Colour Shift and Fireflies

I don’t know if I ever told you, but I have a substack. I’ve had it for a while but I’ve only just started posting.

Check it out!

Layers

I don’t think I’ve mentioned it, but I have recently gotten very into listening to history podcasts. Every day when I walk with Poppy and do my chores and errands, I listen and learn about past events and people. It’s is endlessly fascinating and entertaining and also thought provoking. A few days ago, I was listening to Dan Snow’s History Hits and he said something along the lines of: We live on the layers of the people who came before us. This struck me as so true and profound. It particularly resonated for me because I think about palimpsests all the time in my artistic and scholarly life. The traces we leave behind us, sometimes deliberately and sometimes not.

For the past two days I have attended the virtual Oral History Association Symposium, Trauma Informed Interviewing: Reckoning and Beyond. During the opening session our host also spoke about living on the layers of those who came before us while introducing the land acknowledgements. This thread of thought has stuck with me throughout all of the panel presentations and continues to haunt me. (We have one more session tomorrow.)

One of the hot topics permeating the symposium has been care. How do we care for others as a part of our practice? how do we care for ourselves? In this spirit there are small moments of mindfulness and self/collective care built into the agenda. During the decompression exercise at the end of the day yesterday we listened to Redemption Song by Bob Marley. We were then asked to write a Haiku and I wrote:

Layers of history hold us
The waters of the river flow on
We move forward individually together

The panels today were likewise enlightening and inspiring. We are currently on a break and the last panel still has my mind reeling with excitement and so many thoughts to sort through. I have also been adding to my thesis bibliography, and being reminded of the compassion and generosity of so many Americans. The traits that get lost in the noise of spectacle politics.

I feel lucky to witness and participate in these oral history sessions. I feel fortunate to bear witness to differing practices and perspectives. Learning in this way is a joy and a privilege.

A different kind of crunch

Last week I was at the dog park, hanging from a bar, stretching out my back. I let go of the bar and was walking away when a dragonfly started flying around me curiously. The sun was shining and it was sparkling right in front of my face, it was pretty magical. Then suddenly - crunch - a bluejay swooped down from a branch above and snapped up the dragonfly in its beak. The circle of life cut my magical moment short. lol

On another note, I have now spotted a real live crayfish in the river twice! I took a fabulous video a few mornings ago and I will post it below.

The other day, I met a woman named Carmen, a retired archeologist, walking with her impressively old chihuahuas (19 and 14). She told me that Stanley Park in New Edinburgh used to be an industrial area and that there used to be an ink bottle factory there! Apparently there is a local historian who gives an excellent walk on the topic. Unfortunately I just missed the most recent walk. I will have to keep my eyes and ears open for the next one. Exciting!

Rivers I have known

Living next to a river, in a city of rivers, makes me think of the other rivers I have met over the course of my life. I am a fortunate human in many ways and one of them is that I have been able to chase opportunities for adventure and travel. I was able to get grants and awards that allowed me to chase dreams that brought me to far flung places. Many of those places have had a river running through them.

I was born and raised on a peninsula, on an island and I was born under the sun sign of Cancer. I pay attention to water. I walk its parameters and take a dip if that is an option. I want to know the water. I also wonder if it is related to growing up to an estuary heavily polluted by toxic waste, the disgusting filth and stench of it, void of life.

Water is inseparable from life for us and all living beings, it sustains us, we cannot live without it. Our bodies are made up of water and we are known to be affected by the moon, which also moves the tides.

These are the rivers I have known, in the order I met them:

Sydney River, Mira River, North River, French River, Clyburn River (apparently downgraded to a brook now), Middle Aspy River, Grand Anse River, MacKenzie River, Cheticamp River, Margaree River, Shubenacadie River, Fall River, LaHave River (Pijinuiskaq), Avon River, St, Croix River, Cornwallis River, Hillsborough River, St. John River (Wolastaq), St. Lawrence River, Rio Grande, Rio San Carlos, Fraser River, Prairies River, Ottawa River, Rideau River, Thee Mississippi River, River Seine, Los Angeles River, Hudson River, East River, Sackville River, River Clyde, River Lagan, River Liffey, Rhine River, River Spree

I may have missed a few, but those are the ones I can think of. This exercise made me think about how mental mapping, kind of like the list above, becomes a bit of autobiography. By this I mean that it tells a story about, in this case, my life.

