Your official invite!

‘Masik meets Dali’ 

November 14th 2018

                @

The Chali-Rosso Art Gallery

549 Howe Street  

(north side of Dunsmuir)

Vancouver, BC

 

The performance will be throughout the venues and camera will be recording this event.. download the LAYAR app for the most immersive #masikism experience..

 

‘Masik meets Dali’

I am delighted to be presenting this collection- including unique paintings, sculpture AND performance inspired by the great Salvador Dali on November 14th at the ChaliRosso Gallery, downtown Vancouver. 

the collection will be up for one week only.

download the app called LAYAR, to experience #masikism at its finest..  

ya don’t wanna miss this twist of a performance!!!! 

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I awoke on the operating table

I awoke on the operating table

(insert Baseltz painting of cumptural heads peering down upon you and the casket in which you lay.. oh I mean, operating table). 

 

fucking Jesus mothering, fucking son of a Donkey Kong.

I never was really into

U liked to Pac the Men

outside of the suitcase

that you also left in your wake

(that wild child, the locker and key, the artist, a dreamer, closet prodigy, distant rival, beloved betrayer, reminder and remainder of tragic nostalgias, confounded, compounded, extracted, retracted..

now once again, distracted)..

 

i am thinking the same as you..

WHAT THE FUUCk.

 

~profound sound. 

something written in room 7300 floor 7A in the hospital bed upon which I did lay but when I close my eyes, it’s the blue framed windshield and the wrapped chrome plate that smacked me to take such height in my flight then crashed smacked down on the concete then rolled twice round kissing booths sides of my face, folding down my sides holding at my hips. Off my bike that was some fucking hit. And judging by the beginnings of some poem - I guess— those were some fucking meds.

im alive oh I’m alive🙏

 

 

I wish I was Charles Bukowski

I wish I was Charles Bukowski.


This latter name, or bitter end, a name known before I even knew how to read. Or perhaps I did in  another life.


Times blur is but illusions rolling mist. Clouds the eyes.


But he,

This one,

He’s different.

(Oh how many times, these words,

Writ I, upon the page🙄?)


He uses words like ‘cunt’.

Not a big fan of it,

But mine hears her name called out.


Then his blunt knife, a blade sharp in verse.

Deliberate after such descriptive blabberings.

That wrap your entire body in a knot.


The kind that doesn’t come undone,

Yet you have.


The taste lingers,

But oh how sweet.


(A giggle.)

(A knowing smile.)


My favourite —right now anyway—-


‘Love is a dog from hell’

Charles Bukowski

poems from 1974-77


Especially Chapter 3.

-I am Scarlet. ‘get it on over’.

-Red Up and down so beautifully written she stands before you.


And like a flower in the rain-?

You become.


Huge ear rings- have you ever tried laying down like this?

And OF COURSE,


A Killer.

‘Nuff said.


I wish I was Charles Bukowski.


How can a poetry written over forty years ago  be so refreshing ?


Live your truth.

Write your truth.


He’s brilliant just for being.

What is your brilliance in being?

Sometimes I’m scared to paint like that. Even write like that.. but then you read something from Charles and life seems pretty ok. Even funny. Just be who you be. He had a great way of sharing it with the world.

Reading poetry  Inspires me. I have books of poetry floating throughout every space I occupy.


Thank you Charles.

So thats how I get inspired to write..

and with you,

Share this..

Private and Corporate Acquisitions

 https://www.ifuckingloveyou.ca/masik-collection

Password access upon request.

pamela@masikism.com

  

 

 

This link features some of the seven distinct collections from Masik’s twenty-year Retrospective, currently on exhibition in the artists 8,700 square-foot studio located in the  Olympic Village, Vancouver. By appointment only.

To book your tour:

info.masik@gmail.com

 

Simple Reminders

 Where I create,

there I am true. 

 #Rilke 

In the MIND of an Artist

Inside Masik Studios...on the eve of a twenty-year Retrospective.. JANUARY 31st!! Ahhhh!  Excited and nervous at once!! 

FIND MUCK.

Fuck.I want to rite you.

Rite. I want to fuck you.

what I want.

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Sometimes I fail,

for I lay between the lines,

only I choose to read.

The truth is I just want you closer to me.

( it will likely never be unless you were an elixir I can drink to satiate my undying thirst, and unrelenting hunger pangs.. I have for you). 

Dear Diary

Dear Diary, 

 

i must apologize my Dear, it isn’t you- it’s me. My distance has been no other than a result of the others I too keep. I only found you now in much more convenient of ways, that I shall endeavour to give you more of my precious time and words. I promise, I do.  

