There Will Be Blood

You know those end-of-the-world blockbusters that Hollywood keeps churning out? The ones where a widespread pandemic/unprecedented natural disaster/ army of flesh-eating zombies rips through society until only a few survivors (most of them slightly off) litter the streets of once crowded cities?

That's how downtown Calgary feels on Canadian Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving in Canada is basically like Thanksgiving, except it is held on the second Monday of October, lends itself to a weekend getaway, and is celebrated with far inferior football.

Calgary is large and sprawling, with a population exceeding one million Calgarians. Downtown is located in the middle of the city, with Centre street leading straight to the Calgary Tower, which is Canada's way of, let's call it "overcompensating" for their lack of a Space Needle.

Normally, I expect this area to be jampacked, as the various pay parking lots indicate. But on Canadian Thanksgiving, with many Calgarians leaving town and others eating turkey dinner at home, the downtown area is essentially shut down for the day.

Cruising through the eerie ghost town that just one day before was a booming metropolis, a particularly interesting piece of graffiti catches my eye.

Vomit...No explanation. It's not particularly offensive. It's not a swear word. Yet I find it oddly disturbing. Then compelling. What could it mean? Is the graffiti pro-vomit or anti-fence and simply expressing its disdain? Is there a street gang in Calgary that uses the name "Vomit?" Or is it a directive? Does some random Calgarian wish for all passersby to throw up?

I had to know, so I looked it up on Google, which led me to a world-wide graffiti appreciation message board. The same mark exists on various rail cars in Calgary. A member on the board named "Caboose" ends the thread by bragging, "I am friends with Vomit."

Using deductive reasoning, I discern that Caboose is likely a train-hopper and, rather than an ardent supporter of upchuck, knows a fellow who uses the moniker "Vomit." If I went by "Vomit," I would not be as eager to share this fact with the world, but I must admit, it did cause me to stop and take a picture.

As I get out to take that picture, I am met by a small congregation of quirky Canadians who have gathered just above the vomit and behind the nearby railroad tracks. Upon further investigation, I discover that I have stumbled upon "The Tree of Life." How apropos.

"The Tree of Life" is part of an upcoming city arts festival. A Hungarian born performance artist named Istvan Kantor (aka Monty Cantsin) has attached a red flag to an ordinary tree in the hopes of establishing the area as "a new landmark for Calgary to direct information exchange within the framework of everyday life."

Kantor is the disputed founder of "Neoism," an underground philosophy that supports radical performance art, pranks, and a collective identity where everyone refers to themselves as "Monty Cantsin." "The Tree of Life Project" is set to last for three days, and as far as I can tell exists as an opportunity for Kantor to self-promote and perform various odd tasks...or what some would refer to as performance art.

I interview Kantor on camera, and he provides an extemporaneous performance of an old folk song from his native land. His rambling answers to my questions often seem incoherent, but are interesting nonetheless. When I point out the unfortunate juxtaposition of "The Tree of Life" next to the "Vomit" fence, he shrugs it off, pulls on a ski mask and begins digging a hole in the ground.I can only imagine what the children's keyboard and Marilyn Monroe calendar lying around the site are for.

Say what you want about Istvan Kantor, but "Monty Cantsin" seems like a nice guy. The spectators that the exhibit attracts are all interesting and amiable. And why shouldn't they be? On this day, in the empty downtown streets, "Monty Cantsin" is Calgary.

A nice lesbian couple takes a picture with Istvan next to their car, obscuring part of the license plate with Kantor's hand to highlight "666."

A man named David, an Istvan fan, has volunteered to help with the exhibit and asks if I can give him a lift to his apartment so he can pick up his guitar and play a Monty Python song about the meaning of life. When we get there, he shows me his unique artistic passion. He used to live in Japan, and secured a piece of technology that converts handwriting into typeface.

The instrument looks simultaneously futuristic and archaic, but has allowed him to experiment with computer interpretation. The experiment allowed him to be a guest speaker at Arizona State University, an accomplishment David takes great pride in. He has spent countless hours writing various expressions backward in cursive and analyzing the computer's results. For instance, "Logan" backwards emits the word "regal."

Smart computer.

On the way back, David regales me with stories of Istvan's hardcore methods.

"He got famous for going into art museums and splattering his blood on the walls," David tells me excitedly. "Needless to say, the museums did not appreciate that."

Further research shows that Kantor got famous for throwing his blood around quite frequently. Getting kicked out of art museums seems to be his calling card, a fact he wears with pride and features on the front page of his web site, which shows him being dragged off by multiple guards kicking and screaming and proudly proclaims "Banned from most museums around the world."

When we return, David, stagename "Davisio" begins to play songs as Istvan digs a grave for a body that hopefully doesn't exist. David is interrupted mid-strum by a tall man in a Railway Security uniform.

"This is private property," the guard states matter of factly. "You're going to need to move away from the railroad."

Apparently, Canada also has "The Man," and here he doesn't take a holiday. I brace myself for Istvan, legendary blood-splattering resister to authority, to react with fire and brimstone. Instead, he quietly picks up his keyboard and shovel and feebly moves it away from "The Tree of Life" and next to the "Vomit" fence.I guess even Neoists need to pick their battles wisely.