I want to think about this more.

A quest and a meandering path

I have a confession to make: Ever since I found out about the crayfish in the Rideau I have been looking for them on every dog walk. I spotted one, and I crouched down to take a video, but I am quite sure it was dead. It didn’t move at all, even when I tossed a pebble nearby. I have not seen a live crayfish yet, but I will definitely report back immediately when I do.

This morning, it was raining so Poppy and I stayed in bed for a lazy morning. Poppy snored and I read a novel. I’m Reading Tom Lake, by Ann Patchett. I borrowed it from the library, naturally. It’s been making me think about theatre as an art form - an ancient, magical spectacle that has endured for, I was going to say millennia but I decided to go double check first and the internet told me, 2500 years! That is amazing, and part of the wonderful thing about it is that the magic spell can be cast in utmost simplicity or as an extravaganza of effects, props, costumes, etc., not to mention a variety of ways in between.

Isn’t that a wonderful thought? I find the idea exciting, and awe inspiring. Perhaps this is because I have been picking away at the play again recently, and reading a novel about theatre and actors. I enjoy the idea of theatre people engaging in an act (punny, I know) that is ancient and hasn’t necessarily changed all that much over the millenia. It’s got a legendary legacy, and to be a part of that flow of history is a beautiful thing.

We had a blackbox theatre in my high school growing up. I did drama there with almost all the same people from grade 7 through grade 12. We did a lot of improv, and we wrote a play. Really, it was a series of vignettes with different kinds of seguays, musical for example. I sang a song as a segway, and I was an actor in a few of the vignettes, but I didn’t ever fall in love with acting and the theatre like some people I know/knew. Interestingly, I did go on to study film making, and film history during my BFA, so I believe a seed was planted.

I’ve been sketching out a screenplay for a little while now, collecting the historical information, reading books about related topics, watching films in the same sub-genre and writing down the framework of the stories as they come to me. It’s been fun and I would love to take a screenwriting class again. I took one back in 2002ish.

Back on the riverbank, I found a Brock quarter, with colour, from 2012, embedded in the mud. I photographed it and then removed it to add to the collection of artefacts I am compiling on my walks. Today I saw and photographed two morel mushrooms and a little patch of chives. Then I spoke to a couple about a rare bird sighting and we shared photos of mushrooms and birds. I adore those kinds of interactions. We marvelled at spring and went our separate ways.

Crunch

Every day Poppy and I walk along the bank of the Rideau River. There are inevitably birds singing, especially redwing blackbirds who we see every day. We walk across the Minto Bridges, taking the long way around both ways because Poppy is afraid of the other bridge. She is overwhelmed by the construction and the cars zooming past and the people/bikes/strollers/runners. So we avoid that stress and take the easy way round. We stroll through parks with playgrounds and community members gathered to clean up the community space and care for the garden beds. I find it charming and reassuring. I find many people here friendly and I enjoy smiling and saying hello to the other dog walkers and those who are commuting to work on foot.

Once we cross the series of frilly white bridges we enter ‘dog heaven’ where Poppy runs off leash, swims in the river, plays with the other dogs and sniffs butts (that is not the grossest thing she does. Dogs. Ugh). We walk on the tiny paths that run right along the edge of the river bank and Poppy runs in and out of the water while I remind her not to drink it and watch the swallows dance on the boundary where the sky meets the river. It makes me understand why people write stories about birds and fishes falling in love with one another; like a reflection of themselves in another world.

Today I banged my head on a tree branch while walking those teensy paths and looking down. It sent a jolt of pain down my neck and I almost cried. Instead I held onto the monkey bars and dangled for a while. I also tested out a swing (love a good swing) for a moment or two.

I was looking down because while walking that path I heard a crunch that sounded just like a sea shell. I looked down curiously and was surprised to see that I had stepped on the top half of a crayfish shell and I wondered if there are crayfish living in the Rideau River?

BRB, I’ve gotta go look that up!

UPDATE: The internet told me that the Rideau is ‘filled with crayfish’! Who knew! Well, maybe everyone but me. Haha.

Fragments of a week

The night before last I saw a falling star.

