In anticipation of an upcoming trip to the City of Light, I have immortalized my favourite place in the world - Paris - as part of my series of vintage travel poster designs. New merchandise also available in my shop:
Bi-Way
It’s hard to remember the Canadian retail landscape of thirty years ago.
It was a world before Amazon and online shopping.
A world in which Wal-Mart ceased to exist but Zellers stood as a reliable, respectable brick-and-mortar to purchase everything from dish soap to dog food to Zeddy (I had one)—everything, that is, but extensive groceries. Traditional supermarkets still had that role.
Malls were more of a destination too; “retail parks”, basically unenclosed shopping centres that force vehicular reliance rather than pedestrian accessibility, were relatively unheard of. Shopping in the eighties/nineties definitely felt more personal.
The closest shopping centre to my childhood home was reflective of the middle class neighbourhood I grew up in. It contained not just a SAAN, not just a Bargain Harolds, not just a Bi-Way —but all three! These Canadian-owned and operated retailers sold a variety of economical, house-brand goods in a condensed space that could be unkempt but always interesting to rummage through. I miss these places … even though there was a stigma attached to them at the time of my life. In high school, the insult “where’d you get your shirt? Bi-Way?” acted as social cull. I remember my father purchased a pair of tan suede booties for me at the store - shoes that I loved - only to be shamed when wearing them to school the next day. In retrospect, rather than lament my family’s perceived socio-economic status, I really should have questioned how the other kids KNEW I even got them there in the first place.
Because we all shopped there, of course.
Heck, I still shop at Giant Tiger which is the closest thing to these retailers today.
Consumers Distributing also formed habit. Perhaps ahead of it’s time, it has since been called “internet shopping before the internet”. Like other retailers that distributed catalogues to every postal code, retailers like Eaton’s (RIP) and Sears (RIP), Consumers Distributing used this method to showcase their goods; unlike other retailers though, their storefront was pretty barebones. Customers would have to manually fill out a form for the item they wished to purchase and have it brought out from storage at the back (often not knowing if the item they coveted was even in stock). There was a Consumer’s Distributing near the supermarket my family shopped at and my mother would occasionally let me pick out a toy that she would pick up while running this errand. My chances of actually bringing it home were 50/50.
In the decades since stores like this became a memory, the neighbourhood I grew up in has also changed. Reflective of its affordability and openness to diversity, businesses catering to the newly landed immigrant population dot the landscape. There’s even a medium-sized Asian grocery store that carries all the obscure junk food I like to pick up when actually traveling there. This local retail evolution is exciting and brings back the personal touch I so covet. One that can’t be found in Wal-Mart or on the internet.
Now if only they’d bring back Zeddy.
This was apparently a popular song to use in commercials in the eighties:
My Dog says Hi
My Favourite Things of the Year
The times, they are a changing. I’ve been delaying this post because I didn’t feel I had much to contribute, having spent most of the year trying to relive moments from a simpler time and immersing myself into visual work rather than the written word. There’s always the need to record for posterity, though. And thus, this is what defined my year.
Song: I’ve gone through my Apple Music playlists for 2018 and realize that most of my aural pleasures for the past year have been pure nostalgia. Contemporary music just hasn’t managed to seize my attention the way icons of the past have. And so, I list the music of Prince as being my favourite of the year. I’ve been rediscovering his catalogue and missing the era when rock stars were truly rock stars.
My current favourite is “Little Red Corvette”, which still sounds fresh today.
Book: “Bird By Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life” by Anne Lamont left the greatest impression on me. I normally leave books I’ve read in my neighbourhood Little Free Library but this is one I needed to keep for reference in the future. The advice and wisdom it imparts feels like an old friend.
Podcast: I feel ashamed it has only been over the past decade that I’ve made the effort to learn about Indigenous cultures and the true impact of colonialism in my homeland of Canada. The education I am receiving now is changing my understanding and viewpoint on a lot of issues that still resonate today and I feel certain studies—such as the one presented in my favourite podcast of the year, Canadaland’s Thunder Bay—should be mandatory for everyone living within our borders. It is a gripping, sobering mirror on a microcosm of society built upon systemic racism.
Inspiration: I am in awe of the amazing work digital artists are creating including Waneella who creates quiet, desolate 8-bit scenes of modern life in Japan.
Food: A roadtrip to the American south-west ignited a love affair with Mexican cuisine that I’ve been experimenting with over the past few months, learning the degree of chilli my palette can take and how nearly everything tastes better with lime. #TacoTuesday has become a regular thing at my place.
Internet “thing”: my favourite reaction gif is also steeped in nostalgia (and I really should have heeded its warning to not check why “Mario Kart” was trending in early Fall).
Most used emoji: 😂
Most sound advice I received: “Don't be reckless with other people's hearts, and don't put up with people that are reckless with yours.”
Most memorable moment: Relaxing in my harbour-facing room at Hotel Icon in Hong Kong and being completely mesmerized by the evening architectural light show.
