Fred Joly - Canadian artist, activist, consultant and contractor

the painting Separated

2016-09-13T21:08:00.002-07:00

Separated

Weathering the winds wanting to set me adrift.

Prays out to my mother seeking spiritual direction.

She whispers her wish.

Then black smoke pointing East.

Her right hand lifts.

She sends me a Peace.

Nature Art Crayfish / Snake War

2016-09-09T19:29:00.001-07:00

The Snake Crayfish War

Creative Non-Fiction - A Personal Essay

2015-11-25T10:17:00.000-08:00

My Therapist's Cat

I’ve been paying a great deal of attention to cats lately. These last two weeks of my life I'll forever remember as my mid-life cat obsession period. Cats are everywhere now.

I like cats, although it's taken me quite a long time to get this fond of them. The first one I can remember belonged to my mother. Lee was named after Mom's favourite WWF wrestler in the late 60's. A martial artist style combatant, he later became a second-rate referee.

Lee, the cat, was a magnificent specimen of female feline; likely a purebred Siamese. I remember how she sort of slithered stealthily around the house in a continuous state of assessing everything and everyone around her. Mom and Lee definitely had a very special connection. Their relationship was way beyond traditional pet and pet owner type arrangements. Growing up, I was convinced that they could communicate with each other telepathically. They could read each others thoughts. I had the impression that they were both very witch-like in their mannerisms, Mom actively practicing a bit of witchcraft at the time. Come to think of it, she never read cards or tea leaves without Lee present in the room, although hiding underneath the couch.

Not being superstitious by nature yet I can no longer help but notice that neither the black ones nor the white ones will cross my path anymore. Hardly any of them in any color will cross me at all now and I encounter a ton of them along the way everyday let me tell you. Nowadays, any of my fury friends I engage'll either do one of two things: sit there and watch me pass by or wait until I approach close enough to walk alongside me for a short bit. I eventually did realize that it's the white ones that prefer to stroll with me whereas the black ones make it appear that they are disinterested in me and don’t seem to bother with me much.

I have no trouble remembering the solemn trip to the vets Mom and I took together when we had to be put Lee to sleep. There was a song playing on the radio that to my Mom's dying day she was unable to hear again. I could never fully understand the depths of mourning Mom had for that cat, until today.

Luckily for me I enjoy walking and I enjoy hunting. When I arrived in Vancouver three years ago, with not a penny to my name, it was a natural fit for me to become a picker when I ended up homeless. I spend much of my day and night combing up and down the alleyways in search of redeemable bottles and cans people would bag up and whatever else of value folks would put out for pickers like me to window shop. That's where I've been seeing the bulk of my cats lately; in the alleyways.

A great side effect to walking is that it gives me time to think. I'm quite sure the experts would insist that adequate thinking time is important for someone recovering from addictions and mental health disorders. I suppose thinking about my stuff all the time is better than avoiding dealing with myself or staying completely distracted somehow. So I am happy that I have a lot of time on my hands and that I always seem to have many things to think about. I use up a lot of my walks trying to reason with myself about my behaviours and choices. And being a practicing artist, I use some of my walking time when conceptualizing art projects. Sometimes when I am feeling brave I quietly sing out new songs I'm writing. Whatever I’m up to, walking is always therapeutic and calming for me.

There’s a bit of a danger with engaging in too much walking and thinking. Sometimes during excessively lengthy thinking periods I can become a little bit delusional I suppose, my therapist’s cat being a good example. I have now conclusively determined that cats have extraordinary powers of communication. They can even relay message to me from my dead Mom. Last night I added copious quantities of alcohol and drugs to this insanity and I became a complete raging lunatic in my room for over half an hour. Amidst the blackout that night, I recall attempting to invoke hallucinations of Siamese cats. I'm unsure as to my success on that one.

All this recent lunacy revolving around cats is Brad's doing. He's been my addictions counselor and for about a year now, I must admit, I never really liked him that much. I found him somewhat uninteresting and way too gentle. What kind of therapist is this that treats me with kids gloves on? My mother used to rip my heart right open in order for me to see myself clearly. Tough love she called that. My counselor gently pries me open. I suppose in the end, his approach eventually made me develop a respectful admiration for him as a therapist. And finally, after all's been said and done, I've concluded that he's an exceptionally talented counselor because he given me clues into some of the things that have been blocking my progress. Not only that but he's left me ample rope to hang myself. So subtly has he dug deep into my emotional turmoil that I've found resolution to grieving my mother. Today in some very distinct ways recovery-wise, he has filled in some of the space my Mom once occupied in her supportive role that she played in my life.

