Summer and Fantastical Fictional Settings

Where have I been? Not here, that’s for sure. July and August without a post—shame on me! Blame summer.

Summer is too full of strawberries and cicadas, swimming and sunrises. Sitting at the computer simply doesn’t appeal. Summer is like adolescence, there’s no time to think and reflect; it’s a time for activity—for moving, running and dancing as fast as you possibly can.

This summer has been a summer of sunrises. The cottage we rented was ideally positioned to take in dawn in all its glory. I snapped pictures that I hope to use in watercolour practices as I try to learn technique.

 














The time at the cottage was the highlight of my summer. I hope I never forget it. It reminded me of what I love most about Ontario—water, trees, rock, sky. Softly rounded ancient shorelines. It reminded me of what feeds my soul.

We spent about four hours a day playing in the water!

We had time to share dinners with people we love.

I'd like to wake up by a quiet lake everyday, but for now I will study this sacred landscape in art and words. For now I will let its mysteries unfold internally and hopefully find expression in art.

Meanwhile I managed to find time to finish my first ever watercolour painting.

My crows. Not your typical watercolour, is it?

I could keep working on this piece but I must move on. There are a million things I would do differently. I am frustrated, as usual, by my lack of experience with technique and with my lack of skill/talent with composition. But despite all that, I'm proud of my daring. I’m proud I just did it, despite such ignorance. I'm proud, too, of the idea behind this piece. It is strange and personal and feels like a piece of my soul.

I've written before about how I don't like to appropriate First Nations' culture, yet, it seems to rise up in my subconscious and conscious alike. What can I do? It's powerful imagery, shared perhaps in a Jungian way through our collective unconscious. And as strange as this sounds, birds—crows, in particular—have been speaking to my soul since spring. I also had a very strange, archetypal dream about crows, which I'd forgotten about until cleaning up my desktop and finding a detailed note on the dream. It has inspired another crow painting that I hope to attempt this fall.

As far as this one is concerned, I feel it is, perhaps, my first real piece of art. The idea coalesced at a deep level, and now it is external, made real. I feel no need to give words to its meaning, to explain it in any way. It is enough that it exists. 

I know what the work means to me and that is enough. As for its meaning to others, I feel that if it appeals, if it speaks to someone else on a personal level, that's great, and if it doesn't, that's okay, too.

This is a breakthrough for me. Art for art's sake. And so, humble though my crow painting is, naive as it is, by Jove, I believe it is art!

I know this little guy enjoyed it. As soon as I took it outside to photograph, this beautiful creature alighted upon it, investigating thoroughly. I was honoured. And I don't believe he defecated on it or anything like that, so I guess that's a good sign.

The next exciting bit of creative news is that I have refined my idea of setting for the “little story” that I've been working on (or not working on!). Since I started the story, I've been equivocating on the fictional world that I needed to shape for my characters to live in and move through. Would it be modeled on the idealized English countryside that haunts my imagination thanks to the literature I love? I thought so, but elements of my own country kept creeping in. 

Then a visit to the Ontario towns of Fergus and Elora settled the issue. 

Elora is a sweet little town that, thanks to its preponderance of early 19th century stone architecture, reminds me a wee bit of St. Andrews in Scotland. Elora is younger, smaller and boasts no North Sea coastline (sigh), but its impressive gorge, where the Grand River rushes past 22-metre-high limestone cliffs, adds unexpected drama. 

Victoria Park in the centre of town offered a vantage point for a tired 11-year-old and his mom to quickly take in the exciting setting without actually hiking, which I would have loved to do had I been alone. 

The park was a surprise. You must walk through a lovely grove of cedars to get to the lookouts. As we entered, my son said, "I'm trying to feel them," and he put his hands out into the air in front of him. I was so happy because I once showed him how to do that and told him that sometimes I can feel the energy of trees. He didn't believe me then, but it stuck with him and he has remained open to the possibility, which is all I ask. 

Immediately upon entering their quiet space I was reminded that Ontario is a powerful setting that I know and it is as worthy of starring in fantastical fiction as is any copse or moor or rocky Welsh mountain. 

So this summer, I have recommitted to Ontario and feel more confident in setting my fictional world physically in rural Ontario (tweaked to include some massive mountains), but in a time that never existed. 

The truth is, I need to include the plants I know and love, like these cheeky cedars that insist on coupling in broad daylight and in public, too!

This landscape is witchy, sensual, soft, sad, romantic, mysterious, dramatic. Perfect for a work such as I'm trying to create.

I long to live closer to nature in a place much less paved than Toronto, but if I can't physically live a wilder life right now, if the city must be my home, then I shall let the wild live in my imagination and I will come to know it better through my art. 

Vacation Brain

After running for the plane in Toronto and being practically the last passengers on board, then waiting many extra hours at the Miami airport and then on the runway, somehow we were finally sinking our toes into the softest sand I've felt since a trip to Eleuthra many years ago.

A boy feels sand on a tropical beach for the first time. 

Upon arrival, we headed straight for the beach when we finally reached our destination at Provinciales, Turks & Caicos. 

Since arriving, this place quickly turned my brain into mush. It takes all of my energy to walk from a lounge chair on the beach to the water for a swim, then shuffle back up and plop back down on my chair. Whew. Exhausting! 

Gentle swirls of air are like silk on the skin, the ocean is warm, just a few degrees cooler than body temperature, these things conspire to unplug a northerner from her busy brain. 

So be it. Pictures will tell this story until words return.

