Mike + Doug Starn fly away

“Yah lotta rain here, and I’m still not used to it,” was one of the last things Jonathan had written to me, when I asked him to no longer send me any e-mails. To cease contact entirely.

It had been a painful decision to make. One, with a never-ending memory.

A Polaroid from the dead. My unrecognizable self. And unlike Coupland, I just wasn’t interested in making a career out of misery.

It had been a standoff between my happiness and well-being.

I had stood a chance.

Among clear skies, reality, finally took hold.

Opening my side of the car door, helping me out of my seat, gathering my baggage from the trunk of the cab; I hugged Gord, goodbye.

IMAGE | Mike + Doug Starn | Attracted to Light L Ephemera 3 | 1996-2004 | 16″x16″| Toned silver print on Thai mulberry paper

Mike + Doug Starn Snowflake 1 and 2

Distance is a funny thing. It behaves much like time. It never changes and yet it always feels different, mutable, depending on your place in life. Mine, for the time being, remained seated between my protector and my provoker; feeling inexplicably closer to one, and entirely remote from the other. Two distances from a common vantage point. The stroke of midnight shifted my position.

“Happy New Year!” Jonathan’s parents gathered to the living room, making their way over shoes and bags, like two explorers finding solid footing on unpolished rocks in a rushing stream.

“Happy New Year!” Gord lent his hand to Jonathan’s mom, who pulled it in to her, giving Gord a long hug.

“Happy New Year,” I followed suit.

“It’s so good of you to come,” Ellen kissed Jonathan’s dad on both sides of the cheek. Jonathan turned to smile to his parents.

“Well we wouldn’t have if we knew this was your idea of a party,” Jonathan’s dad walked into a clearing in the living room, looking mischievously over to Jonathan’s mom. “Where is the music? The dancing?”

Jonathan quickly located some smooth jazz. A soundtrack to a motion picture. I couldn’t place it although it sounded familiar.

Before making his way to me, Ellen pulled Jonathan over to her side.

It had been a standoff. I had gone to sit down. Read more

Mike + Doug Starn Snowflakes

I knew very little about Jonathan’s girlfriend, Ellen. She was divorced with three kids, working the embroidery machine at a textile manufacturer. She had met Jonathan at her old job where he had just been hired. An IT customer call centre. A place where people from all over the world were being paired up with one another.

During a coffee break, she had approached Jonathan with a problem, asking for his advice. He was flattered.

Later that day, he called me to tell me, no one had ever needed him before. Not even me.

It’s true. I had only wanted him.

Soon, he realized she shared his love for bikes.

Girlfriend in a coma.

I never stood a chance.

She was older than Jonathan, by about ten years.

Ten years.

There was that number again.

1020 Maple Hill Drive. The address of his parents condo. We were already here. Read more

Mike + Doug Starn snowflake

Sometimes we’re at a wedding, invited guests of a friend. I examine my own awkwardness while scrutinizing his indifference after a faceless stranger has made our short introduction. Other times we’re at a funeral. I catch myself looking over to the pew where he sits; ashamed at myself for being more curious than compassionate for the dead.

Never had I imagined meeting him again at Christmas, where the past was buried under the table; cloaked with the niceties two people could muster around a family dinner.

Back at the hotel room where Gord and I were staying, I deflated. The evening had me feeling empty; stupid. A combination of exhaustion and nervousness caffeine is capable of achieving. What had I been thinking?

Douglas Coupland had been delaying, not deliberating. Generated ex had been more alive in my mind, than in real life. The relationship with myself had been tantamount to the one I always thought was about Jonathan.

I had been delaying deliberating, and unlike Douglas Coupland, I didn’t have rainy weather as an excuse. Read more

Leaf Mike + Doug Starn

Since the holidays can get out of hand, I decided instead of the usual essay-like blog posts, to offer up a little winter fiction. I’ll be posting only once a week for the month of December, just so you readers out there can get to tidying, cooking, baking, shopping, crafting, cavorting and much much more!

I should also have several well-wishing greetings interrupting the story flow, further along mid-month. Look out for it!

In the meantime, best to all for a joyous season, and a very luminous New Year. May the future be bright, and the relationsham? Well, may it be left in the past; boarded up in shoe boxes, in the recesses of closets, never to be opened! Enjoy!

