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I made all of the generic avatars on this website. http://www.mtlurb.com/forums/profile.php?do=editavatar As my right to post in the political section has been withdrawn, I am now revoking this website's right to use the avatars I have provided. I ask that all those who are using an avatar found in the avatar gallery to stop using these avatars immediatley. They are my intellectual property.

Nom: Gallery sur le Canal Hauteur en étages: 14 Hauteur en mètres: Coût du projet: Promoteur: Architecte: Michelange Panzini Architectes Entrepreneur général: Emplacement: Début de construction: 2014 Fin de construction: 2016 Site internet: Loft a Montreal - Condo Griffintown: Gallery Lofts sur le Canal Lien webcam: Live Not Found | Nest Autres informations: * 128 unités Rumeurs: Aperçu artistique du projet: Maquette: Autres images: Vidéo promotionnelle:

En lisant cet article d'aujourd'hui dans La Presse j'ai découvert le Art Gallery of Alberta, inauguré récemment. http://www.cyberpresse.ca/voyage/canada/201009/10/01-4314487-edmonton-la-ville-qui-fait-boom.php?utm_categorieinterne=trafficdrivers&utm_contenuinterne=cyberpresse_B2_voyage_264_accueil_POS1 Penser que les gens à Edmonton ont plus d'audace architectural qu'à Montréal...soupir.

PEOPLE WHO CHOSE to leave Montreal acknowledge there's an intensity here that exists nowhere else By MARIANNE ACKERMAN, Freelance In deepest Prince Edward County where I spent the summer, Montreal is a pleasant vacation destination, a colourful rumour but not exactly front page. Toronto being only two hours farther west along Lake Ontario, I'd imagined making one or two quick trips, touching bases with people on my email list, and reading the fat metro edition of the Globe and Mail for an idea of what's really happening in that good city. But from the day my 12-year-old nephews helped me rip up the dingy carpet in the farmhouse where I grew up, time and space closed in. We were off on an arduous reno campaign and city life -even this column -ceased to exist. Until I met Pat Scott. A Saturday night, I headed toward Picton and the Waring House, one of the fancy restaurants that have sprung up since "the County" acquired vineyards, to meet a friend from my high school days, Francine Diot, who lives in nearby Grafton. She was bringing a friend whom she described as a former Montrealer always looking for a chance to practise her French. (A French native, Francine often finds herself in the unofficial tutor role.) As it turned out, a very lively evening did not unroll en francais, although every time Pat Marshall Scott used a French word, which was often, her voice slid into another key, as if the words were set in italics. Thoroughly francophile, she speaks French with the clarified buttery accent of a well-bred schoolgirl, and is still burning candles for a place she left more than 40 years ago. "If you could walk away and let it go, it wouldn't matter," she sighed, trying to explain why she felt compelled to pelt me with questions about what Montreal life is like these days for an anglophone of our generation. "I go back often as a visitor, and now that I'm 60 and able to move, I ask myself, could I live there? If so, where? What's it really like, I mean beyond the beauty of the city, the museums, the parts I see on every visit?" I hardly knew what to answer, but it was a rhetorical question anyway, one I've heard before from members in that large group of people who grew up in Montreal and chose to leave. Inevitably, their life stories include a brush with politics. Pat was born in Granby. Her parents, the Marshalls, moved to Beaconsfield, where she went to high school. As a teenager, she made regular trips into the city and learned French. In 1968, she got into l'Ecole des Beaux Arts on Sherbrooke St., but that was the year the teaching staff decided to go on strike instead of teaching, so she didn't get much out of the experience. Instead, at 17 she headed west, enrolled in the Vancouver School of Art, and started painting. In the mid-'70s, she had an exhibition at the Nancy Poole gallery, one of the first in the then-hopping Yorkville area of Toronto, and ended up running the gallery with a partner until retiring in 2003. Now she lives with her husband on a small farm near Grafton. The main crop is lavender. She holds a festival featuring dozens of varieties every spring. A good life, far from what she describes as the "brutal" world of art and even farther from her youthful roots, yet there is that little something missing. A lingering sense of not quite belonging where she is. It's a state of mind, created by the unanswered question, could I live there? Many Ontarians I talk to imagine that the only possible obstacle to being totally happy in Montreal is their inability to speak French. Pat, who has returned regularly to visit family and trade in the antique market, knows differently. "This may sound odd. But the biggest difference I notice about Montreal and other places is, well, let's call it the lack of politesse. Beginning with the way people drive, it's as though they're all living in some kind of bubble and other people don't exist." Her brother, who didn't leave, provides her a window onto a younger scene. "It seems that in Toronto young people are gung-ho to get a career going as soon as possible. Their counterparts in Montreal are so different. They say, 'Oh well, things will happen. Think I'll travel for awhile and maybe the job market will open up.' " Still, she acknowledges the absence of a certain kind of intensity that seems to exist only in Montreal. What's it like to live there now? she wants to know. "Could, well, would you live elsewhere?" Talk about being put on the spot. I calm her anxiety by admitting how annoying it sometimes is to be the invisible minority, and yes I could live elsewhere. Yet I do know how she feels. There isn't a word for it, but there should be: the feeling outside Quebec of something missing. Like after a loud noise stops, the quiet seems strangely empty. [email protected] Read more: http://www.montrealgazette.com/life/Something+missing+outside+Quebec/3476663/story.html#ixzz0yshetufo