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Earlier this month I was a guest on the CBC Montreal radio show Cinq à Six with Pierre Landry. We discussed the opening of the Claire and Marc Bourgie Pavilion of the Musée des beaux-arts de Montréal and their new hanging of Quebec and Canadian Art.
If you’d like to hear it,
Or if you’d like to download it, click here.
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While the building itself was built in 1967 by Ray Affleck, I strongly doubt he had a hand in either fountain, and I would also doubt that the one at the entrance was part of the original plans.
+This is the 22nd in an occasional series of videos on the fountains of Montreal+
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Normally I don’t do promo, but this one is too good to pass up. I’m definitely going to have to find someone to drive me to Longueuil in two weeks. See y’all there!
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It’ll be interesting to see what monuments get built here in Montreal to remember the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan… Back when things were black or white it was much simpler. You died trying to kill other men with guns and they carved your name in stone.
From the time when only the Canadiens spoke French.
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On Wednesday night I got to see Helge Letonja’s Steptext Dance Project perform The Bog Forest at Agora de la Danse. If memory serves it is playing tonight as well and tickets are cheap. According to the press fodder it’s about immigration. I’m not so certain I would believe that, but despite me not being able to see how it is about immigration I was pleasantly surprised with the performance. One reason I might not have been able to see how it is about immigration is quite literally because it is very dark. Both on a physical level and an emotional level.
Let’s start with the physical first. According to (again) the press fodder Laurent Schneegans is the person responsible for the lighting. Personally I would have given him the title of person responsible for the darkness. The piece is roughly comprised of three (or maybe four) sections and the first one and the last one take place in pretty much an unlighted black box. Now normally I’m not a big fan of not being able to see the dancers, but in this case it wasn’t that bad; a) there wasn’t that much dancing going on (to be more precise, a lot of moving, but not a lot of dancing) and b) given the name of the piece it was obvious that the lack of light was in order to add to the atmosphere.
At the beginning everybody pretty much had their face covered by something or other, whether it was an actual mask, or just a very large hood that then caused shadows, it was difficult at the beginning to figure out who was who. Although after the fact (and with judicious use of the press fodder, I can confidently state that) Christian Wolz starts out with some kind of chanting and Konan Dayot does some staggering around like a busted marionette. I wrote in my notes “a bunch of staged abstract tableaus in the dark.” And more than 24 hours after the fact, I still stand by that statement.
As an introduction to the performance it is effective. Very spooky. They use lighters, have flashlights aimed towards the audience and in general do just about everything you can think of to make you think that you’re in some kind of bog (or for the North American’s in the house a swamp – or if you want to get technical, both are wetlands although swamps tend to have trees, and bogs veer towards treelessness) you know the kind of place you imagine while you’re listening to Dale Hawkins or Lighting Hopkins. But the beginning of the performance as a means to understand that The Bog Forest is a “crossroads for six individual destinies…” I’m, not so certain.
The second part starts with a bang – well not actually a bang, but the aftermath of a bang with a humongous cloud of smoke hanging over the stage. It takes a while to dissipate but continues to add to the swamp-like atmosphere despite the lights actually being turned up and being bright enough so that I could see the dancing. Quite a cool effect, especially since the Agora de la danse is such a small space. At some point I’m going to have to bone up on my “how-to-make-a-large-cloud-of-smoke-in-the-dark-without-any-light-or-sound” notes because I sure as shootin’ had not clue how that cloud of smoke was able to get there.
With the aid of the light it actually became possible to not only identify the dancers (who were generally quite accomplished, if not really really good) but also since they were identifiable; recognize them as individuals. According to my notes there was the “Chinese Couple,” “Blondie,” the “Other Woman,” “The Turkish Guy” and “The Rabbit Guy” (who to be honest, wasn’t a dancer, but was the singer, Christian Wolz). Writing while they are performing doesn’t leave me an awful lot of time to think about suitable titles. Although in the case of “The Rabbit Guy” I could have gone with “The Singing Guy.” But since he carried around a rabbit for the better part of the first part and then that very same rabbit gave “The Other Woman” some sort of epileptic/hysterical fit. I went for the slightly more descriptive title.
