I Don't Know Why I Liked it So

This is one of my favourite oil paintings ever, Blue Mountain by Vasily Kandinsky, for so many intangible reasons.

Painted in Russia in 1908/09, I first saw it (or at least, first really paid attention to it) while flipping through a book called Living Colors, A Guide to Color Palettes Through the Ages (on page 143, if you happen to have the book). I turned the page upon it and stared at it for a very long time.

BLUE MOUNTAIN ~ Vasily Kandinsky

I don't know why I liked it so, perhaps the first lure was the combination of vivid colours brought to a textural burgeoning flourish by short dab & chop shaggy carpet brush strokes! It's three coordinates are the three primary colours, and I think this is at the heart of its emotional impact. It struck me as fervent, playful and yet prophetic. So, it didn't surprise me to read that Kandinsky believed that "colours should be used in art purely for their emotional and symbolic content." The segmenting of this painting beckons you to honour the very separate physical presence and movement of the red, blue and the yellow, parted between by a rising divide that to me resembles a white fire-hearted river or glacier smoking its way to the sky! The triumphant rearing up of the horses (oh I love horses!) heralds a proud pageantry and optimistic procession marching onward. Its modern "chunkiness" and brave simplicity of contrast just makes me want to stare at it and enjoy the impact. And above all it inspires me, I do believe I will reach for this type of effect in some of my yet to be unleashed work (says the procrastinator). 
Curious about Kandinsky, I read up on him a bit more and realized I enjoy his philosophy as well as his groundbreaking embrace of abstractness (oh to be ahead of your time). I also share his dream of  "a better more spiritual future through the transformative powers of art."

Oddly enough, the house we live in is painted room by room in the three primary colours! The living room is red and yellow, the kitchen is blue, my studio is yellow and the bathroom is red! This sets off a base for the most adventurous decor, as any object added as an accent falls gracefully into the entire prism and nothing really needs to match but instead blends in to subtly enrich the overall feeling of charm! Is art intrinsic to our lives? Yes, even in the most subliminal way.

Daffodils in Sunny Kitchen Against Blue Walls

Indian Accents in the Living Room

My Yellow Walls in the Studio

Broccoli and Eggs for Dinner, Lucian Freud for Breakfast

The other day set out to be a drainer and today was not much better in its over all dull pall of events...I've been thinning my soles looking for work in Nanaimo during these tough times (as if I describe a passing phase) and had finally landed an interview (exactly where shall remain untold for now). I was so out of practice, even though I tried to prepare well, I don't believe I was in top form or presented properly. Neither did I foresee being tested after the oral interview on my computer skills...I was feeling rusty and the easiest steps I knew so well on any other day would not even click. Wanting so much to win the job I became flustered during the test and was sure I had failed it (right after boldly expressing what a calm and steady worker I am under pressure, too!) Before even leaving the building I was convinced I had spoken too much and digressed under questioning, had not remained focused on the specifics of the job description, had forgotten entirely to mention certain crucial aspects of my resume that may have helped clinch it, talked too much about irrelevant experiences, and got stuck stumbling over my answers. To top it off I left in a rush, carrying a pen that belonged to the panel, and had to run back and return it.

On the ferry ride home what small bit of confidence I was clinging to had begun to wane, and by mid-evening, I was doubting myself entirely. I said to K, I'm sorry honey, I'm not going to get this job. He said, you know what, it's OK. What will be, will be, and I love you no matter what. 

Still, I slunked off (if that is not a word, let me call it one, it is very descriptive of the physical manifestation of my mood at that moment)...I slunked off and shut myself into my chilly studio and proceeded to get lost in my painting to avert the slow demise into self-loathing.

After some distant noise in the kitchen, K knocked on the door with this steaming plate of broccoli, tomato soup and egg souffle and locally baked bread.

K is the best cook ever, no matter what we have in the cupboards, he serves it up so beautifully every time. His daughter F also surprised me with a plate of her home made chocolate chip hummus concoction. Sustenance! Abundance! I made some headway with my painting, and went to bed full and feeling loved.

Today there was no call from the prospective job, and when I walked our dog Seeker to the mailbox in the rain, he sat chewing his stick watching me sympathetically as I shoved my hand deep to the back of the slot...nothing. Not the small refund we're expecting from pet insurance, not the very important mail K has been waiting weeks for, not even a rejection letter from any previous job applications...nada. Just the Harbour City Star newspaper.

