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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Stormy
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They stopped when I told him off, which was fine, they were getting to be a bit much, a lot of unwrapping of rubbish and treasure maps and rocks and chewed up gum and twine, shoelaces, a hundred rubber bands, used coffee cups and bits of kleenex...unwrap, take to garbage.
Possibly I could monetize them, make "Unboxing Batshit" videos on YouTube, share my general distaste and horror, the "art" aspect of them has generally disappeared, I was a little too close to him, he stopped trying:
For example, the last package:
A sculpture he made with kleenex, rock, candlewax and rubber bands.
Old vitamins and bits of food in a can...
an annotated page from "Franklin".
A note and reference to a treasure map...
The most sensible piece so far. And a piece of bubblegum holding it all together.
A food hamper of partially eaten cakes topped with hand picked flowers and a soggy cigarette. "Monroe Gold and Rouge". Uh-huh.
4 gems from a pirate ship. One appears to be a ball bearing.
Another sculpture with glass gems, readable scrolls, and a "Knights of the Emeralds" VHS tape.
more childrens books and errant notes fueling his deranged imagination...
The best one so far, a rant for my daughter..."Save this" I tell her: "One day it will be worth a fortune".
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Stormy
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He dropped by the restaurant, the standard barter-for-coffee, brought me a little Xmas hamper of sorts:
A festively arranged take-out container filled with a half-eaten piece of cheesecake, a nibbled on piece of smoked gouda, an xmas bulb, 2 headless rubber gingerbread men, a piece of Xmas red felt, and a cigarette in a pack of matches. A perfectly made up Stormy Xmas Hamper...
...I ate every last bit. Things here are pretty lean...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Stormy
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From the scrolls he dropped off I get it. I mean, unpack all the garbage and there will be a few... ...scrolls like this... but in my delivery there's the departure from his usual subject, reading between the lines it appears he he took his work to a local Christmas Craft and Bake fair, maybe hoping to raise some Xmas funds and get his finger into the Christmas Pie, only things didn't go quite as he'd planned.
In case you forgot here's a few samples of his work:
I have a mental picture of him, walking through the rain down to the community hall, sack full of scrolls to show to the guardians,looking for all the world like old papa Christmas in his cigarette scarred red sweater and toque, only the establishment, the 30-60-90 (his rule of proportions, of cited in the scrolls, is 50-30-40, he likes his women top heavy...) "lead water drinking" blue haired old ladies, rejecting him... And then him walking back, bag of scrolls over his shoulder, the Charlie Brown Christmas music in the background, and I'm rooting for him, Jeeeesuz Christ, but I get it, oh man I get it, both sides, your stuff ain't showing at this Christmas Craft and Bake fair man...
Some details from the latest batch of scrolls:
Yeah, you read that right..."Head of Gals Art...Amy Shit-Face". I gotta interview her...
and:
It's like he's Borat, only sincere, and that makes him 1000 times better...
It's no big deal to loose out on an Xmas Christmas and Craft fair, it means your an artist, Jeesus fucking Christ, if they allowed you in you'd be as bad as they are, don't you get it? But at the same time I'm feeling his rejection, and realizing that I just missed a great documentary moment...I try and console him when he next comes in, he just brushes it off, he got it out of his system in these scrolls, more masterpieces for posterity...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Stormy
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It's come to my attention that I need a better name for Batshit. I like him, he's crazy, after his own fashion, but aren't we all, and I'm sympathetic to his own particular brand of craziness. Batshit is only intended to imply how eccentric he is, even for here, but I don't particularly like the pejorative connotations. So I need a new nickname .. if you think of any lemme know ...
Meanwhile, it's been a week, 10 days since I've last seen him. I've talked to some more people from Riondel, found out where he lives, off grid, not far from the church, 4 houses away, without electricity (in Canada, the Kootenays, the Rocky Mountains, Winter, Proper, 3 feet of snow per day for months on end), I'm appalled, and concerned, but these concerns can be better addressed in a different post, maybe entitled "Canada's failed experiments in Socialism..." . In any event the community has stepped up to look after him where the government hasn't.
