I pity da fool...

Well, here it is again.  

Every year we take one day (hopefully just the one day) to play pranks and have a little harmless fun at someone else's expense.  Unfortunately my kids don't really get into the April 1st spirit so I miss out on the cling wrap over the toilet bowl, the greased door knobs and the congealed bacon fat in the shoes.  

What's that?  

You've never experienced the ol' bacon-fat-in-the-shoe bit?  

Just wait, there's always next year.

Another Useless Rejection Slip...

While it is true that most of us don't know what we'll be doing tomorrow, or next week or next month, I at least know what I WON'T be doing in September.

I received a letter in the mail today from the University of Guelph letting me know that I WON'T be joining them in the MFA program in the upcoming fall semester.  

Was I crestfallen (one of my favourite words, by the way)?  

Well...yes...and no.  

I was looking forward to the interaction with other writers and working with folks who have successfully manoeuvred through the quagmire of Canadian publishing.  I was looking forward to honing my skills and receiving real weekly feedback.  I was looking forward to meeting a diverse group of writers from whom I could learn a little something and maybe teach a little in return.   

I was NOT looking forward to changing my writing to fit the mold of a narrow Canadian literary definition of what's fit to publish.  

Maybe I'm being unfair...maybe not.

One thing that has me wondering if I'm being unfair is the nature of the letter I got from the program director.  

It's a generic form rejection letter. 

It reads just like any generic form rejection letter you'd get from the Fiddlehead or Prism or any other Literary magazine that doesn't supply feedback.  Do I expect a painstaking point form outline of my submission package showing me what they didn't like?  It would be nice, but no, I don't expect that.  What I do expect, after a committee has apparently gone through my writing to give serious consideration to my application, is at the very least a personalized letter informing me that perhaps my writing lacked the maturity or technical finesse of the other applicants.  That maybe, perhaps, my style of writing did not display a variety of themes one would expect of a MFA program applicant.  Or maybe that my choice of subject matter didn't fit with their notion of fine Canadian literature.  Or that my BA grades were not up to par.  Or that my writing bites.

Any of that would really have been preferable to the generic form I received today.  I have a big problem with generic forms.  If you stop reading my writing after the first paragraph, for crying out loud take ten seconds to scribble that on the rejection form before you put it in the envelope.  At least that brief note will tell me that I need to work on the goddamn opening.

Anyway - end of rant.

Now...what will I be doing in September?

I'll keep you posted.

Artsy...

Interesting day today.

Currently we are gripped in unseasonably warm weather.  It's a welcome relief after what has been a very long and snowy winter.  What makes this week double-plus-good is that the kids are enjoying March break.   We have been filling our days with lots of walks and outdoors things but today we spent some time indoors looking at pictures of the outdoors.

Weird.

Anyway - we went to the McMichael Canadian Art Collection - a real showcase for the Group of Seven.  My daughter had recently studied the Group of Seven in school and wanted to get a look at the real thing.  After a trip across some winding and bumpy springtime roads, the wee lad vomited into a bag in the back seat a few minutes before arriving at our final destination.

After a less than welcoming reception at the front desk, we entered the gallery and started looking at pictures.  I saw a very interesting ink drawing by Tom Thompson which showcased  a poem excerpt by Henry Van Dyke called The Footpath of Peace.  My son kind of liked it so I took out his camera, making sure that the flash was turned off, and was about to snap a picture when I heard an officious voice from behind.

"There's no photography allowed in here."

I lowered the camera with what must have been a puzzled look on my face.

"I'm sorry," I said.  "I didn't realize that photos weren't allowed."

"Well, there's a sign right behind you!"  I add the exclamation mark to illustrate the snottiness her words were saturated with.

I turned, looked and almost laughed.  There, stuck to a door post - behind me  - ie not visible to someone entering the gallery (as I just had) - was a decal of a camera surrounded with a circle with a line through it.  The thing was no bigger than a cigarette package.  It wasn't even black - it was a washed out grey - I wish I had a picture of it, but...

Seriously.  The art displayed in their gallery is so impressive that a tiny little decal doesn't stand a chance of being noticed.  If there's to be no photography, tell me about it before I enter.  There is no posted camera policy in the lobby that I could find - I checked.  

I don't understand what the issue with photos is.  I have pictures of The Night Watch taken in full view of the security guard at the Rijksmuseum - in fact I think he's in a few of them.

  

Is it a question of preservation?  I don't think so.  If a camera flash can adversely affect the pigments et al in the painting, what the hell is all the lux spilling from those miles of track lighting doing?  Besides, these pictures were all originally painted by guys with fishguts on their hands on the shores of lakes with the wind blowing the ash from the cigarettes dangling from their lips onto the canvas.  A little flash from my kid's camera ain't doing squat.

Is it copyright?  I don't think so.  I doubt anyone will confuse my digital photo with an authorized print, let alone pay for it - especially with my kid in the photo standing next to the painting.

I think it more likely that there is a climate of privilege at this gallery.  I think they don't allow photos simply because they can.  It is their art and I should feel grateful that they let me pay an arm and a leg to go look at  it.  No one in the entire gallery seemed to grasp the concept of customer service.  I don't expect anyone to kiss my ass - that's not customer service - but like it or not, a gallery is a service organization.  They have a packaged product that they are selling and renting to the public and in that situation the staff have an obligation to their patrons and customers.  The chief obligation is to be polite.  Not a lot of politeness going on at the McMichael Collection today.

Another thing that struck me as odd.  One of the walkie-talkie packing...Nazis is too strong a word...lets call her a ...matron - yeah, that works.  One of the walkie-talkie packing matrons took great pride in telling my wife that they had only ten percent of the paintings on display.

WTF!

You have all this space  - they do - and you keep 90% of your stuff hidden from view?  Why the hell would you not have them on the walls or send them on tour?  Why would you keep them hoarded away?

Ahhhh.  I know.  Someone might take a picture of one...