bizZarh, The Cover up, (2011)

The first step to healing a broken heart is a night out. Hoping to find something to do on a Thursday night, myself and the other bearded bitch – fragile and in need of a good distraction – headed out to fight the blues. The night was good to us: we quenched our thirst on gin blossoms, teased our palates with venison tartare and then desecrated it all up with some good old poutine. Itching to dance, we headed to the Beaver to shake our man tits to an Erykah Badu concept night, the 6^th installment of Sheroes – a monthly party/performance series hosted by reeraw and featuring “chopped & screwed remixes”, digital art, audio-visual installations and live tributes to music’s “league of extraordinary ladies” (reeraw). It was a major black-up: there at the back of the bus bar, a pansexual bevy of beautiful black beings, diehard Erykah fans getting their fix of soul, art and the occasional brap!

Charlie and Paris were only part of the congregation, well, not until they grabbed mics and introduced themselves as bizZarh – stressing the ‘zzz’ and giving the word a new found onomatopoetic quality, one evoking ideas of awkward coolness, alternative hype and offbeat magnificence. Part of larger collective, 88 Days of Fortune, BizZarh got things heated with their set – an experimental collage of neosoul, 90s-hip hop, dubstep, electronica and funk – beautiful for its detailed imperfection. Girls got me creaming with their do-it-yourself-mind-blowing-goodness. RAWsome!

bizZarh – The cover Up mixtape

88 days of fortune is an impressive youth-led grass roots, queer, trans and straight identified, music and multi media collective. 

88 days of fortune - Mixtape

Sheroes is back for its 7^th installment: Etta James, February 23^rd @ the Beaver. 

Image: jahgrey 

Portrait of John Alleyne, V. Tony Hauser, (1986)

It’s less than three weeks till I go see the Alvin Ailey Dance Theatre. Boy, am I excited! It’s on a Friday night and I’ve already figured out where I’ll be dinning and imbibing prior to and after the show. It’s going to be amazing – all those sculpted black creatures, twirling and jumping and glistening in the light, titillating just by being.

In the spirit of dance I thought I’d share the first item on my wish list for 2012. I saw this portrait of Canadian ballet dancer, John Alleyne, over the holidays and was captivated – the smile, so brilliant you can almost feel the laughter; the sharp angles and the soft ones too; the immaculate lighting; Alleyne’s innocence and almighty grace. God! This image is beautiful, so damn beautiful I was tempted to spend my advance on it. It was two days to Christmas and as much as I felt like treating myself, I let prudence get the better of me. I did, however, make myself a promise – to own this smiling sculpted beauty by year-end.

Flashdance…What a feeling, Hollywood, Mon Amour featuring Yael Naem, (2008)

Real love can’t be staged – it just sort of happens – but if you anticipate you’ll be falling in love soon or if you’re looking for music to make love to, then you might want to consider a playlist that includes this ballad version of Irene Cara’s 80’s dance anthem, ‘Flashdance…What a feeling.’ Yael Naem lends her soft vocals to this reassembled cover, and behind the track’s dreamy arrangement is Marc Collin of Nouvelle Vague. This track, discovered purely by serendipity, was the  key to an amazing New Years Eve - full of emotion, sky-high euphoria and gratitude for all the amazing people in my life.

Consistent with Nouvelle Vague’s concept, Collin presents, Hollywood Mon Amour, a collection of 80s soundtracks reworked and underworked for that less is more quality of Bossa nova-inspired lounge music. Other 80s hits reworked for this project include Prince’s ‘When doves cry’, Duran Duran’s Bond anthem, ‘A view to kill’, and Blondie’s ‘Call me.’

Hollywood, Mon Amour - Flashdance… What A Feeling

Nude Male II, Boscoe Holder, (1999)

Norwich, Fall 2009: partly employed, quasipoor, uninhibited and curious, I made the phone call that would place me on the other side of the drawing board. It all happened quickly. One minute I was fully clothed and the next I was in a cold room in what used to be an old shoe factory – baring my soul, ass and pole for a two-digit Pound note, the red kind, fortunately. It wasn’t about the money, though I confess it did come in handy replenishing the pleasure pantry – booze, art exhibits, gladiolas, artisan treats, the commute to London and with this the promise of East End merry making.

In the dark room, I was brightly illuminated to enhance my pigmentation – the vast spectrum of ochre and terracotta visible in my skin. My audience, an art class, evidently, but not quite what I was expecting. Sprawled before me was a group of seniors, about twenty of them, Caucasian, all retired, veterans of all sorts – teachers, pilots, archaeologists and gardeners – with impressive histories but now sat before me with eyes peered through thick spectacles, awaiting my first pose.

