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Photo by Gail Harvey, no reproduction without permission
Harper Diagnoses "Ordinary" For Us I am so relieved to learn that "ordinary" Canadians have little interest in the arts and that artists in this country are rich. It was long my suspicion, but thanks to Stephen Harper, the truth is out on both counts. I'll have to keep this blog short, what with my fitting at Prada this afternoon and a quick run on the treadmill so as to make room for all the foie gras I plan to shovel down my gob later at the opening of an envelope--wait: that's a politician's life I just described...
As for the lack of interest in art on the part of "ordinary" Canucks, that must be why, this past week-end, I saw only convoys of stretch limos racing around Prince Edward County for the Fall Studio Tour of visual arts. Swish of taffeta as they swished into and out of barns, sheds, coach houses and the like, those faux-rustic ateliers of the wealthy artists plying their trade for sheer amusement. After all, artists do not sell their wares out of economic need. A studio tour such as the type that takes place all across Canada is an excellent chance for artists to whinge and whine to all those non-ordinary types about their luxurious lives. It is true that artists in Canada are rich, and that most of us simply elect to parade around town in Goodwill Chic because we enjoy slumming. I remember the first fat tax bill I got for the privilege of being an artist in Canada, how exquisitely spoiled we all felt with constant funding and book review gigs that paid $25 for about 4 days of solid work. That year I had earned [on paper] an enviable $30 K. It must have been around the time I misplaced my Rolex while directing the houseboy re where to put the blue box. But in any case I do remember the big fat tax bill. The 30K represented 4 years of willingness to set aside opportunities for the type of job an "ordinary" person would have [benefits, vacation pay, etc] in order to complete an artistic project. In my case it was not a skirt made of rotting meat nor a billboard of blood but a story that might at least keep one or two people from dying of boredom or post-traumatic stress on public transit. Ah ha, argues Harperitis, if it did not make millions of dollars it cannot have been worth it to fund such a career even fleetingly! When I paid my big fat tax bill I felt very rich indeed. In previous years I hadn't qualified for a refund and now I could pay lots and lots of money in tax without a shred of pension benefit or the "hope" of EI should I decide to lay myself off halfway through the next book whiich technically requires, in the case of many authors, some of the lingering dough from the advance of the previous published tome. But in fact I am one of the lucky rich artists who actually got a grant at a point in my career when I needed it very very badly. But I assure Harperitis that it hardly bought me a gala lifestyle. Most of us borrow clothes for swank events, which is why, throughout human history, artists have been wise to make a rich friend or two, in case we need to borrow a tunic made of decent fabric so that we "non-ordinary" types look presentable to Joe Public, who according to Harper, has little or no interest in what we do anyway. Which is why movies, TV, art galleries, concert halls and so on give no pleasure to "ordinary" folks. And why book clubs, even out here in not-Toronto, thrive among...wait, they sure look like "ordinary" people to me...not a limo or a tux in sight come to think of it.
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