Colm Magner. New York.

Halifax

2012-01-05T16:46:00.000-08:00

What a wonderful town to enjoy Christmas in!!! Such warm and wonderful people! Oh those Easterner's!! I so look forward to spending warm and wonderful moments with them in the future!!

The Big Apple

2011-12-07T12:41:00.001-08:00

Left Halifax today to return to our home in New York. Aint nothin like the Big Snaffle to remind you the world is large, and Christmas is coming. Finnegan and Mugs endured the car ride but are happy to be home.

Water

2011-12-04T20:29:00.000-08:00

MUSIC- THERE WILL BE BLOOD- HENRY PLAINVIEW

And after the 3rd nightmare, and the waking up to Osprey’s circling down by the Straight and the quiet of a small town at 6AM with sleepy clouds rolling across the horizon, and the sleepy lobsters waiting to be caught, and knowing they will be caught, and boiled, and the foggy brain which is you after a nightmare...

I take a walk with my dog down by the water, and as I am walking down the Causeway, down the Causeway and across the bridge, I look to my right over the bridge, and there is Fred, , Lovely Mad Fred the Fisherman in his boat fishing for clams, and he waves, and waves, and I...feel my mind start to wave, start to wander and start to wonder and I think...

Maybe, just maybe I am beginning to be a little like a little tiny German Schopenhauer- “ a wheel turning out of its own centre” ...and just as I am imagining this, Fred falls off the boat and splashes into the cold water, and the girl who says she will be my wife dives off the dock (I forgot to mention her earlier) and swims in from the shadows and she is more beautiful than anything, any New York story about... about a boy who gets lost in drugs (so fucking clichéd) or what a drag it is that that old drug neighbourhood has become gentrified ( yes it was so much better when the pimps were on the corners) or Princeton Stories with upper class ramifications, or New York pretender stories about how tuff it is and how original and truly artistic your streets are... when really the lower East Side looks a lot like Queen West in Toronto...populated by a lot of pretenders and wanna- be types...

And I’m just talking about water...

What makes a good story??

Trying to tell the truth I guess.

Finnegan arrives

2011-11-15T17:43:00.000-08:00

Finnegan. The new addition to the family. Smarter than you, and gooder than you. No question.

Poormouth Theatre Fundraiser

2011-09-22T18:25:00.000-07:00

The fabulous Poormouth Theatre is having a fundraising evening Saturday October 1st at An Beal Bocht in the Bronx, New York, featuring many extraordinary new Irish American writers as well as old veterans like Don Creedon and Colin Broderick. They have seen fit to generously invite the Canadian Irish contingent as well, so I will be reading from my new play Moonshine Serenade that very evening, and enjoying some tasty American IPA and equally delicious Irish Whiskey. So come one, come all, unless of course you are busy monstering up in Halifax. Me? I've been too busy enjoying Greenwich Beach with my wife and dog.

2011-09-14T16:01:00.001-07:00

Onward And Upward...gladly!

In Portland, on the way back to New York to see the boys from Poormouth Theatre about reading and doing my new play Moonshine Serenade. Looking forward to seeing the New York Irish contingent again- sans bullshit, sans pretension...just good and talented boys. What a rare combination. So tired of working with amateurs.

Excerpt from Moonshine Serenade

2011-08-26T18:27:00.000-07:00

I've never been one of those people who go around looking for “signs”.

You know those people? They get a job, and the night before they had a dream where they were chasing a ball and they kicked the ball and the ball bounced off their great grandfathers head and into a great big pool full of money and then they WERE the ball and they felt all fuzzy and kind of ticklish and sensitive inside, and then they woke up?!!

And ya, they got the fucking job.

But they think this “means” something?

One hundred thousand people were drowned by a large Atlantic wave the same night, ten children had their arms hacked off by some fucking warlord in some small African country...but they insist on believing this mysterious creature “God” is their personal “life-coach” who spends his spare moments getting things for them?

