a minor rant

When one sees incompetence it usually manifests itself in one situation. There is a balancing out with other aspects done well – or at least with an attempt to do it well.

Then there is The Rooms. They must be trying to write the book on how to not have a clue. I was prepared as when I tried to find out when Kennedy was talking I couldn’t find it on the website nor were there any listings anyplace. I had to ring. When I went to the walk around talk I had to explain to those coming frantic that there would be no seats that we would follow Kennedy and Pratt around the gallery while they talked about the work.


Head back to town and park at The Rooms. I was invited to stop down by Ray who was going and I reckoned that this would be a time to chat one last time. I knew that I was early it was 7PM the opening wasn’t until eight but the place was dark, and the doors locked. Worrying, I ask someone who is trying to get in if there is an opening.

He doesn’t know. He asks the guard who opens the door who states that it is for invitees only.

I walk to the Duke confused.

The Duke is packed, Friday night. Wonder about The Ship Inn. John is at the bar, Marion comes in later, Clyde is playing pool, recognise other people. Terry is frantic, the woman who didn’t feel comfortable posing when all of St. John’s has seen her nekkid was telling people that there are no more pint glasses.

I get a pint of Guinness, find a – relatively – quiet corner and read The Globe. About eight I head back up the hill, and head to the information desk.

- I am confused. I hear there was an opening tonight but when I came earlier a guard said that it was by invitation only.
- No it is not it is open to everyone. He was wrong.
Go into a minor rant.

Climb the heights to the Provincial Art Gallery – catchy name eh? – to see the work – video portraits of famous authors sitting in front of a camera that only really allows a head shot. They were asked questions but the video is silent. We watch them squirm for 5 minutes.

This is not a review of the work – which probably wouldn’t have made it into a juried student show – but the handling of it by the curators – one is racing off to Mount Allison University in Sackville NB without out telling anyone. The powers that be found out about it via the Mt A. website.

It is video. The room is lit as if they were painting, photos anything that that doesn’t emit its own light.

The whole exhibition seems to be setup on the idea of isn’t this cool as there is no usual explanation of what is here – again process. If this were a painting it would say, perhaps. oil on canvas. It is self evident but not really, no indication of duration of the videos, if they were loops, etc. The rooms are supposed to be a learning institution.

It gets worse. Behind the main room there is a show of artists books. In the usual ironic but understandable manner of display – thick plexi one page open all of which screaming do not touch. Last week people were leaning against the Mary Pratt paintings.

Again on the surface the gallery looks great clean graphic text on the wall with excerpts about artists books – except it really doesn’t say anything.

I look at the books and again nice anecdotes but minor details like how it was made, edtioning, if the text/photos were offset, gravure, letterpress seemed to them to be irrelevant. In some they hadn’t even bothered to remove the provincial library sticker from the cover.

The exhibition was almost useless. I cannot imagine the two local artist bookmakers being pleased with this except that the work is at the Rooms.

Someone made the mistake of asking me what I thought.

But I went as it was a last chance to see people and I saw more than I expected as there was a Woody Point contingent there some hoping to see Wayne Johnston.

I can see how I am becoming typecast here by whom people associate me with.

I am sure Clyde only said a quick hello at the bar because again there was no 30 something blond behind me but my evil twin seems to think it is also due to my association with him.

At the opening one person kept a safe distance due to some recent backstabbing of a friend but seemed shocked when I was speaking with all these other people whom I have met by my constant wanderings. I love baffling people like this.

Has enough. Didn’t even have the wine and munchies, which looked quite good in the café next door which was more crowded than the gallery – glad that peoples’ priorities are in the right place. Headed back to Pouch. Thinking to myself that I actually like Route 20.

The day started out with the beginning of closing things down.
Got stuck in the snow photographing Shoe Cove Pond and again trying to get out of a parking spot in Gower Street.

Headed into town to give the tanks back to Ray. In the process the next time I am up I have the use of the College of The North Atlantic’s darkroom.

Imagine that a school and one that specialises in commercial work, actually reinstalling a darkroom, backward bloody baymen. It seems that they take more to heart the theory that my much vaunted department only pays lips service to – dealing with all aspects of photography.

It is he that invites me that evening. I think twice for it means heading out to Pouch then coming back in.

I head over to Baird mère’s place to pick up my pullover and some laundry.

-I won’t invite you in as I am heading out to have my hair done.

The plan then is to make some kamikaze runs – those little outings that endear me to people below the 49th parallel but not those residing in Virginia.

Headed over to Ray’s place and dropped a snap in his box and later I would do the same with the other photographer that whose show I saw.

First I was going to pick up Thaddeus’s book at the Rooms but since I was going to be there that evening… the bookshop was closed during the opening more sound economic thinking.

Angela passed me in her machine as I was walking up Prescott Street, I race down to try to catch up with her but as I near the car, the light changes and she disappears down Water. Now that I am on Water, I decide to stop in at Christina Parker’s Gallery.

- it is January and you are here.
She doesn’t want to talk about the rooms but will be there this evening. Look at the work chat about Chicago as it seems she has a daughter living there.

I start to wander Brine Street past Ned Pratt’s place photographing not so much NFLD formalism but having Signal Hill peep into the frame whenever possible, some street furniture and shops, a convenience which was once owned by the evil twin, a bar and a strange window display.

Bought a Globe for later.

Picked up my film from Dominion
-you should buy a digital camera.
-why?
-you’d save money on development.
-then you wouldn’t have a job.

I plan to make it back in time to photograph up and down more hills and get back to a image that could be made better but it was already 4PM and the light was waning.

- hey camera man some kids yell
- hey sledding kids.
Headed over to Elke’s to try to photograph the tree once more. She told me that they are playing pond hockey up behind Noseworthy’s Hill. Great now that I am leaving and it is dark.

Head down to see the evil twin but the door is locked on the way meet and photograph Eric and Warren who are at the town hall chatting to each other through their car windows. Eric – or Warren – owns one of the rooms by where I am staying on Ted Sullivan’s land – cannot figure out if this is a hint that it is for sale or not but it would have to be a small house.

Would be more depressed if I weren’t busy.

I finish off two more rolls of film to drop off at Dominion when I head in which leaving the opening early I can pick up.

Night cap – Guinness and Keith’s Light – have to watch my figure - at the Pipe House.

Possible breaking news but I cannot say anything until 1 February – after I am away.

The 100k/h winds that were predicted have started but not the rain.