Anyway, the crazy appointment started off like all the others. I gave him a run-down of my last month’s successes and failures. We noted the need for improvements and talked about some new fan-dangled effective harm reduction strategies I could attempt to implement. I could tell though that something was on his mind. At the first real pause in our hour long interaction he suddenly blurted out “I had a dream of you last week. You were playing with my cat.” He busily minimized windows on his monitor to show me his desktop backdrop of this fat black and white patched feline; his long dead cat.

“How long’s it been dead?” I asked. His eyes dropped for another moment. “Two years” he quietly replied. I didn't say anything for a few moments as I tried to absorb the moment. Naturally I thought the dream significant but my immediate reaction was that my life would soon be over, my day was coming and that my ultimate fate is to end up being just another desktop background image on my therapist’s computer monitor. I began wondering how long it will take Brad to mourn his cat death or even my death only to realize that it'll likely be as long as it took to find a new pet to care about.

Brad was looking at me for a response but my silence and deep thoughts continued. How would my mother interpret this dream? She was clairvoyant you know. She'd tell people that they would get pregnant or catch a moose this fall and for some reason these predictions would happen. What does a dream of me playing with a cat mean? I have learned in my recent research that cats appearing in dreams normally symbolize that there is something in life that needs to be accepted. This can be a self-acceptance that requires resolution but they are usually about accepting something in someone else. A cat’s mood can also be an indicator as to what the dream may mean. A happy, playing cat can only mean a good thing but getting bit by a cat is a nefarious foreshadowing of an unchallenged inner conflict.

I shook myself out of it. I didn’t want to have the self-impression that I was thinking crazy thoughts so I decided not to talk to myself about what I was experiencing. The meeting terminated somehow and I walked away with questions continuing to bombard my mind.

A week later, during a particularly lengthy treasure hunt, I got so deep into thought that I slipped into a daydream-like state. I started off the walk contemplating how I got into my addictions counselor’s dream and what playing with his dead cat could signify. The thing’s been dead for two years and he is still mourning over her. What does this mean? Has Brad not been attached to anyone or anything since?

Then the day before my next appointment arrived. I took a quick inventory of my progress with the obsessions regarding cats. I have endured nearly thirty days of mental madness revolving around my mother and cats. I'm pleased that I've sorted through most of my cat psychosis in spite of my best efforts to avoid them. I have come quite the distance with it all. The most important revelation came when I knew that I was not on the verge of dying because Brad's cat has nothing to do with death at all but everything to do with change. It was not my dream. I was playing with my therapist's cat in my therapist's dream. It's a bit of a stretch but I am convinced that since it was Brad who conceived a dream that caused me to think extensively about the relationship I had with my mother, that the dream must in fact be a message from my mother's spirit. Her spirit's very much alive. Furthermore, because I was playing with the cat, the dream could only mean that I am in a good phase in my recovery and that I am on the right track. There are no major acceptance issues in my life right now although I still need to change things about myself but nothing drastic at this stage. My mother is telling me that I am to continue on the path to my recovery and that she is still supporting me despite her not being with us anymore.

The dream made me think about my Mom. It made me think about all the wonderful things she used to tell me about myself even though I could never see it, I sure could feel it. It was the therapist's cat that made me feel how much of a loss I am without her and of how much I truly miss her. The experience has left me understanding that even four years after her death she is still finding ways to encourage me. Maybe it is the same for everyone else but whenever my mother is in my thoughts and in my heart I feel comforted by her. I still love my Mom.

2015 Christmas Song, Lyrics, Screenplay and Music Video

2015-11-25T10:15:00.001-08:00

On a Christmas Day song lyrics

Verse 1

In the entrance of an Eastside shop.

I lay my cardboard on the cold sidewalk.
So tired and so weak,

I can barely stand on my feet.

And I’m an addict, my back's against the wall.

Sinking down another eight ball.

I am prepared to meet;
My final deal on the street.

Chorus 1

I’ve been a-runnin’ in the Eastside.

How could this be Christmas?
I'm alone now dying in pain.

Didn’t I pray for a new tomorrow?

On a bright light’s ray.

On a Christmas Day.

Verse 2

Wasn't it three years or more.
The first time that I walked to the shore.
I searched across the sea;

Basked in a full moon's beams.

If there's something far out of sight,

Come to help me in the midst of this night.
I need a break in life.

To get another roll of the dice.

Chorus 2

So I stood there on the seaside.

Thinkin' maybe this'll be the Christmas;

When I stop playing my games.

I am praying for a new tomorrow;

On this bright light’s ray.

On this Christmas Day.

Musical Interlude

Verse 3

The beating of my heart;

Fading as the years tear me apart.

