Okay. Saying that “the following is weird” is so unhyperbolic it’s not even a useful description; it’d be like saying that “the ocean is wet” or somethin. I was walking to the bus station this morning, crossing over this overpass near my house. It was pretty quiet (traffic-wise) and mild and breezy (weather-wise). I had woken up late (8 o’clock!) and was not slowly making my way to my 10:30 class. Coming down the slope of the bridge’s walkway was some lady — probably 30 or 30-something with dark hair, a midnight blue beret, dangling accoutrements and a tote bag, and fairly smart shoes. I’m busy with my cigarette and trying to change the song on my iPod. I looked up to smile-greet this passerby (as many people do do here in North Bay — this isn’t a big city where walking by someone means you have to rub your surly attitude off on them) and instead of jiggling her head in a nodding kind of way to greet me back, she spoke: “Would you like to buy one of my paintings?” ‘Uhm, what?’ “My paintings” — she pulls some little sized things on canvas out (see above) — “would you like to buy one? One for three dollars, two for five.” I study them, still not sure if I’m being punk’d, and say: ‘let me see if I have money.’ I do (have money) and choose two — the bigger one and the more appealing of the smaller two — ‘I like this one just a little bit more,” I say. We exchange paper-based commodities. ‘Thank you.’ “Enjoy them.” ‘Uh, wait: do you do art shows or anything like that?” (Mostly this is my trying to figure out exactly what the deal is and why she’s peddling her wares on an overpass.) “Yes, this gallery and this one and that and there’s this one beauty shop that has my paintings on the wall.” (‘this’ and ‘that’ refer to specific names of things, most of which I’ve forgotten: one sample that lingers — the True North Gallery). ‘Oh, okay. That’s great.’ I asked her name, probably giving her weird mistrusting bewildered eyes, and then took off up the incline as she trotted down it, toward my neighbourhood. / / / Uhm, what? / / / Anyway. I bought them mostly cause they’re nice and partly cause that’s what I was trying to be (nice). But as you can see — they’re not hard on the eyes. And they have a kind of finger-paint simpleness in the lines and colours that really does appeal to me and my childish tastes. When I told my maman, she said “give them away for b-day presents!” (cause ‘birthday season’ is coming up in our family) and in that moment I realized: I’m glad I bought them and I’d like to keep them on my walls or leaning against mirrors (see above) for some time to come.

Okay. Saying that “the following is weird” is so unhyperbolic it’s not even a useful description; it’d be like saying that “the ocean is wet” or somethin.

I was walking to the bus station this morning, crossing over this overpass near my house. It was pretty quiet (traffic-wise) and mild and breezy (weather-wise). I had woken up late (8 o’clock!) and was not slowly making my way to my 10:30 class.

Coming down the slope of the bridge’s walkway was some lady — probably 30 or 30-something with dark hair, a midnight blue beret, dangling accoutrements and a tote bag, and fairly smart shoes.

I’m busy with my cigarette and trying to change the song on my iPod. I looked up to smile-greet this passerby (as many people do do here in North Bay — this isn’t a big city where walking by someone means you have to rub your surly attitude off on them) and instead of jiggling her head in a nodding kind of way to greet me back, she spoke:

“Would you like to buy one of my paintings?”

‘Uhm, what?’

“My paintings” — she pulls some little sized things on canvas out (see above) — “would you like to buy one? One for three dollars, two for five.”

I study them, still not sure if I’m being punk’d, and say: ‘let me see if I have money.’

I do (have money) and choose two — the bigger one and the more appealing of the smaller two — ‘I like this one just a little bit more,” I say.

We exchange paper-based commodities. ‘Thank you.’

“Enjoy them.”

‘Uh, wait: do you do art shows or anything like that?” (Mostly this is my trying to figure out exactly what the deal is and why she’s peddling her wares on an overpass.)

“Yes, this gallery and this one and that and there’s this one beauty shop that has my paintings on the wall.” (‘this’ and ‘that’ refer to specific names of things, most of which I’ve forgotten: one sample that lingers — the True North Gallery).

‘Oh, okay. That’s great.’

I asked her name, probably giving her weird mistrusting bewildered eyes, and then took off up the incline as she trotted down it, toward my neighbourhood.

/ / /

Uhm, what?

/ / /

Anyway. I bought them mostly cause they’re nice and partly cause that’s what I was trying to be (nice). But as you can see — they’re not hard on the eyes. And they have a kind of finger-paint simpleness in the lines and colours that really does appeal to me and my childish tastes.

When I told my maman, she said “give them away for b-day presents!” (cause ‘birthday season’ is coming up in our family) and in that moment I realized: I’m glad I bought them and I’d like to keep them on my walls or leaning against mirrors (see above) for some time to come.