Warm day, ice at Rainy R. head breaks up. Pither's Pt.(ON) at left distant; Ranier, MN at right distant. 

Paternal grandparents (Edith and George) 

Maternal grandparents (Evelyn and Peterson Nash) 

Sad news on the brink of tommorrow.

I've been working like "a ferret on speed, deep in the bowels" of the office building that houses my art studio; trying to get some serious work done for my art-opening, Mon.Feb.28. I've been quietly dealing with the realization that there will be no more Hunter S. Thompson rants on his ESPN2 column (http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/archive?columnist=hunter_s._thompson&root=page2),
no more articles from the gonzo realm of journalism, no more novels from this side of "the edge".
Supposedly he was tired of living with the pain of his injuries and surgeries, but this is looking like Hemingway's suicide; a man grown older than his legends, fights, vices and reputation. Like Hemingway, HST shot himself, last weekend. We'll see how his writing's endurance compares.

Just another thing to make me feel tired.

"Dianne": About 32" high. White alabaster with tan mottling. Father got it from his father, who acquired it from Mr. Mclaughlin of the 'Mclaughlin-Buick'.

"Dianne" An alabaster statue, family heirloom. 

Papier-mache statuette, acylic paint. I think that the name of this powwow singer is 'Eddie'. 

"Here I Come!" papier-mache and acrylic paint 

"Here I Come!" Papier-mache statuette, 12"x14"x7" (approx.); acrylic paint. 

Older cedar mask with moose haire, whitetail deer antlers, metal inlay and pigment. (1990'ish). Email for price. 

Someone should win the Stanley Cup this year.

I really don't give a crap about billionaire hockey owners and millionaire hockey players,
but I give a crap about hockey.

When I was growing up, I never really blossomed as a player, but loved to watch the men's commercial -league games at the Cochenour Arena (northern Ontario). My father was a linesman and referee for the league for several seasons; eventually I began to work the timekeeping box. I loved being at ice level. I loved transcribing the referee's list of player's transgressions and penances. I loved watching a rising slapshot travel from ice level, just inside the blueline, up and over the outside shoulder of a competent goalie and just under the crossbar. I loved hearing the scissor cuts of pumping skates on hardened ice, the crunch of bodies on boards, pucks ringing off posts and the rattle of ancient plexiglas. I also loved the timebox: It was situated between the opposing teams penalty boxes and locked from the inside so that players in the penalty box couldn't go through us to get at each other. It also had crosslink fencing on top of the booth so that noone could go over the top.

(EDIT: After double-checking my dates; Kenora won the Stanley Cup in the 1906/07 season, not 1916. Thanks, John. They beat a Montreal team and became smallest town to ever win the cup. Pop. approx. 4000.)

It was at an early age that I became aware that the nearest big town, Kenora, had won the Stanley Cup in 1906/07. At that time and for much of its history, the Stanley Cup was a "challenge cup" that any "champion" team could vie for. It was at about the same time that I learned that there was only one year in which no Stanley Cup had been awarded since its inception.1918-1919. The only reason that there was no Cup that year was the quick-travelling, worlwide pandemic influenza that killed tens of millions of people. Okay... that's a pretty good reason not to travel.

But the sh*t were seeing this year with the NHL labour dispute is no reason not to have a Stanley Cup champion. This is a great opportunity (not likely to be seen again, soon) to add another challenge cup-winner to the silver plaques on the base of the trophy. Add a new name to the likes of the Kenora Thistles.

So... email the "Stanley Cup Trustees" at info@hhof.com and request that the Stanley Cup be won by someone this year. Screw the NHL (maybe don't put that in your email).

More info at www.freestanley.com

This is a picture of me, "fishing" in a muddy puddle while on a camping trip with my mom and dad. Sturgeon Lake (near Cochrane, Ontario), 1972. Copyright Stella Keast. 

Three-panel piece nearing completion for the Feb. 28 show. Leftmost canvas:Before I die, I Too Shall Wear A Beard of Bees. Central canvas: untitled. Rightmost canvas: Strange Bait 

dusk outside my studio; willows on shoreline of rainy lake 

dusk outside my studio; rainy lake in background 

Field blind structure (in the studio) september 2004, recycled 1x4 lumber 

another view of blind 

The field blind that father and I put up for deer season, last fall; weeks before opening day. 

Another shot of Feb.12 sunrise over Rainy Lake. 

Feb. 12 sunrise over Rainy Lake 

Feb.11 sunset, Fort Frances 

midwinter, junky-moon

(To the tune of Huron Carol)


'Twas in the moon of wintertime
when all the heroes fled
that Junkie West Bank Manitou
declared "everything is said"

No use to mourn the weakest now
no use to slay the beast
jes' look into my crystal ball.
Go ahead... find some peace.

The junkie riffled through the vest
... pocketed the loot
The guy was laid out on the ice.
His face had ate the boot.

And soooo
I grabbed the wretch, said "please,
help me lift your friend...
No?"

Threw him up against the wall,
"I saw you take his shit."

He says: "We ben gittin' high all night
jes' met 'im in the bar.
Jes' let go my coat, my friend,
here's the keys to his car.

"Don't fuck with me.
Help me get him inside or he'll freeze out here."

"OK, ya know, brother mon,
I'm not down with this chump.
Jes' let go the jacket, mon,
an we'll take 'im where it's warm."

And as I rolled John Doe on his side
so's not to choke on bile...
that goddamn, f***in' junkie booked.

Gave an inch... lost a mile.

The blood lay thick upon the snow
he searches for his teeth.
When the flashing lights exposed;
brought meager, late relief.

(Cops couldn't give a shit)

And so you've heard my story now.
Cheap apathy and woe.
So steel your mind and freeze your heart...
there's 'nother millenium to go.

Snowfrog and Bee, photographed by the old airstrip 

Three-panel piece that I am finishing up for February 28 opening at Warp 9 (with opening planning scribbles on wall). 

New beadwork piece that I am putting together for Angie at SHESASHEILA.COM, righteous handbag - maker. Beading on Kermit-skin. 

Art opening Fort Frances

Eric C. Keast/Broken Vulture Art

ART OPENING

February 28, 2005

Warp 9, Fort frances, Ontario, Canada

private viewing, 5-6 pm
public viewing, 6-8 pm

new email: erickeast@gmail.com