The Chinese Couple were I-Fen Lin and Wei Meng Poon. They did a kick-ass duet that started with each of them on a separate square of straw (one stage front and left, the other stage back right) which went through a progression where Mr. Meng Poon removed Ms. Lin’s shirt and did what I called a “dance of tension.” (At some point I’m going to have to do my darnedest to memorize “Technical Manual and Dictionary of Classical Ballet,” my vocabulary sucks the big one when it comes to describing how people move). But this one was where it appeared that there was an equal amount of pulling by both of them so as to keep everything in an equilibrium, more based around brief poses rather than a continuous series of movements.
Not quite the Ab Lounge, or i-Shape but close, and now that I think about it more, I’m certain that there is probably some yoga involved as well. Anyhows, after he takes her shirt they talk in what I presume is Chinese, which turns into an argument, at which point Mr. Meng Poon returns Ms. Lin’s shirt, they reconcile and then she starts coughing while he starts either crying or laughing.
Even with identifiable characters, I’m still not certain what it has to do with immigration…
Prior to the argument over the shirt Ms. Lin and the “Other Woman,” Emilia Giudicelli, have a very graceful, extremely well done, but unfortunately all too short duet. While watching it I was struck by how well they performed together. I’m not certain, but I don’t think they could have been more synchronized had they been doing it together nightly for the past 5 years. There were also two quartets where everything seems right with the world, not quite line dancing, not quite Jazz Dance, not quite Modern Dance either, but very very satisfying. If I remember correctly “The Turkish Guy” (who is actually Brazilian) Leonardo Rodrigues is not quite dancing in counterpoint to the other four, but is dancing on his own in opposition to the other four.
The three other tableaus that were notable were when The Rabbit Guy, Mr. Wolz, hummed around The Turkish Guy, Mr. Rodrigues, in effect making him move as a consequence of the; quote, sound waves; unquote, emanating from his mouth. Think of a leaf on the wind or a piece of cloth in a pool or a river. In retrospect it could be considered a variation on a theme that was started with the “dance of tension” and is continued towards the end when all five dancers join in a game of “keep aloft.”
The set is mainly made up on one side (actually one third) what looks very similar to a miniaturized version of “Lipstick Forest / Nature Légère” by Claude Cormier at the Palais des congrès de Montréal. Branches and twigs instead of trunks, orange instead of pink and suspended curtain-like one on top of another instead of planted on the floor like a fence. But close enough. The other two thirds is made up of some sort of net that has a lot of plastic bags attached to it. Depending on the light, or the lack of light, the plastic bags can kind of look like leaves, handkerchiefs, plastic bags or just something sort of spooky. Or maybe that was just me anticipating Halloween. But, one of the plastic bags becomes the object of the game of “keep aloft,” whereby the dancers try to keep the bag in the air by blowing on it.
The third notable tableau was when “The Rabbit Guy,” Mr. Wolz starts to draw on “Blondie,” Mr. Dayot’s back. It’s notable in that everyone is on stage and no one stops moving, but my eye was riveted on Mr. Dayot’s back, ignoring everything else. Which leads me to believe that whatever dancing was being done wasn’t particularly compelling, because the drawing itself wasn’t all that hot – but the process of drawing was extremely compelling.
Overall, I was impressed, not so much by the narrative or the theme, but by the movement. Mr. Letonja does have a very specific dance vocabulary (which I’m not certain I would be able to learn at this late stage) rooted in movements from nature, like the wind or water and he does translate it extremely well for humans. I’m certain it makes complete sense in his head how it relates to immigration and immigrants, but that didn’t translate to me sitting in the audience, maybe next time I need to go to the performance that has the talk afterwards where they explain everything, although to be honest, all I really would want to know is how they got they cloud of smoke up there, but I’m rambling now, so let me stop.
At the risk of repeating myself, it is the movements taken from nature and reproduced by Mr. Meng Poon, Ms. Lin, Mr. Dayot, Mr. Rodrigues and Ms. Giudicelli that truly make The Bog Forest something wicked-cool.
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Built in 1972 to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the building of Place Ville Marie, in French the name is Presence Feminine. The water jets are on a four minute cycle, and more information about Gerald Gladstone can be found here.
