To be a great watchmaker, one must possess two qualities: patience and precision. Jean-Jacques Maurer is characterized by these two traits, not only in the mastery of his craft, but also in his demeanour.
It all started with a disgruntled piano player, whose family could afford only a claptrap, beat-up instrument for him to play. Eventually he took the whole thing apart in an effort to get better sound, and a seed was planted in young Paolo Fazioli.
The crowd that gathers around New York City’s Carnegie Hall is different than that of Vancouver’s Carnegie Community Centre at Hastings and Main. It’s easy to wonder, when passing by the infamous corner of Canada’s poorest neighbourhood, if 19th-century high-society steel baron Andrew Carnegie is turning in his grave.
When Wendy McDonald became a young widow with six children, the managers of her company, BC Bearing Engineers—the company she had personally incorporated and previously ran with her husband—told her, “This is not a place for a woman.”
Upon entering the blue door that leads to Vancouver artist Attila Richard Lukacs’s studio, it is hard to know where to look first. There are shelving units more than 3 metres high stuffed with books, newspaper clippings, and the odd dirty paintbrush.
This restlessness—the drive to create something new—is sometimes assumed to be the essence of the artistic impulse. However, some artists prefer to work within the established boundaries of their predecessors, making incremental changes to their art form, while others, like the Beatles, Charlie Parker and Arnold Schoenberg break with the past, changing music in a fundamental way.
Each December for the past two years, Toronto singer-songwriter Jason Collett has hosted a weekly residency at the cozy Dakota Tavern, a rootsy subterranean bar that’s home to skinny-jeaned hipsters and work-weary locals dropping by for a pint.