Silenced

by events in Japan and Libya.

stitching in buses

highway 69, heading south
highway 401 near Scarborough
highway 69 heading north

Happy Mother's Day

I had a wonderful mother's day. My kids phoned to talk and wish me a good day. Thank you Oona. Thank you Jay. Thank you Grace. Thank you April. AND, I spent the entire day in my studio. Bliss.

Perivale Gallery in Spring Bay opens next weekend for the season. This painting of my mother and myself will be there. I love remembering the stitching she did for me. Smocked dresses.

the dream house story

October 2, 1992 journal entry

I drove out to Debbie's with the proposal for 'artist in the school'. They were blowing up the road, digging at it with backhoes. There were hardly any flagmen – you were just supposed to go slowly. Debbie had my dream house, straight out of Harrowsmith, looking over a peaceful little lake just right for the kids to go boating on. There was a gazebo with a fireplace and wooden floors, beautiful table with chairs, big windows.

“I’m so glad to see this” I told her. “It makes me believe the world might be OK after all.” “Yes, I understand” she said. I turned away from her to look out the window. Why couldn’t we have done this? Built that house by the beaverpond in Thunder Bay? Why had we taken the step away – or around – and moved to Kenora instead?

She liked my writing. “You’re really good at being practical and clear, but there’s also so much heart” she said. She added a paragraph about the isolation of the area, and we clarified a bit about the folk shapes in two places. Other than that it was fine. We drank tonic water with ice and a slice of lime in the gazebo. The lake was shimmering in front of me.

At home, Ned got me to help him unlaoad a heavy iron stove that he'd bought on sale. He has plans. We have the supplies to build at least two dream houses.

Fate and Art

I'm so impressed by Magdalena Abakanowicz's new book about her life and her work. "What a gutsy woman" I thought as I went through the pages that mix her personal life story (which is heart-wrenching) with her ambitious artwork. The book is called Fate and Art Monologue and it is written completely by her. She says on the first page:

Dear Reader
Every writing of history consists of a selection of facts and interpretations of facts. Herodotus already discovered how much the truth depends on personal selection of seen, remembered and approved. I have written it in English. I thought that this would allow me to say what I want while avoiding translation. I needed to write this book for myself in the same way I make my art first of all for myself.
M. Abakanowicz