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Last Saturday I got invited to a dinner party unlike any other dinner party I had ever been invited to. To give some backstory: There used to be this kick-ass (or so I’ve been told) restaurant in Long Island City called M. Wells. And there is this Montreal based taco truck called Grumman 78. Apparently the folks behind M. Wells and Grumman 78 used to work at a place called Au Pied de Cochon, a fabled place in Quebecois food history. Anyhows, for a variety of reasons I Bixi’d my way down to the western end of Saint Henri to a garage for what I initially thought was going to be some sort of culinary n’est plus ultra. As it turned out it was a n’est plus ultra, but not for the reasons I had initially thought.
$60 for bar inspired food while watching a Canadiens’ hockey game in a converted garage with the latest and greatest in the Quebecois food scene. I figured what the hey! There are times when I can run up a $60 bill just eating hamburgers. This had a possibility of being not only good, but memorable. When I arrived (earlier than my five other dining companions) things looked a little unsettled. As I was not quite in the loop, I took a seat at the bar waiting for everyone else to show, when in fact I should have staked a claim to a table directly in front of the Big Screen and waited for everyone else to arrive.
I also had in my head some sort of idea that it was going to be some sort of gourmet festival. You know where the wine/food pairings are kind of like music of the spheres and everyone is dressed perfectly. Remind me next time I have a thought like that, that the previous time I was wrong, very wrong.
I don’t quite remember exactly when it hit me, but at some point it did, that this was not some sort of gastronomical encounter where food was king, but more like your local bar with better than average food. I went from thinking “for my $60 my mind is going to explode because of the flavor combinations” to “hey this shit is good. If I’m going to get the average down below $6 per serving, I better start eating more.” Kinda like going from a concept of the latest in cuisine actuelle to an all-you-can-eat buffet. Or for the Americans in the house, going from Next to Thanksgiving.
As I deliberately left my camera at home (I thought initially I was just going to kick back and enjoy myself instead of writing about it) I am quite grateful and appreciative of Huge Galdones and FoodieDateNight both of whom wrote down what they ate and took pictures of what was served. But by relying on other people’s descriptions, I was quickly reminded that taste is one of those elusive senses; one person’s “sharp” is another person’s “bitter” is another person’s “spicy.” And it is made even more obvious by the titles of the various pictures which for the most part give a good general idea, but when you get down to the real nitty-gritty are world’s apart.
Course 1:
Deviled eggs & fried snails according to FoodieDateNight or Curried deviled eggs with breaded escargots according to Huge Galdones.
While the hard boiled egg whites were exactly that, there’s not much you can do with a boiled egg white, the yolks were extremely smooth. I’d venture a guess a ton of mayonnaise was used. The snails were definitely breaded and then fried, although the coating didn’t really stick. Initially I thought the idea was to eat the egg with a snail, but quickly realized that since there were five snails and only three deviled eggs that it wouldn’t quite work like that. Normally I’m not a real big fan of hard boiled eggs in any form, but in this case I had two servings or six halves. They were that good. Approximately 400 calories.
Course 2:
Tripe and clam soup according to FoodieDateNight or Tripe and clam soup according to Huge Galdones.
Initially I thought that this was some kind of Puerto Rican boy band soup. But Menudo and Menudo are two different things, and apparently this had clams as well. After the deviled eggs this was fairly weak. Tripe is mostly about the texture, but there wasn’t much. And clams after snails is like drinking a Mosel kabinett riesling right after a bourbon. The subtleties don’t quite shine as well as they could. Approximately 300 calories
Course 3:
Smoked mussels served cold w/ crackers according to FoodieDateNight or Quebecois-style smoked mussels according to Huge Galdones.
I’m not certain what makes these Quebecois-style, I didn’t taste any maple syrup or cheese curds, but again I was pushing the limits of my palate. Mussels are kind of like Tequila to me. There was one night a couple of decades ago when I just overdid it (not on both at the same time) and as a consequence neither one is high on my list of things to order or eat. But when served, my mom taught me well, I eat what’s put in front of me. To me these tasted like what I would presume tinned smoked mussels would taste like. But my companions quickly corrected me, informing me in no uncertain terms that smoked mussels from a can would be way more mushy. As the crackers were tossed on the bar and the soup and the mussels showed up pretty much at the same time, I actually used the crackers (plain old Saltines) in the soup. Even though they were swimming in oil (maybe that ‘s why it was Quebecois-style, maple oil!). Approximately 200 calories.
