A Point of Order, from the Disorder

🍁US: Art Show & Tell, of a Point of Order, add a little ice cream, my just reward. A young woman, lingering with a tattooed crowd in downtown Edmonton near the library, complimented my artwork. After finishing my rapidly melting ice cream in the 24°C heat, I walked over to her gang to show the backside, titled Disorder. Suddenly, a young man lunged at me. "Get the f*** away from here!" he snapped. Before I could react, the group's matriarch—Mama Tattoo—spoke up. "I like your painting," she said, her voice steady. The young man’s demeanor shifted. He looked at the artwork again, his expression softening. "That's an amazing piece of art," he admitted. 

Birds of a Feather, 2026
Left Stage, Exit Right, Freedom from ARTifICE.

🎨 Never in my nine years of quietly practising free press as a citizen from the public gallery—while the official press gallery sat mostly empty—have I seen such disregard for Alberta’s democratic process as I witnessed on March 9, 2026. I’ve followed the 29th, 30th, and now 31st Legislature over the past 9 years with the patience of a man who has spent far too much time sketching politicians instead painting landscapes, and still, nothing prepared me for this. Alberta’s minority Treaty Chiefs filled the government‑side gallery with a single intention: to grandstand, to disrupt, to turn the day’s business into theatre. The Speaker tried to maintain order, but the choreography was already set—Chiefs in solidarity with the Loyal Opposition, amplified by a corporate media eager for spectacle. The goal wasn’t debate; it was disorder. Not persuasion, but performance. Meanwhile, the working people who actually make this province run—the parents getting thier kids off to school, the adults working hard to put roofs over their families’ heads, the folks who voted for this majority government—went about their day unaware that their Legislature had briefly transformed into a circus tent by a small few actors. The Loyal Opposition’s leadership currently sits under a cloud of its own doubts, and Edmonton, our capital city, feels increasingly frayed at the edges with increasing disorder. The anger is rising, the temperature is rising, and the potential for violence hangs in the air like static before a storm. And I find myself wondering: Is any of this worth it? Is the chaos accomplishing anything beyond feeding itself? And here’s the simple truth—The antidote to disorder isn’t more noise—it’s more quiet listening with respect to the democracy we all find ourselves in. Not the kind of listening that waits for its turn to shout, but the kind that remembers we share this house of democracy, this city, this province as one. The kind that steadies the ground instead of shaking it for theatrical effect.
🎨 Pop pop Dazzled by Every Day and Abstracts of Light and Shadows present a cut‑up visual narrative on YouTube — a look back that also glimpses the unknown ahead. The method traces back to something I first encountered inside the old Art Gallery of Alberta, where I learned to interlace recent and archived citizen‑free news stories with layered sound and shifting visuals. Over time, this process became its own art form: a fresh narrative born through the cut‑up technique — découpé, as the French say. The original cut‑up method began with the dissection and reassembly of written text, transforming it into new meanings. Rooted in the Dada experiments of the 1920s, it was William S. Burroughs who carried cut‑ups into the spotlight in the 1950s and early ’60s. For Burroughs, they weren’t just a technique — they were a form of prophecy. Cut‑ups unlock hidden meanings, fracture time, and offer fleeting glimpses of what may come. Play one YouTube video or many simultaneously. Whether approached as divination or as a spark for the imagination, watch, listen and enjoy! Doug Brinkman
Maria's Beautiful Trouble Makers

🎨Selfishness often gets a bad rap. It’s branded as greedy, thoughtless, a trait best left on the villain’s shelf. But peel away the stigma, and you’ll find that in art, selfishness can be revolutionary—especially when it’s paired with vision, vulnerability, and integrity. Take the Group of Seven: A.Y. Jackson and Lawren Harris didn’t have their fame handed to them, even though Harris had wealth from the Massey-Harris fortune. They worked hard, committed deeply, and “selfishly” pursued an unshakable idea—that Canadian landscapes deserved their own voice in art. 

🎨By rejecting European traditions, they carved out space for a uniquely Canadian aesthetic. Their boundaries weren’t barriers—they were a declaration: We paint what we believe. Contrast that with the Indian Group of Seven (Professional Native Indian Artists Inc.). These artists—Norval Morrisseau, Daphne Odjig, Alex Janvier, and others—had no silver platter, no institutional warmth. What they had was fierce resolve. Their “selfishness” wasn’t about ego—it was survival. They refused to be typecast as cultural artifacts and instead demanded recognition as contemporary creators. They built their own galleries, funded their own shows, and shaped a legacy that fought erasure with artistic defiance. 

🎨And then there’s Jack Bush. Trapped in the commercial art world for decades, he suffered anxiety and depression. He longed for a life of emotional honesty—one where color, not corporate briefs, spoke for him. Inspired by the Group of Seven and later mentored by Clement Greenberg, Bush “selfishly” chose abstraction, ditching safety for soul. His art didn’t chase trends—it chased feeling. And in doing so, it soared internationally. 

🎨Mindful selfishness, the kind that: Defies conformity to pursue personal truth. Sets boundaries that guard mental, emotional, and cultural health. Turns pain into inspiration. Gives others permission to be unapologetically themselves. Yes, privilege played a role. Yes, systemic barriers shaped outcomes. But at the core, each story is a testament to how “selfish” choices—when made with integrity—can spark transformation in not just the artist, but the world they paint...