Kate’s Blog Roll

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Product Magazine dressed me up and wrote a diddy on me,

Kate Domina

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JUST KIDS


“The books we need are the kind that act upon us like a misfortune, that make us suffer like the death of someone we love more than ourselves, that makes us feel as though we were on the verge of suicide, or lost in a forest remote from all human habiatation- a book should serve as the ax for the frozen sea within us.”

-from a letter of Franz Kafka to Oskar Pollak

Mapplethorpe died from HIV in 1989 and I feel our generation has missed out. Erotic without cliches, or sometimes cleverly cliche to the point or satire, his work is provocative, and carries a sense of beauty no matter how grotestque the subject. 

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you know you have amazing pals when they surprise you with a balloon sky at your opening 

Kate Domina

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What What!!??

 It happened, I won Art Battle Toronto!  See you at the championship!! xo  Here are some pics of the craziness that is Art Battle. 

61941_10101752738505062_1667074573_n933970_10101752739637792_1214256366_nKate Domina , Art Battle

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unnamed

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i will not make any more boring art
i will not make any more boring art
i will not make any more boring art
i will not make any more boring art
i will not make any more boring art
i will not make any more boring art
i will not make any more boring art
i will not make any more boring art
i will not make any more boring art
i will not make any more boring art
i will not make any more boring art
i will not make any more boring art

 

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 With the help of 2 survivors, I live painted a childhood cancer hero last night, to be auctioned.

A moving evening and a huge success for Childhood Cancer Canada.

379646_10102196221521542_1626905004_n 1462916_10102196221751082_525657281_n 919502_10102196222100382_1560124631_oKate Domina

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It’s been a lovely, sold out summer,

you rock

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Waiting

“My kids are starting to notice I’m a little different from the other dads. “Why don’t you have a straight job like everyone else?” they asked me the other day. I told them this story: in the forest, there was a crooked tree and a straight tree. Every day, the straight tree would say to the crooked tree, “Look at me…I’m tall, and I’m straight, and I’m handsome. Look at you…you’re all crooked and bent over. No one wants to look at you.” And they grew up in that forest together. And then one day the loggers came, and they saw the crooked tree and the straight tree, and they said, “Just cut the straight trees and leave the rest.” So the loggers turned all the straight trees into lumber and toothpicks and paper. And the crooked tree is still there, growing stronger and stranger every day.”

― Tom Waits

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This is how I wake up after a good opening. 

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BEAR    NAKED

I am making a book about love. Actually I am starting a whole series of hand bound books about its facets. Here are some rough pics of what I have in store so far. June 21st it launches in Toronto

cheers

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Image

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Soooo,

Forest Fires  “News” I can’t turn off

a perfect day to just oogle my favourite living figurative painters:

Alex Kanevsky

Robbin Williams

John Currin

Ray Ceasar

Jenny Saville

Lu Cong

Lucien Freud

Jorge Galindo

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ANNIE


One should say before sleeping, “I have lived many lives. I have been a slave and a prince. Many a beloved has sat upon my knees and I have sat upon the knees of many a beloved. Everything that has been shall be again”

from an essay by W.B. Yeats

 

I am alive when your tiny hairs are.

If we stood too close we might bind like books.

Nerves reborn in sheets
Fingers become playthings
Tidersticks egging each other to touch harder
harder.


Clothed, a complicated fig
A handsomely detailed gift
      (strange like saffron
      sexy like an urge)


Giving into night
all of you unravels
all of you appears
all at once
– tongues and whispers run free
finally
and I am gone
so far gone
so heavy in love with you
prickly grin n’ nothing


Towering above my frame
Now you are a map to the Taj Mahal
a pathway of underskin streams
hot vein veering into hot vein veering
down
     down
          down
as you bloom like Odysseus
homebound, adorned and adored

You are your own aria
your own Rembrandt
raising a monument just for us,
just now
      call the press
      unlock the gates
      let every feather fly
      no inch left un wooed
      no crevice left dry
and there is no tomorrow
as you lick my sticky upper lip (the lip that loves you too much)
because tonight
letting the moon seep in
you are my summer sweater
my man my mango


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CLAYTOR FACE

 Jon Claytor is the best at knowing when to put down his brush, be it half painted images, with raw canvas or previous brushwork peeking through, or shlopping on impulsive sayings and trusting that people wont find it trite. I have loved this painter since 2004 and he was the reason I switched to people. They are juicy; they scream ambivalence in the most emotional of settings.  This has become a main goal for me- to project a surface nonchalance, but to suggest the fear and naiveté and omnipotence that encompasses adolescence. These are a few of my favourites of his:

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