I start screaming and I don't know why.

Crying out to angels in the sky.

Hoping one will save me today,

Show me the way,
This Christmas Day.

Chorus 3

I’m still running in the Eastside.

Wanting a better Christmas;

But I keep losing the same.
Even though I prayed for a new tomorrow;

On a bright light’s ray.

It was on a Christmas Day.
On a Christmas Day.

On a Christmas Day screenplay

video locales:

ARA Mental Health Advocacy, 163 W Pender, Vancouver BC - East Side storefront
English Bay Vancouver BC

Musical Introduction C Dm C Dm Am G C

video begins with various scenes of homeless man at identifying Vancouver as location and introducing a man dressed completely in white who is his angel and is always seen somewhere in most of the scenes

Verse 1 C Dm C Dm Am G C

video scene 1 - homeless man on bench at English Bay with blue Canucks cap, empty bottle in hand, preparing to sleep, removes his boots, angel dressed in white is seen nearby

In the entrance of an Eastside shop.

I lay my cardboard on the cold sidewalk.

video scene 2 - homeless man now sleeping, blue Vancouver Canucks hat falling out of his hand, angel walks by

So tired and weak,
I can barely stand on my feet.

video scene 3 - homeless man still sleeps but hat is gone, angel drops off new white Vancouver Canucks ball cap

video scene 4 - homeless man in alleyway, new pipe in hand, white hat is on his head but getting dirty

And I’m an addict, my back's against the wall.

video scene 5 - an eight ball falling into corner pocket

Sinking down another eight ball.

video scene 6 - homeless man in alleyway, broken used pipe, very dirty white hat, angel walks by

I am prepared to meet;

video scene 7 - playing cards thrown down on sidewalk

My final deal on the street.

Chorus 1 C G Dm G C G Dm G Am F G

video scene 8 - Christmas on Hastings

I’ve been a-runnin’ in the Eastside.

How could this be Christmas?

video scene 9 - homeless man walking on Hastings looking upwards

I'm alone now dying in pain.

Didn’t I pray for a new tomorrow?

On a bright light’s ray.

On a Christmas Day.

Verse 2 C Dm C Dm Am G C

video scene 10 - well dressed, well groomed man with luggage walking to the Pacific Ocean with blue Vancouver Canucks hat

Wasn't it three years or more.
The first time that I walked to the shore.

video scene 11 - same man sleeping on bench across the Sylvia Hotel on a moonlit night with blue Vancouver Canucks hat in hand

I searched across the sea;

Basked in a healing moon beam.

If there's something far out of sight,

Come to help me in the midst of this night.

video scene 12 - a pair of dice rolling on the sidewalk

I need a break in life.

To get another roll of the dice.

Chorus 2 C G Dm G C G Dm G Am F G

video scene 13 - ARA and adjacent Christmas storefront up and down West Pender Street

So I stood there on the seaside.

Thinkin' maybe this'll be the Christmas;

When I stop playing my games.

I am praying for a new tomorrow;

On this bright light’s ray.

On this Christmas Day.

Musical Interlude C G Dm G C G Dm G Am F G

video scene 14 to 16 - well dressed man man deteriorates into homeless man with several similar scenes of him entering and exiting Sylvia Hotel

Verse 3

video scene 17 - homeless man drunk on park bench at English Bay and angel walks by unnoticed but drops off a new white Vancouver Canucks ball cap with new logo. Homeless man wakes up and puts it on his head.

The beating of my heart;

Fading as the years tear me apart.

I start screaming and I don't know why.

Crying out to angels in the sky.

Hoping one will save me today,

Show me the way,
This Christmas Day.

Chorus 3 C G Dm G C G Dm G Am F G

video scene 18 - homeless man walking out to shore, angel behind him is unnoticed. His white hat is completely discoloured and tattered.

I’m still running in the Eastside.

Wanting a better Christmas;

But I keep losing the same.

video scene 19 - homeless man sleeping next to log, angel watching over him. Man no longer has a hat.

Even though I prayed for a new tomorrow;

On a bright light’s ray.

It was on a Christmas Day.
On a Christmas Day.

video scene 20 - angel drops off original blue ball cap

Musical Ending C Dm C Dm Am G C

to be performed by Fred Joly and the Freaks of Nature Band December 2015

A Painting of Birch Trees

2014-12-03T12:52:00.004-08:00

A two panel painting entitled Birch Trees

A Bit of an Artist Bio

2014-11-15T16:04:00.002-08:00

I thought I'd write a bit about myself and what it has been like being an artist.