You know those people?

They’re sweet, I guess, and that’s a nice belief system but...

I stopped praying at the age of four.

Excerpt from Moonshine Serenade

2011-08-25T19:23:00.000-07:00

There is John Ferguson, strange old John who has the odd mind of an old fisherman; he’s gone beautifully mad from spending entire years out on the vast deep blue Northumberland Straight all on his own, night and day, rain or shine, hauling hundred pound lobster traps full of weeds up from the depths, and pulling a few mythological deep sea creatures into his brain along with them -- John comes into your kitchen, sits down, and then just stares at the wall without saying anything, for hours. Then, unpredictably, at any time of the evening, he moves toward the wall as if moving into a dream, his body contorting into shapes which seem an odd mixture of Tai Chi, some kind of ancient lobster fishing technique, and some weird kind of tantric sex, all rolled into one.

The only thing that snaps him out of it is a shot of moonshine.

John?! John?! John!!!!! Drink this now!!!”

It’s the only way you can reach him.

Moonshine.

Real Moonshine.

This was the real thing folks, Prince Edward Island Moonshine. Not the Nancy pansy stuff. It’s illegal, but every second corner store in PEI, along with regular things like butter and bread, sells these big twenty gallon tubs of molasses, which serves as the beginning....of the end!!. If you think of gin as the devil... this stuff was his twin brother, the one who fell from the sky after Beelzebub, deformed and with a real sense of antipathy over his brother’s success.

(He speaks through a loud megaphone!)

“Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky
With hideous ruin and combustion down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire”

Fire!!! This stuff was fire. If you drank even half a bottle of this yellow, thick rancid fluid at night, ONCE, you woke up the next morning with delirium tremors, a deeply paranoid feeling that you were going slightly mad, and a feeling, deep deep in your bones, that God… truly might be… dead. Couple this mental horror with a physical feeling very much like spending the night in a blender with a large group of angry ancient mescaline medicine men, then being dumped into a toilet, wretched on, shat on, pissed on, and then flushed into the Hudson, and you’ll get a good idea of what I’m talking about.

(Pause. He takes a drink. Then quickly.)

I grew to like the stuff.

My aging body didn’t. But I did. That’s the great tragedy of being alive really. Or part of the great tragedy. But we only have an hour, so I had to make some cuts.

Best on Broadway

2011-08-25T19:06:00.001-07:00

I'll use this beauty for my own devices!!

"I, Rooster John Byron, hereby place a curse
Upon the Kennet and Avon Council,
May they wander the land for ever,
Never sleep twice in the same bed,
Never drink water from the same well,
And never cross the same river twice in a year.
He who steps in my blood, may it stick to them
Like hot oil. May it scorch them for life,
And may the heat dry up their souls,
And may they be filled with the melancholy
Wine won't shift. And all their newborn babies
Be born mangled, with the same marks,
The same wounds of their fathers.
Any uniform which brushes a single leaf of this wood
Is cursed, and he who wears it this St George's Day,
May he not see the next."

— Jez Butterworth (Jerusalem)

Now ya know who I'm sending that one to, don't ya boys??

"Don't explain. Don't complain. Get even." JFK.

2011-08-21T19:01:00.000-07:00

Oh, I always keep my word Pops!

Moment for Mr. Beckett

2011-08-20T05:54:00.000-07:00

Irish school administrator, to Samuel Beckett who was teaching at the time:

"But, Mr. Beckett, these children are the cream of the crop!"

Samuel Beckett:

"Yes. Very rich. And very thick."

2011-08-15T14:14:00.002-07:00

I offer my opponents a bargain: if they will stop telling lies about us, I will stop telling the truth about them. ~Adlai Stevenson, campaign speech, 1952

2011-08-15T14:14:00.001-07:00

An election is coming. Universal peace is declared, and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry. ~George Eliot, Felix Holt, Chapter 5 (Thanks Julie!)