For two months I posed for this potpourri of remarkable characters, listening to their incredible anecdotes as I transitioned between poses – bending, twisting and raising my limbs to my own amazement.  At intervals, with my privates concealed, we gathered round the radiator to keep warm, chatting over Earl Grey and stale ginger snaps. When my time was up, I would be handed my remuneration, which often came with numerous offers for a ride home. I’d arrive home, aching and stiff-necked, marginally richer but enriched, content to be creating the anecdotes of an eventful life. 

Rolling Thunder, Gorgeous Children, (2011)

I may finally have found the soundtrack for my blog persona, the gorgeous creature. An eerie dreamlike track coincidentally by a collective called ‘gorgeous children.’ It’s the perfect accompaniment to those pleasant but tragically transient moments of reverie – that fearless place where ideas are born, where creativity thrives and where reality and fantasy unite to inspire art, design, photography, music, literature, and all the other things in which we lose ourselves [and find ourselves]

Gorgeous Children - Rolling Thunder

Looking for Langston, Isaac Julien, (1989)

The other day I discovered a true beauty in the most unexpected of places. It was well past 2am and after writing for what seemed an eternity, I decided on some porn (as one would do on a lonely night). Two minutes in and it wasn’t the sex that had my attention – it was the soundtrack. Right there amidst the raunch and perversion was this gem of a track: ‘Relaxin’ at Club F****n’ by Koop.  A soothing electro jazz number reminiscent of the score to Issac Julien’s 1989 ‘Looking for Langston’ – a dreamlike rendition of black identity, art, culture and sexuality during the Harlem Renaissance. 

Koop - Relaxin’ At Club F****n

Ben, me an my bike series, Simon Di Principe, (2010)

God bless Ernest Michaux and Simon Di Principe. The former for inventing the modern bicycle and the latter for capturing the freedom and sublimity of youth in his photographs of everyday bike owners. The ‘Me and my bike’ series is profound, but perhaps, in a way only an avid biker can appreciate. The bike and the biking experience – the symbolism of the bike, the practicality of the act – and everything that it conjures: freedom, discovery, independence, wanderlust, and restlessness.

I feel most attractive on my bike, and perhaps most unstoppable – an unstoppable beauty, a gorgeous creature in control of its destiny. Everything is at my disposal and this bike will get me where I need to be – work, the beach, the clubs, dates, booty calls, you name it. It affords the freedom to be here, there and everywhere between, prompting the philosophy that who I am is where I am. 

It’d be impossible to discuss biking and not relive some of my fondest memories with Marc – those days of invincible coolness. Biking with our seats high up through Montreal’s plateau, meandering through life in our various capacities – as undergrads, culture buffs, faux hipsters, self-proclaimed in-things – gracing the streets in all of our no-frills glory. Our story, however, isn’t special nor exclusive to us or anyone else for that mater: Over the pond in London is friend and brother from the motherland, Ben a.k.a. Kusi Kubi.  Ben’s bike is essential to the many facets of his life. It’s key to living out his inner Renaissance man - PR professional by day (the bills need to be paid), fashion stylist (because he has amazing style) and East London DJ by night (because everyone loves a good old retro, pop and RnB mash-up).  The two commonalities are his boundless talent and his quasi-bohemian mode of transport. 

Biking can in many ways be representative of or, perhaps, conducive to the perfect urban experience: effortless access and tranquil solitude weaving in and out of the urban chaos.  Everything is at your disposal, but only in custom made portions.  Not bound by distance or details, your adventures ad-libbed and your options ad nauseam.  Your participation – in dancing, eating, drinking, socializing – is based in the moment, the mood, and most importantly your own motivation.  If your sensibilities are not completely satisfied, then you change gears without hesitation. Mischief awaits elsewhere.  

Co-author: Raymond Reid

Photography: Simon di Principe

Zinzi and Tozama, Zanele Muholi, (2010)

I finally have the lesbian friends I’ve always wanted – beautiful, black, and ambitious sisters: sisters with dreads, sisters with weaves, butch girls and girly girls too.  Strong black women, living and loving deep and insatiably. Their lives - an attestation to the words of South African photographer and visual activist, Zanele Muholi: “it is through seeing ourselves as we find love, laughter [and] joy that we can sustain our strength and regain our sanity as we move into a future that is still sadly filled with the threat of insecurities.” 

Muholi is exactly the kind of artist I’d be honored to meet. Her work is beautiful and provokingly so - what I’d like to call political art. Her agenda is evident and it speaks through her body of work. Her quest for black queer rights is boldly emblazoned in her black and white photographs and documentaries – most depicting the innocence, beauty, and often harsh realities of African lesbianhood; women who still risk the brutality of correctional rape.