I have always enjoyed creative writing as long as I remember. In the seventh grade I won a writing contest put on by the Timmins School Board. In school I got into the habit of faking essays and book reports. I would even invent the titles and authors of books. Once my teacher failed me because she believed that I plagiarized my book reports from other sources. Even after I informed her that I actually created fictitious books that didn't even exist she still wouldn't believe that.

I wrote my first song in my early teens. It was a protest song. I may someday try to re-create that.

Canadian artist and songwriter Fred Joly

There were many years of my adulthood where creating art was not a part of my life, either I was too busy working, in prison or on the street active in addictions likely. Ironically, in was on the street in Montreal where I first come across an art studio drop-in place located at the St James Church. This is where I did my first painting. That was around ten years ago.

I stopped painting for a number of years after that but picked it up again at the CMHA in Aurora Ontario in a program they called Community Connections. They had an art studio started and I joined in. I produced probably about thirty paintings, wrote a dozen poems and shorts stories. I also used the space to write and practice six new songs. Some of them I later recorded and created videos for but they no longer exist to show you.

Last year I attended UBC's Writing course. That is a twelve week program run by the Arts & Humanities department. I was invited as writing mentor for the next term and they presented me with an award.

Six months ago I joined a couple other artists to create a new studio. Our Vancouver art gallery and studio is gaining popularity. We even have a new web site Recovery by Design.

Old Collection Recent Painting

2014-11-15T13:38:00.000-08:00

I wanted to try out an old painting I did for my mother long time ago. I attempted this a few times but here's my latest version of the painting.

an acrylic on canvas painting

Why I Enjoy Painting

2014-08-14T15:06:00.000-07:00

I have been practicing art in some form since childhood. I’ve always enjoyed writing stories and songs.

As an adult I started creating mosaic wooden jewelry boxes, coo coo clocks and crucifixes from small pieces of wood and sticks. About ten years ago while at a street art studio in Montreal and completely out of material, the studio manager slapped a canvas down in front of me and demanded that I paint.

“I don’t paint!” was my response, “They paint.” Pointing to the painters. Then I became silent for a very long time staring at this huge canvas of white space. I went for a smoke, or two. I grabbed orange, red, green and yellow acrylic, a medium sized brush and took my first dip. Gives me Goosebumps today thinking of how it made me feel. I got into a rhythm. I played a song with the drumstick and thought words in my head, my own thoughts. I wanted to cry so I painted an evening sky with trees in tears … green ones and red ones and yellow ones. I wrote a poem that went with to further describe these feelings and suddenly, a bit of weight was lifted off of me.

I started practicing what I describe as multi-dimensional art therapy. That is where I use various media (painting, stories, songs, videos, photographs … in a collection to express my inner-struggles and my inner victories. I can do this now with or without speaking a word. Creating anything is therapeutic, but there is nothing better for me then to spend an hour here and there exploring myself on the canvas. Without art, there’d be no point in living I suppose. It’s the only thing that can point me back to the light when I get down or get mixed around. I can talk to shrinks, yell at the guards or I can scream like a madman across the street; without resolve. Luckily for me I’ve discovered that I can slowly unravel the chaos, face my fears, deal with my anger, my sadness, bewilderment … I can express my awe of the universe, the wonders of love and life; that’s why I paint.

Behind His Mask

2014-03-07T11:05:00.000-08:00

“Behind The Masks” – Testimonials of Those Marginalized by Income, got its name and was inspired by singer/songwriter Fred Joly who performed as the audit was being held, and also for those attending the audit closing dinner. Fred wrote the song Behind His Mask based on his true experiences. The playing of his song prompted Rapporteur Daisy Wai to remark that his song affected her as much as anything she'd heard that day. We have included an excerpt from the song below.

A Report on the Interfaith Social Assistance Reform Coalition
(ISARC) Social Audit in York Region on April 20, 2010

Behind His Mask

Do you see the old the old man under the bridge?

Sitting there with a suitcase in his hand.

He’s been drinking there for years and years;

And whenever he’s tired he just beds down on the sands.

Does anybody know him?

Can someone please tell me his name?

Because whenever I see him walking through the city;

He keeps his head down in shame.

He’s a refugee.

Or is he just another shipwreck of society’s.

Looks like a rebel.

Penting up the angers from the past.

Into a twisted fantasy.

The empty bottles are just escapes from his realities.

Bums around wearing a loner’s mask.

The morning’s sun’s an awakening misery.

No doubt another aweful day.

Cramped from the cold misty whispering night.

He doesn’t want to go but he knows that he cannot stay.

Stumbles to the ground on his hands and knees.

There’s mud dripping off of his face.

Then a tear draw a line down his wrinkled cheek;

He cries out “Lord help me please!”