2011-08-15T14:13:00.003-07:00

Truth is not determined by majority vote. ~Doug Gwyn

2011-08-15T14:13:00.001-07:00

I think it's about time we voted for senators with breasts. After all, we've been voting for boobs long enough. ~Clarie Sargent, Arizona senatorial candidate

2011-08-15T14:11:00.001-07:00

Hell, I never vote for anybody, I always vote against. ~W.C. Fields

2011-08-15T14:08:00.000-07:00

Power corrupts...and parochial puppies do their best to emulate. Colm Magner

Excerpt from "Moonshine Serenade"- A marine biologist moves to PEI and meets all those friendly Easterners he's heard so much about.Trouble ensues.

2011-08-15T13:39:00.000-07:00

I think it was November twelfth, in the year of our lord 2006, that “Barbara", don’t call her "Barb”, Bymarck first entered my life. And with her came the first real dose of poison.

Barbara B---All four hundred pounds of her. The stench of moonshine followed her through the door of the community centre like a stray dog that just won’t go away. Barb smelled. And if you called her Barb to her face, she’d kill you!!!!Rumour was, it wouldn't be the first time!

That was the rumour.

The island was in fact overrun with rumours; some of them crept half formed and fragile through the red sand on the coastline at night, then slowly drifted inland with the fog, into the bedrooms and the basements of the most private of families; the same 100 families who'd been breeding together, and I use the term “together’… ambiguously, for over 200 years on this island. Rumours about corruption...political corruption and such things...

(Pause. Change in tone)

And rumours lead to suspicions---

You know how sometimes you meet people and for some mysterious reason even if you try hard you just don’t …YOU DON’T LIKE THEM....or well, you just want to kill them and throw them in an unmarked grave and even though you are Catholic you don’t think you would have a moment’s guilt about it?

(PAUSE...)

Barb was like that.

Barbara Bymarck was a prominent citizen in Victoria when I first arrived. But Victoria is a lot smaller than New York. There were a total of seventy people in town, so it wasn't like it was a grand feat to be prominent citizen in Victoria. I don’t want to mislead you.

But Barb had recently been elected to the town council, and she did have a reputation for... “getting her way”, what most people call “succeeding”, and there are varying degrees of viciousness with which people go about doing this seemingly very important thing. As with most people of her type, she had a certain propensity for duplicity and other little things commonly known as psychotic episodes, usually involving a lot of screaming and ordering around better people than herself.

Essentially, Barb was adept at the age old path to success---Grovel up, and piss down.

Barb was a Canadian Broadcasting Corporation retiree. The CBC. This might take some explaining for the American Audience-----It’s kind of like NBC or ABC, but much smaller with far fewer opportunities for a large group of wannabees ...and therefore the level of viciousness is probably on a par with...

Well, picture a seventy giant cockroaches and a little tiny drip of honey on a concrete floor one inch squared. Then maybe throw in some weird lighting, a bit of elevator music, a touch of cocaine paranoia, and you'll get an idea of the picture.
Barb was fired from the CBC after numerous anger- management sessions with HR, and had decided to thumb her nose at society, and make whirligigs for a living in Victoria by the Sea.

You know whirligigs? They are those little contraptions, made usually from Balsa-wood, which spin as the wind spins, and usually depict a very simple dramatic act represented by moving pieces of wood, powered by a little windmill.

(He acts out each little scenario with carefully choreographed movements mimicking what the whirligigs would do)

Like....

The chopping of firewood.

The act of fishing... a little guy tosses his rod into a little pool and...pulls out a little fish. And then it repeats itself. Or...

A wife bringing in the laundry...and looking very happy as she does so.

Or... two men pulling in a fish, and then maybe, if it is a “complicated whirligig”, the men turn to look at each other in a manly way and smile, possibly even shake hands. But those whirligigs are for the REAL MASTERS. They are beautiful things these whirligigs. Sometimes you can see them if you drive out of Manhattan once in a while. And sometimes you can hear birds too. It’s really strange.

