This is the final post of four things on http://www.fourfortheday.com but the site will remain open with updates on the things to come.
This has been a truly amazing year with this project. From day one I knew when I was organizing my studio and seeing how many small collections of things I kept and really loved, to Allison Sommers first post on January 2nd 2011, and in early November when all weeks had been assigned, and now when everything is all said and done that the concept of this project was something people really enjoy. We love our stuff and other peoples as well.
I can’t thank the Guest Editor’s enough for making this what it is. It takes courage to expose the things we hold onto. The Guest Editor’s did it and the internet has found out a little more about each of them.
I encourage everyone to keep checking back to find out what is next for this little project. My hope is a bound book and art exhibition. But I am open to other possibilites.
My humble thank you to everyone who made this possible and the collectors around the world, past, present, and future.
Happy New Year.
s. arden hill
These are three drawings that recently sold and have left me. I’ve gone through so many transitions of ups and downs when someone buys one of my drawings. I am always happy and encouraged because of it, but scanned copies, or photographs, or duplications just aren’t the real thing. The drawings revolve around my ideas about morbidity and obscenity. The photograph of the elephant being slaughtered was taken by my father when we lived in Tanzania. Sometimes a wild elephant would wander into the village and only on those grounds that town folks would come together and kill the animal and slaughter the flesh for food. Who’s to say the elephant was not lured into the town and deemed wild by those who want their ivory, I’ve always suspected. But someone did approach my father and told him he better stop taking anymore photographs otherwise his camera would be taken from him. Growing up with stories like this and with childhood vague memories of images surround my fascination and approach to drawing.
Special thanks to Arden Hill for inviting me to his creation of four for the day. Please contact me if you are interested in collaborating with future projects.
Ailise’s very original custom made belt buckle fancied my eye all through the room and until she sat down where I was able to take this photo of her, of it. In one of my old apartments, where I lived with Melody Morrissette, there was in the kitchen with chalk paint a forum where we would converse and random kitchen thoughts would find it’s way to the wall. Lisa Kehler (Curator and Writer) looking through my drawings before she helped me install my Bombs & Wombs exhibition. She is a fantastic person who helped me out big time! Today I woke up and received an email from my mother telling me that my Uncle Mahend died last night from a heart attack. This photo is a gentler side of my Uncle picking tics off his dog and the farm in Northern India. I took the photo more than ten years ago.
The new band name is PANT. My friends know that I breathe heavily at times, and if you’re with me and breathe heavily with heavenly gusto soon we will be panting and that’s when someone has to press record. I love the idea that our hands are the windows to our souls, not our eyes. Diana Sawatzky and Loren March, their souls talk to my soul.
Pretend Tornados was a performance I used to do for small groups of people when I was in my early twenties. I learned it from a vaudeville actor who once came to my elementary school and told us about the history that Winnipeg played back in the Vaudeville era. And so like debris that would get tossed around in a tornado I started drawing on small pieces of debris sized paper of my beso boys floating and getting tossed around. The trick is easy to do, you need a big shirt to disguise the base of what holds you up and a prop like an umbrella works best, but I’ve also been pretend tornado’d holding a briefcase. Hold onto something so the wind won’t take you away and kick your legs back and forth as if you we’re about to get taken away.
Swiss Watch box that was crushed while traveling from India to Canada, I repaired it with glue when I was ten years old and it’s good as new. My Grandpa Bill was gonna throw it away but I thought it looked beautiful and was a very foreign idea at the time to have something Swiss associated to Calcutta or Bombay. The orange box with tiny locks inside was made by Grandpa Bill. I had gone to Paris when I was eight-teen years old and bought a tiny Eiffel tower and he made this box to incase it. I ended up giving the tower to Lisa Stinner (my best friend at the time, who I was secretly in love with). The box, which is lined with felt and hand painted also details bended wire and small carved wooden handles. Black Diamond Strings are what made the old country guitars sound so rusty and ghostly from Jim Reeves to Buddy Holly to Hank Williams… Even Townes Van Zandt used them… so did Grandpa Bill. This set of strings date back to the 50’s. I was a part of a band called Absence Of Free Will when I was twenty years old, and I used to draw on stage while the real musicians preformed. I would also take polaroids during the music and manipulate them while broadcasting the whole process through a live video camera that only the audience could see.
My old business card promoting my website, the photo of me covered in shaving cream mirroring myself was taken by Lori Neufeld, the tiny elephant is hovering over a foam ear plug. Part of a line drawing that shows a sense of play but the faces depicted are those that suffer. I spend some time drawing the word “suffering” over and over again to make peace with my worldly and inner suffering. Each time the word is drawn it can never look exactly the same but yet means the same.
A glimpse of my drawing table, the current drawings I am working on these days. Some of the guitars and memories that live in the closet. Some of my art supplies that I used to use as a child, all the inks have long since dried up, they are collecting dust. An old sculpture I made 14 years ago, haven’t found a home for it yet.
Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada
in terms of your things, what does your space (studio/office or living area) look like.
I’ve had many studios over the years, some shared, some single. Recently I moved into a condo where I turned the room next to where I sleep into a drawing space. Lots of good natural sunlight, lots of odd people passing through the backlane to where my view is. I’m still sorting the kinks and nitty gritty out, it’s only been two weeks since the change. I don’t have music or a computer, but my guitars and mandolins are in the next room. My drawings are scattered and the older ones are stacked around the table which is made of two wire shelves with a flat piece of wood.
Where do you normally get your things?
I thrift shop, and rarely go into new stores anymore. I enjoy rummaging and finding the find of all finds.
what is your prize possession/”thing”/collectible/tool?
My Grandpa Bill’s stamp collection, it’s a dealer’s collections, also his banjo and guitar I inherited from him after he passed away.