studio - behind the scenes
The Four Sisters
Haleakala Crater, Maui, 9740 Ft.
L-R Jackie, Vicky, Anne-Marie (Mia), Lyn
When we (on the left) were young, and visited the Rocky Mountains in the summer, The Three Sisters were always pointed out. Hey, that’s us! Then in 2004 we met Lyn, our oldest sister, a secret since childhood. Now we have another mountain, Haleakala, house of the sun, guardian of Lyn’s new home, to commemorate our sisterhood!
I too am commemorating, working on stories about my lifelong voyage, my rocky road, to this brilliant summit.
at the Colborne Art Gallery
My assemblage, Prairie 1 – Unsettled, is in good company at the CAG Juried Show until the end of October. The chosen works all inspire curiosity (how did they do that?) and creativity (how would I express this?) As the leaves drift down from the maple tree outside my window I marvel at how others have captured such exquisite moments in nature.
The Colborne Art Gallery itself is in the old county land registry, thus the bars on the windows. What was more valuable back then than title to land swindled away from First Nations! It is a land acknowledgment made manifest. That it is now an art gallery might go some way towards Reconciliaction. Let us be mindful when we cross that threshold.
Making a book…
… without writing a word. What I did on my summer vacation: Book Art with Holly Dean (Art + Play) offered in Port Hope by Loyalist College as part of their new summer arts program. We had a week of mixed media fun learning on the one hand to let go of measuring, overthinking, and preconceptions, and on the other hand to build skills in pamphlet stitch, Coptic stitch, and long stitch bindings. My favourite, however, is the jewel-like concertina book, a secret book that could fit in the palm of your hand. I have much written that could fill a book or ten and now an exciting new path to sharing my work one book at a time!
Nothing to see here, folks….
Yesterday’s Art Salon was a little Contemplative Photography field trip to the Cobourg Ecology garden and the salvage littered brownlands behind Legacy. Vicky forgot her camera bag and was reduced to using her old iPhone camera. I was using my old film camera. Vicky shares my disdain for trying to photograph something with only a small LCD screen for reference, the view either wiped out by the sun’s glare or dulled out by the deep shade, the resulting photo altered by the phone’s computer, serving up the image it thinks you want. I not-so-secretly love my old menu-less camera, which I can use without thinking, concentrating on the image I’m forming, but I do have to wait – finish the film – and wait – take it to Peterborough Photo for processing – before I see the results. Which is worse?
Looking forward : Looking back
Today my father would have been 97. Looking back, here he is in about 1970 with Rob at the ranch that he bought east of Brooks Alberta. Looking forward, the book I have written about him and his ranch has found a publisher! I spent the last year and a half writing an intertwined memoir of my French father, of the land he ranched in the drylands of Alberta from 1969 to 1999, and my reflection on our changing relationships with the land, with the peoples who came before us, and with non-human life. While I call my work creative non-fiction, it is a mix of essay, poetry, images, even a bit of fiction. I had long wanted to capture the strange beauty of prairie for those not familiar with it, especially now, at a time of disappearing family ranches and of Reconciliation with First Nations. As a counterpoint I write about my father’s unlikely path from a small town in the Vosges Mountains of Alsace to ranching in Alberta. The life, the writing, the publishing – equally celebration and journey!
Contemplate: are you your sadness?
Another look at contemplative photography: world as collage. Is this image anything more than light and shadow, shapes and colours? Is this singular image ever likely to be recaptured as it appears here? Every day the sun will be higher in the sky, the shadows cast on a different part of the wall, the vegetation in another stage of springing forth, next year on the same day at the same time it might rain or snow. This wall has disappeared. And you, this moment, will disappear into the next moment. What you feel now can vapourize into the nowness of whatever walls surround you, those disappearing walls.