OVER THE EDGE Sensors eh 26 - October Med 2007 TABATHA LUNDHOLM Arts Enitor _ What do a dozen Canadian female artists do in Prince George with their spare time? They paint heritage schoolhouses. Yesterday, September 25, there was the launch of a month- long display at the PG Playhouse to celebrate the twelve paint- ings done by the ladies of the Artists Co-op. These paintings are done in a-variety of mediums varying from water-colours to oils and acrylics, each representing a Prince George Herit- age schoolhouse. Only aged photographs and visits to the remains provide the fodder for creation. Most of the time the buildings are so aged and decrepit, or altered and repainted, that the artists have to rely heavily on their detective skills and imagination to collect the basic ideas of the proposed piece. “Tt’s something to do for the com- = munity,” said Gloria Thorpe, the spark that started it all. “We take too | much for granted. We think that [the = Heritage schoolhouses] are going to be around forever... A lot of them are >. just rotting in fields.” And she’s right; these old build- = ings are not going to be here forever. » Most of them are made of basic wood, =. not brick like most English school- E houses. Each of these retired teachers went out on their own and found a building that they wanted to paint. “I thought to myself, ‘I’ll get some of my bud- dies to join me and make an effort... These schools need to be documented in some way,’” said Thorpe. They began this project in the winter of f 2007, and it was fully set in motion. i just before.spring. *# Along with being a collection of t artists, Sharon Paul mentions, “We’re sort of a support group, too. We all - come in and help each other. The - coffee’s on, and some nights we just - ~ come in and paint.” There are also classes that they teach for different skill levels, and often have guest special- ists come in to teach about different mediums. The Co-op also hopes to produce a calendar and cards, as well as postcards, in . the future, featuring the Heritage schoolhouses. : The display will be going from September 25 to October 26. ongs and Solitude - Part THIS IS THE SECOND IN A SERIES OF INSTALLMENTS OF ALAZAR SHAam Semere’s nover Sones ann Sotitupe. SEE next issue or Over THe EoOGE FOR THE NEXT INSTALLMENT. 11:45pm: Music Reviews I have to calm down. Crawling up the fucking walls in here. This isn’t helping me, it can’t be. Driving myself nuts thinking the same damried things again and again. Nothing on TV to distract me; just B movies and infomercials pawning off cheap amateur porn and sex chat lines for homosexuals. Music? I have my iPod. Music might help. There’s the off chance it. might piss me off even more, but it might help. Who should I listen to? K-OS, “Crabbuckit” ' “Took a trip on a bus that I didn’t know, Met a girl selling drinks at the disco. Said truth comes back when you...” Shut the fuck up. Too happy, shit, way too happy. Any more of this and this thing goes through the window. Next. Metallica,”Turn the Page” “On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha, Listening to the engine moanin’ out its one note song, You think about the woman, the girl you knew the night before”. These dicks owe Bob Seger an apology for this cover. And they owe the rest of us an apology for their “St. Anger” album. What a colossal waste of paper and plastic that was. Next. Great Big Sea, “Ordinary Day” “T’ve got,a smile on my face and I’ve got four walls around me. Got the sun in the sky, all the.. Die. First off, ’ve got three walls; the fourth is a curtain, and I can hear every word this jackass in the bed beside me is grunting in his sleep. It’s almost midnight, so no sun No smile, either, Sonny. I hope each and every one of these smarmy bas- tards drowns. Next. Louis Armstrong, “What a Wonderful World” “T see trees of green, red roses, too. I see them bloom for me and you. _ And I think to myself, whadda wondaful woyld.” “T see skies of blue, and clouds of white, The bright, blessed days; the dark, sacred nights. And I think to myself, whadda wondaful woyld.” . Sigh. Wow...The “woyld” ain’t “wondaful” tonight, Louie. The “woyld” is indifferent to everyone; the world just is, and you are there and J am here. I’ve got problems even The Great Satchmo can’t fix. Who would thunk it? Off. Enough music, _ Damn it, now this guy is snoring. Clock is loud. Shit, I can hear it ticking overtop of this guy. oeeeeeeee _ I’m going for a walk. 12:20am: Reflections Don’t know why I thought the halls would be busier. Nurses are on break or in the ER, visitors left hours ago, and all the smart patients said “yes/hell yes/fuck yeah!” when the nurse offered up those magic white pills that make everything very quiet and peaceful and tranquil and good. I’m the only dum- bass who thought, “No, I want to do things the natural way”. This is a hospital! What the hell was I thinking?! The only ‘natural’ things here are death and childbirth, and sometimes only the former. Actually, sometimes neither is natural. Huh. Lights are on and off. This place operates at low power this time of night. Makes sense. Save the power for the respirators and defibrillators. I feel like some kind of stalker or prowler walking in and out of these shadows. A couple of nurses push an empty, stripped bed across the corridor without even noti- cing me. I swear, I’m gonna give someone a heart attack when I step from darkness into light. Probably the best place for it, though. Giving someone a heart attack, I mean. That bit about light and darkness would go down without a hitch pretty well anywhere. There are floor to ceiling windows in front of the elevators, but with the light from inside and the pitch blackness outside, the window is more like a full length mirror. I already know what I look like, and I really don’t need a reminder. Hair’s turning grey because I haven’t eaten in ten days and@'my nutri- tion has gone to hell. Shuffling around like-ssome eighty year old cripple. So damned emaciated that I look like one of those aliens off of the X-Files. Hell, even my skin is turning grey. Tired of this place. The only way out is down, I suppose. I hit the call button and wait for the elevator. 12:30: Lockdown : Front doors are locked. I was hoping to go outside and get . some air that hasn’t been recycled a dozen times by air fil- ters, maybe see if the hospital grounds look any better in the dark. Maybe the cool night air or the glistening twilight would grant me some peace on this, the most trying night of........... hehehehehehehehehehheheheh! Had myself going here for a minute. Wow, I am so full of shit that I might just bust out my colon without the surgery. All the docs would have to do is clean up the mess. Stars and twilight and cool night air? That kind of crap only happens in bad novels or B movies. For the most part, there are no saving graces, For the most part, we are in it for the long haul. For every single hour. Gift shop isn’t going to be open for another eight hours, same with the coffee shop. Doesn’t matter, I suppose. I forgot my wallet and there’s nothing I want to buy, anyway. All the seats in the waiting lounge are empty. There isn’t even a lonely soul at the reception desk. Not even a semi-conscious security guard sitting by the doors. The only faces I can ‘see are on the covers of magazines, and they don’t have anything new to say. Everyone forgot about their stories a year ago. Doors are locked, so I’m stuck in here. Locked. Lockdown. “Ain’t no getting’ out 0” here, boy! No sir, not tonight!” Did I just say that out loud? I think I just said that out loud. I am going crazy. Where to, then? Pediatrics? Geriatrics, maybe? Psych ward? I’m actually debating this. Fuck, it’s 1:00 a.m. and I’m not even tired. I’m going to bed.