Isis

Kathleen Deas

 In that other century, particularly when we were living in Kerrisdale I would tell my Rosemary, “I am going into my darkroom for a while.” What I did there was to fiddle, although a loftier term would be to experiment. One experiment was a complete accident that I have never repeated. I put an exposed 8x10 photographic paper of an ecdysiast friend called Isis into the developer tray. The phone rang so I turned the light to answer when I realized my mistake. I quickly turned it off and I was rewarded by a perfectly solarized  print.(Man Ray pioneered this technique).

My grandmother used to tell me, “Cuando el diablo no tiene nada que hacer con el rabo espanta moscas.” That translates to, “When the devil is bored he swats flies with his tail.”

Because living alone with two cats produces a lot of idle time I experiment further in this 21^st century in my well lit oficina. Why do I do this? I like that American expression, “Why does a dog lick its di..? Because it can.”

The other photograph here is a sandwich of the now gone Polaroid Instant Negatives. In that past century, without a scanner, all I could do was to print them. Now here I put the two sort of sided by side and scanned them.

I hope that these images do not bark as I am not yet a dog. But I can…

George Bowering - 12 March 2026

My Valencia,Spain educated grandmother often told me, “Más sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo.” That translates to, “The devil knows more not because he is the devil but because he is an old man.”

George Bowering, the First Canadian Parliamentary Poet Laureate (2002-2004) who was 90 this past December, is ample proof on my grandmother’s wisdom. Consider that at his age he is about to publish a book of his memories of having lived in Mexico – Barefoot Gringo (UBC Press - May 12) and a book of poetry – Pearl (Talon – Mar 31).

Because we have been friends for many years I know that his Mexican Spanish is good. Speaking Spanish at his home yesterday in the company of his wife, Jean Baird, for me was a pleasure.

On December 1^st I went to Mexico City to photograph a 91-year-old blind photographer, Pedro Meyer who is actively publishing books and taking photographs as he can discern light and movement. I took my Asahi Pentax S-3 film camera that I bought used in Mexico City in 1962. The idea was to take the camera to it source. I photographed him with a softbox flash. The experience of finding inspiration in a man older than I am, pushed me to pursue the idea of taking portraits of Bowering with the same camera. 

Because I was keen on taking his portrait and assembling my equipment I did not listen well when he told me that he had found a different way of writing poetry. But I did hear that the cover for Barefoot Gringo is his photograph. And because his Mexican Spanish is good he pronounces correctly the knife’s name “machete” and not “mashete.”

To be published May 12 - UBC Press

While there, Jean Baird clued me in on something I had no knowledge of. She talked about the Al Purdy A-frame Association project. The house on the water where Purdy lived at one time was going to be torn down. It has been saved and when it was raised from the ground for repairs, Baird told me that they then built a new basement. Now the house is used for writers-in-residence. I gather that Baird was a tad shy about telling me how active she was and is with the project.

The Al Purdy A-Frame Association

I asked Baird and Bowering to provide me with either a first paragraph or a last one from the the Barefoot Gringo. Before I purchase a book I always look at those two paragraphs. With mystery novels I avoid that last one!

Here is the last paragraph of Barefoot Gringo

and eating no chocolates. I had apparently got myself in danger with dehydration, being an old guy and all. I recovered slowly from that, and went back to my usual collection of illnesses and imperfections. I also, for a while, continued the habit I’d acquired down south – once every so often I would sit idle instead of writing or reading, which coincidentally was the title of my new book.

Oh, little waves

coming to the beach

at La Manzanilla,

I will miss you.

Oh, big round planet,

I will miss you.

Because my nickname for Bowering is “The Great Contrarian” I was not surprised at his reaction when I placed his hand over his heart for my portrait. He said, “Alex that is not my heart, that’s my pacemaker, my heart is further down.”

 George Bowering - The Great Contrarian

Joe Wai

Zemblanity, coined by novelist William Boyd in his 1998 book Armadillo, is the opposite of serendipity. It is defined as "the faculty of making unhappy, unlucky, and expected discoveries by design". It refers to the inevitable discovery of unpleasant truths or, more broadly, the inevitable onset of misfortune, often brought about by one's own actions or system designs.

George Bowering

Because of the blog I just wrote about George Bowering I have been thinking of that expression I was told in my youth (forgotten who it was) that,, “Coincidence happens more often than not.”