Course 4:
Raw Salmon, dynamite mayo, fennel, tobiko, croutons according to FoodieDateNight or Fennel salad topped with Asian-inspired salmon crudo, sesame oil, tempura bits, and spicy mayonnaise according to Huge Galdones.
Going three-for-four in the challenging food categories (hard boiled eggs, mussels and fennel are never going to be number one with me) this was actually quite tasty, I had two. The chunks of salmon were very large, the pieces of tempura were very crunchy, I didn’t taste any of the sesame oil and there was just a light coating of spicy mayonnaise. I ended up eating the fennel separately and covered in spicy mayonnaise it was also quite nice. Approximately 800 calories.
Course 5:
Buffalo style chicken in a box w/ wet naps according to FoodieDateNight or buffalo wings according to Huge Galdones.
To me this is where I diverged from what was written on the menu. To me this was much more like a General Tao Fried Chicken than Buffalo style chicken. Basically a chicken breast with the wing still attached, coated in a tangy, sweet, sticky and vibrantly red sauce. I kept waiting for the dark meat to show up, but it never did. Nonetheless I had two servings, lets call it a conservative 2,000 calories.
Course 6:
Fried tortilla chips w/ taramasalata & pickled eggplant n’ olives according to FoodieDateNight or taramosalata and eggplant-olive salad according to Huge Galdones.
No funky business here, taramasalata is taramasalata, pickled eggplant is pickled eggplant. The fried tortilla chips were huge. Personally I prefer my taramasalata to have enough garlic to save me from vampires for at least a month, this one would have prevented someone from biting my neck for maybe 30 minutes. The eggplant was nice, but not earth shattering and the fried tortilla chips ended up getting soggy. How about we add another 1,350 calories?
Course 7:
Chicken & ricotta meatball according to FoodieDateNight or chicken meatballs according to Huge Galdones.
Again I diverge from the written menu, there might have been ricotta in there, but they were doused in Parmesan and some kind of tomato sauce, nice and large, but meatballs are kind of like hard boiled eggs, real tough to fancy up. I had two. How about we call it 400 calories?
Course 8:
Tourtiere tamale, turkey gravy, red pepper jelly according to FoodieDateNight or “Tourtière tamale”: ground pork and spices with gravy and plum sauce according to Huge Galdones.
This is where things got interesting. As we were being served camp style (ie everyone at the same time) sometimes descriptions got lost in translation. These came to the table simply as “tamales.” I asked all my dining companions what they thought the sauce was, because I thought it was some kind of, again tangy, raspberry or strawberry sauce. Between the four of them, I got two red peppers, one chili, and one cranberry. To me it definitely wasn’t spicy enough for chili, and in hindsight, given the turkey gravy the cranberry was a brilliant guess. But tourtiere is normally served with ketchup. I have no idea where the “plum sauce” comes from, and I will go to my grave insisting that it was a tangy raspberry coulis. Call it 300 calories.
Course 9:
Lamb belly w/ cumin & sesame according to FoodieDateNight or Cumin-rubbed lamb spare ribs with sesame and cilantro salad according to Huge Galdones.
This is pretty much where I kicked the bucket. After consuming approximately 6,750 calories (don’t forget the booze) I though to myself, are baby sheep ribs really all that meaty? And after having one bite, realized in fact that they weren’t. And now that I start thinking about it, I cannot remember ever seeing, live, or in pictures a hefty lamb. And if you’re not hefty there ain’t gonna be much meat around your belly or on your ribs. So I took one bite, confirmed what I thought and said “ok, enough’s enough.” I did however eat all the cilantro…
Course 10:
Black forest chocolate & pumpkin cream cheese whoopie pies according to FoodieDateNight or Pumpkin-cream-cheese and Black Forest cake Whoopie pies according to Huge Galdones.
I didn’t try the pumpkin (and maybe I should have) but I was very disappointed with the, quote; Black Forest; unquote whoopie pie. I don’t know about you, but the words “Black Forest” make me think of chocolate, maraschino cherries and whipped cream, double bonus points if some of the chocolate is in shavings. You get the all-time high score if your chocolate cake is moist. These made me think more along the lines of oversized Oreo cookie. The cake was a little bit dry and yeah after pushing 7K calories I wasn’t quite in the mood to really analyze them further.