So he pops into the restaurant, on his way to town, he's got some more scrolls, but he didn't bring them with him, he has a secret hiding place he shares with me, I can pick them up there, and I broach with him an idea that's been spinning in my head for some little while...
"How's about I get some camera footage of you and we make a little documentary..."
Now this is a bit selfish of me, but I think a larger exposure would do him good, this audience out here, it's too small, too eccentric in it's own right to pay him the attention that is his due, and he agrees...
- "You'll have at least a dozen lawsuits, it'll be great publicity..." He tells me and I'm a bit concerned...
"If you don't want me too I won't" I promise him, I don't want to exploit him so much as share him, but he explains:
- "I've got so much truth about Hollywood they won't want it to ever get out..." and there's a slight sigh of relief, it wouldn't be his disapproval, he then begins to explain the ornaments he's got hanging around his neck, then calls me outside to film it with my camera, the light is better, and so it begins, I'll need to get a better camera out of the locker, need to structure some appointments, this place, the people, they are the perfect backdrop and if it doesn't succeed it'll definitely be only my fault...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
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He's been by the restaurant, left me a small treasure trove of scrolls, 4 of them, to be divided amongst the servers and kitchen according to the game of dimes, whoever comes closest to the wall gets to keep the scroll of his/her choice...
Naturally, they're all mine, nobody else is all that interested. And they're marvelous, the narrative of his life, wrapped in dirty socks, with coffee stir sticks and cardboard sleeves and padded with local tourism flyers (grabbed for free in our foyer), they make mention of his daily trials, the hit list of businesses on the landing, of "three cheeses" - a reference to a poutine I bought him that he especially liked, lobster (6, 7 references, "Eat Lobster" - he's got a craving for sure), his dealings with Mick Jagger, ...
Grand. The next day, on the Ferry back from the Gray Creek Adventure, I run into him, he's at a restaurant on the other side, he's another bag full of scrolls for me, even better than the last, 5 "Electras" - girls done up in stripper poses, an annotated centerfold pasted to board with his embellishing comments and recollections, curious things, now he's referring to Turkey - he's heading over on the Ferry to mooch some turkey from the restaurant, he's not hopeful of his chances but he's gotta try, I'm reviewing the scrolls, they're a treasure trove, a good hour's reading, sounding out, turning upside down...
Curious facts, stories about the milkshake girls who spun up milkshakes with their breasts, conversations he had with them, strippers on the poles, legs spread, everything in Zsa Zsa Gabor''s accent, memories of girls from the Crowsnest Pass, of Mocha (cryptic, I have errands to run to the coffee bar, he's wary, in the note I was supposed to deliver - to the absent recipient, there's a phone #, he's thinking I called it...), the details - half the stripper girls are holding steaming coffee mugs - he likes his coffee - and, apparently, so do they, the misremembered and dismembered lyrics written down in jaunty styles all over the pictures...
I'm thinking Marwencol, he's better than that, better documentary fodder by far, his life, so far, an enigma, lives north of the landing on the east side, tiny village, everyone knows of him, nobody knows about him, interviewing him, the inchoate conversations, here, in the land of Foon, on the Ferry, at the local businesses, it would make for genius...
I buy him his turkey dinner, the least I can do, he's grateful, saves him going begging...
The next day - on the landing - he's there again for an order of fries - "That fucking Sophia L., She ate all of the Turkey Dinner....!!!"
So I know that he lives with her, which explains the purse, but not necessarily the date on it, and I'm wondering how many of his other "memories" are these grafts of memory and film, celebrity and trivia, but I'll need first to find Sophia L. and get her story...
(I've sworn not to reproduce his art, but - fair use, and these are the smallest bits of his scrolls)
Scrolls and gift of Mocha (coffee), foreshadowed in earlier scrolls...
Small detail of his paintings...
Another detail, note the cup of coffee (center) ...
They're crazy, but brilliant at the same time, and I know so many people who've received his art and then forwarded it into the trash, this will be his value, in the end he'll have produced thousands of scrolls - tens of thousands, but only a few will have found the appreciation they deserve...