George Bowering -  Barefoot He Was

The reason for my thought on this is that two architects, Joe Wai and Abraham Rogatnick lived on the same street (9^th Avenue) at the corner and their homes were just separated by a wall. Across the street and on the corner is where George Bowering lived. I wonder if they became friends because they were neighbours or somehow they met somewhere else.

Abraham Rogatnick

Niño & Niña - 13 March 2026

My Rosemary died on December 9, 2020 and after those 5 years I am no better today than I was when she died.

I have finished reading one of the best books I have read in the last 5 years. This is Departure(s) by Julian Barnes. I have written about his discovery through reading what happened to Proust when he dipped a madeleine into tea. Barnes calls it IAM which stands for Involuntary Autobiographical Memory.

Julian Barnes - Death & the Lemon Table 

This happens to me constantly, even in my dreams. Thoughts circulate in my head of people I have known who are now all dead. They are friends and family. A couple of days ago a school chum in my high school in Austin, Texas, died of lung cancer. Of that class of over 50 there may be at the most five of us left.

Without controlling the thoughts I see moments in my life that randomly happen in my old street in Coghlan in Buenos Aires or of going to see a play in Vancouver with Rosemary. As I drive in Vancouver and I see the closing of shops and all those towers n our former home in Burnaby the thought automatically comes to me, “Rosemary, you would not recognize our Vancouver.”

But I must now state here that I have discovered something that I call IAT which stands for Involuntary Autobiographical Talking. I cannot explain that I might get into my car and I blurt out “te quiero mucho” (I love you lots) or when I am sitting in my living room I speak out, “Rosamaría”.

My only relief (if relief it is ) is to constantly somehow put Rosemary in my blogs. Sometimes when I am on my bed with my cats I say “Rosemary” or the endearing “Mamuchi”. I don’t think my cats remember the name.

What has been happening to me of late is that I stare at Rosemary’s portrait on the wall opposite my bed (like the one here but framed) and I think, “The four of us.” Indeed we are three and by adding Rosemary’s absent presence we are four. 

And if it is bedtime I put out the light with a smile on my face.

Kathleen - Fleen - Topaz - Miss Mew

 

A couple of pleasant women are presently embarking on making a documentary on the exotic dancer scene in Vancouver in the late, 70s, in the 80s and until now.

In those times I photographed many if not most of these ecdysiasts. This endeavour coincided with me doing the same with the Vancouver punk bands.

It was one afternoon in the early 80s that I was walking to the Carnegie Centre on Main and Hastings after having had a few soda waters at the Number 5 Orange. Those of us who frequented it simply called it The Five. On my walk I noticed a dancer I had seen minutes before. She went by the name of Topaz. Those who knew her called her Fleen and her real name was Kathleen. 

I asked her where she was going. She was going like me to listen to the punk band D.O.A. From that moment we became friends until she died on November the 17, 2021.

The two documentary women have already interviewed me with a tape recorder. They are returning today Tuesday to film me. For this occasion I decided to get a haircut and I did on Monday at noon.

In my new interview I will further explain how I felt all those dancers had style, grace and intelligence. In this age of 21^st century red-carpet pornography, I can only assert that these women had style. That style is gone.

I called Kathleen Miss Mew because she reminded me of a cat. She had this flawless complexion that looked like Devon Cream. She came a few times to our Railway Club lunch gatherings and I was shocked to find out her face was all freckles! She used good makeup.

The main reason for writing this blog is something that happened between us. In those late 80s I did a gallery show of dancers that I called Homebodies. The procedure was that I would ring the bell and be allowed in. I would be offered coffee and I would look around before I photographed them nude in their home. It was not supposed to be erotic. They were full-length portraits of nude women doing household chores.

When I was just about to finish the project, Miss Mew called me and said, “Alex I want to be in your Homebodies. The fact that I live in that fleabag hotel, The Niagara does not mean that it is not my home. It is." At the time she may have been taking drugs and or drinking. I showed up at her hotel room and my heart was broken when she posed right next to a little display that she had of flowers, high heel shoes and an apple.

I hope nobody will become offended by placing that photograph here. The third one is of her dancing. She always made eye-contact and she liked to dance to Lou Reed.