“The rain definitely lets you think more about shit,” Jonathan had responded in an e-mail. Why this came to me as a surprise, I didn’t know. It did rain a lot in Vancouver, but Jonathan knew that when he returned home ten years ago.

It had been a standoff between me and his motorbike. I never stood a chance. Read more

Teen mag

I absolutely love to go antiquing. I haven’t graduated to full-blown cottage country kind of excursions, but I will try and get to the shows circulating in the city. Two shows I try not to miss are the Toronto Postcard Club Annual Postcard Show and the other is the Heritage Antique Market–a market which circulates within the shopping malls of the GTA.

My love of art and design usually pulls me toward paper ephemera, which so far, is the only thing my budget can accommodate. (The Sherman brooches and the Raymond Peynet Rosenthal will have to wait.) Postcards, photographs, book plates and recipe cards are my weakness. (I know, I know.) But on my last trip however, I diverged and bought a magazine (a big no-no in my world, since I indulge in mags like I would in potato chips) because I couldn’t think of leaving the May 1963 issue of ’Teen (pictured above) behind. Read more

Paper Place Card Workshop

Nancy moved into the Brock Avenue warehouse and expanded. The industrial building was to be the hub of The Japanese Paper Place. Teachers, conservators and artists are regulars.

International business is ever-increasing. During the week of my visit, the shop has shipped to Greece, Turkey, England, Finland and the States. There are customers in Australia, South Africa, Iceland, Korea and more. From time-to-time trips to Japan are necessary to meet with suppliers. Finally, Nancy is able to focus on the side of the business she enjoys the most: travel!

Years ago, a young woman thought of a place where foreign papers could be sold. A place where if people “could see and handle the paper, they too would believe in it and like it.” Through perseverance, positivity and passion, the same principles endured and an institution was born. First in Toronto, and then, around the world.

Despite the changes on Queen Street, the concept of The Japanese Paper Place, never fell out of vogue. And the rules for living? Their story to be told. Read more

Paper Place Sign

The street started to define an upcoming, tony neighborhood. Head-hunters replaced hippies as the new working order. The crowd was younger and the artists were older. When the American retailers moved in, it became obvious: there was no going back.

At The Japanese Paper Place, two kinds of business had developed: the scrapbooking set and the experienced artists. One group needed help coordinating paper and card; the other, the subtle qualities of the paper. Satisfying both types of clients well, proved difficult. More importantly, for Nancy, the store was moving in a direction away from her original intent. In the end, she would have to decide on how to support the people she felt most comfortable with–the older established community of artists–while someone else, better equipped, could look after the Blackberry bunch. Someone possibly younger. Preferred crooner over choral. Capable to revitalize the atmosphere in the store, once again. Read more

JPP Binders

Nancy had a small one-unit in an Artists Co-Op on Noble Street. The Japanese Paper Place worked out of these quarters until some realty freed up on Queen West, not far from the Co-Op. A futon store had become for rent. The space was ideal. Nancy would take it.

In the new locale, business thrived. Distribution grew, locally and internationally. Workshops were being added and updated all the time. Teachers, from everywhere, started to arrive.

The shop was developing a reputation.

Artists weren’t the only patrons. The general public was making their way too. The store had become an enclave of a greater phenomena: North America’s fascination with Asian culture.

Suddenly, the Japanese sensation had caught on.

East meets West, meets west.

West on Queen.

Nancy, made it possible. Read more

JPP Sample Book

In 1982 Nancy returned from a trip to Europe. Her longterm relationship had ended. She had little to no money.

And so, as was always the case with Nancy, she started to invest in the “power of positive thinking.”

A shop had become vacant on Queen Street west. A small space, “in no man’s land,” right across from the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health. Next door was a paint shop. The rent was cheap. Three hundred dollars. It was somewhere people could discover. Nancy saw it as being successful. She considered a name that reflected the business of what she was doing. She called it, “The Japanese Paper Place.” There was an opening. Kindred spirits were invited.

Immediately, workshops were underway. People had to learn about the properties of the paper. Lampshade making, bookbinding and portfolio classes grew popular. Don Taylor was one of the first instructors.

Artists found a rare resource. They embraced the tools, and Nancy embraced them. Artistic activity was constant. A community had formed. The Japanese Paper Place was fulfilling its mission: “to support local creativity through Japanese papers and products.”

It does so to this day.

Business, was good. Five years after opening, Nancy, with her neighbor, bought the building. Then, there was the fire. Read more

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