Robert Miller was buried in Victoria January 23, 1990. Most of you never met him. This would have been his graduating year, but Bob left the col- lege after his Foundation year and moved to Whitehorse in the Yukon with his wife, Kathy and their young child. From there, Bob told me over the phone and in brief visits over the years, of his having found a happi- ness, of having found a place that felt real. Do dragons exist? Of course not! So I thought on the morning of October 30, 1986 when Mr. John Wertschek assigned this project:; “design and construct a device for the weighing of dragons. It can be of any size, any materials and configuration, however, it must be workable. It is due one week from today.” Characteristically, Mr. John Wertschek said this with a straight face. He had to be joking and I was definitely not in the mood for jokes, particularly ones that would involve time and energy, neither of which I had. Inside I collapsed. I didn’t need a ridiculous project like this. Another log had just been added to the roaring fire of frustration I was experiencing at this time. I was angry, damn angry. Damn Mr. Wertschek. It just wasn’t fair. Dragons do not exist! oo SS ceraee. I tried to drown this assignment during the days that followed but it would always resurface and each time it seemed even more ridiculous. “Weighing dragons” I would mutter, “What in hell has this stupid assignment got do do with the creative process and the business of art making?” I asked. It was a rhetorical question I asked over and over to which the answer was always silence and an ever-increasing feeling of doom. I was lost. Damn Mr. Wertschek. Damn art school. Damn dragons that don’t even exist. Anxiety grew as the deadline approached. My attempts at the researching of dragons only increased my frustration and my stubborn conviction of the non-existence of dragons as well as my conviction of the stupidity of the assignment. “Dragons definitely do not exist, and neither does the tooth fairy, the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus, and I have a growing suspicion about the existence of God also.” Rage is the word that would best describe my mental condition on the afternoon before the next morning’s presentation. It was a rage, the extent of which I have felt on only a few occasions. All my anger and frustration of the previous two months of school had converged, like the sun focussed through the lens of a magnifying glass on a dry piece of paper. Ignition and explosion were imminent. In a desperate attempt to just get on with it I started to assemble and construct, with odds and ends of junk from my basement, a peculiar looking object consisting of rope, springs and an ice chest. At least I would show up with something and worry about rationalizing it later. After all, with 22 years in the ad biz behind me I can BS along with the best. : Kathy came home about 5:30 and trotted downstairs to inspect the progress of my device. She stared silently for a while at my bizarre contraption. More silence. I hate that. It means that she’s thinking. Finally: “I think you,missed the point, Bob.” Bingo. Ignition. Explosion. We rarely argue, my good wife and I, but when we do, such arguements are “enterprises of great pith and moment”. ‘ “What”, she continued, “makes this. . .this. . .this thing unique to the weighing of dragons— You could weigh turnips in that thing. In fact, you could weigh anything in that thing, anything BUT dragons. I really think, Bob, you missed the whole point of this assignment.” . “Thing, eh. . .thing!” I shouted. “Don’t you call my thing a ‘thing’!” Four years ago, in Foundation we gave each other a gift. He made me see that teaching at this college can make a difference. He also wrote an article for the Planet of the Arts that | have read to my CP classes every year since: “On the Weighing of Dragons” Thank you Bob. You’re right, it's not that scary. But! will miss you. John Wertschek There is an inconvenience to truth. Kathy was right of course, but this was not the time for pinpoint accuracy. Damn Mr. Wertschek, damn art school, damn dragons. Damn Kathy. This list was growing at an alarming rate. What followed was one of my classic tirades in which the question of my continuance at art school, the wisdom of John Wertschek, my value as a human being and several other matters of a more personal nature were given a thorough and vitriolic examination: I was coming apart. The wrappings of self control were bursting. About 7:30 that evening I made one of my grander exits from the house, slamming the kitchen door, firing epithets deleted in machine-gun staccato. I was mad. I was hungry. I went hunting for dragons. “Maybe dragons do exist. If they do, at least one of the buggers is going to be dead tonight. And weighed by tomorrow.” Instinct (now I am a hunter) told me that just possibly I might find dragons in the Territory. I went to the school and stalked into room 113, Mr. Wertschek’s classroom, the soon-to-be scene of mass dragon-weighing. It was empty of