(Pause. He then continues)

Barb was counselled...well...warned.... by Burt, and the town council, after her first creations appeared clearly to be ... quite disturbed:

(Strange Music begins underneath)

She started making whirligigs which depicted women chopping off their husband’s heads with alarming frequency, and in many different guises. Rumour was that Barb's ex husband Eddie was the inspiration for these little contraptions.

But you can imagine, what with the way the wind howls on those stormy nights in Prince Edward Island, sometimes transmogrifying into Hurricane Able, Hurricane Carol, Hurricane Bertha, nasty old Juan, to name a few, the image of those little axes wailing, and those little heads falling onto the red ground at an alarming rate...? Well a few tongues started wagging.
The two men who lived in town particularly, felt slightly disturbed. I was one of them. Terry was the other, and it was Terry who saved my life that stormy night in January when he grabbed my hand with the axe…

But she was imaginative, Barb was, and the town council assured her of this, and even invited her to tea to talk---but as she grew more adept as a craftswoman, she invented a multitude of ways for this one dramatic event to take place-

(Again he acts each little scenario out physically)

Chopping off his head as he took a pee

Chopping off his head as he masturbated

They became stranger every week...

Chopping off his head, putting it back on, and then chopping it off again... And then, finally, just opting for the simplicity of all great art... and...

Just chopping off his fucking penis.

The penises tended to be very small in relation to the body, perhaps a nod to her marital problems, and they required very small and razor sharp little axes to be effective-and effective they were.

(He takes a drink of moonshine and crushes the ice in his teeth as he speaks)

Very soon Barb’s front lawn resembled a kind of macabre sexual battle-field...all these tiny little heads and penises swimming in the rain...and the local children playing with them...The children kept asking their mothers...

”Mommy, why Aunt Babbie always scream and punch and say “”Damn-old-Eddie? And how come so many little pee pee on Babbie's lawn?? Look, see?? It a pee pee in my hand.”

The mother contingent was appalled. And as time passed, there came the inevitable day when town council had finally reached their limit. Barb had finally crossed the line---she'd started stamping her creations:

“Made in Prince Edward Island!!!”

That was the tipping point. Not Barb's psychosis. Or the pee pee's floating on her lawn.

Oh no. Because they weren't made in PEI you see.

(Pause)

Those axes were made in Japan!!!

2011-08-15T11:40:00.000-07:00

"... I tried to end our little duel. I called out pacifying words; I entreated; I finally surrendered. Still Clyde came, my pirate costume so great a success that it had apparently convinced him that we were back in the golden days of romantic old New Orleans when gentlemen decided matters of hot dog honor at twenty paces"
— John Kennedy Toole (A Confederacy of Dunces)

2011-08-15T11:39:00.001-07:00

"with the breakdown of the medieval system, the gods of chaos, lunacy, and bad taste gained ascendancy."
— John Kennedy Toole (A Confederacy of Dunces)

Beauty in Action

2011-04-08T10:35:00.000-07:00

Isn't Guerrilla Warfare a magnificent invention?

2011-03-28T08:36:00.000-07:00

Margaret and I on our wedding day in Prince Edward Island.

2011-03-09T12:41:00.000-08:00

Congratulations to my wife, Margaret Magner who, after having worked for President Clinton as the Director of Development of the William J. Clinton Foundation for over two and a half years, has recently been named President and CEO of The IWK Foundation in Halifax, Canada!