Le Monty
Polar bear cub, seal pup or doggo?:
Angels and Demons no.2
Born and raised in a prairie town
Just a kid full of dreams
We didn’t have much but naiveté
Not everything in the world is what it seems
Angels and Demons, Portage and Main
I’ve had a creative concept mulling in my head for awhile. I’m still in the process of execution but wanted to share my work as it sits in progress.
The inspiration is my hometown, a place often ostracized for not being beautiful enough, progressive enough or safe enough—arguments that do, I admit, hold a grain of truth but are primarily steeped in ignorance. To many, it is a city that just exists. A sleepy prairie oasis on the Trans-Canada highway acting primarily as a rest stop between Toronto and the more affluent economic hubs of Western Canada.
In a sense, I appreciate this nondescript reputation. It keeps things secret. It keeps things mine.
With this series, which will merge romanticism illustration with modern photography, I aim to celebrate the beauty and ugliness, the darkness and light, of my beloved hometown: Winnipeg.
❤️
I love winter nights spent in sipping hot cocoa. This animated gif started as a sketch which I decided to bring to life as an ode to my favourite beverage of the season (I’m all about the marshmallows and whipped cream).
Project incorporated hand-drawn illustration, Adobe Illustrator for vector creation and Adobe Photoshop to animate. For inquiries on how we can partner on creative work, connect with me:
Original sketch, done in the margins of some meeting notes, that provided the base for the animation:
The Simple Life
Winter is coming.
Which means I am getting all up in my feelings, nostalgic about the passage of time and currents of change, and trying to capture it all for posterity through the words in this journal. There’s something about the first snowfall, as the flakes fall softly to the ground and blanket the landscape in silence, that leaves one ripe for introspection. It’s almost as though nature is encouraging a pause.
I’ve been in deep thought about my future of late. Especially about how what motivates me now is to re-live moments of my past.
Visiting my mother is the one tether to a familiar reality that I covet to embrace again.
Every time I visit my mother, I am not only catching up on the happenings of my hometown but also seeking solace in the relatively unchanged world of my childhood.
One of the highlights of my most recent visit—beyond being showered with puppy kisses from my much-missed Monty—was simply sitting with my mom every morning, sipping orange pekoe, and playing along to the Price is Right. Pretty much everyone in my generation gets hit with waves of nostalgia as soon as “Come On Down!” is uttered; watching it was a ritual as a kid, especially when at home sick from school. After all these years, most of the games have remained the same. Plinko is the perennial crowd pleaser, but I was always partial to Cliffhangers which I’m happy to report is still in rotation because the theme song is such an ear worm. Throughout our bonding exercise, my mother and I got worked up, cheering for contestants who walked away with cars and trips around the world, and feigning disappointment with those that didn’t know the correct price of a basic toaster.
Banal moments like this may seem like the filler that connects the more pivotal, recorded events of our life, but I’m learning to take more pleasure, more presence, in them. It’s not just watching a game show with my mom; it’s the perfume of love, history and comfort that permeates the room without wont of spoken word. The essence of life is coded in these moments of simplicity.
Now all those simple things are simply too complicated for my life
How'd I get so faithful to my freedom?
A selfish kind of life
When all I ever wanted was the simple things
A simple kind of life
My Rosebud
While cleaning my condo one day, I discovered something that I’ve carried with me since I was about four-years-old. Tucked away in a cupboard filled with odds-and-ends that I don’t have use for at the moment but can’t bear to part with, such as an unopened Holga camera and a Fitbit that taunts my guilty conscious, sat one of the first books that my parents bought me. With the title “Dinosaurs and Prehistoric Animals”, the content is pretty self-explanatory but it turned out to be so much more than just words on paper to my kinder self.
From the time I saw it on the bookshelf of Woolco, I was mesmerized. What were these majestic creatures on the cover? Were they monsters? Were they some form of dragon (and, if so, where was the princess that would inevitably need to be saved from them)? I wanted to learn more. My mind was blown when my father explained that they actually once inhabited the very same planet we lived on. As a child, it was almost too much to process (and apparently still is for a number of religious zealots). He explained how they lived and evolved, and theorized on their demise. From that point on, I became obsessed. The toys in my room were increasingly taken over by stuffed triceratops and scale-model T-Rexes. My father noted this and took me on a dig at Dinosaur Provincial Park and to visit the Royal Tyrell Museum of Palaeontology, both in Western Canada, which I try to still visit once a year.
Other than my name written on the inside front cover, the book is in really great condition considering how old it is and how much I would have referenced it growing up. Opening its pages today takes me back to sitting on the floor of my childhood bedroom, light pink walls and grey mottled carpet, as I soaked in every detail of the illustrations. The intricacies of the beast’s scaly skin, the ombre colour of the cretaceous landscapes … the book welcomed me into new worlds of which I would regularly visit in my mind and began my journey of being an unabashed bookworm. The price sticker for the book is still present. Just four dollars and ninety-five cents. A minuscule investment into a child’s imagination that has spawned decades of learning, wonder and enjoyment.
I don’t think I will ever get rid of this book. I don’t think I could. I have a bond with it that might seem silly, but it is my “Rosebud”. A thether to a simpler time and to a young girl that I never want to lose touch with.