Archive for November, 2009

November 29, 2009

Dichototronic Tonic

split mandala

back to bummed.  daaaaaaaaaaang.

same heartache, different day.  a little trapped.
req and i [ok its all req] planning the nyc for end of dec.  ackkkkk i am going to be even broker then but hopefully a little happier.

wood void

enter the Void. i think i’m going to be reading some more kerouac. desolation angels. dharma bums. i’m not giving it back – i need it more than they do.

sans yeallow

these markers ruin the paper quite a bit. too wet? everything is too wet, i cannot light an altar for her, or anyone.

if i had more money i think i would get the lyrics to ‘clover’ tattooed on my body.


this one is based on METATRON’S CUBE
anyone who knows the slightest thing about me knows how i feel about anything meta, tron, or cube.
i want to eat it, drink it, love it, hold it.
how is it that i get along so brilliantly with the metaphysical world yet constantly fail in the physical?


brown blue


let’s go to new york and forget about all this.

November 27, 2009


first up :: i would like to thank all 1 person for contributing to the bummer mix!  i am telepathically giving them an invisible ice cream come.  anyone else who wants to help out please do leave a comment!  you will be doing me a great favour and you will be loved for it!

on to business ::
fence drawing and other massacres

among other things, i’ve been revisiting this space again and again because i do and it is one of the few places in mtl that i can trick myself into being reminded of home [tho it isn’t really home]

there is a strange disappointment in relation to it, to a large proportion to my work.  i feel that one of the main reasons for my making is that it is a coping mechanism for disappointments, loves, unloves, heartbreaks and art school.  it is ridiculous, the amount of spoiled self loathing of privilege i carry.
i am not an artist.

one night after a futile attempt at a human relationship i took the sugar skulls i wanted us to have made and wanted to throw them, i wanted to throw them at THEM but they were not there – they were never really there but that is another story.  instead i took them to the grave and watched them melt in future rain and fog.


extending REST was absolutely integral; this place is more than i think it is, i am always finding something new.  it is always changing i am human and heather and never quite on top of things anyway.


i hadn’t really noticed this path before, and i blatantly did not even see the gate at the top of the hill.

gate full

i also worked quite a long way of the fence but i am really not satisfied at all with it and will remove it sometime in the very near future, hopefully tomorrow if life permits it.

gate work better

hi hand.

one day i will get the hang of it, living, that is.  knowing my practice, my abilities without constantly short changing myself.
i would say we all got some insightful criticisms and ideas today, though i should stick to speaking for myself.

i am thinking of writing + posting an homage to elisabeth belliveau because i recently splurged and bought ‘the great hopeful someday’ with my babysitting money [yes, i am 14 – what of it?] and it is my new bible.  i’ve read it 3 times since tuesday and it is making me so much more aware of the smallest things in life.

like the finding of a quarter on the street and the action of putting it in an old icing tin that is now my nyc fund [$59.19 and counting!!!!]
like the house on waverly that reminds of michigan in 1979 tho i’ve never been there and i was only born in 86.
like my plan to touch every qat on the island of mtl
and the futility of existence that i am going to feel for the rest of my life because being 23 doesn’t solve anything.

i really thought, when i was younger than 22, that i was going to find ~true love at 22.  why 22?  well it was my champagne year – and it most certainly was, the most beautifully bittersweet bubbly i’ve ever experienced – without a doubt the best year of my life thus far, and i miss it very dearly.  maybe 23 will be getting better soon but nothing falls into place.  it is constant effort and rejection and reeffort and i don’t even know what i’m trying to achieve.  in any case, i didn’t find it and now i think i am doomed.  doom doom doom is what i feel in my chest when i wake up, sighing, entertaining the thought of dropping school.  but what for for what?  there is no back up plan.  i am here because i have no better place to be.

good gourd why divulge so much information?  context?  i am producing because i have to, like pulling teeth and blood from a stone.  i have been emptied.  there is nothing left to project[ile vomit] but we go on.  like a zombie empire of art without meaning or need or desire.


we went to joliette and the only engaging work of art there was in the children’s studio.

let that be a lesson for you.

November 21, 2009

Bummer Mix


this is a post for all of my readers [should they exist – i get the impression i am writing into the internet void but that is irrelevant]


should you care to participate, please name your FAVOURITE SADDEST SONG
i am compiling the ultimate bummer mix, to help me through this seemingly unending </3

1 2 3 GO!!!
[now don’t all 1 of you be tripping over yourselves…]


November 15, 2009



migraine // glare

This week i had the honor of experiencing a migraine – a disease i’ve been subjected to since i was 6 or so.  quite probably the one event that throws me into the depths of psychosis.  there is no cure, other than extensive preventative therapy.  that is – making sure i am not stressed, dehydrated, or hungry – eying my caffeine, blood sugar and sleep levels.  i’ve been pretty good at it since june 2008, but i slipped up this week and went to class with a headache which very quickly turned into an episode.

not cool, my friends, not cool one bit.

i make it to the bus stop, crying crying crying
agony on the bus, fluorescent lights yelling at me, multiple body odours
walking down st v, muttering to to myself
leaning against cafe olympico, puking puking puking
‘somebody call this girl an ambulance?’