New York Reviews for The Scavenger's Daughter http://www.thescavengersdaughter.org/

2010-12-12T09:52:00.001-08:00

"This Irish-Canadian play is truly a remarkable piece of writing, and like many Irish plays it is infused with the tough soul of a 'never say die' attitude. It manages to convey both grit and sentimentality in the same breath, and Magner's delivery is strong and charismatic". (Markus Paminger. New York. 8.25.10. theasy.com)

For Full Review http://www.theasy.com/Reviews/FringeFestival/thescavengersdaughter.php

The New York Times
Thursday, September 9, 2010

"Memory Scavenger

Once in a while a play catches you off guard, throws you into a sort of semi consciousness where you find your own past rolling in to haunt you as you watch the performance unfold before you on the stage. Scavenger's Daughter is that play. Writer/performer Colm Magner has written a semi autobiographical one man show surrounding the details of his brother's death. It's a performance that takes us on a journey down through the years to the very womb mining the brother’s relationship through a series of stories and anecdotes, as he pores over clues that might somehow make sense of his brother’s gradual detachment from reality and slow slide into despair. Magner, a Canadian of Irish descent, slips easily into the authentic brogue of his mother and father, and the Germanic cadence of the local priest painting for us indelible portraits of the forces that shaped the boys' childhood. Magner is a terrific story teller weaving the intricate strands of a life into a cohesive and entertaining tapestry with all the vibrancy insight, humour and vulnerability of the late Spalding Gray. If you need entertainment, if you need a performance that you won't feel like you've wasted your hard eared money, well then this is the play to see. Colm Magner has given voice to his past in a way that leaves me extremely optimistic about his future."

Colin Broderick, Author- "Orangutan: A Memoir", published by Harper Collins, New York

http://theater.nytimes.com/show/24995/NY-International-Fringe-Festival-The-Scavenger-s-Daughter/overview

"The play is dark and irreverent, but never sorrowful or melancholic...Magner is a sharp, vivid storyteller, creating personas for his own character at many different ages. Strong stage presence" (Martin Denton. 8.25.10. New York. nytheatre.com)

For Full Review: http://www.nytheatre.com/nytheatre/review_fnyc.php?t=scav10707

THIS IS AN IRISH ARTS CENTRE RECOMMENDED PRODUCTION

http://www.irishartscenter.org/eblasts/082510blast.html

Images and excerpts from NY International Fringe Festival production of ``The Scavenger`s Daughter``, remounted at Poor Mouth Theatre Dec/2010

2010-12-10T15:59:00.001-08:00

"And how wondrous it is to think of the vast inner silence, the tiny little mind breathing in every sensation, still tied by tentacle to Gods apron strings, still part of his very fabric, his skin, his blue eyes, his shiny long blonde hair, his light and vigorous Catholic glory..."

2010-12-10T15:54:00.001-08:00

"Bye bye boys, don't tell her any lies! You've got to learn to be civilized, you're part of civilization now.

2010-12-10T15:53:00.001-08:00

"Who are all you strangers who insist so strenuously that I have a single name, who teach me that up is up and down is down and what is right and what is wrong?"

2010-12-10T15:51:00.000-08:00

"I will forget when Finnegan and I had minds like running water. I will forget the magical moments in children’s wonderland, walking across the blowing wheat fields and up to six A.M mass with my Dad. I will forget the silence of that vast church, and the incense, and the white snow on the windows in winter, and the grace of this creature they called God floating in the air who felt, almost, like he could be real. I will forget, that Spring, when the leaves were bursting, and Finnegan was laughing, and we were falling in love for the first time with girls in ragged blue jeans."

2010-12-10T15:50:00.001-08:00

"And we begin to swirl around in memory back to...1975. 1975 when two boys on black motorcycles took to these very streets, the beautiful scents of alcohol, sex, and gasoline filling the air, their sixteen year old girlfriends hugging their waists- blonde, brunette, and red-headed giggles on legs. Long long legs which dangled next to the chrome tail-pipes that blasted their “fuck-offs” loud and clear into the redundant houses, the crumbling crucifix atop Mary Lake Monastery…And all around the town the shouts of:
“Wonder!. Wonder! We are alive with wonder!” gathered the ten year olds to the sprinkling manicured lawns, dancing like goblins to the sound of... Ry Cooder, Neil Young, Lou Reed
( Music out)
And behind it all the sweet smell of marijuana lingered like a reminder of Christ’s breath---- dangerous, determined and delirious.
(Pause)
(From centre stage)
“It’s 11 o’clock, do you know where your children are?”

