Parkdale, only more so

Yesterday, I had to get to Queen & Ossington by 7 pm. I knew public transit would be hopeless and I wanted to stop at the Paper Place and Type*, so I walked. Going through Parkdale I was behind these three young women most of the way. I've never felt so invisible. I snapped this with my phone. It was sort of fascinating. I passed them, and within a minute, was no longer invisible. During my walk home I saw a few more women extravagantly, if sparsely dressed for Caribana**. I think it's a good sign they felt comfortable to walk through Parkdale, after dark. And while they certainly garnered attention, I didn't hear any cat-calls or anything.

*where as reqbat wrote, "i MAY have, theoretically, purchased another book"
**For non-Torontonians, Toronto's Caribana is the largest Caribbean festival outside of the Caribbean. There were thousands and thousands of people out. The parade attracts a million people every year. This picture is from a particularly empty stretch of Queen St W.

Spontaneous performance art in Parkdale

As I walked home along Queen St W through Parkdale, I passed the helium balloons caught in the telephone wires. The elderly man in front of me stopped. He was wearing a surgical mask and didn't look very steady on his feet, but he picked up his cane and brought it to his shoulder like a hunting rifle. He aimed at the balloons and then mimed the backfire as he shot them with his imaginary gun. One of the street punks said, "Hey old man, you living in the old days?" He pretended he didn't hear and continued on. A few paces along he found something else he thought he'd like to shoot and whipped up his cane, bringing it perilously close to my face. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, but I merely swerved and assured him it was alright. He has the freedom to play make-believe.



The wheatpaste man evolves. He lost his face. His sign has been defaced, and now, he has two bows.











Ever seen the gnome on the train tracks?



I like the sneaker wearing sneakers... fractal footware.








I sort of love the naiveté of the geography depicted. There appears to be a prototypical Frenchman, somewhere approaching Moscow, a Chinese man lost in Siberia, St. Basil's and please-tell-me-that's-not-Stalin are deep within China. Meanwhile, Brazil is north of Newfoundland and Central America didn't make the cut. In a clear indication that we do not live in igloos here, there is an igloo firmly planted in Greenland.


The stencil read:

You have not
yet fathomed
what a creative
entity you are
because you
doubt what you
are when you
sease [ sic] and allow
yourself to
flow forth you
will have your
perfect
instrument
of expression
simply allow you
to be and dont
compare your-
self to
anyone

riding through Parkdale

I stopped to take some photos at the Dufferin jog (at Queen & Gladstone), and then again at the hoarding I photographed earlier at Queen & Dowling. I love that I know have some of its evolution in time:



You can check it out by clicking the photos, since all of them are geotagged, of course. You gotta love the naive Canadiana kiddie art and the flag of flags!

p.s. Oh, and as a proud Torontonian (seriously, we do exist!) I will point out that the garbage on the street isn't normal - this is two weeks into the garbage strike.

Parkdale - High Park

So the OB actually made a lovely Mothers Day Brunch. The DJ&K went to the DR, so it was just me and the OB&D and Mom (& the grand-dog, who nearly died of excitement). Then, I went to Trove and got some much needed shoes (as all current footware has extraneous holes... so I think it is okay to indulge in shoes). I took the Bathurst car south to King and along King, until everything came to a halt due to a procession from one of the Catholic Cathedrals west of Dufferin. The streetcar driver said, "I am opening the doors. I might be a WHILE." He sounded quite hopeless. So I wandered by the Worn Fashion Journal yard sale and only bought as many fabric samples as I could carry.* Wandering through Parkdale gave me a chance to photograph some of the graffiti and wheatpaste stuff that I have been eying.




Mr. Cat is checking out Little Miss Cat.


I love the texture and gentle faded colours on this wall.


These wheatpaste figures used to be men with motorbike-heads... but now they are all head. If you look closely you can still see the collars.

This trunk has been on High Park Blvd. as long as I remember.

*I do not care what Faunalia says. I am not a fabric junkie. I need it. I do not buy more than I can carry... so like, it is not a problem... just a habit. ;)

Edit: If you are interested in the wheatpaste artist, coincidentally, the Wooster Collective published an interview with him today.