Muholi’s visual activism began with her first solo exhibition - ‘Visual Sexuality: Only Half the Picture’ at the Johannesburg Art Gallery. She’s since then exhibited in Amsterdam, Milan, London and perhaps most significant (to me, anyway) at the Centre for Contemporary Art in Lagos. She’s got an MFA in documentary media form Ryerson in Toronto and naturally, her thesis explored the visual history of black lesbian identity and politics in post-Apartheid South Africa. 

Dinner at Ruby WatchCo – Thursday, July 28^th 2011

Good food is well worth the wait – even if its three months in the making.  I first heard about celebrity chef, Lynn Crawford, at the agency. I had gotten a call from a photographer who needed a senior hair & make up artist to style Crawford for the cover of her latest cookbook. As you’d expect when dealing with celebrities, there was an unsettling exigency about the photographer’s excessive calls. She kept confirming I had booked the best stylist possible, one who could tame Crawford’s thick hair.  And so I was prompted to look her up.  I thought to myself: Who is this Lynn Crawford, anyway? What’s all the fuss, and why should I care about her thick hair? 

What I found made my mouth water, and suddenly, there was nothing appetizing about my $5 chow Mein lunch. Crawford is a gastronomy genius and in an industry dominated by men, she’s soared past the glass ceiling and into the upper echelons of chef-hood. Executive chef at the Four Seasons New York and Toronto, Iron Chef alumnus and restaurant makeover star – Crawford is a big deal and thankfully a local and accessible one too. You can imagine my excitement when I found out she’d quit the Four Seasons to open up shop in Toronto’s East end strip – Ruby WatchCo, a cozy dinning room with a prix fix daily changing menu. 

Three months later, I’m sat in Ruby WatchCo. I’ve especially prepared myself for the experience – I’m tired and famished from work but my senses are super alert. I’m looking out to see if the experience will live up to everything I’d heard and read about, and fortunately I am not let down. The ambience was really relaxed - sophisticated but with a neighborhood feel, the staff was incredible, and the food - you’ll have to try it because my writing won’t do it any justice. The restaurant really does capture the essence of a family dinner – the kitchen is visible, servers charmingly unveil dishes like mother would, meals are served in Le Crueset pots to be shared by the table (so cute), there’s a familial winter coziness about the ambience, and all of that familial bliss is very contagious – guests are buzzing with camaraderie and inter-table chat keeps the evening alive.

THURSDAY, JULY 28^TH 2011

WALNUT HILL FARM’S PORK SHOULDER SALAD

Green Cabbage, Ruby’s B&B Pickles, Grated Carrots, Pickled Mustard Seeds, Brown Derby Vinaigrette

RUBY’S B.B.Q BRICK CHICKEN

Grilled Ontario Corn with Queso Fresco & Chipotle Aioli,

Warm Fingerling Potato Salad with Caramelized Onion & Dill Dressing,

Sovereign Farm’s Tomato & Cucumber Salad with Basil Pesto

BLUE HAZE BY ABBAYE DE SAINT-BENOIT DU LAC

Strawberry & Port Jelly

WARNER FARM’S APRICOT BAKLAVA

Amaretto Mascarpone, Honey Roasted Apricots

Ayuel, Viviane Sassen, (2010)

This is Ayuel. I don’t know him but somehow I wish I did. I can’t quite explain why but I suppose that’s the power of great photography - its intrigue is implicit, inexplicable, and to solve its mystery would be to demean it. And so two months ago when I first saw this poster for Toronto’s Contact Photography Festival, I stood there on King street West, transfixed, contemplating what to make of the image, whether to take the poster that moment or come back for it on my way home. I decided not to. I was going to give myself the absolute satisfaction of seeing the real print.

In the mean time I researched the photographer, Viviane Sassen, and everything I found out got me even more excited. Female, white, raised in Kenya, acclaimed fashion photographer with clients including Miu Miu, Louis Vuitton, Vogue & i-D, and in spite of all the commercial success, she was pursuing this personal project – returning to Africa to explore her photographic style, magic realism, “a mixture of documentary shots and staged photography.”(Ilovethatphoto)

Two days later, I headed to MOCCA to see Ayuel – all 120x150cm of him. I was well intrigued, and even more so because there he was - alone - on this vast white wall.  An incredible contrast, a formidable experience.

Flamboya, a collection of Sassen’s images from Africa has been published by Contrasto.