It was brief and magical. Now I suddenly have the urge to look at Whistler Nocturnes. Sadly I can’t access any through the library here.

Here are some recent inks I have made:

It's gone

The gazebo, I mean!

Poppy and I walked down to the RZ this morning, like we always do and the gazebo was just a pile of rubble. There was a backhoe nearby and a few dump trucks, for the rubble I presume. Who knew. It was only a few weeks ago when I hosted my garden party in the gazebo. Wow, what a surprise.

Yesterday morning’s surprise was a blue heron that flew over my and Poppy’s heads and landed in a tree nearby. It stood on a branch for a while before taking off again. I had never seen a blue heron stand on a tree branch before! I had a good view of its under plumage, which was a view I had never seen before. I think it was standing in the tree to get an overview of the Washbrook, which is currently almost bone dry.

We sure could use some rain.

A weekend with Joan Jonas

On Friday night I attended the opening of the Joan Jonas exhibition We Come From the Sea at Eltuek Arts Centre. The place was jammed from wall to wall with people, many who had traveled from great distances to be there for Joan’s first big Nova Scotia opening.

Not that I know her, because I don’t, but I was Joan adjacent numerous times this weekend as I traveled, once again, to the west side of the Island with Erika Shea, the deeply kind and compassionate President/CEO of New Dawn, and her colleague Ardelle Reynolds. I went to high school with Ardelle and I find her to be a wonderful conversationalist - smart as a whip as well as insightful and funny.

August art pilgrimages have become a tradition for us and this is our third in a row. We were in Inverness because Joan was also opening her exhibition at the Inverness County Centre for the Arts. This opening was crammed as well and it was clear that Jonas was on home turf here, surrounded by her people. She has lived part time in Inverness County for more than fifty years and she expressed her gratitude to the place and the people for helping shape her work.

Both openings were beautiful events and I was pleased to be there, pleased to be Joan adjacent, although I didn't speak to her. I just stood next to her and smiled when our eyes met. I am rather socially awkward, and I find these big events with crowds of people to be fairly overwhelming. Joan is almost 90 and barely reaches my shoulder, but she has a large presence, a steady commanding voice, and a strong personal style. I can tell you without hesitation that she is formidable.

Some of the people I knew at the Inverness opening were mentioning that they felt awed by seeing Joan Jonas sitting next to Philip Glass in Inverness on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I didn’t see Glass and Jonas sitting together but I did see Philip Glass, now at a very advance age, leaving the opening with the support of family and friends while I was sitting outside speaking with Fenn Martin, an acquaintance from my BFA days, now faculty at St.FX.

It was a true pleasure to speak with Fenn and a true and rare pleasure to be in the presence of contemporary art giants like Glass and Jonas. I was also thrilled to see my beautiful, gifted friend Caitrian MacNeil at the opening. As we were walking together through the gallery, headed over to greet our friend Carrie Karsgaard, people kept stopping us to say: “You look beautiful Cat!” She did, she always does!

In the flurry of art opening elbow rubbing, I kept being invited to the after party by people I ran into. David Diviney, a curator at the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia even made it a point to write down the address for me on a card, but we still didn’t go. The group I was travelling with preferred the beach and so we went to the beach. It was a beautiful, clear, hot sunny day and the water was refreshing - not too warm, not too cold. I swam next to a lady named Susan from Whycocomaugh who told me that it was her first time swimming in the ocean because she was facing a fear. I told her that I thought she was very brave to tackle her fear of the ocean head on in such a way. She was too nervous to stay in the waves by herself so we exited the surf together and said our goodbyes as we approached dry land.

I thought later, when I was back at home and writing in my journal, that I probably should have figured out a way to get to the after party. Honestly, though, I was all socialized out and I also think that bobbing on a gentle sea was a fitting way to end a weekend in which the beauty, mystery and importance of our oceans and seas was a central feature.

Thank you Joan! Your sense of playful stroy telling, sensitivity to the centrality and importance of our dance with the natural world, and the generosity evident in your work won’t be forgotten by anyone who was in the room on Sunday.

PS - I had a fantastic dinner and long winding talk with artists and emeritus NSCAD faculty Bob Bean and Barbara Lounder on Thursday night by the light of a hazy red sunset. It is always a joy to spend time with such well read, interesting and thoughtful people. They are so inspiring and I was happy we could meet before the frenzy of the opening at Eltuek.

