• [C]hronicled. | MARK BRAND

     … post tenebras lux & the flowers that burst concrete

    Curator & Writer | Hakan Burcuoğlu · Venue | Gastown, Vancouver · Gear | Leica

    Aflower bursts from concrete, yet we seldom question how. It’s the token “against all odds” story, perhaps a soul-rending hymn that delivers us to glory. We like our truisms with treacle, we just yearn for that spark. But we’re wary of its wonders; so we beckon heroes to fight in the dark. There goes one, swinging fistfuls of love. He runs through alleys, he soars like a dove. I’ll just watch from here, I’ve got no bull in this fight. The flowers doth bloom, but we stand in their light. We fain over flowers, we bring them to the fore. But Mark jackhammers concrete, behind him, a lifetime of lore.

    Darkness begets the light, and Mark’s anything but monochrome. A bit picaresque, he’s beyond the pale—primed for the streets, parsing social justice into palpability. Bid adieu to doublespeak, and to cryptic killjoys who dare doth speak. He’s tethered to love, and tied by blood, marching alongside an army of capacious hearts entrenched deep in the mud. Turn on your radio, their oeuvre’s gone platinum. Things are changing. And that is fact. Collectively, they’re conjuring a life force to bring those flowers back.

    In contemplating this interview, I mused to myself—Is there anything Mark hasn’t been asked before? Turns out there is, and here below it lies. In what feels like a journey to the moon, this constitutes our heftiest publication to date. Mark’s brought a suitcase full of dreams, and given us the key. So open it now. Set that flower free.

    Welcome to The Curatorialist, Mark Brand.

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  • [C]hronicled. | HEAT LALIBERTE

     … audentis fortuna iuvat

    Curator & Writer | Hakan Burcuoğlu · Venue | Heat’s Home & Culinary Capers · Gear | Leica

    A timid tree in abscission,
    And a hatched egg underside a fallen leaf.
    ’Tis the gift of life, surely.
    But what of the land; fraught with flustered flora?
    A detritus there beckons,
    Laden with throes. Laced with trauma.
    Careful, caterpillar.
    Your iridescence has foes,
    And though time doth passes,
    It leaves holes.

    But the sun rises,
    And survival begets spun silk,
    Now you’re a cocoon,
    But distanced from your ilk.
    Where’s your limerence! Incant! Sing!
    You’ve finally emerged from chrysalis,
    Just flap your wings.

    Once a larvae,
    And now a lullaby,
    I watch you fly,
    Into blue blue skies.

    Fortune favours the bold. And we favour you. Welcome to The Curatorialist, Heat Laliberté.
    [And thanks to my friend Matt, Vancouver’s venerable Dumpling King, for telling me about this beautiful man.]

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