Tag Archives: amy vaillancourt

hidden treasures

uncle denis is a celebrity in a certain part of the world. his eccentric lifestyle and dangerous sense of thrills have earned him many an article in the local news. but there are many other stories ones that no one hears, ones that warm your heart.
this pool in his backyard is hidden, lying dormant like a childhood dream. the water so thick with tadpoles and frogs that it hums and croaks with life. a creation inspired by both the savage and myth.

Scarlett’s Mask


vespa fever

shark baby

fallen camera rises again

loaf more

local elementary students showcase their first pieces of stencil art in the derelict forest behind their school. the message is clear.

when i found these piles of abandoned junk tagged up with these motivational words i was so impressed that i was tempted to make a counter comment just to egg them on but i only got this far;
‘it may or may not happen’
‘do more or less sometimes’


arrival of the salted summer month

in this sweet summer

in this wind and wake
on this beaming bow
on this life to take
in the last warm month
you salt excess fish
you’re brown and restless
keen to any wish
it’s the sought out height
oh the hearts thunder
you capture your light
for winter’s plunder

can do

the killing scene (out takes)

this is a scene that does not fit the ‘script’.
this is filmed in super 8.
this is the slowest runner in all the world playing their instruments.
this is a bus graveyard.
this is a beautiful frenzy.
this is guts and glory.
this is thank you.

Duo tang

Upon a pivot they turn
Pursuing separate arcs
Definite, but together.

out in the middle of nowhere

somewhere in mid-northern michigan while taking a supposed short cut we came across this lovely setting. it could be described as a road side mud clearing dotted with army trucks and about as many half bred buffalo/cattle (also known as either beefalo or cattalo) . i have only my little shreds of evidence and some theories as to what kind operation or militia might be gathering here. though admitably it did have a sort of futuristic apocalypse feel to it that i kind of liked, but also found disturbing. i would warn you to steer clear of it, but in reality i have no idea where it was or how to get back there.

light action

a comfort in the dark


in the midst of a journey it is easy to forgets where exactly you are going or where in fact home is. the world becomes a fantastical place filled with unbounded possibilities and newness. we collect souvenirs along the way in hopes of keeping a reminder of beauty that was discovered. sometimes these treasures are tokens such as rocks or feathers. sometimes they are memories of places or of kindness and sometimes they are artistic inspiration, an image or an idea. in this case it was an image to frame an idea;

‘homeless hottie, on the corner next to you.’

sumac grove

trespassing on an American farmer’s land for a few photographs while the vespas idle calmly on the side of a dirt road.

party time

If there is one thing that is a common sighting in Detroit, it is the ‘party store’. They are typically peppered into the landscape along clusters of abandoned commercial areas on larger roads. They are open from 7am until 2am, save a few exceptions; January 1st: open until 4am, December 24th: closed at midnight and Sundays they do not open until 12pm, as a consideration for church goers. You can often cash checks, buy liquor, cigarettes, lotto tickets and a variety of pops and junk food. They use an elaborate sign campaign to advertise their products, which I liked because many of them date back to the fifties.

The French Canadian version of a ‘party store’ (a term mostly used in the mid-west of the U.S.) is called a Depanneur. The translation of this word to English is “a repairer of breakdowns” or “troubleshoot.”

house for rent

in the wind

Faced with Plate

stone wall

layers on layers


ghosts exiting

in quest for adventure
in a pile of sand
on a peninsula

field of dreams

zenith of daylight
summer solstice

safari suffice

you can place her in the city, but the safari stays.

not half full

all that was in the pool is on her mind

vaillancourt and toes.

if you seek a body a water
to cool your feathers,
you may run into amy
and her pet duck, toes.
they never leave each others side.
often, in pursuit of a sitting pond,
they must resort to hoping fences
and illegally quenching their thirsts.

dandy lions

if you wake up planning to go to a castle

and find out it has been replaced by a condo
don’t cry in the rain
climb walls that outline a distant castle
a castle so far it is only in your mind
you can hide in the grass
romp in dandelion dander
loiter by highways
and all this will make you feel as grand as any ruined castle ruins

tree top treason

yellow sun burns

even the trees were crying

futuristic sailors

the nautical hour of brilliant light

forecasting our sights
into falling night

head in the clouds

picture daydream

a fissure-like crack into a cavern of construction.
manipulations hold time and rule only to a test.
the tame and tribulations coincide in ennui.
playful interactions lend themselves purely.

