Scenes from the House Dream

David Hoffos is an artist based in Lethbridge, Alberta; he brings his latest exhibition (an apogee of five years of studio production) to Toronto. "Scenes from the House Dream", finds a temporary home at MOCCA (Museum of Contemporary Canadian Art). Hoffos sticks to his signature of employing old cinematic techniques. With his seventeen years of experience, he produces a truly unique and captivating exhibition.

Scenes from the House Dream, begins when you lift the heavy velvet curtain to enter the dark space and amalgamation of sounds, distant and close. The sign outside, right before you enter, prompts you to let your eyes adjust before continuing on. I diligently pause in the denseness. To the left of me, a small television garners my attention. Elevated on a stand slightly above eye level, the T.V plays a clip of fireworks, which seem eerie and displaced in this solitary environment; fireworks, celebrating what?

To the right against a wall I notice a small window containing a diorama, the first of many in the exhibition. I get close to inspect the scene "Circle Street, 2003" The fireworks behind me find a home, as they are reflected into the landscape from the T.V, they appear as if they are exploding in the night sky over the hills which are a backdrop for this quiet suburban street. Figures appear and disappear right before your eyes as they walk the lonely street. Hoffos uses mirrors in these works brilliantly to add depth and play with your perspective. I peer far to one side of the street in an attempt to see where the never-ending street leads me, but instead get startled by a faint reflection of myself staring back, as if to judge my voyeuristic ways.

I continue on to observe the bizarre yet inviting scenes behind the small windows; each one invites and captivates the viewer. Hoffos manages to invoke emotions we are all familiar with but seldom bring to the surface, let alone the public eye; intimate moments of human life where we find ourselves alone and contemplative and/or confused, with feelings of restlessness, loneliness, and detachment (from ourselves and our society). In "Airport Hotel, 2004" for example, we are invited into a hotel room. An attractive woman solemnly emerges from a part of the room and anxiously paces around; she pauses reflectively and looks outside her window to the dreary night time view of an airport, while sipping on an alcoholic drink. Hoffos’ work is a reflection of our contemporary society and quintessential modern condition. The soundtrack surrounding each piece is also very important and evocative.

While looking at these accessible and transporting dioramas, from the corner of my eye I am constantly aware of this man sitting at a small table observing the exhibition and its occupants, because of the lack of light I don`t have a clear vision of the subject which adds to my unease. I am not quite myself with the presence of this gaze. I become suspicious of the repetitive motions and upon closer inspection I can see the one who is watching me is not a man, but the projection of one (Absinthe Bar, 2004). A few more of these characters reveal themselves throughout the exhibit. They are interesting because the viewer has this guilty sensation of spying which makes one tense and easily jolted. Appearance versus reality is an important theme in this collection. The life size figures startle at first, but later make you feel as if you are in the company of ghosts, sharing their space, them observing you as much as you observe the exhibition

Another thing to take note of is the fact that Hoffos reveals the illusory technique, I believe this is intentional. He exposes where the enchanting visions come from with the numerous T.V sets positioned around the room. In doing so he successfully manages to shift the spectators thoughts from focusing on how it`s done, to why it’s done?

Scenes from the House Dream, is on until December 31st, 2010, at the Museum of Contemporary Canadian Art, 952 Queen St W. Gallery hours are Tuesday through Sunday 11 - 6 PM.

Eventually your street noise begins
to sound like music,
it soothes my melancholic ear
The descending lights of capitalism
mean nothing to me
I am not here

"i want you to be king forever"

.... i recently watched  "where the wild things are" by director Spike Jonze.... a nice family friendly film, and a philosophical film in its own right. It explores personal identity, which begins to take shape at an early age, as seen in this film with Max. It explores the psychology of loneliness and questioning of ones surroundings. shortly,  it is the story of a boy reveling in his imagination, rebelling against his "misunderstandings" ...... running away he faces the often arduous interactions within a closed group of people, the intricacies of leadership and the cost of selfishness. unfortunately,  I can say I have never been familiar with the book, but i did enjoy this movie, and oddly bonded with it. It resonated the pages of my childhood. I personified it .
It starts off with max building a snow fort by himself, talking to imaginary friends, as i often did in our first winters here.

When we came to Canada, I was six or so, we moved every year or two. My parents were non existent to me, literally selling their souls, working around the clock ( my mother anyways) My father........ displaced. My sister, ten years my senior, with the world on her shoulders, pushed away as much as possible but the family ties keeping  her "tied" to every situation. I was one of the only people she felt she could take negative emotions out on (unfortunate scapegoat). I can tell you not the best foundation for a relationship.

Moving so often, made it hard to make friends, it didn't help that i was shy and introverted, by the time they warmed up to me, or rather i warmed up to them, it was time to move to another city. This is where my artistic interests flourished. As a child, i found a way to express myself, escape myself, sometimes innocent, sometimes shocking and disapproving, probably to get a reaction.

as a child, I made things , I made boats and vehicles, using cardboard boxes, duct tape,etc. I enjoyed the creative process probably more than the finished product. I imagined these vehicles taking me away to amazing places.  I once attempted to built a tree house with my father's tools in a seemingly unassuming tree, in a suburban neighborhood, that adventure ended early with a distressed housewife calling the police.