I’m a refugee.

And I’m running from the scorns of this society.

But I’m in a lot of trouble.

‘Cause I’m drifting at sea with a broken mast.

And everybody judges me.

As I’m trying to find my own destiny.

It looks about time to put on my “keep away from me mask”.

When I heard about the old man from under the bridge.

Died there just the other day.

I decided to show up at his Sally Ann service.

Where the Captain tried but he didn’t know how to say.

That’s there a new star’s light shining in the sky.

Because another soul has been set free.

The man spent his final moments scribbling in the sands.

“I think, I see, my liberty.”

Look way up at the refugee.

Can’t you see the castaway of society.

No wonder he was such a rebel.

Still hurting from all the pains of his past.

Living in a fantasy.

Trying to escape his own reality.

From up above beams down a man.

Behind his mask.

Limitless Canadian artist Justin Trudeau

2013-11-26T10:37:00.000-08:00

Always remember that it is the active artists who are the soul of the community.

In all of us there is a primordial need to create art in some fashion. Every Canadian, every single one of us, is an artist (although most don't pay attention to that part of them because they're caught up in more "important" things, other life pursuits.

Art can be created using practically anything around us. The types of art is boundless, new forms of art emerge daily I would think. Essentially, art has no limits and artists, also are limitless.

Justin Trudeau is an artist and he's a passionate Canadian. Those are good things to have as a leader at the federal level (rather than the corporate arse kisser we have in office now, sorry couldn't control myself).

I remember what he said in 2005 concerning the mining company's desire to extract from the Nahanni River NWT Canada "..., "The river is an absolutely magnificent, magical place. I'm not saying mining is wrong ... but that is not the place for it. It's just the wrong thing to be doing."

If you are interested in reading more of my opinions on this then follow up with Why You Should Elect Justin Trudeau as Canadian Prime Minister.

Vancouver Conference About Canada's Next Leader Today!

On that note, SFU is having an interesting free conference about the similarities between Justin and his father Pierre. I might attend it but here's the web page for more information and to register for the event:

Thursday, 28 November 2013 from 5:30 PM to 6:30 PM (EST)

Trudeau 2.0: Pierre's Legacy and Justin's Future

Fletcher Challenge Theater, Harbour Centre 515 W Hastings St
Vancouver, BC V6B 1A1
Canada

My Heart's Empty of Your Love

2013-11-25T13:26:00.000-08:00

Love gave me one more chance for its dance of hot romance.
For the gentle kisses in the night, for every hour to be bright.
Oh each moment with you was like a brand new memory.
Slow walks in the parks were kaleidoscopes of sensory.

Now my heart's empty of your love yet it's such a heavy weight.
Why can't light break through my dark, how long do I have to wait.
For a smile on my face. For laughter to replace my tears.
Find a happy place. My moment of sweet grace. I fear,

I don't know if I can carry our flame forever.
Hoping some day you'll come back to me.
I don't want to give up, never forget, not ever.
I'll be waiting on the shore, always looking out my door for you, my baby.
And when I'm crying in the night, it's 'cause I'm holding on to you tight. It's driving me crazy.

My heart needs a filling up. Oh ya'.
I want to smell the sea, listen to a bee, touch a buttercup.
Now's the time to come, won't see the summer sun this way.
I'm running empty on dreams. I got to find a way to scream. Please fill me up!

Will the rest of my days be spent wasting away.
Trying to get back my favourite yesterdays.
And I don't seem to have the will to get any stronger.
And I know I can't keep holding on much longer.

get over her they say, you've got to find a way.
Break through the stormy clouds and get into the rays.
Go out amongst the crowds. Move yourself along.
Suck it up and let her go 'cause it's time you sing a different song.

I don't know if I can carry our flame forever.
Hoping some day you'll come back to me.
I don't want to give up, never forget, not ever.
I'll be waiting on the shore, always looking out my door for you, my baby.
And when I'm crying in the night, it's 'cause I'm holding on to you tight. It's driving me crazy.

My heart needs a filling up. Oh ya'.
I want to smell the sea, listen to a bee, touch a buttercup.
Now's the time to come, won't see the summer sun this way.
I'm running empty on dreams. I got to find a way to scream. Please fill me up!

Nothing's the same since I'm the loser in life's game.
Everything's gone and it's such a bloody shame.
Trudging through another day, trying to drown the pain away. I'll just endure.
It won't always be this grey. My love will come again this way, I'm sure.

I don't know if I can carry our flame forever.
Hoping some day you'll come back to me.
I don't want to give up, never forget, not ever.
I'll be waiting on the shore, always looking out my door for you, my baby.
And when I'm crying in the night, it's 'cause I'm holding on to you tight. It's driving me crazy.