2010-12-10T15:49:00.001-08:00

"King City in my recollection had more teenagers in one place than any place I have seen since. On All Hallows Eve we became the seething underbelly of our parents desires; sex filled the air like porridge, adolescent boys spilled out of their homes and into cars looking for sex, violence, liquor, and …TROUBLE."

2010-12-10T15:47:00.001-08:00

"The town of King City lies about seven hundred miles from here just north of Toronto along
that great Highway called "the 400". And every day as the cars swoosh by, the dogs who live on the farms beside the highway, watch each other. They watch in the most singular poses...some are stretched out on the cool morning grass, some are yawning. And still others are sleeping and dreaming. Sometimes it is difficult to dream with the sound of the chickens squawking, and the cars swooshing by full of people on their way up to their cottages, and the sound of the little kitties getting run over by transport trucks, but dogs have this amazing capacity to dream and twitch their little paws when all this noise is going on all around them."

2010-12-10T15:45:00.000-08:00

"Gravity is something you’ll experience later as you plunge out blue and bleeding into the bright fluorescent lights, into the scent of freshly washed hospital gowns and sweat and blood...and shit"

2010-12-10T15:43:00.000-08:00

"It’s really not so bad until you realize, one dark evening, one black Irish night when the fairies are swooning in a mescaline haze, one night when a certain heat overcomes the walls of the womb and your left hand, your tiny left hand, your little pin speck of dust in the Milky May, begins its regular three A.M stretch and you feel…it. Tiny, and so small, you're not even sure it's there.

But, needless to say, there it is."

End of Images. Written and performed by Colm Magner. New York, 2010. Most photos by Dixie Sheridan

2010-12-10T15:39:00.001-08:00

"I was staring at myself in the little mirror of the morgue washroom with the scared piss pouring out of me, feeling nauseous from the smell of the antiseptics, feeling pissed at the clinical demeanor of the mortician and all the other little assistants who buzzed in and out of stainless steel doorways so officiously, those doors which open so smoothly and close with such a firm and final click."

2010-09-10T16:59:00.000-07:00

Thanks sincerely to all the New Yorker`s who came to see our production of "The Scavenger's Daughter" at FringeNYC in New York City.

We were thrilled with the attendance, as we were with all the fine theatre practitioners from New York City who helped us mount the production- Jim Gaylord, who was a fabulous director to work with, and who pulled the whole production together, and our stage manager Heather Olmstead, who will be a great asset to anyone who hires her.

We were also thrilled to have worked with Don Creedon and Colin Broderick in bringing an encore presentation of Scavenger to the fabulous Poor Mouth Theatre in the Bronx. Poor Mouth is a company started by the talented and critically acclaimed writers Colin Broderick, Don Creedon and Stephen Smallhorne. Don's play "Guy Walks into a Bar" won the Audience Favorite Award at the First Irish Theatre Festival in New York in 2010, and Colin's book "Orangutan" is a moving, beautifully written, and wrenching testament to the resilience of the Irish spirit. All three of these cats, and others, perform new and vital works in the Chris O'Neill Room, the true home of the Irish in the Bronx at An Beal Bocht, owned by Tony Caffrey

We are very happy with the published reviews (see: http://www.thescavengersdaughter.org/) , and enjoyed thoroughly reading them in the old time honoured tradition- with our friends at the pub. But as an old teacher of mine reminded me "it is about the work, not the reviews". But, hey, I can't help it-- to the intellectually challenged, um, "critic" who suggested I was "exploiting a family tragedy", I have one or two or three questions: Have you ever read "Long Days Journey into Night"? How about "Burn This?" Or how about any half decent play ever written?

Autobiography is very often the seed of creative writing. "Seed" is the operative word. And difficult issues often give rise to difficult plays.