Along the way we had five different bottles of wine, I told you not to forget the booze. A Gruner Veltliner, Terraces 2010, domaine Wachau. VDP Cotes Catalanes, Muscat sec 2010, Domaine de Blaines. Cotes du Rhone, Petite Jeanne 2010, La Roche Buissiere. Calabuig, Bobal 2010, Bodegas del Levante. And Fleurie, La Chapelle des Bois 2009, Arnaud Aucoeur. But as I was sitting with the importer, how about I just say that they were spectacular and wonderful, and leave it at that.
Overall it was a fun time, from my perspective I think it was more Grumman 78 than M. Wells, but I have been wrong before, and I will be wrong again. In retrospect there was nothing that was completely mind blowing, but there was nothing that was horrible either. The Canadiens didn’t win, but it was a close game that ended up in a shootout. The food was similar to the game, entertaining and enjoyable, but not earth shattering. I’m not certain that I am enough of a hockey fan to go watch every game there, but for things like the Daytona 500, it would be amazing.
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Built in 1912 by Mott Iron Works it was restored in 2003.
+This is the 20th in an occasional series of videos on the fountains of Montreal+
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No I have no idea what it means either.
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A book review. Click here for details on the book.
I’ve read the Roadsworth book twice now. This is also the second time I’m writing a review. My first one was crap – take my word for it. I’m kind of torn about the book, which is quite possibly the reason why my first try at a review wasn’t good. On one hand I want to like it very much, on the other it could have been so much better. Neither animal, vegetable or mineral, it falls somewhere in between a catalogue of Peter Gibson’s work, a biography about Peter Gibson, and a pretty book of pictures taken by Peter Gibson. But let me back up a little bit.
A bunch of years ago (late 2004 to be exact) I met Peter Gibson. He (like me) has a second name, his is Roadsworth. When I was running Zeke’s Gallery I came across some of his work, took pictures of it and published them on the Zeke’s Gallery blog. Each time I came across another one, it was kind of a big deal. At the time there were some folk working with me, and when they would find another one of his pieces we’d all kind of jump up and down with glee and then I’d ask them to take a picture of it so as to try and compile some sort of online portfolio or something.
Anyhows, after publishing a bunch of pictures, Peter introduced himself to me, and me being the inquisitive person that I am, I asked him if I could interview him; for the record, on the blog. Much to my pleasure, he said “yes.” If you’d like to read it (all 17,000+ words…) it’s still kicking around (Part One, Part Two, Part Three, and Part Four). I’ve tried on a number of occasions to re-read it, but something always ends up dragging me into the present. I figure at some point I might get my act in gear and try to use them for something off-line, at which point I will probably be forced to re-read them (along with other things from my past) but until then, I think it far better to concentrate on the here and now.
All of which is a long-winded way of getting to the fact that after he got busted I decided that I wasn’t too fond of the idea of the city of Montreal attempting to put Peter in jail. So I did what I could to help to prevent it. About halfway through the book (unfortunately it does not have page numbers) he explains my involvement. Also, I should probably mention that this is about as far from an “objective” review as you can get as I am also thanked on the penultimate page of the book.
I’m not certain what it was exactly that first attracted me to his work. Knowing that my memory is crap, I can try to use hindsight to make some connections, but your guess is as good as mine if it is in fact “The Truth,” or just something that happens to make sense to me at this moment… I do know that I have always had an interest in what was on, and how the actual street/sidewalk was made. From playing skully and hopscotch as a young child, to carving my name in freshly poured concrete as a teenager and young adult, to duct taping “Zeke’s Gallery” on the sidewalk as an ersatz sign as a full-fledged adult, to critiquing sidewalk aesthetics as a middle aged man (soon come, promise) I’ve always paid attention to what was below my feet – heck, I don’t think I have stepped in dogshit in over 30 years. I also have a sneaking suspicion that my bicycle riding might have some bearing on it (after all, when riding a road bike an awful lot of your time is spent looking at the road.
While I’m fairly certain that Peter was not the first artist in the world to use the street/sidewalk/road as his canvas, he quite likely was the first one in Montreal. As such he definitely stood out from the crowd. Off the top of my head, other than the straight green line painted down Sainte-Catherine street to mark the route of the Saint Patrick’s day parade, I can’t think of any other official or unofficial redesign of Montreal streets prior to Peter’s interventions. The very nature of being “first,” enables an awful lot. Whether it is winning a race or garnering outsized attention, being first always helps.