When I came home, I decided to watch again a video my mum had sent me about Lucian Freud. His softly spoken opening words hit home with me at the core of my being. I want very much to find a fulfilling and enjoyable job with a dental plan and kind coworkers and a viable salary. And I need to keep looking rather than sit waiting on a call that may not come. At the same time, I only have control over one thing....I can keep painting, no need to answer to anyone but myself about the value of my endeavour or the quality of my work. I can choose how to spend my days. And sometimes I will even ignore the dishes and paint on through the piling mess. After all, it doesn't seem Lucian dusted much.

I have a gorgeous book on Lucian Freud, have held a fascination with him, and used to fantasize (while he was alive) about being painted by him (how I would have made it to London was not part of the fantasy...maybe on a unicorn). David Hockney speaks about what it was like to be painted by Freud in this amusing and insightful video, also recommended by my mum, which made me giggle.

Even though the last couple of days have been pervaded by a sense of socked-in stagnancy, the little boosts from family ~ my love's cooking, F's chocolate hummus spread, and my mum's perfectly timed video share have been sparks of light. I wish I could capture that quality of light on canvas....perhaps there is a way.

Itchy Red Velvet and Tobacco Spit....Almost

For the first time in my life, I have a real studio space. My very own studio space! Before you start to envision rafters and skylights and high white ceilings and paint generously splattered on giant easels and a robust nude model eating grapes in graceful repose while laid out upon scads of drop sheets somewhere off to the side, zoom in a bit. I have a little room in the corner of the house with an entirely separate entrance opening onto three outside steps, and one window looking out at the poplar trees, and an easel propped against a wall, my own closet, my ancient rickety bookcase, a mish mash of natty pillows squished beneath an armchair caved in with books, all my blank canvases awaiting their slow awakening, my antique desk, a rug for our dog to nap on, a shelf for our cat to peer from, jars of wornout brushes, a quirky 1960's lamp, everything I need, or so I feel, to become the painter I want to be!

OK, I am giving you my real life version of one of my favourite opening pages in a novel...do you know it? ...one that evokes nostalgia you can taste and smell, that prods poignantly at the ache for creative space and the potential launch of a thousand future imaginings. When my sister and I lived together in our wild twenties, she framed the first page from Truman Capote's Breakfast at Tiffanys, and hung it on the front door of our groovy Calgary apartment. Much later in life, when I moved out again on my own as a newly single woman, I typed out the same page of script on mottled green paper, and put it in a small faded wooden frame and kept it on a desk in the bedroom of my Vancouver apartment. I've still got it, and now it sits in my own studio on the window ledge, and I enjoy pausing to read it every now and then when I experience a lag in my motivation, or a bout of identity crisis, or a general absence of mid-century charm anywhere nearby. Or even if I miss my sister.

Here it is....(best to close your eyes and have a good friend read it to you aloud in a soft and distant  voice):

      "I am always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and their neighborhoods. For instance, there is a brownstone in the East Seventies where, during the early years of the war, I had my first New York apartment. It was one room crowded with attic furniture, a sofa and fat chairs upholstered in that itchy, particular red velvet that one associates with hot days on a train. The walls were stucco, and a color rather like tobacco-spit. Everywhere, in the bathroom too, there were prints of Roman ruins freckled brown with age. The single window looked out on a  fire escape. Even so, my spirits heightened whenever I felt in my pocket the key to this apartment; with all its gloom, it still was a place of my own, the first, and my books were there, and jars of pencils to sharpen, everything I needed, so I felt, to become the writer I wanted to be."  ~ Truman Capote

We're not all the same about personal space...for me, a private area, decorated by me and for me is a very nurturing and focused place to be. Sometimes I need to sit alone entirely uninterrupted, pouring at length over images in art books, turning from one page to the next with reluctant slothlike attachment... before I even lift up a brush....even if I am simply searching for a shade of red, or an eyelid to study. Sometimes I need to sit and meditate and stare out the window to watch the sun change the shadows on a tree. Sometimes I need an hour to select and layout my paints! Most of all, the room is there for me to enter at my own whim, and know it is there and mine, clean or messy, but always solitary, and always offering to aid me in my process. For me, it feels very hard earned at this point in my life, and yet I still want so badly to truly deserve having it.

The walls are stucco too!