PPS - I saw the sculptor John Macnab for the first time in many many years at the opening in Inverness and I was absolutely delighted to see him. We used to have studios down the hall from one another on the Halifax waterfront. John introduced me to the film maker Neal Livingston, who seems like a character and a half. So much fun! I also ran into artist duo Erik Moskowitz and Amanda Trager at both openings. I loved their installation Double Song Portrait at Eltuek two years ago. It was my favourite exhibition installed there up to this point. I think they are lovely people too!

PPPS - Cape Breton fiddle royalty, Ashley MacIsaac, played for us! How lucky were we?

Illuminated Garden Party

It’s finally happening on Friday night!

I have been foraging in the feral gardens of the riparian zone and I have prepared all kinds of delectable treats to taste: quince jelly, rose petal jelly, rose + strawberry + sea salt tepache, lavender pickled onion + oyster mushroom umami rice balls topped with pickled magnolia, potato bread, mushroom pate, wild pesto, feral herb topped foccacia, strawberry + lavender infused butter, feral herb infused butter, quince blossom vinegar, lavender vinegar, wild strawberry vinegar, spruce infused salt, oyster mushroom infused salt, lavender shortbreads and more. I can’t remember everything right now, honestly. Good thing I wrote it all down in my notebook! I’m tired.

I’ll be creating a grazing board that will be illuminated by an installation I’ve been working on for the past number of months. I have been planning this event for about a year now and I am excited to share it with the people who attend.

I’ll also be testing out my new (to me) DSLR for night shots. Also exciting. I used it out in the world for the first time on Sunday when my friend Rachel Anzalone (Hi Rachel, your website is beautiful!), an artist from NY/NJ, took me to the Fortress of Louisbourg for my belated birthday gift. It was so much fun and I got to try out my camera on the architecture and the actors.

It was a gorgeous day, fairly quiet and we indulged in a pint in the Fortress Tavern, then a picnic next to the ocean afterwards.

I studied photography and film for my first degree, but photography was analogue back then, so DSLRs are still a bit of a learning curve for me. I found it gratifying to be putting a large camera up to my eye again after so many years of using an iPhone camera.

Oh, and we totally saw Chris Noth, you know, Mr. Big from Sex & The City. We didn’t realize it was him until later after some detective work (nice job Rachel). He was wearing a very loud, purple Hawaiian shirt and he smiled and said hello to us in a famous way, like we would know who he was, which was when our suspicians set in. lol. So fun!

Come to my Garden Party if you’re in the area! I think it’s gonna be a good time!

Illuminated Garden Party was made possible with the generous support of a CBRM Creative Catalyst Grant.

Yellow arrow marks the spot. The star marks the original spot, it’s a long story that I won’t bother telling at this moment.

Encounters with birds in the riparian zone

I walk by the Washbrook twice daily with my dog , Poppy, and these walks are some of my particular pleasures.

This is a special place. A place that is being rewilded; the long grass is tussled by the breeze, the weeping willows sway, and the fragrance of flowers fill the air at this time of year. I also have the pleasure of small encounters with birds. This morning, Poppy and I spotted a red winged blackbird singing at the top of a young willow tree. Yesterday morning I had the pleasure of seeing two titmouses (titmice?) in the pollinator garden, playfully flitting around a juvenile chokecherry tree.

Yesterday afternoon I had an unusual encounter with a young Great Blue Heron. I was returning from the library and I stopped to take a photo of some extra pretty clematis growing up an old piece of fence in the feral garden across from the Washbrook viewing platform. I heard a croaking sound and assumed it was a raven, but when I looked up, it was a young Great Blue Heron perched on the chainlink fence. I snapped a quick photo, but when I started to approach, it flew away.

I usually only see them wading in the Washbrook, or flying pterodactyl-like above me. It was rather magical.

I believe you will

I’m so proud of you, America, for standing up for yourselves and each other. I have been watching the happenings down in the US closely. I followed the protests against ICE in LA more than I probably should have, but my heart lives there and I couldn’t look away. I have been watching protest videos and news clips, reading articles and commentary. I feel my heart swell every time I see a community rise up together against those kidnapping gestapo bounty hunters to chase them out of their town.