students. And dragons. I cautiously “felt” my way around the silent roem. I tried to absorb the Territory into my being. I tried to be the Territory. I was taut, alert and very desperate. I was the Primordial Hunter on patrol. I took position in the middle of the room and tried to hold myself as still as I could. I closed my eyes. I tried to feel the room, absorbing its energy and being. I left the sounds coming from the hallway and drifted inward, taking with me the room, both its past and its present. I became one with the room. I was not alone. I felt him first only slightly. He was in the room! He was there! “T’ve got you now you bastard”, I shouted with glee. Hunters always shout with glee. I raced back home and scooped up a mirror and two heavy springs. ; Puzzled, Kathy asked, “Where are you going?” “T got the bastard” I said. “We eat dragon tonight!” I left, slamming the kitchen door. The mighty hunter was going to provide a feast for his little cave family. “Yes, yes, I’ve got you now. You were there all the time”, I said as I threw the car into gear and squealed out. I rushed back to Emily Carr College of Art and Design where I worked until two in the morning building Bob Miller’s Incredible Dragon-Weighing Device, the labour of which was an experience of great joy. This was true art making. This was the high drama of creativity. It was the best piece of work I ever did. It was also the crudest. No frills here, no chintz, just art in the raw. My Magnus Opus. No, Maximus Opus. If dragons do exist, can they be weighed? My dictionary defines, briefly, the word “weigh” as “to determine weight” as well as “to evaluate, consider”. Therein lay my solution. I had taken the assignment far too literally, particularly the “weigh” part. A victim of linear thinking, I had got myself caught up in the physical and intellectual aspects of the problem.I had been stuck in the quagmire of reasoning and was using old maps that didn’t work in dragon country. To find the slimy buggers you have to go to dragon country, but with new maps. Dragon hunter, territory explorer and mapmaker. It was turning into quite a night., On that night, I did discover dragon country and my dragon. They are within. No wonder I couldn’t find him. I was looking outside; he was living inside. The dragon is within me! He has a name: it is Fear and he moved in on the day I was born, and not a day has gone by when he has not made his presence known. On that day of October 30, 1986 he had grown to monstrous proportions. And for a week after I had been feeding him, stuffing my doubts, insecurities, confusion and resentments down the maw of his black throat and he was shooting out jets of fire in the form of anger and rage. Fear is the anticipation of a hurt or a loss, real or imaginary. My dragon was real and not imaginary. I now had something measurable. Intuition told me that I was on the right track or at least in the right territory. As to where this was all leading — that remained a total mystery. I had to trust my intuition and give it my control. All of it. I felt that the extent of my fear, the size of my dragon, could be considered and evaluated to a degree that was of significance to me. We are not dealing with avoirdupois here but with intensity. It occured to me that many people are able to purge stress, anxiety and anger from their bodies through intense physical activity. It followed, I felt, that if, during a brief moment of intense physical strain on the body in which the mind was cleared of all intellectual activity, such as in a state of meditation (my friend calls it blankology) one could approach a point of total and pure emotion. I reasoned that an abrupt physical shock to the body would shatter the reasoning faculties leaving me in a state of intense feeling which would be channeled and funnelled into a single moment of awareness, a moment of truth. At this split-second moment of clarity would be a moment in which I would be able to confront the fear that was within me. This momemt must be completely honest and totally devoid of rationalization and intellectualization. The debating committee in my head had to be silenced, and feeling was to be given the floor. The dragon was within and he could be weighed. I made such a weighing device that night, or maybe it made itself. Two 2” X 4” posts were placed two feet apart and affixed with spikes perpendicular to a 2’ X 3’ heavy wooden platform. Corner bracing secured the posts to the platform. A heavy-duty industrial spring was attached to the base of each post and the ends of the springs were attached to the ends of a wooden pole (broom handle size) two and one half feet wide. The ends of the pole rested on the tops of the posts. The unit, which I painted with white latex, was positioned in the Territory adjacent to a wall. I hung a mirror on the wall so that when I stood on the platform I could look directly into the mirror. I wanted to “see” the dragon if it were possible. Scary business, and very exciting. I was about to take a flyer into the