Another time when i was eight or nine, I taped together buckets and pots to make a fashion dummy. I then took every bed sheet in the house,and sewed a gown, a beautiful fairytale gown , worthy of a princess. ( my family didn't share my artistic vision :/ my mother was the only one that was uncomfortably proud  )

I made friends, I would stitch them together, carry them with me everywhere, like a conscious. I would write and illustrate stories in private, always making myself the hero/antihero. My imagination was more than my best friend, it was my escape.

Max feels lonely, his imagination discovers this place where he is loved and accepted. For once he is in control, finally in control.. of something... He becomes king, king of the monsters he was at first afraid of.... At first they want to eat him, he convinces them of his "power" his "superiority",  of his childlike, invincible confidence,,  he is ready to be a leader, in his own world.


after max expels all his "supernatural" qualities in order to save his life. 
one of the creatures asks,

"what about loneliness?"
another creature adds
"what he's saying is will you keep out all the sadness?"


he goes through trials and tribulations with the pack(his new found temporary family) , at some point his boyish empathy says "I wish you had a mom"


not long after that he becomes aware of what he is missing at home. he decides to go back, go back to his family. Particularly his mom.

 one of the female creatures says:

"Don't  go!.... I'll eat you up, I love you so!"

cute and at the same time morbid line; (that i assume belongs to the book)

mother/child reunions inevitability tear at my heart strings,

 no matter how basic the matter. there will always be this void.

but,,as unexpected as it is, we should always expect it. (death)


you end up growing stronger because of it...


In my hermit childhood adventures , i would notice many things, I would walk around and take note of the precisely executed ant hills,the admiral  architectural system, watch them gather food to take back home.I would naively but genuinely feel bad to see a footprint crush their livelihood their whole "ant empire"


I would walk around with a bag of sugar as some sort of martyr, spilling a generous handful to every ant hill i saw.

Another time I gave a rather lonely and lengthy funeral to a crow i saw laying on the side of the street.
right now I may be disturbed by the notion of a ten year old girl digging a grave for a crow, but that was me so, what can i think?

i could say i don't know why i did these things, but ... much over a decade later i can make a guess.

i perhaps had a need to be needed....

and to be creative , to make "art" was a way to be in control of something that is entirely mine.

july and august continued

I discovered Czech writer, Vitezslav Nezval, while doing some light research prior to my eastern european trip and got into some of his poetry. One I am quite fond of:

St Wenceslas Square at Evening

Sun-tanned girls
Like dark church corners
Indistinguishable from the wall
Which they form
Under the lamps in which the wind whistles

Good evening unknown lady
Dressed in the smells of the yawning street
How I adore you how I love you
One more day and we shall keep our illusions
Prague is blending with all other cities
As you blend with all women
Each having its own subtly different illusive perfume



Published in Nezvals, Prague with Fingers of Rain, a collection of poems whose backbones are the streets of Prague. He was one of the most momentous avant-garde Czech writers of his time ( the first half of the 20th century), and a co-founder of the surrealist movement in Czechoslovakia.

 It was a nice surprise when someone suggested one of his books to me in Prague.

Valerie and Her Week of Wonders, a bizarre erotic, gothic, vampire, fairy tale, intriguing, and unlike most of his other work. Quite fitting with society`s recent fang obsession, here i will unabashedly confess to my childhood walking dead obsession. I was excited about this piece, I can`t tear away from the glamour and sexual titillation of vampires.

He wrote this novel in 1935 which was quite controversial at the time. Valerie is on the threshold of puberty. Blood represents life, the sight of blood usually represents death and in Valerie`s case blood represents sexuality and a step towards womanhood. Her week of wonders is implicitly her first week of menstruation. It`s extremely sexual and innocent at the same time, as is the experience with many young women including myself . You do need a strong imagination to revel in this book, which i am not short of. My imagination is what I have always had and taken comfort in. It`s a great surrealist novel as well as an entertaining gothic fairy tale. Well written, entertaining and open for interpretation.

I am also dying to see the highly acclaimed adaptation of the novel in the 1970 film by Jaromil Jireš ,  It looks breathtakingly beautiful.




this is the more mellow trailer

july/august reads

The Mighty Angel by polish writer Jerzy Pilch, I loved this book and finished it ravenously mostly in one afternoon, but at a light 150 pages it wasn't hard. My appreciation for this book probably has something to do with the familiarity of the alcoholic protagonist as seen with my long time fling Bukowski, both authors and their thinly-veiled alter ego writer protagonists were consumed by more than just alcohol, 
"Language is my second -- what am I saying, second -- language is my first addiction" (Jerzy, in the mighty angel)

but this protagonist and narrator (Jerzy) has poignant style all on his own, he seems to try and confront the psychological reality of alcoholism and the inscrutable reality after sobriety, while never losing that black humor charm

There is a whole chapter dedicated to quotes mostly from well known alcoholic writers. I enjoyed this.