Life Drawing at Rose Crystal Studio

One morning every week, for a small fee depending on the class size, there is a two hour life drawing session at a sun-filled studio on the north end of the island. I'd known about this for quite a few months but I'd never been able to go due to work. A friend of mine goes regularly, both as an artist and as a model in turn. She recently told me they needed more people to sit as models. As I am currently unemployed, I thought this might be a fun challenge and a little extra money. I impulsively said yes. A little while later she emailed me with my sitting date, thankfully still a few weeks away. This gave me time to attend the class first....although I had done extracurricular life drawing years ago at Emily Carr, I was definitely out of practice and needed to immerse myself in the scenario again before I could think of modelling with any ease. The first day I went, there were several women there around my age or older, and one older gentleman. Mostly all familiar faces from the community, some I knew better than others. Although I was obviously aware of this on some level, it suddenly hit home what I had actually agreed to do...this wasn't Vancouver or New York, where I could anonymously wander in and out and be known only as "the model"...this was Our Little Island where everyone knows everyone. Oh dear. But as I looked about the brightly lit room at the friendly faces and began to chit chat, the class seemed very warm and open, and an atmosphere of comfort surrounded me. My friend was also there, I thought as a sketcher, until she walked to the centre of the room without announcement and casually disrobed, even as the students were still adjusting their seats. With a confident and professional air, she  succinctly transformed herself from person to figurine. She was extremely relaxed, kept a serene expression on her face the entire time, remained very still in all the poses, and chose movements and positions that were enjoyable to sketch. Although I was a little rusty, I managed to wing off a few acceptable drawings, even though I only had my faithful Strathmore pad and regular HB pencils.

Ten Minute Pose

But as I was sketching, I was also imagining myself trying to strike the same poses....my friend is very large chested and sensuous to draw...I'm thin, with long  limbs, and small chested, but soft and lumpy in the tummy and thighs where I once enjoyed owning firm and sinewy muscles. It was quickly clear that this room was inhabited by people who were respectful and true to their craft, and there was no sense of judgment, negative criticism or ogling whatsoever. Still, to stand singularly rigid and alone under bright lights in all your pale varicosed cellulite nakedness closely encircled by seriously intent observers certainly requires you to be comfortable in your own skin! Vanity, insecurity and ego stay outside...and that leaves room only for the pure beauty in everyone. After the class was over, and it seemed to fly by...it always does when you're drawing....I felt re-initiated, exalted, inspired  and a little intimidated all at once.

Twenty Five Minute Pose

The next week I went again to draw. This time I brought pencils and a fine tip black ink pen. This time the model was yet another friend of mine (surprise), a woman who models only but doesn't draw at all herself. Again, I was struck by the extreme ease with which she was able to relax into her role. Knowing her as I do, I noticed that her personality infused her poses...calm, steady and graceful with a pinch of whimsy. Her body was marvelous to draw...well proportioned and full and rosy.

Fifteen Minute Pose

I found myself wishing I had pastels this time, but managed to play with both pencil and pen in the longer 25 minute poses. Looking at my work, I realized "I'm hooked. I must keep this up. Each class, each sitting, each pose, is a chance to discover something new". I love the intensity of being "In the NOW"....of drawing from breathing life, of knowing you only have so many minutes to observe and create!! My friend the model gave me a ride after class and gave me some reassuring tips on my own upcoming modelling day.
One more week and I was to be the model myself....and then, the day came...this morning!

Wouldn't you know it, I slept in, and woke up with minutes to spare! I hopped in the shower, shaved, dried off, pulled my long hair into a single ponytail, left off my usual makeup, shoved a toasted bagel down, grabbed some bedding for props and was ready to go. I had planned to get up early and look at videos of various poses beforehand to warm myself up...ack! No rehearsal! After all the rushing, I was the second person to arrive at the studio! Within five minutes of starting time on this dismal cold grey day I thought, wouldn't you figure, my turn to pose and everyone has stayed at home. But then they came, all the same faces from before and even a couple of new ones! I reminded everyone this was my first time life modelling, and was met with only encouragement, enthusiasm and gentle advice. I began with the usual quick one minute poses, timing them in my head by counting one one thousand two etc. With each pose I gained my own rhythm and creativity. It really helped to hear classmates say "good pose" or murmur "great" once I set myself still. The one minute poses can be more dynamic, the best for holding your arms above your head and putting weight on one leg for instance. After a few poses I was keen to try "the archer" next but we then switched to five minute poses so that was out for today! I learned in the longer poses not to lean on any one limb, to balance my weight and to go into a meditative "waking sleep", breathing slowly and focusing at an object anywhere in the room. I also became acutely aware of how every angle and gesture of my body would affect each artist's vantage point. Once settled into the longest pose of half an hour, I found my mind wandering over various thoughts from politics to when to do laundry. My stomach didn't growl, my nose didn't run, I didn't have a coughing fit or a leg cramp or a bad bout of the shakes....all needless fears anyway. I thought the class would go by much more slowly as a model. But it absolutely flew! Afterwards, everyone was keen to show me their work, and that was the real treat....seeing what they perceived, and how they conveyed it through their own eyes, unique styles, and selected mediums. The sketches above are my own...I wish I had a drawing of me to post here today too, but I don't, so instead you can check out this lovely video. Look closely...maybe you are in it! As for me, I can now say I am more comfortable in my own skin, and on my own canvas as well.

