studio - behind the scenes
silence and circularity
This is what remains of Sgang Gwaay, a UNESCO World Heritage Site in Gwaii Haanas National Park, Haida Gwaii. (In 2010 the Haida Nation “respectfully repatriated” the name “Queen Charlotte Islands” back to the Crown.) Trying to write there, I found myself silenced by the power of the constantly moving water and the still shoulders of the steep islands we sailed along, the deep strength of the silver poles and the swirling echoes of Haida stories. Villages were lived in and left. People names, place names, ancestor names changed. Relationships, like the islands, were circular. We were confounded by our inability to impose our linear paradigms, our roads and lot lines, patrilineage and patronage. We struck out, in every sense. The Haida prevailed. There’s more to say about circles and lines, if I can only get out of this well of silence. But should I?
Beaded Lace
Dew on the strawberry leaf evokes the Elizabethan lace ruff, hung with pearls, an artifice undoubtedly inspired by an intimate view of nature such as this. Ralph Waldo Emerson said: Nature, in the common sense, refers to essences unchanged by humans; space, the air, the river, the leaf. Art is applied to the mixture of our will with those same things, as in a house, a canal, a statue, a picture.
Say it with colour
Are you spending too much time writing? Need a distraction? No, I thought not. Nonetheless, Colour Theory is teaching me that our shadow selves are not pitch dark, but are shades of nameless violet, wine and earth. There are, of course, those who are paid money by house paint manufacturers to give names to the nameless. I could call my shadow self Midsummer Night, Stormy Monday, Wrought Iron, or more mysteriously, Proposal, Pashmina or Pensive. Out the window numberless shades of nameless green flash in the sun.
Spring things
Let’s go with the optimism of calling a cold yet sunny day “spring”. I spent the morning spring cleaning my written works, making a spot for the many iterations of completed poems, consolidating piles of works in progress, gleaning rough notes for gems, starting some new pieces. Now to exercise the other side of my brain (right? left? as a leftie I am always confused by such dichotomies) I will arrange my bouquet of origami cranes for placement in my Peace/War assemblage.
Vintage dress and coat, recently repaired by me, from The Northumberland Players Costume House. Vintage gloves from my mother’s collection. Vintage physiognomy, my own.
it’s a good day for tin rolling
So said Dick Proenneke in his film series, Alone in the Wilderness (PBS). He filmed himself building a log cabin in the wilds of Alaska, from felling the trees to making his bed. In between he would roam with his cameras and film the wildlife. On rainy days he would cut and roll empty tin cans and drums into bread pans and flour scoops. Needless to say, he made his own sourdough bread. He learned his skills in the Navy. When you need something on a ship in the middle of the ocean, you make it. Can we think of this earth as a ship in the middle of an ocean? Can we remember when we want to declutter our lives, toss away unwanted things and people, that there is no “away”?
There’s a city in China I visited called Wuxi, “no tin”, and I was never sure if no tin was a virtue or a shortcoming. I too have no tin. I will settle for pen and paper, thoughts and words. On the cusp of winter and spring, I will push to finish some works, and push harder to start new ones.
Ranch craft
As I’ve been writing about my father’s ranch, I also worked on a project for Tristan, whose grandparents’ had a ranch near Edmonton. This is a hide from one of the last of their herd that Tristan wanted put to some use. Working with leather appeals to the senses; it is has scent, it is tactile, it defies machining, it has a strong connection to the earth, it is at once forgiving and uncooperative to work with, it is humbling. Have a groovy birthday, Tristan!