The book itself reads kind of like an oversized business card or perhaps an embellished CV. Which in itself is made even more obvious by the inclusion of an artsy embellished CV at the end of the book, conveniently labeled “chronology.” While the book doesn’t quite go from birth to the present, it also reads somewhat like a biography. Peter was born in Toronto, moved to Montreal to go to school, starts stenciling illegally, gets busted, becomes famous, ends up stenciling legally, rides off into the sunset with his girlfriend, roll credits (ok, I made those last two bits up, but you get the picture).
As I was reading it, I wrote down some of the more interesting passages, such as: “There is an experiential harmony in the process of understanding Roadsworth’s work – a harmony between learning his language and reconsidering our own understanding and behavior within the city.” Perfect grant application vocabulary that doesn’t really say or add anything about the work.
For the most part, the most effective pieces done by Peter are those that are 2D visual puns. They are short, sweet and to the point. Adding to existing signage or features of the urban landscape he tweaks things. Similar to Henny Youngman or Don Rickles in that his best work is effectively a one-liner that makes you laugh. Trying to imbue it with a deeper meaning or more significance just really doesn’t work.
Another interesting passage; he “creates brief moments where the imbalance of presence among the elements sharing the streets is redressed.” Or “a rare element of poetic discovery of the potential stored within the normally anonymous pavements.” Or “Roadsworth awakens and reveals a dormant energy contained within the street and the urban ephemera.” I could go on, but you get the point. Thankfully there are pictures, lots and lots of pictures. And to be fair, the whole book isn’t written in grant-speak.
One surprising thing for me to discover was that when he ‘really’ got busted by the cops, it wasn’t completely out of the blue. They had picked him up once and given him a warning, caught him a second time and given him a ticket before The Bust in November 2004. That was one of the things that had always bugged me about Peter’s getting busted. It seemed to me to be way too hard and heavy for a first time.
In 2001 I was exhibiting art by Maclean, which included, ostensibly the ‘first’ Art/Arrret sign he did. Before you get completely lost and your eyes glaze over, let me back up slightly. In Montreal, for those who don’t know, Stop signs say “Arret.” Maclean had decided that he was going to use red duct tape to cover up the first R and the E of the word “Arret.” In effect telling cars to stop for art. It was extremely simple, very catchy, effective and garnered a fair bit of attention.
As a consequence of him putting duct tape on stop signs, Maclean was invited to “chat” with the cops. After his “chat” he decided to stop putting duct tape on stop signs. I had previously thought for some reason or another that wasn’t the case with Peter. Call me naïve, simpleminded or just plain silly. I’ll definitely cop a guilty plea to that.
The middle of the book goes into some detail about some of his larger pieces locally (at the Darling Foundry, Place D’Armes metro and the Canadian Centre for Architecture). Mostly about the process and circumstances. It does veer off into some territory that could be called theoretical and preachy. Then towards the end it loses all sense of narrative and becomes more of a picture book.
Which brings me to my main point, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone write of or about, nor heard anyone speak of or about specific works by Peter. It always seems to be gross generalizations. With writers, some books are better than others. With actors some performances are better than others. With artists some paintings are better than others. With Peter I haven’t heard a peep about his zippers versus his owl versus his bike paths versus his flocks of birds, etc.
It’s all the more surprising since Scott Burnham, the guy who was supposed to co-curate the 2009 Montreal Biennale but bailed at the last minute, writes the foreward to the book. It would have been a perfect place to do a serious critique of Peter’s work. But instead he decided to use an awful lot of extra syllables to say not a whole heck of a lot. (Most of the quotes I took were from the foreward). I’m already on record as to what I think of Peter’s most recent work, someone else should go back over his earlier work and try to explain how it all fits together.
It would have been nice to know when and where all the pictures were taken, instead of just presenting them as stand-alone objects. Which makes me think, that despite all the preaching about integrating Peter’s work with the environment and how context is king, that in fact instead of being a “street” artist, he really would like to have the photographs of the work he has done considered as art.
Given Peter’s inherent ambivalence, I shouldn’t be surprised that the book is like New Shimmer (It’s a floor wax! No, it’s a desert topping!) but because it tries so hard to be so many things, it ends up leaving me kind of empty.