unknown. No rehearsals, no walk-throughs. It was all or nothing. This was it, a daring look into the soul. Every part of my intellectual being pleaded with me not to go through with this exhibition. “At least rehearse, try it out.” No. There could be only one time that this would work and it had to be in a moment of risk, a moment when _—— i Robert Miller was buried in Victoria January 23, 1990. Most of you never met him. This would have been his graduating year, but Bob left the col- lege after his Foundation year and moved to Whitehorse in the Yukon with his wife, Kathy and their young child. From there, Bob told me over the phone and in brief visits over the years, of his having found a happi- ness, of having found a place that felt real. Do dragons exist? Of course not! Soi thought on the morning of October 30, 1986 when Mr. John Wertschek assigned this project:; “design and construct a device forthe weighing of dragons. It can be of any size, any materials and configuration, however, it ‘must be workable. It is due one week from today.” Characteristically, Mr. John Wertschek said this with a straight face. He had to be joking and I was defintely not in the mood for jokes, particularly ones that would involve time and ‘energy, neither of which I had. Inside I collapsed. I didn't ‘eed a ridiculous project ike this. Another log had just been added to the roaring fire of frustration I was, experiencing at this time. I was angry, damn angry. Damn Mr, Wertschek. Ijust wasn't fate er Dragons do not exist! 1 ied to drown this assignment during the days that followed but it would always resurface and each time i seemed even more idicblous. "Weighing dragons ‘vould mater, "What in hell as this stupid sstgnment 201 dodo wih the creative process andthe business of art making? Lasked. Iwas a fhetorcal question | asked Over and over to which the answer wat always silence and fn ever-increasing (eling of doom. Iwas fost, Dann Mr ‘Wertschek, Damm at schol, Damn dragons that don't “Annetysrew a the dealine approached. My atempts at the researching of dragons only increased gts Sion and my stubborn conviction of thenon-existence of dragons as well as my conviton ofthe stupidity of the sssignment ‘Dragons definitely do not exist, and neither does the tooth fairy, the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus, and I have a growing suspicion about the existence of God also.” Rage is the word that would best describe my mental ‘condition on the afternoon before the next morning’s presentation, It was a rage, the extent of which I have felt ‘on only a few occasions. All my anger and frustration of the previous two months of school had converged, like the sun focussed through the lens of a magnifying glass on a dry piece of paper. Ignition and explosion were imminent TIn.a desperate attempt to just get on with it I started to assemble and construct, with odds and ends of junk from. ‘my basement, a peculiar looking object consisting of rope, springs and an ice chest. At least I would show up, with something and worry about rationalizing it later. Afterall, with 22 years in the ad biz behind me I can BS along with the best Kathy came home about 5:30 and trotted downstairs to inspect the progress of my device. She stared silently fora while at my bizarre contraption “More silence T hate that, It means that she’s thinking, Finally: “I think you.missed the point, Bob.” Bingo. Ignition, Explosion. We rarely argue, my good wife and I, but when we do, such arguements are “enterprises of great pith and moment” “What, she continued, “makés ths. . this. . this ‘thing unique to the weighing of dragons— You could weigh turnips in that thing. In fact, you could weigh ‘anything in that thing, anything BUT dragons. really think, Bob, you missed the whole point ofthis assignment.” Thing, eh. thing a ‘thing’ thing!" i shouted. “Don’t you call my Four years ago, in Foundation we gave each other a gift. He made me see that teaching at this college can make a difference. He also wrote an article for the Planet of the Arts that | have read to my CP classes every year since: “On the Weighing of Dragons” Thank you Bob. You're right, it's not that scary. But | will miss you. John Wertschek ‘There is an inconvenience to truth. Kathy was right of ‘course, but this was not the time for pinpoint accuracy. Damn Mr. Wertschek, damn art school, damn dragons. Damn Kathy. This list was growing at an alarming rate. ‘What followed was one of my classic trades in which the question of my continuance at art school, the wisdom ‘of John Wertschek, my vale as a human being and several ‘other matters of a more personal nature were given a ‘thorough and vitriolic examination. Twas coming apart. ‘The wrappings of self control were bursting. ‘About 7:30 that evening I made one of my grander exits from the house, slamming the kitchen door, firing epithets deleted in machine-gun staccato. I was mad. L was hungry {went hunting for dragons. ‘Maybe dragons do exist. If they do, at least one of the buggers is going to be dead