Rut Busting

Whether our routines are hoist upon us—a necessary and intelligent response to the demands of our daily responsibilities—or they are safe choices whose predictability we depend on to feel protected from the inherent randomness of life, once established, routines can quickly become a rut.

Artists need new experiences in order to create. It is impossible to grow a crop without planting a seed. First, something new must be introduced to the soil and nourished in the dark before the first green sprout breaks through to the surface.

It was that need to break out of a rut that led me, on a whim, to sign up for a watercolour class. It had been years since I'd done any visual art, but working with my son, showing him how to look at the world as an artist does, ended up opening my eyes, probably more than his. The teacher (me) realized, not for the first time, I was the student.

The course is over now, but what a continuing richness it gives my life. I am in love with the medium of watercolour. I am changed for exposing myself to it as an adult learner. And I will never see the sky in the same way -- never see nature the same way. Colours are new and nuanced. Light is a mystery that I must study carefully.

I am rather incompetent—my vision far outreaches my abilities. But isn't that the way it is every time you try something new? Best not to judge too harshly. Best to play. Otherwise you risk stifling the unique vision that only you, as a beginner, can ever bring to this art form.  

That idea is explored at one of my regular haunts, writer/artist Terri Windling's blog, in a post called  When You Fear You're Just No Good.

And before I go further, I must share another quote lifted from her pages. It captures exactly what the creative process means to me.

“The work of the eyes is done. Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.”  - Rilke

As my eyes begin to see, many images are bubbling to the surface and I struggle to express them in this new-to-me, highly mutable medium of watercolour, to do them justice.

I can't, of course, because I'm a beginner (go read that post I mentioned)! But you know what, I don't care, because, bloody hell, this is really fun. It's exciting. So what if a piece turns into a big mess? Those occasional moments when it works, when I like what I see, are worth every effort. Now, I just need to allow myself that same freedom in writing, a medium in which I am much less forgiving of myself.

If you feel like a beginner in your art and you are frustrated by that, maybe even considering giving up, read the above post by Terri. Then nourish yourself, feed your creative soul with something new, and let your heart-work begin. Let's be easy on ourselves — let's play!

The Sweet Life

I've been so bad, so very, very bad. There is a backlog of postings filed in my brain. Pics of the new robin, who—when I have time to notice—seems to have claimed my home as his home. Pray the neighbourhood cats I've befriended don't betray me.

But this "magazine article" is what I've wanted to finish and post since a certain glorious evening weeks ago at Carrie & Tim's. I do so appreciate that family.

Now, a few apologies: my handling of indesign is atrocious but getting better, the font use would make my art designer friends seasick, and I simply don't have time to fuss with the copy anymore right now though I see things that make me cringe. The pics were snapped on either mine or Barry's iPhone (or is it eyePhone?), so they are quite grainy, but also at times beautiful. The worst thing was that blogger wouldn't let me upload a pdf so each spread had to be made into a jpeg of a suitable size and then uploaded. Drag. That's why the font is so tiny, but you get the idea????

But it is all unimportant - the weather was perfect, food delicious, the company was spectacular (though one of us was missing and he was missed).

I want to post this because it is a sweet slice of our life and it makes me feel lucky indeed!

XO

Babies

Three baby robins have hatched. No time to write. Off for a fun day on a long weekend.

I took these yesterday after my husband had used the camera on Manual. I didn't realize! Took the shots and couldn't fix them in post-production. Full on crazy exposures. So I played with them (in seconds, no time to finesse) but the results are interesting.

More words later this weekend. I'm late for my watercolour class - and more on that later, too.

Bird Song

The mornings are musical now with bird song slipping in through the window before dawn. It's past 11 AM and they are still going strong. Nature's band of musicians plays on.

And I just discovered that someone has built a home in the Japanese Tree lilac.

It looks like this one is awaiting the arrival of their family.

Either I'm looking for birds subconsciously or I've never been awake, eyes wide open, in spring before. I refuse to consider Alfred Hitchcock's classic. I will not. I'm loving these guys. I'm glad they've moved in.

Fragility

More birds in my life. This one came to me in a video. A short film by Johannes Nyholm. It's been viewed almost five million times on You Tube, so I'm clearly not the first to fall under its spell. (It premiered in Cannes in 2009.)

The music is by Little Dragon, and it is heartbreaking enough to listen to on its own. Coupled with this video, I believe it could break through to the most heavily armored soul. It is haunting, beautiful, powerful. Watch it before you read the director's statement, which I've posted below.

Aside from reminding us of the fragility of our gifts and of the importance of giving, it is a lesson in how great art can sometimes look so damned simple but can be so difficult to achieve (for me, even bad art is a challenge to produce!! Funny how that happens!). I hope it breaks through for you, too.

DIRECTOR’S STATEMENT

The idea behind the film was to tell a story that was a mix between dream and reality. For the first time in my life, I guess, I wanted to create something that actually looked beautiful. The form should be so fragile that you get the sense that it could dissolve any second, like a dissipating cloud. I wanted to encompass a whole life in just a couple of minutes. Love, break up, death and grief. A melodrama without any irony.

It is not a typical film, but rather a filmed theatrical play, a shadow puppet theater. An important principle throughout the production was to do everything the old analogue way, not in postproduction with digital techniques. Every shot was rehearsed multiple times. Then shot, live, with numerable puppet players controlling the figures and elements. Sometimes we were 15 people controlling different small elements of the scene simultaneously; one controlling the little bird, another the girl, four people controlling the wind, yet six controlling the fires all over the image. Some shots were so difficult and complex that we had to reshoot up to 200 times. 

From

http://www.johannesnyholm.se/?page_id=208