I Strive for a little absurdity in every picture.

Evil Patrick Shannon
The Man, The Myth, The Guy Sleeping On My Chesterfield.

Patrick's family have served in one kind of Haida war tribe or another since 995 A.D. A long line of native warriors, savages really. Not a photographic bone in any one of their bodies. The only photos that he saw growing up were those carved into tree trunks, I guess technically those are totem poles and not photographs, but whatever...

His father, a large Viking who hammered boards of gypsum (haha, so clever), considered all photography unnecessary clicking, and although Patrick was not one to rock the family war canoe, he really didn't think he was cut out for throwing Indian rocks at passing cars and mindless scalping.

At age fifteen he held the teenage conviction that he would have an interesting life – maybe that's why he picked up the camera? Then again, maybe if he hadn't, he would have tripped over it.

He went to high school and studied Canadian politics and inter-dimensional Scientology, spending most classes asleep on the floor at the back, exhausted from 14 hour long movie shoots the night before. At that time, he worked as an extra in the bustling Vancouver film industry, it was fun times, but he knew that life had so much more in store for him.

So how did the photography get to him, you might ask? Well if you were sent to culinary school at age seven, studied Engineering by mistake (“I thought we were going to fly planes, but we just pulled metals apart – the brochure was very misleading.”, joined the army by default, guarded the Queen, buried Le Bonhomme Carnaval, and pranced around Ottawa like a tit for little Japanese tourists to photograph, what you're going to want to do after that is go hippie, become an artist and put “Evil” in you name, so that's what he did.

From birth in a Viking Long Boat off the coast of Haida Gwaii, to cooking school, to Aerospace Engineering, to the Royal Military Academy in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, to the Alcatraz set on X-Men 3, to a Cafe on Commercial Drive. How did Evil Patrick get from there to here? Only Patrick's hairstylist knows for certain, and either she isn't talking or Patrick cuts his own hair. It's up to you to connect the dots – they are written on the men's bathroom wall at Cafe Deux Soleils, Good Luck.

- Evil Patrick