2 angels appear out of the woodwork of rat city with a styrofoam cup and a strong arm to lean on
all the way home
a sincere ‘thank you’ between bile and tears


i empty my stomach of everything i’ve consumed in the past month or so
climb into my bed squeezing my eyes shut praying for sleep
a fitful one that lasted till 5 am


you cannot spell PAINT without PAIN i foreshadowed myself a few days prior
insert zomby girl now

how i shuffle between intense hunger and nausea i’ll never know
drawing with sarge, sewing, and applying to craft shows gets my thru this week of behindness

migraine // heptagon

love, mandalas, and hildegard de bingen
the polymath, woman of the world. a christian mystic, composer, linguist, philosopher, scientist of 2nd century germany, her artwork of her visions contained complex geometries of man and nature. these cosmologies came to her, supposedly, through migraines and were an integral part of her Scivias.

i can only hope that i can learn from this finding – knowing that painting consists of more than just pain.

November 8, 2009



she draws on fences
she lights your cove
she awakens with headaches drowned in sex and caffeine
she knows her love and drinks it cranberry cut

so sacred


i’ve gone wrong and started using my tumblr that i got way back

November 7, 2009


like many humans in the second world i have a camera on my mobile phone.
i even use it in frustration, and not till today did i learn how to upload using bluetooth

i am technologically incorrect.


in a flat field

if you walk south on guy street till it ends, and you keep walking, you end up here. one of the few places in montreal home to pine trees. it is close to the canal, and beside an industrial structure that is being destroyed. i found blooming milkweed here. it is the perfect spot in the whole city. if my haus crumbled tomorrow and i had no place to live i would live here.


looking across the canal i find love in all dead spaces. i feel the need to make them alive and loved again.


in all honesty, this stencil says more than anyone i can think of.


i wish i had more convictions to my actions. currently purposeless, i feel i have let my foremothers down.


this photo was taken on a day not unlike today. 100% appropriate. i miss someone.




i love this man more than anyone could know. even with the douchestache, his humour borders on the ridiculous and his intelligence and ability to learn is astounding. he is the summer man, the one i see for a mere 3 months of the year. ilbm. that is all.


we spend hours and hours in alleys, laughing at the pissing drunk man. we, high as all fuck, dream of the ship haus, and every summer living to come. we shared hutch haus, our home that has now been inherited by a newer generation. i hope they appreciate the home we made.


we do stupid things like wander and throw rocks at exploded train containers. because we can. because we’re 20something with love on our hands.



the evolution will be sequinized, crustaceanized.




see mystery lights.


my favourite lines are diagonal.


my favourite symbol is the swastika, hidden in every suburban bathroom tiling.


as it was, my pillowcases are printed bright pink orange and green. on everyone of them is a printed WHY and in my dreams i am asked the question WHAT IS A DREAM? and i should have known that i was dreaming, being asked a question like that.

November 7, 2009


i, obsidian
slice ably the throats of athenians [maybe]
oxygenized mainprize
was one once
viscous found shattering
blade forth versus steel
lava loved me
rejecting crystallization in favour of molecular scalpels
stoned and culled on sinister’s side

i, obsidian
silicon dioxide
too complex to contain single minerals
i tasted you like basalt
i found you in ethiopia
i feared myself like water

missed, taken
lunar volcanic eruptions
teased out and rhyolitic
flows and hiked
cardiac surgical self made tears.

November 5, 2009


as a testament to my inability to follow directions and desire to be an artist, i am performing and documenting the burial of the shrine of former ghosts.

in this piece entitled REST, i, heather utah, am returning to the median between st urbain and clark streets to bury the shrine.  i have chosen this location as the final resting place and resolution of this piece as i have gathered most of my materials and inspiration from this spot.

having worked in the public realm multiple times beforehand, i have learned that public space and private property are one and the same.  and i have learned that behaviour in these spaces dictates the public’s reaction to the presence of the artist.  most space must be appropriated and claimed for the doer and maker.

no one is going to give you space.  do no expect space to appear.  go and find what you feel is real.  do not hesitate to break laws.  legal and illegal have little to do with right and wrong.

my having done anything else with this piece would result in frustration and my having performed an act that does not coincide with the teleology of my artistic process.  i do not want to make art for school.  i make art to resolve art and emotive needs.

i would have preferred to perform the burial on the traditional day of the dead but circumstances beyond my control occurred and postponed it until november 5th, 2009.
i am in many ways poisoning the earth with this performance but i have retrieved most pieces that are toxic and replaced them with the pods and seeds that were residual to my spinning the milkweed silk to make the shrine cage.

maybe what i am doing is wrong.  i don’t know.  i take responsibility for my actions.


this is all that is left.

this ones for you

a silk among stars


my first hole


beat the devil

my tree


self made