Tag: City

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N.31 In the Mouth of Living

There are some, who, after a long day, go back home for the purpose of staring into a t.v screen. But us, we go into an old church to make contemporary dance and music.

To each his/her own life.

I season Mathie’s arm aerobics with my non-tonal guitar playing. It’s all a question of dynamics, tone and rhythms. Notes are not so important.

Rafa slams the praying kneelers to the ground with fervor. I drag a chair across the floor for its unique squeak quality and Alex drops noise pads of his own making. Christian shouts into the snare drum. Rhythmicality is optional.

The dancers share temporary stories, wordlessly expressed. They express the spaciality of the church, its natural reverb and our nameless music.
The scripted choreography is non-existing.

It’s total freedom.

Devoid of judgments or second thoughts, we thrive on each other’s inspirations.
Within the confines of this evening, there are no creative limitations.

It’s a visceral celebration of our fundamental freedom of being.
Time dissipates in an ocean of sounds and corporality.

For the first edition, I’m there as a photographer. The perfect opportunity to hone my experimental photography. I let the flow of the moment take over.

At the second one, I am standing upright on one of the mass benches. Guitar in hand, I get inspired by impromptu movements that manifests in my line of sight.

A thought passes through me.
‘’I’d do that of my Life, it makes me so happy’’

This is the kind of thing that I love deeply. I couldn’t do any of it outside of Montréal, city of artists.

Well well well, matter of factly, that’s exactly what I am currently doing with friends I appreciate. Life is well tailored.

Good place, good moment in time and good team.

All of it in an old chapel turned into a center for social and cultural organisms.

There are intangible riches in this world.
It’s not with experimental art that I’ll be able to buy a house by the sea but it sure fills my heart with an untamed sense of celebratory gratitude.

How great it is to be alive!

The other day, during a literary quest at the national public library, I stumble upon a stand bearing the name ‘’talk to an elderly for 25 cents’’

An old guy with gray hair is sitting on a stool. Our eyes meet.

‘’What is this?’’ I ask
‘’Well, sit and find out’’ he says.

‘’what’s your name?’’
‘’Hervey, and you?
‘’Simon’’

We discuss anything and everything in between for a moment. I ask him what has been his life filled with.

Hervey is 77 years old. Father of 3.
He trains everyday. He’s been happily married for 48 years.

48 years…

And to think that, myself, I haven’t retained an intimate relationship for more than 9 months. My curiosity pushes me to ask ‘’how does one maintain an intimate relationship sane and thriving for 48 years?’’

‘’It’s quite simple, you’ve got to have three lives: yours, hers and ours’’

He begins to explain that there must be enough similarities and differences between the two for the relation to remain sparkly throughout the years.

He loves sports
She just started the gym, at 77 years old.

He is very social
She prefers books

Both are passionate about cooking
Both were already parents when they met

You can’t be afraid of trying and failing, he tells me. Constant learning keeps you young and happy.

After our exchange, I put a dollar in the donation jar and say
‘’here’s a dollar, that’ll pay for the next person’’

‘’That is one of the most beautiful things to do in this world’’ he says.
‘’Life is made in such a way that giving and helping without conditions always comes back around. And not necessarily in the ways you’d expect. It is bound to happen. I did it all my life, to pay for the next guy and render services without counting. My life has truly been a profound beauty because of it.’’

‘’Thanks Hervey, I needed to hear that today’’

I get up from my seat.
I shake his hand and truck’ on down the road with a smile on my heart.

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N.27 Out on a Stroll

And so, we don’t sleep for long in the grand city of Montreal. I’ve only been back only for a couple of days and it’s about time for a stroll. Montreal is a city that beats to a ceaseless rhythm of more and too fast. If you’re here, get into it and learn to swim the current.

Or else, the place loses its pull, in my opinion.

The cultural life is vast, diverse and forever expanding. There’s always a thing happening somewhere and if you’re not vaccinated for it, you can catch the ‘’fomo’’ easily.
Don’t forget to wash your hands folks!

But most of all, embrace what you can and forget about the rest.

I love the cold season in Montreal. For me, these are the months I gig the most and go out to meet old and new friends on the regular. On this late October evening, first stop is at a vernissage on Marie-Anne at Art Gallery 1040.

My friend Jocelyn Renouf is presenting a series of oil painting portraits.
As he tells me, he does it in the ‘’Alla Prima‘’ style which means the painting is a one sitting adventure. The oil remains fresh throughout and spreads like butter, making the ordeal a fulfillingly organic journey.