The video clips of protestors countering fully armed police, military and white supremist groups with courage, anger, humour and humanity has had me cheering you on. The footage of locals in Pasadena playing instruments, banging on pots & pans, signs and more at night until the human equipment of the 47th’s fascist regime were ejected from a hotel was priceless.

Watching you protest en masse, seeing you showing up for one another, sharing information and mutual aid restores my faith in the people of your nation’s ability to face down the fanta menace’s regime and take back your country. I believe you will.

In the meantime, I received a missive from 18th Street Arts Center in Santa Monica offering hope, assistance and resistance through self defence, twice monthly potlucks and pro bono emergency space. Look them up if you are in LA County and need sustenance or support, beauty or hopeful help for your hurting heart.

It's spring and the flowers are here!

Spring is springing and there are flowers! I believe I have gushed a few times on here about how much I love flowers? (LOLOL) I am especially delighted by flowers that appear in unexpected locations.

Recently I have spotted a few patches and they bring me immense joy on my daily dog walks with Poppy. One morning I spotted a patch of brilliant yellow daffodils thriving in some brambles. They are still kicking it and I have not given in to the temptation to take one home.

You see them over there? Just on the other side of the broken bridge?

Another morning it was the sweetest little wild violets, each sweet face smaller than my pinky nail. They are proliferating in a patch of boggy grass. I think they are the cutest! Many more have sprung up since I took this photo.

I believe these are viola machoskeyi. How darling are they in the dew?

The day before yesterday I spotted several nice sized patches of grape hyacinth and I made a bee-line (yup, the pun was intended and I am a dork) for them. I gathered a bunch and they have been gracing my kitchen window ledge in a small vase of green Mexican glass. The kind with the bubbles. Tomorrow I will begin infusing them in vinegar for my upcoming feral garden party.

Poppy was not as interested in the grape hyacinth as she looks in this photo. Don’t be fooled.

This evening on our dog walk I gathered magnolia petals to infuse in heavy cream for a magnolia cream cake. I think elderflower would pair well with the sorta spicy magnolia so I am thinking I will infuse the cream with magnolia, freeze it and then infuse it again with elderflower when they grace me with their angelic presence. I have been witnessing their becoming. I love the way they grow symmetrically, looking remarkably like the berry at first. They remind me of William Morris for some reason.

I have also been reading about eating quince blossoms, and I tried a petal from the large bank of quince bushes that are growing along the bank of the Washbrook this evening. It was deicate and slightly tart. I read that they are particularly lovely infused in vinegar so I think I will gather some petals and infuse them once more of the blooms open. There are several large patches of quince down around the riparian zone.

There is also an old plum tree that has small, white, star-like blossoms in spring and adorable, tasty, tiny plums in fall. The blossoms are just about ready to pop. Maybe tomorrow I’ll see their little faces.

Spilling the tea

Have I mentioned how much I love my local bookstore? It is one of my favourite places. I feel the same way about the owner, Alison, who hosts the bookclub I started. Yes, I started a bookclub with several local women close in age: one university professor, two painters, an illustrator/bookstore owner, and me. We have fun! Anyway, at the bookstore, Alison has a “leave a piece of art/take a piece of art” cork board and I find it very exciting (I find so many things exciting LOL).

The other evening when I was there, some small, jewel-like watercolour paintings caught my eye and I pleaded with Alison to allow me to take a gorgeous little tulip painting (I am never dramatic about anything, fyi, lol) with a promise that I would bring something for the board in return. She said sure thing and now I am the proud owner of a treasure. Alison told me that the artist is Fern Donovan. Well done, Fern! I loved the other painting you left there as well, but I have a particular fondness for flower paintings. Love your work and thank you so much for your generosity!

Taking this little painitng home, placing it on my bookshelf and admiring it made me think about another tiny jewel of art I own, made by Ruth Marsh, another artist I admire very much. That piece is a tiny bee drawing. Ruth is good. And they’re weird and I enjoy that too. When I used to use instagram Ruth’s account was one of my favourites. Their sense of humour kills me (I have told them this in person, naturally. lol). I was thinking about framing these two little works and hanging them together.