Thrift & Plenty

Our motto usually is, we never got so rich until we got so poor. Sometimes making ends meet feels like trying to tie dental floss around an elephant! Yet, even during the hardest of financial times we've met the challenge of cutting back to bare bones and still being met with abundance. I'm pretty sure I will never willingly buy anything in a bonafide retail outlet again (OK, that may be stretching it....paints and canvases are hard to find used, but still, I like to stick to the small business owners). I own no credit cards, and I have no debt. When I can, I donate what I'm no longer using or attached to. Economic challenge as well as a frugal desire to reuse and recycle has kept me loyal to two places for almost everything I'll ever need above rent, food, hydro and internet. Gabriola Island Recycling Organization (known to locals as The Depot),  and The Haven Society Thrift Shop in Nanaimo, are, as far as I'm concerned, capable of providing me with everything I need to clothe myself and decorate my home in the most eccentric, stylish and creative way!
Oh, and of course, when it is in season, the Gabriola Farmer's Market offers the best in locally handcrafted wearables by artisans whose passion and talent has formed them.
Oh, and then there are clothing swaps, the most fun of all, when a bunch of women from the community get together for a party...swapping all our oldies for other oldies and everyone going away happily re-clad (and maybe a tad tipsy or floaty)!
Although I still love to take the odd peek at a magazine to see what design forces are at work in the big wide world out there, I'm content to look but not have any of the glossy new items and fabulous firsthand objects to build my own surroundings with. Shopping thrift is far more satisfying than walking into a store where you see twenty of the same shirt and have to hope they have your size. Shopping thrift is a way to truly discover what your own personal taste and style IS. Among all the haphazard clutter of singular and distinct offerings of colours and texture, you'll inexplicably be allured by what draws your unique instincts and very own interest. (Talk about self discovery, really allowing your own heart and mind to select things!) There is no accounting for anyone else's taste, so no matter what, in a thrift shop, everyone is bound to come across something that pleases them alone. Sometimes, I'll ruminate for a very long time over whether or not I really NEED that item that costs $1, because I only have $4 to spend.

Well, if you saw our home, you'd never know we were lacking for anything of comfort. Once you get to the point when the only security you have is the fact you woke up alive this morning and the opportunity for work that the day may hold, you realize that many of us try all our lives to build an illusion of permanence and structure. Once you lose all that, you realize you never really needed it... you can survive just fine as long as you can at least pull it together for real necessities. Then everything above and beyond is so thoroughly bonus, it's a creative thrill! A jug of wine, a loaf of bread ~ and thou.

A snippet of our woodsy livingroom:

Here I am wearing topaz earrings handmade by the luscious Lisa of Heavy Feather from Mudge Island, a shirt I got from a clothing swap party, a kerchief from GIRO and a necklace my sis hand-me-downed me! Grateful to those who first created these items, and to the people who have owned them before me....we are all part of an intricate and synchronized dance!

 

Gypsy Thrift!

There Will Always Be Beautiful Things

Nearly every single day we seem to break a plate or cup or some piece of pottery in this house...ba da bing.

(yesterday I simply opened the fridge door and my favourite vivid cadmium red salad plate crashed to the floor,  the onion that was on it rolling peevishly into the corner as if to say "it was because of me")

(too often a  foot faux "paw" occurs when we fall into bed with our midnight snacks or wine glasses sitting haphazardly on the foot board.....toss....kick....crash, ah, decadence!)

(then there is the too predictable but somehow always unpreventable happy dog swinging tail triple flip....whoops...I should not have said the word "W.A.L.K."....my mottled handcrafted vase from  Italy placed on too low a table....ka ~ ding!!)