My heart needs a filling up. Oh ya'.
I want to smell the sea, listen to a bee, touch a buttercup.
Now's the time to come, won't see the summer sun this way.
I'm running empty on dreams. I got to find a way to scream. Please fill me up!
I'm running empty on dreams. I got to find a way to scream. Please fill me up!
I'm running empty on dreams. I got to find a way to scream. Please fill me up!

The Words of An Angel

2013-11-25T13:16:00.002-08:00

In one dark moment, defeated and alone.
I was struggling to find the answers, a reason to carry on.
My life of self-destruction has finally worn me down.
There's just nothing left to save me now, all hope is gone.

It's gonna' have to take one of God's angels.
To show me the way.
It's gonna' have to take the words of an angel.
Who's promising to walk with me, every step and every day.

Then one day she came knockin', so I opened up my door.
Man I wanted her more than anything but I wanted the bottle more.
One morning after drinking I woke up fully dressed on my floor.
Not yet realizing the pain that she'd endured.

It's gonna' have to take one of God's angels.
To show me the way.
It's gonna' have to take the words of an angel.
Who's promising to walk with me, every step and every day.

Hiding back the tears she smiled and said I love you.
Though you've fallen again my promises still stand true.
That no matter what it takes, together we'll pull through.
And when she kissed my hand it was then I finally knew.

It's gonna' have to take one of God's angels.
To show me the way.
It's gonna' have to take the words of an angel.
Who's promising to walk with me, every step and every day.

It's as if a light just lit up inside of me.
Knowing just how blessed a man can be.
To have a righteous lady sent to set him free.
With unconditional love for all eternity.

It's gonna' have to take one of God's angels.
To show me the way.
It's gonna' have to take the words of my very own angel.
Who's promising to walk with me, every step and every day.

My True Love Song

2013-11-25T13:10:00.001-08:00

When I talked to you on the Internet, my sweetheart from so long ago.
Did you have to ask me for the years of stories I didn't want anybody to know.
You said that you would keep my secrets forever just to tell you what's been hurting me so.
I showed you the pain I've been carrying and the depth of my sorrow.

Then you just lifted me up from my many troubles from all my woes.
Your words were heavenly senders of the healing kisses from your soul.
You said that no matter where I'd roamed your spirit shone on me. I know.
I felt the warmth of your sweet touch gently guiding me back home.

Feelings came that I couldn't hide no more so I offered them for you to explore.
And that opened up my heart's door letting your light in once more.
Now I find myself whispering to you every night. Please tell me when the time is right.
'Cause our lives have been preparing for destiny to unfold.

And I know the day is coming when I will run my fingers through your hair.
Cheek to cheek embraces and I will lead you by the hand.
My mystery, my fantasy, we will dance flying through the air.
Oh that day will be wonderful. I'll be waiting until then.

Oh can't you see, it was meant to be, we'd be together all along.
Won't you come to me now baby, so I can sing my true love song.
I know it's crazy but there's no maybes, my tears they can't be wrong.
Won't you come to me now baby, so I can sing my true love song.

Won't you come to me now baby, so I can sing my true love song.

Canada Needs to Get out of the NAFTA Accord

2013-11-18T11:00:00.000-08:00

The how and why of it is fairly simple to me. Let track the why part quickly by giving two two clear examples of why.

1. Consider the Lac Mégantic Quebec disaster earlier this year. We were all shocked and extremely sad, right through the country. What happened? Well, an American corporation trying to squeeze out another buck for its shareholders by parking un-maned trains on Canada's main. That cost-cutting measure cost the devastation of a small downtown. It killed people. All of us were affected but the innocently sleeping town bear the burden of their great losses. The environmental after-effect was likely contained to only a small area but that's to say. Then there was the MM&A Press Conference by Chairman Ed Burkhardt, a circus media performance that sent chills down my spine. The company's sadness was non-existent but their promises many. Do you remember that? Well MM&A today hasn't helped diddly-squat.

Montreal, Maine & Atlantic Corporation
Northern Maine Junction Park
15 Iron Road
Hermon, ME 04401-9602 USA

Ed Burkhardt, Chairman – 773 714 8669 ext 222

Joe McGonigle, Vice President – 207 848 4222

Canadians and mostly the Quebecois were incredibly quick to respond with emergency and financial aid but the American corporate pigs - NOTHING! Check this out ...