Love, Pamela xo

When pain exceeds pleasure, it's time for change.

there is a time in ones life where pain exceeds pleasure and the mere longing for change, becomes a necessity. However, despite this perceived essential act of change, there most often are a myriad of reasons to deter ones first step (or second if you include this realization), to move toward the desired outcome or rather the possibility of anything other than the current situation.

Forget all the achievements and growth others may remind, for gratitude has been a daily meditation kept in mind.  Yet I do not see what others may, for blinding illusions fall prey to all those who belong to another place and time. Is not success differentiated from eye to eye? What a life made they say, yet somehow all that remains is but a betrayal of this dream; not everything is as it may seem. 

in this place I have myself found, I have pondered and dug a many quarry, that too remain, as evidence of such, that to face could not conjure all that I needed to say, but with time, these quarries now revealed through my bleeding fingers and broken brush. 

What say I and in such preposterous ways!  With flowers for heads and petals of hearts jarred, held by the fading warrior with the King on his lap and raised above his crown, the bird talons grasping around what appears to be our planet earth. But the mask of the warrior, now worn by a fish, swimming toward the figure reclined, yet deliberately with foot upon chest of another, the fight for status and oppression of the same kind (yes this really does happen when we should support and be kind)..anyway this story continues to unfold, just like all of the rest, of these paintings I suppose that have led me to an imminent change...I mean something BIG.

I feel it coming and have my own design in mind, however not all is clear but I trust and will know as to myself revealed, one day at a time.  For now I let go of all that I condemned and in these quarries remain the stories perhaps upon viewing, you too shall relate. In these last strokes, after months and years, I once again find pleasure in rediscovering what they say-- oh how this has become somewhat a game! For the answers are there and in my final days before leaving again, laugh as I discover all the questions asked --and sometimes begged, through treacherous years  I now know, were never lived in vain. Now I am ready, ready for change.

 

 In the early stages... this is 'Wallflower'  maybe 6 x 7'?? stay tuned for final pics

In the early stages... this is 'Wallflower'  maybe 6 x 7'?? stay tuned for final pics

Upon Refection...

It is so interesting to reflect upon journal entries from years gone by, to rediscover that which one values and perhaps has lost sight of. Perspective is everything..maybe timing is too. This journal entry was written while I was in the hospital and immobilized on the eve of a new year and also a new collection. Which one? The Forgotten Project. In January 2006, with cast still on, I remember wobbling around the studio (despite doctor's orders), and beginning the first six of sixty-nine 8'x10' portraits of the missing and murdered women from the downtown Eastside of Vancouver- an area covering a six block radius just east of the financial district. Known as the  'poorest postal code', the DTES, comprised of a marginalized community that was (and perhaps still is), largely viewed as inconsequential and disposable over the course of time when women would disappear and authorities continued to ignore the issue.

Well, I can continue down this road and share with you in detail, the atrocity in which I believe we as a society were ultimately the cause of, however, this post is more about having the courage and desire to say something about it, confronting society with our role in the tragedy. Having found the courage to do so wasn't easy. At the time I began sharing this idea, discussing the project with my mentor, friends, collectors and public figures, I was generally told that in doing so, creating this collection, I would hurt my reputation. Well, that was 2006--its now 2017--and I can say most people were correct, but at the onset and throughout the creation of this collection, I held steadfast to my reasons for doing so, and ultimately broke down over the five year period with the final scene, the crescendo, being my first major museum show censored and finally cancelled. There was deliberate bullying and threats, conferences and speaking opportunities overturned, to a point I required a security guard AND my son- on the advice of the police, was to stay away from the studio.In addition, the program I had started at a shelter in the area, removed my name from it and changed the course title, as women in the program were given a message to me that if I was to venture in the area that I would get beat up.  It was a very stressful time, my heart ached, I was shamed and eventually, I crashed and burned.  

BUT this journal entry in particular, was so pure of heart and very much naive to all of what I experienced. These were my thoughts and words that describe a very courageous time and I guess the reason I am sharing it is because of the last two entries and what I currently seek. I realized I have once known what it is to love oneself and it is something I endeavour to find once again. There is hope! 

And she writes:

JOURNAL:

  :: 12.31.2005 ::

    It is of a timely manner to walk a thousand steps until one cannot walk any further. As I lay in bed in the eve of a new year, I truly am immobilized to some extend, for a good six weeks. I have been on these feet so many hours that I am afraid my last trip to Europe has caused me to walk until I could no longer do so without pain. Somehow the physical manifestation that tells me' slow down' is just what I need to digest what I have learned in a year. 

