustery water for a beat.

            ‘I have a confession to make,’ I said, hoping that Camp would be easy on me.

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