The News Hole

arrived:

(via tumblrisforlulz)

They’re baaaack…

This is getting even more interesting.

I just found out Martin Vaughn-James is dead.  Actually, he died last summer.

I met Martin during a brief drifter period I had back in 2005, when I was stationed in Brussels, Belgium for the summer and fall.

He was an English-born painter who was living there.  We first met at a cafe north of downtown Brussels when he saw me about to throw away my copy that day’s Guardian and asked if he could have it.  The question led to some small talk.  When he heard I had moved there from Toronto, he let go that he had lived in Toronto for a while as a graphic artists, drawing for Saturday Night Magazine and publishing some stuff with Coach House Press, back in its notorious, early days.  There was a spark of connection and he gave me his phone number and invited me to visit him at his studio.

I was looking for work at the time, but seriously under-employed and had a lot of time on my hands. So, I took him up on his offer.

In fact, in that short time, I would say we became friends.  I would visit him at his studio and we would drink beer or wine and swap stories.  I learned that not only had he been a graphic novelist, but he’s widely considered to be one of the pioneers of the genre.  His book, The Cage, is considered seminal.

We would talk about life and art and music and love and sex and politics and travel and all aspects of our personal histories.  He would often drive me back to my apartment near Ma Compagne, which was en route from the studio to his apartment in St. Gilles.

The night before I split town, I spent a few hours with him.  He was preparing some canvases.  His then-current technique involved gluing relevant pieces of newspaper, pages from novels and other stuff to the canvas before he started painting.  I never told him I was leaving, but I knew I was.  In a weird way, that evening was kind of like an interview.  Martin was a world traveled expatriate artist.  I wanted his thoughts on many of the great rhetorical questions of the modern world.  He was the kind of character who inspired my travels as a young adult, in the tradition of Kerouac and Hemmingway.  We talked and drank, and talked and drank - Martin liked to drink, even though his doctor said he shouldn’t. 

And then I left.  And I never saw him or spoke with him again.  Somewhere I have a book from one of his gallery shows in the south of France.  And I’ve thought of him often.

As an odd post-script, I had cause to have an email exchange with Robert Fulford last June.  Fulford had been Martin’s editor at Saturday Night, and had mentioned he had heard through the grapevine that Martin had died, although he wasn’t able to confirm it through the Internet.  I was shocked and surprised, so I tried a test:  I still had Martin’s number and I called it.  And he answered!  Hallelujah!  He was still alive.  In an awkward moment, though, I just hung up.  I had left without warning, and our friendship had been a short 4 or 5 months - I didn’t know what to say. I felt guilty for leaving like that.  I regret it now.  It would have been great to chat and catch up.  But I felt good knowing he was still alive. The rumours were wrong.

The reports of his death record the day of passing less than a month after that call.  A fleeting chance to reconnect was gone.

So, today, I read of his death, and I think I should call his number.  His wife, Sarah could possibly live there.  I would love to buy one of his paintings.  I would love to make sure he really is dead, and this isn’t just another misunderstanding, and maybe I could get back that chance to reconnect.  So I go into my email folders where I had stored the number - and there’s a patch of missing emails, presumably due to some network issues lately - and gone with those emails is Martin’s # in Brussels.

I feel sad.  He was a good friend at a strange time in my life, even if it was a short time.  I miss him.

RIP Martin Vaughn-James

This is not Photoshop.  Nickelback and Stephen Harper: the gift that keeps on giving.

BB Pic Series: Homicide Investigation near St. Clair West

Got home from work yesterday to the scene above.

It seems cops were on an evidence hunt for the Winona Drive shooting.

Good times.