I was disheartened to learn that Sneaky Dee's in Toronto could be closing, and in its place a condo, naturally, erected. The irony.
I spent many a late night in my twenties stoking the creative fires and growing the political muscles with pitchers of Labatt Blue and molehills of nachos in the unapologetically punk-grunge bar and concert venue.
These days I live in southern California, which for the exception of a few very small pockets in L.A. and maybe Santa Ana, is hopelessly irrigated, sun bleached, and cookie cutter. On the top of the cultural pyramid is the car and suburb. I miss organic grime and character.
Let's see whether city hall can step in and do something, but it feels like an era (of alternative culture? ground-up city-making? unpretentious black sheep thinking?) is coming to an end.
Here's a small piece I did in tribute to Sneaky Dee's and that bygone time.
It's not for everyone.
|"Two Urinals," mixed media on panel, 12" x 12".|