Finally, and more importantly, I am deeply grateful to the many people who wrote to me personally and talked of how moved they were by the play. I was moved by you, and what wonderful symbiosis that is!!

The play was rooted in real life experience- I did lose my brother Brian, and I did love him deeply. That is pretty well the extent of what was "real" in my play. But I wish I could have a beer with Brian and celebrate, and with you all as well. He would be very game!

Please keep your eyes open for "Moonshine Serenade", my new play.

Coming to New York audiences soon!!

All the best,

Colm Magner

2010-05-05T07:02:00.000-07:00

Welcome!
For those of you interested in theatre, my Solo Play "The Scavenger's Daughter" has just been accepted by the New York International Fringe Festival Jury for production in August 2010. The play will be staged in New York City as part of the Fringe between August 13th and August 29th this year.
Show Times are:
Thur 8/19@ 5.30PM
Sat 8/21@ 8.30 PM
Tues 8/24@ 4 PM
Wed 8/25@ 10 PM
Sat 8/28@ Noon

4th street Theater
Venue # 4
79 East 4th Street, NY, NY

It would be great to see you there, and I may have a few new pipes in my pocket as well!

Visit www.thescavengersdaughter.org to see details about the show.

And visit www.fringenyc.org to see all the other fabulous shows at this years FringeNYC!

2010-04-08T21:29:00.000-07:00

Mugs

President and CEO of Colm Magner Pipes and Jewellery

2010-04-07T20:30:00.001-07:00

This piece is approximately one inch tall.

2010-04-07T20:29:00.000-07:00

2010-04-07T20:28:00.001-07:00

Metamorphosis in Blue (3 angles)

2010-04-07T20:23:00.001-07:00

Sterling Box (hinge and entire box completely hand-made), containing a Pearl Pendant

2010-04-07T20:21:00.001-07:00

Blue Lace Agate

2010-04-07T20:16:00.000-07:00

Hand Hammered Sterling Silver Bracelet with matching ring

2010-04-07T20:15:00.001-07:00

Freeform tobacco pipe. Completely hand-made. Hand-cut stem with lucite insert. Plateaux Briar.Natural finish.

2010-04-07T20:12:00.001-07:00

Freeform tobacco pipe. Completely hand-made from stem to bowl. Idea? Whale Series--beach, cliffs, sand , and coral.

2009-12-27T18:35:00.000-08:00

Colm Magner, President Bill Clinton, and Margaret Martinello, the former Director of Development of The William J.Clinton Foundation. Congratulations to Margaret who was recently named the new President and CEO of the IWK Foundation in Halifax, Canada. Picture New York City, 2009.

2009-02-02T06:21:00.000-08:00

Mulligan aka "Mugs". Studio Supervisor and resident Pipe Photographer. Enjoy the photos on this blog.

2009-02-02T06:20:00.000-08:00

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2009-02-02T06:18:00.000-08:00

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2009-02-02T06:13:00.000-08:00

2009-01-29T19:27:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Colm Magner Pipes!

2009-01-28T20:40:00.001-08:00

I can be reached at cmugs@eastlink.ca If you click on "view my complete profile" on the right column of the blog, and then click the "2009 archive" you should be able to see all the photos.

All best,

Colm

2009-01-28T18:16:00.000-08:00

Latest Billiard

2009-01-24T11:26:00.000-08:00

Alternate side of freeform

2009-01-12T21:04:00.000-08:00

2009-01-12T21:03:00.000-08:00

Raindrop type shape inspired by Julius Vesz

2009-01-12T18:26:00.000-08:00

Another original shape with an insert in the stem.

2009-01-10T09:20:00.000-08:00

2009-01-10T07:57:00.000-08:00

My original as yet unimitated "Boxer" shape. A solid pipe which fits nicely in the hand, and balances very well in the mouth. First introduced at the Columbus Pipe Show in 2005. Excellent for smoking Virginia-Perique blends.