tonight. And weighed by tomorrow.” Instinct (now Iam a hunt ‘might find dragons in the Territory. I wer to the school and stalked into room 113, Mr. Wertschek's classroom, the soon-to-be scene of mass dragon-weighing. It was. empty of students. And dragons. I cautiously “felt” my ¥ around the silent room, [tried to absorb the Territory into my being. Fried to be the Territory. Twas taut, alert and very desperate. I was the Primordial Hunter on patrol took position in the mille ofthe room and tried to hold myself as still as I could. [closed my eyes. [tried to feel the room, absorbing its energy and being. Ieft the sounds coming from the hallway and drifted inward, taking with me the room, both its past and its present. I became cone withthe room. I was not alone. [felt him first only slightly, He was in the room! He was there! “I've got you now you bastard”, I shouted with glee Hunters always shout with glee. Traced back home and scooped up a mirror and two heavy springs Puzzled, Kathy asked, “Where are you going’ “I got the bastard” I said. “We eat dragon tonight!” I left, slamming the kitchen door. The mighty hunter was to provide a feast for his little cave family “Yes, yes, I've got you now. You were there al the time”, I said as I unrew the car into gear and squealed out. rushed back to Emily Carr College of Art and Design ‘where I worked until two in the morning building Bob Miller's Incredible Dragon-Weighing Device, the labour ‘of which was an experience of great joy. This was true art ‘making. This was the high drama of creativity. [twas the lof work I ever did. It was also the crudest. No frills here, no chint, just art in the raw. My Magnus ‘Opus. No, Maximus Opus. If dragons do exist, can they be weighed? My dictionary defines, briefly, the word “weigh” as “to determine weight” as well as “to evaluate, consider” ‘Therein lay my solution. [had taken the assignment far too literally, particularly the “weigh” part. A victim of linear thinking, I had got myself caught up in the physical ‘and intellectual aspects of the problem. { had been stuck in the quagmire of reasoning and was using old maps that ‘didn’t work in dragon country. To find the slimy buggers you have to go to dragon country, but with new maps. Dragon hunter, territory explorer and mapmaker. It was turning into quite anight., Ihe (On that night, [did discover dragon country and my ‘dragon. They are within, No wonder I couldn’t find him. 1 was looking outside; he was living inside. The dragon is thin me! He has a name: itis Fear and he moved in on. the day I was bor, and not a day has gone by when he has ‘not made his presence known. On that day of October 30, 1986 he had grown to monstrous proportions. And for a ‘week after I had been feeding him, stuffing my doubts, insecurities, confusion and resentments down the maw of his black throat and he was shooting out jets of fire inthe form of anger and rage. Fear isthe anticipation ofa hurt or aloss, real or imaginary. My dragon was real and not imaginary. I now had something measurable Intuition told me that Iw: ‘on the right track or at least. in the right territory. As to where this was all leading — that remained a total mystery. Uhad to trust my intuition and give it my control. All oft [felt that the extent of my fear, the sizeof my dra could be considered and evaluated to a degree that was of gnificance to me. We are not deal avoirdupois ‘but with intensity. Itoccured to me that many people are able to purge stress, anxiety and anger from their se physical activity. It followed, I brief moment of intense physic strain on the body in which the mind was cleared ofall lectual activity, such as in a state of meditation (my friend calls it blankology) one could approach a point of total and pure emotion, I reasoned that an abrupt physical shock tothe body would shatter the reasoning faculties leaving me in a state of intense feeling which would be channeled and funnelled a single moment of awareness, a moment of truth. At this split-second moment of clarity would be a moment in which I would be able to confront the fear that was within me. This momemt must be completely honest and totally devoid of rationalization and intllectualization, The ‘debating committee in my head had to be silenced, and feeling was to be given the floor. The dragon was within and he could be weighed. I made such a weighing device that night, or maybe it made itself Two 2" X 4” posts were placed two feet apart and affixed with spikes perpendicular to a 2’ X 3° heavy wooden platform. Comer bracing secured the posts tothe platform, ‘A heavy-duty industrial spring was attached to the base of each post and the ends ofthe springs were attached tothe ends of a wooden pole (broom handle size) two and one half feet wide. The ends of the pole rested on the tops of the posts. The unit, which I painted with white latex, was positioned in the Territory adjacent to a wall. I hung a mirror on the wall so that when I stood on the platform 1 could look directly into the mirror. I wanted to “see” the