sct south 67

A pot for a pot

An exchange

of Energy

IMG_1568 2




Your earth,

Our great earth!

See, oh see:

All these heaps

Of bleached boned

And wind-dried skeletons!

They crumble in the air,

The mighty world,

The mighty world’s


Bleached bones,

Wind-dried skeleton,

Crumble in the air!



-Iglulik EskimoIMG_1576 2

shifting horizons

a cantilevered bridge crosses the mighty Red

going from East to West

coming from West to East

connecting Henteleff Park, Norman Park

in St.Vital neighbourhood


University of Manitoba

or vice versa

as the sun rises and the chimneys arises

a vapour of clouds emerge

along the axis of the coming and going

to and from

the bridge is the thing that gathers the fourfold

earth and sky, mortal and divinity

walking backward on this bridge

going West to school in the morning

facing the sun as it rises

rising with the sun along the gentle arch of a parabolic camber

one of the three weathering steel arms of this cantilevered bridge

imagine a really really really tall person

crossing this bridge

this person would continuously get taller taller and taller

until he reaches the vertex

at the very top of the parabolic arch

at this junction

a junction that gathers the fourfold

a threshold

a floating span

a gap

between the two facing cantilevered arms

between one side and the other


eleven metres above the mighty Red

inviting human action

for taking part in completing the crossing

bridging, acting, crossing

building, dwelling, thinking

after this crossing

this really really tall person

descending along the last cantilevered arm

gets shorter shorter and shorter

until he disappears into

the cool shadows of the riparian forest

Smoke Stack Sunrise.jpg


Bamboo Skin

Building skin as a bridge
Building system as a bridge
Bamboo forest bamboo harvest bamboo skin
Skin as infrastructure
Skin as layers
Skin as screens
Skin as scaffolding
Skin as drying racks
Skin as windows
Skin as blinds
Skin as flesh
A building that breathes

A building that is better
Better sensibility, better health, better community, better life

A building, a forest of bamboo
Cultivating land
Cultivating place
Cultivating being
In situ

Concrete and brick
A contemporary vernacular
Beauty in its structural simplicity and material consciousness and
Hand troweled qualities

Cladded in ceramic tile
An uninformed dress
Alienated itself from itself
Standing in the world

What is vernacular in a global village ?
How does a building breath?


Bridging the lost

The Bridge
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection
In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters
The wavering shadows lay,
And the current that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them,
Rose the belated tide,
And, streaming into the moonlight,
The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,
A flood of thoughts came o'er me
That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, oh, how often,
In the days that had gone by,
I had stood on that bridge at midnight
And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often, oh, how often,
I had wished that the ebbing tide
Would bear me away on its bosom
O'er the ocean wild and wide!

For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea;
And only the sorrow of others
Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river
On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odor of brine from the ocean
Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands
Of care-encumbered men,
Each bearing his burden of sorrow,
Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession
Still passing to and fro,
The young heart hot and restless,
And the old subdued and slow!

And forever and forever,
As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes;

The moon and its broken reflection
And its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here.