not halloween

elements of fun (this time):

1 broken neck

1 apron
1 rain
1 excellent photographer
1 piece of translucent plastic
1 vanessa visit

crush it

outer body experience

lucid perch

moments fluttering with contemplation, self-reflection
images of escaping reality.
an attempt at being grounded
left as shadows cast upon the horizontal.

the secret quarry

a vacant hole

once purposeful
now a layered picture
the opposite of a mountain
with a reservoir at its pinnacle,
collecting gravity’s treasures
I always wanted to be a geologist

heathcliff’s harem

but the shadows rested longer, and the sunshine was more transient

ballooning with ideas

dying every second

depths of layered reality, somewhere between shadowed pasts and ghostly futures.
haunted we are by glimmers of far off white.
even the stars are dying every second.
their light may pass us eventually but it continues and expands the universe further.


one shoe, alone in the alley, missing its usual friend.

summer heat

brooklyn boys beat the heat with snow cones and broken fire hydrants.

montreal girls hit the rooftop for cool breezes.
either way it was way too hot to stay inside.
good times new york until our paths cross again.

my heart, your junk

my heart, your junk
and then across the farm point bridge.
Frankie lays watch on an eerie untouched hill
each rusting souvenir, chest forward, head strong,
remains unmovable, proud and lost, in Alcove.

the winter’s tale

Go together,
You precious winners all; your exultation
Partake to everyone. I, an old turtle,
Will wing me to some withered bough, and there
My mate, that’s to be found again,
Lament till I am lost.

a walk in the park

thank you for coming to the vernissage

scorched city.

on the fourth of july
the excitement of wax-accelerated combustion
will impact your memory
with thick heat, blasted eyebrow, the glory of faces across flame
but eventually all the box fires melt into each other
and you remember each less distinctly
except that one, mysterious night
with independence on the line
when there was a heap of coated cardboard
that revealed in glorious bursts

a hidden city beneath

once the intolerable temperature ceased
darkness crept back into pupils
we settled around our scorched city
admiring its structure, substance and worth
that went beyond the initial heat of the honeymoon phase
and lasted well into the great history of memory

bus graveyard

where STM’s outdated vehicles go to die.

it used to be the final parking spot for Montreal’s elderly transportation. then one night a hooded figure masked in smoke ran past me and lou made the call to the fire station as one lone bus experienced a viking burial. torched to a crisp, the bus graveyard was no longer a fine canvas for graffiti, but a symbol that the out of function busses needed a new retirement home.

desole hors service

Bird of Prey

Discovered in the attic of a grandfather house.

it has slowly decomposed allowing the feather to reveal
the fleshy straw of its innards, much like a vulture.

A few wires cage its fragility though it is paraded about town in the passenger seat of a car.
I had been warned not to look into its eyes; I dared and I saw their glassy truth.

Cereal Killer

once upon a time, in montreal, and in the summer, a few friends met up in an old apartment and set out to have a little fun. as it sometimes is with creative whims, the encouragement of having others around to unravel and roll with peculiar half baked ideas sparks results. the apartment was particularly iconic, in that it had 15foot high ceilings, a second kitchen for us to make an exploding mess in, an antique gas stove and an a old wooden ladder which lead to a

trap-door on the roof. the team, some of whom who have left montreal, were amazing. there were story boarders, directors, technical assistants, special fx people, actors, lovely lunch makers (hold the meal worms) and editor extraodinaire. this film was shot in 2005, and its due time for a sequel i’d say, there’s a new project in the works, so stay tuned.
cast and crew: ben, amy, vanessa, aliya, jessica, victoria, and danny

casual exchange

a list of our friends who have not commented on our blog:

1. toby pickels: a.k.a. shouldercat.blogspot.com
2. dan daddy-o d. : aparticlewave.blogspot.com
3. more to come…


sails set, dew surrenders.