how strange the land becomes, how curious, the sun stripped bare, blazing weak & raw
how long the light & shadow, pulled from horizon to horizon, crawling across the curve
even the trees have paid homage to death & loss, beauty & agony, how slowly this pain becomes
have you felt my shadow, stretching & screaming & knowing the silent agony you’ve called Winter?
everything has begun to hum with this great blackness, even this morning hour
I scoop tired handfuls of ache & so very quietly, I creep alongside the shadows, night spilling long across the day—
precious. that is what the light is. fragile & precious & weak & whispering, & everything’s grown cold. everything’s gone quiet. everything is hurting.
all of me, is plucked out & exposed. I’m left—this carcass without a warm hovel in which to home.
In comes, that screaming.
That sound has become the certainty of the long grittiness, the tender aching, piercing torture of Winter settled here in my bones.
On a small personal note: The soul of Canada mourned today, all day, & will for many more, at news of the loss of our lovely Gord Downie.
We all knew this was coming. We had been expecting it anytime. But, we have unitedly shed tears today, shared our favourite lyrics, radio stations played The Hip all day as tribute, the CBC shared numerous links to interviews & footage, the country paid homage to our poet. He will be missed.
But I found most touching, the passion and drive of his last project, The Secret Path, about the horror of the residential schools. If that can’t make you understand & cry I cannot accept you are human.
A solemn goodbye to a lovely passionate member of our crazy Canadian family. He will be missed & remembered by how such simple phrases, such simple moments in this history, imprinted on our hearts, captured by his gift for lyric & music, have shaped us as a people. He is a part of our budding Canadian culture. He will remain such. A true artist we never needed explained via critique, we just felt his artistry there in its exquisite depth & simplicity.
It was a slow goodbye filled with tears & joys, and my heart goes out to those closest to him today. What a sad shameful thing, this, called death that stalks us all.
…home holds the heart as nothing else can
find me, buried in this frost & moondance rhythm of light & dark
the northern lights have held me hostage, willingly I die with them
each summer, each dawn
this quiet haven of stilled sweetness, thick & beloved, pining admidst the lucid shadows of winter—
there, all things are converging & tearing apart
my heart, my heart
I could pretend I know much more about Canadian artists than I do, but one thing I do know, Canadian artists seem to be some of the most illustrative & colourful. At least, my favourites are & I rarely see art from other countries that touches my heart the same way.
Perhaps it is the bleak long winters devoid of colour, but I gravitate towards the intense images & bold colours. Often there is a fluidity to the lines that reminds me of blowing snow more than water. The shift colour gradients & deep shadows in many artist’s works is so engrossing.
From a young age I wanted to be an artist, & for reasons I can’t quite understand, I felt very discouraged from this path. Only now do I realize you just can’t fight these things, you must let yourself be taken along for the ride with artistic journeys. For me, I could pretend only, to be anything else. My nature is artistic.
Whether it’s been music, writing, visual art, fabric art—I am by nature an artist. This hasn’t always meant I’m good at it by nature, or that I’ve not needed to learn the craft, & practice it, it simply means, I see & dream & feel & live most thouroughly when being creative. I am not good with redundancy or conformity. I get tired, bored & definitely unproductive. Some people thrive on schedule, routine & knowing what comes next. I’ve discovered some people ‘hate surprises’ & change. That, I cannot wrap my mind around.
I struggle to be constant. It is true, I love my own home, most certainly, my own bed; but, give me challenge & variants & an opportunity to learn new things, & I never get tired or bored. I wish I had a little more constancy to get perfected at something. I feel this might be my greatest flaw. But, if life had unlimited time, the slow gradual opportunity to form a skill as layers of sediment forms a ridge eventually, that would be perfect for my learning style.
Anyways. Enough about me. I really just wanted to share some lovely art today.
It’s a day when I expect the snow will start falling any moment now, things are looking browner by the day outside, the days are getting very short & dark, so this spark of colourful artwork is keeping me cheery. Enjoy!
this, the gauging scream by which
you live each day, this,
the small scalples of moments
that won’t let you leave
this, the piercing of each day, lofting
against this rising & then setting,
the small droplets, run rivers down the quietness of this, the
alabaster bust, serene, of you
how white the winter that teeters
just beyond this, the fall, the
healing lies there, in the blades of it
the flocking continues, birds screeching about
this, the southern skies, the southern air, the southern drawl
but this, the north, nests against my heart, cooing & curling tight
i crave this healing, this, the winter bite
So how I find something new & lovely is via iTunes playlists & radio stations. Yesterday was a perfect day for window washing…so I had Electronica cranked. Not sure why that was the genre of choice except the day was warm & the sky was blue & the leaves were heavenly perfect. This crystalline song came on & it felt so wonderfully matched to the weather.