no one’s interested in something you didn’t do…

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. 

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James Edward Hergel, Canadian Artist: A Collection

…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! 

It’s a Cold Love

Yay! So excited for this tonight. I could pretend they are not my favourite but, they are totally my favourite, ever since I had two wee babies & I escaped home life for an iddy-biddy concert with this cool laser show of green. They were amazing then, when pretty much no one knew who they were, and they are still ridiculous live. 

There are so many songs I am looking forward to hearing, singing along to, jumping along to & dancing to & frankly, I’ll probably cry along to a couple. Good music always makes me cry. Live music impacts harder. I’m not gonna even pretend that I won’t have some mild post-concert depression. I’ve been waiting five plus years to see them again. Three of my kiddos are going. It’s going to be so fun! 

Concierto de Aranjuez: II. Adagio

Trust me, take the 12 minutes to listen & watch it preferably. 

There are several pieces of classical that I have loved since rather early childhood, this is one of them. To me, all people should have the opportunity to fall in love with classical. Not every piece will strike you powerfully, but when they do, you are changed. 

To soothe & break all at once, this is my pick for today. 

Chris Cornell

I can’t say I was a huge fan but I can appreciate a musician for what they are & I certainly appreciate when artists grow & that they leave musical Interlude threaded through our memories. 


I’m happy I did get to hear & see him perform live & those early nineties rusty songs of dirt & despair had become songs in a sound track of my life. Songs like Black Hole Sun & Fell On Black Days were as much a staple in those young years of grunge as Nirvana’s music. 

Driving to the mountains in a car packed with eager youth there were some bands that were always on the playlist…Soundgarden was one of them. Tho I certainly lost touch with him until last year when he came through in the Higher Truth tour, I can appreciate that he was a great artist & am sad to hear about he’s passing. 

On that note, here is my personal favourite by him that isn’t from the nineties, a cover of Nothing Compares 2 U

Rückenfigur

It is, from behind I approach

The crumbled walls of the silent Abbey—

Do you see it’s coming death?
The crosses & graves strewn about, gaping raw & emptied of their clutch-treasured bones

I hear the heaving oaks, creaking with abandon, disintegrating, where once, the mourning masses stumbled in their tears, in their agonies, praying to their silent gods & idols, mumbling little prayers while the Devil looked on, lighting candles, the flickering flames of every soul he’s savoured. 

I look from behind the moment when silence grips the Abbey, the echo of the forest smooth like water over the rocks & I’m not lonely—there the heavens lay, a wide wide sky, the clouds roiling, the sun lilting, everything capsizing & burbling up, history to future, future to eternity, where all the birds & souls belong, like orchestral notes making a whole. 

This, the crumbled Rückenfigur, of what once was the darkness of time & gods, unseen & black as agony. 

***   
(The much adored, Casper David Friedrich’s The Abbey in the Oakwood, probably best known for The Wanderer Above the Sea Fog, but really all his work appeals to the Romantics as we wonder what the story of his painting is.) 


Feels Like An Artsy Day Out

A.J. Casson (1898-1992)

October, North Shore, 1929

I feel like the North shore, beaten & wind-worn, the slim edges faded into moldy tones of oblique. My skin is like the crusted lichen, painted with drear of Winter & a little too dry, crumbling at the touch of even a small bug. 

I waste away, watching the sky shift & tide like the vast oceans, but my fingers can’t quite touch the waves, I cannot hear the roar—a silent movie. 

I trip on down the stones, accepting the scratches like little kisses on my skin.