As I go around from painting to painting, taking in the craftsmanship, creativity and passion into my heart for further usage, one of them catches my attention more than the rest.

Nadya looks deep into me. As I let myself melt into her eyes, I can’t help but get the feeling that she is about to move and introduce herself to me. It seems as though she is here with me in the room, alive.

She proudly proclaims: ‘’I exist, do you?’’

‘’Ye Nadya, I also exist, thank you for noticing’’


After a little shmoozing with the folks, the clock rings me back to it’s time to head out for the main course of the evening: a music concert at ye ol’ Quai des Brumes.

The venue celebrates its 40th birthday in October. It is one of my favorite places in the city. The music is dandy, the staff is warm and I often randomly meet lots of friends just hanging around the bar after dusk.

Tonight is Dominique Poirier’s album release by the name of ‘’Onomatopée’’.
He rips the accordion like no other, accompanied by a jazz rhythm section and a string quartet. The creativity is tangible and it sure quenches my thirst for some proper live music.

I’ll share with you my little secret. For some of us, going to shows is a regular occurrence. The only way I can economically do that is as an exchange: I take photos and I get in for free.

Hence being at the fulcrum of the greatest place in the world: at a concert while being of service. Oh man, I love my life.

From a ballad reminiscent of old French songs, to modern classical, to liberated jazz, the orchestra moves seamlessly from one musical world to another, brilliantly juggling the transitions.

The talent is undeniable; the waves of sound sweep me away in a photographic trance. Being a musician myself, I can anticipate where I’ll be able to capture what’s known as a “stank face”—that moment when the music is so good that the facial muscles tense up like a steak receiving an excessive electrical shock.


Dominique is one of my favorite musicians in Montreal.

With his unparalleled versatility and contagious passion, it’s always a great pleasure to hear him play and to jam with him occasionally.

He was the first person I’ve ever heard use effects like the wah-wah on an accordion.
It was about time someone thought of it!

From a solo song to a jazz quartet oozing with the ferocity of searching for the next note, to the Bazar Quartet’s modern classical approach, the band moves seamlessly from one form to another, leaving us on the edge of our seats, unsure of what the group’s next iteration will be.

Then comes a time when I stop taking photos. I have enough for now.

I let myself be carried away by the intoxicating musical maelstrom towards another cold season in Montreal. It’s pure pleasure to return at the beginning of winter and immerse myself in yet another unparalleled spectacle.

Bobcat is back, stay tuned for more metropolitan adventures!

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N.12 Of arts, coffee and longings


Just arrived in Oaxaca city yesterday around 4pm. Found my hostel and went for a stroll into town. I have easily seen more visual art in my evening walk than a whole month in Montréal.

This is a thriving culture. I’ve been told so many times before.
World famous for its food and art. My Mexican friend told me the roots of this place are warrior culture. The inhabitants are fervent towards demonstrations and protests.
I can attest by the sound of a marching band at 8 in the morning, coming from the park nearby.

And so, an ignorant man’s sight seeing begins. I’m slowly going farther and farther away, trying to remember the way back. If I get my cell phone out for the map, I lose.
That’s the game I play.

If I lose, I owe the winner a coffee.
If I win, I get a coffee.

It’s a geographical awareness adventure that usually ends with grinding teeth.
(you know… the coffee…)

I’m in a good mood so I’ll go to a park near where there are lots of passersby and whip out yé ol’ banjo. Bobcat is gon’ try to make some friends. Wish me luck!

One afternoon later…

Ok, so, even though this city is clearly one of a kind, it somehow feels like all other tourist places. The recipe changes but the dish remains the same.

I long for silence and space.
I’m at this point in my life where I want the profundity of quietness to engulf me in her arms.

I long for a fire under the stars
I long to play harmonica in the woods
I long for rivers and mountains

Keep your fancy restaurants and parties.
I’ll grab a few nuts, 2 bananas and head out to the valleys
where the sky and the earth make love daily

I long to be in tune with the rhythms of nature, not the city’s tempo.

Now, that’s my own personal point of view at the moment.
If you dig art and gorgeous food, you’ve got to come to Oaxaca city.
You will not regret it.

As for myself, you’ll find me somewhere in the desert gazing at the galaxies, burning a few twigs and dried grass.

To each his/her own adventure!

P.s: Later that night, I came upon a concert by a master musician by the name of Hector Diaz. A guitarist like no other. I was glued to my chair for 3 hours straight, mesmerized by the sheer grandiosity. That’s one thing cities tend to have in common: Great Musicians.

Gotta give her that
Gotta give her that