Under the NAFTA Accord, which the Conservatives bestowed us with, it is illegal for Canada to change its railroad regulations. But Transport Canada did anyway. As a matter of fact, we changed two train regulations in order to better protect OUR citizens. Unfortunately that gives MM&A the ability to sue Quebec and Canada, (under NAFTA) FOR FUTURE LOSS OF PROFITS. Imagine that. Any American corporation can walk in here, do whatever and profit from it. NAFTA is corporate bullshit.

2. Oil companies want all of the world's oil reserves. Other corporations want all our minerals, others our water, others our souls I suppose. I see the US government as being a big war machine with huge corporate interests (the all too familiar 1%). The last eighty years of history have proven how the can effectively destroy, rebuild and pillage. This is most of there economy, war and protecting shareholders using war. Nice neighbours. Then they come up with the War on Terrorism which essentially perpetuates to no end this great war machine of theirs.

The best example of how they operate happened in Congo. The CIA had no real reason to disassemble Congo yet Congo contains huge mineral wealth. Poor Congo, a huge Yankee success in destroy, pilfered and abandoned. They didn't even bother to rebuild it. Abandoned and raped. The oil companies are poising to pilfer Tibet's oil reserves next. It's the only Asian country will any significant amount of oil. The pools are under the mountains and they'll have to pipe it through China unfortunately somehow. I suppose the corporate resistance will come from China but that's incidental to the shareholders. They will have stage view of it on CNN.

NAFTA is a bad thing for Canada for many many other reasons too. The Americans are such friendly allies or good neighbours. They really don't give a shit about us, as a unit. Canada needs to make a stand, disconnect from these scoundrels. If it was up to me I'd kick them out of NATA. I'd also install a trade embargo with them but that would be complicated. I do have a solution ...

Canada 2.0 The Reconstitution of a Great Nation

My plan is to reconstitute Canada. Under United Nations backing, Canada will momentarily disolve breaking all of its previous treaties will all other countries. Instantly, the re-constituted Canada comes into effect. Now listen to this ...

NAFTA never would have stood a chance in Pierre Trudeau's watch, because he loved Canada, regular Canadian people rather than the corporate pigs. that's unlike the Conservatives. They have become but an extension of the 1%, all corporate pig wannabees.

Vote for Justin Trudeau. We need the brightest, youngest minds to lead us now. Our future as a country is in our hands, collectively. Let's do this thing right.

a Balanced Artist

2013-11-15T11:30:00.000-08:00

I love this picture of me and thought I'd share it. It is me in a contemplated poise carefully observing the delicate balance of a pile of rocks. I even look like an artist in this picture. I hope you enjoy it.

an amazing balanced artist near Collingwood Ontario Canada

Why Should You Vote for Trudeau

2013-11-15T06:30:00.000-08:00

I don't mean to tote doomsday predictions but Canada is in a bad place and our world is in trouble. If we even want to leave a better world for our children, this is the time to act.

That is why, Canada should elect Justin Trudeau the next Canadian Prime Minister for at least 4 terms of office consecutively.

This is not just to change the direction Canada is heading but it is also necessary in order to lead the world into change.

A Canadian Forest Dream

There's much validity to the Conservative's argument regarding Mr. Trudeau's inexperience in the political and economic realities Canada now faces but this will work itself out over time and the Liberals will formulate a team that will re-examine and restructure all that is wrong in our country today. This will be our time to change and it is only the Liberal party under Trudeau's leadership that will be able to accomplish this.

We need a unifying leader. Remember that Justin is not just the son of a once visionary Canadian, he is also Margaret's son. Now there was a lady with spirit.

Here is a man coming of age with zest and stamina to spare. Justin will bump around and stumble from time to time but it is what makes his heart, his true inside motive ... love for you and me, for our fine land and for our great world. That is what will make the politician for the rest of the world today and for all our youth of tomorrow.

Stephen Harper will continue to lead us into giving up everything that our forefather's tried to preserve for us, for our children. Our children will lead the charge now. They will join the most wise and the most passionate and we will march into Ottawa together. And we will sing and we will dance.

Elect Justin Trudeau as Canadian Prime Minister

It will not be easy. We may have to sacrifice, lose some of our luxuries, but we can change Canada and we can change the world.

Rock Sculpture Along the Bay

2013-11-14T15:18:00.002-08:00

a photo one of my first rock balancings

This rock balancing piece was made in the morning along Georgian Bay. It survived the entire weekend, unlike me. Notice my Snake and Crayfish war happening behind it.

Heritage Art Show Painting Changing Silently

2013-11-14T15:15:00.003-08:00

artist Fred Joly with his Changing Silently

I submitted this rendition of the kissing bridge for the 2011 Heritage Art Show.