This thought led to another: When I paint in a representational style I make small paintings too! I also made jewellery for about a decade, and before that when I studied photography, I made tiny prints. I assumed I leaned toward small prints out of necessity at that time - the big photo paper was prohibitively expensive - but maybe it is a part of my aesthetic? I find that thought interesting in relation to my installation practice particularly because installation can be defined as “sculpture in the expanded field.” These kinds of contradictions tickle me. I do view my installations as jewel like, though, and I have made that connection in the past when writing about my work.

PS - Happy birthday bro! Love you! XO

A deluge of swallows

This morning, around 8am, when Poppy and I were walking along the Washbrook, we encountered a deluge of swallows. Hundreds of black swallows with white stripes alongside numerous Juniper Titmouse(s?) (titmice?) suddenly came downstream, flooding the air above the Washbrook, sticking to the stream as path.

It was delightful and I stopped and watched as more and more and more came toward us. Some of them landed in the small trees on the banks of the Washbrook and stopped to take a minute before they flew on. Later, at home, the internet told me that these were likely migratory swallows since I live on the migration path. It said that they were likely headed to hang out in some bullrushes - there were plenty to choose from where they were headed!

I got excited and started sprinkling birdseed on the nearby grass but they were not interested. LOL!

After the last swallows sped swiftly by, I saw some of the shy crows who shadow me on my walks saunter over to nibble on the seeds.

There are Canada Geese in the fields adjacent to the Washbrook as well. I once saw a Purple Finch along there. On another walk I saw a Sharp Shinned Hawk. Twice, a Bald Eagle. It’s a bird rich location!

Nerves

I am feeling frustrated. I don’t mean to complain and I am generally a pretty happy person, but this pain thing is bringing me down. I have been experiencing nerve pain in my shoulders, arms and hands from the curve in my spine. I know this because I have been researching it. Yes, it seems I have a new research hobby.

I experience this particular pain when I sit at my laptop at my dining table and type. I think it is from the way I hold my arms. I have been sitting and typing a lot. I am working on my dissertation proposal presentation for my defence and I promised my massage therapist that I would not lie on my couch and type, which was my former habit and my shameful confession (haha). I am enjoying the research, i like the work, but the pain is distracting. It’s like I have bees in my shoulders, hands and arms and sometimes they sting, leaving a burning, buzzing, throbbing pain.

Maybe not bees, I like bees too much to think of them that way. Probably more like wasps or hornets. Once, at Ben Eoin Beach Campground, as a child, a friend stepped on a hornets nest hidden inside a rotten log by accident. We were both stung over and over again as we ran away.

The frustration lies in enjoying the work, wanting to work, but being in too much pain to keep typing. I do, also, write long hand. After a long day of typing, sometimes my arms and hands hurt too much to write longhand. This is bumming me out and I am not yet sure how to deal with it. I am still formulating a plan. I am trying not to let it stress me out. I will figure this out.

On a different note: Happy Martin Luther King Day!

And on a different different note: Last night I was texting with my bro in Sausalito (love you bro! you da best) when I had an etsy order FROM SOMEONE IN SAUSALITO. I thought that was pretty fun and funny. I have lots of clients in California, but this was my first order from Sausalito. Naturally I told the etsy buyer the story in the card I placed with their order. LOL

Rest Easy David Lynch

Yesterday, David Lynch crossed over. An artist with an unmistakable style and vision and a fascinating mind.

I fell in love the moment I viewed Blue Velvet (1986) starring an exquisite Isabella Rossellini. This was during the beginning of my BFA at NSCAD, the end of the 90s and early 2000s. The slide library (yes, slides!) had a little room off of it that contained the film holdings. A treasure trove of film gems I had the delight to plow through over the years while I gorged myself on film directing, screen writing, set decoration and film history classes.

Wild at Heart was another film that grabbed my attention early and immediately. It is such a quotable, unforgettable film that I have revisited many times over. I adore Lynch’s work for its strangeness and wildness. I have also always enjoyed Lynch’s cameos in his work and the quirky, unassuming characters he created for himself.

I have gone back to Twin Peaks, in all its forms, over and over. I’ve visited that world when in need of comfort and I recently read that Lynch felt he was expressing his personal version of spirituality through those series/films. That makes me love them even more and want to dive back into that world of his once again. I also lived, for a few years, in the Pacific Northwest, and so that stunning, eerie landscape is familiar to me in a most welcome way.