..to finally realize a vision of painting so freely before an expansive canvas without a glimpse of fear, to have the courage to find one's voice in private and prepare it to share with the world...to affect change in another. To realize what is important to me and what fades to grey and how deep an ocean of possibilities can be. It is in choosing to dive, in choosing to try, to expand and realize that all you ever wanted is yours for the wanting. That self-worth is as necessary as self-esteem. That trusting oneself leads to an ability to trust another and no advice is better than your own, for it is your life and somehow you are involved in that creation. That accepting things you cannot change as they are and having the courage to change what you can. To forgive and to love..yourself.

..and life, with all of its pain and suffering guides us to a way through. It is through love.

Masik revealing two of the sixty-nine 8'x10' paintings from 'The Forgotten' collection 2006-10

When my heart cannot deny your song..

 

It started with a sound that struck the chords of my heartstrings, the dusty tattered ones that resonated well with the alluring echoes of every beat within the chamber walls. It wasn’t a skip or a long awkward pause, it was the well of tears and the aching of scars that bound my heart like a protective shell. Perhaps these scars with sound realizedthat moment is near and it would shed themselves enough for love to be once again felt. But whoa the aching that merely days later, still reminds that even the funny ones and touching moments seem exaggerated in their kind, so again I unwind and now rewind the ravelling pieces. Oh God where does it end and I begin?

It seems but a new part of myself that makes it harder to jump, harder to trust, and to feel anything too much. Ive lived so long in that place, the hearts dwelling but after the last two or four or seven( years or attempts), I don’t know if it is even possible to happen to me again. For how can it, if I simply do not allow such measures to realize, that which I secretly long for. 

I guess with these words written it isn’t such a secret any longer. Even from myself.

I guess with these words written, and with you, the reader, my witness, I acknowledge the direction in which I want to go and it is in my hopes that from this place, I will figure out just how to do so. 

For now, all I know is, 
When my heart cannot deny your song, 
And in reminder aches, 
Tells me that I yearn to learn, 
Just how to love once again.

the meaning of a collection and how to find the Question to the answer..

           As I get closer to defining this new body of work, I sat down,

           trading my paintbrush for a pen and wrote this.

       

Quarry of the Shrine and Qualms of Love
For what is love
But bitter sweet
That tastes at first so divine
As to transport to heaven
And transcend all knowing
Of anything in past 
deemed so sweet (and kind)
 
For what is love 
but a faded fate
That loves twinkle
Time and again 
Would shine so brightly
For it be the clouds 
baring gifts so sporadic 
and obligatory to all 
but only to dull the flame
Of a love once had
And now 
barely enough
To see thy love's face
Upon the waning light shed
Between the shadows
 
For what is love 
but tales on high
After all she is fed
Mere morsels thought to be 
what she craved
Yet she starved,
insatiated
for evermore
Be consumed
No flame ignited!
Only now
Merely assumed!
 
And what is love 
But obligation (yes I dare say again)
I ought to be and do 
On only such 
Announced day
For it must have been a woman 
from whom were born
such days as holidays 
Just enough to let him
Save face
 
In what is love 
but a vacuous shell
Now decomposed 
no tenants remain
Of a home once lived
Just a stone cold cave
That echoes of longing
An ocean 
Now miraged
With every seaward wave
Crashing upon a pause
A pause
 
Oh what is love
This pause still held
With abated breath
Don't waste your hands
That tick-tock forward
With every wandering glance
Despite turned backward
Repeat again and again
No relenting 
No daylight savings saved
 
Oh what is love 
But a late night dreary
Held captive at every vibration
Oh how I can see this clearly
 
Oh what is love but
Hands banging on a door
That never opens
Besides my ankles 
Are bound and shackled 
to the floor
 
Oh what is love 
Well just ask his closest friends
Or assistant, or nanny
Or girl next door
No it is worse than all 
These scenarios combined
For it is something of a concubine
 
Oh what is love 
But replacements time
That approaches unaware 
and denials knife
That digs right to the heart's shelter 
Rips through flesh, meat 
Sliding past the cage 
until it pierces 
the lover's beating jewel
 
For what is love 
but the deepest way of betrayal
No matter the journey or duration
Unto this grave
Then after the ashes burn 
and mending leaves but scars 
That the aches remind
 
Yet with time 
One takes the leap 
And unto loves name
Only to discover
Once again
I am a slave
For what ?
What
is love.
 

                  WOW…ummm..now back to painting?

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