Attended My First Art Show

2013-11-14T11:10:00.000-08:00

Well I managed to put five paintings together for the Gathering Place art show. Here's a really bad picture of me.

my five submissions

I have some new paintings and have been invited to attend two more shows this year - more info to follow

Sammy's Slice - based on a true story

2013-11-14T11:00:00.000-08:00

I didn't even notice the fresh scar across his throat until he lifted his chin to show me.

"Oh my God Sammy!" I said.

"Ya well. It looks worse than it is." he somberly replied. Then added, "They're giving me shock treatments now."

Those words confused me for a moment. "What?" I wondered out loud. "They still do that?"

Sam smirked then said, "Oh it's not that bad. They have it down pat now. It is a very targeted therapy. They can pinpoint a precise location and send a low currency right to it. I get it done once a week. Walk in there like I own the place now. Shit, there's business men and housewives. Old ladies." He paused to catch his breath.

 My mind drifted away as he shared his story with me. I could clearly visualize the scene on the side of the road. Charlie was trying to hitchhike from Vancouver to Calgary and had only one hundred miles to go. But he was desperate, hungry and exhausted, frantically waving his thumb up and down like he was using a hand pump.
His dream was to start a new life, away from the downtown East side where he had learned the arts of street survival. Drug addicted and depressed, he set off to find himself a new world.
It was in his most hopeless moment, he pulled out his knife with his left hand. Without thinking it through any further, he placed the blade on top of his jugular vein. His stuck out his right thumb confidently. "Somebody will stop now." he whispered.

The traffic hardly took notice. Some of the cars actually honked as they flew past him. He stood there for the longest time along the shoulder of the Trans-Canada in that grim position. Tears formed in his eyes as he considered his fate. The, a white pick-up truck slowed down as it approached him. Sam tried to stare into the driver's eyes but it was the passenger that startled him. "Do it! Do it you fuckin' bum!".

And he did. A few seconds later, his arm dropped and the bloody knife rolled out of his hand. He could feel his shirt getting wet. Soon he was down on his knees.

"It makes me feels lighter." Sam started speaking louder.

"What?" I asked, now out of my daydream.

"The zaps. They make me feel lighter." he stated.

Makes him feel lighter? I considered that for a moment. I guess it would. You fry enough brain cells, after time, there'll be less and less of them to load up with thought and memories. They may as well still be performing lobotomies on the insane. I thought to myself but out loud, "They still do that?"

"Do what?" Sam answered.

"Lobotomies on people." I asked.

Sam shrugged, "I don't know."

Homeless Action Week Vancouver Art Show

2013-11-14T10:34:00.000-08:00

Hey I managed to get a couple of small pieces ready for the Vancouver art show at the Gallery Cachet.

Canadian artist Fred Joly with paintings Separated and A Fall Piece

My two paintings are of Canadian landscapes, a bit abstract but each plays an important role in my recent art therapy. Artists were given a yellow ribbon and tons of great food and fun! I suppose I was a bit drunk but luckily did not behave too badly.

Park-a-Palooza! exhibition at the Gallery Cachet in Vancouver

October 24, 2013 - December 1, 2013

Starfish and Pine Cones Nature Art

2013-11-14T09:51:00.003-08:00

Starfish made out of pine cones

Trampled in the James Bay Frontier Canada

2013-11-14T09:48:00.003-08:00

Trampled - a painting of a James Bay Frontier scene in northern Ontario Canada

Trampled 2.0

A bull chasing another;
Through swamp and pond.
A lust frenzied moose battle decided....

But like a snapped neck in a wind.
Bowing spirit gently fading away.

Trampled 1.0

They look at me but I'm not really seen.
Judge me without knowing where I've been.
Break my spirit and take away my dreams.
Everybody is always against me it seems.

They step on me like I have no feelings;
Pushing me aside to get to their dealings.
Their phony apologies have no meaning;
The oh sorries don't make for instant healing.

I'm trampled.
Runned down from the sidewalks of life.
And I stumble,
Falling over and over's my permanent strife.

I'm trampled.
Hopelessly shunned to the alleyways.
I crumble;
Tossed by the storms of my insane ways.

Swamped.
Lying in the mud watching time go by.
Tumbling.
Staring cars down in the eyes.
Smiling;
Ghosts I see in the sky.

Trying.
Crying with a smile on my face.
Trailing;
The rest of the world's lost in a daze.
I'm trampled;
With no way out of the wicked ways.

A Digital Escape

2013-11-13T11:12:00.002-08:00

Digital Escape

Escaping Digitally

Mom's Blueberry Pie

2013-11-13T11:08:00.001-08:00

The painting Mom's Blueberry Pie