I have been through his oeuvre, many times and there are others that keep me coming back. I watched Lost Highway for the first time while high on hash and could not stop laughing at the sax solos, although I find that movie haunting and unsettling.

Mulholland Drive (2001) was released while I was still in art school. This film, alongside a few other enduring notables from around that time - The Sea Inside by Alejandro Amenebar and The Diving Bell and Butterfly directed by painter Julian Schnabel, remain embedded, together with Mulholland Drive, in my memory for some reason. Perhaps it is the dreaminess, elegant sensitivity and painterly qualities of these films that group them together for me. Or the unknowability of amnesia and total paralysis that permeate the threads of these stories like a fever dream.

Once, on my second visit to LA, back in 2012ish, I requested to drive, with a friend, the length of Mulholland Drive to experience it in its fullness. LA, its extremes and eccentricities is a place that I hold dear and can relate to, just as I can relate to David Lynch and his brilliantly webbed brain.

David Lynch offered us the inside of his strange and beautiful mind and I hold this gift close. Particularly now that he has crossed over. I do hope he sends us messages from the beyond. If anyone would/could, it would be him.

Rest easy David Lynch. Reach out any time. XO

Damn the destruction reaped by those fires.

The pain in my body

I have had migraines and chronic pain for almost as long as I can remember. In elementary school I had a million brain scans and tests done in an attempt to figure out why I was having so many migraine headaches.

I had terrible posture when I was young. When I was in my early twenties and living in Halifax, I went to my doctor about my back pain and he had me bend over and touch my toes so he could see my spine stretched out. I can remember him saying: well look at that. You have a c curve between your shoulder blades. That was the whole conversation, as I recall. He prescribed me massage therapy.

I have done massage therapy off and on, sometimes painfully and intensively, for my entire adult life. I have had problems with my shoulder blades winging, most of my adult life.

Nobody ever talked to me about scoliosis. My doctor may have used the term “scoliotic curve,” but it was never expanded upon. Nobody ever said: you have scoliosis. Until now.

I have scoliosis. I have a thoracic c curve that causes me chronic back and neck pain and migraines. It also causes numbness and tingling in my extremities and tightness is my jaw. My left leg feels clunky almost all the time.

I have been experiencing waves of rage and other emotions since I found out that I have scoliosis, have essentially always had it, and nobody thought it was important to talk to me about it. I have tattoos on my hands and arms, and I have been treated, in the past, as if I was just looking for narcotics from walk in clinic doctors. I don’t even like to take pain killers except in extreme conditions. Massage therapy is always my first choice.

It is fortunate that I encountered yoga young, as a teen, and took up the practice. I don’t do it every day, and there have been stretches (no pun intended, lol) of time when I didn’t do it. But it is what I have found feels best for my body so it is a practice I always return to. The massage therapist I see, at a local physio clinic, has prescribed me a series of exercises, some with weights, and stretches that I have incorporated into my yoga routine, which is more regular once again.

And still I hurt. Every day, all day. Sometimes it wakes me in the night. Sometimes, after hours of doing research and writing at my laptop, writing longhand in my journal is painful because of the way I hold my arms and I have to stop. Sometimes my hands ache, like they do right now.

Living with chronic pain is debilitating for so many reasons. For me it is very distracting. I find it difficult to sit in one position for a stretch of time, and I am in extra pain afterwards. My ADHD (another adult diagnosis) does not help with this situation. It is also just distracting to always feel pain is your body, it is hard to concentrate.

The other thing I find is that it is exhausting. I am a person who has a tremendous amount of energy (again, see ADHD), and I have found ways to harness that energy and make it work for me. But sometimes it’s hard to keep up with myself and in the past I have found it difficult to rest. When I did rest, usually at the point of burn out, I would lay on the couch in some awkward position and read novels for hours on end (I still do this, the awkward reading I mean). No doubt, not so great for my back.

I have been learning over the past few years to give myself grace and to let myself take the rest I need when I need it. It’s not as easy as it sounds, but it’s necessary and helpful. And now, I am going to have to learn to give myself grace for the pain in my body, and take the rest I need, not push through when it’s really not necessary, be more mindful about the way I treat my body. Take the pain killers or muscle relaxers if it gets too much to bear.

