Playing Outside

I just got back from Toronto, where I grew up.  I always come back feeling emotionally drained.

I didn't make any art when I was home, but I did look at a lot of art.  My art.  From when I was 4 or 5 years old.  My mother kept a box of my drawings from kindergarten, and boy was I a prolific artist back then!  Out of respect for my mother's careful archiving I took a photo of each one, kept a few favourites, and then recycled the rest.  We're in the process of cleaning up the house.

I love love this one.

Throwing things away is one of my favourite things to do.  It can be very liberating.  But it is also very emotional at times.  Not throwing things away is also one of my creative parameters, to reuse, to give new life to items full of memories and meaning.

I didn't draw anything when I was home.  But I looked at a lot of art.  My parents' house is full or art.  Art by so many people - my mother, father, grandfathers, auntie, friends, and myself.

It's funny to be able to look at your own works and marvel at it.  And wonder, who was that person, that little girl?  How did she get to be me?

She just loved to play outside.

Late Bloomers

I went to go and see the artichokes on 7th Street today.  If you don't know, I'm kind of obsessed with them.  (Previous blogposts here.)

I was surprised to find some blooms amongst dried up flowers on one of the plants, because I think they normally bloom in the summer.  Hello late bloomers!

I very much relate to late bloomers.

Wikipedia says, A late bloomer is a person whose talents or capabilities are not visible to others until later than usual.

And may I add, not just to others, but to the self?

I remember learning in my art class that the painter Henri Rousseau was a late bloomer - he didn't start painting until he was in his 40s.  Interesting that I held onto that tidbit of info...  Looking him up now, I found this painting of a bunny!  Rousseau claimed he had "no teacher other than nature."

Here is the classic, "The Dream."  I wonder if he liked artichokes...

Notes to Self

They change from time to time...

Trying to sneak in some ARTIST AT WORK time.

Toronto Subway Memories

I went home to Toronto a couple of weeks ago.  Riding the subway, passing through the stops led to blobs of memories.  Chester, Woodbine, Dundas...  Some bigger blobs than others.

Falling asleep that night, I scribbled this down:

As a child my brain was always full of wishful fantasies.
As a young adult through my twenties and early thirties I was preoccupied with paranoias and worries about what people thought.
Now my mind is full of nostalgia.

Another Found Drawing

My brother sent me these photos.  I didn't know this was hanging in his house in Montreal.  I drew it for him many many many years ago.  My signature doesn't even look like that anymore.  My brother used to play the trumpet in the band, and I played percussion.  Does it remind him of us?

(There's a little bit of a reflection on the drummer's face.)

 

If you have any of my art hanging in your house, send me a photo!  It makes me feel good to know it's being appreciated.

Going way back...

I'm working on a commission right now, a graphite work.  I haven't worked with pencils in a long time, probably not since university.  I'm enjoying going back to those days though, and rediscovering what I can do with them - looking at shadows and light.  There is a simple joy in watching the forms emerge on a blank white page.  These drawings I did in high school and in university, some 15-20 years ago.

Going back, I also found something I wrote in my first year on the JET program, I think.

What Money Can Buy...


Buy a house
Buy a house for abused women
Buy a center for homeless youth
Travel
Go to grad school and then what?
Will anyone take me seriously?
Buy mom a house
Send Satoko-obachan to Rome
Send mom to Banff
Send Davy to India
You must see the rest of the world
Study music therapy
Go to Australia and hang out at the beach
Richard has a house that once was home to 10 people
Davy tries to help the crack-addicted prostitutes by sparing a precious cigarette
He thinks about them everyday
Everyday I have to fight off the food
The squeegie kids are so skinny but they don't look glamorous
I miss Neil, my friend
Buy a cafe for Alka


I did go to Australia and hang out at the beach.  Alka now has a cafe!  Wonderful!  I didn't send my auntie Satoko to Rome before she passed away. 

Past, present and future mixing.  I love that. 

Memory

When I was in kindergarten, my auntie gave me this necklace. 

(Here I am, wearing it happily...)

When she died in 2005, I missed her a lot.  So I put this necklace in a shadow box by my door where  I see it everyday.

I see that scrapbooking has become an obsession for some people but I could never make myself follow that trend, even though there is a multitude of materials and tools that are out there.

I prefer to scrounge around in my dusty boxes of memory for my inspiration and sort through cast-off paper and fabric scraps for materials.  I got this tendency from my mom.  The scrounging and the sentimentality.

Each tiny object is connected to a flood of memories - a trip to Bali, getting engaged in Darwin, a dear missed friend and hours spent at a bar in Guerneville getting over reverse culture shock...

These little pieces were art made by someone, somewhere, like me.  An artist hoping that their work would be made special in its association and connection to memory and other people.

Giving it time

I did these paintings year ago. I didn't like them at the time, they went up on the shelf where I hardly ever look.

But I looked at them today and feel totally differently about them. What's changed? My instinct is to say, "I painted these? I was a different person then. So interesting...