The featured artist for this edition of HLR Spotlight is Greig Sanders, a student in the Visual & Digital Arts program, which is part of Humber’s Faculty of Media & Creative Arts.
Posts tagged #Spotlight 4
The Unbearable Elephanticity of Being
I've always thought the hardest part of writing is being read. When the story is a personal experience, then it’s even worse. Being read is the pinnacle of exposition, a nightmare for any introvert who writes precisely to avoid verbalizing anything.
NORTH AMERICAN MEDITATIONS
Entertain us. We are the late-night hoards. The chronically tired. The unemployed. Desperate for a quick fix—a date, a dream, a reason, and a meaning. The ones who exist on the edges.
The Explosion
One of my earliest memories is what everyone in our family calls “The Explosion”. My grandmother told the story at every gathering—no Christmas dinner or family reunion passed without a telling…
Form 1
The doorbell rang, and I rushed to let Dr. Algu in before she might knock or ring again. I was trying to keep things hush-hush, but that was silly of me. These things never go down easy.
Waterlogged
“Don’t go chasing waterfalls . . .” Ugh! The year was 1995 and the radio was still playing that TLC song every fucking day! Whatever, it was finally summertime in the Pacific Northwest.
The Painter
The painter had a simple problem: he could not paint. This persisted for months. Each time he raised his brush, his hand would falter and flaccidly drop to his side.
Required to Withdraw
Flicking the lighter on and off, Rajeev walks in and closes the door. He looks around, realizes he is in his roommate Anthony’s room, and walks out.
In the Names of Love
When my Ma was angry at me, she would call me by my full name. Other times though, I was either “tsai,” which means “puppy” in Mandarin, or “bao,” which means “baby.”
Mark
She watched her brother’s lumbering figure walk the half-block from the corner store toward his apartment, barely lifting his feet off the ground with each step. Even from that distance, his sister, Germaine, could hear him mumble and swear about the slippery sidewalk and the slushy wet snow that slowed his progress.
The Holy Father
Margot was eight years old when she first saw God. She was sitting in the Cathedral, her eyes heavy from the incense that burned from the thurible.
Morning Star
Caked in rich mud, it lies in the husband’s gloved hand, plucked from the garden with an accidental carrot and a deliberate handful of weeds. It smells green.
Frozen Peas and Fries
He drops his hands from my hips, grabs a box out of his pocket and gets down on one knee. I want to remember this moment for eternity; I take a deep breath in and slowly close my eyes to cherish this moment.
Pubescent Love
Reflecting on who I was back then, I assume I took Maria for granted, like everything else in my life at that time. That young teenage boy was filled with naïve understandings and confused perceptions.
Train Station
He knew his affectionate touches were annoying Rebecca, like a puppy seeking affirmation. Her shoulders tensed in anticipation when he passed by to put the plates back in the cupboard. When he didn’t graze a finger, her shoulders slouched, and the absence of contact felt worse than if he’d never touched her at all.