Sia, You have been loved, Some people have real problems, (2008)

You know you are in a good place when an otherwise sad ballad doesn’t stir the usual feelings. Instead, you find yourself smiling, reminiscing the good times and thankful for what has been. You’re still [somewhat] weak but you’ve managed to scramble past the despair and on to the limitless plain of ‘moving on.’ All of this depth as I stuff my face with Toronto’s best Jerk chicken and Oxtail combo. I really must be moving on because this is exactly where I want to be brought on my next date – to this endearingly tacky Jamaican shack where a meal goes for $15.

Sia has always been a winner in my [musical] heart, ever since five years ago, when “breathe me” was used as the closing song in the series finale of six feet under - as Clair drove off into the distance and time elapsed rapidly, depicting the demise of each character.  It was the saddest, most powerful thing ever and I bawled my eyes out to prove it.

After Ellen, Sia is my second favourite lesbian, and then Shane from the L-word. I’ve declared it time and time again – I love lesbians but it’s about time I found one to call my own, to have babies with and raise a family. 

Sia - You Have Been Loved

Harry’s Apartment, 2011 © Oluseye

It’s a pleasant Friday evening. I’m young, single and if I may add, gorgeous. I should be out there taking in all that summer has to offer but tonight I prefer the company of my amazing roommate. Together we sit, enjoying Miriam Makeba’s “Pata Pata” and discussing amongst other things our mutual detest for lyrics that are too literal. Like everything that matters to me, I took my search for a home seriously. After 5 weeks of countless viewings, awkward interviews and the risk of becoming homeless, I found Harry and his spectacular mod-pad. It seemed too good to be true. Here was this gorgeous apartment in Rosedale - decently priced - done up in authentic pieces from the 40s, 50s and 60s, complete with beautiful design books, an impressive bossa nova collection, martini glasses, premium teas and spices, a subscription to the New York Times, and as if that wasn’t enough, a kind and intelligent designer roommate.

Insisting I don’t eat enough, Harry entices my appetite with all sorts of exciting treats. Yesterday, it was a basil, pecorino and yellow zucchini salad; this morning, an organic apple and cranberry cookie; and today’s nightcap, a miso and Edamame spread canapé. There is so much to enjoy living here. I wake up each day and I am happy, thankful to be surrounded by so much beauty, such creativity and huge windows that open up to dense vegetation. My living situation is perfect. 

The Weeknd, House of balloons, (2011)

The evolution of R&B cannot be stopped. It’s bad news for aficionados of classic rhythm & blues, but at a time when music is thriving on the miscegenation of its constituent genres, it’s only inevitable. The Weeknd identifies as an R&B act, and while his lyrics and singing are raw with R&B seduction, the music itself is reminiscent of ambient electro – think Zero 7 and Telefon Tel Aviv. The result is a strange ethereal bliss. It’s comforting yet disturbingly dark, invoking pain and pleasure, vice and virtue, love and lust. It’s sure to set the mood right for nocturnal endeavours – how’s aggressive makeup sex for starters?

The Weeknd - House of Balloons 

Adele & Jamie XX vs Cecile, Mr Lexx & Timberlee, Rolling in the heat (The heatwave refix), (2011) 

It’s been a week under the weather and I couldn’t have asked for a better album to see me through the emotions. Adele is currently number 1 in Canada and topping the charts just about every else. She’s deserving of every bit of success that’s come her way – the voice, the lyrics, the introspect it affords, and her ability to not only capture but also invoke despair. It’s impressive, so impressive I found myself listening to “don’t you remember” and “set fire to the rain” repeatedly, basking in sadness and quite enjoying it. Anyway, the dark days are done [for now]; the sun’s literally shinning and we’re gearing up for a long weekend here in Canadia.

Now that my emotional gear has switched, I’m ready to party and have the most amazing Victoria weekend yet. Here’s hoping that in some dingy Queen West congregation, a DJ will bless the crowd with this megamazing dancehall meets dubstep version of Adele’s rolling in the deep – appropriately renamed Rolling in the heat. Fire!

Rolling in the heat - Adele & Jamie XX vs Cecile, Mr Lexx & Timberlee

Casa de Norman, Tarifa, Spain

I turned 25 here - in this beautiful house on the Southern most point of Spain, overlooking the Strait of Gibraltar with glimpses of Morocco in the distance. The view was scenic, as was the house, with its modern white interior and subtle Moorish accents. Apparently, it’s been featured in Elle Deco and I’m not at all surprised. The house was simple, but perfectly so, mirroring all the elements of my dream home - high ceilings, interconnected spaces, no corridors, ceiling to floor windows and the illusion of the garden as part of the house’s interior.

Sadly, the weather didn’t permit our shenanigans to be taken outdoor but it was a good time nonetheless, to enjoy this spectacular house in the company of some of my favourite people. 

Pictures: Casa de Norman