I don’t want to lose my mobility as I age, and I am now at an age where I really do need to think about that, considering my spine.

Stay Safe and Strong LA <3

I keep pacing around. I find it difficult to sit down. I’ve been thinking about Los Angeles and the lost Palisades, its beautiful coastline now blackened timber sketches where buildings used to be. I am trying not to let it drive me to distraction but frankly it’s been hit and miss.

I have a vision I hold in my mind of myself riding an aquamarine beach cruiser along the beachfront at Will Rogers State Beach last March, stopping to visit with purple lupins and yellow sour grass. A smile on my face the entire ride.

Aquamarine is one of my favourite colours. That bike was waiting for me in my live/work space when I arrived at 18th Street Arts Center in Santa Monica, LA County. I took its colour as a good omen. A smile from the gods who continuously call me back to LA. (Maybe I lived there in a past life?)

Beaches are one of my all time happy places. I am from an island, after all.

Dan Kwong, a resident artist who has lived at 18th Street Arts Center for 30 years, posted this fire map showing 18th Street in relation to the fire on his intsagram. I took a screen capture.

I hiked in the Palisades and saw the wildflower superblooom. Other hikers stopped to chat and when they found I was not a local they told me how lucky I was to witness the super bloom, and they told me all about the flowers. I wore a large sun hat purchased at a local Sally Ann after sustaining a bad, blistering sunburn during further joyous biking along the Venice boardwalk and canals. (*See tangent below)

There’s a freedom I feel in LA that I only have in a few other places - Berlin comes to mind directly - it’s big and expansive. There is a singularity to it. When I am in LA, I feel at home with the legions of other oddballs and eccentrics that populate that place. It’s a city that’s called to dreamers for ages now. They showed up and stayed for the weather, among other things. Even the ones who failed to grasp the star they were reaching for.

I love Angelenos for their warmth, their diversity, their kindness to a stranger like me. I love them for their pride in their city. I love them for letting it all hang out. I love them for the Los Angeles Central Library and the myriad pleasure it brings.

I don’t even know how to drive. I exclusively use their public transit and it fuels my love to mingle with Angelenos in this way. I have had countless beautiful interactions with a cross section of locals who have been stunningly generous with me.

It breaks my heart to see you facing this destruction and loss.

LA, I could list the ways I love you for days.

Stay safe and strong.

FIRE RELIEF DONATIONS of supplies can be sent to Bike Oven, 3706 N Figueroa St, Los Angeles, CA 90065, United States

They are looking for:

feminine hygiene products

food

clothing

emergency supplies

cosmetics

pet supplies: leashes, food/water bowls, food, etc. There is currently a leash shortage in LA.

personal hygiene products (toothpaste/toothbrushes, etc.)

first aid supplies

blankets

UPDATE: Tom from 18th Street Arts Center sent me this google doc with lists of items needed and addresses where they can be dropped off or mailed.

He also sent along these google docs of Go Fund Mes assisting Displaced Black Families and this one for assisting local artists.

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*As an aside - years ago, 2014 I think, I got a bad sunburn on the single sunny day in San Francisco - I am not throwing shade, it’s just true - at Golden Gate Park, sitting in the sun, soaking up the rays and drinking delicious iced coffee with my youngest sister, Elizabeth. I looked like a boiled lobster later that afternoon, after we had flown down to LA and checked into our Inn on Venice Beach. We took a walk along the boardwalk immediately and a stranger scolded me for my sunburn. She looked me up and down - I am a pale, freckled, redhead - and bluntly exclaimed: You should know better than that!

It still makes me laugh when I think about it. I do know better, it’s true.

Another amazing and memorable interaction my sister and I had on that trip was on our way up to Dodger Stadium to see a ballgame. Elizabeth, an even paler redhead than me, was 20 years old and wearing short shorts, showing off her long, pale legs. A guy tried to sell us tickets on our way up the hill. We politely declined and after we passed him, he shouted out something that has become legend.

He said: Hey! Chicken legs! Get a tan baby! DAMN! YOU NEED A TAN!

I don’t think we reacted in the way he expected. We both simultaneously, immediately doubled over with laughter. We were so weak we fell to our knees and laughed long and hard. He just stood there shaking his head at us. It was pure gold.