As we pile the broken pieces in their ever-growing resting place on the porch railing, our refrain has become, sing it with me,  "There Will Always Be Beautiful Things"... but the colours and shapes are too magical to throw out... so, I'm going to start a crockery garden! One has to be careful as pets can cut themselves on the sharp edges....so I'll need to find a safe and secluded but within-view corner to make my artful garden, and keep the sharp edges under earth. A spring project! Maybe a mosaic may be another way to go. 

Yesterday I went out to add another broken cup to the pile and noticed that someone dear to me had arranged the broken plates into a smiley face. That cheered me up. It's true, there will always be beautiful things, but loving and funny people are not so easy to replace!

"Smile, though your plate is breaking..."

All Is As It Should Be

All is as it should be. I know this now. Today, we spontaneously decided to go for a drive, and find a spot to sit and look out at the view and talk about our lives and goals, you know, what is important to us these days. After a few moments of indecision, we wound up parked at Berry Point just before Four PM, as the unusual blue sky of the day was shifting to a delicate, almost imperceptibly mauve shade.We let our dog Seeker out of the car so he could have a good run on the rocks. A sea lion swam past and nodded to us upon each surface. I felt graced. We shared a few puffs, lungs expanding, happy and clear. The sea chopped and churned, in colourful segments of various blues, whites and blacks. I said to K "I wish a whale would come". I had seen in this week's Island Tides that a pod of Orcas was spotted swimming south from Mayne Island on January 18th. I imagined them making their way past us. Could they be near? Oh come to us, I thought, come say hello. Convinced I would see them, I spotted what looked like a fin far off in the vacillating horizon, yes, it was moving quickly, it was straight and swift! K shook his head and said, no, a seagull. He was right. It turned and a flash of white confirmed its shape.Oh well. K reminded me that in all his years here he had only spotted Orcas once, from the deck of the ferry last year coming from Nanaimo...he'd been talking to his best friend's wife and then suddenly, beyond her profile he saw the fins...stupendous, magnificent, larger than he felt tall, he said. I thought, that must be truly something. I'd only seen Orcas in captivity, confined, defeated and performing, fins wilted sideways, and again from very far away on the ferry to Tsswwassen, and they had been so minute and distant, they looked like playful dolphins. 

I stared out to sea one last time as we turned to climb away......then. Then. I saw a slice, a knife-like vertical slice against the horizontal waves...a flicker of a shadow of something against the wavey grain. No, just a trick of the eye. Or, wait. Dark. Fast. High. Holy F! Then down. 

It disappeared. Did I? Did I really? No. A mirage again. A mirage, but....Waves, huge circles of foamy circles....parting, parting wider, and then the shiny black unmistakable dome! Up, Up, UP, ARCH!!! Right AT me! RIGHT toward the shore, like a torpedo, a huge black submarine rising! ORCA!

Coming straight for me! FAST! Leaping! It came to the very edge of what seemed the shore, as close as I could imagine the water was even deep enough to enter, I thought it might drive up onto the rocks! Then it banked, blew and spewed, tilted at me, as if to say...

I came, I am here. Hello.

Then it swam alongside us. Seeker spotted it and jumped, I called him to stay by me, I suddenly pictured him leaping the few feet into the water, so close was the whale.  There were four, no five, more Orcas, a good forty metres behind their leader, dancing in a merry fleet...they rose and followed their serene leader of the parade....and gently carried on into the distance.

They passed out of sight round the last rock. We stood stunned. I only realized then that I had been jumping up and down waving my arms and laughing like a little girl the entire time. There was a lady in an SUV on the road who saw it all, as well as two older women on a walk. Everyone touched by that brief fleeting visit.

I cannot describe our emotions shortly after this sighting. K wept with joy.  We had all day to get things done, to worry and fret and work and clean and try to make things go as they should. What ever made us choose that very moment of our crazy day to go for a drive and then stand on that particular spot on the beach and wish a whale would appear?

I know, they are frequently seen at Berry Point, as any local will tell you.But we've been many many many times. Today I called them. I really know I did. There is meaning in this moment and I wish all humans to have these amazing moments in their lives. It happens when you open yourself to all the possibilities and keep your eyes open.When you are on the right path, nature will affirm it. 

Perception is reality. I am where I am meant to be. We drove down to the shortcut between Chelwood and Daniel Way, and parked in the woods, with our binoculars. A woodpecker knocked in a tree above us. A deer quietly strode across the field unaware we watched it. In the sky, a jet plane bulleted like a slow dart leaving its white trail. Man's great invention, genius, people on their way.

Me Enjoying a Sunset at Berry Point  ~ Photo Credit Susan Banjavich